Page 125 - A Woman Is No Man

Do that, Adam! More money! We need a grandson!’ I’m doing everything I
can to please my parents, but no matter what I do, I fall short. And now I’ve
given them another thing to complain about.”

“I’m sorry,” Isra said, her eyes brimming with tears. “It’s not your fault.
You’re a good son . . . a good father.”
He didn’t smile when she said this. Instead, he turned to leave, saying,
“Some days I envy you for leaving your family behind. At least you had the
chance to start a new life. Do you know what I would’ve done for an
opportunity like that?”
Isra wanted to be angry at him for not seeing how much she had given

up, but instead she found herself pitying him. He was only doing what was
expected of him. How could she be mad at him for wanting the same things
she wanted: love, acceptance, approval? If anything, this side of him only
made her want to please him more. To show him that the place he could
find love was with her.
Isra searched for the basket at the end of her bed, pulled her newborn

daughter to her chest. She decided she would name her Nora, “light” once
again, desperate for a flicker at the end of the tunnel ahead to push her
forward.

When Isra returned home, all she heard from Fareeda’s lips was the word
balwa over and over again—in conversations on the phone, to her best
friend Umm Ahmed, to Nadine, to the neighbors, to Khaled, and worst of
all, to Adam.
Isra hoped Mama wouldn’t call her daughter a balwa. She had mailed a

letter back home informing Mama of Nora’s birth. The letter was brief. Isra
had not seen her mother in two years. Mama was a stranger now. Isra called
her on occasion, like after the month of Ramadan, to wish her Eid Mubarak,
their conversations stilted and formal, but Fareeda said phone calls to
Ramallah were expensive and encouraged Isra to send letters instead. But
she couldn’t bring herself to write to Mama. It was anger at first that stifled

her—anger at Mama for abandoning her—but now she simply didn’t have
much to say.
After Nora’s birth, Isra again busied herself with routine chores. In the
mornings she awoke with the sun, sending Adam off to work with a light
breakfast, Tupperwares of rice and meat for lunch, and a steaming of cup of
mint chai. Then her daughters would wake, Deya first, followed by Nora’s