nights, three days before the most important race of my life, that I discovered that I could run a hundred meters in 16.32 seconds and two hundred meters in 32.90 seconds. I had thought I was faster, but I wasnât. Saidâs stopwatch had revealed a bitter truth. My times were way over the world records; like it or not, I would have to improve. I had no choice but to improve.
On all three of those nights Aabe was there waiting for me at the exit to take me home safe and sound. On the way back, covered by the burka but skipping joyfully, I spelled out everything I had to do to improve. He kept looking around nervously, and every so often he would stop and threaten me with his cane, telling me to settle down and not attract attention, or heâd bop me on the head. I laughed; I knew we shouldnât be out and about at that hour, but I was happy.
The sudden freedom, the empty stadium, the full moon, the scent of grass filled me with irrepressible euphoria.
Aabe got mad and told me to quiet down.
But all I could think about was the race.
Three days later I left for the north.
CHAPTER 14
T HE BUS TRIP TO H ARGE YSA made me feel like a celebrity. I was by myself and the ticket was expensive, the equivalent of sixty U.S. dollarsâbeing able to buy it was a miracle in itself.
I had never been on a bus. Everything was very comfortable, the seats soft and roomy, covered in gray velvet, and there was background music. The driver wore a dark blue uniform and he was very kind. When he saw me get on alone, wearing the tracksuit that Aabe had gotten hold of somewhere and given me for the occasion, he must have thought I was a famous athlete. He looked at me and greeted me the way you regard and address a person worthy of respect.
âGood morning,
abaayo
,â he said to me as I climbed in. âHave a good trip.â
âThank youâ was all I managed to say, I was so excited.
The journey took almost a whole day.
I felt like one of those tiny birds that beat their wings so rapidly that all you see is a blur; the birds look like theyâre suspendedin the air, dangling somehow from an invisible thread. I was so impatient that I couldnât sit still. I must have gotten up a hundred times with the excuse of stretching my legs. When we stopped to get out and eat something or go to the bathroom, I couldnât wait to get moving again.
We reached our destination at seven the next morning, as the sun was rising. I hadnât slept for even one minute.
I got off the bus with the strange feeling of being in a country at peace.
The fact that there were no armed guards at the station, that there were no traces of guns or camouflage uniforms, and that outside there were no bullet holes in the walls didnât seem real. I felt disoriented. Like an animal that has spent its entire life in a cage and suddenly finds itself free, the cage door open. I was struck by a feeling of extreme euphoria, which instead of spurring me on at that moment immobilized me. I was tempted to turn around, get back on the bus, and return home to my natural setting, where freedom was measured by counting land mines and mortar rounds. That morning at dawn, with the sun peeking shyly through the cracks between the stationâs wooden roof and walls, I thought that too much freedom so unexpectedly isnât good for people; they arenât used to it.
I sat on a metal bench beside a newspaper stand and waited a bit. The news vendor was opening up just then, his face still sleepy.
With the few shillings I had I bought a
shaat
in the only bar that was open. The heat flowed from my hands to my throat and from there, after a while, finally reached my head.
I made my way to the stadium on foot.
I had all the time in the world, plus I had to loosen up myjoints after all those hours with my knees bent, not being able to straighten them.
The city at peace seemed like a miracle to me. Being able to go around without a burka, being
On all three of those nights Aabe was there waiting for me at the exit to take me home safe and sound. On the way back, covered by the burka but skipping joyfully, I spelled out everything I had to do to improve. He kept looking around nervously, and every so often he would stop and threaten me with his cane, telling me to settle down and not attract attention, or heâd bop me on the head. I laughed; I knew we shouldnât be out and about at that hour, but I was happy.
The sudden freedom, the empty stadium, the full moon, the scent of grass filled me with irrepressible euphoria.
Aabe got mad and told me to quiet down.
But all I could think about was the race.
Three days later I left for the north.
CHAPTER 14
T HE BUS TRIP TO H ARGE YSA made me feel like a celebrity. I was by myself and the ticket was expensive, the equivalent of sixty U.S. dollarsâbeing able to buy it was a miracle in itself.
I had never been on a bus. Everything was very comfortable, the seats soft and roomy, covered in gray velvet, and there was background music. The driver wore a dark blue uniform and he was very kind. When he saw me get on alone, wearing the tracksuit that Aabe had gotten hold of somewhere and given me for the occasion, he must have thought I was a famous athlete. He looked at me and greeted me the way you regard and address a person worthy of respect.
âGood morning,
abaayo
,â he said to me as I climbed in. âHave a good trip.â
âThank youâ was all I managed to say, I was so excited.
The journey took almost a whole day.
I felt like one of those tiny birds that beat their wings so rapidly that all you see is a blur; the birds look like theyâre suspendedin the air, dangling somehow from an invisible thread. I was so impatient that I couldnât sit still. I must have gotten up a hundred times with the excuse of stretching my legs. When we stopped to get out and eat something or go to the bathroom, I couldnât wait to get moving again.
We reached our destination at seven the next morning, as the sun was rising. I hadnât slept for even one minute.
I got off the bus with the strange feeling of being in a country at peace.
The fact that there were no armed guards at the station, that there were no traces of guns or camouflage uniforms, and that outside there were no bullet holes in the walls didnât seem real. I felt disoriented. Like an animal that has spent its entire life in a cage and suddenly finds itself free, the cage door open. I was struck by a feeling of extreme euphoria, which instead of spurring me on at that moment immobilized me. I was tempted to turn around, get back on the bus, and return home to my natural setting, where freedom was measured by counting land mines and mortar rounds. That morning at dawn, with the sun peeking shyly through the cracks between the stationâs wooden roof and walls, I thought that too much freedom so unexpectedly isnât good for people; they arenât used to it.
I sat on a metal bench beside a newspaper stand and waited a bit. The news vendor was opening up just then, his face still sleepy.
With the few shillings I had I bought a
shaat
in the only bar that was open. The heat flowed from my hands to my throat and from there, after a while, finally reached my head.
I made my way to the stadium on foot.
I had all the time in the world, plus I had to loosen up myjoints after all those hours with my knees bent, not being able to straighten them.
The city at peace seemed like a miracle to me. Being able to go around without a burka, being
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