Suomeksi / English

Espand ritual

The scent wrapped around her, earthy and ethereal. With each passing moment, as her senses sharpened and the haze of sleep lifted, the scent of espand became more familiar, more comforting.

Text: Hasina Fahim
Illustrations: Kathleen Diémé
December 15, 2023

Audio: Listen to the story read by Yolanda Correa Brown. The audio was recorded at the reader’s home.

The first time Zohra woke up that morning, it didn't feel like the morning at all. The cold and dark she sensed half-asleep were telling her it must’ve been only 3 am. Her alarm clock, however, was at odds with her senses and was telling a different story: it said 6 am, meaning  she should be getting up and going for a run. Zohra tried to squint to reconcile the contradictions, but as nothing helped she instinctively grabbed her phone and began scrolling through it like a zombie. It was so dark outside that going back to sleep seemed like the only sensible option. She could've given herself a million reasons why she should sleep some more.

Surrendering to the call of her cozy blanket, Zohra was back in dreamland in no time. This time, though, she found herself in the midst of a surreal scene straight out of a fantasymovie. Everything was on fire, flames dancing wildly as if in their own party. The smell of scorched wood was so real she could practically taste it. She ran from the fiery chaos, her heart racing as fast as her feet. Then, she tripped on something and fell down — snap! Awoken.

Back in her room, everything seemed fine. Just a silly dream, she thought. Looking at her phone, Zohra realized she had slept a good three hours more. Maybe she'd go for that run next week, or maybe never, as it seemed. Soon she realized that the scent from her dream was still lingering in the bedroom. Panic started settlingin her chest. Had her dream hitchhiked into reality? Was everything really burning?

She dashed into the kitchen, ready to face a catastrophe. But there she was, Zohra’s mom, looking like a kitchen wizard holding a smoking pan like a magical weapon, pushing the puffs of smoke toward Zohra’s little brother, Zakir, who stared in awe.

"What is going on?" Zohra blurted out, both freaked out and relieved.

Mom turned around, bringing the smokey pan to Zohra's face. "Espand, bachem — my child!"

"Nazar-e bad duur," she added in a hushed tone, like casting a spell, "may the evil eye stay far away."

Was Zohra still dreaming?

Espand.

The word hung in the air, accompanied by a sense of familiarity that defied her waking confusion. The scent wrapped around her, earthy and ethereal. With each passing moment, as her senses sharpened and the haze of sleep lifted, the scent of espand became more familiar, more comforting.

Mom was performing her pan ritual, and Zohra’s little brother, Zakir, watched in wide-eyed fascination, as if he had stumbled upon a puzzle he was determined to solve.

The kitchen was turning into a welcoming oasis, where the scent of espand mingled with the morning sun. It was like her senses had been half-asleep until now. And as the delightful scent drifted through the air, it felt like her worries were evaporating into thin air, leaving her lighter than a feather. She could almost see all the jealous glares making a swift exit.

The dream, the kitchen, the scent - they were all tangled up in a surreal dance. It was like connecting dots between family tradition, the mystical, and a reality that was anything but ordinary. Her little brother's wide-eyed wonder, her mom's kitchen sorcery — it was like the universe had conspired to turn this regular morning into something spellbinding.

As the aroma swirled around, Zohra remembered when Zakir was born, how their grandmother came over and smoked espand on a similar pan. She told stories about the Nazar, the evil eye. She believed that envious glances had the power to bring disaster and misfortune. "Just a small glance of a jealous person could mess up your life, so you have to take precautions, Zohra bachem," she had said. Everyone in her family had, at some point, mentioned catching the nazar, but Zohra had always rolled her eyes at the notiont. Now, surrounded by the magical scent of espand, it did not seem so far-fetched at all.

She recalled the tale of a mighty battle between the evil eye and espand, a battle that echoed through generations. The ancients believed espand was the only thing protecting them from the evil eye. It was like a warrior from the botanical realm, armed with a fragrant shield that repelled the negativity of an envious stare.

The scent enveloped Zohra in a soothing embrace. The kitchen turned into a sanctuary, where the ordinary and mystical intertwined. As sunlight streamed in, casting intricate patterns of light and shadow, she felt a rekindled wonder for the world. A world where the scent of espand could thread dreams into reality and offer protection against jealous stares that aimed to cast shadows over their lives. She knew her doubts and worries about the uncertainties of the future would not completely vanish, but in that fleeting moment, it felt like the combined forces of espand, her mother's love, and her grandmother's wisdom could shield her from anything malevolent.


Hasina Fahim (she/her) is a storyteller with a bachelor's degree in anthropology and a master's degree in documentary filmmaking. Most of her work is influenced by her personal journey as an Afghan immigrant who grew up in Finland, shaping the very essence of her narratives and research.

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