Desert Flower Read Online Free PDF Page A

still technically a young boy, Old Man died, as if in a few short years he’d crammed in an entire lifetime. No one knew the cause, but everyone felt his passing made sense, because: “There’s no way he belonged to this world.”
    As in any large family, each of us developed a role. Mine became the role of rebel, a reputation I earned in a series of actions that to me seemed perfectly logical and justified, but to my elders particularly my father seemed outrageous. One day my younger brother, Ali, and I sat under a tree eating white rice with camel’s milk. Ali wolfed his down greedily, but because this was a rare treat for
     
    us, I took each bite slowly. Having food was not something we took for granted; I always appreciated mine, savoring each bite with pleasure. Only a small amount of rice and milk remained in my bowl, and I anticipated it eagerly. Suddenly Ali stuck his spoon in my dish and scooped out my last bite, taking every last grain of rice. Without thinking, I retaliated by grabbing up a knife lying next to me and burying the blade in Ali’s thigh. He shrieked, but took it out and sunk the knife in exactly the same spot in my leg. Now both of us sat with wounded legs, but because I was. the one who had struck first, the blame went to me. Today, we carry matching scars from this meal.
    One of the earliest outbursts of my rebel behavior centered on my longing for a pair of shoes. All my life I’ve been obsessed by shoes. Today even though I’m a model, I don’t own many clothes a pair of jeans, a couple of T-shirts but I have a cupboard stacked full of high heels, sandals, tennis shoes, loafers, and boots, even though ironically I have nothing to wear them with. As a child I desperately wanted shoes, but not all the children in my family had clothes, and certainly there was no money to buy shoes. Yet it was my dream to wear beautiful leather sandals like my mother wore. How I wished to put on a pair of
     
    comfortable shoes and look after my animals, walk without worrying about rocks and thorns, snakes and scorpions. My feet were always bruised and marked, and I still carry the black scars today. Once a thorn came all the way through my foot; sometimes they would break off in my feet. We had no doctors in the desert, or medicine to treat the wound. But still we had to walk, because we had to look after the animals. No one said, “I can’t.” We just did it, went out each morning and limped along as best we could.
    One of my father’s brothers was a very wealthy man. Uncle Ahmed lived in the city, in Galcaio, but we looked after his camels and the rest of his animals. I was the favorite to care for his goats, because I always did a thorough job, making sure they were well fed and watered, and I did my best to keep them safe from predators. One day, when I was about seven years old, Uncle Ahmed visited us and I said, “Look, I want you to buy me some shoes.”
    He looked at me and laughed. “Yeah, yeah, all right. I’ll get you shoes.” I knew he was surprised, because it was very unusual for a girl to ask for anything, let alone anything as extravagant as shoes.
    The next time my father took me to see him, I
    was excited, because today would be the day I got my first pair of shoes. At my earliest opportunity I said eagerly, “Well, did you bring them?”
    He said, “Yeah, I have them right here,” and handed me a parcel. I took the shoes in my hand and examined them; they were rubber sandals, flip-flops. Not beautiful leather sandals like Mama’s, but cheap, yellow flip-flops. I couldn’t believe it.
    “These are my shoes?.” I cried, and threw them at him. When the flip-flops bounced off his brother’s face, my father tried to be upset, but this time he couldn’t help himself-he doubled over laughing.
    My uncle said to him, “I don’t believe it. How are you raising this child?”
    I started fighting with my uncle, swinging at him, because I was so disappointed, I was furious. “I