Saba threw off her blanket and looked at her mother. Her frazzled grey hair strayed from under her scarf. Her sharp bones framed her dress like a clothes hanger. And according to the midwife it wasn’t due to life in the camp or the pain of exile. It was because of Saba. Saba was killing her mother.

The midwife opened a bag and prayed as she poured berbere on the incense burner. The embers sparked and sizzled. Smoke rose everywhere. It formed a barrier between Saba and the women inside the hut, women who sought to make her better. Burn her unfeminine traits on this fire, as if this were chaff clinging to her skin.

Mother, said Saba. I am sorry I am not the kind of daughter you always wanted to have. I never will be.

Saba left to go back to work. When she stood in front of Nasnet, her boss said, You smell as if you have been cooked in chilli. What happened?

Silence.

Have they found out you are working for me? Silence.

They did, didn’t they?

Saba sat in front of the bucket.

No, you are not working today, said Nasnet. Here, come inside and take a shower.

Saba didn’t move.

Come, said Nasnet. Please.

Saba gave her hand to the woman, who led her inside the hut where only men had been. Saba cast her eyes around. To the left of the door, there was a blue plastic chair lined up against the wall. Right next to it, under the window, stood a small table. Covered in colourful fabric, it was arranged with a set of china cups and silk flowers in a blue plastic vase. Further, next to the tape recorder on top of an upside-down sardine box, there was a slim wardrobe, and next to that the bed. For Saba, a bed had up to now been a place to sleep, study and dream. Here, it had a different purpose altogether. She looked away.

Come on, get ready, Nasnet said, setting off to prepare the bath. She rolled up a jute rug and lined it up against one side of the hut, and drew out a large washing bucket from under her bed. Placing it by the pole, Nasnet then strode out of the hut. Saba’s eyes darted around the hut again. The amount of furniture made the hut smaller, but the decoration and colour reminded her of when she was in her own room back home.

Nasnet returned with scented soap, shampoo and a pail with water which she placed next to the washing bucket. She gasped. Pressing a hand to her chest, Nasnet asked, My God, Saba, what happened to your thighs?

Nothing. Saba lowered herself into the bucket.

I’m sorry, Nasnet said, hugging Saba close.

Saba sank into her friend’s embrace, closing her eyes. I’m fine now. But they wanted to silence me head to toe. Shut my mouth and cut off the lips of my vagina. But I am still talking.