The Escape at Al Maghrib Prayer time

Yemeni mp

Ahmed Saif Hashed

The reasons compelling me to flee from my father were multiplying. While I no longer remember many of them, most stemmed from his strictness and harshness. Complicating matters were the reactions that followed, which escalated the problem and worsened our situation—making everything feel worse than it already was.

At times, neither of us could avoid acting foolishly toward each other, perhaps due to life’s pressures, impatience, or simply growing weary of one another. Critical moments felt unbearably tight, leading me to make impulsive decisions, filled with defiance and unconcerned about the consequences.

In the incident I am recounting, I cannot recall the specific reasons, but I remember that my flight occurred at the time of Al Maghrib prayer. I decided to escape without knowing where I would go. Where would I spend my first night? Where would my journey lead? The foremost thought in my mind was to break free from my father’s grasp, to evade his hold, and to avoid being caught during my flight. After that, we would deal with things as they came.

My grandfather’s and uncles’ homes no longer felt like safe havens; my father could easily retrieve me without my consent. The saying “As if you, Abu Zaid, have never fought” seemed to apply to my situation. I had grown sensitive about seeking refuge with them after repeated attempts and didn’t want to cause them embarrassment. I felt burdensome to them, and their reluctance to welcome me when I fled from my father lingered in my mind. I was increasingly aware that my father would insist on reclaiming me without delay, and I might return with ears burning, just as I had before.

Additionally, I wanted my father to search for me with greater difficulty, without finding me or knowing my destination. I sought to punish him in some way, within the limits of what was possible. I wanted him to experience anxiety and regret, if I could manage it. This would only happen by fleeing to a place different from what I was accustomed to.

I fled just as darkness began to envelop the streets and places. I had no idea where I would spend my first night, far from family and familiar surroundings. I began to run, wandering aimlessly without knowing where to go.

*    *    *

My escape began with my first act of breaking free from my father’s grip. I feared he would catch up to me on his donkey. I ran as fast as I could to distance myself from him. My panting preceded the sound of my feet on the ground, and my heart pounded, feeling like it might leap from my chest. I felt as though I might perish from exertion, nearly collapsing while gasping for breath. After a quick stretch of running, I turned to look behind me and reassured myself that I didn’t see my father or his donkey. Relieved, I slowed my pace after nearly collapsing from fatigue and walked quickly until I reached the Thursday market.

*    *    *

After the market, I passed by Noman’s Well. There, an idea struck me—I needed to stay close to the well. My inner voice urged me to seek solace in this place where I would spend the night. “The morning brings relief,” as the saying goes, and “from the gallows to the gallows, fate will write relief.” Spending the night here would be safer than elsewhere and closer to any assistance.

I wouldn’t stray far from the well, especially since our villages were suffering from a severe drought after their wells had dried up. The water in this well was decent, more plentiful at night, and women would flock to it from near and far, fetching water until dawn.

Spending the night here would allow me to see the light around the well from lanterns and flashlights, illuminating the darkness of the night until dawn. The bustle of women throughout the night would not tire or diminish, and nearby was Noman’s shop and mill, with guards stationed there at night. I reassured myself that this was a safe place to spend the night, better than any other option, which might be filled with frightening possibilities or unknown dangers.

I chose a spot in a corner of the valley, facing the well for reassurance and peace while leaning against the houses of the marginalized on the opposite side. To my left was a sprawling, ancient “Humar” tree, which I could rush to and climb if necessary. To my right, I leaned against a mountain that I could climb if the situation required it. Here, I could sleep next to a “Thab” tree after deep exhaustion, with fatigue weighing down my joints and draining my strength.

I found many dry, fallen leaves under the “Thab” tree, which made a clear sound when moved or stepped on. Before I drifted into a deeper sleep, I heard something that frightened me—perhaps it was rodents or other reptiles, or maybe snakes. My fears intensified from every direction. The sounds multiplied, and some drew closer. I moved slightly away to a nearby wall and chose my resting place there after some careful adjustments.

I saw a dark mass in the distance, blacker than the night itself. It appeared to me like a shadow, and I could hear its footsteps growing nearer. Each step brought it closer, and I heard its footsteps crunching on the gravel. My guess leaned toward it being a woman or a jinn, not a man, based on her attire. I held my breath as my heartbeat quickened. She leaned closer to where I was lying. I tried to retreat a little toward the mountain, but it seemed she noticed my movement. She appeared bold and curious, intrigued by my presence.

As I held my breath and tried to remain still, she approached within arm’s length and realized I was a child. I understood that she was a woman.
She asked me, “What are you doing here?!”
I felt I had heard her voice before; it was familiar and distinct. She looked at me with surprise and curiosity.

I answered, “I’m waiting for my mother to finish… My mother is at the well fetching water.”
She recognized me and said, “You are the son of Saif Hashed.”
I confirmed that I was indeed Saif Hashed’s son. She was surprised to find me in such a strange place. My innocence didn’t deceive her, nor did my claims. She asked me to accompany her to my mother, but I refused her request, insisting on my denial. It seemed to me that “the rope of lies is short,” and going with her would expose my deception in front of many women.

Doubt and suspicion filled her regarding my situation, and her curiosity grew stronger. It didn’t escape her that I was waiting for my mother in a place unjustifiably far from the well, contradicting the direction of my mother’s coming and going.

She found my excuse unconvincing, flipping it over with evident amazement. It seemed silly and weaker than weakness, an unacceptable excuse. She left me to verify whether my mother was indeed above the well, but she found nothing, resulting only in more strangeness and doubled wonder. I then hurried to Noman’s Shop to inform the guards of the situation.

*    *    *

Noman’s Shop was bustling with goods imported from the free market in Aden. These goods were cheap, profitable, and tax-exempt, and the shop had guards stationed there.
Raslah told them that she found me in a strange condition, claiming I had lied to her and that there was a secret or something she didn’t know. She directed them to my location, describing it clearly without confusion.

Sleep evaded me before it arrived. My drowsiness fled without return. I lost control over my impending sleep. Heavy time passed while my anxieties roiled inside me, unable to settle. I awaited whatever might come that was mysterious or new.

An overwhelming concern grew within me as time passed. The question of what Raslah was thinking and what she might do loomed large. Surely, she would do something, but I did not know what. Her mystery surrounded me with compounded anxiety.
I saw a dark mass approaching from afar, from a direction other than the well. I saw what resembled two shadows drawing closer to my spot, while fear surged within me, spreading through my limbs. I was about to flee; I nearly did, but the call of someone using my name made me recognize the voice. It was Saeed Abdulwali, one of the guards from Numan’s Shop. His voice gave me a sense of security, perhaps even of help. I also recognized his companion, a man named Musa.
They granted me reassurance and calm. I confessed to them that I was fleeing from my father. They convinced me to return with them, assuring me that no punishment or harshness from him would reach me. They promised they would handle everything with him, knowing my father respected them.

I accompanied them back to my father. Saeed walked ahead, I followed behind, with Musa bringing up the rear. We seemed like a small procession moving silently through the depths of the night. Suddenly, we encountered my father at a sharp turn in the road, unexpectedly meeting him face to face. I saw my father with his tall stature and personal weapon. I could hear his breath, as if he were carrying the weight of war.
I didn’t know how my father had come or where he was headed. It felt as though he was wandering aimlessly, unaware of his specific destination. This time, he couldn’t pretend to be obstinate or maintain his usual harshness, even if emotions toward me were tumultuous inside him.

I sensed that my father was wandering just like me, aimlessly, without knowing where he would go. Perhaps his fears multiplied after confirming with my grandfather and uncles that I was not with them, or perhaps they told him they saw me running in the valley but didn’t know where I had gone. I felt his panic and fear, mixed with a warmth that would not break.

The two men stepped aside slightly from the path, leaving me alone. I heard them speaking to my father in low voices, then they returned to me, reassuring me that everything was fine. I felt an overwhelming emotion from my father compelling him to interact with me with unusual calm. I too felt an emotion surging toward him—a heavy, unspoken regret brewed between us, along with a host of suppressed feelings we concealed from one another to avoid revealing our perceived weaknesses.

I was swept by a profound sense of affection, which he reciprocated, if not initiating it before I did. Perhaps we shared the regret and fear of a future that could lead to a heavy price.

I felt a high place in my father’s heart. The two men handed me over to my father. He received me gently, with tenderness and a warm affection he tried to conceal, but I felt it warm from the moments of his intense silence.

He walked ahead while I followed him, guided by affection and obedience. I walked behind him without either of us uttering a word. Yet a harmony of spirits flowed between us, allowing each of us to read the other’s feelings and emotions in a way we had never experienced during our ongoing conflict.

*    *    *