set in Agadez, Niger
There was almost another terrorist attack? Someone hijacked a plane, and was about to dive it again into some ground of the world, in order to inspire fear, hatred, and tension?
It didn’t happen in Mother’s country. Though in Niger many terrorist attacks do occur. There was one in Niamey just in June, and it killed thirty five people.
But Niamey is far from the Sahara town of Agadez, just like Agadez is far from the locations being reported on by the morning news programmes Mother is listening to in her living room.
There is something about the story of this Indian pilot, Smit Machchhar, who safely landed a Flydubai plane headed to Israel despite being stabbed by an Omani terrorist… something about this story is speaking to Mother far more than any other news story she has heard in the longest time.
Something about the news on the television makes the world feel so interconnected.
And factually the world is interconnected. That is the reality. For example the war between the USA and Iran made gas prices incomprehensibly high for the last half-year despite Niger being one of Africa’s crude oil producers. Power cuts were common in Agadez anyways thanks to the corruption but now people were struggling to buy the fertilisers they needed for their farming and the petrol for their travel. Iran and the US were far away, with both of the countries being on completely different continents, but if there is one thing the blockage of the strait of Hormuz taught Mother, it is that things that occur on distant lands have consequences closer to home, even if otherwise the countries aren’t thought about on a day-to-day basis.
What a strange time it is to live in. How odd it was, that life in a place that was already hard to manage like Agadez was harder thanks to decisions being made in foreign worlds. It was normal for everyone to want to leave and for good reason. Ironically the places that people would go to were countries like Israel or Dubai… which were now becoming dangerous for other reasons.
It’s nothing funny, yet Mother actually chuckles. Dubai is supposed to be one of these places where skyscrapers are everywhere and people from all over the world spend their time in shopping malls congregating, partying, and enjoying life.
And now it is a war zone, being bombed constantly by Iran.
A flight from Dubai was hijacked by an Omani man who wanted to crash it into Israel, only to be thwarted by an Indian, who had his life saved by a Russian.
It could literally be the plot of a movie.
And it is inspiring a warm emotion in Mother’s chest, in the same way she feels when she sees a movie that resonates with her.
But why? India and Israel, Dubai and Russia… they are so far from her.
Perhaps it is because the men of her city tend to be up to no good. Agadez is one of the cities in which many refugees from other African countries get kidnapped on their way to greener pastures. Despite it being such a religious place there are clearly many men on drugs. They look to cause violence because they are bored. They would hurt others while on substances than stay close to the words of Allah, which are meant to keep them humble, help them accept the nature of the world, give them hope of a happier life once they move on from this one.
A hero would be nice to witness in a town like this, someone who is upstanding, kindhearted, and morally-minded, like this Smit Macchar.
However Agadez is in the middle of the Sahara, and such people are rarely found in such isolated parts of the world.
That is why it is nice to be able to have a television. That is why it is nice to watch the news and be able to witness engaging stories even if they come from afar.
It’s a shame it’s not reality. It’s only a projection from the television.
Mother has a huge stack of dishes to get to before the water runs out. She ought to get to the plates covered in goat grease and tomato sauce before the stains get hard to wash off.
But she looks out of her window momentarily, sees the mud minaret of the grand mosque towering over the huts of her settlement as it must have for her Tuareg ancestors when they built it long ago.
And she looks at the smiling face of this bespectacled Indian pilot on the television, a hero not only for his country, but for anyone who wishes more people stood up for what was right for this world.
She feels a strength in herself that she rarely finds. It is what helps her get up, despite a tired energy in her body wishing to sit in her chair for the entire day and wait for today to become tomorrow.
Is this what it means to be inspired by a stranger, whom she’ll never meet, never be able to speak to, and never understand despite seeing his picture and hearing his life story from multiple news sources?
Regardless of what it is, she goes to the kitchen, kneels to that bucket, and she starts to pick off the peanut shells and tomato rinds off the plates, like she would any other day, but with a feeling coursing inside of her body like she is there serving something bigger, a greater humanity, even when she is doing something homely, domestic, and small.
