The Migration (A Boy Story)

Part 12

"Grab your pack. We need to hit the road. Hope this is interesting?

"Yes, sir."

" They wrote me a bunch of them too." He smiled and we got in the car.

"And Birgit spoke with Doro this morning. She's greeting you."

"I'm grateful."

"Doro, seems to be fond of you. You should visit her more."

"I'll. Birgit said she's coming over soon.."

"Yeah. Yeah, she just wants all the kids to be around so we can have a family dinner."
***
Mudaseer and Anan still call. Dorothy, Birgit's sister, had been an older mom. She has been really kind to me.

We drove for a while without talking. The streets are full of life. Ancient monuments, old coffee houses, emblems of civilization and that speed boat. I felt like that again. I want to drown in this meaning. Hajj Sameer's historical teachings flowed into my mind juxtaposed with what I'm seeing here. He told us global civilization couldn't have happened if human beings never moved. He told us, for several years, Libya was under the Umayyad caliph of Damascus until they were overthrown by the Abbasids in 750.
He told us lots of people died as a result of this change. He told us families cried, destroyed and grew frail.
He told us lots of others ended up happy.
He told us, history, death and famine are ingrained in buildings we see.
He told us we can't do without it. He told us to embrace it.

We got to the stop. Traffic light. He looked at me.

"Are you sure you are ready? If you are not, I can turn back home right now until you are more comfortable to go for it. I don’t want you to feel pressured. It will not help us nor you in any way. We are your parents and we are here for you. Feel free with us all the time and never hide what you are going through from us. Okay?’

"I'm really", I said even though I can't tell if I'm ready.

"Alright, son. You'll be fine." He smiled and patted my shoulder.

I looked at him and smiled back then continued looking at the moving houses.

Peninah is a wonderful lady. She's Kenyan and we met in a bookshop adjacent to Dr Fawaz's office. We got talking over a book on African cuisine and she invited me to her house. Gelgy drove me there the next day and her family welcomed me. I was surprised. People are showing me love after I think I have seen the end. At first I didn't know how to respond to it because it's been awhile since someone cares about me. I pray Allah blesses my dead family.

"Come on in," said Peninah. " My dad is back and he wants to see you."

We walked up to him in his study. He was large and had glasses on his nose. He shook my hands welcoming me into their family.

"You're welcome here anytime." He said.

Peninah's parents are both doctors and they told me they've been here for over 30 years. I was surprised but somehow their stories of migration mirrored mine only that theirs wasn't brutal.

They remind me of Abi. Before his death he changed a bit even though we knew it's his sickness disturbing his peace just like mine is doing to me now. The world makes us sick. Ummi got worried about him, about his food getting too cold before he came home to it. She would sit close to the window to see if he's coming anytime soon but mostly he got back after she'd gone to bed. He yelled at everything then. He sees mistakes even in the walls of the house and he talks to me often. Maryam will sit in a corner close to the kitchen knitting her napkins or reading poems. That part of her was kept a secret between us. He only wanted us to read what he called proper books and not some poems leading to hedonism. That's what he'd said to us when he found a paperback edition of Lawrence of Arabia under my bed tucked away among clothes. The next day he threw it out and gave me one on  Capitalism and the world order. I and Maryam read it for some weeks barely understanding anything. I remember having this conversation with Maryam when Abi wouldn't answer our questions though he's a loving father that now misses so much.

"We can't question Abi on this Maryam."

"I'll ask him. At least we should try. He might answer this time."

"I don't think this is the right time," I said to her then she waved it down and moved to Ummi's room. I don't know if she asked him. I want to know. Though now I understand some of what he'd said and some of what we had read.
***

Under the tree Ummi was buried, I sat there looking forward to nothingness. My mind blanked out and at that point I thought about it-what does life owe a teenager like me? I was in Sabha with Faiz with mostly
no other family close  even though I have not been there, hearing about killings and here I'm seated at my mother's grave wanting to supplicate for her, even though people have been saying she's hell bound. I knew she did what she did for something larger than her but I can't tell what it's. May Allah grant her Jannah.

I sent messages to her family but got no responses. Perhaps they never reach them. Perhaps they got lost among the migrants.