I wrote this a few hours ago...
My cousin Adija
She was a child, she was my star. She was older and I up to her. She lived with us in the village. I loved hanging around her. I wanted to be her and do big girl things. She was a few classes ahead of me in primary school. I liked sleeping next to her at night. This despite her usual flinging of her legs and arms that caused me to breathe with difficulty until she moved again. This is not deter me for I so loved her.
She was there and then she was gone just like many people in my childhood. She was there and then she was taken away from me, she was not taken far away though but her new life had no space for me in it.
Her responsibilities did not include play time, she had been jolted into adulthood sans transition.
I was confused. I was heartbroken but I could not ask any questions. Adults had made arrangements unbeknownst to her, just like for my mother, and one afternoon people came to our house and they women were singing the usual yodelling sound (wikipedia says ululation for that sound, although it was a variation from Foumban) signalling a wedding. A hijab was put on Adija’s head and there was a lot of talking, singing and gifts exchanged and then the crowd that had come, took her away.
She was gone. Childhood was finished.
I could not understand, I was hurt and confused. Today I can only imagine her state of bewilderment.
I could never forget Adija, my big cousin, my idol. In the many years that followed that incident I wondered about her life.
Would she have chosen to marry a polygamist? The family thought they were securing her future marrying her to a powerful man, was it really the case?
What life would she have chosen for herself?
Last time I asked, Adija had 5 children. Her husband had died pushing her to marry into another polygamous home.
I will never forget my cousin Adija