Tata is Soté's sixth daughter. It is fair to say that everyone had been praying that Tata be born a boy. Soté has yet to give birth to a son, and her husband, Lahmine, married his second wife, Bébé last year. When Soté gave birth to her fifth daughter, Banta told me Soté was close to tears. The pressure was on, and I'll admit to being worried about what Soté's reaction would be when she gave birth to Tata in late April.
Maybe its how pretty Tata is. Maybe its her straight(ish) nose. Maybe its that Bébé gave birth to her first child -- also a girl -- last month, so Soté feels vindicated: finally she's proved that its not just her that gives birth to girls. I don't make the baby, Soté keeps saying, Allah does. Whatever it is, Soté adores Tata as if she were her first daughter, not her sixth.
So when Tata wouldn't stop crying on Tuesday and Wednesday and her skin grew oh-so-hot, Soté was worried. It didn't help that Soté was on cooking duty. Later that morning, I stopped by the family compound to find Soté rushing around, trying to get lunch ready, Tata screaming in the background. Soté had laid Tata down on a mat inside the house (imagine pounding millet with a sick baby on your back), but Tata was now willing to cooperate. I picked Tata up and rocked her in the shade, trying to ignore how hot her skin was.
That evening, I walked back to Soté's, lighting my way with my headlamp. The last moon I'll see in Mali has risen, but its just a sliver yet. Tata was still crying, but there were louder cries in the compound now, too. Lahmine's goat was sick. A small black goat Lahmine bought a couple months ago to fatten up and resell, the goat was weaving around the compound, squealing with horribly. Lahmine sat with his flashlight, eyes on his goat.
Tata kept crying and Soté passed her to me. All day she spent cooking, but she needed to start another fire: it was her night with Lahmine and she wanted to serve him something special.
Lahmine got up and walked over to the goat, examining her. He reached into his pocket and then forced medicine down the goat's throat. She screamed louder. He hadn't found the time (or money) to take Tata to the doctor yet, but there was medicine for the goat.
But Lahmine seemed to relax a little after giving the goat the medicine. He reached over and touched Tata's forehead. She is hot, he said. We sat talking quietly, Soté busy poring water and setting the evening's tea on its charcoal fire.
the goat's cries were weaker now. They had lost some of their desperation. Lahmine got up when he realized the goat had wandered outside the compound. He came running back inside with her, yelling at his daughter to bring him a knife. The medicine had hurt instead of helped, and Lahmine was in a hurry to kill the goat before it died. If he didn't cut the goat's head in time, the meat would be inedible.
The knife wasn't sharp, but it is big. It makes a dull sawing noise, but finally the goat's head is off.
Lahmine left with the goat and Soté sighed. I knew it was too much medicine, she said. Tata had fallen asleep in my arms and Soté picked her up. Her fever was down a bit and she was sleeping soundly.
We waited for Lahmine in the darkness. Soté brought out his food and began pouring the tea. We waited.
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