Page 84 - A Woman Is No Man

“No, no, no,” Fareeda said one evening after tasting the cup of chai Isra had
made her during her soap opera’s commercial break. “What is this?”
“What’s wrong?” said Isra.

“This chai is bitter.”
Isra took a step back. “I brewed it just the way you like, with three
springs of maramiya and two spoonfuls of sugar.”
“Well, it tastes horrible.” She handed Isra back the cup. “Just pour it
out.”
Be grateful, Isra wanted to say. Be grateful that a pregnant woman is
making you tea and cooking and cleaning while you sit here watching

television. “I’m sorry,” she said instead. “Let me make you another cup.”
Fareeda gave a burdened smile. “You don’t have to.”
“No, no, I want to,” Isra said. “I do.”
In the kitchen, Isra picked the greenest sprigs of maramiya from the
sage plant on the windowsill. She placed a tea packet into the kettle only
after the water had boiled over twice, making sure the sugar crystals had

dissolved. She wanted the chai to be perfect. Yet even as she strove to
please, she remembered all the times she’d overspiced her brothers’ falafel
sandwiches, when they yelled at her for not ironing their school uniforms
properly, the time she’d murmured “I hate you” under her breath when
Yacob beat her. But Isra would spend her life with Fareeda. She needed her
love, and she would do what was necessary to earn it.
“Where’s Sarah?” Fareeda asked when Isra handed her the fresh cup of

chai. “Is she in her room?”
“I think so,” Isra said.
“La hawlillah,” Fareeda muttered. “What am I going to do with that
girl?”
Isra said nothing. She had learned to recognize when Fareeda was only
talking to herself. Sarah was a sensitive subject for Fareeda. On days when

Isra was up early enough to pray fajr, she would find Fareeda standing in
the hall, arms crossed, studying Sarah’s outfit to make sure it was
appropriate for school. “Behave yourself,” Fareeda would say, almost
spitting. “And no talking to boys, understood?”
“I know, Mama,” Sarah would always respond. Later, after school,
Fareeda ensured that every second of Sarah’s time was spent making up for
her time in school. Isra knew how it felt to be the only girl in a house of

men, a placemat beneath their feet, but she wondered how Sarah felt about