Putting things in order

Today a carpenter came, built shelves and hung a rod for my wardrobe. I am finally organized--boxes and suitcases and ghana-must-go bags now neatly stacked in the wardrobe where I will no longer stumble over them in the night when I can't find my torchlight. In the afternoon, after washing clothes, I sit and read articles about ethno-religious violence. Agarbatti incense twines through the room, wispy smoke swirling upward, like the jinn in Nazir Adam Salih's novel Zayyana. I say quiet Lenten prayers at maghariba, and after the stars come out, gwanin scriptwriter Nasir S. Gwangwazo, sarkin complex characterization and plots, comes and promises me a new script to read. After a year and a half, I have finally settled--a new bookcase, a new wardrobe, small pounded brass bowls and bits of pottery scattered about--a role to play. Everything is in place. I can't bear to think about ever leaving again. Alhamdu lillah. Allah ya kaimu gaba.