Previously, on Hear The Whispers Sing. 

'Baba,' said Akiba, 'is she your illegitimate child?' 

Baba choked so hard he doubled over and his fez hat tumbled off his head. 'No,' he spluttered, 'she's your cousin, Waridi. You remember Waridi, sio?' 

'Ohhh,' said Akiba, 'si she was the one studying to be a scientist?'

*

'Faraja,' Baba yelled, as Shangazi Faraja stormed towards the kitchen. 'Faraja, she's your daughter, for God's sake. Talk to her.' 

'Seventeen years,' Shangazi Faraja whispered, 'seventeen years, and she thinks she can just come back here as if she didn't leave me to deal with her father's death alone.' 

*

Akiba went to Shangazi Faraja's door once more. Her foot brushed against a folded paper.

She bent down to pick it. Laazizi Mama, it said, in scratchy writing. I know I've hurt you terribly, and I promise, I will spend my whole life trying to make it right...

*

Next to her, Waridi fumbled with her chiming kijioo, the small mirror falling at Akiba's feet. Akiba picked it up and handed it back to her, pretending she didn't see the letter within.

Dear Waridi Hamisi

Further to the publication of your scholastic work, we are pleased to inform you that Abdirahman Kulow is interested in taking you as a paid apprentice...

Man, Baba hadn't been joking about Waridi's brains. Abdirahman Kulow himself? But Waridi's eyes didn't linger on the kijioo. They flicked to Shangazi Faraja, then flicked back down. Her mouth tightened, and in a moment where anyone else would be jumping for joy, she put off her kijioo and pushed it away, clenching her fist.

Istahil had every intention of confessing.

She'd planned it all out. First, she went to buy camel meat from the market, ignoring the whispers of its residents. She would spend the whole night cutting it up and drying it before cooking it into nyiri nyiri which she would give to Hoyo with canjeera in the morning.

Then, she'd let it all out.

But life had other ideas. When she came home, she found Hoyo, a newspaper in hand, and Raiya putting in the settings on the automatic mortar and pestle to grind maize. The entire place had steeped itself in silence, broken by a claw grounding the long pestle into a large mortar. A little way from the gate, weaver birds feasted on bits of rice Hoyo had thrown for them.

Oh, this was bad. Maybe other houses spent their evenings in quiet rest, but at times like this, Hoyo would be inside preparing dinner, and Raiya would be ignoring her chores to practise. Her heart free-falling, Istahil approached the fence of sticks surrounding the woven domes of their three aqals. The sentient sand crunched beneath her sandals. Her brain started having an argument with the other part of her brain about whether to run. But before she could reach a verdict, Hoyo looked up, the sun glancing on the beauty mark under her narrowed eye. Both parts of Istahil's brain shut up. 

'Sit,' Hoyo snapped. Istahil sat. She glanced at Raiya, who dragged a discreet finger across her throat.

'Read,' hissed Hoyo, shoving the newspaper towards her. Istahil took it, her stomach already performing a gymnastic routine. Any situation involving having to read the news section of Sheekoyin Biacadey always ended badly. 

Ogeysiis, Ogeysiis, Ogeysiis, it said. Of course, that newspaper editor would want to make a sensation. Look at him printing out "announcement" thrice as if reporting a wedding and not some small disturbance.

The daughter of Warsame Hersi, decorated councilman, homestead leader and commander of the army's mysterious Security Unit six, has thrown mud upon her Father's name.

Oh, so when Abo walked the homestead naked apart from his boxers because he'd forgotten to keep proper records of homestead expenses and blown through his money again, that was nothing. But when Istahil let one tiny cat get a little out of control, people started shouting?

In the course of her questionable Fantastical Fluids degree, Istahil Fartun Warsame decided to enlarge a - most probably - already feral and unstable wild animal.

Cats were wild animals now?

In an action that has been dubbed as deliberately malicious by credible sources, Istahil drove the rabid animal through the prestigious duksi of medicinal herbs, weather prophecy and miscellaneous sciences and its surrounding area. Shocked sources say that she cackled madly the entire time, and may or may not have shouted 'I'll kill you all,' at some point.

As we write this article, several people have already been hospitalised with serious injuries. However, for reasons we cannot fathom, it seems that Istahil sees this tragedy as fortuitous. In a shocking twist of fate, furious sources whose lives they say she has ruined saw her buying camel meat as if preparing for Eid celebrations. She is beyond all hope. We can only pray for her.

They acted as if she woke up one day and thought 'you know what would be fun? If I set this giant cat on everyone and ruined my life.'

We arrived at the Warsame aqal for more information, but his wife, Sagal Maxamed, refused our request for comment by threatening to, I quote, 'turn those buttocks your parents refused to touch black and blue.'

How could Hoyo keep her sitting here like a criminal when she had spewed such garbage?

It is not clear why Istahil Warsame has committed this crime. However, confident sources declare that this has something to do with her mother's lax attitude in the wake of Commander Warsame's journey to Pwani. With her mother being a gorilla herself, it is clear that she is not only letting this behaviour slide but encouraging it. The banana doesn't fall far from the gorilla after all.

This cannot come at a worse time as families are already making preparations to pack up their aqals and drive their livestock to greener pastures as the resources in this encampment begin to dwindle. With her daughter's increasingly violent tendencies and her own unseemly behaviour, it is not clear whether Sagal Axmed is ready to lead this season's migration in her husband's stead.

'So, that's the angle that hyena wants to play,' Hoyo said, snatching the newspaper back, her teeth bared. 'Dokon. He can't let it go that Warsame appointed me over his sorry behind?'

'You should see the one he advertised for tomorrow,' said Raiya, 'Trickery or Bewitchment? The REAL reason why Sagal Maxamed is leading this season's move to greener pastures,' she squinted her startling amber eyes at the general direction of the newspaper aqals, 'I could go there, you know? Break all his fingers so that he never writes another newspaper again,' she threw a fist, 'and kick him where it hurts,' she threw up a leg, 'then burn the whole place to the ground.'

'Slow down, Satan,' said Istahil. If only all the boys who came, chasing her sister's amber eyes and ebony skin, could see her now. Cackling like a deranged witch doctor.

'And you,' Hoyo snarled, knocking a fist over Istahil's gadbasar. 'You fool. You idiot. You daughter of a dog's rotting carcass, you go around deciding to play with cats?'

'That's the whole problem you have with this?' said Istahil, throwing her arms over her head.

'Ilahayo, when I catch you. Actually, go back inside and give a prayer of gratitude that you weren't expelled. Go.'

'Erm,' Istahil let out a nervous laugh. 'Actually, I...I...' better get it over with. Like pulling out a thorn. Like ripping off a bandage. 'I resigned my place.'

Hoyo stared at her. She stared back. Hoyo stood up to leave. 'You've stooped so low I don't even know what to say to you,' she said as she entered the largest aqal-the one they used to receive guests. 'I can't even be angry. I pity you.'

'Istahil,' said Raiya, watching clouds gather in the horizon, 'you're an idiot.'

Istahil sighed as she started unwrapping the meat she had bought. Her money had gone to waste. Better they eat it for dinner, now. Besides, if even Raiya had started lecturing her, she must have messed up big time.

Wait, why did she even need to use Raiya as a radar? She had no resources, no school and no job. She'd gone from being a researcher to a parasite in society in a blink of an eye.

She bolted to her feet and grabbed Raiya by the shoulders. 'Yes,' she wailed, 'I am, I am. I'm the biggest idiot in the world. Pride? Who cares about pride? When did pride ever put food on the table? I'm a fool.'

'You're noticing this now?'

'What do I do? What do I do? The only thing that kept me going was knowing that I would graduate with a sellable product that would keep me comfortable and now-'

'But nobody here even the one that pioneered this science. It was-'

Istahil threw her a hot glare. Yes, she had disgraced herself, but Raiya had no right to bring that up.

'So, what are you going to do?' Raiya said, changing tack. Istahil stared at the sand, painted a dark shade of grey by the cloudy sky. The seventh month, cold and unforgiving, had arrived upon them. A fitting backdrop to her life right then.

What could she do, though? The duksi never helped her much, anyway, and, regret or no regret, she would not drag herself back to that Maalim to lick his sandals in supplication. But she needed resources. She'd put eight years into her research. She'd be damned if she let herself throw it all out the window.

Her gaze flitted around their homestead: numerous houses, framed by sticks and covered by thick, woven mats like theirs dotting the arid landscape. Light, lithe and easy to dismantle for the migration they'd do with their livestock. A pair of girls walked past their compound, balancing half-full pots of their water on their heads and chatting. When they started rationing the water, you knew migration season had gotten close. And her drama had to start now of all times.

'Uh oh,' said Raiya, shading her eyes.

'What now?' said Istahil, her head in her hands.

'Is that,' Raiya squinted. 'Abdirahman Kulow coming out of his aqal?'

Istahil fell back on the palms of her hand, her heart accelerating like an overheated irida. 'Ex-wha-he-Abdirahman Kulow? You're lying.'

'No, imagine I'm not. He's coming here. And-' Raiya tilted her head, 'that can't be the Maalim for aqal architecture and the water rationer too.'

Istahil jumped to her feet, brushing sand from the back of Dirac. Of course, Abdirahman Kulow, of all people, had to come when she had been expelled and left sitting outside like garbage. Because what else would be her life? 'Hoyo,' she shouted, running into the aqal and finding her mother arranging their pots for water. Hoyo gave her a look akin to an ogre preparing to dismember its prey. She raised her hands. 'I'm sorry, and I was stupid, and I'm an idiot and I'll find a way to dig myself out of this hole and Abdirahman Kulow is coming.'

'What?' Hoyo shrieked, abandoning the pots and looking around their aqal. 'With the place looking like this?'

To be honest, the aqal could feature in the Sheekoyin Biacadey's catalogue. A large mat, black flowers on a pink backdrop woven onto its surface, covered the entirety of the circular floor. Raiya and Istahil's school things-well Istahil's ex-school things sat in a large trunk in one corner. Hoyo had put a piece of cloth on it and decorated it with a vase of flowers. In another corner, Hoyo had arranged large, clay pots for water according to size, so that they looked more like decorations than their water store. 'Start sweeping the mat,' she ordered. 'Add some more coverage to the walls-' 

'Why do we need to cover the walls?' Istahil said. Mats woven from grass led the sticks that formed the frames of the aqal in an alternating dance of grassy cream and wooden brown. It looked decent by itself, but Hoyo, ever the overachiever, had also dyed the mats when making them so that a swirling red helix ran through the beige of the dried grass. 

 Raiya,' she shouted out. 'Milk the camel and make tea and get the kakac we cooked last week. Dakso haye.'

In a matter of seconds, Istahil, by virtue of Hoyo working her worse than a super-animal donkey, had changed the mat on the floor, tied colourful coverings on the sticks of the aqal's walls, lined the walls with sequined cushions that reflected the light of the setting so that the place sunk in a pool of gold and wiped the ceiling - which needed to be dusted because Hoyo had made it by weaving large squares of different colours and tying them to the cris-crossing sticks that made up the roof of the aqal.

'Haye,' said Hoyo, hopping in front of her daughter. 'How does my Dirac look?'

Hoyo's Dirac, as everything did about her, looked crisper than a bridegroom's breath before his wedding night. 'It's-'

'Horrible somaha?' Hoyo wailed, pulling at the yellow cloth with tiny black hearts on it. 'Black and yellow. What was I thinking? Keep them company as I ask the neighbour to style me. She's the only one short of a miracle that can help me. Raiya, where is that tea?'

Raiya rushed in with a woven mat to put over the aqal's other mat and started piling it with tea and kakac. Istahil went around lighting the incense pots with sweet-smelling unsi.

'Haye, two seconds,' said Hoyo, 'I'll be back just now. Let them eat and talk kidogo, alright?' She put a chewed stick in her mouth, and dashed off, brushing her teeth with it.

Istahil made to dash off with her, until Raiya grabbed her by the back of her gadbasar. 'Look at you, running, running over here as if you don't have work to do,' she growled.

'No, let me go, let me go,' said Istahil, her voice frantic. 'You want me to meet Abdirahman Kulow now? Do you know what I have done? He'll look at me worse than dirt. Worse than the sole of his shoe.'

'For God's sake, it's not as if he's an angel. So, you made a mistake-'

'And of course, he'll try to lecture me,' Istahil almost sobbed. 'As if I'm his child. If he wags that wrinkled, brown finger at me, I'll kill him. I'll commit old-man-icide. I'll stain my name further. I know I will.'

She intensified her efforts to escape. Raiya held on fast. Something ripped with an ominous screech. Raiya jumped back as if she had been scalded. 'Uhm, Istahil...' she held out a piece of her Dirac.

Istahil stared at it. Then felt around her body, her hands coming to rest on a torn patch right on her behind. She craned her neck to stare at it, and almost fainted at the sight of her underwear flashing a hello at her.

She wanted to kill Raiya. She wanted to mutilate her. But, before she could do anything, the sound of chatter arrived at the door.

And Istahil could do nothing but dive behind the water pots.

Hey guys, I'm writing this on behalf of the Northern and North-Eastern part of Kenya, where, ironically, Istahil's story is based. Last week, President Uhuru Kenyatta declared a national emergency due to the severe drought affecting these areas. These are my people, my family is there, and the food insecurity, which is still in its early stages, for now, makes me scared by the day. The link for IFRC Kenya, which is on the ground providing relief already is on my bio, so please follow it for donations. I'll continue updating my strategy for helping you all provide any needed help as the crisis continues. Thanks for all the love. 

This chapter is dedicated to Novel_Worm who has her skillshare class coming out soon, and I'm SO excited for it (as soon as my broke behind can afford it.) If you all don't know, Skillshare is basically this platform with loads of classes (why do I sound like a YouTube channel) and one of them is her class, teaching all about getting your book publishing-ready. So, for the writers among us who have a dream, this one's for you. 

Nyiri Nyiri: Camel meat cut into very tiny pieces, dried and fried with salt. I can't find any pictures, because the internet hates me like that, so I'll just take one and put it up the next time we cook it. 

Canjeera: I mean, people say it's ETHIOPIAN, but Somalis eat canjeera as a traditional food too. We make it by mixing flour, maize meal, hot water, and fermenter. 

Ilahayo: My God. 

Unsi: A sweet-smelling stone that crumbles when put over incense fire. 

Dokon: Fool

Kakac: Dough cut into small pieces and fried. Like beignets. 

I don't know if it unconsciously inspired it, or I came across it after writing it, but I found this video around the time I was drafting this chapter and I was like, damn 😂 the struggle isn't yours alone, Istahil. I found the video on YouTube, but please go and support the creator on TikTok. (I don't know how to link the actual TikTok here) 

https://youtu.be/HVplsnUsdaI

Y'all have horror stories about the time when everyone thought you were the resident troublemaker? I usually have an optimistic view of it all. I mean, at least people see you as someone with a bit of spice to them 😉

Thanks for your time, you wonderful reader. I hope you are enjoying yourself, and if you are, please consider leaving a vote?  

Your comments are like chocolate to my soul. They drive the dementors away. And as usual, feedback is always appreciated in this house.