The news of the project, of Deeqa and Ladan’s new salaried positions, and of the Community Support Fund, spread through the compound and the surrounding neighborhoods like a dry season fire. The reaction was a polarized mix of shock, envy, suspicion, and a bright, secret hope.
The Hardliners, led by the remaining rigid elders and amplified by Faduma’s bitter complaints, were furious. They saw it as the ultimate foreign invasion, a direct payment from the West to their women to defy their husbands and abandon their traditions. They preached against it, calling it "the Devil's money" and warning that any woman who participated was risking her immortal soul.
For the Silent Watchers, however, it was a development of profound interest. Money was a language everyone understood. The fact that Deeqa was now earning a respectable, steady income for her "women's talk" was a paradigm shift. Her defiance had not led to ruin, but to a strange new kind of prosperity. It made them question everything.
The first official test of the Kitchen Cabinet’s new power came sooner than anyone expected. It came in the form of a young, terrified mother named Sagal. Her husband was a Hardliner, a devout follower of the most conservative elders. He had decreed that their six-year-old daughter, Hibaaq, would be cut the following week, in the most severe Pharaonic way. He had forbidden Sagal from speaking to Deeqa or any of the "Western women."
But Sagal had been one of the quiet listeners in the market. She had heard Farah’s story. She was terrified of the procedure. In an act of desperate courage, she defied her husband and came to Deeqa’s house at night, her face veiled, her body trembling.
"He will not listen to me," she sobbed, huddled in Deeqa’s kitchen. "He says it is his religious duty. He says if I resist, he will divorce me and I will never see my children again." She clutched Deeqa’s hands. "Please. Your fund. Can you help me? Can you help us run away?"
The five women of the committee gathered for their first official meeting. The case was complex and dangerous. Giving Sagal money to run away would be a direct, aggressive intervention in another family’s affairs. It would be seen as an act of war by the Hardliners. It could lead to violence.
Ladan argued for caution. "If we do this, her husband will incite the others. They could attack us. Maybe we should try to speak with him first."
But Deeqa knew the man. He was not reasonable. "Speaking to him is useless," she said. "He is a true believer. But Sagal is right. To run away is not a solution. She will be an outcast, and her daughter will grow up in poverty and shame."
They were at an impasse. Their money gave them power, but how to wield it? What good was a shield if the man attacking you refused to recognize its authority?
It was then that Deeqa had another flash of strategic brilliance, an idea born of her deep understanding of her community’s pressure points.
"We are not the ones who can stop him," she said. "But we know who can." She looked around the room at the other women. "The men do not listen to us. But they will listen to a man who has walked through the fire. There is only one person who can intervene."
The next morning, Deeqa did something she would never have dreamed of doing a year ago. She walked to the house of Farah.
She found him sitting outside, watching his daughter Sulekha, now a thin but healthy girl, chase a ball. He saw Deeqa approach and stood up, his face a mixture of shame and respect.
Deeqa did not waste time with pleasantries. She told him the story of Sagal and her daughter Hibaaq. She told him of the husband's threats, of the impending cutting.
"This man, he respects you, Farah," Deeqa said, her voice calm and direct. "He followed you when you were the leader of the old way. He will listen to you now."
Farah shook his head, a look of profound weariness on his face. "I am a pariah, Deeqa. I have no authority left. The Hardliners call me a traitor."
"You are not a pariah," Deeqa countered, her gaze unwavering. "You are a witness. Your story is the only thing that can break through his certainty. You must speak to him. Not as an elder, not as a leader. As a father. A father who almost lost his child to this… this madness."
She paused, letting her words sink in. "This is your first petition. From the Community Support Fund. We are not asking you to lead a movement. We are asking you to save one little girl. Will you do it?"
Farah looked at his own daughter, playing happily in the sun, her laughter a sound he had almost never heard again. He looked at Deeqa, a woman he had once scorned, now standing before him as a leader, offering him a chance at a different kind of honor.
"Yes," he said, his voice thick with emotion. "I will do it."
Section 30.1: Power, Authority, and Influence
This chapter dissects the different forms of power at play within the community and demonstrates how the Kitchen Cabinet begins to master the art of influence.
1. Formal Authority (The Elders):
The Hardliner elders possess formal, traditional authority. Their power is derived from their position, their age, and the history of the community. However, their authority has been shown to be brittle. It relies on unquestioning obedience, and when that is challenged (by Ahmed) or undermined by a moral failure (Farah's story), it proves to have no effective response beyond impotent rage.
2. Economic Power (The Fund):
The Kitchen Cabinet now wields economic power. Sagal's first instinct is to appeal to this power: "Can you help me run away?" This is a classic use of money—to buy an escape from a problem. However, the committee, led by Deeqa, quickly realizes the limitations of this power. Using it directly and aggressively (funding an escape) would be seen as a declaration of war and could backfire, leading to a violent escalation. Pure economic power, they learn, can be a blunt and dangerous instrument.
3. Moral Authority / Influence (Farah):
This is the most nuanced and, in this context, the most effective form of power. Farah no longer has any formal authority; the Hardliners have stripped him of it. He has no economic power. What he possesses is a profound and unassailable moral authority.
His Power is Experiential: He is not arguing from theory; he is speaking from trauma. His story is a "primary source" of truth that cannot be dismissed.
His Power is Non-Threatening: Because he is a broken man, he is not seen as a threat. He is not trying to lead a movement or seize power. He is simply a "witness." This makes him far more persuasive than an aggressive activist would be. Other men can listen to him without feeling that their own status is being challenged.
Deeqa's Strategic Maturity:
Deeqa's decision to approach Farah demonstrates her evolution from a tactical thinker to a true strategist.
She recognizes the limits of her own power. She knows that as a woman, she has no standing to confront the Hardliner husband directly.
She understands the different types of power and knows which tool to use for which job. She realizes that this is not a problem that money can solve; it is a problem that only moral authority can solve.
She masterfully "deputizes" Farah. By framing her request as the "first petition" from the fund, she gives him a formal, respected role. She is not just asking for a favor; she is inviting him to become an agent of her new, female-led organization. This is a brilliant act of co-opting a former enemy and giving him a path to a new, more meaningful kind of honor.
The chapter shows that the most effective movements are not those that simply acquire one form of power (like money), but those that learn how to strategically leverage multiple forms of power—formal, economic, and moral—to achieve their objectives.