CHAPTER FOUR : PLACE LIKE HOME
"We try to hide our feelings, but we forget that our eyes speak."
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Abu Ali was right.
A couple of days after we first came into the family, the first wave of the sand storm hit us. The storm blew through the makeshift tents, but it did little damage to their inhabitants. The multiple layers of the tents protected us from the approaching storm. The family taught us how to use headwear and wrapped them all over our heads, leaving only our eyes visible, in case we needed to get out of the camp during the storm, which meant going to the bathroom.
But the warmth of the tent, the plenty of food stock, and the comfort from the goat's milk eased the seemingly difficult situation. Reem's soothing words—although I didn't understand half of the words—, Umm Ali's comforting black tea with sage leaves and a sprinkle of sugar, the children's precious laughters and curious stares whenever I spoke a foreign language somehow made the far distance from my family bearable. Abu Ali's jokes that made the camp echoed with laughter, Prof. El-Azizi's quiet demeanour as he watched the family's interaction, and Leila's cheerful conversations with Umm Ali in Arabic, added colours to my black and white mind.
My Arabic improved a little during the stay with the family, and in return, I taught them basic words in English and my native language.
They made me realise that with the company of the right people, even a desert would feel like home.
I couldn't imagine what our situation would be if we were still stuck on the mountain. Scratch that; honestly, I did not want to imagine what could happen.
A shiver ran down my spine as I remembered the fate of other people being banished by the government.
A ball hit my shoulder, snapping me out of my reverie and bringing me into reality. The faded black and white ball, covered with sand and dust, fell near my feet. As I picked it up, muffled laughter reached my ears, followed by a series of footsteps. I shook my head, hiding the smile on my lips as five-year-old Saleh looked up with his wide black orbs and sheepish smile when he reached the place.
"Sorry," he mumbled, saying one of the many words I taught him, but somehow the word for apologising was put into practice more than the others for the little troublemaker.
"It's okay." I ruffled his hair before passing the ball to him, who lit up instantly.
Amina, the seven-year-old girl, came to hug me as soon as she reached where I stood—a little habit of hers whenever she saw a member of her family. Ali, the eldest child from whom his parents got their honorific names, which literally translated to 'father of Ali' and 'mother of Ali', stood awkwardly behind his sister. A giggle escaped my lips as I opened one of my arms to him, who rushed into my embrace. Saleh, upon seeing his siblings in my arms, abandoned the ball and hugged my knee.
Something about the children brought warmth to my heart. It could be their precious smiles or their innocent gazes that softened my heart, but I just loved them so much.
"You're a natural when it comes to children," said Prof. El-Azizi out of nowhere, the ball abandoned by Saleh in his hold.
The children, especially Saleh, stiffened in my embrace at the sound of Prof. El-Azizi's monotonous voice before scrambling away like a monster was hot on their tails. Ali even had the guts to scream the word monster in Arabic.
A displeased look graced the old man's facial features as the ball slipped away from his grasp. "I just want to be friendly."
I laughed, remembering the first day of our stay with the family. Since the children went into bed that night without a proper introduction, they woke up in the morning while Abu Ali was teaching Prof. El-Azizi how to don the headwear. And the old man, trying to be funny or something, raised his hands over his poorly-wrapped headwear and said in a scary voice that he was a monster coming to eat them. The children screamed on top of their lungs, running around the camp and hiding behind their mother and grandmother, who looked like she wanted to beat Prof. El-Azizi for causing the chaos.
"It's your fault for giving a terrible first impression to the kids," I said, holding my stomach, which hurt because of the laughter.
Prof. El-Azizi crossed his arms against his chest, exhaling a sharp breath. "Blame it on the years in prison. I had forgotten what it's like to be around people."
A comfortable silence fell over us as we sat on a big rock, overlooking the makeshift tents and the children playing by the camp.
I looked at my hands, playing with the sleeve. It was Umm Ali's old clothes in her youth, since my petite figure was considered like a child compared to their Arabian, tall, and lean figure. The plain faded green dress was not as exquisite in design as my dress, but the airy, thin multiple fabrics worked better in the desert than mine did.
"The packing is almost done," I said, glancing at the makeshift tents.
Inside one of the tents, Reem, Umm Ali, and Leila, could be seen loading the clothes and carpets into boxes. Reem allowed me to take a rest and watch over the kids since I had spent the whole morning assisting her in the kitchen. Abu Ali went out to meet their tribesmen who would resume the travel together and rented another truck for the three of us. Their plan was to reach a more cultivated, greener area of the desert that was nearer to an industrial city.
At first, they wanted to go to Aman region—the place where Reem said my dress originated and a much more developed area—but since there was a military conflict near the region, their tribe decided to take a detour and headed to the east.
Abu Ali said that they would settle in that area for a while and raise the children there until they could decide for themselves whether they wanted to live as nomads or settle in the city. Reem had a few other children apart from Abu Ali, but after her husband's death, they wanted to live in towns and settled down there. Thankfully, with the technology, they were able to call one another through cell phones, although it was hard to find a good connection in the midst of the sand dunes.
"I have a daughter around your age. A few years older, actually."
I raised my eyebrows at Prof. El-Azizi, whose warm gaze was on me, as he brought up the subject of his life. Both he and Leila had almost never talked about their lives in Akkadiyah, except for little and trivial stuff that did not answer any of the family's questions regarding their rebellion against the kingdom. As if they treated their previous memories like my own—a forgotten phase of life—the moment we left Akkadiyah.
"She, like you, had so many possibilities ahead of her. A bright future for a bright child, they used to say," he paused to avert his eyes towards the horizon. The clear, blue sky with a hint of white lines was almost invisible to the naked eye. "Until the government decided to turn against my family, when they realised I was indifferent to their actions. They forced the headmaster of her school to cancel her scholarship and transfer her to another school in a rural area. She still succeeded at that school against all odds. But she faced a lot of bullying," he choked on his words.
My heart tugged with sadness as I stared at him, patting his shaking shoulder. Prof. El-Azizi, who always maintained a calm and composed demeanour, broke down into tears. He did not bother to wipe the tears streaming down his wrinkled face and let them flow into his greyish beard, as if he hadn't had a good cry for a long time.
A forlorn sigh escaped his lips. "But it's all good now. At least, the last time I heard of them. When my oldest son found a decent job outside the kingdom, with the help of my good students, he brought all of his siblings with him. My wife was long gone, so there's nothing holding them back there. I miss them so much, but my heart is at peace knowing they're far from the government's hold."
"So, they just left you?"
He shook his head. "I ordered them to." He wiped the tears from his cheeks before inhaling a deep breath. "You see, Salwa, sometimes we need to do the right thing. Even if it's hard, even if we need to sacrifice something for it. It's difficult, yes, but it's also worthwhile. Because whatever good or bad we do, it will always come back to us in the end."
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That night, as we huddled around a fire to warm our bodies against the chilling temperature, Abu Ali returned to the camp just in time for dinner. He did not enter the compound alone, however. Another man, almost the same age as Prof. El-Azizi, took a seat beside Abu Ali and flashed a smile to everyone in the camp.
Leila and I shared a confused look, but Reem seemed like she expected the guest, as she brought out an extra cup of tea as soon as the men entered. Prof. El-Azizi sent a polite smile and shared a handshake with the man, although I could see the curiosity flickering in his eyes over his calm facade.
"Huwa Jaafar," stated Abu Ali.
This is Jaafar. The only sentence I understood.
"He's a camel driver," whispered Leila to me, translating Abu Ali's words. He nodded to her after he finished his sentence. "He also works as a tourist guide for the nearest city."
As Abu Ali talked, he shifted his gaze to me before pausing patiently for Leila to translate his words. "If you want, he can bring you to the city. It's closer to Aman."
My eyes widened, searching for confirmation from Prof. El-Azizi, in case Leila got the translation wrong. Prof. El-Azizi nodded to me, a small smile on his lips.
"But why?"
Reem took the unoccupied seat by my side and stroked my head, like she always did to her grandchildren. "Jamilah," she started by saying her nickname for me. Her soft gaze and soothing words sent warmth to my heart.
"I know you don't want to follow us to the east," said Leila, mimicking Reem's sad tone. "You didn't say it but I can see it in your eyes. That's why I told Abu Ali to find someone who can bring you to Aman."
Tears pickled my eyes as I stared into Reem's kind eyes; the reflection of her soul. "So, Abu Ali was out all day to find someone who can bring me to Aman? Why? Why are you guys so nice to me?"
Reem pulled me into her embrace, murmuring. The warmth emitted from her body was the last straw that kept my tears at bay. Her thobe smelt of cinnamon and herbs, since she had spent the last few hours in the kitchen. In her arms, all the worries weighing down my heart evaporated into the thin air.
I didn't care that everyone in the camp could hear my sobs, even if I knew it would be a source of embarrassment whenever I recalled the moment. I could see the children peeking out from behind Umm Ali as I broke down in their grandmother's arms.
How could it be possible that a stranger was so nice to someone she had never met before?
"Because you are our family. And families don't leave each other in difficulty."
"Thank you so much," I pulled away from the embrace, not wanting to soak her thawb with my tears any longer. "I'll always remember all of you," I sniffed, looking at everyone in the family. From Reem's soothing presence, to Abu Ali's supportive gaze, to Umm Ali's comforting smile, to Ali's awkwardness, to Amina's tearful eyes, and lastly Saleh's playful grin.
Not with my mind. But with my heart and soul. Because even if my mind had forgotten, my heart would always remember. Just like my heart remembered, the person waiting for me at Aman.
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