Long wait. I apologize. I'm not even blabbing!
"What a ninja. Ninja hijabi, no less. Now that’s pretty damn awesome." -- Maysa Malik
Chapter 18
Like a Ninja
☼ Maysa Malik ☼
African Culture Festival is definitely an event that is worthy of being looked forward to. This is my first time coming here after five years, and already I can’t wait until next year.
At the entrance, mock African huts house the ticket-sellers. The African men and women selling the tickets are wearing vibrant traditional kaftans, complete with mesmerizing geometric patterns. Rubina, Nazia, Noha, Farah, Farah’s cousin Leila, Naomi, Naomi’s little sister Belle, and I all split up so that we can get our tickets faster.
I head over to the third line with Belle and Shazia. The lady at the booth happens to be Xiomara Johnson, the former Riverside High student who holds a girls’ soccer record for the most goals in one season. She graduated about two years ago; she always comes back for the festival, though.
“Malik!” She greets me by my last name.
“Hi, Xiomara! Wow, you look great, like an African beauty.” She knows my name?!
“Thank you! Gosh, Coach has told me so much about you – you’ve really accomplished a lot since freshman year!” I bow my head in humility, like the Prophet, may peace be upon him, taught us.
“I still have a long way to go, but thank you.” I say, paying for the three tickets. She bids me goodbye and we meet up with the rest of the group.
Djembe drums beat in the background and a troupe of dancers are dancing proudly on the stage about fifty yards in front of us. Their banana yellow, lime green, and brilliant scarlet red clothes flap in the breeze as they step to the beat.
Little stands surround us on all sides. At one, a South African woman is selling her bead earrings, colors so brilliant that they can be seen from where we are standing. At another, an old man sitting in a rocking chair, a griot, or West African storyteller, is reminiscing fables to the gaggle of young children intently listening.
Exchanging glances, we all grin at each other. Naomi, generally the authoritative one, declares. “Ok everyone! We have, like, three hours to enjoy ourselves. We don’t all have to be together all the time, but the minute any of you are unreachable on your phone, we will come and get you, and then you won’t be able to go off on your own again, understood?” Most of her monologue is directed towards the younger sisters (and cousin), Belle, Nazia, Rubina, and Leila.
“Ok, guys. Who has a cell phone?” Farah asks. Farah, Noha, Naomi, and I all do, but Rubina and Belle do not. Their parents claim that they are not old enough. Surveying the group, Farah says, “Ok, so roughly, it will be Rubina, Belle, Nazia, and Leila. A couple of rules though, ok? If you guys want to split up, you have to be with at least one other person. And in one group, at least one cell phone with everyone’s numbers in it. Got it?”
Everyone nods. We split up – Nazia and Rubina go off one way and Belle and Leila go in another. The rest of us head over to the tent with all the Ms. Riverside Africa contestants in it. A woman is looking at a clipboard in stress. The sign on the tent says, ‘No Non-Contestants Allowed’.
That sign brings us to a halt. The lady is still looking down at her clipboard, but not taking any chances, all four of us walk quickly to the other side of the tent. “Ok, how do we get in?” Noha whispers.
Naomi shrugs. “Uh…sneak in. Wait, why don’t we just pretend like we’re African? Then they’ll think that we’re competing.”
Her suggestion is met by flat looks from the rest of us. There is no way that any of us could pass for African. Naomi is white, from German and Welsh descent. Noha and I have tan skin but we would still never pass for – wait. Farah. She’s Egyptian but she’s still African, technically.
I turn slowly and look at her. Noha and Naomi immediately catch on. We all stare at Farah grinning. She looks up to find us staring. “What? Why are you all looking at me like…NO. Haha, no. There is NO WAY that you guys are going to make me – ”
Naomi interrupts her. “Yes we are. Aren’t you the one who said that you can’t lie in Islam? Well, if any of us go, we’d have to lie about our nationality. Whereas you are technically African. Egypt is in Africa. So you’re the one who’s gonna sneak in.”
Farah shakes her head violently. “No. Haven’t you guys noticed that if I go, I’ll be the only hijabi?”
I shrug. “So? Does it make a difference? Didn’t a hijabi win Ms. Riverside Africa three years ago or something? Besides, you’re Sahanara’s best friend. So you’re going. Now use the back entrance.” I nod to the other entrance of the tent. Farah glares at me. Noha gleefully hands her the flowers and ‘Good Luck!’ card that we made for Sahanara.
Farah looks left and right, and then stealthily runs to the entrance. She’s wearing an African-print dress with an Egyptian twist on it anyway – perfect. Naomi, Noha, and I all pretend to look engaged in a conversation with each other while sneaking glances at the entrance which Farah went through.
She emerges, glaring at us. “I hope you guys are happy. Those were the longest five minutes of my life. I was surrounded by a bunch of girls getting ready. It took me three minutes to find Sahanara.”
We just laugh at her. Only she would actually sneak in without getting caught like that. What a ninja. Ninja hijabi, no less. Now that’s pretty damn awesome.
☮ ☮ ☮
For two hours, we gorge on African food from about every country imaginable. The kitoza, beef strips cooked South African-style, looks mouth-watering but we can’t eat it because it isn’t halal. Naomi insisted on not eating it because we couldn’t but in the end we forced her.
“No, really, guys. It’s fine. I don’t have to eat it.”
Farah rolls her eyes. “Girl, would you chill? This isn’t the first time we couldn’t eat something, and this won’t be the last. We’ve all dealt with it before, and we honestly don’t mind. Noha, Mays, do you guys mind?”
“Hell no!” Noha exclaims.
“Seriously, Naomi, it’s fine. You’ve eaten lunch around us while we were all fasting, right?! So come on.” I say.
“Yeah, but that was different because I wasn’t the only one! Sahanara was there with me, so I didn’t feel as weird eating as I do now. It’s – ”
I cut her off and walk to the stand were the kitoza is being sold. “Hello, may I have one?” I ask politely. The man smiles and nods and I pay him the appropriate amount of money.
“Delicious kitoza for the lovely lady!” He booms in a happy voice. I laugh and thank him before walking back to Naomi and handing her the kitoza.
“Eat.” I command.
She grumbles but complies. “Wait!” She says, stopping. “You guys get something too.” We sigh and exchange glances. I’m touched that she cares enough – we all are – but sometimes she’s too nice for her own good. Farah directs us towards an Egyptian food stand.
She says to the young Egyptian boy, maybe eighteen or nineteen, “Are the kababs halal*?” She asks.
The boy responds, “Um…I think so. Wait, yes, yes they are.”
Farah nods. “Ok then. We’ll take three kababs, please.”
He smiles and nods. “Here you go.” We walk away, read dua, and begin devouring the juicy meat. “Wait!” He calls out. We all turn around, me with a bite of the kabab in my mouth. “I’m so sorry, but those aren’t halal!” Upon hearing that, Farah, Noha, and I nearly choke. I have no choice but to swallow and whilst gagging, I do.
“What?” Noha croaks out.
The boy looks guilty and extremely apologetic. “God, I am so sorry. We have two kinds, halal and non-halal. I accidentally must have given you the non-halal. My God, I am so sorry.”
I hold up a hand. “Hey, it’s fine. It happens. Do you have any halal kababs?”
The boy shakes his head. “We ran out half an hour ago. We should have in about twenty minutes though, if you guys want to buy…again, I’m really sorry.”
Farah shakes her head. “Dude, seriously, it’s fine. Thanks for at least telling us.” She says kindly.
We walk away after that whole ordeal and take a seat at a table with an umbrella to block the sun. Naomi says, “Oh God. I am so sorry.”
We laugh. “It’s fine. It’s not the first time we’ve eaten something that’s not halal.” Noha comforts.
“It’s not?” Naomi asks.
I shake my head. “Nope. This fool,” I nod my head in Noha’s direction. “ate pepperoni pizza once without knowing it wasn’t halal.”
“Oh, shut up!” Noha grumbles. “In my defense, I thought they were tomatoes.”
☮ ☮ ☮
Finally, the time for the Ms. Riverside Africa competition comes. The stage for the competition is the heart of the whole fair and excitedly, we and the younger sisters all grab front row seats. Farah spots Matthew looking for a seat and waves him over. He smiles at us shyly.
“Hey!” Farah greets.
“Hi.” Matthew breathes out, glancing constantly at the tent full of contestants. It looked so cute how he was nervous about seeing Sahanara, not knowing that she was just as eager to see him.
The competition starts with the introduction of the contestants. Matthew, who is sitting next to me, sharply inhales when he sees Sahanara walking down the mini-runway. She looks radiant, her rich coffee skin glowing from happiness. Her dress is simple with geometric patterns adorning the hem and bodice, and her tall frame is not elongated by high heels like the other girls; she wears simple flats, and somehow that causes innocence to radiate off of her.
After being introduced to all the contestants, the MC announces the beginning of the talent competition. Again we sit through a bout of contestants with their hearts set on the title. One girl dances a traditional Ethiopian dance. Another sings a song in Swahili.
Sahanara’s performance was the best, no bias intended. She walks onto the stage this time in a taffeta canary red dress. She is quiet and smiles slightly. “This poem is dedicated to someone special. I hope you all like it and find ease in deciphering the meaning behind it.”
And then she begins.
Two hands
One white
One black
Intertwined in companionship
Two hearts
One white
One black
Bonded by love
Two people
One white
One black
Unbothered by their differences
Two people
One boy
One girl
Who don’t care about race
Two people
One boy
One girl
Who see each other’s character
Not appearances
Two people
Both human beings
That have the right to be together
Despite their differences
Won’t you support
The union of this boy and this girl?
One white, one black
Who wish to be together
Happy and unbothered
A collective sigh of adoration punctuates the ending of Sahanara’s poem, followed by roaring applause. People stand up and give Nara a standing ovation, and she laughs in disbelief and happiness. Her eyes roam the audience and rest on something next to me. Instinctively, I look beside me and the light clicks on when I see that it is Matthew that she is looking at.
When their eyes meet, Sahanara flashes a breath-taking smile and Matthew is looking at her as if she is the only one that he can see.
After staring into each other’s eyes for what seems like eternity, Sahanara walks off the stage and the next contestant comes onstage to perform her talent.
After three more contestants, the judges collaborate and everyone holds their breath and eagerly awaits the results. The tall man walks onto the stage. “Natasha Jenkins, Sahanara Adisa, and Melody Kingston, can you please come up on stage please?”
A burst of applause rings out; they are the top three finalists. All three girls arrive on stage, looking elated and nervous. Another woman comes up next to the man, holding a headdress with jewels woven into to it. “Third place,” The tall man booms.
Tension hangs in the air, like thick sugar syrup smothered on dessert. “Natasha Jenkins!” A round of applause ensues and the Jenkins family leaps up and claps. The woman and the man hold up a hand to silence the audience.
“Our second place winner!” Farah, Noha, Naomi, and I all crush each other’s hands. Allah, please let Sahanara win first. I pray.
“Ms. Sahanara Adisa!” All four of us simultaneously jump up, along with Sahanara’s family. I don’t know if I imagine it, but the applause Sahanara gets is downright thunderous.
Melody Kingston is crowned Ms. Riverside Africa, but I don’t think Sahanara minded all that much. With thirty contestants, it’s an honor even to come in second.
At the conclusion of the competition, families gather around to congratulate the contestants. We find Nara to congratulate her, and then leave her to her family.
Happiness bubbles up inside of me when I see Matthew shyly congratulating Nara. I smile; I can’t get my happy ending, but at least they have a chance too.
☮ ☮ ☮
After the festival, Farah drops Leila, Nazia, and Rubina off at our house so that the girls can spend a few hours together. She leaves her car at my house and together, her, Noha, and I all skip to the nearby park.
My phone buzzes, indicating a new text message.
Hey, Maysa. Are you guys on your way?
I smile involuntarily at the screen. I love how Adam always takes the time to address me before asking the question. It’s the little things like that that make you smile.
Yeah, we’re skipping over to the park now. Just listen for Noha’s horrible singing and you’ll know it’s us.
Next to me, Noha and Farah are singing a Jesse McCartney song quite loudly. Their singing brings me back to when we were young girls who had celebrity crushes on him, enthralled by his small smiles and green eyes. He wasn’t a soccer player, but hey, you have got to love his bright blonde hair.
As we approach the entrance of the park, Noha suddenly stops singing and freezes. “Oh. My. God.” She moans. I look around confusedly, not knowing what caused her to stop. I catch sight of Adam kicking around a soccer ball, strong tan limbs a blur from all the constant motion.
“What?” Farah and I say simultaneously. But when we see Ahmed sitting at a bench talking to Niall, I groan as well. “Oh God. I feel for you, Noh.” Because I am the reason Farah and Noha came, I feel bad. “We could go if you guys want.”
Noha shakes her head, not taking her eyes off of Ahmed. “No. We’re staying. And you know what? It’s game on. I’m tired off this.”
☮ ☮ ☮
Walking over to where the boys are standing around, I greet them. I was under the impression that this would be a casual outing between a couple of us, maybe a boys versus girls match of people from the soccer team, but seeing what I see now, I feel a little uneasy.
Don’t get me wrong, I’m cool with playing soccer with them in a park, but meeting them at the park with no other girls in sight? That, I’m kind of wary off.
Obviously my thought process is explicit to Allah, so just as that thought enters my mind, Shazia shows up with Rayyan, two other girls flanking her sides. I groan inwardly, but then feel bad.
“Hey Adam!” She calls out excitedly. Please tell me that she’s here to cheer, not to actually play. Because there is no way that she can play in what she’s wearing. Shazia is wearing a tight V-neck shirt that dips down into her cleavage. Granted, it’s long-sleeved, but still. Never wear tight clothes when performing sports. It’s an awful, awful experience. She’s also sporting knee-high socks and soccer shorts that show a strip of her tanned thighs. Noha snorts at how ridiculous her outfit is.
“Hey, Shazia.” Adam says, averting his eyes from her. He concentrates on the ball he’s bouncing on his legs.
I recognize the two girls on either side of Shazia as Sumrana and Preeti. They’re wearing outfits of similar style, and already I can see Ahmed and Niall checking them out. I shake my head, appalled at how they’re ok with putting their bodies on display for the viewing of two idiotic boys that are not even worth it.
“Salamwalaikum!” Noha says to her big brother. Farah greets him as well with her signature sunny smile. Adam smiles back when he sees them.
“Salam, Ali.” I greet. His face lights up.
“Hey! You came. Ok, so you guys want to start now?”
Shazia nods vehemently. “That’s cool. I’ve heard a lot about your soccer skills, Adam.” She puts her hand on his arm, and Noha gags behind me when she realizes that it’s Shazia’s attempt at feeling up his muscles.
Adam looks completely freaked out. “Yeah. Ok. Ahmed! Niall! Get over here!”
Since I’m standing next to Adam, I whisper, “What are they doing here?”
Ahmed and Niall approach us, so Adam can’t say anything. Shazia is talking animatedly with Sumrana and Preeti. A look over at Noha and Farah, and they are both surveying the scene. The air whooshes around on my left, and before I can fully turn to see who it is, Adam whispers in my ear as he walks by, “Check your phone.”
Niall is the one who suggested this. A couple more guys from the team are coming and a few of them are bringing girlfriends from girls varsity. He invited Ahmed along and Rayyan, and I guess he brought Shazia and her friends.
I nod in understanding, just a slight movement of my chin. Just then, a car full of guys from the boys’ varsity team pulls up. Three guys and four of my teammates all topple out of the car. I sigh in relief; Thank God, it’s even now.
☮ ☮ ☮
Twenty minutes later, we are finally ready to start. Picking teams wouldn’t have been so damn difficult if there was an even number of boys and girls. There wasn’t. That left ten girls versus seven boys.
The boys kept complaining about how it wasn’t fair that they were playing a team with three more people, but honestly, I don’t think Shazia, Sumrana, and Preeti are athletically-inclined. The complaint led to an argument in which I became the subject of a tug-of-war battle.
“We’ll take Maysa and call it even with nine versus eight.” Rayyan argues.
“Why Maysa?” Shazia says in an annoyed tone.
“Because she’s bloody awesome. She’s the only one that can kick all of our butts.” Niall says. Shazia shoots me a resentful look. Oh God. This is the price of being a decent player? I’m not even that good!
I cough awkwardly. “I honestly don’t mind…” I trailed off and shot looks at Noha and Farah, begging for them to help me.
“Oh hell no! We need Malik Massacre on our side.” One of the girls exclaimed. Niall shakes his head.
“No! Dude we need Maysa. There’s more of you.” I roll my eyes.
“Can I just decide?” I ask. “Guys, they’re right. We have to even up the teams. I don’t mind playing with the boys.”
This earns me looks from Shazia, Sumrana, and Preeti. I grit my teeth and try my best to smile.
When we finally end up starting, Noha and Farah all shoot me looks that wish me luck. I smile at them as the familiar adrenaline rush builds up inside of me. I impatiently wait on our end of the field, so damn eager to handle the ball with my feet.
“Come on, Malik.” Adam whispers.
A warm feeling builds up in me and I grin. “Let’s do this, Ali.”
We smile at each other and then look straight ahead, our jaws clamped in determination and our hearts filled with love for the game.
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Any characters you would like for me to interview? Suggestions/requests in comments please! Or PM me. Yeah, that's probably better. Whatever is convinient for you guys, though.
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