Nature's mirror.

What are mirrors made of? My teacher asked.
Anyone? He pressed on.
I could tell by his facial expression that he was beginning to get angry.
How did a bad-tempered man become a teacher? I thought to myself.
My gaze travelled wearily from his face to the tormentor in his hand.
Slim. Smooth. Slender.
Browny chocolate…
It wooed the air with every twist and looked tender in my teacher’s fist.
Its beauty was poetical.
It was ironical… the saying:
‘The greatest beauties cause the most pain’
I remembered Pa’s words that said: ‘the cane does not cause pain…
It is the heart from whence it came.’
What are mirrors made of? I heard the question again.
This time, my teacher left what I called his stage, walking in his usual authoritative style down the aisle…
Through rows of wooden seats and frightened eyes.
I knew Kari might know the answer.
I could tell from the smirk on his face.
He always waited until one of us was thrashed before he spilled the beans.
The next thing I heard was ‘You! Tell us…’
With the tormentor pointing in my face.
I stood up and looked out the window.
Searching the clouds and bright blue sky for answers.
Finally it hit me like a wave. (Literally)
Mirrors are made of rivers, seas and oceans, I answered.
How could I not have remembered?
Being that I came from a lineage of fishermen.
I looked at my teacher’s face… happy that I had for once broken the tradition,
Only to hear the word: ‘Idiot!’
Before my face had a chance to change expression, his tormentor was unleashed,
Like a herdsman would on a stubborn goat tugging at its leash.
Twaash! Twaash!
On my bony ***sh.
Who else?
With blurry eyes, I saw Kari lift his hand and eager eyes.
Glass… Sir…
I could still see the smirk on his face.
Clap for him!
(kpai! kpai!… kpa kpa kpai!… kpai!)
Now sing the song for this coconut head!

(Whole class sings)

At first I felt like crying, but then I smiled…
I recalled that I had seen my reflection in the river just as I had in the mirror.
As I walked home that day (kicking pebbles),
I wondered who really the coconut head was.

My Dear Selma

My name is Faruk and I live in the Selma valley. Our valley is safe… as far as I know.
My grandfather said the three giant mountains that lie on the outskirt of our valley were made for us by our warrior ancestors.
He said on the great battle of bones, as the war got intense, our warriors that guarded the North, east and west side of the valley never flinched or moved an inch.
They were like ants before a great sea of invaders who wanted our dear valley, Selma, for its black gold.
He said that day each warrior bled where he stood and the bodies of the dead were piled into heaps which is now the three mountains we see.
On certain nights, you can still hear the echoes of the voices of their loved ones, crying… wailing…
Our valley, Selma was spared that day but the blood of the slain flowed into the river by the south and its waters never were the same again.
As nature tried to heal itself and the waters evaporated by the sun’s heat, the bright red of the rivers turned the Golden sunset to crimson red.
My people are a small and secluded lot and the valley gives us everything we need for our survival. Fertile land to grow crops and a river by the south to fish.
The birds carry whispers that somewhere just across the mountains, other men have created a bird so big that it can hold a hundred men in its belly.
The fireflies say these men created a form of magic that traps the power of the sun and a thousand stars in their homes.
Unlike my people, I have the spirit of an adventurer. They say my spirit animal is a bird and this is why I can hear the whispers of birds and fireflies.
I must leave my Dear Selma and embrace this whole new world across the mountains. Maybe they would be kind enough to teach me their magic.
At the brink of dawn, I packed my few belongings and bade farewell to Ma. I looked back at the only home I have ever known. The valley shed tears of mist at my departure and I consoled it saying: I do this for you, my dear Selma... I do this for you.