"My Name Is Fahima"
by Mayetra & Beryll
~Fahima’s POV~
My name is Fahima. I am ten years old. I don’t know when my birthday is, but the Master of Training has told me that is my age. I live in a slave training school. One of the first lessons taught is never to question what the Master of Training tells you.
I was born in Constantinople. My parents were farmers. I was their youngest child and the only female. When I was three, my father sold me to the training school so he could buy food for my brothers. The man he sold me to is the owner of the slave training school. He told my father I had pretty hair.
There are no toys here. No games or parties. The adults do not give us hugs and I miss them. My mother used to hug me all the time. Our day is a long but simple one. We get up, we do our chores, we learn our lessons, take our exercise, say our prayers and then go back to bed.
Singing is what I do best. I have been taught many songs and learned to use my voice to the best of my ability. I can read a little bit and know how to write my name. Most importantly, I have learned that I am a slave. I will always be a slave. I must always obey my masters, no matter who they are. I don’t particularly like the obey part of that lesson, but after the first few beatings, I learned to live with it.
It is a very boring existence, but today all that changed.
There was a sense of urgency and excitement in the air when we awoke. Directly
after finishing our chores, we were hustled off to the bathhouse. This is
our normal routine but today was different.
I personally was given two baths and had my hair washed three times. I don’t think I have ever been that clean. As a matter of fact, I don’t think I ever want to be that clean again. I wonder what sort of madness had affected our handlers. They seemed a bit… overzealous. I swear by Allah that I have never endured such torture. It never seemed to end. My hair was brushed so repeatedly that I thought it would fall right off and I would be bald. I wasn’t the only one who had to endure this overly long cleaning session, most of the girls around my age were treated the same.
At least the next part wasn’t so bad. They rubbed sweet smelling creams into our skin. Pretty soon, I smelled good enough to eat, like vanilla and coconut.
Finally, we were allowed to get dressed. Instead of our usually cotton tunics and trousers, however, we were given gauzy shifts. The front and back parts of the shift were tied at each shoulder and a simple cotton belt tied secured the garment at the waist.
I was so hungry by this point that I was seriously considering eating my shoes instead of putting them on. I didn’t have to wait long because we were lead into the dining room and given food. After eating, we were taken to another room and allowed to rest on simple mattresses on the floor.
I thought the worst was over, but I was wrong.
*~*
Late in the afternoon, we were taken a few at a time to another place all together. The man that seemed to be in charge was very scary. He had a mean face with a long scar on his cheek. He smiled a lot but there was nothing nice about the smile. His teeth were crooked and his skin had a yellowish cast to it. He smelled sour and his hair was very greasy.
The Master of Training gave the man some papers and then he pushed us into this little room. Some of the girls started to cry. The word spread like wildfire that we were to be sold at auction. Many had come to the training school in that manner and had been through this mysterious process. I didn’t understand what it entailed and the girls that knew wouldn’t say anything about it. I didn’t cry because I was too curious about what was to happen.
Perhaps I should have.
*~*
So here, I stand on a brightly lit, raised platform. The room beyond is not as bright and filled with a foul smelling smoke. All around the room are small tables close to the floor surrounded by brightly colored cushions upon intricately patterned rugs. Sitting around most of these tables are richly dressed men, drinking from tiny cups and pulling smoke from strange bottles. They suck it into their mouths and then blow it out again. It is a fascinating yet frightening thing to watch.
Along the walls stand other men; they are not so finely dressed. There is constant movement in the room as men come and go. Some are leaving with girls from my school. I am beginning to feel the first twinges of fear.
The scary man comes onto the stage and begins to talk. I hear my name and my age spoken. He begins to talk about the things I can do. The men listen and stare at me as he tells them I am a very good singer. I send a silent prayer to Allah that he will not ask me to sing a song for them. I do not think my voice will work.
He talks about my hair, which he says is long and feels like silk. I do not see what is so special about it. It is no different from many of the other girls from my school. The same blue-black, the same length and texture, but he continues to praise it.
Perhaps I have been too hasty in my prayers to Allah. Because before I even realize it, he removes the simple belt at my waist and unties the knots at my shoulders. The garment covering me falls to the ground. I have never been so conscious on not having on clothes before. I begin to pray for the ground to swallow me as murmurs ripple through the men. Many lean forward as if to get a better look. I am told to turn around first away from the men and then back toward them.
Then the unthinkable happens, the man on the stage invites the men in the audience to have a closer look. My heart hammers in my chest as several step forward. They look into my eyes and make me open my mouth to look at my teeth. Several touch my hair and stroke the skin on my arm.
Finally, to my relief the men trail away and return to their seats. Then I hear the scary man ask for an opening bid. To my horror, I realize that these men are trying to win a game with money and I am the prize. I understand what an auction is now.
At first, many men raise their hands and call out amounts, but then they slowly begin to stop. Finally, there are only four men left and then two. One man is rather fat with brightly colored robes and shiny rings on his fingers. The other is rather skinny and has beady eyes, like a rat I saw once. The skinny man ‘bids’ and the fat man follows that up with a higher one. I see the skinny man start to raise his hand but a new voice rings out.
Along the wall, a very tall and broad man raises his hand and calmly calls out a bid. He is the biggest man I think I have every seen. He is very dark skinned. At his sides are two very nasty looking swords sheathed in leather scabbards.
The scary man calls out to the skinny one, but he shakes his head. It seems that he no longer wishes to play the game. The fat man, however, is not perturbed by this turn of events. He continues to call out bids. The large black man calmly keeps bidding as well. I find that I want him to win for some reason. He seems ‘nicer’ than the fat man. Every time the fat man bids, I find I am holding my breath waiting for the black man to top it. I am terrified that he won’t. I want to cry but I can’t.
Finally, the fat man has reached his limit and shakes his head. He looks angry and pouts a bit. I look over at the black man and notice movement from the shadowy place next to him. Another man steps from the shadows.
He is tall but not as tall as the black man. He is dressed in long black robes with red embroidered edges. He is very handsome and strong looking. His hair is as long as my own and flows down his back. I watch as he walks up to the stage. I can’t move. In one fluid movement, he pulls his cloak off and wraps it around me. I know I should be grateful but I am scared.
He is taking me. I don’t know why no one is stopping him. The other man bought me, yet this man picks me up so that I am riding in the croak of his arm and strides toward the door. I can no longer help myself and the tears flow freely down my face.
He will not hurt me. I do not know how I know this but I do. I feel at peace, like I am going to a new home and not some horrible place. My tears stop almost as suddenly as they had begun. I am very curious about this man who is stealing me.
"My name is Fahima." I say as I look at him expectantly.
"I know, little bird."
His voice is rich, smooth and kind. I don’t mind that he is stealing me, but I am a bit worried that the bigger man who bought me might. I decide that I should warn him of the danger he is in.
"Don’t you know it is bad to steal?"
He chuckles. I don’t believe he understands what I mean. I shall try to explain it to him again.
"That other man won’t be happy that you took me. You seem very nice but he was a lot bigger than you. He might not be so nice when he catches you. Did you not see the very nasty swords at his side?" There is a concerned note to my voice so that he will understand how serious the situation is.
"Salim is my servant."
"Oh," I say sheepishly. I feel rather foolish now. My new master must think I am rather stupid.
We have left the building and are now in a yard. There is a huge, black horse there and my new master walks towards it.
"Is that your horse?"
"Yes."
"Can I ride on it too?" The horse if very pretty and I’ve never ridden on one before. I hope he says yes. He smiles at me. I like his smile; it is not mean at all.
"You will right now."
He gets on the horse without even putting me down. It was almost as if he floated up onto the saddle. I cannot help but smile at this man. My curiosity, however, is getting the better of me. I don’t know how many times I have been punished in the past for asking too many questions. I know it is wrong but I cannot help myself.
"Am I a present for someone?"
His smile deepens and I don’t believe I have ever seen a more handsome man.
"In a way."
My new master doesn’t know how to answer questions very well. At least, he hasn’t slapped me yet, so I continue.
"Are there little girls like me where we are going?" I am hoping that I will be able to make some new friends at my new home.
"No."
"Oh." I cannot keep the sadness from my voice. I was hoping that maybe, just maybe, I would be allowed to play like I did before I was sold to the slave school. "Am I going home with you?"
"Yes."
We are riding the horse through the city and I try to take in as much as I can. I have never been this far beyond the slave market before. I don’t want to miss a single thing. I don’t stop with my questions though. "Do you have a wife?"
"No."
Poor man. I wonder if his wife is dead. He doesn’t sound sad so I guess he has never married. He probably has no one to take care of him, maybe that is why he bought me.
"I know how to sing but I don’t cook very good." I hope he won’t take me back when he learns I don’t know how to prepare food.
"Well, not good. You don’t cook very well, little bird and I have a cook already."
"So I will sing for you?" I try not to sound too hopeful. The only other reason he would have bought me is to clean and I hate cleaning more than cooking. I just happen to be better at it.
"Yes."
"I like to sing," I announce happily. It is a dream come true. I can do what I like and not have to worry about cooking and cleaning. Maybe if I sing really, really well, my new master will let me play on occasion. Which gets me to thinking, if there is one thing I have always wanted more than anything else in the world, it is a kitten.
"Do you have cats?"
"No."
I look at him with what I hope is a very solemn look. I make my voice very soft as though I am about to impart the meaning of life. I want my new master to see how serious this subject is.
"You should consider getting one, they are good for catching rats." I don’t add, ‘and making kittens for me to play with’ outloud.
He doesn’t respond to my statement, so I let it go for now. A sudden fear strikes me as I remember one of my first questions.
"How long will I stay with you before you give me away?"
"I am not giving you away."
I send a quick but silent pray of thanks to Allah. "So I’m a present for you?"
"Yes."
"Is it your birthday?" I wonder if there will be a party and maybe sweets. If I am very good, maybe he will let me have some.
He chuckles softly and answers, "No."
A sudden thought occurs to me. "Do you know when your birthday is?"
"Yes."
I feel stupid again. Of course, he knows when his birthday is; he is a master and not a slave. Masters have birthdays. Slaves do not.
"That nice." I can’t keep the sadness from my voice.
We have left the main part of the city and are on the outskirts. Everything here is green and beautiful. The air is fragrant and sweet.
"Do you live near here?" I ask hopefully. It would be nice to live in such a pretty place.
"Yes."
"Is it a big house or a small one? Can I have a birthday?"
I cannot believe I just asked that. Have I gone mad? Surely I have overstepped my bounds and will probably get a beating now. I wait for him to stop the horse and deliver the slaps.
"Yes."
I am so terrified of what is to happen that I almost miss his answer. I feel such joy at such a simple gift. I am to have a birthday of my very own.
Before I can ask any more questions, we ride through an open gate in a tall wall. Beyond is a large yard with a water fountain set before a large villa. Gardens and pathways continue along the front and around the side of the building. There are several other buildings but the main villa glows from within with a golden light. It is the most beautiful place I have ever seen.
"Is this your house? You must live with a lot of people" I can imagine how many people could fit inside the main building alone.
"Yes."
I yawn sleepily. It has been a long day. "Do you have your own room or do you have to share it with others?"
A servant comes out of one of the nearby buildings and holds the horse. From the main house, an older woman emerges and hurries to the horse.
"You will have your own room, little bird," my new master says kindly as he hands me to the woman.
I smile at her and she smiles back.
"This is Crya, she will show it to you."
I nod sleepily and look back up at my new master. "Will you tell me when I turn eleven?"
He smiles at me. "Yes, little bird, I will tell you."
My eyes feel so heavy. I smile at him.
"Sleep well, little bird."
His voice seems far away, as my eyes slowly slip shut. "You too, master."
I do not know if he said anything else because sleep has finally claimed me.
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