The Rebel

Amina-1

Amina

“What happened?” I ask her, terrified, and Selina throws her arms around me, weeping.

Before we would become a spectacle, I quickly pull her into my room and close the door. I push her away from me a little so as to look into her face. Wet, bloodshot eyes, quivering lips. Undoubtedly, a crap sign regarding our planned escape.

“I can’t go with you, Amina. I can’t.”

I swallow a few times and slowly close my eyes.

“Why not?” I ask quietly.

“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry, so so sorry,” she repeats desperately. “I couldn’t sleep all night. I was thinking about this the whole time. I swear I didn’t want to put you into this situation. I didn’t want to let you down,” she is gripping my hand. I grab her shoulders and look straight into her eyes.

“What’s wrong? tell me,” I command, although I seem to know the answer already.

Broken, she buries her face into her palm and speaks up with a voice as if she was going to confess a shameful sin.

“I just can’t do it. I’m not so strong, so brave as you. I wanted to… I swear I wanted to try it, but I’m not able to. I’m scared. I’m terrified,” she looks at me, lost, with tearful eyes. “I would only be a burden to you. I would hold you back.”

“Don’t say that,” I shake my head with sadness, and move to embrace her.

“I don’t dare do it, and I hate myself for causing you disappointment. I’m a coward and… and weak,” she sniffs into my shoulder.

My heart is breaking because I’m losing her too, my only true friend, but if I want to be honest, I’m not so surprised. It was in the heat of the moment that she decided to come with me, but she was never as motivated about the escape as me. I’ve always seen uncertainty and fear on her, but somehow, I didn’t want to acknowledge that. This is my battle not hers, and I shouldn’t have dragged her into it.

“Don’t blame yourself. It’s not your fault. I practically dragged you into this whole thing—"

“No way,” she wipes her eyes, sobbing. “I offered to come with you, and when I said it, I meant it, but—”

“You would have done it more for me than for yourself,” I smile bitterly.

“It’s not like I wouldn’t want to get the hell out of here with you… I’m also fed up with them determining everything for us, even marriage, but—"

“Does it bother you enough to be ready to run away from your home in the middle of the night? With forged papers, hiding as a man on a ship full of smugglers?”

“Amina!” she sighs, devastated.

“Risking bodily harm, even your life to live as a stranger in a foreign land?”

We both know the answer, she doesn’t need to say it. We look at one another silently, and now my tears are also falling.

Crouched next to each other, we whisper among the cushions, we cry and laugh, saying goodbye to our childhood. I understand her, I really do. I don’t blame her one bit for having changed her mind, I only feel sad, because I have no idea when I will see her next. Will it be ever?

I purposely don’t share any details of the journey and my plans, and she is in agreement with this. The less she knows, the better. They will question her anyway as soon as my escape has become evident. She says she is going straight to the hammam from here with her mother, to have a firm alibi for the time of my fleeing. Then she will be sleeping at a cousin’s place, so no one will ever think she helped my escape. I know very well it won’t be easy for her after I’m gone, because of our families. She is my best friend, they’ll be grilling her, for sure.

Our goodbye is painful, but we can’t put it off any longer. The longer we wait, the more we both cry, and our red eyes can be suspicious at home. As I see her to the door, she suddenly turns around and slaps her forehead.

“Oh, God! I almost forgot,” she says and begins to rummage through her purse. She takes out a handful of cash and puts it under my nose. I stare silently, lost for words. “Here, take it. That’s all I could gather in such a short time,” she shrugs her shoulders, and I take the banknotes. Why should I act shy? I’ll make good use of it.

“Selina, I—"

“And these too,” she continues, and takes out a thick gold necklace with the bracelet from the same set from the bottom of her bag.

My mouth is left open at the sight of the jewels. Beautiful, and by the look of it, is worth a fortune.

“Good heavens, Selina! You’ll be in trouble if it turns out—"

She lifts her finger and looks towards the ceiling. I know she does it to keep her tears from welling up.

“Let that be my problem, don’t worry about it. This is the least I can do after… ah,” she waves with resignation.

We embrace one another and however hard as we try to fight it, tears make their way down our cheeks.

“You’re the best friend in the world. I’ll miss you so much,” I whisper with a dying voice.

“I’ll miss you too. I already miss you, and there won’t be a day in my life when I won’t think of you. Promise me that you’ll be careful and you’ll take care of yourself.”

“I promise.”

“Also promise me that I will hear from you.”

“You know I can’t do that. It would be dangerous for both of us. If they found my number on your phone, they could trace the call.”

“Of course, of course,” she answers with her shoulders dropped, with frustration. “But I will not have a peaceful moment until I know you are safe. I will be worried sick if I don’t hear from you.”

“As soon as I have the opportunity, I will message you. I promise.”

“All right.”

She straightens herself, wipes off the eyeliner smeared under her eyes, and takes a deep breath. She lifts the hijab to her head, puts her hand on the doorhandle, but before pressing it down, she turns around.

“You are the most wonderful person I know, Amina al-Hosani. I admire you.”

I just stare at her with sadness, not knowing what answer to give. I don’t feel like a hero in the least, nor a devoted feminist, and I don’t even long to be admired by people. I’m just a desperate girl who has been betrayed by her father, and for whom fleeing is the only chance to be free.

＊

There is complete silence in the garage when I sneak in and press the gate opener. Omar has taken my father to the airport, then he is taking Nasirah shopping, so they won’t be back for a while. The masseuse will also be seeing Nasirah today, so she will definitely be kept busy. Rafa is in her room, I heard her listening to music. I take the key to the Land Rover off the hook and climb onto the driver’s seat. I place my rucksack next to me, look around one more time, then put the key into the ignition. I grip the steering wheel tight and take a few deep breaths to calm myself. I can do this!

I roll out of the gate without any issues, the iron structure closes behind me silently. I nervously glance behind myself, but no one is following, the garden is completely silent. I press the gas pedal with more strength, but as I look into the rearview mirror, I can’t take my eyes off the shrinking image of the gigantic, snow-white palace. My heart is breaking in two, yet I know I’m doing the right thing. I force myself to look forward, and make sure I don’t exceed the speed limit. I join the afternoon traffic and give thanks for the darkened windows of the Rover. For a while, women have been allowed to drive legally in the Emirates, but it’s best not to become a spectacle with a silly move. I act mechanically, watching the lights, focusing on the routine, following the steps of my plan. Twenty minutes until the nearest shopping mall where I will get changed and get into a taxi to go to the port.

The traffic is not as busy as I have thought, so I get to park sooner in the underground parking lot of RAK then I planned. I grab my rucksack, lock the car and place the key on the left front wheel. I wonder how long it will take them to find the Rover. I want to go into the same toilet where Selina and I got changed the other day, but as I get closer, I am faced with the first dilemma. Should I sneak into the men’s toilet in women’s clothes so that, changed into men’s clothes, I could get out without turning any heads? Or should I go into the female restroom and after putting on the thobe, keep my fingers crossed that I don’t run into any women? My brain is working at a crazy speed, I’m trying to find the least risky solution, but both possibilities are quite steep. What should I do? God, what should I do? I must decide, now I’m only a few footsteps from the restrooms, and since the thought of going into the men’s room downright appals me, despite that, I opt for that solution. I have to get myself used to unpleasant situations; I can’t act indecisive if I want to follow through.

I slow down and wait in case someone wants to walk through the door, but nothing happens. I look around, but only see a few people leaving the ladies’ room. I’m all nerves, but can’t stand around here forever, can’t back out at the first obstacle, so I take a deep breath and open the door. I spy around quickly, but see nobody inside. Like a madman, I run for the first cubicle and close the door on myself. Good. First difficulty overcome. I have practiced getting changed a few times back home, so now I’m quite skilled at twisting the silk around me, slipping on the sweater and getting into the thobe. I buckle the thin bum bag on my waist with half my money and the jack-knife in it, Hairpin, net, then the shemagh and the agal. I take the clothes I have taken off into a tiny package and place them into the bottom of my rucksack. No makeup, only foundation that is a few shades darker than my skin. I check the result in my small mirror, and decide that I don’t look more like a Pakistani migrant worker than I did back home, in front of the standing mirror. That’s the situation, and I can’t improve it. The most I can do is try to reduce my contact with people to the minimum while wearing men’s clothes, and hope for the best.

I automatically aim for the pink taxi for ladies at the parking lot when I realize that I’m a man now, so me getting into a pink-top taxi is out of the question. I must focus much better than this if I don’t want to get caught still, in Ras al-Khaimah.

I sit through the journey in the taxi to the port without saying a word, I pay, and murmur something like a goodbye with a low voice as I get out. It’s getting dark, and that works to my benefit. This way my complexion may not be so noticeable. I study all the ships, and count about fifteen at once of various sized fishing boats and commercial cargo boats. For some reason, my eyes rest on a worn-looking, middle-sized ship. However hard I try to make out its name from this distance, I can’t. I have done a lot of research, so I know what days of the week the ships arrive from and leave for Pakistan. There are dock workers on the beach, most likely applying some finishing touches before the evening departure. I pull the shemagh into my eyes as much as I can, and start to walk towards them while repeating in myself that there is nothing I should be scared of, I am a man now, so it’s perfectly normal of me to address strange men.

Who am I fooling? I am about to faint, and I can hardly believe I will be able to utter a decent sound. What was I thinking? Really, what the hell was I thinking? They will spot that something is wrong. They will recognize me and inform my father at once. Or they will immediately call the moral police who will drag me to prison in chains. I’ve totally lost my mind, Selina was right. This is all too risky. I should have stayed at home...

“Looking for a ship, boy?”

The unknown voice takes me by complete surprise and for a moment, takes me out of my silent self-torture. I spin on my heels, and stare at the elderly man in front of me, as if seeing a ghost. I didn’t even realize I had been staring at one of the ships, dumbfounded. It takes me a few seconds to compose myself and then it dawns on me that the man is actually talking to me. He called me a boy. A boy! I look around with embarrassment, but I don’t see a policeman around, nor a group of angry men, clutching a rock in their hands. I calm down a little, this means my disguise is working. A tiny boost to my self-confidence, which I needed more than anything. I clear my throat and imagine that I’m going for the bloody Oscar.