Sagal, the Witch-in-Training

SAGAL, THE WITCH-IN-TRAINING

by Ardo Omer

(Content Warnings: Mental Health, Grief) 

“Soo kac, get dressed and grab your kit,” Hooyo whispers as she gently shakes my shoulder before walking away, the wooden floors creaking beneath her. I tap my phone screen, the blue light flashing 3 a.m. at me. I grieve the loss of sleeping in on a Friday off from school.

Dragging myself out of bed, I stumble to the bathroom down the hall to get cleaned up. Once I’m back in my room, I turn on my bedside lamp to avoid waking my older sister. The lamp weakly illuminates the first clean shirt I see—a short grey tee that reads “Do What Comes Supernaturally”—and yesterday’s jeans. I put them on, but there won’t be time to fix my curls, so I grab a dark blue scarf with silver tinsel and wrap it around my head like a crown. My kit, Aabo’s worn brown leather satchel, sits on the floor near my nightstand. I hug it to my chest while running through the list in my head to make sure everything is accounted for: vials of essential oils, spices and dried herbs in small jars, my journal, a pen, a first aid kit, a pocketknife, a lighter, a portable incense burner, tongs, and some uunsi. Satisfied, I head downstairs.

The kitchen smells of black tea and anjero as Hooyo stands over the stove in her bright yellow baati with thick thermal leggings underneath. I try not to disturb her, and take a seat at the small table across from it, avoiding Aabo’s empty seat. Drizzling sesame oil and sprinkling sugar on top, Hooyo folds the thin sourdough pancake into a triangle and then folds another. Plating both, she hands them to me without a word. 

We eat the anjero with our hands and sip shaah from our mugs. The ticking of the wall clock punctures the sleepy silence. After a few minutes, it’s time to go. She pours the rest of the tea into two travel mugs.

It’s January, the weather of mini clouds wafting from lips and an always-cold nose. Wearing an orange hijab, Hooyo puts on a black winter coat with a fur-trimmed hood. I’m wearing a matching one. We both put on our boots, and head out of the townhouse into the quiet street. We shuffle into the gold Dodge Grand Caravan that we’ve had forever and set off. I sip more of the shaah—orange pekoe with ginger, cinnamon, cardamon, clove, milk, and a healthy dose of sugar (the way Aabo liked it)—and watch the slumbering city flash by me as we cruise effortlessly down the empty highway. I think about my classmates sleeping in their warm beds in irritation. 

I debate whether to pepper Hooyo with a dozen questions—What does this case involve? Why this early? and so on—but decide against it, and use this time instead to feel more awake. Hooyo takes the lead for most of these anyways. She’ll ask questions, diagnose the ailment whether magical in nature or not, and then treat the patient. My job as an apprentice is to observe. I just wish I could do it during normal working hours.

We finally reach our destination, pulling into a trio of apartment complexes on Dixon Road. She parks the van and turns to look at me. Her eyes suddenly alert. “Sagal, you’ll be doing this one on your own.”

“Wait.” I blink in confusion. “What? Now?”

“Yes,” Hooyo responds, getting out of the van. “When else?”

My chest tightens as I jump out and close the door behind me. I catch up to Hooyo’s quick and purposeful gait—my kit dragging my right side while trying not to spill the travel mug in my left hand—and throw questions at Hooyo. “Um… what’s the case? Who’s involved?” 

Entering one of the apartment buildings, Hooyo punches in a code and immediately the door buzzes open. She casually answers each of my questions as we walk through the lobby and board the elevator. “A boy called earlier asking for help with his older sister.” I scrunch up my face thinking of my own sisters—the ones still living at home at least—enjoying their blissful sleep. The elevator whines as it moves up and past each floor. “She hasn’t left her room in three days after her engagement was broken.”

I purse my lips. “That’s sad but not weird for a hurt heart, right?” 

The doors open on the eighth floor where we exit and abruptly stand off to the side. Hooyo watches me, eyes narrowing, but doesn’t say a word. The fluorescent light flickers in the dim hallway and washes out Hooyo’s dark brown skin, the same dark brown skin me and my siblings inherited. Now I’ve noticed the little creases between her brows from being in deep thought, always contemplative and introspective. I knead my thumb into the satchel’s strap.

Finally, Hooyo speaks, “He said she’s barely eaten or drank anything in three days—nothing at all in the last day—and hopes something simple could help lighten her sorrow. I told him we’d assess the situation before any action could be taken.” She grabs hold of my face—a calloused hand on either side—and brings it closer to her own. “You’ve been training for this. The knowledge,” she says, tapping my temples with her index fingers, “is there. If things get out of hand, call me. But only if all other attempts have been exhausted. The mark of a fully-fledged witch is…”

“…the ability to adjust your approach and keep a cool head. I know, Hooyo.”

“Waan ogahay, waan ogahay,” she mimics as a small smile blooms, deepening her laugh lines. My mood lifts. It’s been a while since I’ve seen her smile. “Good girl. It’s apartment 810. I have a patient of my own a few doors down.” She lightly pushes me towards the row of apartment doors.

I stand there until Hooyo walks away; she gives a light rap on a door down the hall, and she quietly disappears into a different apartment. I take a huge breath and release it before walking down the hallway. With every step, the gravity of the situation dawns on my body. The beating in my chest is now in my ears. My eyes begin to water. The anxiety builds until I’m in front of the door. Another deep breath in. Another out. A few more times. When I’m as close to ready as I’ll ever be, I knock twice before the door swings open revealing a Somali boy my age. 

It takes a moment before I recognize my classmate, Nabil. He’s dressed in grey sweatpants, a white t-shirt, and a combo of Adidas slides with white socks. The bags under his eyes aren’t new, he’s had them for the last few days at school, but they’re more pronounced. Not that I’ve been watching him. His black curls look like they haven’t been combed and his brows are furrowed. “Sagal? What are you doing here?”

“You called my house for help?” I don’t mean to frame it as a question, but it’s too late now.

“Oh, uh…” his eyes search behind me before he finally steps aside. “Come in.”

I timidly enter the apartment, shifting my travel mug to my other hand while undoing my boots with my left.

“Here, I’ll hold your stuff,” Nabil offers, hands ready. I clumsily hand him the mug and quickly remove my boots, leaving them by the door. I walk over to the nearby dining room table where he deposited my things, and hang my coat on the back of one of the three chairs. Nabil stands awkwardly with his hands in his pockets. “I thought only certified witches did cases by themselves… unless you are one? Don’t you get certified at like eighteen?”

“Fifteen, actually,” I pipe up, and then scold myself for coming off so meek. “That’s after you complete your first case alone.” Our eyes lock, but I quickly look away. The reality of being inside his home is like getting an adrenaline shot. I’m wide awake now. “Um… this is my first solo case.”

“Oh. Do you know what you’re doing?” he asks. His cheeks immediately redden, embarrassment spreading across his burnt umber face. “I mean… is it okay for you to do this on your own? I didn’t mean to make it sound like you don’t know what you’re doing or that your hooyo shouldn’t trust you to do this because I’m sure you’re great…”

“Nabil.”

He stops talking, his chest heaving like he ran a marathon. “Sorry,” he apologizes sheepishly.

“It’s all good. I’ve been apprenticing with my hooyo and older sisters since I was twelve.” I dig through my kit and take out a jar of spices. “This sounds like a simple mood boost which shouldn’t take long. I just have to put a bit of these spices into some shaah and light some uunsi.” God, it feels like I’ve been talking for ages. “Actually, can I see your sister?”

“Uh… yeah! Sure.” Nabil leads me to a room and pauses in front of it. “Aamina, I brought someone to help. We’re coming in.” Tentatively, he opens the door. 

  I’m immediately hit with a force of despair so strong it almost knocks the breath out of me. Moving forward into this room is like swimming against a current, like there’s a thick emotional fog between me and the young woman in bed. I’m able to remember what little I know about Aamina: an extrovert who volunteers at our various high school events, an administrative assistant at York University, her warmth, and her bright-yet-stylish hijabs. I’ve seen her at a few Somali weddings and she’s asked my eldest sister for help when her mother fell ill. 

The person in front me now looks gaunt, her skin dull and ashen. Her curly hair is knotted, and her eyelids hang heavy with exhaustion as they try to open at the sound of her brother’s voice. Unable to deal with the thought of another step, I grab a hold of Nabil’s elbow and tug him back with me through the door and into the cramped hallway.

My hand is still gripping Nabil when I whisper, “Did you feel that?” 

He frowns. “Feel what?”

I let him go and head back to the dining area, my thoughts running ahead of me. “An unease. You probably don’t feel it as much because you’ve been here for so long...” I take out a different jar from my kit. “It does explain the dark circles under your eyes though, how quiet you’ve been in class, and the lack of energy during your soccer practices…”

“You’ve noticed all that?”

I pause for a beat, look up at him and then back down. “Yes.”

Grabbing the jar, my portable incense burner, and the tongs from my kit, I head back to Aamina’s room. Nabil shadows me as I set up the incense burner on the side table. I take some of the uunsi out—small hard chunks of incense—from the jar and place one or two into the shallow hole before covering it up again. Turning it on, smoke steadily streams out. I lift it and gingerly move it all over Aamina who, lying on her side, shifts and clutches her comforter as if agitated. Up to her head and back down to her toes. Slowly the problem reveals itself.

A long snake is coiled around Aamina’s body, black as a starless night sky, or more accurately, a void. There are white horizontal stripes up and down its torso, but after a closer look, it’s more of a metallic hue that expands and contracts in rhythm with her breathing. Its head is up against her ear hissing.

I place the incense burner back on the side table and hurry back to the dining room. I get my journal, sit down, and flip through the pages while Nabil hovers next to me. “So… what’s wrong with Aamina? What’s with the uunsi?”

“It’s worse than I thought,” I mutter absentmindedly before an aha escapes my mouth having found the hand drawn diagram. “Hooyo said that your sister experienced a heartbreak, right? It looks like something has taken advantage of her sadness. Everyday sadness or even depression is, like, an ache inside you that ranges in intensity depending on the person. As loved ones, we feel empathy and so we feel bad in response. But just now? When we were in the room, it felt like I was being sucked down into a spiritual blackhole along with Aamina.”

“I’d notice—” 

“—but you wouldn’t, because you’ve gotten used to it. Chalk it up to empathy,” I gesticulate, my words coming out a mile a minute. “I used the uunsi to reveal the reason: a spiritual parasite that used your sister’s weak moment to hijack her body and amplify her despair to feed itself. I’ve heard about this from my sisters and Hooyo—”

“Will Aamina be okay?”

I look up to see Nabil has collapsed into the chair across from me, head in his hands and fingers gripping his hair. I forgot the key part of being a witch: comforting patients and their loved ones.

The blood in my ears pumps loudly. Quickly, I reply, “She’ll be okay. You did the right thing when you called. With these things, the worry is when people don’t eat or drink. They waste away and…” I slow down and think of what Hooyo would do. How she calmed down a weeping mother whose child had picked up a cursed fidget spinner at their local park. A deep breath in. Another one out. I soften my voice but keep it firm. “…but now that I know what it is, I can help her. She’ll be okay. I promise.”

Nabil is silent for a moment before a chuckle shakes through his body. He lifts his head, his dark brown eyes glistening, and cheeks wet from tears. “I don’t think you’re supposed to promise me that.”

I grin and shrug dramatically. “You’re probably right, but we can do this.”

“We?” Nabil wipes  his face. “How can I help? I don’t have magic.”

“Not true.” I stand and lean in across the table. “Magic is everywhere. It can be as simple as the feeling of scoring a well-timed goal. Witches just have a stronger connection to it that lets them manipulate it, and the key to using magic is all in the intention.”

Talking about magic has always brought me joy. My heart races at the thought of fixing a problem or healing someone. This is the feeling I get when I accompany Hooyo and my older sisters on their cases. Not the anxiety or the butterflies I’ve had since finding out I’d be solving this case alone or that Nabil is involved. The reality is that I’m not alone. I have my training and centuries of knowledge passed down from those who came before like Hooyo, my hooyo’s hooyo and my ayeeyo’s aabo.

Imbued with a new determination, I retrieve the small jar of spices from earlier, and beckon Nabil to follow me into the kitchen. “I left the uunsi with your sister to help slow down the parasite and offer her some relief, but it won’t be enough to get rid of it. It gets its strength from pulling its host deeper into the sadness and making it difficult to get out of that whirlpool. What we need to do is to give Aamina enough clarity to pull away from it.” We stand side by side in front of the counter. “I’ll make the shaah like I mentioned earlier to help boost her mood. What’s a dish that means something to you and your sister? It’s got to be something that’s tied to a strong emotion for the both of you.”

“She’d make anjero every Saturday morning.” Nabil leans against the counter, one arm wrapped across his chest and the other hand gripping his chin in thought. “Ever since Hooyo died, it’s been just the two of us for the last year. Every Sunday morning, we'd wake up to the smell of anjero and would watch cartoons while eating it. We did it less and less the last few years, but then…” He trails off.

I nod. “I also woke up to that smell first thing in the morning.” I reflexively grab for Aabo’s satchel at my side but remember I left it on the table. Even though Hooyo is the witch in the relationship, Aabo was the cook. Since he died, I notice how much she loses herself in the process. How she’ll sometimes look as if she’s in a trance when she’s making suqaar or odkac. Daydreaming of him. I try not to interrupt her when she gets like that. I gently shake my head, relinquishing the memories for now and focus up on the job in front of me. “You’ll need to be the one to make the anjero. The process in the making of this dish, that means something to the two of you, by someone who loves her is powerful.”

“Uh, I don’t know how to make anjero.”

“It’s a good thing I take after my aabo. Just follow my instructions and keep your sister in mind throughout the process.”

The two of us set off to find the required ingredients—flour, eggs, yeast, and salt. I hand a small bowl to Nabil and have him mix the yeast and warm water in it. I watch as he whisks together the dry ingredients—flour and salt—in a bigger bowl before adding the wet ingredients—the yeasty water and eggs. He proceeds to add more water, beating out the lumps, until it’s runny but not too watery. I notice him flexing his right bicep to shake out the ache. 

When he’s finally done, I say, “Put the bowl to the side and cover it for about ten to fifteen minutes to give the yeast some time to activate. Get a pan on the stove top but don’t turn it on just yet.” He sets up the pan while I begin to brew the shaah. I find the smallest pot and fill it with water. Using one of the other stove tops, I turn it on high and get to work. I sprinkle in a healthy helping of the ground spices in my jar: cardamom, cloves, cinnamon, and nutmeg. I peel and chop up ginger that I find in one of the drawers and throw that into the pot as well. When it’s brought to a boil, I add one bag of black tea— “Aamina doesn’t like her shaah too bitter,” Nabil says—and let it simmer on low heat, waiting for a rich amber colouring.

While I pour the shaah into a taarmuus, I task Nabil with checking on the anjero batter and he confirms that it bubbles. It’s ready. He turns on the stove top to a medium heat where the pan sits and pours some of the sesame oil into a small clean bowl. When the pan is warmed up, Nabil coats the surface with a thin layer of sesame oil. He grabs the black silicone ladle and scoops some of the anjero batter before bringing it to the pan. He hesitates, panicked eyes on me. I take the ladle from him and demonstrate pouring the batter into the center of the pan. With a firm yet delicate touch, I spread it in a circular motion clockwise until it almost hits the edges. I cover it, trapping the heat for a few moments before lifting the lid. The top of the thin anjero is soft yet riddled with air pockets but the bottom is crisp. Removing it cleanly from the pan, I place it onto a waiting plate. Drizzling sesame oil and sprinkling sugar on top, I hand the ladle back to Nabil to continue the routine for each anjero. We stand there in a hypnotic state of pour, spiral, cover, lift, drizzle, and sprinkle. Again and again.

“Remember to think of the memories you share with your sister. The stronger the better.” I can see him disappear in them and then tears welling up in his eyes. I tense up with concern. I go through all the things I should say in a moment like this, but then settle on, “Are you okay?”

“Yeah, yeah. It’s just…” his voice shakes. “Aamina dropped everything to look after me when Hooyo died, and I wonder if it’s because of me that her engagement ended. Maybe it’s my fault that she’s like this.”

We’re quiet for a few moments. I clasp and unclasp my hands anxiously before speaking, “When I started my training, I already had four older sisters who were all fully trained witches. It meant getting to see five different women help all kinds of people. So many situations of loved ones who believed they were at fault and in some cases, it was true. Most of the time, things happen, and not being able to prevent it or save someone you care about feels like a failure. This isn’t your fault and your sister would agree.”

Our eyes lock but this time, I don’t look away. Nabil’s eyes are still sad and also a bit lighter. I’ve always known him to be someone who looked out for people—his sister, friends, teammates, classmates—and it’s a quality I like best about him. I point to the pan. “You’re going to burn that.” He laughs and takes the anjero off the pan.

Soon there is a pile of piping hot anjero. Nabil places three on a separate plate while I pour two cups of shaah with honey but withhold milk. “Before we head in, you should drink some. It’ll help improve your mood and prevent the parasite from latching onto you once it leaves Aamina.” 

A look of horror crosses his face. “That’s not terrifying at all.” He drinks the shaah and then gestures at me. “What about you?”

“I’ve already had some before getting here.” I point to the travel mug.

I send Nabil ahead with the shaah and anjero to Aamina’s room while I grab my gloves. It’s time to put into practice everything I’ve learned. My anxiety still lingers but I breathe through it with a steadying hand on my heart. When I’m ready, I head in. 

Aamina is already looking better; her colour is returning and her eyes more awake. The snake has started to loosen its grip around her body. Nabil has his sister in a seated position and I go to sit on Aamina’s left side while putting on my gloves. I nod at him which prompts him to sit on his sister’s right with the cup of shaah. Blowing to cool it a bit, he cups her chin and slowly brings the warm drink to her lips. Tentatively, she sips it before growing into gulps. “Tartiib, tartiib. It’s hot,” he says.

The snake becomes woozy, releasing more and more of its grip on Aamina. I carefully wrap my gloved hands around its neck. It begins to coil a bit of its upper body around my wrist. It’s tightening in a last-ditch effort to survive. I can feel it trying to pull at my anxiety, my doubts, my grief. I remember my aabo and his last days at home fighting an illness even my hooyo couldn’t remedy with magic and love. Others, however, could still be helped. Tears streaming down my face, I draw on the adrenalin in my veins and make sure I have everything under control before saying with certainty, “Now Nabil.”

He hesitates, but then wipes shaah from Aamina’s chin and swaps the cup for the plate of anjero. Just like I instructed, he folds the first one into a triangle and offers it to Aamina who weakly bites into it. While she eats, he tells her about being eight years old and chased by the neighbourhood dog on the way home from school. How his thirteen-year-old sister had rescued him from the ordeal and rubbed his back, calming his hiccupping sobs. 

He talks and she eats, and she eats because he talks.

The snake with its inky black scales that feel endless, and cuffs of metallic stripes up and down its body slowly dies. It withers and hisses curses as I continue to coil it around my hands until it has completely left Aamina. It burns up into whimpering smoke before finally disappearing, taking the heaviest part of my grief with it.

I take off my gloves and watch the siblings together. Aamina’s energy is slowly returning, her hand resting against Nabil’s cheek. “Nabil,” she says softly before sobbing. Her body shakes, but there is also relief there.

“Shhh… shhh,” Nabil rubs his sister’s back as they clutch onto one another.

The night sky is beginning to see the sun’s rays. I slip out of the room with the empty cup, plate, and my portable incense burner. I wash the dishes before packing up. After a few minutes of looking, I find their electric incense burner and place a layer of aluminum foil on top with small chunks of uunsi. In the living room, I plug it in to purify the rest of the apartment. Putting on my jacket and boots, I stand by the door with my kit slung on my shoulder and empty travel mug in hand when Nabil finally emerges from the bedroom.

“Were you going to leave before saying goodbye?”

I open my mouth to protest but then settle on, “Pretty much. Yeah.”

He grins. We stand there silently for a few minutes. Nabil breaks first. “Thank you,” he rushes the words and holds out an envelope. “For everything. It feels like saying that and even compensating you isn’t enough after what you did for Aamina.”

I push away the envelope. “Hooyo would never charge you for this,” I say against his protests. “But you’re welcome, and it comes with the job description. I have some of my uunsi burning in the living room but using your own for the next few days is fine. Your sister will be okay with some rest, but she should really leave the room even if it’s just to sit on the couch. She’ll be fully recovered from the effects of the parasite in two to three days, but the heartache is something she’ll have to work through herself. And with your help.” I clear my throat. “So yeah. That’s that.” I extend a hand and Nabil clasps it. “It was nice working with you.”

“It was nice working with you too. See you at school on Monday.”

I turn to unlock the door and step out into the world as a fully-fledged witch. As the door closes behind me, I find Hooyo seated in the hallway on a fold out chair a few doors down. Her head lulled to the side, a book in her limp hand, and her chest rising and falling in slumber.

I walk over and kiss her forehead before gently shaking her shoulder. Her eyes flutter open, and our eyes lock onto each other. Smiling, I say, “Soo kac. It’s time to go home.”