Badriya as-Sahra is sick of piling up camel dung and picking people's pockets for a living. Her world discriminates against women and orphans, and it is only her damned luck that she happens to be both. She yearns for more but can't do anything else...
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
Badriya stood in the darkness of the hallway, peeking by the arch leading to the house's sitting area. Mama had already blown out the candles a while ago, and only the rays of the moon entering from the open windows gave her enough light for her to be brave enough to traipse towards her parents' sleeping quarters.
She couldn't sleep. It was hard to when your stomach's rumbling was so loud it rattled your ears awake. She didn't eat the meal Baba had managed to scrape off for cheap from a vendor who was about to throw out the leftover of the day's bread and hummus.
The hummus was tasty-creamy with a hint of something bitter but in a good way. It would've gone well with the khubz, but the bread was a day old, which meant it was hard, slightly moldy, and, worst of it all, cold. And Badriya hated eating food that wasn't supposed to be cold.
Badriya crept through the dark hallway, her steps small and light. She pushed past through the curtain that served as a door to her parents' room, where they lay asleep on sheets of scrap cloth and tattered mats they called a bed. Then, without a moment's hesitation, she flung herself to the feet of the bed and burst into tears.
"Mama!" she cried. "Mama! I'm hungry!"
Her shout startled Mama awake. She rubbed her eyes open, and when they landed on Badriya's crying form, she sighed.
"Habiba." Her mouth formed a yawn. "What's the matter?"
Badriya pointed at her grumbling stomach. "I want to eat! I'm hungry!"
Her mother sighed again. "Then you should've eaten earlier when your Baba and I did. We told you what would happen if you didn't eat."
"But I didn't like the food!" Badriya cried as if it was reason enough. "It was cold and awful! I want kufta kabab, not stone-hard bread!"
"It's too late in the night for that," Mama said. "Can you please wait till morning? I promise we will buy you some."
Badriya stomped her foot. "No! No! I want food now!"
As the little girl that she was continued with her tantrum, Mama winced. She looked tired and hungry still, for tonight's scraps weren't enough-it never was-but Badriya didn't care. She was hungry, and she couldn't sleep if she wasn't hungry. If she cried hard enough, if she screamed loud enough, her parents would surely find a way to get her what she wanted. Just like they always did.
"Farooq." Mama reached for her husband and shook him awake. "Wake up, habibi."
Baba stirred awake, turning his sleepy gaze to his wife. It was no surprise that Farooq al-Imran could sleep like the dead while the whole world burned around him.
"What?" he grumbled, then looked at Badriya. "Oh."
Her mother's eye twitched. "Will you please buy some kufta kebab from Amin? For Badriya."
Badriya stopped crying at this. She sniffled.
"But it's so late outside," Farooq pointed out. Badriya's lips began to tremble. "And even if we can, Fatema, we don't have the mone-"
