by Reem Faruqi
Owais’s Turn
The pool welcomes him,
acts like he’s never been gone,
and he swims
so beautifully
so swiftly.
Even though I’m
out of breath
from doing laps,
watching him
still takes my breath
away.
Medal
It is the perfect
amount of heavy
and hangs on the hook
on my wall
and on my heart
in my body.
Newspaper
In the city gazette
is a picture
of the team
me on the lower right
next to Stahr
holding my medal.
I
snip
snip
snip
the paper rectangle
out
carefully
to show Nana and Nana Abu
and Asna and
family back home.
I highlight my name
in yellow,
show it to Dadi.
When she asks me
my name,
I point to it
proudly.
Summer
Suitcases being zipped up,
full and fat,
when the bell rings.
Visitor
The man who is missing one arm
Mr. Tim
holds out the smell of cinnamon.
My wife b-b-b-baked cookies.
Thank you, says Owais.
My fatherextendshis hand.
Please come in.
But Mr. Tim shakes his head
and smiles,
how different he looks
with a smile on his face.
Sure fine d-d-d-daughter
you got there . . .
He waves,
and this is the first time
I notice
a wedding ring on the fourth finger
of his right hand.
Glinting in the sunlight.
Teatime
My mother delicately
nibbles Mr. Tim’s cookie,
then smiles and rests
her hands,
with the tips of her nails
bitten into
crescent moons,
onto her belly,
which is full and fat.
This time,
the baby is the size
of a mango,
my favorite fruit.
For My Mother
My father presents
a bouquet
of white flowers
so tiny
and faint
like tissue paper.
Baby’s breath, she says,
her eyes smiling
so hard
her mouth
is jealous.
So
Do you like it here?
asks Baba
and Owais
answers an
I guess so
but not before
he tucks
a smile
inside his cheek,
making all of us
smile
smile
smile.
Windy Day
My father
sometimes reads people
well,
but he reads the wind
very well.
On windy days,
when the trees dance,
my father calls us
and we watch
his kite
unfurl on a long
long
long
piece of thread
until it kisses the sky.
And even though
the trees here are taller,
the houses too,
my father makes the kite
dance easily in the wind.
Trim little circles,
zigzags
too.
In those moments,
when I dive into
my blue cocoon,
soar through the water,
I become the kite—
free.
Author’s Note
Although this story is fictional, I drew on my experiences from when I moved from Abu Dhabi, the United Arab Emirates, to Peachtree City, Georgia. Like Nurah, I joined a team—not swimming, but a tennis team, and found those experiences shaped and challenged me. I barely made the team, but got much better with consistent practice. Full disclosure—like Owais, my three brothers excelled at the sport much more than I did!
Like Nurah’s, my grandmother, who was highly educated, struggled with Alzheimer’s and did not remember my name anymore. I still remember the numb sadness I felt watching her decline, and tried to show it through Nurah’s eyes.
Like Nurah’s father, my father followed the school bus to our school on our first day of high school to make sure we reached it safely. I rode a bus where the bus monitor was missing an arm and was picked on by some students. I remember the horror I felt. I remember wishing I could say something to help. Alas, I did not my find my voice, but my eldest brother did. The day the students teased the monitor asking if he wore a wedding ring was the day my eldest brother broke his silence and yelled at the other students to SHUT UP. I remember feeling elation mixed with fear. I worried that we would become easy targets the next day, but amazingly the students stopped picking on the bus monitor. To this day, I think saying something, anything, to help someone who is being picked on mercilessly is better than just sitting there and being a silent witness.
I was a senior in high school the year the September 11 tragedy occurred. Unbeknownst to us, an officer from Homeland Security stopped by to interrogate my father. Luckily, my father was eventually left alone, but that is not the case for others. Unfortunately, there are criminals who commit terrorist attacks citing Islam, a religion of peace, as a reason. For Muslim students, it can be mortifying to go to school the day after a terrorist attack has been committed by someone touting Islam. The day after September 11, I was not picked on, but one of my best friends, who was born and raised in the United States, who also wore a hijab, was picked on and told to go back to her country. Owais’s line in my story “I’m not a fighter” was inspired by my cousin who said this courageous line when he was picked on by high school bullies in the locker room.
I started to wear my hijab in high school on a Wednesday in tenth grade, but like Nurah I practiced wearing it first to regular places like Pizza Hut and Walmart. I think wearing anything that makes you look different, especially when all you want to do is blend in, can be quite challenging. I admire those who choose to be different in a country where it is not common and appreciate all those who support these students, whether it’s simply being a friend or treating them exactly the way you would want to be treated.
I also remember sitting alone at lunch and how different my school experience was when a girl asked if I would like to eat lunch with her. Having a friend believe in you, like Stahr and Nurah do for each other, is life changing. Thank you to all those who invite others to eat lunch with them—it makes a world of a difference.
Glossary
alhamdulillah: Praise be to God
aloo kabab: potato and ground beef mixed together and then dipped in egg yolk, coated in bread crumbs, and then fried to make a crispy patty
assalamualaikum: Muslim greeting for “peace be upon you”
biryani: spicy meat and rice cooked separately before being layered and cooked together
Chacha: Urdu word for paternal uncle, specifically father’s younger brother
dadi: paternal grandmother
dal: lentils
dupatta: a shawl-like scarf women in Pakistan wear over their shalwar kameez and worn over the kurta. It can be draped over the head or chest.
ek: Urdu word for one
ghee: clarified butte
r made from the milk of a buffalo or cow, used in South Asian cooking
halal: “permissible” in Arabic. For food, it typically means meat that is specially butchered with Islamic guidelines. For fish, the guidelines are more lenient, which is why Nurah gets fish fillets from McDonald’s.
hijab: headscarf Muslim women or girls may wear
istikhara: prayer recited by Muslims when in need of guidance on an issue in their life
jaldi se: Urdu words for quickly
kajal: powdery eyeliner that women wear in Pakistan
khichri: rice and lentils cooked together until soft. It is cooked extra soft for babies.
kurta: loose, flowy Pakistani top. Girls’ clothes are usually colorful.
masjid: Muslim place of worship
mehndi: henna paste that temporarily dyes hands, usually drawn on hands to celebrate events, but can also be put on for big moments, such as Nurah moving, in this case!
motia: tiny white flowers that appear at the start of summer and bloom joyously in shades of white. These flowers are often threaded together to form bracelets or necklaces in Karachi, Pakistan, and South Asia.
namaz: Urdu word for the obligatory Muslim prayers that occur five times a day. In Arabic, the word for prayer is Salah.
nana: maternal grandfather (Nurah calls her maternal grandmother Nana, though, since it was Owais’s first word)
nani: maternal grandmother
paratha: delicious flatbread consisting of layers of cooked dough
rupee: Pakistani unit of money
samosa: a fried or baked pastry with a savory filling, such as spiced potatoes, onions, peas, meat, or lentils
sari: an outfit worn by South Asian women that is made of several yards of lightweight cloth. It’s draped so that one end makes a skirt and the other is typically a shoulder covering.
shalwars: loose, flowy Pakistani pants
Surah Al-Kahf: the 18th chapter of the Quran. Al-Kahf means “The Cave.”
tasbih: prayer beads
wa-alaikum-as-salaam: Muslim reply to assalamualaikum, meaning “peace be upon you too”
Nurah’s Aloo Kabab Lunch Recipe
Ingredients:
6 medium potatoes
1 pound ground beef
1 teaspoon salt
1 teaspoon ground cumin
1 teaspoon ginger paste
1 teaspoon garlic paste
½ teaspoon ground coriander
½ teaspoon ground red pepper
2 eggs, beaten
1 cup bread crumbs
Vegetable oil
Peel and boil the potatoes (aloo) until soft for approximately 25 minutes and mash separately.
Cook the ground beef until brown. To the beef add the salt, ground cumin, ginger, garlic, ground coriander, and red pepper.
Mix the mashed potatoes and browned ground beef evenly.
Shape the mixture into circular kabab shapes with your hands.
Dip kababs into the beaten egg.
Coat kababs with bread crumbs.
Shallow fry in medium-heat oil. Flip the kababs over to ensure they are golden brown on each side.* Enjoy! They are delicious served with rice or naan bread.
*Tip: Freeze the kababs first if you can for a couple of hours, as it makes frying easier and the kababs will be less likely to break apart.
Storage:
If you have any extra kababs, they can be stored in the freezer. They can be cooked quickly or jaldi se by shallow frying them in vegetable oil.
Acknowledgments
A huge thank-you to:
Agent Rena Rossner: for offering representation when I was queried out, for your vision in taking my Microsoft Word document and seeing it as a book, for pushing me to dig deeper, for offering insightful edits, for your speedy submission, and for being up at all hours during the auction. I’m so grateful for you! Thank you for your energy and passion and above all, for believing in Nurah and me. I can’t thank you enough.
Editor Alyson Day: for falling in love with my story, for yelling on the subway when I accepted the offer, and for championing Nurah in the best way. I couldn’t have asked for a more enthusiastic editor. Thank you for your uplifting comments throughout my story. I live for your supportive emails, your gorgeous insights, and can’t wait for more book journeys with you!
The entire Harper team: Soumbal Qureshi and Molly Fehr for giving me a dreamy cover and beautiful interior art! Shona McCarthy and the copyediting team for meticulous edits, Eva Lynch-Comer for my countless emails, Meghan Petit and Allison Brown for gorgeous production, Emma Meyer and Lauren Levite for enthusiastic marketing and publicity.
Editors Audrey Maynard and Ann Rider for support and making me feel like my stories mattered from the beginning.
All My SCBWI Critique Partners who responded when I was just a stranger emailing and who gave me constant hope throughout the long writing process, especially Melissa Miles, Amy Board, Vicki Wilson, Tresha Render, Becky Goodman, and my first family readers: Sana Dossul for always being so kind and ready to read, Huma Faruqi, and Asna Dossul.
My Author Friends and Blurbers: Veera Hiranandani, Aisha Saeed, Hena Khan, Rajani LaRocca, Aya Khalil, Saadia Faruqi, Saira Mir, Marzieh Abbas, and Becky Sayler for being there at all hours!
Ilse Craane and Kendra Marcus, my previous agents, for telling me numerous times to write middle grade (I listened!) and for encouraging me while this book was in its broken stages.
My eleventh grade English teacher—Mrs. Patricia Carman for transforming me by giving me the gift of writing and for your inspiring “coffee breaks.”
These supportive groups: Rena’s Renegades, #DiverseDreamers, #MGBookChat, #the21ders
Author Jasmine Warga, whose novel in verse gave me the boost I needed to finish mine.
Eliot VanValkenburg, Aisha Zakaria, and Dr. Amena Dossul for swimming expertise.
My BFFs, Salma Stoman, Sarah Stoman, and Saira Pasha for coaxing me out of my writing cocoon for dinner six feet apart outside, laughter, and endless memories.
My courageous cousin Noor Faruqi for sharing your locker room incident with me.
My Whole Family (including all my twenty-five cousins!) in Peachtree City, in Pakistan, and beyond.
Mom and Abajan (Mrs. Nazia Malik and Dr. Firasat Malik), Daado-Jan (Mrs. Ismat Malik): Love and Duas. Abajan, thanks for comparing tea to the color of your skin; it inspired me!
Cousins Dr. Amena Dossul and Asna Dossul for being my sisters, my BFFS, my everything, and whose names I will trace on the beach sand for the rest of my life.
My three brothers, Hamzah, Talha, and Osman: I don’t know who I would be without you.
—Hamzah, for standing up for the man on the bus and for always being so kind.
—Talha, for saying you always thought I’d be a writer: it spurred me on more than you thought. Thank you for always cooking for us (even though my butter chicken tastes better.)
—Osman, thanks for complimenting my writing once. Means a lot coming from you! ☺
Nana (Mrs. Zarina Zakaria), so much of this book I thought of you. Thank you for always gifting us the perfect clothes. I love your love for nature. Since Nana Abu’s death, I am in awe of your strength.
My parents, Amma and Abba (Mrs. Huma and Mr. Zaheer Faruqi), for coming over, watching the children, emptying the dish rack, providing me aloo kababs, and for shaping me into who I am. Amma, special thanks for Wednesdays. Abba, thanks for your stories and love for kites. You both made moving continents look easy. Without you, I would have a very messy home and still be working on this book.
My husband, Naoman Malik, for reading my story early on, saying I had stars and just needed to make them into a constellation, and for printing out my many manuscripts over the years! Thank you x infinity for making sacrifices, BIG and small, so I could write.
My daughters Zineera, Anisa, Hanifa for cleaning, baking, joyous chaos, and for being the reason why I have to get off my computer. I pray you wear your faith proudly.
<
br /> My first American friend, Chelsea Hartt-Baudhuin, who said those eight words, “Do you want to eat lunch with me?” It changed everything.
About the Author
Photo by Mariam Shakeel
REEM FARUQI is the award-winning author of the ALA Notable Children’s Book Lailah’s Lunchbox as well as Amira’s Picture Day and I Can Help. Of Pakistani descent, Reem immigrated to Peachtree City, Georgia, in the United States from the United Arab Emirates when she was thirteen years old. Reem is also a teacher and photographer who loves to doodle. She lives in Atlanta with her husband and three daughters. Like Nurah, Reem loves the Karachi beaches, crows, her aquamarine silk hijab, and especially her grandmother, Nana. Unsettled is loosely based on Reem’s own story. Visit her online at www.reemfaruqi.com.
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Copyright
UNSETTLED. Copyright © 2021 by Reem Faruqi. Interior illustrations © 2021 by Soumbal Qureshi. All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the nonexclusive, nontransferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, decompiled, reverse-engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins e-books.
www.harpercollinschildrens.com
Cover art © 2021 by Soumbal Qureshi
Cover design by Molly Fehr
* * *
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
Names: Faruqi, Reem, author.
Title: Unsettled / Reem Faruqi.
Description: First edition. | New York, NY : HarperCollins Children’s Books, [2021] | Audience: Ages 8–12. | Audience: Grades 4–6. | Summary: Young Nurah reluctantly moves with her family from Karachi, Pakistan, to Peachtree City, Georgia, but, after some ups and downs, begins to feel at home.