Stated Love

Chapter 4

It's Saturday afternoon and I spent my whole morning in the kitchen baking basbousa for our Sudanese neighbours. I need to figure out exactly who these people are. Call me nosy, but I could care less. I knock on the door with a bright pearly white smile plastered on my face. My mouth is stretched from ear to ear and the pain is killing me; but you only get one chance to make a first impression. A short lady in a bright pink and yellow toub (Sudanese national dress for women, long piece of cloth, which can different types of material, wrapped around the body of the woman, looped over her head and tossed over her right shoulder) answers the door. She returns the smile and says hello. "Alsalamulaikum, are you our new neighbours from right across?" She asks in Arabic. "Yeah, Mama told me you were Sudani and I decided to bring a tray of basbousa over," I reply. "I'm Alaa, by the way. Mama would have loved to come, she's just, er, busy around the house." I fib to protect Mama's 'interest' in meeting our neighbours. "No worries, but tell her to visit soon, Inshallah. I'm Khalto Rasha. Please, come in. I have kids your age." She says in a thick English accent. I beam when she says, 'kids your age'. When I walk in, the smell of traditional bakhoor  (wood chips soaked in perfume oil/insence) hits me. "Wow, great bakhoor, Khalto, Mashallah." I take a seat on the sofa. "Sabrine! Sara! Sahar! Salman! Sammy! Coming down now, guest is over!" Before her kids come down, she tells me about her immigration here five years ago. "Americans, they no do me nice, oh no. In border, they say I no speaking proper English. Pah! I speak the English better than them, no?!" She eyes me, looking for an answer. So I let out an awkward laugh and nod in agreement. I wish I could tell her to just speak Arabic, I don't mind. But just then, her five children walk down the stairs in a quiet and orderly matter, and stand in a straight line facing me. What is this, an auction? "Kids, this is Alaa, new neighbour," She points to the tallest of all her daughters. "Sabrine, twenty two. She study to be big doctor in Sudan, and now continue study here." Sabrine has light chocolate brown skin and long curly hair. She's really pretty. "Sara, ten year old." Sara's adorable, she's even missing her two front teeth. "Sahar, fifteen years. She always focus on book, book, book, day and night. Wallahi, I tell her focus on makeup and beauty, she no want listen." She frowns at her mom and looks at me, embarrassed. I don't know what Khalto Rasha's talking about because Sahar is literally the prettiest person in the room, probably the smartest, too. "Sammy, five year." He smiles at me. "Salman, sixteen. Not here right now, with friends."                                                           "Hi, I'm Sammy. You're really pretty." I blush and ruffle his curly hair. "Thanks." Khalto Rasha takes the basbousa from my hands. "You wanting slice? I making tea. For now, go play with Sahar, maybe talk sense to her." I cringe, real hard. I smile at Sahar, and she smiles back. We head upstairs to her room and she slams the door shut. "Finally," She sighs deeply. Her room looks amazing. Posters of bands and vinyls are hung up. Fairy lights are strung from wall to wall. "Sorry about that, my mom can be a bit overboard sometimes." I chuckle. "Nah, you should see my mom." But she doesn't laugh. Boy, this is going to be harder than I thought.

"So how was it?" Mama asks at dinner. I pick at the broccoli in my lasagna. "It wasn't bad. Khalto Rasha's looking forward to meeting you. And Walaa, she has a daughter, Sabrine, she's your age. She also has a son who's sixteen, Salman, and a daughter, Sahar, my age," I ramble. "But it was so awkward, Sahar wan't that talkative. I don't know, I liked her, but she was just so...awkward." I take another bite of lasagna. "That's ok, she just needs to warm up to you. Well, we should visit them soon Inshallah." The whole table nods in agreement. I put my fork on my plate and stand up. "I'm full." Baba cuts me off. "Say Alhamdullillah." I repeat after him and take my plate to the sink. After rinsing the dishes, Mama asks me for help with cleaning the table. "How was your day?" I say, spraying ammonia and wiping with the rag. "Wallahi, it was ok. I went on a nice walk, and then to the grocery store. Nothing too exciting. You know, you should explore New Jersey a bit, it's a beautiful city. How long did you say Khalto Rasha's family lived here for?" "Five years." Mama's beaming. "Perfect! As Sahar to take you around the city!" I frown. "No, we just met." She rolls her eyes at me. "Well talking and 'hanging out' is how people get to know each other." I groan. "Nah, it's ok, she probably doesn't even like me." Mama shrugs. "You'll never know, unless you find out." 

The next day, I ring the doorbell to Khalto Rasha's. Sara answers the door. She smiles at me and sticks her tongue through her fallen buck teeth.

Gross.

"Hey, er, is Sahar here?" With no answer, she swings the door wide open and runs upstairs. "Salam, Khalto Rasha?" I say in Arabic. "Eh, how you doing, uh, what your name?" English, again. "It's Alaa. And Khalto, you can speak Arabic, I speak it just fine-" She cuts me off and waves her arms in the air. "Pah. No American children these day speak good Arabi. Please, come in, coming in." I walk into the house and Sahar is sitting at the dinner table on a computer. "Hey, um, I came to ask you a question." I received major cringe saying that and I instantly want to take it back. Sahar slips her headphones off and looks at me. "Hey, Alaa, right?" She smiles and I return the favour. "Since I'm new to the city, I was wondering if you wanted to give me a tour and we could get to know each other. I also heard there's a boba shop near by." If she doesn't say yes, I'm done. I'm never, ever, ever entering this house anymore. I'm never making new friends in this city. "Yeah, sure." 

After a long walk, we take a seat at the boba shop after placing our order and being honest, it wasn't as awkward as I thought it would be. I noticed two things about Sahar after this outing:

1. She's so extroverted. Maybe not around her family, but when we were alone, just two girls hitting up the city, I was going to have a heart attack. She completely switched gears!

2. I know I've mentioned it before, but Sahar a beauty, inside and out. She told me her mom doesn't want her to wear Hijab because she thinks 'it takes away her natural beauty and beautiful curly locs', but I don't see it that way. It was Sahar's choice, and that's what makes it even more beautiful. Her modesty inside and out.

"Hi, can I get two taro milk teas, please?" I grab our order, and sit down across from Sahar. "Thank you so much, really, you didn't have to." She blushes. "Nah, it's alright." I want to add, 'It's my mom's money, not mine'. But I hold my tongue and chew on some tapioca instead. "Honestly, taro is such an underated flavour." I say. "I know, right! But I hate it when it's not authentic."                                                                                                                                                                                   "Like when it's brown instead of purple?" She simply nods in agreement, her mouth is probably filled with the brown pearls. "I thought moving here, I'd make no friends, so I'm glad we met." 

Please say me too, please say me too.

I cross my fingers under the table. I've never been so desperate to make a friend. "Yeah, me too."