The Rebel

Amina-3

In my room I rid myself of my abaya and the hijab, get washed and put on my pyjamas. I get into bed and pull the laptop onto my lap. I’ll be spending the evening searching information on the Stanley family.

First of all, I run a search on Derbyshire, located in the middle of England, about three hours from London. I scroll through the former counts of Derby on Wikipedia from the 1100s to the present. I feel lightheaded by the time I reach my grandfather, William Alexander James Stanley’s name. Beside the name only his year of birth is indicated, which means that he is still alive. My throat tightens at the thought, my imagination runs wild as I picture him in real life, how would behave, what he would say if we met. The last name on the list is Thomas Charles Stanley, the heir to the count of Derby title. And this, whichever way I try to work it out, is none other than my uncle, my mother’s brother. I eagerly look for photos about these people, who although may be my relatives, we are not connected at all. It feels weird whenever I open an older picture with my grandfather and grandmother with their children in it, in a park, with a remarkable, castle-like building. The little boy in the photo wears an elegant suit, and stares into the camera with a serious expression. The little girl, my mother with her perfectly combed pig tails, in a frilly white dress, poses beside her mother. No matter how hard I search for more recent photos of my mother, I find close to nothing. I don’t know if it was due to her relationship with her family that the data was deleted, but there is hardly any information about Lady Jacqueline Henrietta Stanley. In the only picture I find, she is with her mother, with a young hound in her lap, smiling. Here she looks carefree, even cheerful, and I estimate her age to be 13-14 years old. however, there is no trace of adult photos, which makes me sad. If she works as a freelance photographer – as my father once said – it might be, or it’s even likely that she uses a pseudonym. I save and enlarge the teenager photo of her, eagerly looking for similarities between us, but I don’t detect too much. She is blond, I am golden brown. Her eyes are blue, mine are grey. I think, on the outside I am a perfect mix of my parents. The heat of the Arabian middle east mixed with the cool English elegance. I’m full of curiosity to know if we resemble each other personality wise. From what I have learned about her, it turns out she is a law unto herself, a woman who turns against family traditions. And if I think about what I am about to do…

＊

“Trust me, this is the best solution. I have checked it all. From the port to Karachi, the distance is about 1.000 km on water. It’s approximately a 2-3 days’ journey.”

“By ship?” Selina stares at me with shock.

“Of course. You can’t be serious thinking we could walk into Ras al-Khaimah airport and just board the first plane?”

Selina bites her lip and shakes her head, then looks at me again. but before she would speak, I already know what she wants to say, and I wave her off.

“Don’t even say it. Dubai is out of the question. That’s where they would look for us first, and we would be caught on boarding. We wouldn’t have a chance to leave the country, and if we do get caught while fleeing, we are finished. Both of us.”

“I’ve never been on a ship. Or maybe just on a small one, you know, that yacht type of thing, when we were on holiday in Egypt. Isn’t it dangerous?” she asks with concern.

What do I respond to that? Hell, it is. The whole enterprise is a damn risk, but it’s been evident from the start.

“We are travelling as men, so it’s less dangerous. There are always smaller transport ships at the harbour which occasionally take passengers too. I have planned it all,” I say, trying to force a smile on my face. “We will go as migrant workers who work in the Emirates, visiting their home in Pakistan.”

What if they want to see our papers at the harbour?” she interferes, while nervously wringing the edge of the curtain.

“Why would they? It’s not an airport, and those who travel this way usually have a good reason for it, as do we. These ships are full of smuggled goods, Selina. They are not exactly law-abiding people, and I have the feeling if we pay them properly, they won’t mess with us.”

Selina worries more every day, and although I try to calm her down, the truth is, her fear is also making me weak. At times I become totally uncertain, like last night, when I woke up in my bed, covered in sweat. I was at an unknown place, surrounded by unknown people, with a deep, unspeakably scary darkness around me. The gut-wrenching feeling of loneliness and being lost took me over in my dream in such a rough and real way, that it took me a while to calm down after waking up. Since then, I’ve been thinking it might be better to just drop the whole idea and come to terms with what is inevitable.

“And what if it happens?” my friend looks at me, chewing on her nail. “If, while boarding or take-off, we have to shows are documents?”

“There is a solution, although not a very ethical one,” I raise my shoulders, and Selina drops herself on the cushions and gives me a terrified look. I can imagine what goes on in her mind. but my idea is not that horrible. “We have to steal a staff member’s passport.”

“Steal?”

“Well, I can’t ask for it as a gift. It’s not very nice, I know,” I pull my face, “but I can’t really see another solution.

“How do you actually mean that? Do you want to sneak into their room?”

“Exactly,” I nod, “and you have to do the same at home. You choose the youngest, fairest-skinned workman at your house, and do the same as before, when we searched my father’s suite.”

“I’m giving him a chore that will keep him busy for a while out of the house…” she continues hesitantly.

“As you say. It has worked before, and I don’t think it would be too hard to find such a document in a small room. There is no safe to make our job more difficult, so…” I say, trying to make a joke of it, but I don’t exactly manage to cheer her up. I can see she is scared. I see how terrified she is. I understand it, because I feel the same. I swear I am close to collapsing next to her, bursting into tears and just dropping the whole idea altogether. Not much is separating me from giving up.

A knock comes to the door, but before I could answer, the door opens and Nasirah enters into the room, with Rafa following her close behind. She looks around my room observingly, as if looking for something, at which my eyes involuntarily fall to my plush teddy, now worth a fortune. I’ve been busted – the thought crosses my mind, and for a moment I am filled with relief. It’s over. Finished. Nasirah’s gaze eventually settles on me, and she gives me a big smile. I couldn’t say why, but her smile terrifies me even more than if she started yelling at me. My heart lands near my ankles, my stomach shrinks to the size of a thimble. I have a terrible feeling.

“I have good news, Amina,” she begins, making me break out in sweat. Because lately, my mother’s idea of good news is as far from mine as the moon is from earth. “Saud sheikh is going on a business trip before the wedding, but before he leaves, he wants to meet you. She stares into my face expectantly, but I only look at her listlessly, unable to utter a word. The sheikh wants to see me. “Do you hear what I’m saying? The sheikh wants to meet you,” she repeats, a bit more impatiently.

As I’m still not reacting, Selina gets up from the cushion, rushes up to me, supportively joins her arm into mine, and even nudges me a little, as a warning. I give her a dim stare, and when she, hardly visibly, nods towards Nasirah, I look back at my mother.

“What for?” I moan powerlessly.

“What do you mean, what for?” Nasirah bursts out vehemently, lifting her hands to the sky. “The wedding is on us, and the sheikh wishes to see his bride before the ceremony.”

“But…” I interrupt without strength, but she goes on.

“Then we will be meeting your future mother-in-law and the clothes will also have to be fixed on you. There is still so much to do.” My shoulders drop, I lean on Selina, torn. I can’t meet the sheikh. I’d be unable to do it, I couldn’t give it a good face. I’m not that good an actress.

“When?” my friend asks, putting my own question into words.

“On Friday,” Nasirah informs me with excitement, and even rubs her palms together. “Just rest until then, we will arrange everything. I have ordered the hairdresser and the makeup artist here for the morning, that way we will have enough time to get ready before the sheikh arrives.” To get ready? I close my eyes and count to ten in silence. These people here just arrange my fate for me, all I have to do is nod, or perhaps smile. “I will get your dinner sent up here, if you want to talk,” she smiles at us conspiratorially, hinting that we will probably have a lot to discuss a lot regarding the wedding.

I can’t comprehend the kind of naiveté with which she regards the issue. it’s true that for a while I have been putting on a show in front of them, pretending to have coming to terms with the marriage, but the fact that Nasirah and Rafa are really buying it, baffles me. Or is it all just a show? A kind of tool to survive in the men’s world where nothing can be changed, anyway? For sure, she also had to master the art of reconciliation beside my father. I know she is not my enemy, she’s simply going with the flow, trying to make the most of the situation. Yet, my stomach churns when I look into her smiley face, because I know exactly, how much swallowed humiliation is hidden behind her laughter. I am myself a living example to my father’s infidelity. We stare at one another for a while, and the smile slowly dies on her face.

“Today Hamid is having dinner with us,” Rafa adds enthusiastically, I guess, to motivate me to join them for the meal.

“Thank you, Nasi… mother,” I correct myself quickly. “As it happens, I would actually prefer to eat up here with Selina. We still have so much to discuss,” I cast a meaningful smile at my friend, making her nod under pressure.

“All right,” Nasirah says with a smile, and she pensively strokes my hair.

“Then let me send the food up for you. Then Omar will take Selina home.”

She starts for the door, and Rafa stares at us for a bit longer with large, puppy eyes. She doesn’t say it, but I bet she would like me to ask her to stay and eat with us. I know it’s mean, and I don’t feel good about it, but I pretend not to get the message, and turn my head. Now I would be unable to endure her childish banter, especially if she would go into raptures about the wedding. Nasirah’s announcement has completely shocked me and shaken me out of my previous doubt at the same time. If I became unsure about the escape in the past days, now the recognition of its necessity has struck me with a deadly assurance. I must do it. We must do it.