He reproached me for the fact that I never wanted to come to live in this country. He was a fool, he thought I didn't realize that his mother had for him a wife he would marry when he got here, even though it was to get papers, but he did it, hidden from me. That's why he's asking me to get a divorce before he leaves Kenya. I didn't listen to any of it. His stupid argument only filled me with courage to realize that my son deserved to fight for it. To have come to the United States on my own was a feat. He was shocked to see me, never thought I'd make it on my own. Yaro fell into chaos at the sight of days passing by and Ismat did not awaken. He started drinking, took refuge in alcohol, suffered from severe depression. After spending three months living in poor conditions in a hospital, I had lost a lot of weight. Do you know what? I was a sturdy woman. In my country, the thinner the woman, and the fatter you are the more hopeful the husband is, the more on the contrary, on this side of the world. When I noticed the clothes were hanging down, my shoulder bones looked like deep basins and the lack of sun had cleared up my dark complexion a bit. That's when I started to go to sea, it was the only thing that calmed me down.
On the fateful morning when my old mother-in-law was visiting the hospital, my angel died. I only remember his smiley face at the airport when he was on retreat with his father. And to think I signed his permission to bring him here, thinking he'd have a better life here! And you see.
After several days, something unexpected happens: my old husband hangs himself after three weeks locked in his room with a terrible depression.
I had no more tears left. My mother-in-law almost went into shock, but I gave her support to keep her from collapsing.
I went to live with her for a while, in California, so I left the hospital and all the things in New York to go take care of Munga. Even though what bound us had disappeared and my heart at one point made her responsible for my divorce, I decided to follow her. Knowing she loved Ismat so much protected him while she could. That made me get close to her. In time I can say she's like the mother I never had. My parents abandoned me in a church, raised me there. As time went by, studying sewing, I met Yaro. The rest you know. My mother's heart needed a visit to the home of my son and former husband in New York. Munga wouldn't give me the keys, but I insisted so much he did. When I got there, my heart almost exploded: seeing her things, her photos, it was a traumatic memory. But I've got the courage. That's when I found what I probably shouldn't have found.
- Drugs? Officer Fatima's eyes were like two fried eggs. I was fascinated by that debutante confession.
- No, it wasn't drugs. It was his personal tablet.
-I see.
- Yes, a discovery that marked an ante and an aftermath in the life of this woman who is here. She gets up by throwing her cigarette butt on the floor. The officer looks at her with this bad habit, but her enchantment only allows her to ask for more information with her huge black eyes.
- I found a series of normal files for a kid his age: games, music and... chat. In that chat room I had a very pleasant and strange conversation with a person. I looked for old messages and found it. That guy was inducing Ismat to use cocaine. He even deliberately wrote to him that he would give him free to try, that it was nothing, to do it together. Yaro told me when I arrived that Ismat had had a sudden change in behaviour in the last six months before he died. He became uncontrollable.
He would go out at night, arriving late, in fact, as a result of addiction.
- And what does all this have to do with the missing boy?
- A lot. Both are lost now, one confirmed, the other we don't know yet.
The officer gets angry. She hates that sadistic way of talking about the kid. He was practically her son, she was her stepmother for a while.
- It's cruel. I hope all this will lead to something good.
- You'll understand, you'll see.
- It is time for me to know step by step the truth, my reasons and motives, my feelings. To detest, hate, punish loses meaning in some abysses of revenge. There is something beyond it, but you have to live that to understand it. I used to judge people when they commit crimes, I used to question them, but now that has taken a back seat, it is not relevant, because it is my skin that is experiencing the harassment and accusation of an entire nation, and why not also say, of the whole world.
Revenge, personal satisfaction
Batman
CHAPTER III
IN TO
Entering Ismat's life as an unknown teenager was traumatic. The data I had to know as his mother left me with a huge empty taste. Knowing that I was incompetent, cowardly and most of all stupid for letting my family go to an unknown place that killed me. I should never have taken the key and gone in there, although as the days went by I was plunged into discoveries about my Ismat's life with Yaro, his father, I was brought to immense strength for bringing down the man responsible for this event. It should be noted that Yaro was also a victim; had Ismat not died after the overdose, he might have been alive.
It's a pleasure to meet you, Officer Fatima. My real name is Yeri Mariga and this is my story.
A TIME AGO
YARO AND ISMAT DEPARTMENT IN NEW YORK
Yeri was trying to repair her heart from the pain she felt when she put Ismat's clothes in the drawers. Though she had been crying for hours, her thirst for tears was not quenched.
That's when she finds the kid's tablet and tries to turn it on, but it's dead. She grabs the charger and puts it on a charge.
In the top drawer of that mahogany-coloured bureaucrat there are also photos of Ismat with a girl, no more than seventeen years old, tattooed on her arm and looking like she is not sleeping. They both looked smiling, but their glasses in their hands said they had had too much to drink.
Staring at the photo, she is transported to the moment when she says goodbye to Ismat for a long time. It's when she gets scared with a voice that surprises her.
- Sniffing around?
- By God, Munga, you scared the hell out of me!
- I was tired of waiting. The waitress at the coffee shop on the corner looked at me suspiciously. Maybe he thought I wouldn't pay the bill. Gosh, I've been on that coffee for almost three hours.
- Maybe you were mistaken for a terrorist or something.
- Ha, ha, ha, ha! I don't think so. If they didn't stop you at the airport, they wouldn't stop me.
They looked at each other, smiled, tried to lead a normal life, but it was impossible. The recent death of two such loved ones was insurmountable.
Munga lands on Yeri, hugs her and they start to cry.
- Isn't it unfair this world to take two children of two mothers who only hope to love them for the rest of their lives? I'm devastated. Munga cries on Yeri's shoulder and vice versa.
- You had them with you, at least you have that comfort. You lived many happy days at his side; I, on the other hand, missed the best part.
Munga separates and wipes away Yeri's tears, taking the picture from her hands.
- She was his best friend, Pons. They'd go everywhere together, chat for hours. One day he confessed to me that he liked the girl, but that he was afraid, he didn't want her to reject him, so they were always friends.
- Except for the night of the photo and the clothes she's wearing, she looks beautiful.
- She's beautiful, isn't she? That picture was the night Pons was celebrating his trip to Paris. I'd go into a dance school. She's an excellent dancer. The photo should be a while ago. If you want to see the real Pons, enter the social networks: she is one of the most acclaimed young urban dance talents on the web.
- Oh, boy! I'm happy for her.
- When she heard about Ismat and Yaro, she called from Paris. She told me she was too sorry, she cried a lot.
I hope that my son has experienced happy moments in his friendship with her, which gives me some satisfaction.
- That's for sure, Yeri. They went out all the time and I enjoyed it. Ismat was a healthy young man at the time.
- What about her dark circles under her eyes?
- It's normal, Yeri. They had fun, all the young people do it.
- With alcohol? No, Munga, that's not investment for a young man, it's not.
Yeri left the room throwing the picture on the bed. Munga takes the shot and chases him.
Is that the woman who says she loved Ismat, the one who went through the world to get here and take care of him? I don't think so.
Yeri stops, turns around and yells at her mother-in-law:
- And you? But she is the woman who will know a family to achieve her low intentions of having her spoiled, despicable son by her side! That monster was raised by you, you're responsible. You came here with your dreams of an American nationality, abandoned your roots, and then dragged my Yaro and my beloved Ismat into this madness that ended badly. You know, it ended badly. His voice is strong, his face is exalted.
-Yeri, I... -The woman tried to defend herself.
- No justification on this earth will bring me back to my family. You dug their grave. You should have left us alone in Kenya.
- I just tried to give him a better life.
- You call that a better life? Please, just shut up.
- You kill me, Yeri, your truths kill me.
At that moment Yeri sees Munga's tears. He's starting to feel bad, but he's not saying anything, just shut up. The pain is deep.
After this Munga left. Yeri insisted on staying. She closed the whole house and plunged into the self-torture of going through all the memories of her loved ones through her things. I imagined them both in the kitchen, having breakfast, watching TV, taking a shower, leading a normal life. It was frustrating, but I needed that. A few hours later she fell into a deep sleep. The furniture was his bed, that's when he has nightmares.
In those dreams she plays hand in hand with her son and her husband in that park. They have fun at a fair, but the sky starts to get dark. Black hands coming out of the ground pull Ismat and he cries out, "Mom!" but inevitably he is swept away by that mystery. Wake up sweaty. She sits down and looks at her watch: its three o'clock in the morning.
She remembers vaguely that the tablet must be loaded, so she goes for it and turns it on.
To her surprise, it wasn't blocked, so they started getting all of Ismat's messages in.
Lots of messages from friends. His Facebook page was full of condolences for his departure, its cause for more tears.
There are several chat bubbles: one said "Pons", the others did not recognize them. She went into the girl's room and started reading, surprised. In those conversations she discovered that the young people had died when Pons went to Paris to study Dance. They confessed their love and had a beautiful relationship through chat conversations. Ismat dedicated beautiful songs to her, she danced for him. The last few conversations, however, had a mixture of bitter uncertainty: her claims for the young man's carelessness. Sometimes it took many days to connect.
The young lady in that photograph had been left behind. Apparently the tattoo was temporary. On her Facebook profile she appears renewed, fresh. His oriental features gave her a unique personality, stylized, thin but not malnourished. She looked pretty good.
Certain conversations in the last few days before Ismat's death had shown that the young man had taken a strange attitude. The claims were many.
Yeri sees the green dot going: Pons is connected. A curiosity invades him, so he writes.
- Hello.
It takes about 25 seconds.
- Who are you? What are you doing with the Ismat account? Respect the dead.
- I amâ¦
- I don't like this, it's sinister. Please stop using Ismat's account, let the dead rest.
- Did you love him?
- If you continue I will denounce you; what is more, I will block you.
-Wait, I'm.... Wait, don't block me.
He didn't have time, it was late.
The young lady complied and did the blockade. She could no longer see any publication of it from the Ismat account.