the water makes pale northern lights flicker against everyone’s faces, and the smell of the water is clean and salty, and the boat’s spray is cool against his skin.
Nnedi Okorafor-Mbachu is a writer and journalist from Chicago. Her novel, Zahrah the Windseeker (Houghton Mifflin), is scheduled for release in late 2004. Her short story “The Magical Negro” and her essay “Her Pen Could Fly: A Tribute to Virginia Hamilton” were published in Dark Matter II: Reading the Bones (Warner Aspect), and her short story “Asuquo” was published in Mojo: Conjure Stories (Warner Aspect). In 2004, her short story “The Ghastly Bird” will be published in the Other Half Literary Magazine. She is currently working on her PhD in English at the University of Illinois, Chicago.
When Scarabs Multiply
Nnedi Okorafor-Mbachu
I was only twelve years old when Sarauniya Jaa, the Red Queen of Niger, returned to my town wanting to cut off my father’s head. But I don’t hate her. I don’t fear her either. But I feel . . . something. Something strong. And that’s why I plan to do this.
Kwàmfà was a great town because of Jaa. It was she who came and organized it, and then ran it. Though she’d left Kwàmfà a year before I was born, I’d been hearing about her all my life. From my mother I had always heard about how good life was because of her, before she left.
“It was relaxed here,” my mother said. “Even after the bombs fell and everything changed.”
Jaa came decades ago with her nomads, when Kwàmfà was just a tiny dying village. Under Jaa’s guidance, Kwàmfà became a booming town of palm and monkey bread trees, old but still useful satellite dishes, and neatly built mud brick houses with colourful, Zulu-style geometric designs and conical thatch roofs. The streets filled up with cars, motorbikes, and camels. Kwàmfà became known for its exquisite carpets and after the great change, also for its flying carpets.
But after Jaa hopped onto her camel and rode into the Sahara, my mother said, things changed yet again. And it was all due to my father.
My father was wealthy, influential, and highly respected. When he spoke, people listened. My mother said he was born with a sugared tongue. And also he had always been quite popular amongst the women because he was very lovely.
“When we were younger, I didn’t mind,” my mother said. “Your father was strikingly beautiful. How could I expect others not to notice? You know, when he was in his twenties, he was the winner three years in a row of the Mr Sahara beauty contest.” She smiled and shook her head. “It was those eyes. He could make them go in two different directions. The judges loved that. It’s a shame that stupidity took over his heart.”
My father did very well selling and buying houses, but he had always been interested in politics. He never missed a town meeting, and he was most attentive when Jaa was speaking. My mother never thought anything of it. Mother was also interested in politics and liked attending the meetings.
Nevertheless, the same day Jaa left, my father did too. And he refused to tell my mother where he was going. He returned a month later riding a bejewelled camel and wearing a golden caftan and turban and an equally golden smile on his handsome face. My father was somewhat light in skin tone, the colour of tea and cream, but Mother said that day he looked much darker, as if he’d been out in the sun for weeks. Probably bargaining for the camels and jewels. Behind him marched more camels, freshly brushed, ridden by several of his close friends. They threw naira notes to the gathering crowd and the crowd gathered faster.
“Jaa is gone, but no need to worry!” he shouted in his booming voice as he smiled and winked at the women in the crowd. “In her absence, I can make sure Kwàmfà remains the great town she built! Make me your chief and there will be no need to worry about greedy shady men destroying her council!”
My
Nnedi Okorafor-Mbachu is a writer and journalist from Chicago. Her novel, Zahrah the Windseeker (Houghton Mifflin), is scheduled for release in late 2004. Her short story “The Magical Negro” and her essay “Her Pen Could Fly: A Tribute to Virginia Hamilton” were published in Dark Matter II: Reading the Bones (Warner Aspect), and her short story “Asuquo” was published in Mojo: Conjure Stories (Warner Aspect). In 2004, her short story “The Ghastly Bird” will be published in the Other Half Literary Magazine. She is currently working on her PhD in English at the University of Illinois, Chicago.
When Scarabs Multiply
Nnedi Okorafor-Mbachu
I was only twelve years old when Sarauniya Jaa, the Red Queen of Niger, returned to my town wanting to cut off my father’s head. But I don’t hate her. I don’t fear her either. But I feel . . . something. Something strong. And that’s why I plan to do this.
Kwàmfà was a great town because of Jaa. It was she who came and organized it, and then ran it. Though she’d left Kwàmfà a year before I was born, I’d been hearing about her all my life. From my mother I had always heard about how good life was because of her, before she left.
“It was relaxed here,” my mother said. “Even after the bombs fell and everything changed.”
Jaa came decades ago with her nomads, when Kwàmfà was just a tiny dying village. Under Jaa’s guidance, Kwàmfà became a booming town of palm and monkey bread trees, old but still useful satellite dishes, and neatly built mud brick houses with colourful, Zulu-style geometric designs and conical thatch roofs. The streets filled up with cars, motorbikes, and camels. Kwàmfà became known for its exquisite carpets and after the great change, also for its flying carpets.
But after Jaa hopped onto her camel and rode into the Sahara, my mother said, things changed yet again. And it was all due to my father.
My father was wealthy, influential, and highly respected. When he spoke, people listened. My mother said he was born with a sugared tongue. And also he had always been quite popular amongst the women because he was very lovely.
“When we were younger, I didn’t mind,” my mother said. “Your father was strikingly beautiful. How could I expect others not to notice? You know, when he was in his twenties, he was the winner three years in a row of the Mr Sahara beauty contest.” She smiled and shook her head. “It was those eyes. He could make them go in two different directions. The judges loved that. It’s a shame that stupidity took over his heart.”
My father did very well selling and buying houses, but he had always been interested in politics. He never missed a town meeting, and he was most attentive when Jaa was speaking. My mother never thought anything of it. Mother was also interested in politics and liked attending the meetings.
Nevertheless, the same day Jaa left, my father did too. And he refused to tell my mother where he was going. He returned a month later riding a bejewelled camel and wearing a golden caftan and turban and an equally golden smile on his handsome face. My father was somewhat light in skin tone, the colour of tea and cream, but Mother said that day he looked much darker, as if he’d been out in the sun for weeks. Probably bargaining for the camels and jewels. Behind him marched more camels, freshly brushed, ridden by several of his close friends. They threw naira notes to the gathering crowd and the crowd gathered faster.
“Jaa is gone, but no need to worry!” he shouted in his booming voice as he smiled and winked at the women in the crowd. “In her absence, I can make sure Kwàmfà remains the great town she built! Make me your chief and there will be no need to worry about greedy shady men destroying her council!”
My
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