Drawing by Gino 2007
Preface: This is Chapter Two of a story, a book I began writing in 2007 in Jordan. I decided to not continue out of respect for the characters (both living and dead) It is a true story, my story and I will share it with you in a total of 5 chapters during this month of Ramadan. I hope you will take the time to read each installment. This is as far as I got. Many of you know now about Umahmad from my poetry.
This is how it all began.
Chapter Two
Donna found herself in a small apartment on the other side of the world Christmas Day 2000, the first anniversary of her mother’s death.
Being an only child, and having lost her father so early in her pre-teens, made her mother a particularly strong and vital influence in her life .
She was old enough now, to even look back and feel sorry
for her, trying to raise such a child as she turned out to be!
Other subconscious thoughts and intentions can be seen by Freudian psychiatrists, like great motion picture projected on the outside of a face, while they remain totally invisible to the one inside having them, experiencing, and planning their life without even realizing how they are triggering and affecting each plan, like magnetic fields acting on the earth. Perhaps it was plain to everyone but Donna, that when she converted to Islam in the simplest of ceremonies, that June 23rd day year 2000 in her living room in Costa Rica perhaps she had decided somewhere in the dark plots of her own mind that she would never celebrate another Christmas as it would be too painful.
Forever it would remind her of calling her mother, who was almost bed-ridden on Christmas morning and have no one answer. Knowing her mother had a phone in every room of the house, including next to the toilet, there was no good or logical reason why she didn’t answer her early morning Merry Christmas call. One year later, Donna was celebrating Ramadan, the muezzins song heard through the cold air like a chanting invitation as a reminder of how far away from home she had traveled.
Lying by her side, a new husband, so much more difficult than the others before him. A gas space heater turned off for the night was put on hastily and she wrapped herself in a long wool coat, with scarf to brave the temperatures of the kitchen, with its big windows, so lovely to see out of in the summer, but so easy for letting in the cold desert drafts that whipped her second- story corner of the building without mercy.
The houses were not constructed for this weather, and for Donna, the fact there was even such a thing as a harsh winter in Jordan, was beyond any rudimentary knowledge of the country she held, before she actually mounted a plane that would carry her away to a new life.
A Jordanian winter was so much colder than she could ever imagine and some had said it might snow that night. Here she was in the land of sparkly new moons that shone like crystal instead of Santa Clauses and Reindeer, Christmas trees and nativity scenes . From her kitchen window she could see the green and red lanterns hung on windowpanes, lit even in the day, to mark the approaching Eid, a three-day feast that officially ended Ramadan and the obligatory fasting.
The only thing she needed to do in the kitchen that 25th of December morning, was to cook rice in boiling water, to feed to the hungry sparrows and pigeons and doves, who had come to expect a hot steaming plate of sticky starch every morning on the window sill behind her kitchen sink. They were already lining up, hungrily, fighting for position and peering in through the semi frosted glass which proved it was a bit colder outside than in. Breakfast would be ready in about 15 minutes, but only for the birds.
Her first meal, her” fatoor” would be at sunset perhaps some 12 hours away. Her husband stayed up all night, eating his last meal, perhaps at 4:00am before the “fajar” dawn prayer was called. Then he would sleep maybe at 6am and wake up a few hours or less before the call for the “Mahgreb” prayer which signaled the end of the day’s fast. Most of his fasting was done asleep, but she could not breach that subject, as it would be the beginning of perhaps a fight to last all night. She was a new convert, and knew next to nothing . Getting irritated with her was a regular habit of his, even when he wasn’t on his Ramadan schedule, which meant he was in a bad mood and she had to tip toe around the house all day to not awaken him. If she closed a door too loudly she would hear from the bedroom, ”Now, what are you doing?” His shouts echoed her own thoughts,” What was she doing on Christmas Day, keeping a husband asleep until the late afternoon?” She studied Arabic on the internet, wrote emails to friends back home telling them how exciting her life was, when the truth was, she felt lately like a prisoner, trapped in a cold apartment, with an unconscious husband, who could transform into something worse with just the sound of a click or a doorbell.
Umahmad knew enough to never ring the doorbell, and Donna never forgot to leave the door unlatched on her days to come to clean. She heard footsteps on the stone stairs, and she smiled. Her friend was about to come to the rescue. She felt as if she had one big present, that would soon sweep through the door, dressed in black and perhaps a gold scarf. Her very own package, that little by little, if she could just learn the language, she could unwrap to reveal the gift she sensed waited for her inside.
* * * * *
I never learned how to pump up the kerosene heater to make it work instead of making it smoke. It was the heater we used in the kitchen, but since I wasn’t planning on cooking anything until mid-afternoon I gave up quickly and thought soon Umahamd will be here, then I looked up and she was in my kitchen doorway. It was her way of walking that allowed her to always surprise me. She could creep up behind me and I would not even sense her presence, let alone hear a footstep. I loved that about her and when I was alone, I even tried it myself, but I could never do it like she could. I looked rather ominous, where she was the height of gracefulness, I looked like I was stalking, but she, looked like she was gliding.
She was holding an immense heavy pot, giving off steam, and a rather deliciously unusual aroma and she said
“Peace be with you” I helped her put it on the counter,
“And also with you” and we smiled simultaneously.
I had now two months speaking to her three times a week and she was my inspiration and my teacher. I studied my Arabic course online, but she told me that it was really only good for reading the newspaper and literature, that “real people” spoke the “spoken language” and that was much more vital for me to learn than any Modern Standard Arabic course. I was convinced that I just wanted to learn to be able to speak with her, so if it was spoken Arabic, with a Jordanian dialect and many Iraqi words thrown in..then that was the Arabic that mattered to me. I just wanted to be able to convey my feelings, hopes, wants, fears and my life story as well as understand hers. I didn’t care so much about learning how to say” vacuum” or” iron” I could do that with charades and make her laugh. By The end of December, I only wanted her to know how important she had become for me and how I felt she was holding my sanity in her strong hennaed hands , that if I didn’t see her one day, that I felt like I was holding my breath until the next time she came back into my life.
She looked at me in the harsh kitchen light and I felt old and ugly, compared to her beauty and unblemished skin. Even in bad winter lighting , she looked beautiful and I felt her stare a little too long at my face and thought she was analyzing my crows feet. There was an uncomfortable moment and then she said, pointing to the big pot, ”Kershat” I said “Shoo?”(What?) she used the word for cattle (kershat), which could mean, sheep, goat, lamb, or beef and then pointed to her stomach and then licked her lips. I understood it was tripe probably from a goat, but it struck me so funny. I said “This is for me? For fatoor?” and she nodded and pointed to the bedroom as if saying” and for your husband too” I pointed to her “Your stomach you will share with my husband?” and she caught the joke and we laughed even more as she violently shook her head “no” and wagged her limp wrist up and down in a gesture of “shame on you.” While she rolled her eyes in pretend embarrassment.
“What’s wrong with my face? “ I said and gestured
“Nothing” and she made a face like she had no idea what I was talking about.
I said “You looked at my face a lot, is my face so ugly?”
She looked shocked” No never ugly. Why you think that?”
“I see you look to my face. I think it is ugly so you look.”
“No. No” she protested, I think your face hairy.
Arab husbands don’t like hairy face.”
This made me laugh even more and I closed the kitchen door to not wake up the sleeping faster in the other room. I was blond and had a very light hint of peach fuzz in an almost invisible beard and mustache. I had never thought about doing anything about it, as no one did in Costa Rica, and it was barely noticeable
“Where is Husband?” she said and then made the gesture of sleeping and snoring.
I said “shhh” and we both grabbed each other on the elbows and steadied our balance that had been thrown off by our silly brand of humor we had been perfecting from the first time we saw each other until this present moment.
She said “Dishes I wash later, you come to living room, I make your hairy face… beautiful.
She held nothing in her hands and I was thinking what could she possibly do to make me less apelike with her bare hands?
She led me to our guest-room, the most formal and lavish room of our cozy apartment. She was always holding my hand, inside the house or in the street; I always felt like an awkward child being led by a floating princess. She sat down on an embroidered Damascus cushion of our wall -to -wall Arabic couches that covered the outer walls of this large room. Beautiful oriental rugs, originals, lined the floor. She gestured me to sit down next to her and I did, and I found myself, pulled into her lap looking up into her face, and having no idea what to expect. She pulled out a bobbin of strong black sewing thread, and tore off a large strip. Placing one end in her teeth, then turning and twisting the other side so that it made a little lasso, she began passing it over my face starting at my cheeks, all the while it slid between her teeth.
Years later people asked me in Costa Rica how it was done, and I never could figure it out. All I can say is, it left my entire face tingling, red like a spanked baby’s bottom and just as smooth. It was absolutely the most painful beauty treatment I had ever experienced, but I trusted her, looking up into her face, her large black eyes staring down intently on the area where she was pulling out peach fuzz. I relaxed in her lap, never taking my eyes off of her, and the way the thread slipped through her teeth without breaking. When she was satisfied, that the ape had been changed into a woman, the kind “Arab husband’s like”
She looked me directly in the eyes for just a prolonged second, and then she bent down tenderly and kissed me on the lips and the forehead.
I could have stayed that way forever.
To Be Continued
Part One can be found here:here
Digital Rabbit Hole 
Ramadan Mubarak 🌙
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Ramadan Kareem Jay ☪️
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Another beautiful read!
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Ohh thank you so much Colin. It means a lot to me that you have continued on this journey 🙏
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You are very welcome indeed!!! 🤗🤗
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Ah, so beautiful! This story, your story and hers, continues to be amazing. So much world you have seen and deeply experienced! Thank you yet again for sharing it with us.
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Thank you Dale, from the bottom of my heart for immersing yourself in this small but significant part of my own Life. I am moved to tell it and bring it up to 2023 in a final Epilogue…so stay tuned.
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Thank you for sharing your story Donna xx
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My pleasure Maggie..I am so happy you’re following along:):)
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🙏💙🙏
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🙏🌹🙏
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yay, thank you Karima for posting the part 2. it’s now getting more exciting.
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Thank you so much Mich:) I am glad you’re enjoying it and as I said there still are a few more chapters to go and then I will write a one part or two part epilogue and bring it up to 2023. Stay tuned and thank you for your feedback.
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haven’t read yet, but I will ~ and I have to go back to part 1 first… ❤
~David
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Awww Yay! David..I’m thrilled you will read it…take your time and I think you will enjoy it…it’s very life in Karak:) We were practically neighbors:)when all this was unfolding or maybe not (you were very young)
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This is utterly amazing, Karima ~ you have such bravery to share the intimate details of your relationship with her and your life back then…
❤
David
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Yes, David, thank you for saying that. I deliberated a lot about it and decided I wanted to show this extraordinary gift that was given to me and the destiny that was set in place because of it. My last chapter, next week will bring the whole story up to now 2023….thanks to her vision and her sacrifice.
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I am really enjoying reading these accounts. You have led a very interesting life.
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Ohh thank you David and I am so happy to hear you are. I hope it will hold it’s own to the very end. This is a story I have wanted to tell for a long time, but somewhere along the way, I changed the form to only poetry and left the prose behind. Thank you for reading it and for your feedback.
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Wow Karima, thank you for yet another chapter of beauty. I am just so happy and grateful you’re sharing this meaningful story with us. I was captivated throughout and truly took in every line. You have this gift of tying in true personal/vulnerable writing with effortless flow and grace – it is so very enjoyable to read. Thank you for being you and for letting your journey glow 🤍🤗🤍🤗
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Good morning Grace! I was so happy to find your comment on my blog, waiting for me:) Oh it is my pleasure to share these chapters with you and my other readers who seem to thankfully, be enjoying it:) Thank you what you said about my style..in such an eloquent way..it’s true, this is a very personal story for me, but it’s now one I feel comfortable telling…I mean I’m 76!! what am I waiting for?? lol So it feels good to share this story, if for no other reason it’s a true story of such an uncommon but enormous destiny. Life’s gift…one I could never refuse. thank you for this feedback Grace, I am treasuring it and it inspires me to write the most beautiful epilogue I can to finally close it.
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Beautiful the way this piece immerses me again in the atmosphere, reminds me of lost emotion and dreams, and sweeps me along to the ending lines that land just right! ❤
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Thank you Layla for continuing to read this story. As I told you after Chapter One, I love how you allow yourself to fall and feel the setting, the rooms, the atmosphere…in such a way that it actually reminds you of “lost emotions and dreams” Written like a poet…and very inspiring for me:) Thank you again and stay tuned….:)
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What a wonderful story Donna Karima. Your words are karmically whimsical, honest and magical. I’m looking forward to reading the first one and subsequent ones after this ❣️❣️💞
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Awww thank you Cindy…your wonderful feedback inspires me:) I am glad you enjoyed this one and will read #1 and find it a good beginning. I am in uncharted waters..I have 4 chapters from 2007 written out, but I am seeing a need to edit and fill them out a bit..and then write a few additional ones to bring it all up to date:) Thank you for being interested Cindy in this story That means a lot to me:) 🌹
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It’s my pleasure for sure and thank you for sharing it with us. You have been on quite a journey and we all have a story and you have such a beautiful heart. It is a gift to travel back in time with you and fill in the pieces. 🥰 big hugs 😘
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Ohhh Thank you for these beautiful words Cindy..I think you left me mute:) but I’m very appreciative of what you said.:) Big hugs now!! 🤗🤗 and have a good night:)
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I’m loving this autobiography. Now I’m discovering you are a novelist as well as a poet. You write so beautifully. I’m beginning to realize, (I’m a slow learner) that you have always written even as a child. You write poems, songs, films and answer all your readers comments with such a flair. The question arises that I’ve asked you many times is, “How did you get like this?” Perhaps I’m old fashioned, but I would love to have hard cover books with your magic in them.
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Awww You are NOT a slow learner..I am just a Chinese puzzle as you like to say. I know you would love a book…It’s not impossible just not on the front fire yet:) Thank you Hoyt..just loved your comment:)
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Oh wow, what a beautiful story…you & Umahmad…the two beauties…thank you for sharing this heartfelt story with us…it was captivating…emotions could be felt through your words…I love your style…you have this wonderful gift to write with a fluid flow…you’re a great storyteller…pls do consider publishing your own book / autobiography / novel, Karima ❤️
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Thank you so much dear Navin, for such an encouraging and inspiring comment. I have been very unsure of my storytelling abilities, beyond poetry, so this is one of the reasons it has taken me so long to bring this story to a close after starting it in 2007. Thank you for your enjoyment of the story and for what you say about my writing style. One never knows what the near future could bring, but a few people now have asked me to write about my life…I am considering it might not be as impossible as I have always seen it:):) Thank you for your confidence in me. It means so much. You have become such a dear friend.🙏
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You’re welcome Karima…It’s definitely not impossible for you to write such captivating stories of your life…you can see from the response you’ve received…you’re an amazing storyteller…there’s this natural flow in you…so follow your instincts & simply take us to your story land of your true life experiences & realizations ❤️
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InshAllah I will try:) Thank you for this extra push in that direction ❤️
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The atmosphere you’ve set up, Karima, I’m already sad I would be leaving it soon enough, once the story ends. The pace is just the way I like it in intimate narratives. You, a mystery well-wisher to me from the other part of the world (even though I’ve talked you in real) are coming to life. With all your beauty, and faults, hopes and fears. I can’t tell how much I’m enjoying it. I was lost in it. And I was smiling when you ended this chapter. Smiling. Yes, all through it I was smiling. Happy to be a part of your life, or the memories of it. Looking forward to the other parts. See ya until the next one. (P.S. The method by which your gliding beauty made your face the way Arab husbands like it is something my wife knows well too. She sometimes grabs me when my noseheads grow beyond her toleration levels and erase them that way. :)))
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Aww what a fabulous comment Sundaram. I love that you are already worrying it will come to an end. That might be the greatest compliment ever:) The fact that you, are a wonderful writer, especially of short stories, just delights me to know you immersed yourself in my scene. I laughed about your threading story..Can be painful but is very effective::) I am so glad you will read it all.. I just finished the last chapter… the quite long Epilogue, and I am controlling myself to not post it until Wednesday, especially to allow others to catch up to see how it finishes. I’m happy with it.. I am hoping you will be too. It’s hard to write a true story, especially one that is “stranger than fiction
” but I think I learned a lot and who knows…maybe I will attempt a few chapters from my own life, before and after Jordan. Thank you dear friend for reading me with such gusto and relish. You don’t know how much that inspires me to try other things.. I will send you a few pictures along the way. I decided I would not post any here out of respect. Talk to you soon:)
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Oh, yes. I want it all. Before and after Jordan. That’s the way to go. There is nothing like reading a confident world woman sharing her story without hesitation. A story which is especially as uncommon as yours. I’m happy you’ve chosen to do this. You’ve always been the one writer I read even when I read nothing else on WP. And I had my reasons. You are fascinating, Karima, not to mention an awesome writer. Carry on please.
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Smiling from ear to ear my friend:) Now I don’t know how I can say no:) after your beautiful superlatives on how you enjoy reading me and a “confident world woman” (love that) Thank you so much for saying this. I myself read much more poetry than prose, but I LOVE reading yours too (and you know that:) Your stories are like no others and I can sincerely say you are my favorite writer of short stories on WP..hands down:)
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Karima, this is such a beautifully told story, and you can feel the friendship and the intimacy easily through your lovely words. I love your character development. I also love how honest Umahmad was with you. It is a precious story how she noticed the peach fuss as you called it. She sounds so sweet. I think those visits were as precious to her as they were to you my dear friend. She was fortunate to have such a wonderful friend. I think living without laughter in your life must be like missing such an important part of life and it is something no one should go without. Laughter is a gift. Laughing till you spit, squirt out a mouth full of coffee or water, laugh till your make-up in on your cheeks instead of your eyes or even till you are having a hard time breathing, those are moments of precious gifts, like diamonds in one’s life. Also, let’s face it who really needs a diamond, too many people die so that the rich can have diamonds. Thank you for this beautiful story, it is kind of you to share this with us. I can’t wait to read the next one, which is after lunch. YEA! Big hugs and love Karima my dear, dear friend.
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Oh Joni, your comments are so precious to me.I love how quickly you could perceive from just my words an almost instant intimate friendship. I think that’s because we immediately trusted each other and as you mention again in your comment..we shared the same sense of humor which is a bond like no other. I love how we say that in Arabic. “dem hafeef” light blood..Our blood was light, good-natured, quick to laugh. For me sharing a sense of humor is such a strong bond..an immediate bond for me. My pleasure Joni, for writing this story finally, to share with a few people, I think might care, might understand. It’s such a beautiful gesture on your part to take on reading this practically in one sitting. Big hugs and my sincere appreciation for all your wonderful feedback and comments. Much love to you Joni…see you after Chapter 3. ❤️🌹❤️
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Dear Karima I still have the final chapter to read. I had planned to read it this morning, and after walking the dog we had to get out of our house for a showing of the house. I know I should be grateful for the showing but it’s really inconvenient when I’m set up and ready to write and I have to leave the house. your story is really beautiful and I am looking forward to reading the fifth chapter. I will also respond personally to you as well. You are such a beautiful storyteller and you keep your audience hanging on every word it’s a very, very beautiful love story. Big hugs and much love Joni.
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