Zarek and the Fallen Angels

Chapter Three - Friday Thirteenth May 1983

                                                       CHAPTER THREE

                                           FRIDAY THIRTEENTH MAY 1983

The evening of Friday thirteenth May 1983 is one I would never forget. It was exactly thirteen days before my tenth birthday and I swear if I could erase the memory of what happened when Baba returned and Ummi told, I would. That ugly incident has stayed with me ever since and I still remember it as if it were yesterday.

I am unable to write as it happened word for word, action by action, purely for my own sanity and maybe yours. Remember, I wasn’t even ten, I had thirteen days to go and like most under-tens, I was twiggy, nevertheless I had to absorb all the hitting, kicking, and licking of the rod. Had no choice. Baba – I say this now with a lot of pity in my heart for him – couldn’t see (blinded by his anger) that I was his boy, his little Zarek who wanted just to play like others. His mind was made up to teach me a lesson I would never forget and he certainly did.

I will attempt however, to write an honest account of how it felt to nearly die in the hands of the man I called my father. I was sitting in my room like a cat on hot bricks, waiting for Baba’s return. Time is a diva when it needs to fly. She just takes her time, never in a hurry when waiting for someone or something to happen. As usual, I knew what was coming; the rod – doctor-do-good – as Baba nicknamed it, would land indiscriminately on my body, every stroke, biting deep into my flesh hard enough to leave me writhing in agony and covered in swollen red lines and cuts. No child should have to go through this no matter what.

On good days, the torture lasted about half an hour and on days, I rather not talk about, it went on till Baba was exhausted or the rod shattered. A bigger, longer and of course stronger one was always quickly bought to replace its predecessor. (Rods were sold in the local markets and in fact it was unacceptable to run a household without one. Most houses had one, hung conspicuously on the wall for solely disciplinary use and as a warning.)

We all had turns when we walked through the valley of the shadow of death at the hands of Baba. For Farah and myself, something as little as forgetting to say ‘good morning’ or messing around with his radio was reason enough. As for Ummi, she got her fair share whenever Mama Aisha complained which was all the time. It was like living with the Devil himself and having no way out.

Although, I knew the music, I wasn’t prepared for the performance. I could never be, not with the way he played his instrument – the rod. The only thing in the house that neither feared nor respected Baba but got his full attention. It was his confidante, a loyal friend in time of need, someone who understood my father in a way no one else did. This friend of my father was going to get me tonight; I knew that for sure.  

Baba was a Jack… not of all trades but of all odd jobs, he was a labourer who did little odd jobs here and there to put food on the table. Typical jobs were grass cutting (not the fancy grass cutting you’d do with a mower but the kind with a machete), load-carrying using borrowed handcarts (the cart owner usually got a cut at the end of each job) and anything that generally required more manpower than brainpower. I need not say that this kind of self-employment brought in very little income. Stipend that was hardly enough to provide the basics. So Baba had to work harder than an ant to ensure that there was food on our table, clothes on our backs and fees for our tuition. Anything more would have been asking for his head on a platter. He would wake with the first gleam of dawn for Fajr – the first of the five daily prayers which, quoting Baba, ‘good Muslims’ offer – and then wash. By then, we too would have been up for prayers. Fajr HAD to be observed, one missed Fajr equals you know what by now. I need not say. After prayers, Farah and I would wash and prepare for school, Ummi for a day of chores. If there were some leftover food from the previous night, we would assemble in the living room for breakfast. After which, he would leave in search for work and we for school leaving poor Ummi behind.