[home] [contents] [back issues] [subscribe]
[submissions] [mission] [message board] [contact us]
Brussels Sprouts and Tahini with Molasses
by Fatima El-Kalay
Excerpts:
I don’t belong here. I find myself saying this wherever I go, even when I am home. Home. Where on Earth is it anyway? It isn’t always where the heart is, for you can plant your heart somewhere and not be lovingly accommodated in return. I learned that lesson very young. Nor is it always where the roots are, for on soil I should call my own I feel intrusive, like stinging nettle amidst the lotuses.
I just about manage to think about this as I blunder down my bumpy road on a hot, dusty October morning in Cairo, face flushed pink, a flurry of notebooks tucked under my arm. I have missed the school bus yet again and must find a taxi on Pyramids Road. I pass the poor, weather-worn lemon vendor with dark, sunken eyes and cheeks like tanned leather. Every morning, her shrill cries of “Oh yes to lemons!” reach through my bedroom window and jolt me into wakefulness, but today she is late, hence I.
I nod good morning, which seems to puzzle her. Was that a “yes” to her lemons? She snatches up her basket and makes towards me just in case.
Oops – false alarm, but there’s no time to stop and explain. As I hurry on, I catch a look of bitter disappointment, almost disgust in the woman’s eyes. She has as much need for my morning greeting as I have for her lemons. . . .
