Officially, this neighborhood is named “East Arelle”, but no one here calls it that. To them, to us, it is Tsini Mishi, “Little Mishi”, and it is one of the largest Ni-Kunni settlements anywhere in the Federation. Before we all moved here, starting about one hundred and twenty-five years ago, this was a working-class neighborhood of tall, narrow houses stood side by side on narrow streets, and rows of commercial buildings surrounding an extensive foundry complex on even narrower streets, with churches, meeting halls, and the like on virtually every corner. Slowly, most of the Gallenteans moved away from the neighborhood, as more and more Ni-Kunni arrived over the years.
On the YC 113 census, the “East Arelle Neighborhood, Including Briar Hill” – Little Mishi, in other words – had a population of 113,086 people. Of those people, 96.1% identified on the census as Ni-Kunni, singly or in combination with any other race. Most of the remaining four or so percent are Vherokior Minmatar, who seem to live in our neighborhoods relatively often.
My family only moved here five years ago, when we were deported from Caldari Prime following the State's invasion of the planet. Given recent events, I guess we are lucky to be living elsewhere. The foundry long ago closed down – relocated to Intaki, I think – but the neighborhood has managed to stay not only vibrant, but prosperous, primarily due to the myriad small businesses and restaurants that are literally everywhere, as well as tourism.
My name is Violca Kari. I am Ni-Kunni. I am 24 years old. I live in Tsini Mishi.
It's a warm summer evening, and the music that marks the beginning of the weekend fills the air. On warm weekend evenings, all over Little Mishi, the people that live here hold an open-air market of sorts, a holdover from when we lived on Mishi itself, our homeworld, a desert planet when the only time such business could be conducted was in the middle of the night. Traditions die hard... but the Gallente love it, and they enjoy sampling the cultures of others like they were picking through the fare at a buffet; a bit of this, a bit of that. They don't mind parting with their money to do so, either.
All up and down the street, musicians, dancers, food vendors, craftsmen, traders, priests, are all yelling and shouting and having a time. People come from all over the city to visit “Mishi Market”, and I admit, we have as much fun, I think, as they do. Well, here I am, sitting next to Kavja, my cousin, on the steps of our house, and we're both eager to make a few credits ourselves.
“Si tut jag?” Kavja asks. I hand her my lighter, and she lights her cigarette and then lays the lighter on the step between us. A Gallentean couple is looking through the stained glass vases, bowls, knicknacks and jewelry that Kavja has for sale, all resting on a blanket on the sidewalk in front of us. Their son is staring at me, a silly, unnerving smile on his face.
“How much is this one?” the man asks, indicating a large glass bowl with a floral design in deep blue and purple stain.
“That one is, oh... I'd take twenty-five.” Kavja replies, her cigarette hanging from her mouth while her two year old son peeks over her shoulder and waves at the little Gallentean boy. I frown at Kavja, indicating my “displeasure” over the price she quoted for the bowl. It is all part of the game we play. You see, Ni-Kunni love to make everyone we deal with, everywhere, believe they are getting a great price. We do not outright lie, of course, so much as we simply want everyone to feel very happy with the deal they got. Besides, it is a beautiful piece, and it is worth a bit more than 25. Maybe. I think so, anyway.
The man notices my scowl and agrees to her price. He hands her the bills and she carefully wraps it in paper and ties it up with string. We both smile at them, and Kavja tells them “Thank you.”
“Najis tumenge!” I say, and follow it up with “Enjoy your visit!”
The couple move on their way, off toward my uncle's kebab stand. We giggle at the little boy, who cannot stop looking back at us. We both make a few more sales – I, myself, am selling some bottles of the plant dye we use as a form of makeup – and the night wears on, but there is only a slight reduction in the number of people. Mishi Market runs, sundown to sunup, three nights a week, and a lot of people, Gallentean and otherwise, enjoy passing the nights in the local clubs and bars, which also stay open all night.
I sigh as Kavja takes the last cigarette from our last pack and lights it. “Give me a ten.” I tell her as I stand up and stretch a bit.
She hands me a twenty. “Get us something to drink too. I want a Phanta.”
I nod and head down the street to the closest convenience store. The sodas I could buy from any one of a half dozen street vendors between our house and the store, three blocks away, but the cigarettes are another story. The walk takes me a few minutes, as I stop frequently to chat with friends, give one very lost Caldari truck driver directions, and dance for a moment to a favored song. I buy the cigarettes and two bottles of Phanta and head back home, stopping to light a cigarette as soon as I get out of the store. As I draw on the cigarette, temporarily blinded by the lighter's flame, someone's voice gets my undivided attention.
“You fuckin' burned me!” the man yells.
I look up from my lighter and am greeted with four young men – late teens, very early 20s at most – standing a mere two steps away from me. All four are Minmatar, Krusual, I think, and all but one are shirtless, showing off the tattoos that cover much of their shoulders, chests, and arms.
“I didn't burn you.” I reply. “You're all the way...”
I don't get a chance to finish my sentence before he shoves me so hard that I literally do not remember hitting the ground. I clearly did, because when I woke up, my Mom has my head in her lap and is pressing a wet cloth against the back of my head, my Uncle Mirko and Kavja are in a heated argument with two police officers, and my Dad is talking to our neighbors about what happened.
“Violca?” a third policemen calls, kneeling down next to me. “Your Mom says you don't want an ambulance, is that right?”
I look up at my Mom, who smiles. I smile back – hell if I know why. “No, I'm ok.”
The police take a statement from all of us, and from several other people who witnessed it, before they wish us a good night and leave. I rinse the blood out of my hair in the kitchen sink and spend the rest of the night sitting on the steps with my family, smoking cigarettes with my left hand, and holding a rag on the back of my head with my right, until the bleeding stops. We talk about how the tensions with the Minmatar have grown worse in the past year or so. We're the newest immigrants, so we get blamed for “stealing the jobs” every time there is an economic downturn. Relations between us and the Minmatar are strained on the best of days, anyway. We all think things will improve soon.
When the sky starts to brighten a little bit, announcing the coming of sunrise, we all pick up our wares, put away our belongings, and head to bed, sleeping away most of the morning and into the afternoon. Tonight will be another warm, fun night in Little Mishi.
Hopefully I don't wind up bleeding again.
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Topic: Little Mishi (Read 1820 times)