That Makes Two of Us | Chapter 5

I was instantly greeted by the god-sent air conditioning and the smell of oil and onions. Narmin’s mother was humming something while some Pakistani broadcaster reported breaking news on TV. I pulled off my sneakers immediately and pushed them by the door. No one wore shoes inside the Ahmad’s house, so I was forced to shuffle over the long flower rug with my old white socks. I wish I had paid attention to them before I left.

“My mom is making lunch so you better eat something. We’ve got your favorites!” Narmin said, as we walked through the sitting room slash travel room, thanks to all the souvenirs and gifts from the countries Mr. Ahmad had been to. There were little tiki men, mosaic tiles, wall tapestries, bonsai plants, blown glass, and beautiful frames of Arabic calligraphy. I don’t know how Narmin walked through this room without stopping to sigh with wonder. The only time I had been abroad was to Canada to visit my father’s cousin and I was nearly eight then.

We walked into the stainless steel kitchen to find Narmin’s mother amidst the chaos of cutting boards, ground meat and boiling water, with her smart pair of glasses, long ponytail and a swipe of lipstick. I guess when you didn’t have a job outside the house, you could dress up even if you were working at home. It was an endearing thing about her.

“Marwa, assalam wa alaikum beta!” She picked up a spoon to taste the cooking stew, closed her eyes and nodded her head.

“Ah,  you know what? It tastes perfect now, because you are here!”

Everything she said made me feel so special. I worried that I was blushing.

“Is that the biryani?” I asked, straining to see inside the pot. I knew it was of course. I’d smelled it, eaten it a million times and loved it.

“Finally someone who is excited about it. I can’t stand that heartburn waiting to happen. She’ll be in heaven now,” Narmin said, leaning against the countertop.

“You’re not going to eat with us?” I said as I pulled a chair out.

Narmin shrugged.

“I ate a little while ago like some microwave pizza stuff. Not hungry anymore. I need to finish my nails. You eat and then come back to my room.”

And just like that she disappeared. I used to get annoyed by that, but Narmin didn’t beat around the bush if she wanted to do something else instead of waiting. At least I got to enjoy the food and spend some time with her mother. I felt like she didn’t get the same quality time with Narmin as she liked, even though she was home all the time. I was more than willing to fill in.

We ate off of beautiful blue square plates that Narmin’s mother said she found in a vintage shop in Manhattan. She told me about how she loved New York and Philadelphia, the great weather, the sights, how cute Bilal and his wife were and how much she missed having the whole family together and that she wanted to go back in the winter. I tried to keep up with the nodding in between bites of piping hot rice and meat. I didn’t want her to think I was  one of those weird people that didn’t know how to eat and converse at the same time.

“Without Bilal, it’s hard to keep Narmin’s attention, you know? She is not as interested in sitting with her family and talking to us anymore,” Aunty Fatima sighed and took a sip of her coffee while she looked toward the family room.

“Before he got married, this house was more alive. We all used to play those board games and brain games from these books I bought. Narmin loved to play over and over again so she could beat Bilal. The two of them of would put on practice debates about any topic my husband would come up with. Sometimes we would all sit on the sofa as they did their homework and I’d bring them snacks when they got very stressed.”

“Now, she likes to just go to her room, listen to music and go on the Internet all day, all night long. I think she thinks we are not cool parents or we are boring,” She made air quotes with her fingers. I wanted to laugh at how adorable that simple gesture was, but I knew she was speaking from her heart.

“You teenage girls love to drive your dear parents crazy. I don’t remember doing that when I was your age. My mother was like my best friend.”

I couldn’t imagine her doing anything remotely like a teenager would, no rebellious, snarky, moodiness. She was too sweet and sensitive. Sometimes she reminded of a dainty beauty pageant contestant.

“But you are always so kind to me and like to sit with me, beta, that’s why I love you,” she said, smiling. “Sometimes I feel that you sit with me more than my husband does.”

I shrugged.

“For the record, I think you’re pretty cool to hang out with. My mom just treats me like a kid. We don’t really sit and talk about anything interesting. They’re always lectures that end the same exact way. ‘And that’s why you must stay away from boys!’ ” I wagged my fork the same way my mother did with her finger.

Aunty Fatima’s hazel eyes twinkled as she laughed. She clapped her hands together and touched her cheeks.

“Well, you should tell her that you can’t stay away from them forever. One day, you’re going to have to marry one!”

I stuck my tongue out jokingly. Marriage to me was like college entrance exams. I’d have to do it at some point when I’m older and I only wanted to do well so I wouldn’t be branded a failure. I know, very mature.

“But if she can help it, I won’t get married until I’m 30. I have to get a PhD or something so I can be somebody and make her happy. You know, education comes first!” I said, trying to imitate my mother’s voice.

Immediately, I wanted to slap myself because I forgot Narmin’s mother hadn’t even finished college. She took a break after giving birth to Bilal and just never went back. I didn’t want her to think I was insulting her and being a pretentious teenager. My father said sometimes I acted like one around my elders and made them feel bad for using incorrect grammar. Bad grammar was just one of my pet peeves though, nothing personal. I stuffed my mouth with rice and chewed anxiously.

Why was I so oblivious and socially awkward like this?  If it wasn’t for me, she’d be sitting here looking beautiful and alone at a table full of delicious food that she worked hard to make, but at least she wouldn’t have someone to make her feel stupid too.

Aunty Fatima sat back in her chair and took off her glasses. She folded one side and tucked it into the collar of her shirt.

“You know, Marwa, this is a very important time for you girls now. High school is very different, very difficult. I thought about what I wanted to tell you, to advise you, as you are going to start your new school in the next week. Narmin will just wave her hand at me, so I will tell you and you can share it with her by yourself.”

She paused and looked at me as if waiting for me to agree, so I nodded.

“I do not wish to disagree with your mother that education is important. Of course, I think so. I am not telling you to forget about doing well in school. I just want you to always remember who you are, what your heart tells you you are capable of. Never let any teacher or class or degree tell you something different. You understand me?” she said.

The news broadcast was over and I could hear a sweet, high-pitched woman’s voice singing a song in Urdu in the background.  I looked at Aunty Fatima’s face and studied the little lines and crinkles around her eyes. There wasn’t any anger in them, just a bit of weariness.

“Yes, aunty,” I whispered.

I fought back the urge to get up and leave and instead finished my last bites of chicken and washed it down with the mango juice she had poured for me.

“Can you please remind Narmin to finish her summer assignment? I know she thinks I don’t know about it. I’m sure you have finished yours because you don’t wait until the last minute and make excuses like that girl does” Aunty Fatima said, pursing her lips.

I smirked as I got out of my chair. Compliments did wonders to my mood. I just hoped Narmin wouldn’t ask me to help her do her assignment and avoid the important topic I needed answered, the whole reason I wanted to come over. I’d remind her later when I had to go back home.

Before I went down the hallway to Narmin’s room, I turned back to see her mother still sitting at the table, stirring her coffee with the spoon between her thumb and pinky finger.

“Thanks for the great lunch, Aunty. It was awesome, really,” I said.

Narmin’s mother smiled, without stopping her stirring.

“I’m glad you liked it, beta,” she said.

I wanted to tell her I was sorry things weren’t the same around the house without Bilal. Sorry that her husband didn’t sit with her as much as  I did. Sorry Narmin wasn’t into games anymore or spending time with her mother. I was sure that Narmin would like to be closer to her mother and talk, but the issue was that she wouldn’t do a very good job being so touchy-feely, so to speak. I was her best friend and I knew my limits when we had our talks. It was always controlled by Narmin’s mood and attitude and no one else’s.

But I felt like apologizing for things I wasn’t responsible for was kind of pointless and I was kind of in a hurry to go see Narmin. This hijab thing was really getting to me. I’d have to schedule solving a mother-daughter communication problem for another visit. Or to be honest, when I figured out how to fix mine as well.

That Makes Two of Us | Chapter 2

When I look back on it, you could say my strange relationship with boys began with three simple words: “I Love Jesus.”

They were three simple words scrawled into the pages of my diary when I was eight with an obscenely large heart shape over the letter I instead of a dot. The handwriting alone deserved the humiliation I would later endure.

Being that it was my top-secret private diary, my mother had no problem opening it up and reading my secret confession. I knew she treated my diaries like magazines at a doctor’s office waiting room, so I constantly changed the ones I wrote in and hid them in various places around my room. The latest one I had begun was a composition book, titled “4th Grade Language Arts” to throw her off my trail. Unfortunately, I discovered my mother also liked checking how I was doing in class to make sure I was taking good notes and not doodling.

The funny thing was unlike most mothers, she didn’t immediately try to find out who this Jesus boy was or ask what was he like and if had she ever seen him before. Instead, my mother freaked out and called my father to tell him she was afraid that I had secretly converted into Christianity. I was then forced to admit to my parents that I had developed a crush on my fellow classmate, Jesus Ortega, although I didn’t actually use the word “crush” since they were unfamiliar with it and I certainly didn’t want to since I had no idea why the act of liking a boy required me to “crush” on him.

I didn’t get the lecture I had expected about relationships after my embarrassing confession. Instead, my father simply rubbed his beard awkwardly for a few minutes and said I had time when I was older to think about boys. He also thought it was humorous to add that he also loved Jesus too.

“ Not your Jesus though,” he said with a smile.

My mother sniffed and told me to not listen to girls who talked about nothing but boys all the time and that I should tell my teacher if any boy bothers me. She seemed to have no clue that it was me who had the crush, not Jesus. No one was bothering me, which was precisely the problem. They only saw me as the nice girl that offered to turn the rope or grab everyone’s jackets off the floor or staple everyone’s papers. I was convenient and convenient things always get taken advantage of.

Now, I knew I shouldn’t have wanted anyone to crush on me, because that would result in my having to turn him down, since I couldn’t date but I wanted to reject someone. I wanted to blow someone off or have to let him down easy because I wasn’t available, just like the glamorous teenaged girls I saw in TV shows or movies.

But it was in fact my best friend Narmin, who was constantly at the center of attention of guys for as long as I could remember. Her parents had the same iron fist as mine did, but she somehow was able to pry those fingers open enough to learn how to act and carry herself perfectly around the opposite sex. Narmin was the same age as me, though she looked about three years older, but she was also an unapologetical tomboy. I guess that came from having an older brother. She thought makeup was stupid and for old grandmas, that dresses only slowed you down in football and acting too girly meant you were hiding something. Narmin knew what she was, who she was and why she was.

That fearlessness scared me sometimes and made me wonder how she could be that sure of herself and not care if people saw her as arrogant. For some reason, guys hung out with her, called her to be in their groups in class and joked around that she was each of their girlfriend’s. I know this irritated the girly girls in our class that would just sit on the swings and gossip on the monkey bars during recess. The whole situation made absolutely no sense to me, but I wanted to have Narmin’s life so badly. I decided since she was my best friend, I could use her as my teacher to help me better understand the world of men and make me seem more attainable. Attainable to the point that the guy wasn’t stark raving mad over me, just interested in being in my company whenever I wanted him to be. I realized only later how selfish that made me look.

I don’t know whatever happened to Jesus. I think he moved away later on, so I never saw him again and I’m kind of glad in case my parents ever ended up meeting him at a parent teacher conference or school fair. I was much more careful about sharing who I liked after that. And by careful, I mean I didn’t tell anyone, especially Narmin. The only crushes we discussed were celebrity ones, since those were just silly and harmless. Narmin and I were both on the same level of hopeless when it came to boy bands and Disney Channel stars so I didn’t feel the same jealousy or embarrassment then.

Ironically, Narmin complained how her parents wanted her to be more like me because I didn’t talk too much and I was excellent at the flute. I didn’t really get how those two skills were enviable, but I was thankful there was something that made Narmin’s blood boil about me and I pretended to be happy about it. I was apparently much better at being a good little Muslim girl while Narmin was dangerously coloring outside of the lines.

It seemed we both were unhappy with something about ourselves, but there wasn’t anything we could do about it. It was that frustrating, unattainable something that I think brought us together and made us, two polar opposites, attract. We were supposed to be a united front entering high school together, no matter what our pasts were like. I didn’t realize us it was our futures that would be the ones to mess it all up.

That Makes Two of Us-Introduction

I’m notorious for coming up with great ideas and characters but never following through with my stories. I think I get so caught up with making everything so perfect and being just funny enough, sincere enough, original enough and meaningful enough that I get too scared to see what could result from my efforts.

I’ve been trying for the past 4 years to write an honest, real story about Muslim youth in America and I think I realized my problem was I thought I knew what that story was. The American Muslim youth story is many stories really. It involves people who are secure in their identity and people who aren’t, people who are happy with their parents and people who aren’t, people who are at peace with their religion and people who aren’t. But what it comes down to is everyone is on their own journey to overcome their flaws and face their fears and this is what allowed me to tell the story of 2 Muslim teenagers, Narmin and Marwa who are best friends and both experience losing their faith for two very different reasons and then crawling on their hands and knees to try to get it back.

I started this story as a prose poetry form, because at that time I was so fascinated by the works of Sonya Sones and Ellen Hopkins. I’m not sure if I may change it later in the editing process if I think it’s too forced and doesn’t fit the true expression of Marwa and Narmin, so I have actually two versions of this story written. I know, I’m so indecisive.

I’ll post the story in parts, not quite chapters I suppose, because I don’t want to make them too long and difficult to read. I’ll just do my best to make it organized lol

I’d love your feedback on the story and hope you continue to come back for more. You, dear readers, could affect what happens in the story if I like your comments and ideas:) This should be fun!

Enjoy!

Author Interview: Randa Abdel Fattah

Randa Abdel Fattah

Few young adult novels feature a Muslim character on the front cover or are written by actual Muslims themselves, which is what makes Randa Abdel Fattah a breath of fresh air in the industry. Mrs. Abdel Fattah is only 29 and an award-winning novelist with books published around the world. She’s also one of my favorite authors! Her approach to tackling the stories of young Muslims involves humor and honesty, making the experiences connect with both Muslim and non-Muslim readers. She works as lawyer and human rights advocate in Sydney, Australia and lives with her husband and two children.

I found out on her website that Randa Abdel Fattah has recently been invited by the US State Department to participate in the ‘Changing Demographics and Multiculturalism Visitor Leadership Program’. Randa is the only Australian representative amongst 13 other participants from around the world. She will be visiting Washington, Texas, Arizona and New York from 5-25 September 2010. Very cool!

I had the chance to do an email interview with earlier this spring for the Muslim Voice newspaper to learn more about writing non-traditional and ethnic characters in young adult fiction.

Y&W: Your background is in law-how did you transition to becoming a writer?

Well I started writing when I was very young. The writing came first- short stories, essays, poetry. I used to enter writing competitions when I was a teenager and wrote my first novel when I was fifteen.

Y&W: Why did you write Does My Head Look Big in This and do you feel Muslim girls relate to Amal’s experiences?

It became apparent to me that the only time Muslim females appeared as heroines in books were as escapees of the Taliban, victims of an honor killing, or subjects of the Saudi royalty! I wrote Does My Head Look Big In This? because I wanted to fill that gap. I wanted to write a book which debunked the common misconceptions about Muslims and which allowed readers to enter the world of the average Muslim teenage girl and see past the headlines and stereotypes- to realize that she was experiencing the same dramas and challenges of adolescence as her non-Muslim peers- and have a giggle in the process!

Y&W: You went to a Catholic primary school. Did that experience open your eyes to interfaith issues or influence your idea of the relationship between Islam and other religions?

Not really. haha I was too young, in my primary years of school. Perhaps the inter-faith relationships were simply part of my life and influenced me subtly. My best friend was Hindu and my circle of friends made up of Catholics and Buddhists. I grew up in my early years just enjoying friendships without judging people according to their religious labels. My interfaith experiences, in a more formal sense, came when I was in high-school and we participated in inter-faith programs with other schools.

Y&W:What was your life like growing up as an Australian born Palestinian-Egyptian Muslim woman? Similar to your books?

Throughout my teenage and university years I felt the challenges of straddling between my Australian/Muslim/Egyptian/Palestinian identities. I did it by embracing all my identities rather than running away from them. By gaining self-respect, I gained the respect of others.

Y&W:Do you find it difficult to write about Muslim characters and Muslim storylines without being overtly preaching or excluding non-Muslim readers?

I did when I gave it a try at the age of 15. The first draft of Does My Head Look Big In This? was very preachy. When I gave it another try several years later I decided I would use humor to humanize ‘the other’, to avoid being didactic and to focus on the story, not ‘a message’.

Y&W: Are you planning to always write about Muslim characters in your stories?

Not necessarily. Noah, in my fourth novel, is half-Egyptian, half-Anglo, but his religion is not mentioned. I just want to write good stories- whether the characters are Muslim or non-Muslim will depend on the story I am writing. But I don’t see myself writing about one particular faith or identity as a matter of course. The point for me it to be able to write about Muslim or non-Muslim characters without it being seen as a deviation from ‘the Anglo norm’.

Y&W:Does My Head Look Big in This and Ten Things I Hate about Me both deal with identity crisis, peer pressure and the clash between Western culture and Muslim culture. Do you think Muslim youth have a harder time growing up?

For Muslim teenage girls who wear the hijab, and are therefore immediately identifiable as Muslims- the main struggle is to live against the perception that you are oppressed, down-trodden. It is not a natural state to live from a position of resistance. It is exhausting and unnatural to always be on the defensive, resisting a stereotype of victimhood. I believe that is the most constant and frustrating challenge because the teenage exploration of identity is made even more difficult when other people’s stereotypes are thrown into the mix.

And then there is the larger issue for Muslim youth, male and female, of defining your identity and sense of belonging as a Muslim growing up, perhaps born in, the West. With the barrage of headlines about ‘Islam versus the West’ this surely has a cumulative effect on how Muslim teens in the West feel about their sense of place and belonging. I guess the hard thing is you can sometimes feel like you’re in a zoo: locked in the cage of other people’s stereotypes, prejudices and judgments, on parade to be analyzed, deconstructed and reconstructed. I tell you it’s exhausting!

Y&W: Your latest book, Where the Streets Had a Name, has just been short-listed for the 2010 Adelaide Festival Awards for Literature. How excited are you for this recognition?

I’m thrilled. It’s a book that holds a very special place in my heart as it is dedicated to my grandmother who did not live to see her homeland free. I am so thrilled that it is being recognized and a Palestinian narrative is being given a voice.

Y&W: Where the Streets Had a Name involves a clearly relevant issue-the Palestinian and

Where the Streets Had a Name

Israeli conflict. Why did you choose to write a YA book about such a sensitive topic?

My visit to my father’s birthplace, Palestine, in 2000 had a profound impact on me. I suddenly understood the tragedy of my family, specifically my grandmother’s, dispossession. I also saw children and young adults trying to get on with their life despite the occupation- attending weddings, gossiping with friends and neighbors, haggling at the shops, following favorite television sitcoms. My observations of the way the children coped stayed with me. What I found most disturbing was the restrictions on travel. It seemed a denial of such a fundamental human right. The idea of an adventure story started to form in my mind- the idea of a child trying to get from one part of the occupied territories to another, forbidden, part.

It took some years before I started writing the story. All my activism in the meantime was, I suppose, part of the planning process. Deciding what to put in and what to leave out was a difficult task. The temptation to deal with all the human rights abuses, all the facets of suffering, all the political issues was overwhelming. The way I was able to avoid this was with the help of my wonderful editor with the first drafts and a realization that Hayaat’s story needed to drive the book, rather than my passion to raise awareness driving Hayaat’s story.  Ultimately I realized that I wanted to write a simple story set in complicated circumstances, looking at the sacrifices best-friends make for each other, sibling rivalry, nagging parents, sparring in-laws, ambitious wedding plans, helpless adults, children who dream big and an occupation that impacts on the minutiae of ordinary life.

Y&W: You are a passionate human rights advocate. How does your writing side tie into that part of you?

It comes from a strong sense of social justice and a desire to write about issues and give voice to narratives that are often misunderstood, demonized or not given due exposure in the arts.

Y&W: What has been people’s reception of your books-both Muslim and non-Muslims?

Alhamdulillah, I have received such wonderful support from readers from all different backgrounds. I have been able to validate the experiences of both Muslims and non-Muslims, people who grapple with their own identity issues, no matter what background they come from.

Y&W: What is the writing process like for you? Do you find it painful or easy?

It is a joy but also hard work. A perfect combination because the challenge is pleasurable and worth it.

Y&W:What advice do you have for Muslim youth who are interested in writing as well? Do you think they should look to their own lives as sources of story material?

The best writing, especially for those starting out, is to write about what you know. Stories that are drawn from one’s own world are more real and authentic.

Y&W:  What’s next?

I’ve just finished my fourth book which is a legal thriller/comedy set in Sydney and narrated by a boy called Noah. It’s a book which has allowed me to draw on my legal background and I’ve had immense fun writing it!

UPDATE: Noah’s Law is out in Australia in November 2010. Where the Streets Had Names is out in Australia and the USA in November 2010. I can’t wait to read them!