Chapter 1
I found Asha.
The words blurred before my eyes. My mobile screen was like a haze of colour. I felt light headed and I was almost certain my legs were shaking. There was absolutely no way Elle had found her. I refused to believe her. And yet, the words were there, albeit blurry, typed on the small screen.
"Miss, are you going to get out?"
Blinking in disbelief, I tucked my phone into my purse and smiled at the Uber driver. Hurrying out the door, I made my way up the long flight of rickety stairs to my flat, buzzing with excitement and confident that Isaac would already be there waiting.
Huffing, I reached the door of my flat, punched in the code and hurried inside. Isaac was sitting on the couch with his laptop open on his lap, its bright light shining across his face and a small, cute frown gracing his lips. I grinned.
"Isaac. Guess what happened?" I said, my voice coming out higher than usual as I sat down beside him and leaned on his shoulder.
"What happened?" He answered, putting an arm around my shoulders and squeezing me into him.
I felt nervous. Finding Asha was a dream I never thought would come true. Telling Isaac would only make that dream the beginning of a reality.
"They found her," I couldn't help but squeal.
"Found who?"
"Asha."
"What?" Isaac turned to me, a look of disbelief on his handsomely chiselled face.
"I know. They found her. I can't believe they found my sister. Isaac, this is so amazing, I need to go to her." The words all tumbled out of my mouth. My nerves were on fire and I couldn't stop the grin on my face from widening. My sister Asha was alive.
"Are you sure?" Isaac asked, his voice sceptical.
I rolled my eyes, "Of course I'm sure. Elle's the one who found her. She said Asha was still in Nairobi."
"Elle?"
"The P.I I hired. They found her, Isaac."
"I, wow. I don't know what to say. Are you sure it's her? What if it turns out to be someone else? You don't even know what she looks like," Isaac said, a grimace on his face.
My mouth dropped open, "Excuse me? How could you say something like that?"
"It's just...it sounds too good to be true," he said, shrugging his shoulders.
I glared at him, clearly offended. Isaac had always supported me, in every little thing that I did. Why would he say such a thing?
"Whatever. I don't really care what you have to say. I'm leaving next week anyway," I said, pushing myself off the couch and heading towards the kitchen.
"I'm sorry, you're leaving without discussing it with me?" Isaac asked, coming to stand next to me.
"I just decided."
"How about we sit down and talk first? You can't make rash decisions honey," he said.
My hand tightened around the glass I was holding. "It's not a rash decision. This is the only lead I have and if someone is going to tell me that she's alive, then I will find her."
Slamming the glass onto the kitchen counter, I stormed into our room and locked the door. Running a hand down my face, I let out a shaky breath. Isaac and I rarely fought. I didn't know what had overcome him, or me for that matter. I just felt so drained at that moment. There was no energy in me to fight Isaac. I loved him, but I honestly did not know why he had said such things. Maybe I had overreacted. Grabbing a pair of pyjamas, I headed for the bathroom and turned the shower on. When Elle had texted, I hadn't expected her to drop such massive news. Asha was a sensitive subject, for me and for Aunt Fatima. We hardly ever spoke about her.
I let the water run for a few minutes, waiting for it to get warmer before stepping in. Finding Asha had become the most important mission of my life. Isaac's doubt had confused me. Of course, I wasn't one hundred percent sure whether she was alive, or okay, Elle only told me that they had tracked down a girl with the same name and age, but the tiny flicker of hope that came with that message had been enough to finalise my decisions and thoughts. I was going to get my sister back no matter what the stakes were.
***
Sighing, I carelessly tossed my bag on my black office chair and placed my coffee mug on the desk. My morning had been quiet; Isaac and I hadn't spoken but he had left me a plate of scrambled eggs and a cup of tea before leaving for work. Eggs were the only thing he could cook but they were by far the most delicious. Fighting was a rare occurrence for us and the way I acted had been quite childish, but I honestly did not understand his hesitance in believing that Asha was alive.
Rubbing my hand over my forehead, I sat down and switched my computer on. Pattison & James was a fairly old law firm with highly acknowledged lawyers and solicitors. An array of professionals in a sophisticated world full of money, power and persuasion. Somehow, I had ended up in that world. It was quite surprising that an established law firm would employ a young graduate from the University of Queensland, with little work experience but I wasn't complaining. The job paid well despite its pretentious demeanour and setting. I may have bragged about it for a while as well, until the day I had found out about the reason they had hired me; to fulfil their apparent 'culturally diverse employment' quota.
I decided to spend some time researching about Kenya. The problem with my going to Kenya was that I had no idea which town Asha was in and I also did not know what she looked like. But I was sure I would recognise her. I mean, she was my sister, so we had to look at least a little alike. I also didn't know anything about the country.
I remembered the night before I lost Asha. I had just turned 7 a few weeks earlier and we were supposed to leave with Aunt Fatima who had somehow managed to get us a visa to Australia. Asha and I had gushed about all the wonderful things we would do in the land of opportunity, as my aunt called it. We had promised each other that we would make friends with all the girls at our school and have tea parties with them. Those memories were crystal clear. Coincidentally, what happened the day after was completely lost.
I spent some time searching for cheap tickets to Kenya and just generally trying to gather knowledge on the country. It was ironic. I was a Kenyan, my birth certificate said so. But I hardly knew anything about the country. After we came to Brisbane, I had created a new identity for myself. And being Kenyan was not part of that identity.
"Zoya. I know you've got nothing to do so here, take one of my cases," a condescending voice said. I knew who it was without having to look up; her signature Coco Chanel perfume and nasally voice always gave her away.
Rolling my eyes, I gave the woman a tight smile. Lillian Moore was a tiny woman with dark hair and equally dark eyes. She was always dressed so prettily in various shades of blue.
"Why would I take one of your cases?" I asked. I had arrived at work an hour earlier than usual to get in some time for research.
"Because you're probably not going to get a case anytime soon. You're not exactly the best lawyer out there. Me, on the other hand, I'm swamped! So come on, it's for your own good," Lillian said, smiling wickedly with her pearly white veneers and dropping a file on my desk.
"I guess I could help you. I'm sure your pink little brain can't handle too many cases at once," I answered.
I watched in complete bemusement as Lillian slowly backed away with her jaw left wide open. It was a rare case to leave her gobsmacked and I was sort of proud at myself, even though my answer hadn't been too spectacular. Picking up the file, I started the long walk to the board room and flicked through it. Another domestic violence case, and I had ended up having to defend the abuser. Great. Sometimes I truly despised my job.
Pattison & James was a massive law firm and had many rich partners who ensured that the offices and rooms were top notch. The building was very beautiful, but the atmosphere always felt cold and distant.
Walking into the board room, I quickly composed myself and plastered a somewhat friendly smile on my face and stood behind the man who was looking out the window.
"Mr. Frances?" I called.
The man turned to face me and the disgust became quickly apparent on his face. Nevertheless, I continued introducing myself.
"Good morning, Mr. Frances. My name is Zoya Khalil and I'll be your defending attorney. Why don't we sit down so we can discuss your case," I said, gesturing towards the chairs.
Mr. Timothy Frances had physically abused his wife for five years and consequentially stopped her from finishing her undergraduate degree. My opinion of Mr. Timothy Frances wasn't good at all but this was my job and I had to get through with it.
"I think there's been some sort of mistake," Mr. Frances said, twiddling his thumbs and shaking his head. Mr. Frances wasn't a tall man, only about 5'7, so we were almost the same height.
My lips curled into a gentle smile, "I realise that the protection order has come as a shock to you but if you want to prove to your wife and the court that you will change your ways, then we have a lot to discuss."
"No. Not about that."
I tilted my head. "Then what mistake are you referring to?"
"You."
I blinked. "Me?" I asked, pointing at myself.
"Yes. I asked for a lawyer," he said.
"I am a lawyer."
"No. You're a rag-wearing terrorist."
I could hear my heart beating rapidly in my chest. A rag wearing terrorist? That's what I looked like to a man who didn't know me at all.
I hated taking cases that involved domestic violence. Aunt Fatima had been abused during her marriage. Her ex-husband had been a bastard who was only after the money. He physically abused us. I had lost my trust in men until I had met Isaac. And yet, there I was, willing to take on a case where a man had not only abused his wife, but called me a rag-wearing terrorist.
"I don't want someone like you handling my case. You're probably just gonna make things worse," Mr. Frances continued.
"I'm sorry sir, but I have been assigned to your case. My superior asked me personally."
"I don't give a shit. Get out of here and get me another lawyer. I don't trust any of you," he said, raising his voice.
I held back in the tears that threatened to spill from my watery eyes.
"I apologise. I'll go get someone else." Quickly turning around, I sprinted to the lavish bathrooms. Grabbing the edge of the basin, I let out a harsh sob. There were times in my life when I absolutely hated my low self-esteem and confidence. But there were even more times in my life when I absolutely despised wearing the hijab.
Sniffling, I turned the tap on and splashed some water on my face. Mr. Frances hadn't been the first one to make rude remarks on my appearance. I was meant to be accustomed to those kinds of not so frequent insults being thrown my way. But with all the pent-up emotions about Asha, I couldn't stop the tears. I felt useless at that moment. I needed a break.
Turning the tap off, I grabbed a few paper towels and quickly wiped my face. Fixing my crimson-coloured hijab, I blinked a few times before taking a deep breath and checking my reflection before ultimately leaving the bathroom. My heels clicked against the shiny tiled floor as I walked to my boss Ellie's office. Knocking and entering, I stood in front of my boss and explained the situation. I asked her if I could take some time off to get my mental health sorted. Ellie was a nice person and understood what I went through. She went from shock to anger to coolness. Ellie stood up, gave me a pat on my shoulder, agreed to give me time off and strutted out. I let out an uneven breath and let her deal with Mr. Frances.
The rest of my day had been spent trying to book a ticket. I knew that even though Isaac and I had fought, we would be going to Kenya together. So I booked a ticket for him as well.
***
"Well, that was a long flight," Isaac said, stretching his arms and yawning. I smiled, patting his back.
It was a long flight. I hated planes, so sitting in one for almost two days was a huge quest in itself. I was pretty sure my feet were swollen.
"Come on, we should hurry. We have to fill in those forms," Isaac said, placing a hand on the small of my back and guiding me through the large and unfamiliar airport.
I grabbed onto Isaac's hand as we neared the immigration and visa area. Neither Isaac nor I had a Kenyan passport, so we had to get visas upon arrival. I wasn't too nervous, and Isaac had gone through the process many times, but there were still tiny butterflies in my stomach. There was quite a long and slow-moving line. As we waited for our turn, I squeezed Isaac's hand. If there was anything I was grateful for at that moment, it was having my husband beside me. Getting him to come with me hadn't been too hard, Isaac was a softie at heart. Getting some time off work for him had been difficult. He was a well-known journalist and his job was pretty demanding. Yet, somehow, he had managed to pull in a favour and get a month leave.
"Hey, what are you thinking about?" Isaac asked, bumping my shoulder softly. I looked into his eyes. Isaac's deep, chocolatey eyes were what attracted me to him the most, after his love for food that is. I could see all his emotions in his eyes. It sounded weird but I truly could. His eyes were the embodiment of that quote about the eyes being the window to the soul. I felt warm all over every time he would look at me.
"Nothing, I'm just nervous."
"Don't be. You've got me. And we'll find her, InshaAllah."
InshaAllah, we would.
The line kept moving till it was our turn. The man standing behind the counter gave us a friendly smile.
"Hello, passports and applications please," the man said in English.
I handed over our passports and visa applications. The man, whose name was Richard according to his nametag, looked through our passports and tapped a few buttons on his computer.
"Mr Isaac Khalil and Mrs Zoya Juma-Khalil. Your first time in Kenya?" Richard asked, looking at me.
I nodded.
"Jambo habari gani. This is my wife's first time in Kenya." Isaac said, his Swahili perfect. I resisted the urge to roll my eyes. Isaac was a 2nd generation Kenyan Aussie, he was born in Brisbane and grew up with a stable family who taught him how to speak Swahili. Aunt Fatima, on the other hand, had stopped speaking it when I was growing up.
Richard grinned and nodded in understanding. "Are you here for a holiday or visiting family?"
I glanced at Isaac before looking around me. At that moment, I had a weird sensation of being around people that I knew, that I was comfortable with. And although my Swahili was very below average, I wasn't too embarrassed about it, it felt like no one was judging because they looked just like us. They were all beautiful and dark skinned. More than half were wearing hijabs like me. I felt accepted without even knowing anyone. I suddenly didn't feel out of place.
"Visiting family," I said, my heart thundering in my chest. Isaac rubbed his thumb across the back of my hand. I smiled. And so did Richard.
When we approached the exit door with our small suitcases, I prepared myself for the worst. I had avoided looking out the window the whole way from Dubai to Nairobi. I was afraid of what I might see and whether or not the sights would trigger any memories. The fear, however, disappeared as soon as Isaac and I were seated in the small taxi and left the airport gates. Tall palm trees, bustling cars, people pushing carts filled with mango's, a slight winter breeze brushing my cheeks. Nairobi wasn't a city I remembered, but I felt as though I had finally come home.