"Tell Safiya to get ready right now," she heard her mother's voice from outside her door. Shortly after, there was a knock. Then the door opened, and in walked Sheby, a young girl of about thirteen who worked as their house servant. She wondered what her mother wanted this time.
"Safiya, your mother is waiting for you to get ready," Sheby said, her voice trembling with apprehension. She seemed afraid that Safiya might harm her.
Well, everyone was scared of Safiya now. She wasn't that lively seven-year-old girl anymore. Over the years, she had developed effortless skill with the sword, adopting a more masculine demeanor. Many saw her as a disgrace to womanhood, believing that she was doing things women shouldn't do.
"What does she want?" Her mother never calls her except when she needs her help or something. She has only ever reached out to Meka, her favorite daughter, the one who embodies traditional femininity.
Safiya lifted her head from where she sat on the bed, engrossed in sharpening her sword. She noticed the horror on Sheby's face as her gaze remained fixed on the weapon. Safiya knew she had no intentions of hurting anyone, which made her wonder why everyone seemed to be scared of her.
"Sheby," Safiya called out to the young maiden, noticing her in a daze.
"I mean, your mother wants you to get ready," she quickly said.
"Ready for what?" Safiya asked, momentarily uninterested.
"The person who will be marrying your sister will soon arrive," Sheby replied.
Safiya paused in her task of sharpening her knife, realizing she had almost forgotten about her sister's impending marriage. She remembered the excitement that always lit up her sister's face whenever she spoke about this person she claimed to love.
Safiya has witnessed the genuine love between her parents during her father's lifetime, so it's not that she doesn't believe in love. However, she has grown wary of the pain that often accompanies such deep emotions, as evident in her mother's eyes over the years. Safiya yearns for a different kind of life, one without the heartache that love can bring. Additionally, she believes that the path she has chosen for herself may not be attractive to potential suitors.
"I'll be right there," Safiya told Sheby and continued sharpening her sword. However, Sheby remained standing, causing Safiya to look at her again. "What's the matter?" she asked, her voice laced with impatience.
"Your mother gave me a dress for you to wear," Sheby raised a fine silk material. It was dark blue and had many jewels embroidered on it. Safiya knew the skirt would be long and that the bodice would be adorned with numerous jewels. She also knew there would be cowries to be placed on her head. It seemed like such a waste of money.
She had seen her sister wear it almost every day, and there was no way she was going to wear that.
"I refuse," Safiya declared firmly. She would rather stick to her masculine wear. She preferred to look this way than dress in such a manner.
"But, Safiya, your mother…" Sheby began.
"Leave," Safiya interrupted, her voice unwavering.
Sheby nodded understandingly and immediately left the room.
Safiya let out a deep sigh, her frustration evident. How could everyone around her simply move on and pretend that everything was okay? It was as if the weight of her father's death meant nothing to them.
Eleven long years had passed since the heart-wrenching news about her father. Each night, she clung onto a glimmer of hope, refusing to accept the harsh reality that he might never return. But as time went on, that hope faded, and a sense of realization settled in. Yet, her mother dismissed her feelings, branding her as crazy. Even her own sister failed to empathize.
They accused her of scaring them by always standing by the door, but how could she possibly remain calm? That door represented the possibility of her father's return, the chance to see his face once more. The uncertainty and longing tore at her soul; it was impossible to simply let go.
He is dead Safiya.
You just have to accept it and move on.
She rose from her bed and made her way towards the open window. The lively scene outside brought back memories of her and Meka's carefree days together. Children were running around, filling the compound with laughter and energy. It was a stark reminder of the innocence they once shared.
As Safiya watched, she noticed her mother bustling about, engrossed in her chores, most likely preparing for the arrival of a potential suitor. Her mother had aged since the loss of their father, and behind her weary eyes, Safiya could still see the lingering pain of love. It pained her to think that Meka might go through a similar experience.
Just as her thoughts consumed her, a knock on the door broke the silence. Safiya turned, only to be greeted by Meka's familiar face, her expression carrying a mix of curiosity and concern.
"Safiya, why are you not ready?" Meka frowned and stepped closer. "It's my big day, please do this for me."
"Meka, I can't wear that dress," Safiya responded firmly. There was no way she was going to don fancy, womanly clothing adorned with numerous jewelry pieces. Meka knew this.
"I know, I know you don't like it," Meka pleaded, her voice tinged with desperation. "But just do this for me, please. Just let them see you wearing it."
Safiya looked at Meka, taking in her sight. She had grown even more stunning over the years. Her waist was slender, her legs long and graceful. Her brown skin glowed with a healthy radiance. She truly embodied womanhood and beauty. Her hair was intricately braided, adorned with cowries and beads. Meka was undeniably beautiful.
"Meka, I…" Safiya began, but her words trailed off as Meka reached out and clasped her hand.
"Please," Meka pleaded, her eyes filled with sincerity. "I know you miss Papa and wish to be like him. I'm not stopping you, but please, just dress like a girl for today, for me."
Safiya sighed, fully aware of her own desires to live as her true self. But she also understood the importance of this day for Meka. With a resigned nod, she agreed, "Fine, but only for today."
Meka hugged her tightly, tears of gratitude welling up in her eyes. "I love you, Safi. Thank you. I'll tell Sheby to bring back the dress."
Safiya took a deep breath, gathering the courage to ask a question that had been nagging at her. "Meka?"
"Yes?" Meka looked at her attentively.
"Do you really want to do this? Get married?" Safiya's concern was evident in her voice.
Meka smiled warmly, "Come". She took Sayifa's hand, guiding her to sit down on the mat-covered bed. They looked at each other, a mixture of love and understanding passing between them.
"Thank you for always looking out for me," Meka began, her voice filled with gratitude. "I may be the eldest, but I've never been the strongest. Having a sweet sister like you has been a blessing. I know you want revenge for Papa, and I understand that. But I believe there's a better way to heal. It's by letting go and finding love and…"
"No!" Safiya interrupted, her voice filled with determination. She stood up abruptly, a fire burning in her eyes. "I told you to stop saying that."
Meka stood up as well, her gaze filled with concern. "Safiya, I only want the best for you. I want you to find happiness and peace."
"You don't know what's best for me," Safiya retorted, her voice filled with frustration. "Neither you nor Mama will ever understand. Maybe you both have forgotten about what happened to Papa, but I will never forget."
Meka's face showed a mixture of confusion and concern. "Safiya, we know he went to war and never returned. That's the truth."
"That's what they want you to believe, but that's not what happened," Safiya said sternly and walked towards the door.
"Safiya, please, you don't have to do this. I don't want anything to happen to you. If anything happens to you, I can't forgive myself. I'm your elder sister; I should be the one protecting you," pleaded her sister, with concern evident in her voice.
Safiya paused in her tracks. "I can protect myself. You don't have to worry," she assured her.
"But I will worry, and mother will be worried as well," her sister persisted.
Safiya shook her head. Just as she opened the door, their mother stood there with her arms folded, expressing her disapproval.