While feeding him she decided to speak to her second-cousin Yusuf. He was her own age, and lived in the next village, a couple of miles away, with his wife and a daughter the same age as Naji. Yusuf was a shepherd, but most of his flock had died for lack of grazing, and now he, too, was thinking of migrating before all his savings were spent. She wanted to talk over the problems with him. If he decided to go, she could travel with him and his family and feel a lot safer.
By the time Kiah had dressed Naji it was mid-afternoon, and the sun was past its height. She set off with the child on her hip. She was strong, and could still carry him for considerable distances, but she was not sure how long that would continue. Sooner or later he would be too heavy and, when he had to walk, their progress would be slower.
She followed the shore along the edge of the lake, shifting Naji from one hip to the other every few minutes. Now that the heat of the day was over, people were working again: fishermen mending nets and sharpening knives, children herding goats and sheep, women fetching water in traditional jars and big plastic demijohns.
Like everyone else Kiah kept an eye on the lake, for there was no knowing when the jihadis might get hungry and come to steal meat and flour and salt. They sometimes even kidnapped girls, especially Christian girls. Kiah touched the little silver cross on a chain that she wore under her dress.
After an hour she came to a village like her own except that it had a row of six concrete houses, built in better times and now crumbling but still inhabited.
Yusuf’s house was like hers, made of mud bricks and palm leaves. She paused at the door and called: ‘Anybody home?’
Yusuf recognized her voice and replied: ‘Come in, Kiah.’
He was sitting cross-legged, mending a puncture in a bicycle tyre, gluing a patch over a hole in the inner tube. He was a small man with a cheerful face, not as domineering as some husbands. He smiled broadly: he was always pleased to see Kiah.
His wife, Azra, was breastfeeding their baby. Her smile was not quite so welcoming. She had a thin face with a pinched look, but that was not the only reason she looked forbidding. The truth was that Yusuf was a little too fond of his cousin Kiah. Since the death of Salim, Yusuf had assumed a protective air that involved him touching her hand and putting his arm around her more often than was necessary. Kiah suspected that he would like to be married to her as well as Azra, and Azra probably shared that suspicion. Polygamy was legal in Chad, and millions of Christian and Muslim women were in polygamous marriages.
Kiah had done nothing to encourage this behaviour by Yusuf, but nor had she rejected him, for she really did need protection and he was her only male relative in Chad. Now she worried that this triangular tension could threaten her plans.
Yusuf offered her a drink from a stone jar of sheep’s milk. He poured some into a bowl and she shared it with Naji.
‘I talked to a foreigner last week,’ she said while Naji slurped from the bowl. ‘A white American woman who came asking about the shrinking of the lake. I questioned her about Europe.’
‘That was smart,’ said Yusuf. ‘What did she tell you?’
‘She said the people smugglers are criminals and they might rob us.’
Yusuf shrugged. ‘We could be robbed right here by the jihadis.’
Azra put in: ‘But it’s easier to rob people out there in the desert. You can just leave them to die.’
‘You’re right,’ Yusuf said to his wife. ‘I’m just saying there’s danger everywhere. We’ll die here if we don’t leave.’
Yusuf was being dismissive, which suited Kiah’s purpose. She reinforced his words by saying: ‘We’d be safer together, the five of us.’
‘Of course,’ said Yusuf. ‘I will take care of everybody.’
That was not what Kiah had meant, but she did not contradict him. ‘Exactly,’ she said.
He said: ‘I have heard that in Three Palms there is a man called Hakim.’ Three Palms was a small town ten miles away. ‘They say Hakim can take people all the way to Italy.’
Kiah’s pulse quickened. She had not known about Hakim. This news meant that escape could be closer than she had imagined. The prospect suddenly became more real – and more frightening. She said: ‘The white woman I met told me you can easily go from Italy to France.’
Azra’s baby, Danna, had drunk enough. Azra wiped the child’s chin with her sleeve and set her on her feet. Danna toddled to Naji and the two began to play side by side. Azra picked up a small jar of oil and rubbed a little on her nipples, then adjusted the bodice of her dress. She said: ‘How much money does this Hakim want?’