Shame in tandem

She wore a crisp veil, jewelry and a light dusting of makeup, determined to make a good impression on the Mayor. If the merits of her school improvement project couldn’t woo him, perhaps her diplomacy would. As she approached the imposing concrete structure, she saw his door over the balcony: closed. Mission delayed. She decided instead to pay a visit to the Assistant Mayor’s assistant, Abderamane. She entered his office and began the standard greetings, a mix of French, Hassaniye and Pulaar: how are you, how’s the heat, it’s been a long time, how is Houleye? “How is Houleye?” a melifa snarled from the corner. “She knows your wife?” He grimaced icily. “Yes.” The volunteer tried to interpret his discomfort while the melifah bade them an extended goodbye. She and Abderamane were alone. “I wondered if I could stop by your house for dinner Saturday.” “That’s tomorrow.” “Right.” “You are always invited,” he explained warmly. “You know better than to ask.” She felt welcomed and relieved. “Thank you. Thank you, really.” “But never speak of my family in this office again.” His tone had shifted radically, as did hers. “I…” “My personal life is one thing, and my work is another.” She was silenced. After a few moments, she resumed her apology. “I am so sorry.” She felt the heat of his anger rise as embarrassment in her cheeks. “I didn’t mean to mix your personal and professional…” she trailed off. Before, she considered him as close to a host father as was possible. Now, he was ashamed of her. His eyes burned into the trail of her melifa as she walked, head down, out of his office.

He bent over the dusty keyboard, hammering out a report. This work that belonged to the Assistant Mayor, conveniently on mission. Again. With each keystroke, he counted down the minutes until he went home to his family. Hinges creaked in the breeze as a woman stepped through his doorway. Another demand, no doubt, from another entitled melifa. He greeted her profusely and gritted his teeth for the impending request. Light steps on the balcony announced another visitor, Khadijetou the volunteer. Her Pulaar showed promise: “how are you, how’s the heat, it’s been a long time, how is Houleye?” “How is Houleye?” a melifa snarled from the corner. “She knows your wife?” He felt exposed. “Yes.” How would this melifa view municipal employees fraternizing with volunteers? She left without indicating what rumors would follow. “I wondered if I could stop by your house for dinner Saturday.” “That’s tomorrow.” “Right.” “You are always invited. You know better than to ask.” He wondered when she would feel comfortable enough to simply stop by. “Thank you. Thank you, really.” “But never speak of my family in this office again.” He hadn’t meant it to sound so harsh. She looked wounded. “I…” “My personal life is one thing, and my work is another.” He had to protect himself from gossip. She had to understand, right? She was silent. After a few moments, she stammered, “I am so sorry.” He saw her eyes glass, her cheeks flush. “I didn’t mean to mix personal and professional…” she trailed off. An innocent inquiry about his wife had gone wrong. Bad timing, bad company. Before, she greeted him almost like a father. Now, she was afraid of him. He watched helplessly as she walked, head down, out of his office.