Behind Her Hijab | ✓

3| Land of Green

When I woke up, there was a tall, slim woman in a bright blue blazer standing in front of me. I could tell she was asking me something in English, but I couldn't understand anything she was saying.

"I no English," I said lethargically in my heavily accented voice, using all the English I learned in my school classes in Dubai. I immediately sat up straight and adjusted by posture, since I had just woken up from my long, relaxing nap in the bright blue comfy plane seats.

The woman nodded. "What would you like to eat?" she asked in Arabic.

"The rice plate, and thank you," I replied in my natural language.

"You are very welcome. I love your hijab, by the way." she grinned as she set the plate of rice on the folded tray attached to the seat in front of me.

"Thank you, again," I said quietly as she left.

My hijab was midnight black, with white glitter to represent stars in the midnight sky. It was always my favorite hijab, because, among other Muslim women, it made me stand out enough so that I was noticed, but not so that I immediately gathered everyone's attention.

There was a small device on the back of the chair in front of me. It resembled a miniature television but I wasn't sure if that was even possible. I turned it on, and many films and shows popped up on the screen. Among them, a movie poster featuring the words, "Based on the Book by John Smith." The movie poster also had a image of a young boy... with wings. A fairy? I didn't know what it was, but the creature held a long sword of some sort.

Ah, I realized. This movie is based on a Fantasy book. I instantly exploded with joy, realizing it was a book that had been turned into a movie.

I had always admired all kinds of writers because the way they can paint a picture in our brain by simply using words is truly an amazing work of art.

But at the bottom of the television's screen, something else caught my attention, three tiny letters: L, A, and N.

I didn't want to make a fool of myself, yet I wasn't sure what the English letters meant, so I closed my eyes, laid back into the comfy bright blue airplane chair, and tried to relax a little.

But it was hard to fall asleep again. My brain just simply had too much to think about.

Where we were we moving to? Would we get our stuff back? What had happened to our car? How would we learn to communicate in English? Would I ever see my friends again? Were we even going to survive this drastic life change?

So I pulled out the small napkin the woman had given me with my food, took the pen that had been sitting in the small seat pocket in front of me, and began to draw the fairy boy.

When my brain finally gave into my body's tiredness, I found myself dreaming of writing auto-biographies, sharing my life story, and even becoming a famous author.

Maybe, just maybe, this was a message from my god, Allah.

Then out of nowhere, the plane began to plummet. The air pressure in my ears was decreasing rapidly, and soon, a sharp pain ripped through my ears. Were we crashing towards the ground? I looked over at Iman, who had finally woken up, and her black eyes were wide open with fear. I put my arm around her, and we hugged each other tightly praying for our dear lives.

Then, it all stopped. I slowly loosened my grip on Iman and looked around. Everyone else around us didn't seem bothered at all by the daunting plane landing, which made me wonder if we were simply overreacting.

The very second that the plane pressed its breaks, everyone launched up from their seats and began to seek their treasure in the deep sands of Arabia. Also known as their suitcases in the compartments above the seats.

Baba waited until the aisle way started to empty before motioning for us to get out of our seats. I picked up my school bag and followed Baba to the front of the plane.

The woman that had given my food earlier and a man who I assumed was the pilot stood at the front. "Ma Salama!" they said to us, giving us a small farewell before we left.

I wasn't exactly sure where we were, but when I first exited the long hallway connecting the plane to the airport terminal, or what the pilot called the jetway, I took my first look at a country other than the United Arab Emirates.

It was ravishing. I wasn't quite sure where I was, but I loved it, and I silently prayed that this was our new home. The crystal lights dangling from the sky-high ceiling made it seem like the spotlight was on me, and only me. I looked outside one of the airport's colossal windows, and I saw kilometer, after kilometer, after kilometer of green. Green grass, green bushes, green leaves, and I even noticed a few expensive-looking green cars.

"Baba?" I asked.

"Yes, Samira." my dad responded, looking around the airport, eyes wide with curiosity.

"Where are we?" I questioned.

"Samira..." he hesitated, looking me dead in the eye, "we are in America."