Part 4

She fights in her dreams. As Ma tells me.

“My daughter wrestles men with no names” 

She says every time I ask how Bihija is doing. One day she woke up in the middle of the night and sat alone under the flickering lights of a July moon. She didn’t want anyone around her. Ma brought her water first and she pushed it away with the anger of two paranoid men. Her curly hair sat lazily over her beautiful eyes and she shot eyes around warning anyone who wanted to draw close that they weren’t welcome. Then Bihija started talking in a muted voice, at first to herself then to some imaginary person only she could see. 

That was the first time that Bihi saw these people and she was animated. She was yelling at them at the top of her shrill voice for hours, sometimes assuming the pose of a sumo wrestler and sometimes battling them to the ground. Ma said Bismillahi every time she seemed to take a break and sit alone again in that corner. But she would soon start kicking again. Kicking and punching and sometimes smashing her fragile fingers on the wall where the fire is set during Ramadan. 

“My daughter has lost herself to this thing, Jamal. She is emaciated and soulless. It hurts me that I can’t save her from this”

Then another time she called, and she said Bihi was not sleeping anymore. She was docile and cut a lonely figure during the day but as soon as the sun set she had a battle to fight with these people. She would sit around the fireplace alone while Ma prayed Taraweeh. Then little Fatma would rush to the prayer room almost crushing into Ma and say between her breath.

“Bibi, Bibi, Bihi is fighting those things again.”

But Ma would still pray because she believes. She believes that one day that Jinn will stop tormenting her only daughter. She prayed every time Bihi started being restless because that was all she could do, other than tying her up on days she got so aggressive she hit her face on the broken pillar that held our house. The grace on her flawless face had made space for black scars and agony. Her eyes looked empty inside and she lost the radiance with which she saw the world. Her smile had slowly waned away and now looked like a mockery of the beauty she once was. Like Ma says, she smiles like agony, and barely sees anyone. She is locked in a small world where she has to fight her way out. 

It has been two years since I flew to Baku for studies. I am on my second semester here and I miss home a lot. I miss Ma, and little Fatma, and Papa and Bihi. Thinking of my sister Bihi makes me break down in tears every day. I can only imagine how much she has deteriorated since I was once home. The day I left Jomo Kenyatta International Airport, Bihi, Ma, Papa and a few friends of Ma were with me. It’s Bihi who towed my suitcase to the plane and reminded me to call home often. She kept telling me about Baku and how much she had found out about Azerbaijan. I looked into her eyes and saw a girl whose heart was beating with ambition and unstoppable desire to be great. She wanted to fly these planes when she grew up and became like me.

“And when I get to work with these airlines, I will be calling you from all the airports and telling you how good it feels to be there. I will work first with Etihad airlines and the Turkish airlines. One day I will even own an airline of my own and name it after Papa.”

“Inshaallah Kheir”

I told her and affirmed to her that she could get anything she laid her eyes on. She was dazzling bright and topped her class since she got into preprimary. When I left home, she was just a few weeks away from sitting her K.C.P.E. She had scored straight A’s in that as soon as I settled in Baku for the start of my Winter semester. 

Then Ma started calling me to tell me about these episodes that Bihi started getting. 

“She has not been herself since she returned from Lamu with your father. When it started we thought it would go away soon. This thing isn’t stopping, Jamal. You are a doctor, what can we do?”

And Ma broke down crying. 

I kept thinking to myself how we could save my sister. Between classes, during presentations, when we sat down with my classmates to discuss something and a lot of other times I didn’t even bother to remember. 

We needed to find out if my family had any history of extreme mental issues like Schizophrenia. I thought to myself. The next time I called dad she said I was worrying myself over something way beyond us.

“Allah does not burden a soul beyond that he can bear.”

He said that and listened to the silence that ensued between us. I wanted to tell him that I couldn’t bear losing Bihi and that burden should go away. I wanted to tell him how I was doing so much research to see if we could rescue my sister. How I didn’t believe in the concept of Jinn and saw everything from a perspective of science. I didn’t tell him any of that, but Papa always knew how to pick it from me. From the other side of the call he said in a voice so sorrowful and resigned.

“This is beyond your modern medicine, son. This battle can only be Allah’s now. Make dua, Jamal, don’t forget to make dua. She needs that most. Now go, let us worry about Bihi.”

Ma called the next day. They had taken Bihi to a Masjid for special prayers. 

“They prayed for her for six hours.”

“Did they help my sister? That’s all I want to know.”

“They said they did, but I don’t feel so. She looks calm now but this is not my girl. It’s like someone else is still wearing her body.”

“Let us have faith Ma. Let us believe.”

“I want to, but the Sheikh also said something to me.”

“What did he say to you?”

“That he drove three male souls out of your sister’s body. Jinns”

I could not wrap my head around what mom had just told me. Who were they and why did they choose to torment my little innocent sister out of a billion bodies they could have picked to wear? Sometimes when I sat alone, I thought of this as some role reversal for Halloween. Instead of us wearing dead men’s costumes, dead men’s souls wear our bodies instead. Why my sister though? 

“What else did he say Ma?”

“That male Jinns are so possessive, and they will come back sooner or later. We also owe him six thousand, he drives out one Jinn for two thousand. We don’t have that now.”

“What’s going on Ma? I don’t understand anything!”

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During Halloween, my classmates in campus threw a party in the school hostels, a sizeable two-bedroom in the centre of Baku. I sat in  a corner where the light was dim and the carved out pumpkin looked at me like it had a soul inside. The house was spooky, and everyone was as scarily dressed as they could. I didn’t know what to do because Halloween was not a thing we did back in Mombasa. I sat around lifeless as the night slipped by without notice. I cast my eyes on the large spider web décor that sat next to the pumpkin. All this while, I could only think of Bihi. What was happening to my happy sister?

I sent Ma the money to pay the Sheikh. I also asked to find a phone with a camera so we can have video call on WhatsApp. She said Bihi was doing great and that she was starting to talk to the kids. She had woken up early the previous day and taken out the dirty plates to the sink outside where she had always washed them. She was more like a visitor settling into a new home. She had said Shikamoo to Papa with a smile and also rubbed coconut oil on her hair. You could pick from mom’s voice that she was relieved and upbeat again. 

“She is coming back to us. It is only a few minutes that she feels lost but she is here most of the time. That servant of Allah, may he live long”

Bihi didn’t say anything when I called them on WhatsApp later that day. She only forced a smile through her drying lips and looked at me cold and soulless. It was the first time I was seeing her since the episodes started. She had healing patches on her face and mom had dressed her left wrist. She had been pulling so hard to free herself when those things took over her. When I got enough of the emptiness in her eyes, I asked for Fatma. She was growing so fast and would soon fit in an abaya. She had a cheeky smile and played with Bihi’s hair when she talked to me. 

She told me about Eid and how she is fasting for half a day during Ramadan. Will I send her a dress for Eid? Her dera has become so old too and she wants glitters for her face. She is so adorable., Tthat little sister of mine is cute as a button. 

“I will send mom some money to get you everything you need. You know I love you right?”

She nodded, a smile all over her face. Then she said Insha’Allah in the most adorable way possible. Bihi had turned her back to the camera and was seemingly cleaning her room. I wanted them to leave the call running so I could see them from time to time but Ma said she had to return the phone. We said our goodbyes and hung up.

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