Chapter 2: The Invite

The hard slap that landed across my face sent me reeling against the banister of the stairs. I gasped as the impact caused my head to bounce off the wooden handrail.

“You will not leave this house! Do you understand?” Mama’s voice reached a pitch where only cats could hear.

“Mama! Enough!” Amaara cried out as she pulled Mama away.

“Shameless! Shameless girl! Why did I have to give birth to you? Why?” Mama’s ranting echoed down the hallway as she was led back to the kitchen.

Amaara closed the door to the kitchen and rushed back to help me collect my things off the floor where they had fallen.

“Are you okay?” her concern was heartbreaking.

“Yes, yes. Don’t worry, I’m okay.” I tried to smile through the tears that threatened to spill from my eyes. I didn’t want my baby sister to see me like this. It was my job to care for her. Not her job to look after me. She was too young for all that.

Today’s drama was a direct result of my refusal to attend Uncle’s house later that evening for a family dinner. How I hated that man. He was the root problem of our society. As the older brother, he not only ran his house with an iron fist but took it upon himself to run our house with it too.

It was 8 o’clock in the morning and I had made an appearance to grab some juice from the kitchen before heading to school. As I walked into the kitchen, I saw that Mama had set up a counter full of raw ingredients to prepare for the mass cooking event that would take place all day. Several aunties were expected to show up at our house to help prepare the evening meal to take to Uncle’s. I had no idea what the occasion was, but apparently it would be announced before the evening meal would take place.

As I was feeling a tad on the brave side, I asked Mama if attendance was mandatory. Big mistake. This opened up a whole can of worms where attendance was indeed compulsory. No amount of excuse-making was going to get me out of it. Half the problem was attending the dinner, the other half of the problem would be serving the damn thing and then cleaning up afterwards. Our family was designed as a well-oiled cleaning machine that left no traces that humans ever ate.

Mama insisted I attend, and I insisted I stay. Things got a bit loud and then I found myself grounded. I should have been pleased, but the slap had taken the victory out of it and I left for school feeling wretched and hurt.

School was another disaster in my life. I walked the seven blocks in silence. Not even one of my podcasts about ancient travellers could have distracted me from my gloom. The weather was the same as it always was, overcast and grey. There was a chill in the air, and I pulled my hijab tighter around my ears. That was another thing I was forced to wear. Although a religious symbol, I had no interest in the hijab for I believed Islam was in the heart and not on the head. I contemplated taking it off and stuffing it down the bottom of my bag, but where was I going? School. The place where mini-spies would report my near-adulterous behaviour to their eager parents looking for dirt on someone else’s child. I knew the consequences of removing my hijab and I wasn’t ready to bear them.

My sixth form rose out of the pavement as a two-story building, dull red in colour and large enough to house at least 500 students. A green wrought-iron fence bordered the building with only one way in and out. I sighed as I neared the gates. School wasn’t somewhere I would willingly go. The most difficult thing about school was the expectation of socialization. I would much rather prefer spending my time alone in the library or at the back of the field with a decent book.

“Hannah! Hey Hannah! I’ve been calling you since Brook Street!”

I threw a cautious look over my shoulder to see my closest friend, Anna, run towards me. Anna was an average-looking girl with long blondish hair. Her pale skin wasn’t white enough to be British, but she wasn’t dark enough to be Pakistani either. I met her in my last year of high-school and learned she was Syrian. Her culture seemed easier than mine because she wasn’t expected to run the house like I was. Maybe it was her parents who were lenient enough to let her just be. We sat side-by-side in class and that’s when I discovered that her love for reading historical books was on par with mine. Thereafter, a solid base of friendship was formed. We often discussed details of far-flung cities and what it would be like to visit them when we were together. We had nothing else in common to base our friendship on except our desire to roam the world. A year down the line, Anna was still by my side and still keen as ever to discuss new adventures with me. She was the only person who truly understood me and in return, I didn’t make her feel like everything was a personal competition, like all the other girls in our school did.

We passed a group of giggling schoolgirls trying to nail a Tik-Tok video in front of the steps. Why anyone would spend hours trying to record and edit a video of them copying a dance was beyond me. Who had that much time? Regardless of time, what did they achieve by gaining likes or followers? I didn’t have Tik-Tok, but if I had, then my followers would be looking at a blank profile. I only had Insta and I used that to follow accounts that were dedicated to exotic destinations that I would eventually visit one day. I lived through those pictures, they reminded me that one day I will make it out of Seven Kings and onto a plane that will take me away from my-so-called life.

“Field trip! Field trip!” A skinny boy barged past us shoving a piece of paper into our arms.

“Oh my God! A field trip! First one this year!” Squealed Anna with delight. She eagerly scanned the flier in search of the destination.

I looked down at my own flier. I had never been on a field trip and wasn’t about to start now. Firstly, my parents wouldn’t sign the approval and secondly, not much learning took place away from school. Students usually went for a laugh, to socialize and walk around without a chaperone. For them, it was probably better than sitting in classes all day, but for me, the last thing I wanted was to be crammed into a bus with these lot.

“The British Museum?” Anna was incredulous. “What’s in there?”

“A museum? The usual stuff. Old stuff.” My mind whirred. The museum would be quiet. I would be able to find a quiet corner and be alone for a while. Maybe I could lose myself in a bit of history for a few hours. Hmm, this might not be a bad trip after all.

“Do you want to go?” Anna asked.

“Umm, I’m not sure. Are you going?”

“Yeah. I’ll go. Why not?” Anna began planning the trip but I only half listened. Trying to weigh up the pros and cons didn’t take very long. The decision would be down to my dad. Would he allow me to go? There was only one way to find out.

The rest of the day whizzed by in a blur of trying to keep my head down. I arrived home bang on time at 3.45pm and headed into the kitchen where a party of little old ladies were cooking up a storm.

“Salamu-alaykum!” I announced as I walked in.

I was greeted with a chorus of responses and some “Oh, look how healthy she looks, Mashallah!”

It should be noted that ‘Mashallah’ is an Arabic word used by Muslims to praise God for whatever the topic of discussion was. It is usually a good thing. Except for when it’s put into the same sentence as being healthy. In other words, the aunties had just called me fat. I was a size 10. Apparently, overweight in our close-knit community.

“Hannah, you coming, na?” Aunty number one called across the kitchen as she headed out the door.

“In a while!” I called back whilst shooting a glance over to mum who just ignored me.

I had no intention of leaving the house for dinner that evening. But before I could leave the kitchen and retire to my room, I was handed a pot of curry and ushered out the kitchen door.

“Come, come. Uncle is waiting,” Another aunty tried guiding me down the corridor towards the front door.

“Aunty, you go. I just need to change my clothes…” I fumbled for an excuse.

“Nonsense. You look fine. Let’s go.” Mama magically appeared behind me and practically body-slammed me out the door.

It wasn’t proper for me to argue in front of so many people. Sighing, I joined the mini convoy walking down the street. I was going to dinner.