Buulo Cado-Ayrotv.com- “She was beautiful, pious, and loved by all,” Balago began. “Her smile was like a ray of sunshine, illuminating the narrow streets and stone houses. Boullo was beautiful. Her eyes, a deep brown, betrayed the gentleness that was the foundation of her personality. Her smile, discreet but sincere, lit up her face. Her skin, bathed in the coastal sun, had a golden hue that evoked fine sandy beaches. Her black hair, carefully braided, framed her face and seemed to tell the stories of her modest family. Boullo always wore modest clothes, but their simplicity highlighted her natural beauty. She was a discreet star in the sky of Zeila, illuminating the lives of those who crossed her path.
Boullo had a gentle nature. She was humble and kind to everyone she met. Her modesty was her strength. Boullo was also a dreamer. She imagined worlds beyond Zeila’s horizons, adventures she could escape to. Yet despite her dreams, she remained grounded in reality, working hard for her family. She was a kind soul, always ready to help others.
She also had simple but profound passions. She loved to walk along the coast, feel the sand under her feet and listen to the soothing sound of the waves. The sea was her refuge, a place where she could reflect and recharge. She also had a love of poetry. She wrote verses on scraps of paper, hiding them in the corners of her small room. Her poems spoke of life, love and the beauty of nature. These poems, woven from dreams and reality, reflected Boullo’s soul and his thirst for adventure. I liked the one that said:
Under the starry sky of Zeila,
I dream of distant journeys.
The stars whisper secrets to me,
And paths traced by the winds.
I imagine endless deserts,
Where the sand dances with the sun.
Hidden oases, wandering caravans,
And stories etched in stone.
The stars of Zeila are my guides,
Their glow invites me to explore.
Maybe one day I’ll leave the coast,
To follow these stars into the unknown.
But for now, I stay here,
To contemplate the silent sky.
The stars of Zeila are my companions,
And their silent songs warm my heart.
What I liked about her was her passion for cooking. She prepared simple but tasty dishes, using local ingredients creatively. Her cooking was a mix of family traditions and personal experimentation. Boullo found joy in these little things, and that’s what made her so special. Every time I went to her house, she would serve me a different dish that she would ask me to try for her. I would tease her that she would stuff her husband so much that he would become fat.
One day, as the sun was setting on the horizon, Boullo met the gaze of a young man. His name was Ragueh. His eyes were as deep as the ocean, and his smile as warm as the sun. They met at the market among the colorful stalls of spices and shimmering fabrics.
Their love grew quickly, like a flower blooming in the rain of the gu’ . Ragueh left to work in India, promising Boullo that he would return soon. But months passed, then years, and no news of the traveler reached Zeila. The letters she wrote him remained unanswered, like bottles thrown into the sea. Had he died? Had the boat been shipwrecked? The family begged her to move on and consider other suitors. But she remained firm, her heart refusing to give up on the promise she had made to her beloved. She wore her grief like a veil, her eyes always soft and her prayers just as fervent. She went out little, also refusing visitors. I was the only one who could see her. Well, when I had time between the various weddings to celebrate.
Ragueh had also left his mark on the city. His absence was a silent pain, a void that could not be filled. The smell of spices in the market reminded everyone of his laughter, and the waves whispered the secrets of their stolen moments by the shore. He was a hardworking young man, well-liked in the city. He had no family and lived in a shack with two other single men.
Boullo refused all the marriage proposals. Her heart belonged to her lost lover, and she awaited his return. She prayed every night, imploring Allah to bring her lost love back to her. But time was unforgiving; she began to waste away. Her beauty faded and her health declined. One stormy night, as rain lashed the city, she felt her strength failing. She knew she could not wait forever. With a heavy heart, she packed a small bag and left Zeila. No one saw her leave; she slipped away like a shadow, leaving behind the life she had known. It was said that she sailed along the coast towards Loughaya.
She had walked for days, guided by the stars and the memories of Ragueh. The plain stretched before her and the wind whispered the secrets of a forgotten love. Boullo’s steps had left no trace, as if the earth itself conspired to keep her secret safe. It is said that she walked alone across the plain, singing to her beloved until her last breath. Some claimed to have seen her, a lone figure in the vastness of the plain.
A traveler came to tell that he had met a woman wandering on the plain. He had seen fire as he walked along the coast toward the city. He found her dying. Her breathing was labored and her legs were shaking. She tried to get up, but she fell to her knees, her limbs sinking into the hot sand. By then, Boullo had made his choice. She closed her eyes, feeling the weight of her lost love. She whispered Ragueh’s name, hoping that he would answer her across the oceans. And then, with a final sigh, she gave herself up to the night. The traveler showed the men who accompanied him where he had buried her emaciated body. Nothing was found. The young woman seemed to have vanished into thin air. It was believed that a wild beast had dug up the body and carried it to its lair.
Superstition was always very strong in the city. The slightest inexplicable event gave rise to incredible legends. The inhabitants said that Boullo Ado had become a shooting star that night, a celestial messenger carrying her love to distant lands. Some thought that she had found Ragueh who was waiting for her on the other side, and that their souls were finally reunited. Others said that she continued to wander, her light illuminating the darkest corners of the plain. The place was named in her honor. And when the caravaners pass nearby, they have the habit of leaving a little food.
Over the years, the people of Zeila whispered tales of Boullo. Some claimed to have seen her wandering the vast plain of Griad, her eyes scanning the distant horizon for any sign of Ragueh’s return. Others believed she had become a ghost, haunting moonlit nights, her footsteps echoing through the empty streets.
But the truth remained hidden, buried beneath the warm sands. Boullo’s name became synonymous with love. His story was etched into the very fabric of Zeila, a bittersweet melody carried by the winds that swept the coast. His story is etched into my heart and those of lovers, a reminder that attachment transcends time and distance. Zeila still whispers his name and the waves carry his melody: a song of hope and eternal waiting.”
Balago fell silent.
– What a story, Mouliyo added. It’s really sad.
– Yes, really. I don’t want the same thing to happen to you. I have a bad feeling about this. This departure for India gives me goosebumps, my girl.
– Habo, I feel helpless. Houssein has no choice. If he refuses, my father may refuse our union.
Balago nodded.
– I will go to the maqam this afternoon to see the mouroud. Perhaps he would have some advice to give us. I advise you not to repeat what I told you to Houssein. Not a word, she ordered, passing her index finger and thumb together in front of her lips.
Mouliya left the old dancer, her head filled with questions.
Reff: Rachid Hachi
