The Revolution Is Inevitable

By Mohammed Hassan

Elders of the peasants vow to make the aristocracy pay for the painful trials they had caused them, as well as considering Huzmas recent misfortune of losing his mother and having their house burned down just because he fell in love with Mujni, who is a niece of the king, but this case will only be a spur to the almost-happening revolution. Elders choose Abakum for the specific task of beguiling their tribesman Kamza, who is one of the loyal soldiers who guards the Black Jail. Abakum finds out that Huzma is alive and works as a security guard in one of the restaurants located in a village close to the Black Jail. The revolution is inevitable, and the tyrant regime is ousted by a bloody battle that claims the lives of thousands. Thereafter, the controversial issue over administration begins, which causes people to flee and yearn for the former administration. Huzma gets shot after joining the drug-dealing trade, and Mujni gives birth to a baby boy named Muzzeer, who tells the story.

• Language: English
• Publisher: AuthorHouse
• Release date: Sep 30, 2014
• ISBN: 9781496942852

Mohammed Hassan

Mohammed Hassan Mohammed was born in Kismayo, Somalia, and in 1992, his family fled to Kenya and settled in a refugee camp, where he grew up. He graduated from the teacher’s college of Masinde Muliro University at Kakamega in Kenya, after which he taught in primary school in the Kakuma refugee camp. He worked jointly with the LWF (Lutheran World Federation) Child Development Program for two years and was one of the members who carried out several surveys organized by UNHCR (United Nations High Commission for Refugees) agency operating in the refugee camp. He also taught in the adult education program established in camp by the IRC (International Rescue Committee) and trained disabled children under the SNE (Special Needs Education) program. He wrote several scripts of school-level plays and dramas while in the refugee camp. He arrived in United States in 2012 and joined the San Antonio Community College where he is a member of the National Society of Leadership and Success.

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© 2014 Mohammed Hassan. All rights reserved.

No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted by any means without the written permission of the author.

Published by AuthorHouse 09/26/2014

ISBN: 978-1-4969-4286-9 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-4969-4285-2 (e)

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Contents

Part 1

Part 2

Part 1

Muzeer moaned desperately when he saw his mother dying in the bed. She was struggling to gain her last breath. He remembered the life story and bequest she had given him before she became bedridden.

I think I may not survive any longer, she said. "You are my only son. Your father died while you were still young, long before you could crawl. He was a nice person who took care of me. He was working hard to cover our needs and keep a roof over us. We lived a happy life for a time, until he began using drugs. Most people living here are drug addicted. He joined a group of drug dealers who cared about nothing and didn’t know anything about humanity. When I talked to him about dealing with such people, he raved at me and threatened that he would abandon me if I interfered with his issues again. He continued mistreating me that way. He tried to confine me in the house without bread and stayed out for some time without any consent from me.

"One day a neighbor—Batra was her name—saw me while I was in deep distress. Although Batra knew nothing about my problem, she discerned my situation, as she was wise enough to perceive such a domestic skirmish. She took me to her house. At that time I was pregnant. She fed me well and gave me medical attention. She told me all about your father, because she knew him. She was a businesswoman from whom he used to buy. She told me that your father had married a widow with three kids with whom he was living. When Batra told me that, I couldn’t help crying uncontrollably. Batra stopped telling the story when she saw my tears, to avoid causing me more pain.

"A couple of months passed, and I was just relaxing outside Batra’s house when I felt pain. Batra and her husband, who worked in the textile industry, were out of the house, strolling around, and I was alone. The pain became searing as I tried to walk. I really didn’t know what to do, and the pain was shifting to excruciating. I took some clothes out of my bag and spread them on the floor. I moaned and yelled, but none was close to hear my shrieks, and no one could come to my assistance. Batra and her husband, whose name was Nafsi, had no kids. She was forty and her husband was eleven years older than she. As they’d had no kids since they’d got married, they knew nothing about obstetric care.

"I sensed some warm fluids covering the lower part of my body. I prayed deeply, though the pain, since the baby was about to come, and the gushing and the pangs were tremendous. I sensed something thrusting forth out of my genitals, and I again began moaning, Fortunately, I heard the voices and footsteps of Batra and her husband walking inside the house. They were quarrelling over something which I couldn’t hear because of overwhelming pain I was in. When they stepped into the room, they saw me crying.

"‘Oh my God,’ they both said in unison. ‘Let’s rush her to the hospital.’

"‘Let me first call the doctor,’ Nafsi said.

"He summoned the doctor, whose profession was obstetrician-gynecologist, while Batra tried to help me. The doctor arrived immediately because he knew such a call had to be urgent, and he had to put it before any other duty he had for that day. But the doctor was surprised when he knew he was being called for a maternity matter, because he knew Batra was barren.

"‘I checked the womb of Batra,’ the doctor said to himself as he approached the house, ‘and she had no sign of pregnancy, so what could that call be for?’

"He saw Nafsi standing outside the house, his murky expression and frowning countenance proclaiming that something was wrong, but the doctor still couldn’t figure out nature of the case of his summon. He parked near the entrance of Nafsi’s house. Nafsi stood still like a statue. The doctor stepped out of his car, picked up his bag, and walked over to Nafsi. They shook hands and walked inside without speaking to each other, as if they both knew what was going on. Screams of pain were coming from a nearby room, and they both quickened their paces. When they reached the room, they saw Batra’s hands inside the lower part of me, and something was protruding from between them. Batra was trying her best to act like a midwife, although she had no experience and had not given birth before. But the kindness in her elevated her above all. The doctor put on his gloves to exercise his duty, although Batra had already done half the work.

"The smell of the oozing blood caught the whole room and mingled with the little oxygen in that space. Nafsi could not see the blood any longer, because he had never witnessed a woman in labor pain, let alone deliver a baby. He felt suffocated and nauseated from the polluted air inside. He wanted to go out to inhale fresh air, but he didn’t know if he should go or stay. He felt guilty for leaving while others were assisting.

It will be inhumane if I leave them in this situation, he told himself while trying to monitor his emotions, which insisted he stay, no matter how irresistible leaving could be. But he could not keep his eyes on the situation the way Batra did. She was determined to help, and she had a heart that was stronger than his. He had to imitate her, even though he couldn’t watch, although that was less important than his presence. How would any of them know if he sneaked out of the house? What if he tried to do so? No. Something struck his mind. It was kindness. His conscience wouldn’t allow him to do so, even if none recognized that. But the humanity in him would appreciate something else, something invisible.

"Suddenly he heard cry of a baby, which sparked his happiness. It was as if the cry of the baby triggered and enlivened his emotions. He turned his head and saw Batra holding up a pretty little baby, and her eyes welled with tears. None could guess if they were tears of joy or something else, because she had no child. Nafsi couldn’t help shedding his tears too. It might be that he was sympathetic to his wife, who was obviously thrilled by the gleaming face of the baby, whose small eyes and nose fit well in his oval-shaped face.

"I was bolstered on a pillow. I closed my eyes when the doctor injected me with anesthetic medicine before completing the final tasks. Batra handed over the baby to Nafsi as if it were their own. He was amazed by how his wife was happier than the baby’s mother, who lay supine on the floor. Would I allow them have my baby after I had regained consciousness, or would I grab my own baby back from them? That was what lingered on Nafsi’s mind, because he always wanted to make his wife happy. But he had seen a day or a moment when she was happier than this time.

"The doctor rose and removed his gloves, throwing them into a nearby dustbin. ‘Give her enough rest and soft food and fluids. I will prescribe for her some medicines that you’ll have to collect from the chemist.’

"‘Thank you for your helpful service,’ Nafsi said as he took a prescription paper from the doctor. The doctor looked handsome in his white coat. He smiled, showing his whitish teeth as his lips parted, and then he marched out of the room. Nafsi followed him to see him off. The fresh air outside of the room was so much nicer than the filthy air inside, and Nafsi felt this was unfair to me.

"I opened my eyes and found myself in a bed. The windows were opened wide and the room was well ventilated. It was decorated nicely with potted flowers placed at corners, and the fan in the center of the ceiling freshened the room with enough air. I touched my stomach to sense the bulge of womb, but my stomach was as flat as it had been before pregnancy.

"‘What is wrong? Where is my baby? Where did Batra and her husband go?’ I asked myself, as if I was with a ghost who would respond. I felt a pain when I tried to get up, and had to support myself before I was convinced I was able and fit. It was all in vain, for the excruciating pain in my loins forced me to stay motionless. It was as though I had lost my senses, even though I hadn’t. I still felt resentment toward my ex-husband, who had abandoned me, and envy for his new wife. I cursed myself and cursed the world for being happy.

"I heard footsteps coming, and the door opened. There stood Batra holding up a pretty baby.

‘Are you fine? she asked, and I nodded in response. "It is your baby; do you want to hold it?’

"She gave me the baby to embrace. It was a really pretty baby. Batra was kind and could be a responsible surrogate mother, I thought, because she bathed the baby and covered it with a baby blanket. But where did she get the blanket, since she had no kids of her own? She was a barren woman. Perhaps she had bought it recently, when