Kiri

Kiri was born into a band that moved along the Nile Delta fringe, camping on sandy ridges above reedbeds and brackish lagoons. No chiefs governed them. Decisions were argued out among adults, and the band kept ties with other river groups through visits and marriage exchange. They handled sickness and luck through acts directed to the band’s dead: fish fat and crushed seeds left on the ground where the camp fire had burned.

Senna, her mother, gave birth to her first child at the start of the cooler season. Oba, Senna’s mother, helped set a screen of woven reeds for privacy. She stayed close with water carried in a skin and a bundle of clean plant fiber for wiping. Kora brought back duck and fish from the channels and kept a small fire burning through the night so the infant stayed warm when the wind came off the lagoons.

Kiri fed often. Senna carried her against her chest when the camp shifted to higher ground after a rise in water. A few weeks later Kiri’s stools turned watery and frequent. Senna nursed her continuously and dabbed her mouth with damp fiber. Oba held the infant while Senna slept in short bursts. Unt, an old man who knew how to address the dead, rubbed fish oil on the infant’s belly and left a strip of reed mat with a morsel of dried fish at the camp’s edge.

On a cold night in her fifth month, Kiri died in Senna’s arms. At dawn Kora and Senna dug into a dry ridge above the marsh, laid her wrapped in soft hide, and pressed a small tuft of reed down beside her before covering the grave with sand and shells.