But Saba returned home absent-minded. The happiness she experienced around Nasnet brought anxiety to her. Her relationship with the sex worker felt like a deliberate rebellion against her mother. In truth, though, Saba knew that everything she loved, everything she did naturally, would meet with disapproval. Saba’s instincts were the cause of her mother’s anguish. My existence itself is a crime, Saba thought, back in her hut. She sat on her blanket and closed her eyes.

The door was flung open. Zahra came in. Saba stirred. Can you not knock?

I’m sorry I surprised you.

What do you want? Saba asked. I need some sleep.

We ran out of salt and oil and I thought I could cook our lentils here and share them between us. But maybe you want me to go?

Saba shrugged.

Are you all right, Saba?

Yes.

Saba? What’s going on?

It’s the mother, said Saba. I wish she was more like yours.

How do you know my mother would have been different? asked Zahra.

She is a fighter, said Saba.

All women are fighters, said Zahra. It is just that we fight different wars. My mother carrying a gun doesn’t make her stronger than your mother, who’s been fighting for you since your father left.

Is that what your grandmother said?

I am capable of thinking for myself, Saba. Anyway, I came to cook with you. That’s all. And by the way, you should stop calling your mother The Mother.

As she turned, about to leave, Zahra said, I am going now, but maybe by the time we see each other again, you will have remembered your mother’s name.

THE MOTHER’S NAME

Mehret.

SHARING

One evening, Saba and Hagos were sitting outside their hut when Samhiya stopped by. I just want to say good evening to the beautiful brother and sister, said Samhiya.

Saba felt Hagos squeeze her hand tightly as his eyes followed Samhiya’s swinging hips. Saba felt his warmth surge through her arm.

Soon after, the judge and the committee of elders arrived in the square. They stood between the mosque and the spot where the priest held his daily prayers. Tradition is the third religion in the camp, Saba thought, as the judge mounted a chair and began preaching to the residents through his megaphone.

He squinted as he looked across the crowd, even though the sun had already sunk behind the hill. Either plenty of time has passed since we came here, or some age quicker than others, Saba thought, as she inspected her own body for signs of change. The wounds Saba had amassed over the time she had been in the camp had healed but left permanent reminders of a clock ticking, like the black patches on her left forearm and both knees.

Oil lamps flickered. A haze of yellow-orange light stretched across the square. Faces like flowers bloomed in the evening.

I am going to the toilet, Saba said to her brother.

Hagos stood up and put on his shoes. Holding hands, the brother and sister walked past the judge as he concluded his lecture with a message: