The Koummya, or Summer Shopping at the Souq

It was a small, unassuming shop nestled into a niche between two similarly miniscule shops. In fact, everything here was small. Everything here was cluttered, the shops bursting at the seams with handmade goods - everything from furniture to clothing and jewelry. Summer tourists from a plethora of other countries lined the souq streets, and I squashed down the frustration as I wove my way through them, passing group by group. The sun filtered onto the road through the gaps in the thick cloth awnings, and every now and then I felt its scorching heat upon my skin. My shirt clung to my back, my skin damp with a mixture of sweat and humidity.

I needed to find what I was looking for.

I wasn't entirely sure where I was going, though my strides were purposeful, and just when I thought I could no longer handle the heat, gasping and panting for air that seemed in short supply in the souq, I came to a halt. In front of me was the little jewelry shop. Tiny, really. Enough place for two or three people, and that included the man selling the goods. Most of his goods were silver, and every single one of them was unique. No two earrings were the same, no two rings sported twin designs.

I remembered the place, but only barely. I wasn’t in need of any new jewelry, but jewelry wasn’t the only thing on sale in this tiny store. I stepped inside, the floor-length glass cases only centimeters away from my shoulders, and turned the corner into the heart of the shop. There, the man stood at his desk, assessing a bracelet for a woman all but pressed into the tight space beside the table.

“Salaam,” I said, and they both responded in kind. My gaze slid up to the glass case above him, and there - in the corner, nestled against the wall of the case - was the thing I had come for. 

Note: Not an actual picture of the dagger referred to in this story.
Maybe one day I'll replace it with the real thing...

The dagger. 

I knew it the moment my eyes found it, curved, ancient, and magnetic in its allure. Yes, that was what I had come for. That was what I needed.

I had noticed it once, a long time ago, when I had visited this store with my father and brother. They were looking for a specific ring. I was just along for the trip, so I’d sat on the short stool in the corner, almost pressed against the glass cases that lined the walls of the shop, and had let my gaze wander as they looked through the rings on display.

It had caught my eye almost immediately. A beautiful thing, nestled away on a high shelf, calling to me. I would drag my gaze away to look at everything else on offer, and still it would find its way back to that curved koummya, sheathed in a beautifully ornate silver receptacle that shone almost like polished ivory. I had been completely and utterly transfixed.

And now I had returned, the day before his birthday, to find it again.

Despite the hubbub of the streets outside and the murmured conversation of the shopkeep and his client, I could do little more than stare at it once more, waiting. Waiting for him to finish. The money in my back pocket weighed me down, and I stared and stared and waited.

That was it.

The perfect gift.

I knew he would love it.

I wiped my hands, damp with sweat, on my pants, and took in all of the other items around me. Countless rings, each with designs that might have meant something or absolutely nothing. The tourists loved these kinds of shops, and they were not the only ones. There was something ancient and alluring about these souqs, their small shops, their handmade goods - the making hands of which remained nameless. 

There was something in their mystery, something in their smallness, that whispered of treasures found, of precious things.

Here, each purchase was personal, tailor-made, intimate. Each purchase was yours and yours alone, and as I stared at the dagger and waited my turn, I could not help but relish in the idea that it would be his and his alone, and that no-one in the world would have its exact replica. 

There was an intimacy in its uniqueness. 

The perfect gift. 

 

~⭐~

Check out my psychological thriller Apartment. Add it to your TBR on Goodreads!

Grab the 2022 Reflection & Productivity Journal here for $2.00! Try out a full-month sample free here!

Looking for a writing prompt workbook? Check out 101 Writing Prompts.