Page 168 - A Woman Is No Man

Fareeda

Spring 1994

One crisp Friday afternoon, while Isra and Nadine fried a skillet of

shakshuka and Sarah brewed a kettle of chai, Fareeda paced the kitchen.
The men were stopping by for lunch after jumaa prayer, and Fareeda didn’t
have enough food for them. There was no meat to roast, no vegetables to
sauté, not even a single can of chickpeas to make hummus, and she rotated
around the kitchen with her fingertips in her mouth, trying to calm herself.
“I don’t understand,” Sarah said to Fareeda, who had stopped to open
the pantry yet again. “Why do you wait for Baba to bring groceries every

Sunday?”
Fareeda stuffed her head into the pantry. How many times had she
answered that question? Usually she would brush it off, saying that she
couldn’t possibly do everything in the house, that Khaled had to help
somehow. But today was one of those days when she felt an unexpected
pulse of anger pumping through her. This was all her life had amounted to,

all she was good for: sitting around taking criticism and orders.
“But really, Mama,” Sarah said, leaning forward in her seat. “The
supermarket is only a few blocks away. Why not go yourself?”
Fareeda didn’t even look up. She reached inside the pantry for a box of
cookies before taking a seat at the table. “Because,” she said, pulling one
out and taking a bite. She could see the three young women staring at her
blankly, waiting for her to finish chewing. But she just reached for another

cookie and stuffed it into her mouth.
“Because what?” Sarah said.
“Because I don’t feel like it,” Fareeda said between mouthfuls.
“You know, Mama,” Sarah said, reaching for a cookie, “I could go to
the grocery store for you.”

Fareeda looked around the table. Nadine nibbled on the edge of a
cookie, while Isra stared straight ahead. She didn’t know which of them she
disliked more: Nadine, who had refused to name her son after Khaled and