“I have other friends,” I say, looking at him fondly. “Besides, I’ll see Angie in a few weeks. We’re meeting in Thailand for New Year’s.”
“How are your plans going for Basant?”
Basant is this huge festival in February, where everyone goes outside and has kite wars.
“Amazing,” I gush. “We’ve raised over a hundred thousand rupees. I never would have thought the kids at this school would pay that much money just to enter a kite-flying contest. At this rate, we’ll be able to start building the trash-pickers’ school by spring.”
Mr. Akbar smiles in satisfaction. The contest was his idea.
“I still think we should get Aisha into a kissing booth, though,” I say. “She’s being such a priss. It would totally solve the rest of our money problems.”
“Aisha is a good girl,” says Mr. Akbar firmly, his eyes twinkling.
“But it’s for charity, Mr. A. Surely Allah would look the other way if it’s for a good cause.”
I hand him his cup and settle in my chair.
“Besides,” I continue, “Mustapha would never allow it. He’d pay off every guy who signed up not to kiss her. She keeps her virtue, Mustapha can play the hero, and we get our hands on his cash. Everybody wins.”
Mr. Akbar laughs. “You will see your father at Christmas?” he asks, changing the subject.
“Yeah. I’m spending a week with him and Zenny in Manila. It’ll be weird, but I’m looking forward to it, and I’ll see some old friends.”
“And what will you tell them about Pakistan?” he asks, taking a sip of his tea and stroking the petal of a flower that has grown over the back of his chair.
“Fishing for compliments, Mr. A?”
He smiles and puts down his cup, takes pruning shears out of his pocket, and turns away to trim the overhanging branch. Settling back, he takes another sip of tea and gazes out at the vista of his kingdom, color and life spreading in every direction.
I think about his question and the one right answer. No matter how often the landscapes change, that question never does. After so many moves, I wonder how it could have taken me this long to understand it. The answer isn’t in the beauty of a tropical setting or the squalor of a refugee camp. It doesn’t change if the buildings are ramshackle, with garbage on every street corner, or if the manicured lawns front gleaming mansions. The answer is not a place.
“Mr. A?” I call his attention and he turns to me, his deeply rutted face as familiar now as the creases in my own hand. “I’ll tell them it’s paradise.”
URDU WORDS*
“Aap ka naam kya hai?” – “What is your name?”
Achcha – I see, Okay, Good
Assalam Alekum – Hello
Basant – Kite-flying festival usually held in February
Bidis – Cigarettes
Bindi – The decorative spot on a woman’s forehead
Bindya – Decorative wedding jewelry worn on the forehead
Daal – Lentil curry
Dost – Friend
Dosti – Friendship
Dupatta – A scarf worn along with a shalwar kameez
Jhoomers – Ornate earrings, sometimes attached to a nose ring
Khuda Hafiz – Good-bye
Kurta – A long loose shirt
“Kya aap Angrezi?” – “Do you speak English?”
Mangni – The betrothal ceremony
Mullah – A religious leader
Salaam – A typical greeting
Shalwar Kameez – A South Asian outfit that consists of a long tunic over coordinated pants
Shukria – Thanks
“Wa Alekum Salam” – A polite response to a greeting, such as, “Peace be with you”
*The translations provided here are loose and not literal.
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
I think every new writer will acknowledge that their book, specifically their first, was the work of many, and I’m no exception. In fact, I’m nervous of thanking anyone for fear I leave someone out. But I wouldn’t be enjoying this dilemma if it weren’t for the faith, labor, and patience of my writing team.
First, I’d like to thank my wonderful agent, Andrea Cascardi of Transatlantic Literary Agency, who took a risk on me and devoted many hours to improving my work and teaching me the business of publishing. I’d also like to thank my author friends at Mig Writers, who critiqued and encouraged in equal measure: Andrea Mack, Carmella Van Vleet, Christina Farley, Debbie Ridpath Ohi, and Kate Fall.
There are many current and former colleagues at Tundra Books who had a hand in making this book a reality. I can’t name them all, but I’d like to mention Kathryn Cole, who first saw its potential, and Sue Tate, who I hope continues to see mine. I’d also like to thank Kelly Jones for her attention to detail.
This is a book about many things, but at its center is the importance of family, and there’s a reason for that. I’d like to thank my sister, Catherine Allen, who always believed in me; my brother Rob Laidlaw, for his words of wisdom on making a career in the arts; and my brother David Laidlaw, for always being there when the going got tough.
Like Emma, I’m a global nomad. I’ve unpacked my life in many countries and made new friends – only to pack up a few years later and start the process again. So finally, I’d like to thank my fellow traveler of more than thirty years, from my first adventure in Nigeria to my most recent in Indonesia, the person who has made every foreign land feel like home, always my first reader and my last, my husband, Richard Bale.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Born in Philadelphia, S.J. LAIDLAW spent most of her childhood in Toronto. From an early age, she loved reading and writing stories. After completing an undergraduate degree in English, with the dream of becoming a novelist, she ventured to Africa as a volunteer teacher. There she discovered that her students needed as much support and guidance outside the classroom as in it, so after three years, she returned to Canada to complete a graduate degree in clinical social work. Since then, she has worked as a counselor in many countries and has led workshops for parents and educators on raising and working with third-culture children. An Infidel in Paradise is her first book.
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