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danced. Then she joined him, copying his moves.
    Tareq seemed surprised.
    “Why are you looking at me that way?” she asked.
    “In my country the men do not dance with the women.”
    “Well, in my country they do,” she chuckled and continued dancing. He was impressed that she learned the dance so quickly. Then he wondered if she could teach him a dance from her culture, so she taught him some steps from the dance the young men were dancing now.
    The young men stood in a line, side by side. Their lean legs sprang up as they kicked up their feet, moving four steps forward and then four steps back, stirring up clouds of brown dust and shaking the spear in their right hands. Together they spun suddenly around and then converged on one side of the circle, stamping the butt of their wooden spears hard against the ground as they shuffled forward. Using their deepest, most menacing voices, but with amusement in their brown eyes, they shouted in unison “Yah! Yah!” at one side of the crowd. The men then moved back to the center to spin around and charge towards the other side of the circle the same way.
    After Jem’ya taught the dance to Tareq that day, he sometimes would burst from the healing room doing it, to commend her for how much better he felt. The memory of his black curls shaking, his handsome white smile and bright hazel eyes, and his lightly tanned, strong and agile body moving to the drumbeat of her hands against the dining table faded away into an empty, needy feeling she didn’t welcome. To push it from her mind, Jem’ya broke from the crowd and entered the circle. Her friends and family cheered as she began to dance with all her spirit. Her brother and the other young men pulled back into the edge of the circle and let her have her solo.
     
    After everyone danced and ate well, Jem’ya said goodnight and went to her hut. She washed her face and body and turned to her bags to find the oil. As she pulled out the bottle of Shea oil, a small metal box fell from the bag to the ground. For a silent moment she stared at it. She exhaled a tired breath and continued preparing for bed. She oiled her skin and dressed in a long blue nightdress. Then she sat down on her bed mat and picked up the metal box. It was the last thing left, the only item from Tareq that she hadn’t given away.
    Jem’ya was not a materialistic person. Giving her tribe those gifts was more rewarding than when she received them from her patients. She never charged for her services so that any person from any walk of life could receive help if they needed it. All the donations she accepted were received with slight embarrassment. She never felt deserving of it, always thinking someone else would benefit more from them.
    Jem’ya opened the box. She was not selfish but there was something about this gift that she could not let go.
    “Jem’ya?” her mother called from outside the hut.
    “Come in.”
    She entered the hut hugging a black goatskin shawl around her shoulders. “Is everything okay, my daughter?”
    Jem’ya put on a smile. “Yes, Mama.”
    “How beautiful!” Her mother gasped at the pearl and gold earrings. “Put them on. Let me see.” She seated herself beside Jem’ya on the mat. “Who gave these to you?” She leaned close to admire the jewelry as Jem’ya put them on.
    “A patient of mine.” Jem’ya picked at her fingers.
    Mama nudged Jem’ya’s shoulder with her own. “A handsome patient?” she smirked.
    Jem’ya chewed at her bottom lip and nodded slowly. “He is handsome, yes, but a man; arrogant, insensitive, entitled… ” Jem’ya fell silent. She only half believed what she was saying about Tareq.
    Mama shook her head. “You are 24 years old. You could have been married, well taken care of, and with child by now.”
    Jem’ya wanted to explain that she would be more miserable than she was now if she’d married Jakenzo , but she knew her mother wouldn’t understand.
    “You have let foolish pride and