Read Online The Girl in the Tangerine Scarf by Mohja Kahf - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Mohja Kahf
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looked the other way.
Regarding ignorant Americans, "Well, just look at how nine hundred commited suicide in Jonestown, Guyana, with Jim Jones." Khadra's father remarked when that story broke on their old shadowy TV. "Following false prophets."
"Wasn't he from Indiana?" someone said.
Allison, the girl down the street who was nicknamed the Bone, was a typical American. "That's a lost girl," Khadra's mother observed. "Look how she is allowed to roam the street, no one caring for her." Allison had run away from home three times. She hated her stepfather. She got into fights. She kicked and cussed.
Generally speaking, Americans cussed, smoke, and drank, and the Shamys had it on good authority that a fair number of them used drugs. Americans dated and fornicated and committed adultery. They had broken families and lots of divorces. Americans were not generous or hospitable like Uncle Abdulla and Aunt Fatma; they invited people to their houses only a few at a time, and didn't even let them bring their children, and only fed them little tiny portions of food they called courses on big empty plates they called good china. Plus, Americans ate out wastefully often. Khadra's family ate at home (except once a year on the Eid holiday, when they went to the all-you-can-eat-for-$2.95 steakhouse).
Americans believed the individual was more important than the family, and money was more important than anything. Khadra's dad said Americans threw out their sons and daughters when they turned eighteen unless they could pay rent-to their own parents! And, at the other end, they threw their parents into nursing homes when they got old. This, although they took slavish care of mere dogs. All in all, Americans led shallow, wasteful, materialistic lives. Islam could solve many of their social ills, if they but knew.
Also, Americans did not wash their buttholes with water when they pooped. This was a very big difference between them and Muslims.
"It's appalling. Because no matter how much toilet paper you use," Wajdy said, stirring three teaspoons of sugar into a small glass of mint tea for TEta, "you cannot remove all traces. Water is a must.
Teta couldn't agree more. They called her `Teta' even though she was not Wajdy's mother but his aunt. She had raised him after his mother's early death and he loved her like a mother. Her visit brought the scent of laurel soap, sabun ghaar, into the house. A greeny, tree-bark smell. She stacked the bathroom with the cakes stamped "Made in Aleppo. "
"But can it really be true?" she asked, her plump frame comfortably settled on the faded couch in Khadra's little living room. Above her, a green crushed-pile prayer rug thumbtacked to the wall featured a threadbare image of the Ka'ba on one half and the Prophet's mosque on the other. "How can they stand to go around with a smear of shit in their crack all day?"
"Believe me, it's true," Khadra's father said. "One of the Dawah workers used to work in the laundry of a big hotel. Big fancy executives stayed there. What do you think he found on their underwear?" He sipped his tea.
Teta grimaced. "No!"
"Yes!"
"If that is how it is with their high classes, their common people must be even filthier!" she retorted.
"And they think they are more civilized than us, and tell us how to run our countries." Wajdy shook his head. The Western imperialism and high-handedness endured by the far-flung Muslim peoples of the world were that much more outrageous in light of the fact that its perpetrators did not even know how to properly clean their bottoms. Khadra's father got up to close the curtains, or else the Shamy family, sitting in the energy-saving fluorescent lights of the living room as night came on, would soon be exposed to the eyes of the Americans.
Treasure of Shaam, 0, Treasure of Damascus, Treasure that cannot be altered by time
No matter how far you go No matter how long ago Come to me, my love will be unchanged by time
-"Ya Mal al-Shaam," Damascene folk
Regarding ignorant Americans, "Well, just look at how nine hundred commited suicide in Jonestown, Guyana, with Jim Jones." Khadra's father remarked when that story broke on their old shadowy TV. "Following false prophets."
"Wasn't he from Indiana?" someone said.
Allison, the girl down the street who was nicknamed the Bone, was a typical American. "That's a lost girl," Khadra's mother observed. "Look how she is allowed to roam the street, no one caring for her." Allison had run away from home three times. She hated her stepfather. She got into fights. She kicked and cussed.
Generally speaking, Americans cussed, smoke, and drank, and the Shamys had it on good authority that a fair number of them used drugs. Americans dated and fornicated and committed adultery. They had broken families and lots of divorces. Americans were not generous or hospitable like Uncle Abdulla and Aunt Fatma; they invited people to their houses only a few at a time, and didn't even let them bring their children, and only fed them little tiny portions of food they called courses on big empty plates they called good china. Plus, Americans ate out wastefully often. Khadra's family ate at home (except once a year on the Eid holiday, when they went to the all-you-can-eat-for-$2.95 steakhouse).
Americans believed the individual was more important than the family, and money was more important than anything. Khadra's dad said Americans threw out their sons and daughters when they turned eighteen unless they could pay rent-to their own parents! And, at the other end, they threw their parents into nursing homes when they got old. This, although they took slavish care of mere dogs. All in all, Americans led shallow, wasteful, materialistic lives. Islam could solve many of their social ills, if they but knew.
Also, Americans did not wash their buttholes with water when they pooped. This was a very big difference between them and Muslims.
"It's appalling. Because no matter how much toilet paper you use," Wajdy said, stirring three teaspoons of sugar into a small glass of mint tea for TEta, "you cannot remove all traces. Water is a must.
Teta couldn't agree more. They called her `Teta' even though she was not Wajdy's mother but his aunt. She had raised him after his mother's early death and he loved her like a mother. Her visit brought the scent of laurel soap, sabun ghaar, into the house. A greeny, tree-bark smell. She stacked the bathroom with the cakes stamped "Made in Aleppo. "
"But can it really be true?" she asked, her plump frame comfortably settled on the faded couch in Khadra's little living room. Above her, a green crushed-pile prayer rug thumbtacked to the wall featured a threadbare image of the Ka'ba on one half and the Prophet's mosque on the other. "How can they stand to go around with a smear of shit in their crack all day?"
"Believe me, it's true," Khadra's father said. "One of the Dawah workers used to work in the laundry of a big hotel. Big fancy executives stayed there. What do you think he found on their underwear?" He sipped his tea.
Teta grimaced. "No!"
"Yes!"
"If that is how it is with their high classes, their common people must be even filthier!" she retorted.
"And they think they are more civilized than us, and tell us how to run our countries." Wajdy shook his head. The Western imperialism and high-handedness endured by the far-flung Muslim peoples of the world were that much more outrageous in light of the fact that its perpetrators did not even know how to properly clean their bottoms. Khadra's father got up to close the curtains, or else the Shamy family, sitting in the energy-saving fluorescent lights of the living room as night came on, would soon be exposed to the eyes of the Americans.
Treasure of Shaam, 0, Treasure of Damascus, Treasure that cannot be altered by time
No matter how far you go No matter how long ago Come to me, my love will be unchanged by time
-"Ya Mal al-Shaam," Damascene folk
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