The Tribal Wife

whilst seated as always, on the floor, to churn butter and create buttermilk. All meals
were savoury. Assida, a kind of large soft dumpling, was served with melted butter and
a sprinkling of sugar, and this was a favourite of mine. Everyone took a turn at scraping
a mouth-sized piece and dipping it into the butter, using their fingers, of course. “Cool
ya‘Awraida” they would say - ‘eat’. Awraida was their chosen name for me, meaning
Rose, as they thought I looked pink like a rose. CousCous granules were made by hand
using flour and maize, and stood in the sun to dry. Animals for slaughter were gripped
between the legs and sacrificed to Allah before the sharp blade severed the neck artery,
causing immediate loss of blood and thankfully, loss of consciousness. Everything was
thoroughly cleaned by groups of women, who hung the entrails out to dry in the sun and
prepared a feast using the flesh, which was cooked on the bone. This was done for Eid
at the end of Ramadan, or on special occasions. They did not always use meat and
nothing was wasted.
Beds were sheepskin rugs on the floor, with several people to each room. Children were
not put to bed but fell asleep in their own time and were placed comfortably and covered
when their time came. Cooking and the ritual tea-making were done on a charcoal fire
in a metal container in the room set aside for cooking, but for the tea-making ceremony,
the cooking pot was placed in the living room. Firstly a small glass of bitter black tea was
served, followed by a sweet and very minty light green tea. It was very Japanese in
character, with everyone sitting around cross-legged on the floor talking, watching and
awaiting their turn to drink. Men were served first, but I was the exception and it never
failed to surprise me. There was little or no furniture, but instead, a large colourful rug
with flat cushions around the edge. Everyone removed their shoes upon entering the
room, which faced out onto the courtyard.
The first night I spent with the Kadiki tribe - parents, grand-parents, great-grand-parents,
a multitude of children, aunts, uncles, cousins, I asked Kadiki “where is the toilet?”
“There isn’t one” he said, beaming another of his sunny smiles. “Robha will show you”
at which his step-mother ushered me out and to an enclosure, carrying a torch. The cows
and animals huffed and puffed nearby in the dark and still of the night. I couldn’t ask
her how human waste was dealt with but I presume it shrivels in the heat of the day and
gets covered with the red sand which blows on the wind or falls from the shovel. It was
a veritable moonscape, the whole area. Nothing to see beyond the habitation, other than
enormous boulders, rocks and red sand. Kadiki told me they owned all of the land in
this area and the chief elder and tribal leader was Sheik Omar, Hazh Juma’s cousin.
Kadiki’s only surviving sibling was his brother Hamid, who was younger than him, had
married a cousin, Kenus (meaning ‘Treasure‘) and had two young children, Idris and
Saleh. His closest cousin was Busaif, who was frequently with us.
To return to the marriage, it was simple, just a formality. I never wanted a carnival,
just to be married to this special person in my life. As is customary, Kadiki and his
friends went to town to sort out the paperwork. I was driven there and prompted to take
my oath
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