tried to talk to him, but he didnât answer me. I asked him if he wanted to try on the shoes, and again it was as if he hadnât heard me.
If he hadnât reacted to that, nothing would budge him. A pair of brand-new sneakers would normally have revived him.
It was all Ahmedâs fault.
I wanted to make Ahmed pay, even though he was good-looking enough to take my breath away. But it was my party. I was an athlete and I had won that day: Now I should just celebrate.
After two hours of dancing around and singing, I couldnât wait to go to bed and tell Hodan about the sheet of newspaper that I had hidden under the mattress.
That afternoon, in fact, I had come home with a medal, but also with a challenge: One day I would win the Olympics and Hodan would become a famous singer, thanks in part to her husbandâs family, and would compose our peopleâs hymn of liberation.
But unlike Mo Farah, we would both do it without leaving Somalia.
I would win wearing the blue jersey with the white star. And the same for her. We would show the way for the liberation of women and then lead our country out of war.
I was sure of it: In my heart I felt that together we had the power to change our world.
That night, in bed, I talked to her about these things.
Hodan held my hand tightly and said yes.
We would never leave Mogadishu. We would not flee. We would become the symbol of liberation. Before falling asleep I slipped the medal under the mattress and took out the page with Mo Farahâs face. I wet the four corners of the sheet with a little saliva and stuck it on the mud wall a few inches from my head.
Looking into his eyes, in silence, I made a promise to Mo Farah as well. I would become a champion like him. But he, every night, would have to remind me.
CHAPTER 8
A FEW MONTHS LATER , a few weeks after her sixteenth birthday, Hodan got married.
The
aroos
, the wedding celebration, was unforgettable. It was held in a splendid, elegantly decorated hall that Husseinâs family had rented, as was traditional. There were hours and hours of food, talk, and dancing with half the people in our neighborhood, which was the same one in which Hussein lived.
Hodan was wearing a white dress that had been our motherâs, and she was stunning, radiant. I had never seen her so beautiful.
The previous night I hadnât slept. Not even a wink. We held each otherâs hands the whole time, and when she finally fell asleep, I kept thinking that this would be the last time weâd lie so close at night. In the morning when I woke up, my eyes were swollen from crying and rimmed with dark circles.
Still, the seven days of festivities were wonderful. I had never seen anything more spectacular in my life.
We girls and Hooyo were very vibrant in our
qamar,
diric,
and
garbasar
in every color of the rainbow. Veils, veils, veils. And how light and fluttery and magical all those veils were! Iâve never liked covering up my hair and body but that day, for the first time, I felt pride in wearing traditional garments.
Not that morning, though, when I was embarrassed to leave the room with everyone waiting in the courtyard to see me as they never had before.
I didnât want to come out. There were no mirrors in the room, but even without seeing myself, I felt uncomfortable.
I was sitting on the edge of the mattress, all dressed up, when Hooyo came in.
As soon as she saw me, her lips widened in a broad smile. âYouâre beautiful, my daughter. Come on, stand up.â
âI feel ridiculous, Hooyo. I donât want to be seen like this,â I said softly as I got up.
Without saying a word she went out and came back with a white veil and a large mirror that she had borrowed from a neighbor. She arranged the white veil around my shoulders and then, with a clip, gathered my hair into a twist at the back of my head. She used a pencil to outline my eyes and applied red lipstick to my mouth. I stood
If he hadnât reacted to that, nothing would budge him. A pair of brand-new sneakers would normally have revived him.
It was all Ahmedâs fault.
I wanted to make Ahmed pay, even though he was good-looking enough to take my breath away. But it was my party. I was an athlete and I had won that day: Now I should just celebrate.
After two hours of dancing around and singing, I couldnât wait to go to bed and tell Hodan about the sheet of newspaper that I had hidden under the mattress.
That afternoon, in fact, I had come home with a medal, but also with a challenge: One day I would win the Olympics and Hodan would become a famous singer, thanks in part to her husbandâs family, and would compose our peopleâs hymn of liberation.
But unlike Mo Farah, we would both do it without leaving Somalia.
I would win wearing the blue jersey with the white star. And the same for her. We would show the way for the liberation of women and then lead our country out of war.
I was sure of it: In my heart I felt that together we had the power to change our world.
That night, in bed, I talked to her about these things.
Hodan held my hand tightly and said yes.
We would never leave Mogadishu. We would not flee. We would become the symbol of liberation. Before falling asleep I slipped the medal under the mattress and took out the page with Mo Farahâs face. I wet the four corners of the sheet with a little saliva and stuck it on the mud wall a few inches from my head.
Looking into his eyes, in silence, I made a promise to Mo Farah as well. I would become a champion like him. But he, every night, would have to remind me.
CHAPTER 8
A FEW MONTHS LATER , a few weeks after her sixteenth birthday, Hodan got married.
The
aroos
, the wedding celebration, was unforgettable. It was held in a splendid, elegantly decorated hall that Husseinâs family had rented, as was traditional. There were hours and hours of food, talk, and dancing with half the people in our neighborhood, which was the same one in which Hussein lived.
Hodan was wearing a white dress that had been our motherâs, and she was stunning, radiant. I had never seen her so beautiful.
The previous night I hadnât slept. Not even a wink. We held each otherâs hands the whole time, and when she finally fell asleep, I kept thinking that this would be the last time weâd lie so close at night. In the morning when I woke up, my eyes were swollen from crying and rimmed with dark circles.
Still, the seven days of festivities were wonderful. I had never seen anything more spectacular in my life.
We girls and Hooyo were very vibrant in our
qamar,
diric,
and
garbasar
in every color of the rainbow. Veils, veils, veils. And how light and fluttery and magical all those veils were! Iâve never liked covering up my hair and body but that day, for the first time, I felt pride in wearing traditional garments.
Not that morning, though, when I was embarrassed to leave the room with everyone waiting in the courtyard to see me as they never had before.
I didnât want to come out. There were no mirrors in the room, but even without seeing myself, I felt uncomfortable.
I was sitting on the edge of the mattress, all dressed up, when Hooyo came in.
As soon as she saw me, her lips widened in a broad smile. âYouâre beautiful, my daughter. Come on, stand up.â
âI feel ridiculous, Hooyo. I donât want to be seen like this,â I said softly as I got up.
Without saying a word she went out and came back with a white veil and a large mirror that she had borrowed from a neighbor. She arranged the white veil around my shoulders and then, with a clip, gathered my hair into a twist at the back of my head. She used a pencil to outline my eyes and applied red lipstick to my mouth. I stood
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