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)
Layla greeted the women and her niece before serving the traditional drink of og milk, dates, honey and butter. This was an important day and one Safia had looked forward to her entire life. When she was a little girl, she would lie with her sisters and talk about the time she would have her henna ceremony on the first day of the celebration of her marriage.
On the days honoring a milestone, such as when she graduated classes, she lined up with the other young girls dressed in her finest kaftan, eager for her turn to have her henna tattoo on her hands. The tattoo was so beautiful and always made her feel grown-up and accomplished. She complimented Tala on her party dress and the henna on her hands, which Lunja had carefully applied for the festive occasion.
The women had Safia sit while they prepared her hands and feet for the application of the henna design. Each symbol was well thought out and placed on her for a reason. She was the defender of their people and therefore thought to be far more at risk than any other bride might be. The women were even going to sprinkle henna in her shoes on the night of her wedding to ward off any demons who might accost her.
“I think someone has been biting your neck,” Amara observed, peering at Safia’s skin as she stood over her, braiding her hair. She leaned down for a closer look. “Yes, I would say that’s definitely a love bite.”
“What’s a love bite?” Tala asked, looking up at her mother.
“Insect bite,” Safia corrected, clapping a hand over her suddenly pounding pulse and glaring up at her impish sister-in-law. “This is an insect bite.”
“Ha!” Layla disputed. “Everyone knows insects don’t bite you.”
“Let me see.” Safia’s older sister, Lunja, clicked her tongue and shook her head. “I knew you shouldn’t have gone off with that man. He’s far more experienced than you.”
Safia turned a bright shade of red. Lobster red. She felt the deep color rising despite every effort not to allow it. Even Aura burst into laughter.
Tala looked at her wide-eyed. “What man?”
“Petru, baby, the groom,” Lunja explained to her daughter.
“He was a perfect gentleman.” Safia was compelled to defend Petru. Another round of laughter went up and she glared at her family. “He was.”
“I’m sure he was, considering you sound so disappointed,” Farah said.
It was Safia’s turn to laugh. “Well, in all honesty, I was terribly disappointed. He can kiss like you wouldn’t believe. I had no idea what I was missing out on.” Deliberately, she glared at each one of her sisters-in-law and then her sister. “Aura, when you get the chance, kiss the man you’re attracted to. And if he happens to have a code of honor, don’t let him talk to Jeddi or Baba. They won’t allow him to be with you before the marriage ceremony.”
“Safia.” Lunja tried her best to sound outraged but looked as if she were going to fall over laughing. That made everyone else erupt into laughter again.
“Well, it’s true,” Safia groused. “Petru is obsessed with honor.”
“That’s a good thing, Safia,” Layla insisted.
“I’d much rather he be obsessed with me.”
“I think he is,” Aura joined in the discussion.
It was Farah they trusted with the designs for the henna on her hands. Each symbol represented something of great importance to her. Her family. Petru. Crystals and rocks of significance. The Amazigh people.
Henna grew in abundance in the Mediterranean area. After the leaves were ground to a fine powder, it was often mixed with water to form a thick paste. Farah had added jasmine oil to give it fragrance, since they would be there a long time and she wanted them to enjoy the experience. A true henna is red, and Farah preferred to paint her intricate patterns on with several artist brushes of various sizes. At times, she used a thin stick to create the lines she wanted.
When Farah was finished, she would mix sugar with lime or lemon and drizzle it over the henna designs to seal them and enhance the colors. When it hardened and cracked off, the designs would stay for several weeks. The fragrance of the henna was very pleasing. It was a long process for the women to apply the elaborate artwork to both hands and feet. Farah had incorporated the symbols of the Imazighen as well as those designed to bring the couple getting married good luck. She had added in the name given to the legendary ancient Carpathian warrior in the telling of their stories. In their language, Farah had woven amnay icheqqan n wayur into jasmine vines. That meant “fierce knight of the moon.” Aura had given her a similar name in his language. It had been difficult, but Farah had managed to add Kuŋe kont ku votjak, which was “moon knight” in Carpathian, under the name in Tamazight representing Petru.