Jaffar, the Nubian. Jaffar, the Shepherd.
A short story
Jaffar and his brothers, Hamza and Moto, were playing outside later that day when they saw a warrior riding towards their house. He was not Egyptian, but Nubian like them. His armor was minimal, and he wore his cow-skin shield across his back. His hair fell in short, neat locks that framed his sharp face, almost looking like a helmet.
“Baab!” shouted Moto.
Salim, the boy’s father, stepped outside, shirtless. His jaw tightened as his eyes settled on the soldier. The soldier dismounted next to the boys and gave each of them a respectful nod. He pulled out a scroll and handed it to Salim. With that he was gone, flying like the wind on his steed. Jaffar and his brothers watched as their father’s eyes scanned the note. The fury behind his eyes was bright.
“Father,” Jaffar said. “Can you read it to us?”
“No. This is not your business.”
Aamira, Salim’s wife and the boys’ mother, stepped outside the small house. “Salim, if I may interject, I think you should tell them. The boys are not even boys anymore. They are fourteen, sixteen, and seventeen. They are young men. They need to learn and know about these things.”
Salim glared at her, and Aamira shrank back into the house. Jaffar and his brothers grew tense as their father studied them all. Rarely did their mother ever speak out of turn. In the cities, women had more power, capable of being high priestesses or doctors, but in the rural areas they had no such equality. Jaffar’s heart threatened to burst from his chest. He didn’t want to see his mother get beaten, but he held in his tears.
At long last, Salim softened. “It’s a message from the new chief, Abdul Baatin. He is demanding a tribute of our livestock, as well as one of you to fight in his army.”
Salim handed them the scroll to read and walked inside, leaving them alone. The three of them sat in the dusty grass, positioning themselves so that their shadows didn’t cover the parchment. Jaffar held the scroll in his hand and cleared his throat, preparing to read.
“Greetings. This is a notice to the members of the Kaftan tribe. A new chief has been anointed as our leader. His name is Abdul Baatin. He comes to power in the wake of his father’s death, and as is custom now has control of our army, our livestock, our crops, and our lives themselves. Chief Baatin is young and ambitious, and as is the custom is determined to outdo his ancestors. He wants to conquer Egypt, starting with its southern city, Aswan. Chief Baatin needs soldiers, strong men both young and old who have brave hearts and faith in him and the gods. If you have sons, you must send at least one. Who you choose to pick is up to you. If you fail to deliver a son when one is in your possession, your family will become slaves to the chief. You have until the next full moon to gather outside of the town called Nyala. Pray to your gods before you depart. May peace be upon those who read this.”
Hamza and Moto looked at one another, then Jaffar. Jaffar’s eyes watered as the meaning sank in. “I’ll do it. I’ll go. If I go, you two can stay home and look after hinin and baab. This is my chance to be something else. I will take it.”
Jaffar was terrified and elated at the same time. The gods had chosen him and given him a chance to do something different, to defy fate. He hugged his brothers tightly, so tight that he could barely breathe.
Hamza cried silently as they embraced, pulling away first. “You’re not a man yet, but when you come back you will be, no matter how young you may still be.”
Jaffar prepared to leave his family behind. He didn’t have any belongings to carry with him other than the clothes on his body and his water skin, but upon telling Salim the news his father surprised him with a curved, short sword. Salim unveiled it before his family, pulling it out from beneath a wooden slab in his small bedroom.
“Take this with you. I do not know how it came into my family’s possession, but it has been passed down to me by my father, and to him by his father. We are cattle herders, but this is the only true weapon we have. A sword is not like a bow and arrow. It is only mean to kill and maim. It isn’t a tool of life, but one of death. Remember that, Jaffar.”
On their last day together as a family Salim killed one of the older cows for its meat. Together, Hamza and Moto went to town and brought back herbs and vegetables to cook with. Aamira cooked everything together, mixing rice with vegetables, searing meat in a small iron pan, and even baking a small loaf of bread. All of this was done for Jaffar in celebration as well as preparation for what could be their last time seeing him alive. Jaffar held his brothers extra tight that night as they slept too. Everyone woke up before the sun the next day. Aamira hadn’t slept at all. She cried even as she had cooked breakfast. Salim ushered his sons outside, urging them to give their mother time to grieve. He held Jaffar by the shoulders firmly. His gaze was stern, but his eyes were worried, glistening with tears and fear.
“Jaffar,” he said, hesitating. “Are you sure you want to do this?”
“Yes. If I don’t go Hamza or Moto will have to, or you will, and we aren’t ready to handle the herd on our own. Mother would be lost without you.”
Salim looked at Jaffar’s brothers, silently pleading with them to volunteer, but they remained silent. He swallowed hard, holding back tears. “You are already much braver than your brothers or I have ever been. Horus is within you. I believe that. Promise me you will not forget us and that you will come back home.”
Jaffar nodded quickly, his throat painfully tight. “I promise, Father!”
Salim took a shuddery breath and hugged him tighter than Jaffar had ever experienced. He felt his father’s body heave with tears, then felt his brothers closed in around him. They all cried, collectively mourning their separation. At last they came apart. Salim wiped their tears, then his own. “Go say goodbye to your hinin. Be strong for her. Do not cry. Once you do that, take a horse and ride to Nyala, to the east. Hurry before a spirit possesses us and we do not let you leave. May peace be upon you, Jaffar. We love you. We will miss you.”
Jaffar wiped his tears and ran to the house. For a moment it was hard to see in the darkness, but his eyes adjusted. He found his mother, sitting by the cooking fire, stirring the burning embers with a charred stick.
“You’ve come to say goodbye.” She said, her voice quiet.
“Yes, mother. I have to go. One of us has to. The chief commands it.”
“I know what he commands. I know it is not our place to question those above us, whether they are gods or men. I hate this world most days. I’ve been robbed of almost everything, every chance to have something of my own. Now I’m being robbed of my son, of a life I brought into this world. Your father should be the one to go, but he won’t. He won’t even command his oldest son to go in your place, but it’s because you are more of a man than any of them.”
Jaffar was silent. He’d never heard his mother talk this way. If Salim had heard Aamira’s words he would’ve beaten her for blasphemy. She was speaking against the way of the world, the natural law, and Salim’s way of running the household. . The two of them were in a moment like no other, a strange crossroad where everything mattered and nothing did.
“I have to go hinin. The journey is long.”
“I know.” Aamira stood and embraced him. “Please, pray for us and yourself while you are away. All we have is love, family, and prayers. That’s all we have.”
Jaffar squeezed her as she began to weep again, and he pulled himself away. He couldn’t stay to console her. If he did, he would never leave. Aamira sensed this and swept back the curls on his head, kissing his forehead kindly, then gently pushed him away.
“Goodbye, Mother,” Jaffar said, opening the door. “I love you. Until we meet again.”
The sun landed on Aamira’s face, illuminating her tear-streaked face. “I love you. May peace be upon you my son.”
Jaffar stepped outside to find a horse already waiting for him. His brothers and father were nowhere to be found. The herd, too, was gone. Jaffar mounted the horse and adjusted the sword and waterskin on his back, as well as the small pouch of food his mother had given him.
“Yah!” he shouted.
The horse took off towards the east, carrying him further towards Nyala and farther from his home. He glanced backwards, hoping to see one last sign of everything he knew, but it had already disappeared behind the sea of swaying grass and rolling hills. The day had just started. Jaffar didn’t know how far he would travel or how long it would take. Perhaps he was not meant to know. Gods, I trust in you. Besides my family you are all I have. Please protect me.
Thank you for reading. I hope you enjoyed this brief short story. Please, comment your thoughts and share. I hope to see you return.