Huda and Me Read online

  None of what Aunt Amel was saying made any sense. She must’ve realised this from the look on my face.

  ‘What I mean is, I’ve had to take two weeks off work and this house is so lovely and clean, and you are all so adorable, and your mum is always saying I need to take time to relax a little …’

  Huda leaned in closer to me while Aunt Amel was blabbing away. ‘What’s she talking about, Akeal?’ she whispered, her words slurred with exhaustion.

  I couldn’t answer her, because I still had no idea.

  Before any of us could register what was going on, Aunt Amel clicked both her fingers either side of her face and froze.

  We all froze too.

  She pulled a piece of paper from her pocket.

  ‘This is our pact.’

  As she un-scrunched it, I noticed it was covered in doodles.

  ‘From now on, you’ll be waking up early. This is good for both of us. Good for you because you know that the greatest blessings are at Fajr time, and good for me as you can help me unwind during my mini-holiday here.’

  My jaw dropped.

  Aunt Amel pulled an orange texta with no lid from the front pocket of her fluffy nightrobe.

  ‘What time do you think is suitable to start the day? Three a.m.? Four?’

  She looked around at each of us, hoping for some feedback. She held the texta to the scribbly paper, like she was interviewing us, poised for an answer.

  ‘We don’t wake up that early,’ Kholoud said, her voice sharp.

  ‘Very well – five a.m!’

  Aunt Amel jotted this onto her paper. There was no time to react before she moved on.

  ‘I have determined seven tasks to make this holiday most pleasant. One for each of you.’

  She walked over to Omar, who still had his eyes closed and looked a bit like Mr Kostiki the other night. His body swayed in a weird, gentle way. I wondered how people could possibly sleep standing up. Aunt Amel didn’t seem to notice, though. She pointed her finger at him as she held the paper too close to her eyes and began to read.

  ‘Task one. Omar, you are on your L-plates. You will drive me everywhere I need to go. This helps you because I can teach you everything about driving and you can add it to your logbook. And – bonus – I get my own personal chauffeur!’ Aunt Amel grinned.

  She took a step sideways to face Kholoud, who had her arms folded and looked like she was chewing something.

  ‘Task two. My dear, you have a fine eye for beauty and fashion. I would love to hire you as my personal stylist and beauty expert.’

  My big sister beamed. Kholoud loves make-up and clothes more than anyone. I could tell from the look on her face that it was like a dream job she hadn’t even applied for. But she tried to stay cool.

  ‘Okay, sure. I don’t mind helping you out. I have some samples in my room I can try on you later.’

  Aunt Amel clapped her hands together and then spun in a circle. She lost her footing for a moment and stumbled, but managed to stay upright. Then she turned to the twins.

  ‘Suha and Layla. Two wise souls.’ She paused to squint at them in an oh, so cute way, then went back to her list. ‘Your dad says you make the best tea in all the western suburbs. I’ve drunk your tea, and I agree! This task is perfect, because I drink tea by the gallon. You will be my personal tea- and cookie-makers. Well, you will be my little assistants, really – get me whatever I need, whenever I need it, including tea and cookies.’

  The twins frowned. They turned to each other then turned back to Aunt Amel. Suha cleared her throat.

  ‘Excuse me, Aunt Amel. This isn’t reasonable. We enjoy making tea, but we shouldn’t be forced to do anything we don’t want to do.’

  ‘Oh no, no, no. You misunderstood me, my girls.’ Aunt Amel leaned her long body over, bringing her face closer to my sisters’. ‘What you need to do is refine your baking and tea-making skills, because I feel you could certainly win awards.’

  ‘Awards?’ my sisters stuttered at the same time.

  ‘Yes – worldwide recognition. I can see you on that famous cooking show. You know, the one with the funny aprons …’

  Aunt Amel was waving her arms around, staring into the air, and my sisters weren’t frowning anymore – they were glowing. So Aunt Amel flicked her head towards me and Huda.

  ‘Akeal, ah, little Akoolie! We need a very important person to keep things clean around here. You will be, let’s agree, the butler of the house.’

  My mind raced. I thought a butler carried a tray and wore a black vest. Most of the ones I’d seen on TV had no hair. They were all my dad’s age, with posh accents.

  A million questions exploded in my head, but she just kept going.

  ‘Hoodie Boodie! You’re a bit like Akeal, I suppose. Very, uhh … useful. You will help Akeal. He’ll the butler of the house and you will be the maid.’

  ‘A maid? A maid for who?’ My sister scratched and shook her head at the same time.

  ‘For m— For the family. Your job is very important because you keep everything tidy and running flawlessly.’

  ‘I don’t know what flawlessly means,’ Huda shot back.

  ‘Hudie, it means your very important job is to keep us all happy, all the time! Make it a game, if you’d like!’

  Aunt Amel pulled a tissue out of the tissue box on the kitchen bench and popped it onto Huda’s head.

  ‘You see, just like a real maid!’

  Before Huda had a chance to protest or complain, Aunt Amel read out one last task: ‘And Raheed’s job is to stay with me all day. We’re going to spend my holiday together.’

  I realised my baby brother wasn’t in the room with us, but figured he was still asleep.

  As if she’d read my mind, Aunt Amel repeated: ‘All day and all night. With me. My holiday buddy. He’ll stay by my side until I’m relaxed and rested enough, knowing you’re all doing your little jobs perfectly.’ And Aunt Amel winked.

  I had seen Aunt Amel hold Raheed. He always tried to climb back over to Mum.

  Aunt Amel dug deep into her robe pocket again and pulled out more bits of messily scrunched-up paper, each with one of our names on them. She tossed them at us.

  ‘I understand you are small, and children do forget things. So here is your list of things to do, just in case.’ The way she said it made it sound like she was doing us a favour.

  Dad’s alarm clock suddenly went off, interrupting our thoughts as we picked our lists up off the floor. A man’s voice reciting the call to prayer in Arabic blared from the small silver mosque-shaped clock that sat on the kitchen shelf. Dad had set the alarm to go off for each prayer, and it was time for the first of the day.

  I thought Aunt Amel might remember then that Muslims don’t make kids act like small helpers and cleaners. I thought she might realise her paper lists were unfair, especially since the man’s voice was reminding her to pray instead.

  Aunt Amel flinched. Then she walked slowly over to the clock and gazed at it for a moment before grabbing it and bolting towards the fridge. She opened the freezer door and shoved it in, the athan sound disappearing abruptly as she slammed the freezer door shut.

  My eyes darted around at each of my siblings.

  Kholoud’s face was still; she wasn’t even blinking. She lifted her hand and put it over her mouth. Even she knew this was going too far.

  Omar’s eyes had shot open when the athan went off. He stared at the freezer door and then at Aunt Amel. Then he stepped forward. I noticed the list of chores Aunt Amel had chucked at him was caught in the collar of his pyjama shirt.

  ‘You can’t do that,’ Omar said. ‘That belongs to our dad, and it reminds us to pray on time.’ He sounded brave.

  The wrinkles around Aunt Amel’s eyes creased and she pressed her lips together.

  ‘Omie, don’t fret. I’m just a little sensitive to noise. So remember to be super quiet as you all go about your tasks.’

  She glanced at the scrunched-up paper stuck in Omar’s shirt and took one
step closer to him. He was almost as tall as her, but she patted him on the head.

  ‘Not to worry, the clock is safe, tucked away until your parents get back. Just focus on your lists, so we can all have a comfortable and happy two weeks.’

  She clicked her fingers again as Omar opened his mouth to speak.

  ‘Now, let’s start the day! On to your tasks!’ She jabbed a finger at the twins. ‘You two. Tea. My room. Five minutes. Bring cookies in forty-five minutes. With more tea.’

  In the kitchen doorway, she stopped one last time.

  ‘Please, children. We all want to keep Raheed happy while I’m here, don’t we?’

  And with that, she was gone.

  Huda gulped loudly. For a moment, we all just stood there staring at each other. Huda opened her mouth to say something, but Kholoud put a painted fingernail to Huda’s lips.

  ‘She has Raheed. Just get on with it, Huda. It’s no big deal – just do what she said.’

  ‘Yeah, Huda, we have cookies to practise making …’ Layla chimed in.

  ‘… so we can be famous!’ Suha finished for her. She looked like she’d just had too much red cordial. She was already pulling a rolling pin from the drawer.

  ‘But …’ said Huda.

  I looked at the paper Aunt Amel had thrown at me, then glanced around at the others’. My and Huda’s lists were three times as long as everyone else’s.

  My first chore was to scoop up the chicken poo in the backyard and put it in a big poo pile. I wasn’t convinced that butlers scooped poo. I couldn’t imagine them doing it in their nice shirts. Huda’s first chore was to scrub the toilets – and after that, to change all the bedsheets.

  I pulled on my gumboots, chucked on my raincoat and went to find my head-torch. It was freezing outside, and the sun was barely up. Then again, maybe Aunt Amel was right – maybe all the blessings of the day were in the morning.

  I passed Huda in the bathroom doorway as I headed outside, and we locked eyes. She stood there in the dim light holding the toilet brush in her hand. Her bottom lip quivered. She was about to cry.

  I wanted to tell her she would be okay. I wanted to say that she didn’t need to scrub the toilets, or do the beds. But I also knew a little hard work was a good thing – Dad always tells me that. It was only for a little while. Until Mum and Dad were back. Until we knew Raheed could join the rest of us again.

  So, instead, I only looked at my sister and hoped she knew what I was thinking before I slipped outside into the cold.

  Michael

  This place doesn’t look or feel like an airport. Amira leads us past palm trees and water fountains, and seemingly endless fancy shops selling jewellery, make-up and Arabian-looking souvenirs. There are huge blue signs everywhere, in both Arabic and English. I test out my Arabic reading skills, but they must’ve left out some important grammar because none of it makes sense to me. I’m unsure if it’s brighter in here or outside in the hot sun – the shiny tiles and silver and gold things everywhere make me squint.

  The men in this airport walk around in white abayas, like the ones I’ve seen Dad’s friends wear at the mosque. They look like they’ve spent five hours in front of a mirror with a small pair of scissors, making sure each little hair on their beard and goatee is perfect. I’ve never seen men look so cool or so clean. I know if I ever wear a white abaya dress, I’ll have spaghetti-sauce stains on it before dinner is finished.

  The women wear hijabs, but pin them differently to how I’ve seen it done in Australia – almost like they’ve flicked the hijab over their hair and it’s landed perfectly, like fabric over a beehive. I think that they must have the darkest eyes and the longest eyelashes in the world. Most of them are dressed in black, which is draped right down to their toes, but their huge gold bangles pop out of their sleeves and make them sparkle.

  Amira walks us through some security checks, then past more glossy fashion stores and some cafés. Huda slows and elbows me.

  ‘Oi, what’s this all about? This is meant to be our holiday stopover. Where is she taking us?’ she whispers.

  ‘I dunno, but Martin said we have to stay with her.’ I keep my eyes on Amira, worried she might turn around and catch us talking about her.

  ‘Let’s make a run for it.’

  My eyes almost pop out of my eye sockets. ‘Make a run for it? Are you crazy?’

  ‘Yeh, let’s ditch her and go have some fun. Look at all the food and fun we’re missing out on. Check out all those cool shops with the little teacups and other fancy things!’ Huda flaps her hands around in every direction, like I haven’t noticed where we are.

  ‘Huda, no way!’ I hiss. ‘Amira seems nice, and besides, if we run away we’ll be caught and sent back to Melbourne. That’s if we even manage to find the boarding gate for our next flight.’

  Amira stops suddenly, and we almost walk into her. ‘How about a spot of shopping, kids? And then some dinner?’

  My sister misses a beat, so I nudge her and she speaks up. ‘Um, sure, Miss Amira. Why not?’

  Amira leads us into one of the shiny gift stores and waits patiently as we wander the polished aisles. I pick a small golden camel with a shiny red blanket on its back. Huda finally decides on a green lantern, and I pay with a hundred-dollar note I’ve surreptitiously pulled from the bottom of my bag.

  ‘You never know, brother, a genie might pop out and give us three wishes,’ Huda giggles.

  I don’t have the heart to tell her it isn’t a lamp.

  Amira beams when we show her our souvenirs. She fiddles with the red blanket on my camel, lifting a tiny latch, and it pops open like the boot of a car. I can’t wait to put something secret in it, like Tic Tacs.

  ‘Who wants dinner?’ Amira asks us.

  ‘Yes, please,’ I say as I tuck my camel into the front compartment of my bag.

  Huda grabs her tummy and squeezes it with both hands. ‘I’m starving!’

  I notice a toilet sign nearby and check my watch. I’m unsure how I’m meant to work out when to pray, with all the time differences and changing of countries, but Dad always tells me it’s about having the right intention.

  ‘Amira, do you mind if I use the bathroom for a minute, please?’

  ‘Sure!’ She walks us over to the entrance. ‘I’ll be waiting right here with your sister. Call out if you need anything.’

  I walk through the grey door, hoping there’ll be no one inside so I can do my wudu – and that there’ll be enough room to lift my foot into the sink. That’s always the worst bit about doing wudu in a public place. That, or someone walking in on you and wondering what the heck you’re doing washing your feet in a sink.

  There are five cubicles and they’re all empty. The place is clean and smells like air freshener. Pretty good for a public toilet. I roll my sleeves up to my elbows and turn on the tap. The water’s freezing cold.

  I quickly wash my hands and rinse out my mouth. Then I splash water in my nose, on my face, and on my arms, three times. I wet my palms and run them across the top of my head so that my hair gets all damp. The iciness of the water gives me a chill but makes me feel fresh at the same time. Like I’m rinsing all the bad stuff away. Like Aunt Amel is disappearing down the drain, along with all the water dripping off me.

  The tap stops running automatically, and I bend to untie my shoelaces then slip my right foot out of my shoe. I hop around on my other foot as I take off my smelly, three-day-old sock with wet hands. There’s nowhere to put it without getting it dirty or drenched, so I hold it between my front teeth. The pong is revolting.

  I lift my right foot and cram it into the sink, hit the tap again, and let the water run between each of my toes. I’m rotating my foot around a bit, to make sure water gets all the way up to my ankle, when I hear chatter outside and the grey door into the bathroom swings open. The shock of being sprung makes me lose my balance, but my foot gets caught in the sink, stopping me from falling backwards. A boy about my age is standing in the doorway staring at me. I spi
t the sock into my hand.

  ‘Ummm … sorry,’ he mutters.

  We both stand there frozen for a moment.

  ‘Are you okay?’ he asks. He’s frowning, but not in an angry way – more like he feels sorry for me. His eyes look like little blue triangles in the reflected bathroom light.

  ‘I’m fine!’ I try dislodging my foot from the sink, but my hand slips on the wet sink in the process and I fall back onto the floor. I laugh to try and look like I’m cool – even though I am clearly not.

  The boy stretches out his arm to help me. He’s wearing the same grey T-shirt that Omar bought from the surf shop at home a couple of weeks ago. I realise that he speaks like me – with an Australian accent. It’s not what I’d expected, here in Dubai.

  ‘Thanks,’ I say, taking his arm and pulling myself up. He doesn’t seem like he’s going to leave, so I pull my sock on and try to slip my foot back into my runner. I’m still dripping and I fumble.

  The boy glances down at my shoes. ‘Oh, wicked, you have those awesome new basketball sneakers!’

  ‘Um … yeh … my dad got them for me at the end of last term,’ I say as I finally get my runner back onto my foot.

  ‘I’ve been begging my parents for them for ages, but they won’t budge. Do they really help you jump higher?’ he asks.

  I’m a bit embarrassed that this conversation is taking place in the toilets, but also relieved he’s noticed something other than me hanging off the sink with a sock in my mouth

  ‘Not really,’ I say. ‘They’re pretty comfy, though, and they look cool.’ I chuckle.

  The boy smiles. We both know that these are the coolest runners ever, or at least this season. ‘I’m joining a new basketball team next month,’ he says.

  ‘I’m on a team too. Where are you from?’ I ask as I wipe my face with a paper towel. My brain is starting to work again now that I feel a little less wet and my shoes are back on.