When the Monsoon Ends

The monsoon rains had battered Xaaji Baasto for months, leaving the village soaked and battered. Normally, the storms were a blessing—bringing rain for the crops and fish closer to the coast. But this year, the rains had stayed too long, turning blessings into curses. Fields lay flooded, boats rotted in the harbor, and the sea claimed lives without warning. One of those lost was Fadumo’s father. His small fishing boat had disappeared into the storm, swallowed by the angry ocean. With no word of him for weeks, many in the village assumed he was gone for good.

Fadumo refused to believe it. At sixteen, she knew little about fishing, but she had grown up watching her father navigate the waters. She remembered his steady hands on the sail, the way he scanned the horizon for signs of fish, and his calm words when the waves grew rough. He had promised to teach her everything when she was old enough. Now, it seemed she would have to learn on her own.

Her family was drowning in debt. The little money they had left was running out, and their small garden, once a source of food and pride, lay waterlogged and ruined. Her mother had fallen silent with grief, retreating into herself, while her younger brother Ibrahim clung to her side, looking to her for answers she didn’t have.

One night, as the rain finally began to ease, Fadumo knew what she had to do. She couldn’t wait any longer. If they were to survive, she needed to fish. But taking her father’s boat out alone was too dangerous. She needed help.

She found it in Uncle Warsame, an old fisherman with a reputation for understanding the sea better than anyone in the village. Warsame lived on the outskirts, his house perched on the edge of a rocky hill that overlooked the ocean. When Fadumo knocked on his door, he answered with a grunt and a wary look, cigarette smoke curling around his head.

“You want to fish with me?” he asked, leaning against the doorframe. “The sea is no place for children, girl.”

“I’m not a child,” Fadumo said, her voice steady. “I have no other choice.”

Warsame studied her for a moment, then shrugged. “The sea doesn’t care about your choices. But I’ll make you a deal. If we catch enough fish, you keep your share. If we don’t, you’ll owe me. You’ll work for me until the debt is paid.”

It wasn’t a fair deal, but fairness was a luxury she couldn’t afford. She agreed.

The next morning, they set sail. The sky was clear, and the sea, though still restless from the monsoon, had begun to calm. Fadumo stood at the edge of the boat, her heart pounding as she looked out at the endless blue horizon. Warsame worked the sails with practiced ease, his eyes sharp as he scanned the water.

“The fish follow the currents after the storm,” he said. “If you miss the signs, we go home empty-handed.”

For hours, they sailed with nothing to show for it. The sun climbed higher, and the waves rocked the boat in a lulling rhythm. Fadumo’s arms ached from pulling the nets, but she kept going. They couldn’t afford to return with nothing.

Just as she began to lose hope, she saw it—a flicker beneath the surface, like sunlight dancing on water.

“There!” she shouted, pointing.

Warsame turned the boat, and they steered toward the shimmering spot. As they approached, they saw it: a massive school of yellowfin tuna, their silver bodies flashing like coins under the water.

Together, they cast the nets. The work was exhausting—every pull felt heavier than the last—but Fadumo didn’t stop. Her muscles burned, and sweat dripped down her back, but with each haul, the nets grew fuller. By the time the sun began to set, the boat was nearly overflowing with fish.

Warsame grinned, the first smile she had seen from him. “You’ve got your father’s instincts,” he said.

The words filled Fadumo with a strange mix of pride and sadness. She wished her father were there to see it, to tell her himself. But she knew that wherever he was, he would be proud.

When they returned to the village, the people gathered at the shore to see the catch. Fadumo’s mother cried when she saw the nets brimming with fish, and Ibrahim’s eyes sparkled with excitement. The debt collectors, seeing the haul, gave them more time to settle their accounts.

In the days that followed, Fadumo sold the fish at the market, paying off some of the debt and keeping enough to rebuild their garden. Life in Xaaji Baasto slowly began to return to normal. The rains had ended, and the sea was kind once more, offering its bounty to those brave enough to seek it.

Warsame kept his word. He didn’t ask for more than what was agreed, though he told Fadumo she was welcome to join him whenever she wanted. “The sea could use someone like you,” he said with a nod.

Fadumo knew that life would never be easy. There would always be storms, both on the ocean and on land. But she had faced the worst and survived.

One morning, as she stood by the shore with Ibrahim, watching the first light of dawn stretch across the water, she felt something she hadn’t felt in a long time: hope.

“When the monsoon ends,” she whispered to her brother, “everything begins again.”

And she knew, with quiet certainty, that no matter what lay ahead, she was ready to face it.