What We Are

1\siblings

-ZAHRA-

I step off the plane and into the tube/tunnel/walkway to the building. And then I am there/here/finally at Montréal-Pierre Elliott Trudeau International Airport.

I am surrounded by fatigue and listless bodies. Although I am sure that my knot of hair is gloriously static-y and I smell of airplane and look like death I can't help grinning. An old Jordanian woman is struggling with her papers so I translate for a worker despite barely understanding her thick Arabic myself.

Then I have to go through customs, with a piercing bearded gaze judging me suspiciously when he sees I'm Lebanese. Since he certainly could never be mistaken as a terrorist, while my highly suspicious Bershka sweater and leggings make him terribly uneasy.

"My name is Zahra Salibi" poor thing looks surprised when I address him in perfect English.

"I'm 18"

"I was born on November 21st"

And then I am free. I have to fight a man for my specifically purple bags, with pink and yellow ribbons at the handles. My father laughed when he saw the finished product but Mama and I brushed him off, our heads held high with the knowledge that my pretty brown boots would be safe.

He narrows his eyes and whispers something that I suspect is Kurdish although I am not sure. Oh well. I narrow my eyes back at him, indicating in the universal language for mine.

Finally I near the waiting area and then a hundred eyes are on me. I always avoid searching the eyes of the crowd, and opt for the hope that my recipient is waiting.

I am in luck. My two sister's smiling faces burst in front of me and my brother's is not far behind.

I am showered with kisses, and laughter and "ya habibti" and "shu kbire" and "bravo".

Then Léa and Dana take an arm each while Danny grabs my bags.

"Ouf what did you bring, Teta's house too?" my darling grandmother is notorious for her cluttered house.

"No habibi that bag is all the stuff you wanted from Mama" I shoot back grinning.

Dana snickers beside me.

"Are you hungry?" Léa asks, her perfect black eyebrows raised in question.

"Yes, the food was disgusting"

"I don't mind it" Danny.

"You don't mind anything that has to do with food," Dana laughs, "but how was the flight in general?"

"It was fine I guess"

"You didn't have trouble in London?"

"No, but they're all Arab or Hindu or whatever there. Bas here the guy gave me crap even though his beard was longer than any in DaHieh"

Danny crows at this, and Dana snickers at the mention of the notorious neighborhood in Beirut that has acquired its fame through its rather numerous explosions (among other things).

We get into Danny's big blue jeep and I appraise the leather seats.

"You like it?" he grins proudly.

"Ktiiiir"I draw out the word to emphasize my approval.

"Yalla, I'm starving" Léa groans from the passenger's seat.

"Where should we go, McDonalds?"

"Danny I'm not five okay. Besides do you know what they put in those-"

"Okay okay fine. Don't abuse the McFlurrys too..."

"I know! She is officially in Canada right, and in Quebec too soooo" Dana cuts in.

"POUTINE LA BANQUISE" Léa squeals.

And so I am ushered away onto the darkening streets to experience Poutine as an official dweller of Canada (as apparently everyone who steps foot onto this gradually-chilling land must -according to my siblings).