Creative Writing: Home

The blazing sun directed over Mogadishu while the women and the children of somalia tired, hot and hungry continue their work washing, cleaning and cooking. The city is the embodiment of boredom the dark smoky skies, the dull dead grass and the brown coloured huts that seemed to go on for miles. The people walking roughly in one direction, the sound of their feet crunching the gravel fills the silence of the morning. Everyone dressed in traditional clothes men wearing flowy maawis, western shirts and shawls while women wearing long flowing dresses worn over petticoats called direh and usually wear large scarves. The dread is an invisible demon sitting heavily on their shoulders and consuming their thoughts with negativity as they walk to work.

Her direh rustling as she walks, her feet numb from all the walking and her arms stiff as a result of holding a bowl of fruit. Aaqila stubs her toe on a rock and staggered, until she regained her balance “Aaqila you better not drop that bowl” her mother shrieked also clutching a bowl of food. Aaqila nodded “i know mum” she replied unfazed by her deafening shriek knowing if she didn't agree that it wouldn't help her situation. They continue walking until they reach home, Aaqila runs into the house once she sees her father's shoes, the sound of shoes thumping on the wooden floor resonating throughout the house. Aaqila stops to a halt once she reaches the kitchen places the bowl on the counter and rushes to hug her father, he extends his arms into a welcoming hug. She smiles brightly at her father “ how was work dad?” she replied eagerly hoping to start a conversation with her workaholic father “it was good” her father says robotically, knowing that was all she was going to get. Aaqila had always been a hurricane since the time she was born, she had a infinite number of childhoods, her parents either happy, fighting or disregard each other. She walks into the kitchen when her mother asks her to help prepare for

Aaqila is walking unusually slowly, as her mind is consumed with thoughts of her parents fighting wanting anything to distract her from her displeasing thoughts. Not looking where she was going she trips on a rectangle shaped cardboard, Aaqila gets her clothes stained with mud automatically picturing her mother criticizing her. She stands up carefully and picks up the cardboard, however on further inspection is bound by leather, cracked and dried from age as she ran her fingers on the leather. Aaqila opens the leather cover and the white as snow pages was the most prominent feature with black ink sprawled on it that represented letters lots and lots of it. She hid it under her direh knowing that if her mother saw it she will take it away from her forbidding her to ever find out what the combination of letters mean, or to feel the hard and old leather cover of the object. As Aaqila walks back home dread sets her face her teeth locked tight together, when she sees her hut she unconsciously holds the object tighter to her body. Her mother starts to question her as she enters the hut however, she does not cave in nodding along to her mother's screaming until she is lead to where the bath is a small bucket with cold water. Aaqila still clutching the object goes to where her mattress is and hides it under her old mattress before letting herself slip to