El Ménéa Magic
"Fatima tends the oasis gardens of El Ménéa. When botanist Willem arrives cataloguing Saharan flora, she shows him that some plants grow beyond science. 'El nabat y'aref' (النبات يعرف) - Plants know."
El Ménéa's oasis defied explanation—life in impossible conditions. Fatima made it possible.
"Endemic species survey?" Willem proposed.
"El nabat ma yetsurveich." Plants aren't surveyed. "Yet'aych."
Her gardens grew what textbooks said couldn't survive—impossible blooms in impossible heat.
"How do you irrigate?"
"El nabat y'aref el ma."
"Plants know water?"
"El nabat y'aref koulech."
She was substantial—rooted in oasis soil, body that grew like her plants.
"Germination rates must be—"
"Ma nratich."
"Everything needs measuring."
"El nabat y'aref measurements ta'ou."
Days in the gardens taught him. Willem saw plants respond to her—growing toward her, blooming for her.
"Phototropism doesn't explain this."
"El nabat y'aref man yhabbou."
"Plants know who loves them?"
"El nabat y'aref."
"What do plants know?"
"Y'arfou el ard. Y'arfou el sama. Y'arfou el qalb."
Night brought different gardening—seeds planted by moonlight, words spoken to soil.
"Tesma' el nabat?"
"El nabat yetkellem."
"Plants talk?"
"Koulech yetkellem."
"Fatima..."
"El nabat qalli."
"Plants told you?"
"Yqoulou you need roots."
She kissed him garden-fragrant.
"Hada..."
"El thamra el jadida."
She undressed among flowers, her curves botanical.
"Mijn God," he breathed.
"El nabat," she said. "Ana nabat."
He cultivated her like tending gardens—patient, attentive, seasonal.
"Willem," she moaned.
"Hna." He found her bloom. "El warda."
She flowered beneath him, pleasure perennial.
"Dkhol," she gasped. "El jdhour."
He rooted in her, and understood what botany meant.
"El nabat y'aref," she cried.
"N'aref tawa."
Their rhythm was growth—sprouting, reaching, blooming.
"Qrib," she warned.
"M'aya." He grew into her. "El nabat y'aref."
They bloomed together, pleasure botanical. Willem held her through the fruiting.
"El catalogue?" she asked.
"Living document."
"Wach hada?"
"Growing with the garden."
His botany transformed—relationship over taxonomy, growth over classification.
"El approach?" science asked.
"El nabat y'aref."
Now he gardens beside her, learning what labs miss.
"El botanist w el fallaha," they say.
"El nabat jab'na," Fatima smiles.
"El nabat ykhallina," Willem adds.
Some plants cultivate their cultivators.