Garissa Livestock Dealer
"She runs the largest livestock yard in Garissa—a thick ebony widow who supplies meat to Kenya. When he comes studying pastoral economics, she offers access. Some studies go deeper than research."
Garissa is livestock country.
The Tana River flows, the camels drink, the Somali economy thrives. Halima's livestock yard is the largest—thousands of cattle, camels, goats passing through monthly.
I come from a development organization.
"Pastoral economics?" She looks skeptical. Fifty-four years old. Two hundred and fifty pounds of market authority. Ebony skin, dusty clothes, the toughness of someone who works with animals and men. "You people always want to 'improve' us."
"I want to understand first."
"Mashallah." She softens slightly. "That's different. Come. Watch how it actually works."
I spend weeks at her yard.
Learning the rhythms—when herders arrive from the rangelands, how prices fluctuate, the complex negotiations that move meat to Nairobi.
"You're a good student," she observes.
"You're a good teacher."
"I've been doing this thirty years." She counts money. "Since my husband died, alone."
"How did he die?"
"Shifta. Bandits. Took the cattle, took his life. Left me with nothing but knowledge."
"Knowledge became wealth."
We're having tea in her compound.
"You rebuilt everything."
"I built more than he ever had." Pride in her voice. "The largest yard in Garissa. Respect from every herder. Wealth from honest work."
"And loneliness?"
"That too." She looks at me. "Fifteen years of counting cattle. Never counting on anyone."
"Count on me."
"You're not like other ajnabi."
Her office, after a long day of trading.
"You see our economy as it is. Not as you want it to be."
"Pastoral systems are brilliant. Why change what works?"
"Subhanallah." She stands close. "Fifteen years since a man understood me."
"Then let me understand more."
I worship the livestock dealer.
In her compound while the cattle low outside. Her body is the finest stock—ebony curves, heavy breasts, powerful belly.
"Fifteen years—" She gasps as I undress her. "Shan iyo toban—"
"Tonight I'm not studying. I'm investing."
I lay her on woven mats.
Traditional Somali comfort. Her body is worth more than all her cattle.
I spread her thick thighs.
Inspect the merchandise.
"ILAAHAY!"
She screams—fifteen years of market dominance finally receiving personal attention. Her hands grip my head.
"Don't stop—" She's shaking. "Dhakhso—"
I herd her pleasure until she's satisfied. Three times.
"Inside me—" She's pulling at me. "Ku soo gal—brand me yours—"
I strip. She watches with those dealer's eyes.
"Subhanallah—prime stock."
"Best in the yard."
I push inside the livestock dealer.
She screams.
"So full—" Her legs wrap around me. "Don't stop—"
I drive home.
Her massive body shakes. She comes twice more.
"Fill me—" She's begging. "Complete the herd—"
I release inside her.
We lie listening to her wealth.
"Your study," she murmurs. "What will you write?"
"That traditional systems work. That women like you are the economy."
"Wallahi?"
"The truth."
One Year Later
My report changed policy.
And Halima changed me.
"Macaan," she moans as dawn breaks over the yard. "My best investment."
The dealer who moves thousands.
The woman who moved my heart.
Prime stock.