Planet Omar: Incredible Rescue Mission

by Zanib Mian

  “Don’t worry, everybody will be late.

  he said, chilling out on the sofa.

  “What? Uncle? Are you even dressed?” asked Dad.

  “No, no, the ladies will take too long. I will get dressed in a minute.” He chuckled.

  This was very difficult for Dad, who thinks it’s the end of the world to be late to anything. So being told he had to be late on purpose was pretty much the same as being told he had to eat through his nose! He checked his watch longingly and sat down uncomfortably in his outfit.

  We finally piled into the car. When we arrived, we saw Uncle was totally right: EVERYONE was late.

  Now, I’ve been to Pakistani weddings in London before, but this was something different. It was crazy!

  It was outdoors, but in a

  which is just a fancy word for a tent that is the size of a house. It was decorated with lights—so many of them, on the inside and outside! There were hundreds and hundreds of people there. In a way, it was like a game, because there were “sides.” We were on the groom’s side, which meant we had to make a with him.

  You’re not going to believe this, but Yusuf made his entrance on a horse. A dressed-up horse! And the horse looked just big enough to take his weight, but only just. And there were other horses that were dancing. A few men were playing the biggest drums I have ever seen, which they hung around their necks. The sound was

  And it was a good tune. It made me want to dance walk, instead of normal walk, my way into the marquee.

  The people on the bride’s side were already inside, and they threw lots of flower petals on us as we walked in. Together with the fancy clothes everyone was wearing, it was a

  Esa was loving it and Maryam was trying to love it, but she was also busy complaining about how her princess dress turned out to be. Amber and Ambreen looked like they weren’t seeing anything special, probably because they see these kinds of big Pakistani weddings all the time.

  Then the bride came in. Maryam’s princess clothes were nothing compared to hers. She was wearing a dark red dress that was so long, she couldn’t actually walk unless someone was lifting it for her a bit.

  Yusuf and his bride, Aisha, sat together, and then a man in a hat and a beard came to talk to them.

  “That’s the imam,” Mom explained.

  A lot of people were still chatting away, which I thought was crazy. “They’re missing it!” I said.

  It was over in just a couple of minutes. He just asked them to say some words and sign a paper, and that was it! Yusuf was married to Aisha,

  When the food came, I couldn’t believe how much there was. There were so many things to eat, I couldn’t even try them all. Most of it was too full of chili for me, anyway—which is weird, because I thought spicy food.

  And at the end, when it was time for the bride and groom to go, everyone cried lots and lots like something bad had happened. That was super weird. It was a wedding and weddings are supposed to be happy, right?

  I asked Maryam.

  “Probably because their clothes are too uncomfortable,” she replied, tugging her itchy dress away from her skin and walking painfully in her golden heels.

  “It’s sort of like a tradition,” explained Dad. “It’s the girl’s side that is crying, because they are sad that she’s leaving their family.”

  “But she’s not, is she? She’ll be back and still see them?” I asked.

  “Of course,” said Dad.

  Traditions were funny things sometimes, I guessed.

  I imagined Yusuf as a giant alien in disguise that was abducting her and taking her to outer space forever on his dancing horse, which seemed funny for a minute until I remembered that that’s exactly what could have happened to Mrs. H.

  CHAPTER 21

  Now that the wedding events were over, we had more free time. I looked through the telescope every chance I could get. I was glued to it one evening when we were supposed to be going out to a restaurant for dinner. Everyone had been looking for me around the big house, and I didn’t hear them calling, so Maryam was super mad when she had to come and find me.

  “There you are! You’re so with that thing,” she said.

  Oh man, just when I was trying to get a mysterious flying object back into focus! I had to drop it and run.

  On the way to the restaurant it was really windy. But it wasn’t just a regular wind—it was blowing dirt around everywhere, so we couldn’t open the car windows. Apparently, that kind of wind happens all the time in Lahore.

  When we got to the restaurant parking lot, it was filled with fancy cars. A man came to knock on the windows of the car, putting his hand out. His clothes were dirty and torn and he didn’t have any shoes on.

  “Mom, what’s that man saying?” I asked.

  he’s a poor man. He’s asking for money.”

  Dad pulled out a couple of notes of Pakistani currency and handed them to him. The man started saying lots of things in Urdu.

  “Now what’s he saying?” I asked.

  “He’s praying for goodness and blessings for Dad,” said Mom.

  I felt so sad for the poor old man. He didn’t have any money, and all the people in the fancy cars obviously had lots.

  Just then, many more poor people started coming up to Dad, making it impossible for him to get out of the car. My uncle shooed them away, muttering angry Urdu words.

  “Can we invite them to dinner?” I asked as we were walking into the restaurant.

  “Of course we can’t, gerbil brains,” said Maryam.

  I paused and turned around just to have one more look at them. But when I did, I almost fell to the ground because of what I saw . . .

  She was getting into a black Toyota and her belly was

  I couldn’t believe my eyes. I blinked a few times, just to make sure. Every bit of curly hair and her smile and A BIG BELLY! We had been looking for her for ages, and suddenly she was right before my eyes, driving away in a car.

  My legs threatened not to hold me up anymore, but fast as I could, I rushed in and found my parents. I told them I needed to speak to my friends right away. I was a mess.

  “Just a minute. What is going on?” said Dad.

  “Mrs. Hutchinson’s on Earth, I mean she’s come back down to Earth, she’s here, I just saw her and her tummy is big, like She must have escaped. She MUST have swallowed an alien. What is she doing HERE? Maybe she landed in the complete wrong country. Maybe she was with the FBI. Maybe she IS FBI.

  I sputtered all in one go.

  “Wow,” said Mom.

  My uncle and aunty were looking at me as if they had in that moment decided that all British kids were completely They were looking from me to Mom and Dad and nodding their heads as if in agreement with their own thoughts.

  “Right, take a seat, son,” said Dad, and he poured me a glass of water. “Tell me what you’re talking about, calmly.”

  Hmmm, could I? I knew it was unbelievable to them. I felt like I’d already said too much, so I stayed quiet.

  “Him and his weird friends think Mrs. Hutchinson was abducted by aliens,” teased Maryam.

  “Are you still on that?” asked Mom.

  “Sort of,” I said, even though I one hundred percent was.

  “Let’s calm down and have some food, darling. You’re just hungry and tired,” said Mom, and she gave me a hug.

  “Well, she could have swallowed an alien . . .” said Dad, causing all the heads to spin around to glare at him.

  “Kidding!” he said, having a good chuckle.

  And just like that, everyone settled down and took their plates around the fabulous buffet, collecting all sorts of fancy foods. But I had lost my appetite.

  CHAPTER 22

  I hated Maryam for making my idea sound stupid in front of Mom and Dad, but she was the only one I could talk to about i
t all.

  I told her that

  “When I imagine things, I know I’m imagining them, Maryam. I know the difference between seeing something and imagining it . . .”

  “I get that,” said Maryam.

  I must have caught the good Maryam. She’s a teenager, so sometimes she changes from being good to evil Maryam in minutes.

  “Thanks for believing me.”

  “So you saw her? Who was she with?”

  “I don’t know. I just saw her getting into a car.”

  “OK. But you do know that the outer space thing is completely crazy, right?”

  “We have lots of proof,” I tried.

  “You think you do,” Maryam said.

  “Do you think we can go back to that restaurant and look for her again?”

  “Probably not. Anyway, it’s not as if she would eat there every night. But we can look for her every time we go out.”

  “OK,” I said. At least that was something. But we needed all the help we could get, so I lifted my hands up to make a dua and asked Allah to help. That had worked in the past, when I was lost with Daniel in central London.

  I’m really worried about Mrs. Hutchinson. Can you help me find her, please? And can you make her be OK? I don’t even mind being wrong about the alien stuff, because that would mean that poor Mrs. H wouldn’t have had to go through something so bad. Thank you, Allah.

  Mom and Dad were calling us just then, because we were going to go shopping and to visit some other relatives. Dad was holding one of the bags of chocolate in his hand.

  In the car, he passed over some money for me, and some for Maryam, to spend at the shops.

  “I don’t know what you’ll find, Omar, other than ladies’ clothes and jewelry, but enjoy it anyway.” He winked.

  He was right. There were rows and rows of men selling colorful fabrics for ladies to have their clothes sewn. Apparently, that’s the way most people do it in Pakistan instead of buying ready-made clothes. Some ladies sounded like they were arguing with the stall holders. Mom said they were haggling for the price, which is also the normal way to shop.

  “So you want to try to give them less money than they’re asking for?” I said.

  “Basically, yes,” said Mom.

  They look poor,” I said.

  “Well, they know you’ll do it, so they ask for much more than it’s worth anyway,” explained Mom.

  I liked how busy it was, and how colorful. Everyone seemed to be enjoying themselves. We stopped at the stall of one man who only had hair around the sides of his head, but he had grown it long on one side and combed it over the top of his head, as some sort of baldness disguise. As Mom haggled with him over the price of fabric, the wind blew and the unfortunate hair flapped upward, revealing the man’s

  “Seven hundred rupees. Bas,” said the man, being firm and serious. But his hair wouldn’t sit back down—it was like a flag flapping around at the top of a big, shiny mast.

  I wanted to burst out laughing. But I was controlling it the best I could, trying to look anywhere else but his head. It wasn’t working. The hilarious hair was all my eyes would look at. I tried not to glance at Maryam, because I knew if I did and she was trying not to laugh as well, I would be able to tell, and then I would lose control.

  Mom quickly gave in, handed him the cash and sped away, as Maryam and I slapped our hands over our giggles.

  I hadn’t forgotten to keep an eye out for Mrs. Hutchinson. I thought I heard her voice for a minute, so I followed it, just a little away from where Mom and Dad were buying bangles for Mrs. Rogers.

  But when I got through the crowd of people and arrived at the human with the voice and tapped her shoulder, it wasn’t Mrs. H. And I was in BIG TROUBLE for walking off, because I had sent Mom and Dad into a complete panic.

  “Yeah, that was pretty stupid,” said Maryam.

  “Were you looking for something to spend your money on?” asked Dad.

  “Ermm, yes. I guess,” I said.

  Mom insisted on holding my hand for a while, even though I’m not a baby like Esa. The shopping took forever, and it got We found a toy shop, and I stopped to look at some things, but instead, I gave my money to a poor lady on the floor who was rocking her baby.

  CHAPTER 23

  After shopping, we went to the house of relatives, who were Dad’s uncle’s cousin’s grandchildren, or something long like that. My uncle drove us there. He basically went everywhere with us, like a bodyguard or something.

  There were a couple of goats outside their front door. Pakistan has lots of random animals like that. The relatives were grateful for the bag of chocolate. They looked as if they had just been given a bag of diamonds.

  They kept asking Esa how old he was and what his name was and then cooing and gushing when he got it right.

  Maryam whispered in my ear, “He’s three, he’s not dumb.

  I shrugged and tried to get through the funny food on my plate, which was way too full of chili.

  When it was time to leave, I was I was looking forward to doing something more fun than shopping and visiting people’s houses.

  Dad asked if he could drive on the way back.

  “Are you sure, darling?” Mom asked.

  “Nothing I can’t handle,” said Dad.

  He was right. He wove in and out of the crazy, jumpy cars and tooted his horn for no reason, just like everyone else was doing.

  I had my eyes peeled, making sure he didn’t hit a donkey or a rickshaw. It was lots of fun. Like some sort of video game where you had to drive along avoiding the obstacles and collecting points. I imagined the red cars were points if Dad overtook them, and the black cars were villains.

  Then, as I was looking at everything on the road, Mrs. Hutchinson’s face appeared at the window of the same black Toyota I had seen at the restaurant. Her head was turned my way, but she was looking right past me.

  It’s Mrs. Hutchinson!” I shouted.

  “Not again,” said Mom right away.

  “Where?” said Maryam.

  The Toyota had overtaken us. I could see it slightly up ahead. In a panic, I screamed, “Dad! Follow that black Toyota!”

  “Omar! No!” said Mom.

  “Are you certain?” asked Dad.

  “Yes!” I screamed again.

  shouted Maryam.

  “Don’t listen to them, darling!” shouted Mom.

  My uncle was making Urdu comments that I didn’t understand, but the hand motions seemed to say, “Omar is crazy for sure, and why are you all shouting?”

  “I have to help him!” shouted Dad, and he stepped on the accelerator so hard, everyone’s heads hit their headrests.

  Dad was on the Toyota’s tail in seconds, just like I knew he would be, but there was a traffic light coming up and it went red. Dad sped through it anyway.

  “What are you doing???!!” yelped Mom.

  “Look around—nobody stops at the reds around here,” said Dad, jumping lanes and cutting in close in front of a white Audi to get behind the Toyota.

  “You’re as bonkers as your kids,” said Mom, but I could tell she was enjoying the excitement, and she was beginning to smile and trying to hide it.

  “Daddy is so fast!” Esa laughed.

  The black Toyota took a left. Dad took the left. Then it took a right. Dad took it, too, but he just skimmed a fruit stall on the corner, where someone had piled up a load of apples in a pyramid. They all tumbled down behind us.

  “Oh bananas!!!” said Dad, looking in his mirrors. “I have to stop and sort that out.”

  “NOOOOOOOOO,” said Mom, to my utter surprise. “We’ll go back and help him later!”

  We were on the Toyota’s heels again, traveling down a long, narrow road. It was going fast, as if it knew it was being chased.

  “Maybe she thinks the
aliens are chasing her, or the FBI,” I said to Maryam.

  Suddenly, the Toyota turned into the gates of a house. We parked outside. I held my breath for what felt like ages, waiting for the moment that would reveal everything. Waiting for her to step out of the car . . .

  CHAPTER 24

  We all stared at the black Toyota. The driver stepped out first, then an older man, and eventually the door I had been watching opened slowly, and out stepped my wonderful teacher.

  I didn’t look silly in front of my family again. Everyone knew that bouncy, springy hair. It was Mrs. H all right. No doubt about it.

  “Let’s go,” I said, one leg already out of the car door.

  “We can’t just go and invade their privacy,” said Mom, too polite as always.

  “Yes, we can,” said Dad. “Let’s put this thing to bed, eh?”

  So we did.

  Mrs. Hutchinson was shocked.

  I loved seeing her hair expressing more shock than her words, moving magically right before my eyes.

  “What are doing here?” I asked.

  “Well, I guess I never told you this, but this is my husband,” she explained, gesturing to the bewildered-looking man beside her. The driver of the black Toyota. “My husband is Pakistani, like you, Omar. We’re here for a visit.”

  We all sat down with a cup of tea and some samosas, and I told Mrs. Hutchinson everything. Right from the start, peeking over at my parents every now and then, because they didn’t know the half of it.