Bismillah Irrahman Irraheem 2002

Zainab had checked, double checked, triple and quadruple checked everything before declaring that they were clear to leave the apartment. She left nothing to chance. An over 24 hour trip an ocean away was nothing to sneeze at. Mohamed acted as if Charles DeGaulle airport was his summer home. She knew that shit happens though. Always be prepared.

Zainab was nervous about dropping him off at the airport but had found parking nearby in advance. She went through the motions like she was a seasoned professional. They parked and got in line with time to spare.

When they finally got to the ticket counter, Zainab talked to the agent and showed her everything while putting the luggage on the scale. The agent then turned to Mohamed to ask him about his luggage.

Once the agent tried in English to no avail, Zainab mentioned Arabic and French as possibilities. She tried phoning for a translator who couldn’t be found. Zainab asked if she could try. She simplified the question for him and he answered correctly. The agent said that it wasn’t a translation so it couldn’t be used. She found it written in French and handed it to Mohamed. He read the question and answered incorrectly.

The agent was getting frustrated. Mohamed translated from the French into English while giving the proper reasoning. Zainab finally looked at the woman and whispered to her as a woman, “I am his wife. I packed his bags because he’s a stupid, lazy ass man. They have never left MY sight. Although I sometimes wish that he would disappear for good, I don’t wish the same for the other passengers. They’re probably good people.”

The agent was smirking as she typed and listened. He was all set. She just needed to weigh the suitcases and get payment for the extra bag. The first one sailed through while the second was a bit chunky. Zainab tore apart the luggage and found the child’s suitcase for visits to Grandma’s house.

She was looking at the agent who smiled and said that he could carry that on with the excess weight in it. She then turned to Mohamed and asked him if he didn’t mind traveling around the world for 24 hours lugging around a hot pink, Dora the Explorer suitcase.

He felt it and agreed to carry it. The two women sighed with relief as Zainab re repacked the suitcase and hoisted it onto the scale. A few more back and forths were in order to get it just under. The entire line of passengers and agents clapped as Zainab was handed her receipt and the couple stepped away from the counter. Zainab apologized and curtsied as they headed towards the gates.

Zainab had to go to work. She saw Mohamed through security and said, “Ma’salam, habibi. Ahaybuk jeden, jeden, jeden. Bonne chance. Bueno suerte. Break a leg. Theater slang. Good luck. Bismillah irrahman irrahim. Inshallah you will have a bon voyage.”

“Aiwa, Zainab. Inshallah. Ahaybik wa Ma’salam.”

“Ma’salam”

Zainab and Mohamed went in their separate directions. They didn’t kiss. They didn’t even dare to embrace. There were Muslims all over the airport. Word might get back to his family. He wouldn’t want to disgrace them that way.

Amazingly enough in a country with only 4 million people, they are everywhere. Zainab found it bizarre to be recognized simply by her clothing as a Mauritanian throughout America.

Zainab rushed to work. She checked his flight status throughout the day and night. The following morning, she could barely keep her eyes open when Ibrahim entered.

“Zainab?” Ibrahim questioned before trying to slip silently past the poor, exhausted woman.

“Ahey,” Zainab groggily answered.

“Poor thing. Did Mohamed arrive okay?”

“Oh, fuck. What time is it? Oh. No. He’s somewhere over Morocco. A few more hours and I should see that the plane arrived.”

“Did you talk to him?”

“Yeah. He called last night from Paris just to let me know that he made it across the Atlantic.”

“How far are his folks from the airport?”

“Well, he’s flying into Dakar, Senegal. His cousin Ben is driving down to get him and bring him into Mauritania. They are going to their place in Chinguetti which is in the middle of the country after a brief stop at his home in Nouakchott. They will be in Nouakchott tonight and Chinguetti in a couple of days, inshallah.”

“That’s a lot of traveling. I’m glad that he’s young and up to it.”

“Yeah. They travel frequently between the capital and the desert so they’re accustomed to it. I’ve heard horror stories from Americans though. They all say the same thing, You WILL shit your pants. It’s inevitable. The bumpy ride through sand dunes gets to the best of us.”

“Lovely. Well, I hope that he has a good time and comes home quickly. I know that you miss him.”

“Eh. Shway. Shway. I’m more excited to hear about his family’s reaction.”

“I’m sure that they’ll love you, Zainab. We do.”

“Aww. I love you too, Ibrahim.”

When the computer screen shone landed, Zainab did a shout to alert the building. Walter came running just in case. He was happy that Mohamed had landed but had hoped for something juicier. They got to hear it for the next two months.

Zainab had bought phone cards in advance. Mohamed would call once he had a local number. He’d quickly give it to her so that she could call back at a cheaper rate. He couldn’t be sure whether an older man might answer his phone so he’d ring once to get her to call in the future. She was never to call without being rang first.

Zainab’s conversations rang throughout the building whenever she was told that she could call. They always began the same whether in person or a million miles away.

“Salam alaykum, Mohamed. Kayf haluk? Yak la bas? Yak il-khair? Yak Matari bas? Hamdulillah. Hamdulillah. Hamdulillah.”

Her thanks to God got weaker and weaker as the weeks rolled by. Their conversation after one month had passed revealed all.

“Did you talk to ummuk about me yet? Limadha, la? Shinhoo? Mejnoon. Huwa mejnoon. Enta mejnoon, Mohamed. Tell her! She has every right to know. Don’t you think that she would like to know that she has a family in America looking after her son? Basta. Kef. Aiwa. Sorry. Lakin, min fadluk. Tell her, Mohamed. Aiwa. Inshallah. Ahaybuk. Ma’salam.”

Zainab slammed the phone down and screamed. Walter came in through the other door to ask Ibrahim if it was safe to approach.

“I don’t know, Walter. Let’s see. Safety in numbers, right?”

“Right. I’m with you on that one, Ibe. She is a sweet girl but she can go wild in a heartbeat. It’s best to show a unified front.”

The two looked like the Tin Man and Scarecrow from The Wizard of Oz, holding onto each other and shaking as they approached the lion who was definitely not cowardly.

“Zainab?” Ibrahim inquired as she slammed her fist down on the stapler.

“What?” She snapped back. She wasn’t even apologizing like she normally did. She wasn’t having anything today.

The two looked at each other and gulped before Ibrahim answered, “So, how’s Mohamed?”

“Subhanatallah. That mother fucking, jackass, dickwad, shit for brains, douche bag, pencil dicked, fucker is just fine. Hamdulillah.” Her thanks to God sounding more like a curse.

“I take it he didn’t tell his mom yet, eh?” Walter asked knowing that she was trapped behind a desk. He could easily make it back to his office and lock the door before she got there.

“La!” Punctuated the stillness of the office building before she continued. “He has given every stupid ass, mother fucking reason under the sun, including the sun.

They had a lovely few weeks at the oasis. He couldn’t tell her then. On the way back to Nouakchott ash-shams was just too much and they kept having to get her to rest and drink plenty of ma wahaleeb. He didn’t dare tell her in such a condition. Then she spent another week recovering from the sun, the heat and the exhaustion of their journey.

I want to throttle the little fucker. He is such a mother fucking chicken shit. Mothers are usually thrilled at the prospect of marriage and grandchildren. What the fuck? It doesn’t make any fucking sense.”

The two gentlemen were accustomed to considering Zainab just one of the guys. It was far easier than trying to say that this sweet, refined woman of class, character and manners talked like a teen boy in a locker room. Crude and blunt.

It also wasn’t always the greatest selling feature of an accounting firm but then again, it was. She would go into the office of a greasy mechanic who would try to intimidate her with the mess, pin up posters and crude language. She sat down and got to work while mentioning how hot the chick in the calendar was. The mechanic would smile and sit right back down.

When it was office ladies, she would whisper her obscenities and blunt observations to the delight of all. The gossip of each client was never far away. She found that keeping up with the latest gossip from the staff was the key to helping her clients be more successful in their business. They also got to hear all about her personal drama which thrilled them with various cultures in an understandable way.

Zainab’s clients heard all about the stalling of Mohamed in telling his mom. This was just the latest explosion. Walter and Ibrahim listened and let her know that they understood. They hoped that it’d be resolved soon. It was safe to say that it was everyone’s wish. Inshallah it would be.

Until next time.

Ma’salam.

Min sadiqatuk, Drsy.

From your friend, Darcy