Mariam was five years old the first time she heard the wordharami.
It happened on a Thursday. It must have, because Mariamremembered that she had been restless and preoccupied¹ thatday, the way she was only on Thursdays, the day when Jalilvisited her at thekolba. To pass the time until the moment thatshe would see him at last, crossing the knee-high grass in theclearing and waving, Mariam had climbed a chair and takendown her mother's Chinese tea set. The tea set was the solerelic that Mariam's mother, Nana, had of her own mother, whohad died when Nana was two. Nana cherished eachblue-and-white porcelain² piece, the graceful³ curve of the pot'sspout, the hand-painted finches and chrysanthemums⁴, thedragon on the sugar bowl, meant to ward⁵ off evil.
It was this last piece that slipped from Mariam's fingers, thatfell to the wooden floorboards of thekolba and shattered.
When Nana saw the bowl, her face flushed red and herupper lip shivered, and her eyes, both the lazy one and thegood, settled on Mariam in a flat, unblinking way. Nana lookedso mad that Mariam feared the jinn would enter her mother'sbody again. But the jinn didn't come, not that time. Instead,Nana grabbed Mariam by the wrists, pulled her close, and,through gritted⁶ teeth, said, "You are a clumsy little harami Thisis my reward for everything I've endured An heirloom-breaking,clumsy little harami."At the time, Mariam did not understand. She did not knowwhat this word harami-bastard -meant Nor was she oldenough to appreciate the injustice⁷, to see that it is the creatorsof theharami who are culpable⁸, not theharami, whose only sinis being born. Mariam did surmise⁹, by the way Nana said theword, that it was an ugly, loath-some thing to be harami, likean insect, like the

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