Wesam suddenly looked at my sister and me, as though he only just realised we existed. He came closer to me and knelt down to reach my height, as he said: ‘This must be Sarah’. My mother nodded as he kissed me and turned to my sister and said: ‘This has to be Sahar, a copy of her dad’. My mother smiled at his remark, as he carried Sahar on his shoulders and led the way to his car. My mother and I followed with the luggage.
Maya, my mother’s only sister, was waiting in the car. When we got there, my uncle took our luggage and put them in the car, as my auntie was greeting us.
During the journey, there was a little argument about where we should stay. My mother has six brothers and one sister, and each wanted her to stay at their place. But my mother decided to stay with her parents in the house she was brought up in.
The journey there was about two hours long. I spent it looking out of the window thinking to myself. This was my home country, where I belonged, but the scenes were not very pleasant. Lebanon had just finished war with Israel, and was left totally destroyed. The buildings we past by were bombed. The roads we were using were nearly blocked. There was no traffic lights, just few men on the roads, dressed in uniform, giving directions with their hands. On the walls, there were posters of Amen Jemayal, the new elected president.
I opened the window and took a deep breath. I felt the cold air travel through my bones as it refreshed my body. It was a long journey. I yawned as I looked down at my sister, who was already sleeping. I leaned my head on the window, and felt my eyelids slowly close, as the fresh air blew my hair.
I opened the door as the water was dripping from my hair. The water was warm and the towel wrapped around me was very soft. My sister was waiting for me outside the bathroom, and as soon as I stepped out; she ran up to me and hugged me. Then she stepped on her toes to reach my height and whispered: ‘It’s really nice here’.
We had dinner that afternoon at my auntie’s house. She was a great cook and the meal was delicious. It was mainly salads, mixed with different types of vegetables. As we were eating, my mother was telling Wesam her plans for the next day. She wanted to go to the countryside, where her parents lived, and stay with them until she got news from my father.
Time went so quickly that day. My cousins and I stayed up late playing with Fatima’s (Maya’s daughter) dolls. We decided that we were going to build a nice doll’s house when we get to the countryside.
That night, me, my sister, and the rest of my cousins slept on a double size mattress. Although I was squashed, it was very comfortable. We hardly slept that night. We stayed up planning ways to build the doll’s house.
One of my cousins was suggesting how we could get the help of Moh (our eldest cousin) in getting hold of some suitable wood. She told us how her mother had sawed her little rugs that we could use to put in the doll’s house. We spent the whole night imagining what this doll’s house would look like. It was very exciting.
When we finally decided it was time to get some sleep, I turned side ways to my left so that I faced the wall and I began to reflect. What was my father doing? Did he have his dinner? Was he worried about us? I didn’t want him to. We were fine; everyone was friendly towards us. I didn’t want my father to worry about us. I just wanted him to take care of himself and come back to us safely.
That night, I shut my eyes softly and prayed. I asked God to make sure my father would not worry about us, but instead he should know that we were happy with our relatives. And I ended my prayers by asking God to reunite us with my father soon. Somehow, deep inside me, I felt that my prayers were being answered.
I woke up early the next morning. There was a lot of bustle in the room. Everyone was awake and getting ready for the journey to the countryside. My mother realised I had opened my eyes as she bent down and kissed me. ‘Come on, wake up!’ she ordered in a cheery mood, ‘ we are going to the house I always told you about. Come on!! Don’t delay us! Get up”
I got changed into some jeans, and made myself ready. My mother was making a few phone calls to friends she had when she was in Lebanon before. She was telling them that she was planning to stay there for a while, and was looking for a suitable job.
The journey to the countryside was rather exciting. My cousins and I were in the same car, and my uncle Wesam was driving us, following the car of Auntie Maya, with my mother.
It was a fun drive as my uncle was making amusing remarks and comments about the people on the roads. He was pointing and laughing out loud, and we joined him. Our victims looked puzzled and started eyeing, but the car drove quickly. We were at the countryside in less than an hour.
When we got there, I barely saw my mother. Everyone was crowding over her, smothering her with kisses, hugs and warm welcomes. I felt she was happy. This was her family; her mother, father, six brothers, her only sister, her nephews and nieces.
My grand parents had decided to celebrate my mother’s arrival with a big lunch. We had a huge feast with lots of delicious traditional meals.
The house was massive. It was a twelve-bedroom house with a huge garden and a back yard. There was a little fountain opposite the back door. I met the rest of my cousins. There seemed to be a lot of them, but each had their own individual unforgettable personality. I spent the day with my cousin Rolla. She was eleven, and very smart. Her brother is Moh, the cousin that will help us collect wood for our doll’s house.
That night, the whole family sat down in the lounge. They were laughing about the old days when they were together in this house and how they used to always have little arguments.
It was fun. Everyone was welcoming us in a warm way. But yet, I felt something was missing. Each one of my cousins was sitting by both their parents, except Sahar and me. We only had our mother.
I couldn’t hide my feelings, but yet I had to try not to reveal them, especially in front of my mother. She was happy now being with her family, and I didn’t want her to notice me trying to hide my tears. I excused myself and told them I was going to bed.
When I got into my bed, I hid my face under the cover and started thinking. What was my father going through? Was he still surviving? Was he worried about us? All these thoughts came through my head. I felt a huge lump in my throat, as I slowly shut my eyes and tried to stop thinking.
Three weeks passed very quickly, as the excitement of building our doll’s house was increasing. We had been to a forest near by with Moh, and collected suitable wood. We had laid them in the front garden and started working on them. So far, we had built the base and first floor, and it looked promising. We had second floor and the top roof to finish before polishing the whole house, and furnishing it. It was one of the rare things I looked forward to.
As time was passing by, my mother got a lot of help from her relatives in finding a job. She has no certificates of her education on her, they were all left back in Africa. But my uncle managed to get her a part-time job in his office. She had the qualifications and skills, and he knew that.
My eldest uncle promised to look for a suitable school for Sahar and me. My mother and him kept having arguments on the type of school they should put us in. My uncle wanted us in a private school, as he wasn’t fund of government schools. However my mother thought that they were too expensive. By the end of their daily arguments, he convinced her to put us in a private school, and he decided to help with the pay.
We spent six weeks in the countryside, with still no news from my father. I kept thinking of him constantly, as everything around me reminded me of him. Yet again, the mood in the house was cheering. Our doll’s house was finished and it looked great. My cousins shared their dolls with me and so our doll’s house was kept occupied. We made up little silly stores about our dolls as we played along.
It was on the night before we were due to go back to the city that my mother decided to call Africa. That night the whole family was gathered in the lounge, waiting for news. First, my mother called our house in Lagos, Nigeria, but it seemed the line was cut, so she called my father’s cousin. He picked it up.
The news didn’t seem so pleasing. The rebels in the city had taken out so many attacks against the residents. Many were killed, kidnapped and raped, as thousands more departed the country. There was also bad news about one of my mother’s best friends, who was missing before we came Lebanon. Her body, along with her three children’s was found.
When my mother asked for news about my father, there was total silence in the lounge. I could clearly hear my cousin’s voice from a distance. He said that my father had been missing for three days now, and no one knew anything about him. The conversation ended by my cousin promising to call if any news emerged.
When my mother hung-up the phone, there was total silence. No one said a word, as she stood up, and went to her room. My grandmother followed her. Then my uncle suggested that we should al go to bed because we have a long journey tomorrow.
I didn’t know what to think about that night. It was clear that there was something wrong, yet it seemed perfectly normal to me that no one would hear from my father because the country was in a state of war.
That night, when I was sleeping, my mother came into my bedroom. She knelt down and kissed me. I sensed her mutter a few words, but I was too sleepy to figure out what she said.
When I woke up that morning. I found myself in my mother’s arms. I leaned forward and tapped her gently on her cheek. She opened her eyes, and smiled to me as she took me back in her arms and hugged me.
The journey to the city was long. This time, I was in the same car as my mother and sister. Hardly anyone spoke. There was a sense of loss in the air. I had a feeling something was missing; yet I still believed that my father would come back.
I spent the rest of the journey looking out of the window. It wasn’t comforting. The look on people’s pale faces made me shiver. Lebanon’s state was a disaster. Children were to be found on the streets looking for jobs with bare feet, yet you were able to find people who were living in much higher standards.
When we got to Beirut, my grandmother decided we should stay in her flat, as it seemed that it was going to be a long stay.
The flat was small and cosy, but it needed cleaning. The sofas were antique and very comfortable. It was a two bedroom flat with a huge kitchen. Everything was in place but a lot of dusting was required.
That day was very welcoming. The neighbours visited us and offered help. One of them helped us with the dusting and cleaning. Her name was Miriam. She spent the whole day with us and kept my mother company.
Later on that day, my uncle came to check on us. It was decided that my grandmother would stay with us. My uncle promised to fix us a phone as soon as he could so that we would be able to keep in touch with my cousin in Africa.
That night, we made ourselves comfortable in the beds. It was early but we felt very tired. My grandmother slept in the room with my mother, whilst my sister and me slept in the little bedroom near the entrance. In some ways, I thought it was scary because it was hard to access the other bedroom. The bedroom my sister and I were in was far down the corridor.
I couldn’t sleep. I couldn’t stop my self from thinking that I wouldn’t see my father again. My eyes were wide open for about two hours, as my mind was occupied by the horrific thought.
At 4am, as I was just about to shut my eyes, I heard a soft knock. It was a slight tap on the door. I got out of my bed nervously and made my way to the entrance. The glass on the entrance door made it visible where anyone was at the door. There was a figure of a tall man with his hand on the door ready for another knock.
I didn’t know what to do. I decided to run up to my mother’s bedroom, and as I was taking action, the figure noticed. He whispered: “Open the door” in a familiar voice. Without hesitating, I found myself running up to the door and opening it. It was my father.
Hi Omayr it’s Sarah, Manal’s friend. I just want you to know that it was me who texted you from her phone telling you to erase her number and email. I, as one of her best friends gave myself the right to do that because she didn’t want to. After she told me that you and her had no future and that’s she should end things up, I agreed and so I text you from her phone. I am sorry if it caused upsets or confusion, but at the time I thought it was the right thing to do.
I spoke with her after I chatted to you online that morning, and I was shocked on how much you had hurt her. She was crying and really upset by a couple of lines you had said to her. It’s a real shame ya Omayr, you were telling me to take care of her and yet you would hurt her so easily. I know you didn’t mean it but please when you chat to her be a little wiser. She is as hurt as you are, if not worse. I was thinking maybe you would want to cut down on the contact for a little while so you both have a break. I know it’s a hard thing, but please try for her sake. And one more thing, Manal is a vulnerable girl and soft hearted, any little thing would hurt her so please be wiser and mature when you chat to her. If you need anything from me, just let me know. Yala sorry again. Take care, Sarah.
