The sun rose over the Somali nation, once the crown jewel of the Horn of Africa, bathing the dry, arid landscape in its eerie light. As was her custom, Hafiza Elmi rose with the dawn. After making her Fajr prayer, the first prayer of the day, Hafiza began to handle her duties. Even though she was not yet a mother, and her husband Rahman Elmi was traveling far away, Hafiza had much to do.
A six-foot-tall, statuesque Somali Muslim woman with caramel-hued skin, long black hair and golden brown eyes, clad in a traditional ankle-length Dirac dress, Hafiza Elmi cut an alluring figure as she grabbed a large camel-skin gourds, and got ready to make her way to the watering hole a few kilometers away. It was best to travel when the sky was still pink from the rays of dawn, before the scorching heat turned the desert into an approximation of Hell…
Hafiza’s house, located on the eastern edge of the Village of Madhibe, not far from the ravines of Abu Yaqub, was modest. A wooden structure with a thatched rooftop, with a small garden outback, a fitting dwelling for a couple which had yet to produce offspring. A solitary ebony-furred goat grazed in the garden, unaware that its owner intended to slaughter it this very evening as a welcome home present for her husband. Just another day in the Horn of Africa.
“Hafiza, why are you in such a hurry?” came a voice, and Hafiza turned to look at her friend and neighbor Aisha Osman, and paused. Short, round, dark-skinned and lively, with piercing brown eyes and a round, sensual mouth, Aisha Osman was the biggest gossip in the Village of Madhibe, ruled by the fierce Warsangali clan, which drove off the Madhibans who once ruled the area over a century ago.
“I want to greet my beloved Rahman when he comes home, he’s been gone for several days, and I want everything to be perfect for him,” Hafiza replied haughtily, and Aisha scoffed almost derisively. When Hafiza shot the other woman a questioning look, Aisha smiled sheepishly and managed to keep silent for a full minute, a record according to anyone from their village.
Hafiza and Aisha had known each other their whole lives, and were more like sisters than anything else. Hafiza was there when Aisha Osman married Ismail Kader, a tall, handsome young man from the Darod clan. There had been some controversy when the two married because Ismail was a half-caste, born of a Darod clanswoman and of a Warsangali clansman.
In the Madhibe village, as in the rest of Somali society, the people were ruled by Somali tribal law which was interwoven with Islamic law. A man’s tribe was his father’s tribe, not his mother’s. It took special convincing on the part of Hafiza’s father, Imam Abdullahi Elmi, for the wedding of Aisha Osman and Ismail Kader to occur. A year later, Hafiza helped Aisha deliver the couple’s son, Maher. To Hafiza, Aisha was like family…
“Hafiza, when a man comes home after days on the road, his woman should give him more than just a cooked meal and drink, if you know what I mean,” Aisha said, laughing, and Hafiza rolled her eyes. Grinning, the two women continued on the dirt road, careful to evade the stones and branches strewn about, leftovers from the sand storm which blasted the valley the night before.
Sand storms were a common plight in the desert, and as desert people, Hafiza and Aisha had little fear of such things. In ages past, the clan was wealthy, and its herdsmen had scores of cattle, camels and horses to look after. Indeed, there was a time when the Warsangali clan horsemen were legendary, carrying out raids upon other clans and even venturing into the distant land of Yemen, a stronghold of the Arabs. Sadly, those days were over.
The Warsangali clan had barely survived a long and costly war against the descendants of the House of Galluweger, which ruled all of Somalia in the bygone days of the Geledi Sultanate. The Galluweger had many fighters, and many allies among neighboring clans such as the Marehan clan and the Jidwaq clan. They meant to exterminate the men of the Warsangali clan, and take their women as concubines.
Unfortunately for them, among the Warsangali, both males and females received warrior training early in life. The defense of the Warsangali territory was the preoccupation of every Warsangali, male and female. During the last raid of the Galluweger clan upon the Warsangali villages and townships, Warsangali women armed with swords, spears, and crossbows fought alongside their men and helped repel the Galluweger invasion.
For this reason, the defeated Galluweger clansmen went home in shame, having been beaten in battle by parties which included warrior women. They declared the Warsangali women to be nothing but a collective of Qumayos, the Somali word for witch. No Somali man from another clan would take a Warsangali clan woman as wife, even as a peace offering, and that suited the Warsangali men just fine. Hafiza participated in that glorious campaign, for it was where she met her beloved Rahman.
“Hafiza, quit daydreaming and fetch me the cord,” Aisha said, snapping her fingers in front of her friend’s face. Hafiza blinked, snatched out of her little trip down memory lane by Aisha’s strident voice. Wallahi this woman can be so annoying, Hafiza thought, barely able to resist the urge to grab Aisha and shake the hell out of the little woman. Sighing, Hafiza handed Aisha the cord, which she then fixed to the gourd before throwing into the well.
“Aisha, you nosy woman, if you must know, I was thinking about the fights from three years ago, I miss riding my father’s old horse into battle,” Hafiza said with a grin, and Aisha laughed and stood there, hands on her hips. Aisha was not buying what Hafiza was selling, not even for a minute, and both women knew exactly what the other was thinking.
“Hafiza, the only thing you miss riding is your dear Rahman, you can do it tonight when he comes home, now don’t let me fall in while I’m pulling the cord,” Aisha said, laughing. Hafiza watched as Aisha planted her feet against the three-foot-high stone wall encircling the well and tugged on the cord, pulling the heavy gourd over the edge, and then catching it with one hand. Hafiza helped her friend with the heavy gourd, after a brief hesitation.
“Aisha, my sister, I wonder if there’s something wrong with me, Rahman and I make love all the time, but I am still not a mother,” Hafiza said, as she walked on the dirt road with two heavy gourds in each hand. Aisha gritted her teeth as she carried her own two gourds, and shot her friend a sympathetic look. Aisha thought of her son Maher who was being cared for by his grandmother Fatima at Aisha’s compound.
“Hafiza, patience, my sister, you are beautiful, and your husband is a good man, the Most High will bless you with plenty,” Aisha said, looking into Hafiza’s eyes. Hafiza smiled and nodded. In spite of all her relentless teasing and sassy mouth, Aisha was her best friend in all the world and Hafiza considered her the sister she never had. Hafiza began humming a song on their way home. Aisha listened to it for five minutes before reacting in a predictable fashion.
“Sharmutoo ( bitch ), shut up,” Aisha Osman said, laughing at Hafiza’s singing, which sounded atrocious to her ears. Hafiza smirked, and then, gently setting her gourds down on the dirt road, she lifted her right leg and kicked Aisha squarely on that big butt of hers. Aisha squealed in surprise, and almost spilled her gourds contents. Setting them down, Aisha confronted Hafiza.
“Shakshuuko garrey ( little slut ),” Hafiza laughed, and she was still laughing when Aisha pounced on her. The two women wrestled fiercely on the dirt road, rolling about in the early morning sun. Aisha found herself on top of Hafiza, and she had her small but strong hands on the other woman’s neck. Hafiza looked up at Aisha, and instead of fear or anger, her eyes reflected something else altogether.
“Hmm, you are so beautiful, you crazy sharmoto ( bitch),” Aisha said, and then she took Hafiza’s face into her hands and kissed her. The two young Somali Muslim women began making love like this, right on the road, not caring where they were or who might see them. As the sky turned pinkish blue then bright blue above them, Aisha and Hafiza explored one another.
“Aisha, I am not a Qanisad ( lesbian ) but I crave you more than I can say, sometimes,” Hafiza murmured, and Aisha nodded, then kissed her while caressing her breasts. Hafiza moaned softly as Aisha’s hand slipped under her traditional Dirac dress and her fingers slid into her vagina. The shorter woman’s knowing hands played sweet music with Hafiza’s womanhood, teasing her clitoris with those agile fingers and stimulating her core.
“Fota iga leefe abayo ( lick my ass sister ),” Aisha said, as she hiked up her skirt and sat on Hafiza’s face. Hafiza grinned and eagerly caressed Aisha’s thick round bottom and slid her fingers into her vagina. At the same time, Aisha pinched her own nipples, caressing them while riding Hafiza’s face. When Aisha felt Hafiza’s tongue in her ass, the short woman cried out in sheer joy and moaned softly, loving what her long-time friend and sometime lover was doing to her.
“Hmm, this is nice,” Hafiza said as Aisha sucked on her breast and worked three fingers into her vagina, driving her absolutely wild. Aisha smiled lovingly at Hafiza as the tall woman screamed loudly, her voluptuous body squirming as she was brought to a shuddering orgasm. Aisha kissed Hafiza, a gesture that served two purposes, silencing the other woman’s screams, and communicating her passion, of course.
Afterwards, the two young Somali Muslim women lay entwined in love, in the shade, under a frankincense tree. Hafiza Elmi and Aisha Osman, best friends for years, neighbors, and as close as can be, were actually closer than most people thought. The two women loved each other, and they loved their husbands. It was strange, wondrous and different, but nevertheless true. The heart wants what the heart wants…
From her early days, Hafiza Elmi found both females and males attractive, and in her good friend and neighbor Aisha Osman she found a woman with similar passions. They had to hide their passion from everyone, lest they be put to death for such haram feelings and deeds. In Somalia, ruled by Islamic law, men who love men and women who love women are put to death, no exceptions.
“Let’s go home, Hafiza, tonight, make love to your husband Rahman, but don’t forget me,” Aisha said, and Hafiza grinned and nodded. Hafiza couldn’t know it but it was the last time that she would hold her dear Aisha in her arms. When night fell, the women of the village awaited the arrival of their husbands, sons, brothers, nephews and fathers who had gone on a routine patrol. Much to their shock, a solitary man wandered into the village…
“Rahman, what happened to you, my love?” Hafiza said as her husband Rahman staggered into the village. The tall, broad-shouldered, dark-skinned and ruggedly handsome Somali warrior whom she was so proud to call her husband was a shadow of his former self. He had wounds all over, and there was one on his neck which looked particularly ghastly.
“Hafiza, my love, we were attacked, I barely got away,” Rahman managed to say before he collapsed in his wife’s arms. With help from the other women of the village, Hafiza got her husband home, and tended to his wounds. While he recovered, he was in and out of sleep, and when he spoke, he didn’t make much sense. Rahman kept mumbling about a great beast attacking him and the men one night while they were on patrol. Hafiza knew of no beast which could take on a large party of armed and mounted raiders. Lion, hyena, panther, jackal, elephant, buffalo, all had fallen before the might of African raiders in the past…
“Glad to see you feel better, Habibi,” Hafiza said to Rahman, the following night. Indeed, the young Somali warrior was looking better. His eyes seemed a bit red, but otherwise he had much vitality. Rahman smiled at Hafiza and looked at her, his eyes filled with desire. Hafiza looked at her husband, thanking her lucky stars that he made such a speedy recovery. Hafiza’s heart thundered in her chest when Rahman reached for her hand, and brought it to his lips.
“Hafiza, my dear Habibti, without you I am nothing,” Rahman said as he kissed her hand, and Hafiza blushed. Throwing herself into her husband’s arms, Hafiza kissed him passionately, and just like that, they began making love. Rahman disrobed, revealing his muscular, taunt physique. Hafiza’s eager hands explored his body, and soon found his manhood, which was long, thick and dark, and seemed even more virile than she remembered.
“Make love to me, Rahman, show me how much you’ve missed me,” Hafiza murmured, stroking her husband’s hard tool. Rahman grinned and kissed her, then caressed her breasts. Laying Hafiza on their bed, Rahman proceeded to shower her with kisses, his lips fastening themselves to the areolas of her breasts, which he suckled on. Hafiza gasped as Rahman slipped his hand between her thick thighs, and he began fingering her vagina.
“How I’ve missed you,” Rahman said, and he kissed Hafiza’s lips, and her neck, and then spread her thighs. Without another word, he buried his face between her legs and began eating her out. Hafiza squealed in delight as Rahman began pleasuring her like only he could. The Somali warrior flicked his tongue over his wife’s clitoris, and slid two fingers into her vagina. As he twisted his fingers inside her, Hafiza cried out, loving what Rahman was doing to her.
“Show me how much you need me,” Hafiza demanded as Rahman put her on all fours and caressed her thick brown bum. Hafiza gasped as Rahman slid his finger into her butt hole while kissing her big butt. This was deliciously naughty and forbidden, and she loved it. Rahman continued to finger Hafiza’s butt hole as he ate her pussy in this position.
When Rahman took some oil from a nearby jug and smeared it on her hole, Hafiza knew she was in for a treat. Without further ado, Rahman pressed his hard member against Hafiza’s butt hole and pushed it inside. The young Somali woman moaned softly as her husband worked his penis into her backdoor, and began fucking her with slow, deep strokes. Rahman truly missed me, Hafiza thought as she endured this delightful and oh-so wanted act of possession…
“You are even more beautiful than I remember, my sweet Hafiza,” Rahman said, much later, as an exhausted and pleasurably sore Hafiza rested her head against his chest, following a night of passionate lovemaking. Hafiza purred with contentment, thrilled after the ardent fucking Rahman just laid on her. She lay against his chest, and suddenly felt uneasy. Pressing her ear against Rahman’s chest, Hafiza suddenly realized she couldn’t hear his heartbeat…
“Rahman, why can’t I hear your heartbeat?” Hafiza asked, alarmed, and Rahman looked at her and smiled. That’s when his features changed. The handsome Somali warrior’s eyes turned bright red, and his teeth elongated and sharpened, becoming wicked-looking and bone-white fangs. Hafiza gasped, stunned by what she was beholding, her husband’s monstrous transformation into some kind of hell beast.
“Soon you will be like me, my love,” Rahman said as he grabbed Hafiza and sank his teeth into her neck. Hafiza struggled for a bit, but Rahman’s strength was incredible. The monster that Rahman had become simply overwhelmed Hafiza, even though she was a strong woman with warrior training that matched his. As Hafiza’s life drained away, Rahman infected her with the Vampire virus, which transformed her. Soon Hafiza rose as a blood-thirsty, superhumanly strong, Undead monster that lives by night, preying on the living…
“Hmm, Rahman, I feel so strong, thank you for this wonderful gift,” Hafiza said to her husband as they emerged from their house, as soon as dusk arrived, bathing the Horn of Africa landscape in darkness. Rahman smiled at Hafiza and nodded. Together, they descended upon their fellow villagers, and fed upon them. Half of them they slaughtered, and the rest they converted into bloodthirsty monsters. Rahman and Hafiza, along with Aisha and many others became a blight upon the African motherland, monsters which threatened all life…
As village after village fell to the monsters, and the Horn of Africa started to become a haven for their kind, the Somali people fought fiercely against this blight. They even allied themselves with the Ethiopian people, the Arabs of Yemen, and others. With inhuman monsters feeding upon their loved ones at night, they put aside their differences to fight back. In time, a massive horde of warriors from various nations hunted down the Vampires, and slaughtered them.
“I will be back and avenge myself upon not only you Somalis, Ethiopians and Yemenis, but all of Mankind someday,” Hafiza Elmi swore, on the night of the final battle between the legion of the Vampires and the hordes of human warriors which surrounded them. The haven of the Vampires was under attack from an alliance of humans hailing from all over the Horn of Africa. During that climactic final battle, Rahman, Hafiza’s beloved husband fell, as did her lover Aisha.
Mourning her loved ones, who should have been by her side for all eternity, Hafiza Elmi fled into the darkness. Hundreds of her fellow Vampires had been slain by the dreadful humans, and in spite of her ferocity, Hafiza could not defeat them. The humans numbered in the thousands, and they slaughtered her Undead followers, but she would one day return. One day, Hafiza would build another army of Vampires, and together with those ones, she would topple mankind from its position as the dominant species on the planet earth.