When Mother’s cousin Jamila called from her home in Jeddah to say that her daughter Layla had gotten into an all-women’s college in Riyadh, Mother blessed Allah. Education was a great value to any woman, and as a woman who herself had been denied education by her own father so many decades ago, Mother was elated when any relative of hers—or even any woman in passing she had come to know—entered into university. This very distant cousin had called Mother not just to brag or share the good news. Because Mother was based in Riyadh, she was one of the few family members who would have the space to take Layla in for a few weeks until she was settled into her classes. Mother said yes fervently. She was more than happy to get the opportunity to know a relative she honestly hardly ever thought about. And so these were the feelings that guided Mother’s general sense of elation for the next few weeks, whether in prayer or in her Qur’an classes with her friends.
The feeling of excitement faded, however, the moment Layla came up to Mother’s doorstep that morning. Until that very point in time, Mother had not heard Layla’s voice. Her mother had always called up on her behalf. So, the first time Mother received a call from Layla was when she got lost. Layla was right to be confused as to where the entrance was. Mother’s house was on the entire second floor of a two-storey building, whereas the first floor was rented out to all sorts of businesses, from a furniture store to a small café to a massage parlour.
A polite girl would have asked, .Hello, my aunt, this is Layla .I am Jamila’s daughter ؟How are you doing .I am trying to find your house ؟Would you be able to help
Mother exclaimed, « ؟Layla »
Layla blurted in response,
« .Hello ؟Where is your house .I cannot find it .I am completely lost »
Layla did not take the time to address her aunt, let alone say any formalities. She had a somewhat irate tone to her voice, which was understandable given that she was lost, but she did not have to project it onto the call, especially since Mother was trying to help. Mother bit her tongue, told Layla exactly how to come up, then hung up, not wanting to lose her temper before meeting the girl.
Then Mother saw how Layla was dressed. Layla did have her hair and body covered. Only her face was visible, which showed off the pronounced cheekbones, olive skin, and curved nose that Mother remembered her cousin having. But Layla was not in an abaya. She was wearing white pants and a white shirt, and on top of that she was strapped in a long and lacy robe.
« ؟Layla, what is this »
« .It’s a kimono, omti »
Layla turned around, showing it off. She clapped her hands with her purse still in it and then said, « !I am so happy to meet you .My mother is full of stories of your childhood together »
Layla gave Mother a big hug. Mother was not used to anyone hugging her, so she recoiled from the touch. Layla also had on a strong fragrance. She clearly used a lot of perfume, and her face was completely caked in makeup. If it were not for Jamila’s sharp features, Mother might not have recognised her. She had not ever seen this niece, after all.
Layla let go of the hug, losing interest. She rolled in her two suitcases and said niceties about the decor in Mother’s house.
« ؟Omti, where did you buy these carpets ؟From Iran ؟And these ceramics !Your taste is great »
Mother looked around at the decorations of her house, not remembering where any of them were from. Time was an oddity. There was a period in Mother’s life when she felt much pressure to buy pleasant things, back when they were establishing themselves in Riyadh. But that period had passed, and so many others had come to take its place, and now Mother really did not know what her own furniture meant for her.
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