Total pages in book: 153
Estimated words: 141492 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 707(@200wpm)___ 566(@250wpm)___ 472(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 141492 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 707(@200wpm)___ 566(@250wpm)___ 472(@300wpm)
Tajine was slow-cooked with lamb or poultry as a rule. Vegetables, nuts and sometimes even dried fruits could be included. Spices such as ginger, cinnamon and turmeric, along with a host of others, were used, depending on whether it was a vegetable, poultry or lamb tajine. Amara had trouble with the spices, sometimes dumping all kinds into the stew, or trying to make it first sweet and then savory, but she hadn’t given up, determined to master the craft of cooking.
Amara had made loaves of bread to go with the tajine, and the one thing she was very good at was baking bread. Couscous was the dessert—her grandfather’s favorite. Amara often struggled with couscous as well. Safia knew it was important to her that she get that right. Amastan never said anything when the dessert was doughy or overly sweet. Although Amara laughed at herself, it was obvious to Safia that she was disappointed if the meal wasn’t good. Safia hoped this would be the one to turn things around for Amara.
Family members washed up and gathered to eat together. After prayers, there was much laughter as the hot stew was served up in bowls of clay their ancestors had made. This was one of Safia’s favorite times of day. She knew it wasn’t the same for all other families, but in hers, they were encouraged to talk to one another, to laugh and share their day.
She recognized Amastan’s wisdom in encouraging family members to give input on the farm, the gardens, livestock and even the children. Her brothers had secured land around the original farmland handed down through generations, adding to the flourishing tribal business. The livestock was healthy, the soil was rich, and every member of the family meticulously worked to produce beautiful rugs, carpets, pottery, jewelry and clothing to sell. Many of their items were sent with her eldest sister, Illi, and her husband, Kab, across the Sahara to the markets in the Middle East. Kab’s family was one of the few very familiar with the Sahara Desert and the places one could find water.
Kab’s family were also artisans. Illi had been welcomed into their family, not just because she had caught Kab’s eye but because she knew the old ways of making pottery, and her work was sought-after. Their grandmother had handed down the history and designs that went back centuries. Illi not only had the skills but could pass along those skills and her knowledge to new generations.
Safia realized just how difficult her grandfather’s job as head of the tribe and head of the family really was. Choosing others to bring in when they had so many secrets had to be extremely challenging. She looked around the table and realized just how carefully Amastan had chosen those he had allowed into their inner circle.
The newcomers had to be loyal and willing to keep secrets. They had to train every day to fight as both modern and ancient warriors. Anyone coming into their family would have to fit their personality into a unit that was already tight-knit and learn to accept their very different ways. It wasn’t an easy ask. Every one of the chosen brides had done so, as had Zdan, Lunja’s husband.
It was unusual for the man to choose to come to his wife’s family rather than for her to go to his. Zdan’s family had become very small. His two sisters had married and left home. His parents were dead. One aunt remained, and he offered to bring her with him, but she had adamantly refused. He checked on her daily. She was very set in her ways. Safia knew Zdan’s aunt would never have accepted Amastan as head of the family. He wasn’t traditional enough.
Safia couldn’t help noticing how anxious Amara looked as everyone began eating the tajine. Twice, Amara’s gaze went to Izem’s, and he shifted slightly toward her, giving her a reassuring smile. Deliberately, Safia took a spoonful of the stew, expecting it to be a little better than the last time Amara had made it, but this time it was far, far better. The blend of spices was nearly perfect.
Safia looked across the table at Amara, unable to keep the huge smile from her face. She didn’t want to make a big deal about the fact that the tajine was so good, because that might embarrass Amara and point out all the times she had failed.
“Charif,” Amastan said with a false frown. “Are you already finished with your first serving? Leave some for your elders.”
Charif looked up at his father, puzzled, with a spoon halfway to his mouth. Zdan ruffled his hair and leaned down to whisper in an overly loud voice. “I have a much longer arm, Charif. I’ll get you extra helpings.”
Pretending to fight over the stew was the perfect way to convey to Amara that she had gotten it right and that everyone was devouring her efforts gratefully. Safia once again noted the exchange between Amara and Izem. This time there were tears in Amara’s eyes, which she hastily blinked away, and pride on Izem’s face. He smiled at her lovingly. The look her eldest brother gave his young wife was enough to make Safia wish, just for that moment, that she wasn’t so alone, especially now, when she faced something evil and her family depended on her to lead the defense against it.