“Oh the wailing, the contortions kept us up all night,” several people told Osman, when he returned from his job as the night watchman for the American Peace Corps woman. “None could sleep. Your wife has the loudest, most piercing howling I’ve ever heard. She was tearing her hair, throwing ashes from the fire about, rolling on the ground and scaring the goats and the children, The women finally quieted her down this morning.”
The compound was in turmoil. Cooking pots were scattered on the ground and clothing had caught on thorny shrubs. The fire had died, and a goat wandered about in the ashes. It looked as though baboons had been playing there. Osman called for Hadija and women came screaming out of the aqual like a pack of wild dogs. There is nothing worse than women who are bent on your destruction. All men know this.
“Osman!”
“Osman, Hadija is very ill,” they were all talking at once.
“She’s been up all-night moaning and crying.”
“She tried to throw herself into the fire.”
“We had to hold her to keep her from wandering off into the desert.”
Suddenly, as if to prove the point, sounds of wailing and moaning came out of the dark interior of the aqal. The women paused, mesmerized by the increasing moans when suddenly Hadija appeared and ran towards Osman.
Her hair was not covered as Islam commanded. It was all astray and stood up around her head. She was a bulky woman and she groped at Osman with staring dark eyes which were glassy and intense. She had bleeding gashes in her face and her dress was torn. She screamed and grabbed at her husband. Osman tried to comfort her and was locked into a frantic and painful embrace for his trouble. They both fell down in the scramble. When he finally extracted himself from her grasping hands she crawled after him and grabbed at his ma’aweiss.
“Hadija, what is it? What is wrong my dearest love?” Osman asked, gasping for air. But it was hopeless to talk because she lay writhing on the ground, kicking, biting at the dust, and shaking.
The women carried Hadija back into the aqal and laid her on the sleeping mats. She moaned and screamed for what seemed like half the morning. Finally the sounds got softer and subsided, but she was a strong woman and could writhe for a long time. Mercifully the sweet peace of Allah’s desert returned. Osman sat outside the hut and wrung his hands all afternoon until he could escape to his watchman job.
When Osman cautiously went home the next morning, he was greeted by deathly silence. His wretched wife was lying inside the aqal and had not moved all night. She was weak and feverish.
The women were concerned. She had not eaten anything and would only sip a little milk from time to time. Osman skulked about the place like an unwanted relative, feeling as though somehow he had caused this, and that he had better do something to make this better. Osman wondered no matter what happens, why is it always the husband’s fault? The poor man wandered around the compound for a while but could not endure the reproachful looks from the women who had taken over the place. His sister decided to call the medicine woman to see why Hadija was acting so strangely.
The old woman was blind in one eye and the shriveled socket gave her a fearsome look. She stared at Osman with her good eye before she entered the aqal. He could hear low moaning and talking but he could not follow the words. The medicine woman came out and stood over him, squinting with that grotesque eye. “Hadija is being tormented by a saar,” she said spitting the words at Osman. “This saar is an evil spirit that takes possession of women who are despondent,” she said accusingly. “Your loyal wife has become so unhappy she has no strength to fight off this spirit. She does not care anymore,” the medicine woman continued, reproach spilling out of her mouth like an overfilled milk vessel.
“What can I do?”
“You must make your wife want to live again, so she will banish the saar from her body.”
“How can I do that?” Osman whined, hoping for pity.
“A new petticoat would help. Hers is old and torn. She has nothing soft and beautiful next to her skin.”
“A new petticoat?” Osman had no money for a petticoat. There was no place to turn but to his American, his benefactor, his rich employer. Even though she was not a Muslim, even an unbeliever must understand her obligation to help his wife, he thought. This American must help him rid his wife of this affliction. That very night he approached her.
“Jeanne, I must talk to you. Hadija is very ill.”
“Osman, I am so sorry to hear that,” she said looking up from the student papers she was grading.
“I need money.”
“Osman, the doctors at the hospital in Hargeisa will help. I will pay the hospital bill.”
“She doesn’t need a doctor; she needs a new petticoat.”
“A petticoat?” the American said with wide eyes.
“She has become possessed by a terrible saar spirit.”
“Hadija is possessed?”
“Oh yes. It has been terrible this past week with her moaning and crying. I can’t get any sleep. This spirit won’t leave her body. Some presents would make her fight off this dreadful saar and force it to leave her alone.”
“Osman, I am going to give you some important advice,” Jeanne said crossing her arms on her chest.
Osman knew he was in trouble when Jeanne said that. “Hayea.”
“Your wife is manipulating you. You must not give in to this, or she will learn it is effective and do it again. Osman, just ignore this and you can teach her a lesson. There is no such thing as a saar.”
Osman understood that he could never convince this American that Hadija had been possessed by a saar. He guessed they do not have such spirits in America, so Americans don’t believe in them. That was a good protection for them. However, Hadija did believe in spirits and that is just how one got into her. Now that she was possessed, she was not going to believe that there were no spirits. Osman was not foolish enough to go to his wife and tell her the saar was all in her mind and if she just ignored it, it would go away. Then he had an idea.
“You came with me and inform Hadija that there is no such thing as a saar,” he said.
The next morning Jeanne followed him up to the outskirts of Hargeisa where the Midgaan’s lived. Hadija came out of the aqal when they approached, screaming, tearing her hair and throwing dust at them. She started to kick at Osman from the ground, and howl. Babies began to cry and chickens scattered. It took several women to drag her back into the house.
Frightened by the intensity and strength of this women, Jeanne immediately gave Osman the money to buy his poor possessed wife a new petticoat and whatever else he needed. She immediately went back down to her house with her eyes wide open and almost stumbled in her hurry.
Osman hurried into town to buy a goat to roast, spices and rice to stuff it with, and yards and yards of white cloth for a petticoat. The mullah agreed to come and recite holy passages of the Quran to drive away this evil spirit.
Praise Allah! The holy prayers, the special dancing, and the gifts worked a miracle. Hadija recovered her strength and fought the troublesome saar out of her body. She was soon up and shouting orders at Osman.
• Jeanne d’Haem was a Peace Corps Volunteer in Arabsiyo in Somaliland in 1968. She is an emeritus professor at William Paterson University in New jersey. She is the author of three prizewinning books: The Last Camel, Desert Dawn and Inclusion: The Dream and the Reality in Special education.
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