Maya tells them about the vacation she spent with her mom and brothers in Saudi Arabia. “Thankfully, Dad changed where we were staying this year and rented a house in a gated community. We had so much fun. There was a tennis court, a swimming pool, and a fitness club. What sucked is that most of the residents were on holiday, but we still had a blast with a Jordanian family and another Lebanese one we got to know. Every day, we’d wait for my dad to get back from work so we could explore places outside of the compound. Sometimes, we’d set off before noon in a private bus that took us to the souk and then brought us back at set times.”
Karen, as always, rattles on about her awesome time in France, between Paris and the countryside. She talks about how beautiful the scenery is over there, how everything is so organized, and what a great time she had with her mom’s French family. “You can’t even imagine how good my cousins have it. Every Saturday, they stay out as late as they want with their friends. It’s just the way they do things over there. Here, I’ve got to call a family meeting to get my dad’s approval just to go to the movies or stay out till ten, c’est impossible! I mean, it’s so tough being half French and half Lebanese.”
Raed tells tales about adventures with his friends in the mountains—hunting trips and long bike rides. He talks about how he helped his mom cut grape leaves and prepare provisions for winter. His mom always insists on making everything by hand. She doesn’t trust what they sell in the supermarkets these days.
Finally, it’s Rawan’s turn. She tells them about what she did over the summer with Jad and Ghady, the ‘Belgian sweet,’ as her friends nicknamed him. She tells them about their getaways to the mountains, their meetings in the walnut-tree house, and their grape and fig-picking competitions. She also talks about how they would ride their bikes, hang out in the neighborhood, and play volleyball in the sports club next to her house.
The bell rings for first period, cutting short the summer catch-up. Rawan and her friends shuffle to class, each with their own questions about the teachers and the subjects they would cover, each hoping this year would be easy, breezy, and fun.
GHADGHUD
GHADY’S CLASSES AND school projects keep him really busy. His two favorite days are Thursday and Friday, since those are the days he has his oud lessons, which he always eagerly awaits. He brought the oud over with him from Lebanon last year. His grandpa had bought it for him after Ghady said he wanted to learn to play. That day, Ghady had been surprised by the gift: “Grandpa, as soon as you know I want something, you get it for me right away.”
“How many Ghadys do we have, habibi?” his grandpa had said.
His grandpa said that a lot, and it always made Ghady smile.
“Will you perform for us next summer, my Ghadghud?” his grandma had asked from behind her thick, black-rimmed reading glasses.
“Teta! Don’t call me Ghadghud! I’m not a little kid anymore.”
“Certainly, Mr. Ghady,” she said, then sealed her lips with a sparkle in her eyes.
It’s hard to play the oud, but Ghady practices every day—as soon as he’s finished his homework, answered his messages, and chatted with his friends online. When his sister is in a good mood, she’ll go into his room and ask about the songs he’s working on. But when she’s in a bad one, she’ll turn on him and shout from her room, “Ahh, my poor ears! Ghady, stop that noise, I want to read!”
At times like those, Ghady wished he didn’t have a sister to bother and boss him around whenever she liked. But when he really thought about it, he realized how lucky he was that Zeina listened to him and gave him advice. Lots of times, he took it. Besides, she was always willing to help him with math, and with the French he had to take as a second language. When he was four or five, Zeina—who was three years older—used to make him sit on a little chair, and she’d pretend to be the teacher. Back then, she gave him real lessons. She’d write letters and numbers with white chalk on a small board, and Ghady would copy it all down in his notebook. Between this and his grandpa, he learned to write English letters and to do simple math. By the time he started school, he was way ahead of the other kids. Zeina always entertained him with lots of stories about her friends and teachers, and he liked being with her when they went on vacation to different countries in Europe. Without her, he’d have to spend all his time with his mom and dad at museums and art exhibits. Nothing against museums or art, but sometimes he got bored when his mom insisted on visiting every single one. With Zeina there, he was allowed to leave the hotel without his parents, as long as they were back in time for lunch and hadn’t bought too many souvenirs.
Ghady hasn’t gotten an answer to his last letter to Rawan, which he sent more than a month ago. He opens his email, puts in her address, and writes:
Tuesday, October 28, 2008.
Hey Rawan!
Where are you? I’ve been thinking about you. I haven’t gotten any messages from you over the last few weeks. Are you mad at me for something? Or maybe you’re just busy with school and your school friends, and you forgot about me?
Write as soon as you get time, don’t forget!
Ghady
BLURRED DAYS
FOR RAWAN, THE FIRST weeks of school fly by. She doesn’t notice time passing since she’s so absorbed in her mountains of homework. On the weekend, after she’s finally finished, she remembers that she hasn’t checked her email in a while. She logs in and reads two messages from Ghady. She decides to reply there and then.
Sunday, November 2, 2008
Dear Ghady,
Sorry for taking so long to get back to you. I’m not mad at you, I’ve just been super busy lately with never-ending schoolwork that doesn’t leave me any free time to even check my email. Oh, Ghady! I miss the summer holidays so much! Sleeping late, going out whenever we wanted . . .
I just read your two messages. Sure, our school starts later over here, but the extra summer vacation is probably the only thing we’ve got going for us, and you’re jealous of that? Isn’t it enough that in Belgium you have safety and stability? At least you’ve got electricity 24/7. I so wish I could live abroad and take advantage of what you have, instead of a few extra days of summer. Think about how, over here, we’re at the mercy of random electricity blackouts and insane traffic. That’s all on top of the daily back and forth between the politicians. Two days ago, a fight broke out between two guys by my aunt’s house because of some comment about a politician’s photo. The whole area was on lockdown because of it. Tell me, has that ever happened over there in Brussels?
I love that you’re learning how to play the oud. That means next summer, you can play us some of your sweet tunes. Maybe playing a Middle Eastern instrument will give you the nudge you need to learn to read and write Arabic. Believe me, like I told you before, it’s really not that hard. I mean, there are only twenty-eight letters. Kumari told me that in Sinhala, one of the Sri Lankan languages, there are fifty-two letters. Arabic is still easier than that! Think about it.
This year, I joined an art class in school. I’m going to try to seriously develop this childhood hobby of mine.
A week ago, I talked on the phone with Jad. He’s busy studying. As usual, he finds every subject hard and needs a lot of time to do his HW. He’s so stressed he didn’t even tell me one of his jokes, like he usually does when we talk.
That’s all I’ve got from my end.
The artist-to-be,
Rawan
P.S. Do your classmates know how funny and sweet you are? Tell me the latest. Are those kids still bullying you?
THOMAS
GHADY WAKES TO the sound of heavy rain. The sky is still dark, although the clock says it’s seven. He hears his mom’s footsteps approach his bedroom door. “Come on, Ghady. It’s time for school.”
“Rrghhh. I want more sleep.” He yawns and stretches out on the bed.
Ghady drags himself to the bathroom to wash up, puts on his clothes, and goes down to the kitchen for breakfast. He finds his mom making cheese sandw
iches for school, while Zeina is eating cornflakes with milk. Ghady takes out two slices of bread and slathers them with peanut butter and raspberry jam—his favorite breakfast. “Mom, I want to invite Thomas here on Friday after I’m back from my oud lesson. His mom says, if you say it’s okay, he’s allowed to sleep over.”
“Thomas? That’s a name I haven’t heard before. Is he in your class?”
“Yeah,” Ghady says. “He just started this year—he moved here from a school in Denmark. His mom’s a translator with the EU.”
“Okay, go ahead and invite him. You know I like to meet all your friends,” his mom says. Then she urges him and his sister: “Come on, hurry up. We have to leave in five minutes if we’re going to beat traffic.”
Ghady’s mom opens her big blue umbrella and walks out the front door, but Zeina doesn’t walk under the umbrella as they run to the car, laughing. Ghady’s foot slips and he falls down, soaking his jeans. They laugh even more.
“Oh, great. Look how you got your clothes dirty, Mister! I don’t understand how you two prefer getting wet rather than just walking under the umbrella.”
“I hate umbrellas—they were invented for adults!” Zeina says. “Walking in the rain is refreshing, Mama. Besides, our Eastpaks are waterproof, so our books won’t get soaked.”
Ghady laughs. “Actually, my hair looks cooler when it’s wet.”
“And are your pants also cool when they’re wet?” his mom says.
Ghady doesn’t answer, and Zeina laughs even harder. “Cool because they’re sagging, and half his butt’s hanging out.”
Their laughter is long and loud.
Their mom suppresses her smile and drives off, muttering and pretending to look serious: “God help me! If one of you gets sick in this weather, then you’ll have to stay home from school, which means I’ll have to miss work.”
“Calm down, Mama. We’re not going to get sick. You take good care of us, and our bodies are strong as steel.”
Zeina puts a hand on her mom’s shoulder, and now her mom can’t help but laugh at her mischievous daughter.
A DIFFICULT DAY
RAWAN DOESN’T HEAR HER phone alarm, even though she always wakes up before it goes off, then waits for it to ring while she lazes around in bed. Each morning, she savors a few minutes of laziness while watching the screen. She anticipates the moment it will flash the first time, then a second, before it blasts her favorite songs, which welcome the day with their robust beats.
After her mom hurriedly wakes her up, Rawan gets dressed. She scoops up her books and notebooks from the desk in the corner of her room, dumps them into her backpack, and dashes off to school.
She walks with quick steps, continually glancing at her watch, wishing the hour and minute hands would slow down a little and have mercy on her just this once, so she can reach school before the first bell rings. The distance between her house and the school seems endless, and it feels like she’ll never make it. It gets worse when it starts pouring rain. What great luck I have. The first time it’s rained all year, and I’m also late and without an umbrella. She knows today is going to be a rough one.
Rawan finally arrives at school, her hair and clothes soaked. She doesn’t come across the principal on her way to class and breathes a sigh of relief. She enters to find that her friends have already started a math test. Wordlessly, the teacher hands her the test. Maybe she notices how worked up and anxious Rawan is, so she thinks better of saying anything, especially since this is the first time Rawan has ever been late. Maybe because I’m soaking wet, she doesn’t want to make it any worse. Thank you, rain. When she reads the test, she doesn’t understand a thing. She can’t remember what she studied. It’s as if the raindrops seeped into her head and washed away all the equations she had stayed up cramming late last night. Nothing changes for a few minutes, and Rawan feels an intense need to cry. But then, all of a sudden, her memory comes back to her, and what she thought was lost is now found. She tries to focus and solve the equation before her time runs out. She hands in her paper, her stomach knotted with tension. She’s convinced that she forgot to write something down to show her work or made some kind of mistake because she went so fast and was so stressed out. She’s pretty sure she won’t get a good grade this time around.
Her other classes that day aren’t any different. They are just as boring and just as long. When her Arabic teacher asks her to turn in her essay, she searches frantically in her backpack among her other papers but can’t find it. She must have forgotten it on her desk in her room.
In the schoolyard, her friends’ updates don’t lighten her mood, even though some are pretty funny. Karen tells them she’s decided to give up going to the movies if it means she doesn’t have to eat any more peas and rice. Noor tries to coax Rawan into exchanging her old phone for a new one, so that what happened this morning won’t happen again. Raed talks about how his mom prepared qawarma with eggs the day before, and he describes how delicious it was, to the point that everyone wants a taste and blames him for their sudden pangs of hunger.
DISILLUSIONED
AT SCHOOL, BECAUSE OF the rain, most of the kids stay under the sheltered part of the playground. There, overcrowding makes it hard to run or play sports.
Ghady finds Daniel in a corner reading a book and calls to him: “Daniel! This is break—it’s time to relax, not read.”
“But the book’s so exciting,” Daniel says without lifting his gaze. “I can’t put it down.”
Then Ghady hears Thomas calling. He turns to see him throwing a ball in the air, catching it, and tossing it up again.
“Come on, let’s get out of here,” Thomas says. “I can’t stand the crowds on this tiny playground.”
Ghady agrees, following him to the big playground—the one that has a volleyball net. They play in the rain for a while before Ghady sees that Michael and his friends are walking up to them. Ghady goes up to Thomas and whispers in his ear: “We don’t want them to hang around with us. That’s Michael, and I seriously cannot stand how stupid he can be. Plus, he’s with Larry, Sam, and Andy. They’re even worse.”
“I know Michael,” Thomas says, in a voice that seems to be deliberately loud, just to irritate Ghady. “He’s my friend, too, and this is his ball. I borrowed it from him this morning.”
“I’m going to play with them,” Thomas adds.
Ghady goes back to the covered part of the playground, his hair and clothes soaked. He sits in the corner by Daniel.
Daniel closes his book. “What’s going on? You look mad.”
“Nothing,” Ghady says. “It’s not important.”
“Did you have a fight with Thomas?”
“No, but listen to this: He’s friends with those guys—Michael and his gang of friends. Can you believe it?”
“Why let it bother you?”
“Because Michael’s racist. And Larry and Sam and Andy follow him without thinking, doing whatever he says. Sheep!”
Daniel laughs. “I think you’re exaggerating a little. Let’s go to class. The bell’s going to ring in a couple of seconds.”
The idea of Thomas being friends with Michael’s group needles Ghady, but he’ll let it go this time.
Friday, on his way back from the Arab Center for Arts and Culture, Ghady goes with his mom to get Thomas for the sleepover, just like they’d planned. At the house, the two boys spend most of their time playing Guitar Hero on the Playstation in Ghady’s room, and they don’t stop until they’re super hungry. Then they go to the kitchen. They find dinner already on the table: spaghetti bolognaise.
“Yum! The food looks delicious, Mom.”
“Come sit. I’ll call Zeina and tell her to join you for dinner.”
“And you?” Ghady asks. “Aren’t you hungry?”
“I’m waiting for your dad. He’ll be here in a little bit.”
Thomas and Ghady stay up until around midnight. They talk in the dark after they’ve laid down to sleep—Ghady on his bed, and Thomas on a matt
ress Ghady’s mom set out on the floor. They talk about school, the teachers, the other kids. Ghady thinks this is the right time to ask Thomas: “What do you like about Michael and those guys? They’re so irritating, and they pick on other kids for no reason.”
“Michael?” Thomas says. “It’s the opposite—he was the first one to come up to me when I got to the school, and we became friends right away. I always go over to his house.”
Ghady feels a wave of disappointment.
“Yeah, it’s true, I forgot. You’re Danish.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” Thomas asks.
Ghady doesn’t want to talk about it anymore. Thomas isn’t going to understand about Michael’s racism tonight. “It’s not important. We’re pretty much asleep. Good night.” To end the conversation, he changes his position, moving his head on the pillow and picking up the blanket that fell to the ground and pulling it over himself. Not even a minute passes before Ghady can tell Thomas has fallen asleep. But he can’t drop off. He’s thinking about Rawan. He still hasn’t answered her last message. How could he have forgotten? He gets up from his bed and walks to the computer.
Friday, November 13, 2008
My friend,
Do you ever feel really tired but you can’t fall asleep? That’s what it’s like for me tonight. On the subject of power cuts, like you were saying, for me they’re not a big deal. It’s the opposite—I love candlelight at night instead of a light bulb. Do you remember when you and your parents came to my grandpa’s house for dinner? That day, the power was cut, and the building’s generator was out of gas. So we ate by candlelight. It was really nice.
I’m glad you’re studying drawing. Lately, my mom’s been busy turning the small glass room that overlooks our garden into her new art studio. Right now, it’s filled with all these small oil paintings.
She’ll be happy when I tell her you’re an artist, too.☺
Ghady & Rawan Page 3