Boy vs. Girl by Na'ima B. Robert Read Free Book Online Page A

doorstep.
    â€œWell, let us in then!” laughed Auntie Najma, picking up her long skirts to step into the hallway.
    â€œ
Asalaamu alaikum warahmatullahi wabarakatuhu
!” she called out and was answered by a chorus of voices from the kitchen.
    Ummerji and Auntie Anisa came out to greet her while Auntie Najma bent down to tug off her sodden boots. Auntie Anisa raised her eyebrows and looked Najma over critically. “I see you dressed for the weather, eh?”
    Najma rolled her eyes playfully at her older sister. “Yes, yes, I know, let’s put Islam on hold for the awful British weather, shall we?” She stood for a moment, holding her boots.
    â€œOh, Najma,” huffed Ummerji as she took the boots and put them in the airing cupboard. “Why do you always have to take things to extremes?”
    But Najma simply smiled at her sister-inlaw and held out her arms to embrace her sister.And all was forgotten.
    Auntie Najma took off her
niqab
,
jilbab
and
hijab
and went into the kitchen where she hugged her sisters and gave her mother a kiss and sat down to cut up onions, her usual task as the youngest of four girls.
    That’s how it is
, thought Farhana.
As long as you learn your lines, play your role, you’re fine. But just try writing your own script and see what happens.
    â€œWill you be making
chaat
this year, Sajda?”
    â€œNot sure – I might just buy some; I don’t think I can be bothered.”
    â€œTsk, you can be bothered! I will come and make it with you…”
    â€œOK, Ummerji.”
    â€œThe shop stuff is full of additives anyway, Sajda. Your home-made one is much better.”
    â€œThank you, Najma, you’re a sweetie. How is your garden coming along?”
    â€œ
Masha Allah
, it’s going really well, isn’t it, Ummerji? We’ve been harvesting tomatoes like mad…”
    â€œOh yes, Farhana brought some home last weekend – they were delicious!”
    â€œWell, they
are
organic, love!”
    â€œOrganic? Just fancy words to put the prices up! This is the way we grew things in Pakistan: just the same with no fancy label!”
    Farhana giggled. Trust Naneeji to distrust everything!
    â€œI think the
samosas
are all done now… what time are you expecting the others?”
    â€œThey said they would come after they feed the kids, about 7:30…”
    â€œ
Alhamdulillah
, is Asma coming? I haven’t seen her since she had the baby!”
    â€œ
Insha Allah
, she’ll be coming too – it will be wonderful to see little Umar again.”
    The women carried on chatting, talking about friends, family, simple things, safe things. It being days before Ramadan, there was no gossip, no ‘did you hear?’ or ‘can you believe?’ Farhana felt lulled by their conversation, sleepy almost. It was a nice, secure place to be, amongst family, preparing for Ramadan.
    Later that evening, other women came to the house - to join in the Ramadan preparations, to drink tea and to talk. Farhana’s dad made it a point to work late, then he went to the mosque with Faraz, knowing that the house would beoverrun with women.
    The atmosphere in the house was electric: the kitchen steamed with cooking food and hot women’s bodies, the conversation was lively, peppered with jokes and Urdu phrases. And, although the English rain poured down outside and the samosa pastry came out of a packet, rather than being made from scratch, the women and their daughters, British-born and raised, felt a sense of history and a connection with the rituals of their foremothers back home in Pakistan. And it felt good.

Chapter 7
Spiritual high
    The first night of Ramadan was clear, the sky outside inky black, twinkling with stars. And all across the country and beyond, Muslim households were alive with excitement and anticipation.
    They had all heard the news from the mosque: the moon had been sighted, the month of Ramadan had begun.