Chapter 8
Broken Not a halal love story Complete · about 9 min read
he week went by really fast – mostly because I started my Peer
Mentorship program. I was matched with a final-year law student
named Hodan Hubbard, who encouraged me to join the Students’ Law
Society. Sara and I joined her at the association’s weekly meeting.
“Do you have any plans for the weekend?” Hodan asked as we entered
the building; her black curls seemed to have a life of their own – the way
they bounced over her shoulders almost on their own accord. Her skin was
about a shade darker than mine; she had round cheeks and was always
dressed in monochromatic colors. She was the kind of person who
commanded respect just by being in a room. She had kind eyes and often
spoke of her Somali heritage.
“I’m going to my aunt’s place,” I answered.
“Oh, you have family here?” she asked, surprised. “That’s good. I saw
‘International Student’ in your mentee profile and assumed otherwise.”
My phone started buzzing before I could answer. I glanced at it and
turned it face down on the desk. After the meeting – which was mostly
about community service projects and networking opportunities to connect
with former alumni who are practicing attorneys, I walked out of the
auditorium with Sara. “Are you avoiding someone?” she asked.
“No,” I answered slowly. It was not true. “Why?”
“That was the third call you’re ignoring today,” she said as we walked
into the courtyard.
“I just didn’t want to have to excuse myself out of the meeting,” I
answered. I knew she didn’t believe me, but I appreciated the fact that she
didn’t push it. We went to our usual designated spot for our study group and
met Ada there; she’d been waiting for us. For the two hours we spent there
trying to study, my mind kept wandering back to my conversation with
Ahmad.
I can come get you on my way home, he’d texted.
No, it’s ok. Thanks.
Are you okay?
Yes, I am.
I’d brushed away all his invitations to come and study at his place
earlier this week. Actually, he only asked once. We didn’t talk much on the
phone either; I’d been avoiding his calls since the day he hugged me. To be
honest, I was uneasy about seeing him that evening. I wished I could
cancel, but I promised Aunty Mami when we spoke on the phone that I
would be there. As I walked back to the residence, my phone rang. I looked
at the screen. It was Afreen. “Hello,” I said.
“Heyyyyy,” she said on the other end, “I’m actually around your Uni.
I’ll come get you, so we can go home together.” There goes the quiet Uber
ride I was looking forward to.
“Are you sure?”
“Of course,” she chirped away. “Besides, mom will be upset if I allow
you come in an Uber.”
“Okay, then. Sai kin zo. Till you come.”
Back in my room, I carefully did my makeup and wore a burgundy
jumpsuit. It was sleeveless, so I wore a blazer over it. I wore a gold
statement piece around my neck, and as I tied my scarf around my head, I
looked at my reflection, wondering if the necklace was too much. Before I
had a chance to take it off, there was a knock at the door. It was Afreen,
looking ethereal in a long white body-hugging dress with long sleeves and
pearl studs earrings. She had a white silk scarf wrapped around her head
with two tendrils of curly hair framing her face.
“Fa’iza, mashaAllah,” her eyes widened when she saw me. “You look
stunning!”
“Na gode. Thank you,” I answered. “You look great.”
“And this necklace,” she said as she put her fingers delicately on it.
“It’s too much, isn’t it?”
“No!” she exclaimed as she adjusted it for me. Then she took a step
back to look at me more carefully. “It completes your look. I love it.”
A few minutes later, we were walking down the hallway, heels clicking
away, and laughing at jokes Afreen was making. There was a red Mini
Cooper parked at the other end of the lot. “That’s me,” Afreen pointed her
key in its direction and the car blinked. We got in, and Enta eih by Nancy
Ajram started blasting through the speakers, and we sang along, laughing
heartily at times when we didn’t remember the lyrics. Her playlist only
comprised of Arabic songs and as we pulled into the driveway, I thought
about how this was definitely better than an Uber ride, even though she
raced through two yellow lights.
“Thanks for coming to get me,” I said, as we got out of the car.
“Oh please,” she replied, as we walked into the house already bustling
with guests.
When the door opened, I was bracing myself. I didn’t know what to
expect, but I was amazed to see how much the already-beautiful house had
transformed. Past the foyer, the great room was decorated in gold and black.
Under the Venetian crystal chandelier was a large table in the middle of the
room with ten chairs circling it. In front of every chair were orchids,
placemats, and name tents.
Aunty Mami and the ambassador were interacting with the few invited
guests. Two waiters in white shirts and black bowties quietly moved around
the room, offering hors d’oeuvres and drinks on golden trays. As I
approached Aunty Mami, her eyes lit up, and she engulfed me in a warm
hug.
“Salam Alaikum Aunty. Good evening,” I let myself rest slightly in her
arms. “I love what you’ve done with the room. It’s so beautiful.”
“Wa alaikumus salam, Fa’iza am,” she answered. She was dressed in a
majestic green Senegalese boubou with a matching headgear. It had the
most exquisite needlework I’d ever seen. The white gold around her neck,
ears and wrists clinked lightly with every movement she made as she
dismissed my compliment with a wave of her hand. “Ahmad never wants
anything over the top,” she explained with a laugh. “This is the most I could
get away with.”
“Good evening, Uncle,” I greeted him.
“Fai’za,” he smiled. He was wearing a black kaftan and as he moved his
hand, I noticed airplane cufflinks. I’d seen a similar set at Ahmad’s. “I was
on the phone with Chief Justice earlier today,” he said, referring to my
father. “Ya Makaranta? How’s school?”
“It’s fine, Alhamdulillah,” I managed to get out before Aunty chimed in,
telling me to get something to drink before dinner started. She beckoned at
a waiter and he walked towards us. Afreen, too, who was talking to other
people, started walking towards me when she saw the waiter next to me,
offering me a red dark liquid.
“It’s Zobo,” Afreen whispered, and I took a sip. “Or, like mum’s friends
here say, her “famous hibiscus cocktail,” she said in an exaggerated accent,
and we both burst out laughing.
“I was just talking to some of Ahmad’s friends,” she explained as we
walked towards them. It was hard for me not to notice his absence. I didn’t
want it to look like I was searching for him, but the room only had five
other people I didn’t already know.
“Fa’iza – Brooke, Tumi, Hasaan and Edet,” she said as she introduced
them one after the other.
Oh, Edet. I thought to myself as I watched the gentleman wearing a
brown short-sleeved shirt put a glass to his mouth. He looked like he was
hiding a smile. He was light-skinned, with coarse textured hair and an
athletic build.
“Guys, this is Fa’iza,” she said.
“Fe-ehza. Am I pronouncing it right?” Brooke asked me, with a smile
on her face. Her red hair was pulled into a loose ponytail. I instantly didn’t
like her.
“Fa-ee-za,” I corrected her. It had three syllables – as easy as Arabic
names got. Why would you have a hard time pronouncing it? In the day and
age of Lupita Nyong’o, Chiwetel Ejiofor and Mia Wasikowska.
“Nice to meet you, Fa’iza,” Tumi said.
“Likewise,” I said with a smile and gave a slight nod to Hasaan.
“Finally!” Afreen’s voice interrupted.” That was one long ass phone
call.”
My heart slightly somersaulted as I turned around and saw Ahmad
walking into the room in a black buttoned-up shirt tucked into black
trousers.
“How did it go?” Edet asked him. “Did they agree to our terms?” He
was the only person in the room who came close to Ahmad’s height.
“No shop talk. It’s Friday,” Ahmad replied, and Tumi laughed. He
turned around and acknowledged me by saying my name. For a second, it
felt as if everybody in the room had disappeared as I looked at him.
I was brought back to earth by Aunty Mami’s voice, trying to get
everyone’s attention. “Alright, everyone, dinner is served.”
We all moved towards the table and looked for the placemat with our
names on it. Uncle was at the head of the table, and Aunty was seated to his
right. Their two guests were seated close to them. Next was Afreen and I,
with Brooke seated opposite me. Tumi, Haasan and Edet were sitting closer
to Ahmad, who sat at the other head of the table.
“I’d like to thank everyone for coming.” Ahmad said, looking around,
his face lit up as his gaze settled on Aunty Mami. “Mum, you’re the best. I
love you.” She beamed with the light of a thousand stars and blew him a
kiss. He looked towards his dad, “I appreciate you being in Toronto this
weekend for this, dad. I know how busy Ottawa gets.”
The ambassador raised a glass towards him, “I just came here to see my
beautiful wife but sure, whatever makes you happy, Ahmad.” The whole
room burst into laughter.
“Afreen, thank you for insisting – even though this isn’t my kind of
thing,” Ahmad continued, looking at his sister, who responded with a little
curtsy while seated. “Seeing you all here,” he looked around the table, his
eyes settled on me, my breath hitched, and I looked at my plate, “makes me
feel immensely grateful.”
“Happy birthday to the best CEO ever!” Brooke said, raising her glass
towards him.
“Thanks, Brooke,” he smiled as he sat down.
As I looked around the room, indulging in small talk with Afreen and
Tumi, watching the parents in deep conversation with their son’s friends
about the stock market and companies going public. I realized how different
our families were. This family was more fluid and liberal than mine was,
even though we shared the same identity – Muslim and Northern. My
family was on the end of the spectrum from this one; my parents would
never host a dinner for a birthday. And even if they did, they wouldn’t
attend it, talkless of sitting in it and participating in toasts. Neither tradition
was wrong; this was just a new experience for me, and I was glad to be a
Mentorship program. I was matched with a final-year law student
named Hodan Hubbard, who encouraged me to join the Students’ Law
Society. Sara and I joined her at the association’s weekly meeting.
“Do you have any plans for the weekend?” Hodan asked as we entered
the building; her black curls seemed to have a life of their own – the way
they bounced over her shoulders almost on their own accord. Her skin was
about a shade darker than mine; she had round cheeks and was always
dressed in monochromatic colors. She was the kind of person who
commanded respect just by being in a room. She had kind eyes and often
spoke of her Somali heritage.
“I’m going to my aunt’s place,” I answered.
“Oh, you have family here?” she asked, surprised. “That’s good. I saw
‘International Student’ in your mentee profile and assumed otherwise.”
My phone started buzzing before I could answer. I glanced at it and
turned it face down on the desk. After the meeting – which was mostly
about community service projects and networking opportunities to connect
with former alumni who are practicing attorneys, I walked out of the
auditorium with Sara. “Are you avoiding someone?” she asked.
“No,” I answered slowly. It was not true. “Why?”
“That was the third call you’re ignoring today,” she said as we walked
into the courtyard.
“I just didn’t want to have to excuse myself out of the meeting,” I
answered. I knew she didn’t believe me, but I appreciated the fact that she
didn’t push it. We went to our usual designated spot for our study group and
met Ada there; she’d been waiting for us. For the two hours we spent there
trying to study, my mind kept wandering back to my conversation with
Ahmad.
I can come get you on my way home, he’d texted.
No, it’s ok. Thanks.
Are you okay?
Yes, I am.
I’d brushed away all his invitations to come and study at his place
earlier this week. Actually, he only asked once. We didn’t talk much on the
phone either; I’d been avoiding his calls since the day he hugged me. To be
honest, I was uneasy about seeing him that evening. I wished I could
cancel, but I promised Aunty Mami when we spoke on the phone that I
would be there. As I walked back to the residence, my phone rang. I looked
at the screen. It was Afreen. “Hello,” I said.
“Heyyyyy,” she said on the other end, “I’m actually around your Uni.
I’ll come get you, so we can go home together.” There goes the quiet Uber
ride I was looking forward to.
“Are you sure?”
“Of course,” she chirped away. “Besides, mom will be upset if I allow
you come in an Uber.”
“Okay, then. Sai kin zo. Till you come.”
Back in my room, I carefully did my makeup and wore a burgundy
jumpsuit. It was sleeveless, so I wore a blazer over it. I wore a gold
statement piece around my neck, and as I tied my scarf around my head, I
looked at my reflection, wondering if the necklace was too much. Before I
had a chance to take it off, there was a knock at the door. It was Afreen,
looking ethereal in a long white body-hugging dress with long sleeves and
pearl studs earrings. She had a white silk scarf wrapped around her head
with two tendrils of curly hair framing her face.
“Fa’iza, mashaAllah,” her eyes widened when she saw me. “You look
stunning!”
“Na gode. Thank you,” I answered. “You look great.”
“And this necklace,” she said as she put her fingers delicately on it.
“It’s too much, isn’t it?”
“No!” she exclaimed as she adjusted it for me. Then she took a step
back to look at me more carefully. “It completes your look. I love it.”
A few minutes later, we were walking down the hallway, heels clicking
away, and laughing at jokes Afreen was making. There was a red Mini
Cooper parked at the other end of the lot. “That’s me,” Afreen pointed her
key in its direction and the car blinked. We got in, and Enta eih by Nancy
Ajram started blasting through the speakers, and we sang along, laughing
heartily at times when we didn’t remember the lyrics. Her playlist only
comprised of Arabic songs and as we pulled into the driveway, I thought
about how this was definitely better than an Uber ride, even though she
raced through two yellow lights.
“Thanks for coming to get me,” I said, as we got out of the car.
“Oh please,” she replied, as we walked into the house already bustling
with guests.
When the door opened, I was bracing myself. I didn’t know what to
expect, but I was amazed to see how much the already-beautiful house had
transformed. Past the foyer, the great room was decorated in gold and black.
Under the Venetian crystal chandelier was a large table in the middle of the
room with ten chairs circling it. In front of every chair were orchids,
placemats, and name tents.
Aunty Mami and the ambassador were interacting with the few invited
guests. Two waiters in white shirts and black bowties quietly moved around
the room, offering hors d’oeuvres and drinks on golden trays. As I
approached Aunty Mami, her eyes lit up, and she engulfed me in a warm
hug.
“Salam Alaikum Aunty. Good evening,” I let myself rest slightly in her
arms. “I love what you’ve done with the room. It’s so beautiful.”
“Wa alaikumus salam, Fa’iza am,” she answered. She was dressed in a
majestic green Senegalese boubou with a matching headgear. It had the
most exquisite needlework I’d ever seen. The white gold around her neck,
ears and wrists clinked lightly with every movement she made as she
dismissed my compliment with a wave of her hand. “Ahmad never wants
anything over the top,” she explained with a laugh. “This is the most I could
get away with.”
“Good evening, Uncle,” I greeted him.
“Fai’za,” he smiled. He was wearing a black kaftan and as he moved his
hand, I noticed airplane cufflinks. I’d seen a similar set at Ahmad’s. “I was
on the phone with Chief Justice earlier today,” he said, referring to my
father. “Ya Makaranta? How’s school?”
“It’s fine, Alhamdulillah,” I managed to get out before Aunty chimed in,
telling me to get something to drink before dinner started. She beckoned at
a waiter and he walked towards us. Afreen, too, who was talking to other
people, started walking towards me when she saw the waiter next to me,
offering me a red dark liquid.
“It’s Zobo,” Afreen whispered, and I took a sip. “Or, like mum’s friends
here say, her “famous hibiscus cocktail,” she said in an exaggerated accent,
and we both burst out laughing.
“I was just talking to some of Ahmad’s friends,” she explained as we
walked towards them. It was hard for me not to notice his absence. I didn’t
want it to look like I was searching for him, but the room only had five
other people I didn’t already know.
“Fa’iza – Brooke, Tumi, Hasaan and Edet,” she said as she introduced
them one after the other.
Oh, Edet. I thought to myself as I watched the gentleman wearing a
brown short-sleeved shirt put a glass to his mouth. He looked like he was
hiding a smile. He was light-skinned, with coarse textured hair and an
athletic build.
“Guys, this is Fa’iza,” she said.
“Fe-ehza. Am I pronouncing it right?” Brooke asked me, with a smile
on her face. Her red hair was pulled into a loose ponytail. I instantly didn’t
like her.
“Fa-ee-za,” I corrected her. It had three syllables – as easy as Arabic
names got. Why would you have a hard time pronouncing it? In the day and
age of Lupita Nyong’o, Chiwetel Ejiofor and Mia Wasikowska.
“Nice to meet you, Fa’iza,” Tumi said.
“Likewise,” I said with a smile and gave a slight nod to Hasaan.
“Finally!” Afreen’s voice interrupted.” That was one long ass phone
call.”
My heart slightly somersaulted as I turned around and saw Ahmad
walking into the room in a black buttoned-up shirt tucked into black
trousers.
“How did it go?” Edet asked him. “Did they agree to our terms?” He
was the only person in the room who came close to Ahmad’s height.
“No shop talk. It’s Friday,” Ahmad replied, and Tumi laughed. He
turned around and acknowledged me by saying my name. For a second, it
felt as if everybody in the room had disappeared as I looked at him.
I was brought back to earth by Aunty Mami’s voice, trying to get
everyone’s attention. “Alright, everyone, dinner is served.”
We all moved towards the table and looked for the placemat with our
names on it. Uncle was at the head of the table, and Aunty was seated to his
right. Their two guests were seated close to them. Next was Afreen and I,
with Brooke seated opposite me. Tumi, Haasan and Edet were sitting closer
to Ahmad, who sat at the other head of the table.
“I’d like to thank everyone for coming.” Ahmad said, looking around,
his face lit up as his gaze settled on Aunty Mami. “Mum, you’re the best. I
love you.” She beamed with the light of a thousand stars and blew him a
kiss. He looked towards his dad, “I appreciate you being in Toronto this
weekend for this, dad. I know how busy Ottawa gets.”
The ambassador raised a glass towards him, “I just came here to see my
beautiful wife but sure, whatever makes you happy, Ahmad.” The whole
room burst into laughter.
“Afreen, thank you for insisting – even though this isn’t my kind of
thing,” Ahmad continued, looking at his sister, who responded with a little
curtsy while seated. “Seeing you all here,” he looked around the table, his
eyes settled on me, my breath hitched, and I looked at my plate, “makes me
feel immensely grateful.”
“Happy birthday to the best CEO ever!” Brooke said, raising her glass
towards him.
“Thanks, Brooke,” he smiled as he sat down.
As I looked around the room, indulging in small talk with Afreen and
Tumi, watching the parents in deep conversation with their son’s friends
about the stock market and companies going public. I realized how different
our families were. This family was more fluid and liberal than mine was,
even though we shared the same identity – Muslim and Northern. My
family was on the end of the spectrum from this one; my parents would
never host a dinner for a birthday. And even if they did, they wouldn’t
attend it, talkless of sitting in it and participating in toasts. Neither tradition
was wrong; this was just a new experience for me, and I was glad to be a