Of course, Sidi saw nothing wrong with what she did. Of course, she didn't.

'Listen,' she said as Akiba shoved the communiror at her chest and began to walk off, 'listen, sitting around twiddling our thumbs would have done literally nothing so...'

Akiba paused to glare at her. 'I sit around twiddling my thumbs?'

'Well, in all honesty...'

'Don't talk to me,' she continued walking, 'You think you can sit around giving me any more of your nonsense Sidi Malifedha? Try me, if you're a woman, then.'

And she pushed past her sister and left. The sky had begun to turn into a kaleidoscope of gold and purple, the sun covering the trees dotted here and there on the large training field in a blanket of gold. Even the birds had started their daily morning racket. Everything around her revelled in the burst of a new dawn. Except for her. Somehow, God had seen it fit to sink her deep into a personal nightmare.

A short walk from the training grounds revealed the beach, which Akiba flopped herself down on and watched the waves in the sea crashing forward and pulling back. Their hypnotic movement let her focus on her racing mind. Maybe she could write to Mwitu and tell him that Sidi had pranked him. Or tell him to sit his obstinate behind back in Biacadey, and this didn't concern him. Or go to Biacadey and knock him unconscious until she had resolved whatever tangle Sidi had put them into. She groaned and threw an elbow over her eyes. She'd gone mad if she thought they would work. As if Sidi would be crazy enough to prank Mwitu of all people. As if Mwitu of all people would listen to anyone's orders.

A little pebble interrupted her web of thoughts, and she looked up to see Baba. An hour after dawn. Clinging to the top of a palm tree.

'Bintiye,' he grinned, throwing down a bag of coconuts, 'here, take this.'

Akiba caught it. Every time Baba referred to her as my daughter, it never ended up being anything good. 'What's it for?' she said. She would have asked what had sent him tree climbing like a restless monkey when he should have been sleeping or in prayers, but she could only deal with so much nonsense so early.

'Well,' Baba climbed down and grinned at her, 'doesn't it look like a head?'

A terrifying image of Mama waking up and groping towards Baba's side only to find a bunch of coconuts surfaced in Akiba's mind. 'How are the two of you still together?' she said.

Baba slung an arm around her shoulders, 'it's because we use you as collateral,' he sang.

'Something's wrong with you. And what do you need to sneak out of the homestead to do, anyway?'

His smile turned cryptic as he rested a hand on her head. 'I'll tell you when you're older.'

'Babangu,' said Akiba in her sweetest voice, 'do I look like a child to you? I'm old enough to get married, you know?'

'Then, when you get prettier. Though I should choose a more realistic timeline, seeing as that will never...'

Akiba grabbed a coconut and aimed it at his head. He dodged it, laughing, and wrapped his arm around her shoulders once more. 'Don't worry, don't worry, I'm not sneaking out of the house, yet,' he said. 'If you must know, the coconuts are for a very important project...'

'If you secretly wanted to be a Madavu vendor, Baba, no one's stopping you.'

'I wish. Ah, ah, it's nothing big. I just wanted you to carry this to...you know that market near the harbour?'

'Y-e-e-s...' said Akiba.

'So, we'll follow each other there. A girl is getting out of the irida in the harbour. She should have these slightly crooked glasses on her face, and a lab coat that may be too big for her and she should always be looking a little lost...'

Baba had a tender look on his face as he talked, which, for some reason, made something fire up somewhere in Akiba's chest. She could imagine the girl now. That lost look had to be an act. Baba always fell for people who looked like they couldn't take care of themselves. And didn't she have her own Baba to take care of her? The snake. 'Baba,' she said, keeping her voice light.

'Hm?' said Baba.

'Is she your illegitimate child?'

Baba choked so hard he doubled over and his fez hat tumbled from his head. 'Excuse me, what?'

Akiba rushed to help him, forcing him up and straightening the kikoy he wore below his blue, button-down shirt. 'Sorry. I'm sorry. I was just...'

'She's your cousin,' Baba spluttered. 'Waridi. You remember Waridi, don't you?'

'Oooh,' said Akiba, acting as if she hadn't called Bi Faraja's daughter Baba's illegitimate child. That is it could be possible but...she screeched internally and tried to bleach the terrifying thought from her mind. 'Yes. Si she's the one who went to the duksi of weather prophecy, medicinal herbs and miscellaneous sciences?'

'Mm, She finished her course, so she's coming back from Biacadey today.'

'Are we going to greet her?' said Akiba, trying to summon a bit of excitement and failing. She had always half-wished that Bintiamu Waridi never existed - what with Baba saying she'd be a big help when a complex growth hormone cycle frustrated him and dividing his savings for her as if Shangazi Faraja wasn't on the other side doing the same thing. Waridi belonged to Shangazi Faraja. Not Baba.

'No, we're going to mug her.'

'You don't have to be so sarcastic, I...' she turned to see that Baba had covered the lower half of his face with a kitambaa, the tail end of the bandana dangling to the first button of his shirt. 'Baba,' she said with a patient smile. 'Is this mid-life crisis? Are you acting out?'

Baba handed her the sack. 'I've told you her description, sio? Alright, operation "knock clueless passenger out," is underway.'

'You mean operation "be a criminal," is underway. Has your one brain cell given you a leave of absence?'

'Akiba,' Baba grasped her shoulders, his large hands warm. 'Mpendwa...'

'Go to Mama if you want a wife to hit on.'

'Ah,' Baba steered her forwards. 'I have the best daughter in the world.'

'Not gonna work.'

'She deserves the sun. She deserves the moon. She deserves twenty Zuhuras.'

'I'm not...wait, are you serious?'

'And an appointment to that really expensive msusi for Eid. Kwanza, did you know eti Eid is around the corner? Does that msusi braid your cornrows using gold, though? Why are you all so obsessed with her?'

'You better not be lying,' said Akiba. 'That lady's fee is five zeibakis...'

'And one Zuhura is eighty zeibakis. I'm not paying her fee. You are.'

Somehow, in the middle of all the talking, they had crossed towards the busier side of the beach. Where fishermen sat repairing their nets next to their tiny boats and women in colourful lesos carrying the baskets like crowns on their heads or dangling them on the inside of their elbows disappeared in and out of the market.

'Alright, let's get into position,' said Baba.

'I didn't even...' Akiba began.

Baba handed the bag of coconuts. 'You are some sweet innocent girl going to sell this when you bump into your target and it all spills. Understand?'

'I understand you are insane.'

'Swadakta,' Baba handed her the bag of coconuts, 'don't fail me, Akiba wangu.'

'Wait,' Akiba spluttered, 'this...' Baba disappeared, leaving her standing there with the bag of coconuts like an abandoned child. No, not like an abandoned child. The fact that Baba had left her here all confused-like made her an abandoned child. She hated him.

Muttering several insults about smelly old men under her breath, Akiba hoisted the bag of coconuts on her back and walked towards the market. Past the casual chaos of the fishermen on the beach, you'd climb up a set of stairs, then enter a roofless tunnel hewn from coral where the true chaos took place. 

In each of the arches on the side of the tunnel, a vendor resided, the tunnel a paper to tell the story of their wares in. Lesos fluttered in like colourful birds, spices and perfume trailed their seductive scent on the sunny corridor and waimbashairi sang their poems to coin's ears. Akiba stopped for a while to listen to them. Maybe, after all this stress, she could go to the Pwani's well of wisdom, open a book of poetry and get lost in the magic it would weave. The thought made her remember Bin Hamudi's ode to his craft. Know I love you when I speak to you in verse. When my lips try to ape God's tongue. 

The closer to the irida at the end of the tunnel transporting goods and people you got, the more valuable things became. Until, when you at least reached the vortex of colours on thin air, if you didn't have silk draped on your frame and gold on your limbs and spiced every meal with cloves, then you had to be there to pick someone from the irida, or using it to travel to far-off cities. 

Akiba slung the bag of her coconuts onto her shoulder and tried not to make eye contact. She didn't know how many people recognised her as the councilman's daughter and not a crazy bag-lady, but she could swear she heard someone reporting a "beggar-woman carrying a bag of most probably stolen coconuts" to the police.

She ignored that and focused on the crowd coming out of the irida. Her eyes zeroed in on a girl with large, owlish eyes made even larger and more owlish by massive round glasses sitting crooked on her nose. Despite coming from a journey, she wore only lesos on her head and waist and a kanga. As if she had slipped out of bed to go grocery shopping. Normal women travelling in their buibuis gave her a weird look as they passed. A large lab coat draped her dumpy frame. A terrible sense of fashion and looking like a lost sheep. It had to be her.

Akiba made her way towards her, her sack of coconuts weighing on her back. She let herself fall a little when she came close, bumping onto the girl and making the coconuts fall everywhere.

Baba always praised Waridi for her intelligence. Let her make a fool of her a little. 'My coconuts,' Akiba wailed, 'you horrible person.'

Everybody paused.

Akiba hid her face in her knees and sobbed. 'I can't believe you. I'm nothing but a poor peasant slaving away one coconut at a time to save her terminally ill mother...'

'Oh God,' said Waridi. 'I am SO sorry. Here, uh, let me help you, um, just a second, I'll...' she moved around, picking up the scattered coconuts.

'Picking them up won't help,' Akiba wailed. 'Nobody wants desecrated coconuts. You desecrated them. You molested them. I want compensation.'

She peeked up a little. The sight of Waridi moving on her knees, picking up the coconuts and getting jostled by people's haywire legs gave her a savage sense of satisfaction. Not so smart now, wasn't she?

Something caught her eye. She looked up. Baba sneaked in the shadows. He put a finger on top of his mask. Sneaking around looking like a badly-costumed thief for a low-budget kikweohadithi story. The idiot. Did he want to get caught?

'Wewe,' said a voice. 'What are you...'

Baba dived forwards, rolled and jumped like a gymnast. To stunned faces, he tore Waridi's bag from her shoulder. She shrieked. Baba swayed. Pirouetted. Then did a grande jetê away.

'Mwizi,' shouted someone from the crowd. The cry rallied up stunned observers like a steroid. As one, the men yelled and dashed forwards. Baba evaded them like a slippery eel. He kicked up a broom so that it smashed into one man's groin. The crowd surged back.

Amidst the chaos, Waridi picked up a coconut. Akiba didn't register her plan until she aimed. 'This confused caterpillar,' she muttered, 'thinks it can just scutter around here doing whatever it wants. GIVE ME SPACE.'

A few people, those who saw the murder on her face made way. Waridi bent back almost double. Her eyes flashed. Her leg straightened. With a cry, she let the coconut fly. It arced through the air like a missile. The crowd chasing Baba dispersed further. It slammed hard into the back of his head. Baba fell onto his nose.

Everyone turned to stare at her. She grinned and curled a forefinger. 'Bring him here.'

Two men hoisted Baba up by his armpits and brought him forward. He looked like a criminal being brought to an executioner. 'I can explain,' he said through his mask once they set him down. He pointed at Akiba. 'For one thing, she's an accomplice.'

Everyone turned to her and gasped. 'What do I have to do with a dusty, smelly beggar of a criminal like that?' Akiba protested. 'I'm an innocent coconut seller. I swear.'

'Remove his mask,' said someone. 'Let's see the face of the criminal we have to bring to the councilman.'

They tore off Baba's mask and an even bigger gasp ensued. 'It's...' someone said in a hushed whisper, 'it's the councilman.'

'Uhm,' said Baba with a sheepish grin. 'Hi.'

'Ami?' said Waridi, her eyes wide. 'Uh...sorry, I think...we've got the wrong...this is a misunderstanding...that's my uncle.'

Seeing a potential PR disaster on the horizon, Akiba stepped up. 'Aki,' she said, 'si the councilman can conduct an impromptu test of the common wanapwani's response to thievery, honestly. Kwani what is wrong with that?' 

'Ohhh,' said someone from the crowd, 'he was testing us.' 

'Of course,' said Akiba with a smile. 'Do you see anyone bringing anyone else to the kadhi? This is nothing but an elaborate skit put together by the councilman and his niece,' she inflected the last words so hard anyone with an ounce of suspicion on their faces started looking ashamed of themselves, 'to test whether we care about each other or we'd just let poor travellers get robbed.' 

The crowd shifted. Akiba let out an internal sigh and pulled the money card. 'So, can the brave men who brought our "criminal" forward come for the prize of...of...' Why not teach Baba that you couldn't go around mugging people while she was at it? 'Five Zohalis?' 

'Uh, Akiba wangu,' Baba cleared his throat. 'Are you sure you mean five Zohalis? As in, the Zohalis, one-fifty of which make up Zeibakis? As in those Zohalis?' 

'Safi,' said one of the men, who had caught Waridi, 'you're a man of the people, councilman, Bwana.' 

'He is, he is,' said Akiba, her hands clasped and eyes shining. Approving murmurs came from the crowd. Baba glared at Akiba. She beamed back. 

'Come to the homestead next week after dawn prayers,' said Baba at last. 

The crowd cheered and dispersed, leaving Waridi to turn to Baba. 'Ami,' she said, helping him up. 'What are you doing? And why did you steal my tickets? Si I'm going to see Mama with those...'

Baba removed his fez hat and dusted it without looking at her. 'Waridi,' he said. 'Don't. Please don't. You'll just end up hurting her and yourself.'

'But...but...' Waridi shook her head. Looking at her, Akiba couldn't help her heart twisting. The sight of her, tall, bookish and looking all alone and lost in the world had this perverse air to it. 'I want to see her and...'

'And how do you know she wants to see you?' Baba asked. 'You left Faraja for seventeen years, Waridi. Seventeen. She's begged you and sent you kijioo letters, and looked for you, and cried herself to sleep because of you and you think she'll accept you with open arms after that? '

'But...' tears sprang up in Waridi's eyes. She gritted her teeth. 'I'm going to see her.'

'Waridi,' Baba shook his head. 'Honestly...listen.'

'Give me my bag,' Waridi snatched the bag off Baba's shoulders and stomped off.

'Aki,' Baba sighed. 'That girl. Akiba, let's get ourselves Matatu tickets also.'

'Wait, wait, wait, wait,' said Akiba. 'Are we following her?'

'We are following her,' Baba said, his mouth set in a grim line. 

Sabahalkheri: Good Morning. 

Biacadey: No, you haven't read wrong, the c is really in that awkward position. It is used in the Somali language to give the letter A, a heavy quality, similar to the Arabic letter ع. Therefore, consider the name Aleykum. In English, it would be written as Aleykum. In Arabic, it would be written as عليكم. In Somali, it would be written as Caleykum. I literally can't find a decent pronunciation of it on the internet, so try saying the A from the back of your throat instead of from the front like it's usually said. The name Allah would have the letter A pronounced normally. So, in English it would be Allah, in Somali, it would be Allah and in Arabic, it would be اللة. 

Mungu Wangu: My God

Si: No, I don't mean the Spanish word for yes. This is usually used before a sentence when someone is responding to an obvious question or referring to something that should be obvious to both speakers. Like, if I give someone a plate and a pot of food and they ask me what the plate is for, I'll say, 'si it's to eat with' If a friend who knows I'm busy accuses me of neglecting them I could say 'si I have work,' it can also be used as a substitute of aren't they or isn't she/he/it... 'si they are the ones/si it is the one' etc.

Msusi: Literally translates to "one who braids hair"

Mwizi: Thief

Madavu: Coconut milk. 

The fez hat: I've recently learnt that there is a Turkish fez hat, so here are the ones Swahili and Somali people typically wear for reference. 

Note that they are the unadorned ones. Like, the ones without those rope-things hanging from them. 

Announcement

- I have changed a scene in the paragraphs above to help set up later chapters. (Sorry to any early readers) That part where Akiba is thinking will now be changed to her praying. (She needs those prayers 😭) Her thoughts are still the same, though.

- Communirors will be referred to as Kijioos from now on to facilitate cultural authenticity. 

This chapter is dedicated to Kaineeh. You have literally made posting this book, like, a thousand times more fun. If you all haven't read her amazing book, House of Rhyme and Ruin, then you're MISSING OUT! First, can't you tell from the name? Second, it has everything. Wraith (Kaz Brekker's brother from another mother) the Mafia-CEO, (except his demeanour would put all the Mafias and CEOs you see floating around here on Wattpad to shame) Leila who's ten times more badass than Throne of Glass's Celaena (and I stand with those words. Come at me) and writing that would make you think the stars themselves had decided to pick up a pen. Her writing's infinitely better than mine, so if you're enjoying this book (Thank youuu ❤️), I feel how obsessed you'll be with hers. 

This is the last time I'm re-uploading these blocks of chapters, don't worry. I shall naturally be taking a huge review of the book once I finish part 1, and I have promised myself I'm not touching this until then. 

So, yeah. For you, lovely reader, who I've put through so much, I am sorry. 

And lastly, I love reading your comments, they make my day. I love them.  And if this story is catching your fancy...

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