“The sun is beautiful today,” she thought as she looked out the entrance of her home. She smelled the coffee, relished the coziness of the inside of her slippers, and hugged her thick fleece robe. Soon she would go next door and wake the kiddos, but for now she cherished the few moments of solitude to be alone with her thoughts. Was it just six months ago when she was laughing with her friends about how the only time she was ever alone was when she was in the bathroom? And how even then she’d see tiny fingers poking under the doors? Tears stung the corners of her eyes and the call to worship interrupted her thoughts just in time to stop the flow.
She moved the flap of the tent and tucked her head under as she went outside. The line at the bathroom facility wasn’t too long at this hour and she wasn’t waiting until the last minute again. Her turn came and she went, then she headed over to her children’s tent. It was her husband’s turn to sleep outside the tent containing her children and their cousins. He and his brother Mohammed would usually take turns guarding the children, but Mohammed had gotten sick so Usman had been pulling solo guard duty for a week.
He looked up at her as she walked over. His smile always made her heart beat faster and today was no exception. He reached for her hand and pulled her down beside him. He buried his face in her hair and whispered, “Oh the things I would do to you if we were back home.”
She giggled and slapped his arm playfully.
“Usman the older children know what you’re talking about and they can hear!” Then, in a lower whisper she added, “And believe me I’ll be ready for you when we arrive in Sydney.” He reached around and squeezed her and she squealed and hit his arm again, “Enough!” she laughed, “Let’s wake the kids and get this show on the road.”
The excitement in the camp was palpable as she and her neighbors simultaneously prepared for worship and the exodus. The backpacks provided by NATO and the charitable organizations were filled and strapped to even the smallest backs so that hands would be free to carry more luggage and smaller children. It was comical to see her burly six-foot two-inch husband with a Dora the Explorer backpack, but he carried it, and their two year old daughter, like a man on a mission. She grabbed Tariq by the hand and the six-year old walked dutifully beside her to the open area prepared for the prayer service. When they arrived, Usman handed over little Faiza and grabbed Tariq’s hand. The two walked to the large area with the other men and boys and laid out their prayer mats while she and Faiza went to their own worship area. The armed soldiers remained a respectful distance away and she was grateful for that.
As she prepared for worship she looked over the fence at the highway just beyond it. Cars going by with families in them no doubt. Perhaps even some going to their own worship services. She recognized the makes and models and even saw a few that reminded her of her old Lexus, now in an impound somewhere she guessed. When life was normal, this part of Texas had always seemed beautiful to her. Nothing looks beautiful through barbed wire though.
Normal back then was getting Tariq off to school, calling her friend Mary to bribe her into meeting her at the gym for Zumba, following through on her bribe by taking her to Uni Sushi for a wine-less lunch (okay, Mary would occasionally tell her the bribe had to involve at least one glass), going home to return a few emails about her catering business, then grabbing little Faiza from mother’s day-out. On days when Usman pulled a 24-hour shift at the hospital it would just be her and the kids for a chicken nugget dinner. When he was home though, she could really utilize her culinary skills. Her Cordon Bleu training didn’t disappear with motherhood and she even impressed herself sometimes when she reduced her sauces for the entre and added the crisped edges to the dessert. She pictured Usman’s face, eyes closed and head tilted to one side savoring the first bite of one of her creations. That evening they would always make love like it was the first time and she would fall in love with him all over again.
America had been wonderful. Her children were born here and their family had tried to make a life. Now it was time to leave.
The government had offered to let them stay and live in the camps until they had been completely vetted, but no one seemed to know what ‘vetted’ meant. They had been forced to leave their gated community six months ago. Their rights were suspended and most of their property detained during the vetting process so it was hard to find a lawyer to help. It’s not that there weren’t any willing. Just the opposite. Attorneys everywhere were donating time to help the ‘un-vetted’ navigate the complicated paperwork, secure funds, and buy plane tickets so they could leave the cursed camps and re-start their lives. There just weren’t enough attorneys to go around. Fortunately, Usman’s undergraduate degree was in political science so he knew his way around a legal document. He completed their exit proposals two months ago and his uncle in Sydney had wired him and his brother’s family money (through Mary’s bank account) so they could buy plane tickets to leave. If Mohammed was well enough to travel they would start their journey today.
When the Imam’s prayers shifted to the benediction, she picked Faiza up out of the dirt where she was playing with a leaf. She glanced over her shoulder at the highway again, then grabbed her backpack and headed over to meet Usman.
Katenotkatherine 