Sabah Carrim

-FREEDOM - (extract)

“To dilute pain, Man seeks the company of those who share the same suffering ” Humeirah, Freedom

Seated in the rear of her husband’s new Mercedes, Humeirah was deep in thought as the car glided over a freshly asphalted road. Outside were hues of a Mauritian summer: grassy mountain-hills that could be ascended in a few hours; tall and wispy coconut trees on the sidelines separating tarred from untarred, and shoots of sugar cane sprouting from fields of fertile-brown. In motion, the colours fused kaleidoscope-like and could put an aesthete in a state of trance, but a usually sensuous Humeirah felt nothing.

Decades ago, women paraded the streets chanting “freedom” with fervour and passion. In the end they got what they wanted. Was it because they were united?

Where can I find like-minded people?

But people who are united seek things in common. They seek to homogenise values, and standardise conceptions of good and bad in order to apply the same formula to everything.

No. That’s not what I want. What can I fight? Who can I fight?

My life, my existence, and my mind are always dominated by scattered thoughts that have no direction, no meaning, no purpose. There’s no one to share them with; nothing constructive to do with them. Am I fighting to be a free woman, enjoy the same rights as men, and have a say in everything?

No. I want something else.

Why do thoughts that bother me not bother others? Why am I not happy with things that make other women happy? Why can’t I fit in?

“The problem is with me,” murmured Humeirah, conscious that the driver was within earshot. Her lips curled into a smile.

How does it feel when a sharp knife penetrates soft flesh and vomits blood on contact?

What exactly lies beyond this dark world? More darkness?

No. Everything will end when I die. My world won’t exist.

Humeirah’s thoughts were interrupted by scenery that looked familiar. The car moved past Zeba’s house, and another equally ornate building with fewer windows. The house had an air of abandon and disuse, apparent only to those who could see. The driver swerved into the driveway and parked at the entrance. He was Vijay, a forty-two-year-old employed by the family for the last five years.

The sun was setting, the last beams casting strange shadows on the house. If one peered closely at the walls, one would discern desperate attempts to wipe off the dark coating of dust, adverse weather, and primarily time. The dark coating was a sign of wisdom the bricks had earned; yet their owners had made them look like what they were not. “Maintenance” they called it; “disguise” it was, and a necessary means of consolation.

Humeirah reprimanded herself for being aloof and decided to be more present until she reached her bedroom. So much was lost in being far away. She stepped out of the car and looked around.

Five years have gone by so quickly and I still can’t find answers. What is the purpose of my presence in this specific place and at this precise time? What is my function, if I have one that is, on Earth and for posterity?

I had hoped that every stage of my life would have something to offer, perhaps a new thought, a new insight. When I got married, I hoped it would give me a few answers to my many questions. But nothing’s happened, nothing’s changed.

What am I doing here, a being like any other, existing, breathing, living? Am I missing something important? Is there something in my environment that’s important but that I can’t make out? Why am I so restless and unhappy?