In the Shadows of the Ancestors by Hassan Ansah

Author:Hassan Ansah
Language: ara, eng
Format: epub
Published: 2017-01-29T16:00:00+00:00

At the end of the work week, I went to eat at a local Somali restaurant in my neighborhood. After a month of eating the local Kenyan staple of ugali and yama, African meat and potatoes, I was in search for something more exotic and tasty. I entered a small hall in the wall building and was led to the upstairs by a very elegant and attractive Somali lady. She was tall, bronze skinned, with long, silky flowing black hair. A few long curls were escaping from her thick hair loosely gathered at the back of her head and held by a sizable red-colored braid that gently fell over her shoulders. As she moved closer, I was slightly surprised at how muscular and slender she was. As she reached over to set the table, I immediately saw her gold bracelets with an ivory inlay that she wore on her graceful wrist and smoothed brown arms and also the large, impressive, and unusual rings on two fingers of her right hand. All these contrasted with the simple elegance of her outfit which consisted of cream colored trousers and a loose, white combed-cotton blouse. They were like natural extensions of her body, the parts that she could never hide. I had not yet been able to look into her eyes. I would see them when she brought the food out from the kitchen and placed it on the table.

Her eyes were a deep brown, enveloped by long black lashes, large in relation to her face. They were more than just mere eyes. In her eyes, I saw a distant land. Her eyes were a mirror of her spirit, so sad, yet composed, mysterious, and rebellious. I asked myself if I thought she was beautiful—yes, but there was something more than just her beauty. She left me with an altogether different feeling, a sense that to even ask the question is ridiculous and should not be asked. I even began to question myself, maybe my impression of her extraordinary beauty was just a delusion. The suspense was killing me. She came back bringing a plate of goat meat and rice, cooked with a special Somali sauce. There was a low melodic Arabic sounding music playing in the background. I sat outside on this unusually warm evening, being engulfed by the alluring, vibrant, and erotic smells of musk and sandalwood incense. Upon finishing the meal and receiving the bill, I wanted to stall time in order to have a deeper conversation with her. Finally, towards the end of the evening, I mustered up enough courage to speak more casually with her.

“I’m sorry but what is your name?”

“My name is Fazia. Why are you sorry?” She asked smiling again. She spoke elegantly and had an easy sensuous demeanor. “And what is your name?”

“Hassan,” I answered.

“Hassan, are you Muslim?”

“Well not really, I sort of embrace all religions.”

She looked utterly perplexed at this point. She just stood there staring at me but smiling the entire time. Suddenly, everything seemed unreal and baffling.

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