Magan; The Provider Of Refuge

Magan; The Provider Of Refuge

By: Allie Garbini

Somalia, 2009

In a desert town in Somalia, there are 8 families, all of which are over 70. All of their children, and grandchildren either died in the drought and famine, or went to fight in the civil war and were never heard from again. 

    In a desert town in Somalia, there are 200 families, and a large fountain in the middle of the town. The lives of the families depend of the fountain. Water is life, life cannot thrive without water. It dies.

    Magan’s fingers were black and bloody. She’d spent all day trying to screw lugnuts on without any tools. Her weak limbs were not very strong so the activity sored her arms and ripped the flesh from her fingers.

    A week earlier, Magan had been wandering the hot desert plain. She had known this path very well. She followed the skeleton remains old goats, past the dead tree, and too the marsh where those from nearby villages scavaged for water. She knew better than to keep going. Her village was the only one for 50 miles with a working fountain. People from other towns had tried to come for water but in fear of the fountain drying, some of the men bought or found guns to keep others out. The problem with this was since noone could use her fountain, they couldnt use the marsh. If anyone recongnized her, she’d be dead. Usually this was when she’d turn aroound and make the 5 mile walk home, but today, she wanted to watch. She wanted to see the woman struggle to carry jugs of water while little girls and boys dug in the ground until their fingers were raw. Hoping, if they dug in the right place, a trickle of water would rise to the surface. She noticed the small number of many men, but the ones that were there, were holding spears and watching carefully to see if they could spot even the tiniest of rodent for dinner. Magan wanted to throw up. Even though she didnt have the most glamorous of lifestyles, she had water. And with water, you can do anything. 

Suddenly, Magan’s mind cleared, she remembered where she was, that if she was caught, returning would be hard. Magan decided she had to move, but she didn’t want to go back just yet. So, she didn’t. She walked slowly pasted the marsh. She wanted to see what was there, Magan had never gone this far away from her town. She thought the best course of action would be to move forward and when she would go back, she could find her way better. However, in a desert plain, where there is nothing, it is hard to tell if you are going straight. After about 4 miles, Magan could see a shadow in the distance. It wasn’t much, but it was a landmark to her. A sign of life. Something she had never seen before.

Soon enough, Magan could see a whole pile of wood and metal rods, chains, screws, nails, and rope. She even found a few old matches buried in sand and a copper pan. She had never seen copper before, but this copper was eroded and lizard eggs had been left inside the pan. She was so distracted by her treasure trove of goods that she’d almost missed the row of shacks ½ a mile further. She left her precious metals and continued towards the shantys. Magan was careful not to get to close. She was worried something was still living in this crude structures. Something that woudlnt like her or her new valuables. She dodged up behind the first shack and peered into a crack. She saw an old man sitting alone on the floor. Around him was nothing but 5 cans of unopened beans, 8 filled jugs of water, 10 empty jugs, and 30 empty cans of beans. The same number of day since the Civil war started.

Magan watched solemly as the man struggled to stand and get a little leather bound book sitting on his dirty mattress. She watched for a few minutes as he wrote in the book. He then ripped out the paper and opened the door adjacent to Magan. He looked at her for a moment, then reached the letter out for her. Magan was stunned the old man knew she was there and took his note. The man then closed the door and retreated to his bed.

Magan wanted to read the note so badly but first she had to see if the man was alone in this row of 8 shantys. She walked to the next shack and knocked on the door. Noone answered so Magan opened the door. There was a quiet moan from inside the house. A woman even older than the man was lying in a bed. She seems almost paralized, but still alive.

“Hello, I am Magan. I am not here to hurt you. I found these this village while wandering and wanted to make sure everyone here is alright.”

Suddenly, the old woman became quietly crying. She seemed asthough she had been doing alot of that.

“How have you been eating and drinking water. Are you alone?” Magan asked.

“Cumar used to get water and feed me. He died.” The woman murmered.

“How long ago? You need to eat now.” The woman didn’t reply. Magan opened the only cabinet in the shanty and found a small container of water and a very old can of beans. Magan propped the head of the woman up and feed her the beans and water. They must have tasted like led but she didnt care. It was food. Something the old woman clearly hadn’t tasted in a while.

    “ Why haven’t you eaten? You will die if you don’t. Can you walk?” Magan asked.

    “I haven’t gotten out of this bed in 30 days. When I get hungry I chew on vines that grow into the house. When I am thirsty I drink the water I hid under my bed. I am too sad to get leave for more food and water.”

    “I will come tomorrow them, and bring you goat milk, water, and berries.” The woman seems to smile though her tears.

    The next day Magan darted past the marsh with a cup of goat milk, a handful of berries, and a small container of water. It was all she could carry. She would have brought more if she could have. Magan went straight for the old womans house. She knocked in courtesy and went in. Magan set the food on the bedside table and was ready to feed the woman when she noticed something wrong. The woman seemed stiffer, and cold. She was like this when Magan had met her the day before but today it was worse.

    “Hello? Hello! Are you ok? Say something!” The woman didn’t move. She didn’t speak. She was dead.

    Magan began to cry. She barely had an interaction with this woman but she felt connected to her. She understood the trauma. Magan’s father had died in the war aswell.

    Magan was asoultuly distraght but then she noticed a note lying on the chest of the woman. She picked it up and read it.

    “Thank you for your kindness. Leave my body here and take my valuables. Cumar had a bike. Also, take care of the others.”

    Before Magan could fully wrap her head around the note, she remembered the old man and his note. She reached into the scarf she wore around her head and pulled the old man’s letter from it’s wrap.

    “I have noone but the other lonely men and woman who live in these homes. I need food and water, and so do they. All of our children and grandchildren are gone. Please help,” the letter read.

    Magan sprang up and grabbed the berries, milk and water she had brought the old woman. She ran to the man in the first house and left the milk and a few berries at his doorstep. She did the same for another shack she saw with an elderly man and woman living there. Magan relized that every person living in these houses had nothing but what was left for them in their homes before the war and couldn’t walk to get more, so was going to have too.

    Before Magan left though, she remembered what the old woman had said. She was looking for that bike.

    Magan went  behind the house to find a small, rusted bike, lying in the dirt. She pulled it from it’s resting place and sat of it’s ripped cusion. She tried to petal but the bike collapse under her. It was missing screws, the chain, a handle, and what was left was so eroded and sunbaked it seemed brittle enough to snap. Magan was crushed. This bike was her ticket to brining food and water to the abandoned residents of this tiny town. They needed her and she needed this bike.

    The day after that, Magan came back with a larger jug of water, more milk, and more berries. She distributed them to all seven homes and returned to the deceased woman’s shanty. Magan coudlnt bare to look at the body so she covered her in a battered sheet and got began searching the small room. She looked in every crack until she found the “valuables” the woman had described. Magan was hoping for precious metals, diamonds, and pearls that would made her family rich. Instead she found a a big box hidden under the bed. Inside were 5 books, a pair of glasses, and 3 toy trucks. They must have been momentos of the woman’s family.

    Magan carried the box to the wrecked bike and began placing the pieces inside. She began walking home when she remembered something. There was noway she was getting this box 10 miles home, past the marsh. Then she recalled her personal treasure trove of good she found 3 days earlier. Magan left her box there until the next day.

    Magan kept coming back every day. She would deliver the food and water too the amonous inhabitants of the shantys she’d never seen and sat with her pile of treasures. Everyday for 3 days she shifted through the pile of junk and uncovered more nails, matches, rubber, spoons, cloth, and thin metal sheets buried in sand. Then, on the 7th day, she got an idea. She was going to rebuild her bike.

    She had no tools. Only wood, hardware, and bike parts. She took the basic parts of the bike and replaced and repaired.

    By the end of the day, Magan’s fingers were black and bloody. She’d spent all day trying to screw lugnuts on without any tools. Her weak limbs were not very strong so the activity sored her arms and ripped the flesh from her fingers.

    Magan was determined to rebuild the bike, and after 2 weeks, she did. Magan stood the bike up. It was still rusty and an quite the eyesore but it worked. The only problem, Magan didnt know how to ride a bike. A bike was a luxury and not many people in her town had one. Magan struggled to pettle for a few minutes before tipping onto the ground. The bike’s back wheel detached aswell. Frustration overcame her and she stormed off.

    The next day Magan came back with her berries, milk, and water. She was done with that bike. Two weeks down the drain, or so Magan thought. When she arrived, she saw the bike was missing.

    “Oh who cares. It’s broken, not to mention I can’t ride it.” Magan continued to the houses. One by one, she dropped the water and food off at each house. As usually all of the previous day’s food was gone and there was noone outside. However, when Magan got to last house in the row, she saw her bike leaning against the house. It was miraculously fixed with a tiny toolbox sitting next to it. On the bike seat was a note that read,

    “Thank you for the water. Keep the tools.”

    Magan walked her bike back to her treasure trove while carrying the tool box. She dropped the tool box and sat on the bike. She began to ride. At first she wobbled and began to tip over, but eventually she was riding smooth and free. Magan rode for hours before leaving walking back home. She wanted to ride on it forever, but it wasn’t quite finished yet. There was one more thing she wanted to add. A box.

    Magan secured the box to the bike with rope. Now, she could bring 4x the amount of food and water to the people.

    A month later, Magan realized that the food she had left for one of the residents had not been taken inside in several days. She decided to peek inside to make sure everything was ok. When she entered the shanty, she saw the dead body of the man she had never met. But had taken care of for 2 months.

    There was a little note resting on his chest. It said,

    “Thank you, provider of refuge.”

Slowly, as the years went by, the people of the town would die. Until, there was only the man in the first house she met on the first day. Then, eventually, he died too.

    Everytime one of them died, they would leave a note. And every note read the same thing.

    “Thank you, provider of refuge.”

    The last time Magan rode her bike home from hte now empty shantys, she passed the marsh filled with sunbaked families working so hard for a small cup of dirty, diseased water. She felt like she had actually done something meaningful. She had helped people who needed her. However, there was more to be done. She looked down at her handlebars and smiled at the little toy truck hanging from them.