by Aleena Haimor and Layal Hilal
August 4th, 2020-5:35 P.M.
“Zainab! Dinner time!” I look up to Iman’s firm and slightly excited voice. I groan.
“One more minute?” I ask, wanting to finish this chapter in the story I’m writing. Before I even hear anything, I know what the answer will be. I pause the music playing through my turquoise iPod.
“Yalla, get down here!” Great, Huda has joined Iman in the attempt to get me up. I moan and end up hitting my head on the table. Owwwwwww. Seriously, guys? Right now?!
After another call from my sisters, I know my time is up. I sigh and get off my desk. The chair squeaks as I hop off, tie my hair up and slip on my sky blue hijab and darker blue abaya. The beads around the cuff of my sleeves tinkle as I open the door. I walk downstairs and the smell of za’atar, kibbeh, and suma’a hits my nose. I breathe in the spicy scent of strong Arabic coffee as well. My Bayi, Amain, is sitting in the leather armchair reading about some Greek philosopher.
“Hello, Eyeni,” Bayi says.
“Hi Bayi!” I smile, kiss him on the cheek, and give him a giant hug.
“Zainab! Are you done yet?” Iman yells.
“Yes,” I say.
“Then come help with dinner please,” she says. Sara comes into the room just as I’m about to leave it. She’s still wearing her nightclothes and is only wearing a umtah instead of her hijab. I cock my head curiously.
“Good evening,” says Sara. She catches sight of my face and laughs. “Don’t worry, I’m just tired.” Sara yawns for extra measure and hugs me. We haven’t gone out at all today, so no one really changed.
I should probably introduce myself now. Well, my name is Zainab Salim. I live in Beirut, Lubnan and I am twelve years old. I have three older sisters: 25-year-old Sara, 20-year-old Huda, and 18-year-old Iman. My Mama and Bayi are both easy, outgoing parents and I love them and the rest of my family dearly.
My Mama, Fayrouz, walks in, smiling at us all. Her beautiful, shining face takes my breath away every time I see her. After hugging me and kissing my older sisters, she ties her hair back and gets to work.
Mama hasn’t put on her hijab, but is wearing a honey-colored abaya studded with jewels. As I see her without a hijab on, I realize I am getting hot in my scarf, so I take off my hijab like the rest of the family. I was wearing it wrong anyway, so I’ll ask Sara to help me later.
I guess I should start helping with dinner, too. After all, we’re supposed to go to the Maghrib prayer today. I know that I have a part in this household and I need to help. I chop up tomatoes and olives in the kitchen, letting the scent fill the kitchen, and then set up the table. Finally, we all sit down, and pull a plate to ourselves. Before I eat, I bless my food with one word.
“Bismillah,” I say.
We begin to eat. Bayi tells jokes and we all laugh. Many Arab families tell their children to be seen and not heard. My parents don’t do this and I am grateful for that. I rip apart a piece of khubz Arabie and scoop up some warat enib on it. I take a bite. Mmmmmmm. Mama’s mujadara is the BEST!
“Tobrini, Inshallah,” Mama says as we dig in.
After finishing up and clearing the dishes, Mama starts singing. I join in and my sisters and Bayi do the same.
Suddenly there is a knock at the door.
“Shh! Be quiet, ya habibi,” Mama and Bayi say simultaneously. Baba slips to the door and cautiously opens it as us girls quickly throw on our hijabs. With the wars in Lubnan, opening the door can be a death sentence. And with the new Covid virus going on, no one wants to leave their homes.
However, Bayi has no reason to worry. Mama’s brother, Khalo Fouad, stands there, grinning. Mama gasps and runs to him. He wraps his arms around her and kisses her head.
Khalo is Mama’s older brother by seven years. He has always been her favorite brother out of her three brothers. Mama also has two sisters, but we haven’t seen them in a while. We haven’t seen Khalo in over a year, since he and his family live in Halba, about one and a half hours away.
I run too. Khalo is my favorite uncle. He dips down and receives me with open arms. My feet lift off the ground as I am spun around.
“Khalo!” I squeal in delight as he sets me down.
“Hi, Eyeni. I missed you, my Zainab.”
“Ahlan, Khalo!”
“Sara! Huda! Iman! You are taller than last year!” my uncle jokes. My sisters smile as he kisses each one on the forehead.
“Are Samira and Aisha here?” I miss my older cousins a lot. I look at the clock while Khalo chats with my family. Right now, its 6:07 P.M.
“They wanted to come see you, but were busy with college. They…”
Suddenly, a loud boom sounds. The room rumbles and fills with a dusty haze. I cough hard, half blinded, and feel around me.
“Mama?”
“Bayi?”
“Khalo?”
As the smoke clears and my eyes adjust, I see a figure laying on the ground. Mama and Bayi see it as well, but they gasp. Mama runs and tears rain down on the body.
Panic grips my heart. I see a ray of sun and the face is clear. I fall to my knees and cry to Allah as my family clutches each other.
This isn’t real.
It can’t be.
It can’t be true.
As Khalo’s tears fall to the ground and the truth hits me like a bomb, my mind drowns in a black hole of sorrow.
Arabic Glossary:
Yalla: Come on
Hijab: A headscarf that some Muslim women wear
Abaya: A cloth long-sleeved type of dress, sometimes worn by Arab women
Za’atar: An Arabic spice
Kibbeh: A type of “meatball” made in the middle east
Suma’a: Sumac
Bayi: Dad, in the slang Levantine dialect of Arabic
Eyeni: My eye, kind of like “apple of my eye”
Umrah: An undercover for securing hair under a hijab
Lubnan: Lebanon
Maghrib: One of the five Islamic daily prayers; the evening prayer
Bismillah: In the name of God
Khubz Arabie: Arabic bread/pita bread
Warat enib: Stuffed grape leaves, a very popular dish in the Middle East
Tobrini, Inshallah: I hope that I die before you; an oddly popular thing to say in Lebanon
Ya habibi: My darling
Khalo: Maternal uncle
Ahlan: Hello
Allah: God
The Lighthouse 