HOME | DD

Description
I woke up to the sun in my eyes, peeking through the cracks in the roof. The smell of smoke reached my nose; mother must have already started the cooking fire. It looks like I’ve woken up late. Rubbing my eyes, I stood up from my cowhide mat and walked out of the hut, temporarily blinded by the bright light of the sun suddenly shining in my eyes. I blinked a few times, getting used to the intensity before I saw mother, just as I had thought, tending to the boiling water above the cooking fire. I looked past her, and I could see father tending to the cattle. Here in Africa, as my father always says, “If you don’t have cattle, you won’t be a person.” I eventually got too wrapped up in staring, until my mother’s voice pulled me from thought. “Come over here and help me with the food, little Asali.” I looked up, nodded after processing her words, and walked over to the boiling pot. My parents named me Asali, which means “sweet honey”, because I’ve always loved honey since I was little, though we don’t often have it. I sat cross-legged next to my mother, and leaned over to peer curiously into the pot. Our food this morning consisted of vegetables. Although we had a lot of cattle, the herd was rarely slaughtered, as they were very valuable. After the vegetables were done cooking, father came over and we all sat around the pot and ate. We soon all finished, and mother stood up and beckoned to me. “Come, little Asali, you are to accompany me into town today.” I smiled widely; she knew I loved going. “Okay,” I said, nodding in response and standing, taking her hand as we walked. We didn’t live far from the city, you see, and we were able to walk there when we needed things.
We got there soon enough, and we walked swiftly down the streets. Mother’s eyes were focused ahead in determination, but mine darted this way and that, studying merchants from the different parts of the world. I always had loved the diversity of these big cities, seeing all the foreigners that come here to trade their goods for our African ones. There were merchants here from Egypt, the Mediterranean, and many Arabs. Each one had their distinctive features—eyes, clothes, and skin. Listening to all the different conversations being carried on in different languages fascinated me, although I didn’t know much of any of them. We passed booths selling jewelry, pottery, woven baskets, and arrowheads. Many things caught my eye, and I often tried to pull mother over to said booths, but she wouldn’t have it. She had a firm grip on my arm, and pulled me away from them and continued down the street. I wasn’t sure what she wanted, but soon she stopped at one booth, being tended by an Arabic-looking man. They carried on in conversation, mother pointing at several foods, spices, and sparkling glass bowls, the man shaking his head and gesturing with his hands. Finally, after several minutes, mother and the man shook hands, and she took with her glass bowls filled with many foods and spices in exchange for a few vegetables and other things. I smiled; my mother was always so clever.
We soon arrived back home, and father smiled when he saw what we had brought back. “So you girls had success today?” He said with a smile on his face. I nodded, smiling happily back. “Oh yes, mother was so clever; she got all this for a few vegetables!” I said enthusiastically, and this made him smile wider. “You always did like going to the market, Asali.” I nodded once more, walking out to sit in the farm field and watch the sky. I laid on my back, hands folded behind my head and watched what little clouds there were float on by in the sky. We always regarded the soil as sacred, and as our source of life itself; our ancestors farmed it, we did, and our descendants would as well. Everything that sustained us came from the land. I eventually fell asleep in the field, and could feel my mother carry me back to the hut and set me back on my cowhide mat, and then I fell fast asleep again.

Description
I woke up to the sun in my eyes, peeking through the cracks in the roof. The smell of smoke reached my nose; mother must have already started the cooking fire. It looks like I’ve woken up late. Rubbing my eyes, I stood up from my cowhide mat and walked out of the hut, temporarily blinded by the bright light of the sun suddenly shining in my eyes. I blinked a few times, getting used to the intensity before I saw mother, just as I had thought, tending to the boiling water above the cooking fire. I looked past her, and I could see father tending to the cattle. Here in Africa, as my father always says, “If you don’t have cattle, you won’t be a person.” I eventually got too wrapped up in staring, until my mother’s voice pulled me from thought. “Come over here and help me with the food, little Asali.” I looked up, nodded after processing her words, and walked over to the boiling pot. My parents named me Asali, which means “sweet honey”, because I’ve always loved honey since I was little, though we don’t often have it. I sat cross-legged next to my mother, and leaned over to peer curiously into the pot. Our food this morning consisted of vegetables. Although we had a lot of cattle, the herd was rarely slaughtered, as they were very valuable. After the vegetables were done cooking, father came over and we all sat around the pot and ate. We soon all finished, and mother stood up and beckoned to me. “Come, little Asali, you are to accompany me into town today.” I smiled widely; she knew I loved going. “Okay,” I said, nodding in response and standing, taking her hand as we walked. We didn’t live far from the city, you see, and we were able to walk there when we needed things.
We got there soon enough, and we walked swiftly down the streets. Mother’s eyes were focused ahead in determination, but mine darted this way and that, studying merchants from the different parts of the world. I always had loved the diversity of these big cities, seeing all the foreigners that come here to trade their goods for our African ones. There were merchants here from Egypt, the Mediterranean, and many Arabs. Each one had their distinctive features—eyes, clothes, and skin. Listening to all the different conversations being carried on in different languages fascinated me, although I didn’t know much of any of them. We passed booths selling jewelry, pottery, woven baskets, and arrowheads. Many things caught my eye, and I often tried to pull mother over to said booths, but she wouldn’t have it. She had a firm grip on my arm, and pulled me away from them and continued down the street. I wasn’t sure what she wanted, but soon she stopped at one booth, being tended by an Arabic-looking man. They carried on in conversation, mother pointing at several foods, spices, and sparkling glass bowls, the man shaking his head and gesturing with his hands. Finally, after several minutes, mother and the man shook hands, and she took with her glass bowls filled with many foods and spices in exchange for a few vegetables and other things. I smiled; my mother was always so clever.
We soon arrived back home, and father smiled when he saw what we had brought back. “So you girls had success today?” He said with a smile on his face. I nodded, smiling happily back. “Oh yes, mother was so clever; she got all this for a few vegetables!” I said enthusiastically, and this made him smile wider. “You always did like going to the market, Asali.” I nodded once more, walking out to sit in the farm field and watch the sky. I laid on my back, hands folded behind my head and watched what little clouds there were float on by in the sky. We always regarded the soil as sacred, and as our source of life itself; our ancestors farmed it, we did, and our descendants would as well. Everything that sustained us came from the land. I eventually fell asleep in the field, and could feel my mother carry me back to the hut and set me back on my cowhide mat, and then I fell fast asleep again.