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by
Sara Qadr*
Editor’s note: The author’s name has been changed at her request to protect her privacy.
slippers clapped against the cracked cement ground. His Nike t-shirt and shorts were faded but so were the men's military uniforms. Dragging his legs back and forth, his thin feet hit the floor. Clap, clap. Cigarette smoke filled the closet-size room as the soldiers spoke of their late night at a local hotel bar, where they had waited in hopes of spotting a blonde.
We were on a military post in Baghdad. I sat behind the boy, my hands folded tight. The two soldiers glanced at me throughout their conversation, smoke drifting to the corner where I sat. My hair was slightly blond. It was definitely blonder then most Iraqi girls in Baghdad but full of knots, and tangled. The blond streaks could not be hidden and the hot days had lightened them even more. I became known in the streets as the American girl. But I was not American. I was Iraqi. Baba had constantly reminded me of this.
I spoke English, played with Barbies, and had a crush on Dylan from “Beverly Hills, 90210,” but I was not American, I was Iraqi.
My closest friend was Ariel from the “The Little Mermaid.” She was American. I suppose, an American mermaid. But I was not American. In truth, I was not Iraqi either. I did not speak Arabic or know the sound of war. I did not know the Iraqi anthem and I did not know, like my Iraqi cousins, the webs of whispered secrecy, tyranny and fear that every child learned at school and at home. I had been safe, and had only known safety, but I was unaware of it then when I had it.
The soldiers did not seem to notice my flat chest or baby teeth. They just noticed my dirty, blond hair and puffy lips that reddened from the hot day.
The boy in front of me sold slippers at the end of the street -- he had been beaten by the guards for cussing at them after they blew a kiss to his mother. His slippers were the only things not faded on him. His skin was dark and dusty from the hot desert wind. His hair was filled with sand and his lips were dry and wrinkled like a rotten cherry. I was wearing a shirt with a picture of a smiling Hello Kitty, a big red bow resting on her white ears. Her frozen face comforted me then. I remembered the day I bought it, it came with a bag of Kitty surprises. I got a pencil, a sharpener, some gum, and a coin box. My mom and I had Mrs. Fields chocolate chip cookies afterwards, like always, and I got a milk mustache, like always.
The men smiled as if they could not help but smile. Their thick mustaches and stubbly faces were in shadows under their military caps. Their eyebrows were sharply arched, their rifles hidden. One soldier told the boy he could leave. And I could stay. So I did.
But I was not alone. I had God and the angels my mom had taught me about, watching above my shoulders, and Hello Kitty smiling beneath my throat.
Eight Months Before
It was bright Saturday morning in Anaheim Hills, California.
Our house sat on top of a hill on a private road surrounded by a colorful landscape. Jade, lime and peacock-green trees, metallic gold and copper rocks, rust-red roses, creamy white orchids, and plum tulips. Around the flower plots were the five palm trees, one orange tree, two lemon trees, and four apricot trees my dad had planted when we moved here.
I could smell the syrupy orange tree as I brushed my hair and put on my new outfit. A striped navy coat with white leggings and red shiny sandals. They had little heels that clapped when I walked, like my tap dancing shoes.
Three brown suitcases lay stacked against our wooden doors. One for my eldest brother, Ali, one for my middle brother, Amer, and one for me.
I could hear my parents shouting behind their bedroom doors.
It was hard to chew bubblegum and blow bubbles at the same time, I thought.
I stuffed my pack of bubblegum into the new backpack mama got for my trip. It was so full. I loved to fill my bags with things, shiny, sparkly things. I put in it my new Lisa Frank coloring collection, a sticker book, glittery bracelets, heart- and star- shaped hair pins, a stack of playing cards I got from the Mirage in Las Vegas, Georgie my stuffed rabbit and my newest Barbie, French Barbie. She had a mole and wore a satiny corset dress.
“Say goodbye to your sister, Princessa,” Baba whispered to me as he came out of his room.
Baba always looked handsome. His slim body and large smile made me feel safe. He wore a white visor and a Nike shirt, his usual outfit when he played tennis with his architect friends. Every night he sang me old Arabic lullabies before sleep and every morning he made me tea with milk and three scoops of sugar.
Mama held my two-year-old sister, who looked like a china doll, in her right arm. Her nails matched her red lipstick.
I quickly gave my sister a big kiss. “I will see you soon”
My mom handed her over to our babysitter, Theuraya; she was from Morocco and had a funny accent.
My dad packed the bags into the backseat of his white Cadillac convertible. He'd bought it after his first big business deal went through. That and a bracelet for my mom.
“Turn this song up, Baba,” I said.
“Helllooooo, Baba, pleaseeeee turn it up! I love Paula Abdul. Earth to DAD!”
He slightly raised the volume of the Paula Abdul tape I had sneakily stuffed into the tape recorder before we all got into the car.
"You’re a cold hearted snake.
Look into his eyes. Uh oh.
He’s been telling lies."
Paula Abdul was my second-favorite singer. My best friend Noor and I would always pretend to be husband and wife. I was the wife, Paula, and she was Abdul, the husband, who was also an Arab prince. I had a huge backyard, so that is why we preferred to play at my house. I was not going to be able to play with her for a few weeks because I was going to see my family in Iraq. I wondered if any of my relatives looked exactly like me.
I continued singing to “Cold Hearted Snake” as we entered the freeway.
“Mama, can you believe I am going in an airplane by myself? I am soooo excited!”
“Sara,” my dad said sternly.
He looked at me through the rear view mirror. My mom wore no makeup today. She sat like a statue in the front seat next to him. She kept her face turned to the moving traffic on the 91-West freeway.
I was nervous about meeting my family, but excited. I was missing school for a whole week and I could play for hours there without my parents making me do my homework, go to bed, or do chores.
I did not know why I was going. My dad had just told me the week before and had not talked to me much since then.
I was going to miss him a lot. He was the best dad in the whole world; all my friends thought so too. He would always bring lunch to school for me and my friends, and buy me candy when he got home from work.
“Baba, when are we going to get there? Why is it so far?”
“We are dropping you off in L.A. It is not in the same city we live.”
As we drove further down the freeway, there was a lot more grey. Grey poles, grey electricity lines, grey bridges, grey fences. We moved further away from the green canopy of the Anaheim Hills.
“Why is there so much grey, Baba?”
“BABA, hello?”
He didn’t answer. Amer had his headphones on, listening to his new Cranberries CD, and Ali was reading an Islamic book he got the last time he went to Iraq, alone. He had been quiet ever since he came back from that trip, but I didn’t want to ask him what was wrong. We were never close and I barely saw him growing up. He was always out for soccer games or with his friends. He was a lot older, too. I was 8 and he was 14.
“Mommy, did you see my clothes?” I flashed a huge head lifting smile.
“Look, Mommy!”
My mom wore her thick Chanel glasses. All I could see were her pale skin and thin lips.
“Mama, why are you not talking to me?” I saw her lips quiver as she turned her face, her cheeks slightly reddening.
The grey around us continued to spread but so did the red Coca Cola posters and yellow McDonald’s arches. I held onto my new Hello Kitty backpack. I had connected key chains with my favorite characters and colors. Pink and red. Hot pink. Hello Kitty's body was white and pink and red. Minnie Mouse was white and black with a red bow and dress and Ariel was green with red hair and pink lipstick.
I wore a new outfit that my mom bought me from Espirit, and like always she bought me shoes and accessories to match. I always wore the nicest clothes because my mom loved to dress me. I was her first girl after three boys, and she said she had always wanted a girl.
“Mama, I think my cousins are going to love the gifts. I am soooo excited.”
I wanted to look impressive to my new family. My dad let me buy my cousins gifts. He'd taken me to Target the night before to buy them, and Noor had helped me wrap each gift. I was so excited to give them the gifts in my suitcase.
“Dad! I love this song even more. Baba, pleassssse higher it.”
He shut the radio.
“Sara, no more music.”
“Why Baba? Just this song.”
“Sara, be quiet.”
The freeway got bumpier as more grey planes filled the Saturday sky.
We pulled up to the whirling roads of the airport. My dad drove into the parking structure. He got out and hauled the luggage towards the orbiting door. My mom walked silently next to me, holding my hand tightly.
The airport was cold. The floors vibrated and the speakers echoed with languages I did not understand. Flashes of paperwork and luggage, people pacing, luggage everywhere. The sound of rolling luggage wheels and voices I did not understand. It was cold.
“Mama?”
“Yes, Sweetheart?” she asked holding my hand tighter.
A strange man lugged my brown suitcase filled with my presents onto a moving track. It quickly went into a dark hole, where I could not see it anymore.
“Maybe I want to stay here with you and Baba.”
She did not respond. Maybe I could not hear her. It was so loud.
“Mama?” I said louder.
She did not respond, only took the elastic from her hand and tied my hair into a stiff ponytail.
“I put you all your clothes in piles. Morning clothes, play clothes, dresses and pajamas. Make sure to match your top with your bottom, and never borrow anyone’s clothes or let anyone borrow yours."
The line was moving so quickly. People all around us were saying goodbye.
Another brown suitcase went into the hole.
“Baba? Where am I going?”
“To Amman to meet your uncle and he will take you and your brothers to Baghdad to meet your family,” he said as he filled out some paperwork.
“How far is it, Baba?”
He talked to a man at the high desk. I could not see what they were doing and my mom stood behind us. He stamped some papers and passed over little blue books to my dad.
“Not far. Just sleep and you will get there.”
He added, “We are going to meet you there soon.”
“Tonight, Baba?”
He rotated his watch back and forth.
“No, not tonight”
He paused. “Soon, do not worry, Princessa, I am always with you. Who is my number-one Princessa?”
For the first time since morning he looked at me with his soft, wide-set eyes, which were gleaming with tears as he got onto one knee.
“I am right here.” He took his finger and pressed it on my heart, looking deep into my eyes and smiling. I could see his funny chipped tooth.
“Okay, Baba. I love you sooooooo much”
A lady in a blue uniform and matching blue cap came and grabbed my hand, but I was not ready. My mom held onto me as the lady continued to hold my hand.
“This nice lady is going to take you now,” my dad said, making his American accent stronger. "Thank you, Becky." My mom stood away from him and held her Quran necklace in her hand.
He gave me a big bear hug and laughed his Santa Claus laugh. "I love you, girl." He patted my brothers and told them to watch over me.
The nice lady took the three little blue books from him and took the three of us down a narrow aisle.
With every quick step, Daddy and Mommy looked smaller.
I could not see Daddy’s chipped tooth that I loved. I could not see Mommy’s Quran necklace. Suddenly they became part of the flash of luggage, paperwork and people pacing. I could no longer see them at all. (continued on page 2) |
