YARIMA AHMED

About this Novel

It wasn't unusual for her to sell water by the roadside, but when the child's cries pierced the air, she hurriedly set aside her water jugs to tend to him. Dropping to her knees, she gently shook him, soothing his back as she offered him cool water to drink. But his silence in response only brought tears to her eyes; she held him close, knowing his hunger but struggling to pacify him. Her heart ached as she cradled him, for she despised seeing Amed in distress. Exhausted, she settled him on her lap, tears streaming down her face. Despite her weariness, she fed him until his hunger was sated. As she watched him sleep, a wave of sorrow washed over her. She ought to worry about him now; Taya's money would sustain them. Yet, marrying Father Musa Wanda, a man nearly seventy, was no life for her. Despite her father's disapproval, tradition dictated an eight-year-old girl be wed to an elderly man. She shook her head, recalling the plight of other girls in similar marriages, their lives fraught with hardship. But life seemed determined to corner her. Straightening up, she checked on Amed, only to find him burning with fever.