A Hen in the Wardrobe

by Wendy Meddour

  ***

  Just after sunrise, Uncle Kader’s yellow car was waiting outside in the street – its little engine throbbing in the crisp morning air. Aunts and uncles, neighbours and cousins, shopkeepers and teachers, even the local policeman, had all come to say goodbye.

  “Come on, Ramzi,” called Mum. “If we don’t go now, we’ll miss the plane!”

  “Thanks, Nanna,” said Ramzi. He kissed Nanna on both cheeks and stuffed something into his rucksack.

  Nanna hugged him until he could hardly breathe. Then she took off one of her gold bracelets and squeezed it on to Mum’s wrist. “Come back soon, my English bride,” she said.

  Mum hugged Nanna.

  “May you live for ever, Yemma,” said Dad, blinking back tears.

  Nanna picked up her long, flowery dress and hurried back inside.

  They left the little town on the orange rock and travelled back through the salt marshes and purple mountains. Mum, Ramzi and Uncle Kader chatted away but Dad remained strangely silent.

  When they arrived at the airport, they said their goodbyes and dragged their heavy cases towards the terminal.

  “Ramzi – I nearly forgot,” shouted Uncle Kader. “You asked for this.” He leant over the barrier and gave a small parcel to Ramzi.

  “Thanks, Uncle Kader,” said Ramzi, putting it into his bag. Then he ran to catch up with Mum and Dad and disappeared into the bustling crowds. Only the straight-backed soldiers watched as the little yellow car drove away.

  Snakes in the Jungle

  Back at Cinnamon Grove, nothing had changed. The air was fresh, the sun was gentle and Ramzi could breathe again. He delivered bright packets of Turkish Delight to all of his friends and played football on the wet, green grass. Mum took boxes of glistening dates round to all the neighbours and gave the Stalks their brightly coloured scarves. Meanwhile, Dad played Berber music and steamed couscous in the kitchen.

  On Monday morning, Mum and Dad went back to work and Ramzi returned to school. And so the weeks passed. Peacefully quiet and still.

  But then, one night, something happened ...

  ***

  “ARGHHHHHH!!!!” came a high-pitched scream from the bedroom. It was Mum. “Mohamed, what in Heaven’s name?” she shrieked.

  “What is it?” cried Dad, as he leapt out of bed.

  Ramzi ran across the landing. “Oh no, Dad!” he gasped.

  “What’s the problem? I was sleeping... I’m cured,” shouted Dad.

  Mum said nothing. But then a tiny noise came out of her mouth.“Ah,” she squeaked.

  “What is it?” asked Dad.

  “Dad,” said Ramzi gently. “Just look at your feet.”

  Dad looked down and jumped back in horror. He was wearing a pair of muddy green wellington boots! He shook them off as if they were snakes in the jungle.

  Mum stared at the sticky brown trail that led across the carpet and on to the bed sheets. Dad looked at it too. Then he sank down on the edge of the bed and buried his face his hands.

  “It hasn’t worked,” he groaned. “We’ve only been back a few weeks and my sleepwalking has returned!”

  Mum sat down next to him. Ramzi sat on the other side. They put their arms round Dad but he couldn’t be consoled.

  “Whilst I am a foreigner in this cold, wet country,” he said, “my dreams will always torment me.”

  “Don’t be silly,” said Mum. “You’re not a foreigner. You’re my wonderful, clever, brilliant Mohamed Ramadan, computer wizard and father extraordinaire!” Mum’s bottom lip quivered as she spoke.

  Dad stared blankly at the footprints on the carpet and listened to the alarm clock tick.

  But Ramzi looked thoughtful. The wise-man had failed. Boulelli’s prophecy must be right: only the boy can save his father from his nightmares.

  It was time to put the plan into action.

  Ramzi’s Midnight Plan

  After school the next day, Ramzi asked if he could go and see Shaima. Dad was in the kitchen, his head slumped on the kitchen table.

  “Ask your mother,” he grunted.

  Mum said Ramzi could go, so he ran up the street and knocked on Shaima’s door.

  Mr Stalk answered. He was wearing a beige salwar kameez and had wonky front teeth and a friendly smile.

  “You must be the famous Ramzi Ramadan! Assalemu aleikum, come in!” he said. The house smelt warm and cosy – all lemony soap and spice.

  Ramzi said “Salem”, took off his shoes and followed Mr Stalk into the lounge. The Stalk family were sitting cross-legged on the floor.

  “I win!” shouted Nanna Stalk gleefully. She slung the end of her sequin-speckled sari over her shoulder and waved a hand at Ramzi. Ramzi waved shyly back. Shaima’s little brother, Iqbal, didn’t turn round. He was too busy balancing the egg-timer on his head.

  “Hi, Ramzi,” said Shaima, “We’re playing Boggle. Do you want to join in?”

  “Ermm…” began Ramzi.

  “Another time,” said Shaima, standing up. “Nanna always wins anyway!”

  “Why don’t you two come with me and I’ll make you some fresh mango juice,” said Mrs Stalk, getting to her feet. “Ramzi looks all worn out!”

  So Shaima and Ramzi followed her into the kitchen and sat at the table and waited. The room smelt different to the hall – sort of coconut milk and cardamom. Ramzi sniffed deeply and sighed.

  “You look terrible, Ramzi! What’s up?” whispered Shaima.

  “It’s Dad,” replied Ramzi. “He’s sleepwalking again.”

  “I thought you said the wise-man had cured him?”

  Ramzi shrugged his shoulders.

  “So the Spider was right!” whispered Shaima. “I knew it! And you’ve got a plan?”

  Ramzi’s eyes glistened. “Yes, actually, I have,” he said. “I just need to borrow something. Have you got an MP3 player?”

  But Shaima was already running upstairs to fetch it.

  “Stop running about like an elephant!” shouted Mrs Stalk.

  “Sorry, Mum,” yelled Shaima. She clattered down the stairs and handed it to Ramzi. “Good luck,” she said, and she winked.

  “Thanks.” Ramzi wiped the juice from around his mouth and said goodbye to the Stalk family.

  “Why didn’t you ask him what he needed it for?” asked Mrs Stalk.

  But Shaima just smiled. She already knew.

  ***

  That night, for the first time ever, Dad didn’t come to say good night. So Ramzi curled up in bed, stared into the darkness and waited. He thought about the parcel from Uncle Kader. He thought about Scheherazade, Meccy and Amel. And he thought about Nanna Ramadan . . .

  At last, there was a click as Dad opened the front door. Mum was already asleep. Ramzi listened as Dad moved about downstairs. Eventually, Dad turned off the lights and went to bed. Ramzi waited. And waited.

  When he was sure that Dad was asleep, Ramzi crept across the landing. He was carrying Nanna’s white shawl and Shaima’s MP3 player. Doubt flooded his mind. Would the files that he’d copied from Uncle Kader’s flash disc work? He pushed open the door and stopped. Dad mumbled something. Ramzi held his breath.

  “I’m falling, I’m falling,” muttered Dad. His head lurched sideways.

  With trembling hands, Ramzi spread Nanna’s white shawl across Dad’s pillow. A strange smell of onions and herbs filled the air. Dad flung his arm across the bed and moved his head back to where it had been.

  Very carefully, Ramzi placed the headphones on Dad’s ears. Then he touched ‘PLAY’ and selected ‘CONTINUOUS’. Dad grunted quietly. Ramzi stepped away from the bed and out of the room.

  In the light cast from the landing, Ramzi watched as a curious smile spread across Dad’s face.

  “Allah – Please make Dad better,” whispered Ramzi. Then he crept back to his own bed and turned out the light.

  Sweet Dreams?

  Ever since Ramzi had put his plan into action, the Spider’s prophecy had come true. A year had passed and there had been
no frogs in the pantry, boat trips to the moon or hens in the wardrobe. There had been no snow-leopards in the treetops, wellies in the bed sheets or fire engines in the night! In fact, all was quiet in Cinnamon Grove….

  The little cluster of grey terraced houses huddled together beneath the moonlight. Birds tucked their heads under their wings, flowers closed their petals, and children snuggled into their duvets like caterpillars in cocoons. Only the brook that gurgled along the bottom of the gardens interrupted the sleepy silence. Everything was drifting into the deep hush of night.

  Suddenly, there was a noise at Number Thirty-two!

  Waaaaaaaa, Waaaaaaaa, Waaaaaaaaa.

  An upstairs light came on, a door swung open and Mum hurtled across the landing. She burst into a tiny bedroom and stopped.

  Ramzi was standing by a wooden cot, a bundle of blankets in his arms. “It’s OK, Mum,” he beamed.

  “You go back to bed. I’ll rock Scheherazade to sleep.”

  A tiny face looked up at Ramzi and blew bubbles out of her cherry-pink lips. Ramzi kissed her on the forehead. “Sweet dreams, Baby Zed.” She gurgled and said “coooo”. Ramzi laughed.

  Mum tiptoed dreamily back to her bedroom. As she walked past Dad, she paused. Dad’s head rested on Nanna’s white shawl as it spread across his pillow. A pair of black headphones sat snugly on his head. Mum lent over and listened.

  “BOOM, BOOM, BOOM,” went the gunshots in the streets!

  “ULO, ULO, ULO, ULO, ULO, ULO,” cried the women.

  “BANG, BANG, BANG!” went the drums.

  In the air, there was a faint smell of onions. Mum looked back at Ramzi and smiled.

  This was the best of all possible worlds.

  At last Dad felt at home and he was sleeping like a baby.

  Ablutions

  This is a special wash we do before prayer – it’s really tricky to learn as you have to wash your hands, mouth, nose, face, arms, hair, ears and feet: three times each and in the right order.

  Alhamdulillah

  I always say this when I score a penalty or get an extra slice of chocolate cake. It means Thanks be to God.

  Allahu akbar

  This is the Arabic way of saying God is greater (than everything) and it is how the call to prayer always starts.

  Assalemu aleikum

  This means Peace be upon you. It sounds a bit funny in English but it’s really cool in Arabic. It’s a bit like saying, “Hi, I’m a friend and it’s great to see you,” all at once.

  Astaghfirullah

  This is something you say when you’ve done something silly or wrong. It means God forgive me and grown-ups mumble it under their breath quite a lot.

  Bismillah

  I always say this before I eat. You can say it before you do anything though, because it makes you feel stronger inside. It means In the Name of God.

  Fajr prayer

  This is the really early prayer – the one before the sun comes up. Muslims do five prayers a day and they all have different names. I don’t do all five yet but Shaima does.

  Hijab

  In Arabic, hijab means cover but people here use it to mean a Muslim headscarf. My mum wears one some of the time but Mrs Stalk wears one all of the time. Mrs Stalk’s headscarves have glittery tassels and look really cool. Mum’s keep slipping off.

  Insha’Allah

  This means God willing. So, if Dad says “I’m not getting stuck up a tree again”, I say “Insha’Allah”.

  Jilbab

  A kind of long gown-type thing that lots of Muslim women wear over their real clothes. Mum has a stripy green-and-silver one that she wears for parties. Mrs Stalk wears hers every day but only when she goes outside. (Inside, she dresses really fancy: all gold bracelets and sparkly stuff. Mum doesn’t. She just wears jeans.)

  Masha’Allah

  When old ladies think my curls are cute (yuck), they say “Hasn’t he got beautiful hair, Masha’Allah?” It means As God willed.

  Minaret

  This is the tall bit of the mosque, and loads of storks make their nests in them.

  Salem

  This means Peace. It’s like saying “Hi”. Sort of.

  Scheherazade

  This looks hard to say but it isn’t. Shuh-hair-a-zed. See? Easy.

  Subhan’Allah

  If Nanna Ramadan spoke English, she’d say something like “God is glorious”. But she doesn’t. She only speaks Berber and Arabic. So she says “Subhan’Allah”.

  Ululating

  This is a funny warbling noise that lots of women in the world do when they’re excited - mostly at weddings and parties. My nanna is brilliant at it. She rolls her tongue in the back of her throat and sings a really high-pitched note. “Ulalalalalalalalala . . .” When I try and do it, Shaima just laughs.

  Yemma

  This is what Dad calls Nanna Ramadan – but he always says it softly and holds her hand at the same time. I think it means ‘Mum’ and some more special things all rolled up in one word.

  You will need:

  4 eggs

  350g (1.5 cups) sugar

  1 cup of vegetable oil

  1 tsp vanilla essence

  500g (2 cups) self-raising flour

  Some sesame seeds

  A large baking tray, a bowl, a wooden spoon

  • Mix the eggs, sugar, vegetable oil and vanilla essence together in a big bowl.

  • Add the flour and mix together with a big wooden spoon.

  • Lightly grease a large baking tray.

  • Pour the mixture in. Pat down with oily hands until flat.

  • Sprinkle some sesame seeds on the top.

  • Cook in the oven at 180c, Gas mark 4.

  • When the mixture becomes a bit firm, slice into rectangular biscuit shapes. Cook until crunchy.

  Nanna Ramadan’s top tip: if you want your biscuits to look shiny, brush over the top with beaten egg midway through cooking.

  THE BEST BIT!

  Eat with warm milk or freshly picked peppermint tea!

  ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

  Lots of wonderful people helped me to write this book – even if they didn’t know it!

  My parents – who read to me as a child and inspired my love of stories

  My children – who made me laugh and shared me with my lap-top

  My Berber family-in-law – who took me into their hearts

  My friends – who made me coffee and helped me meet my deadlines

  My designer – who brought out the best in my illustrations

  And finally, special thanks go to my patient and generous editor – Janetta Otter-Barry – who let me tell my story but made sure that I did it well.

  WENDY MEDDOUR

  As a child, Wendy spent most of her time in the airing cupboard reading books. Huddled up behind the boiler, she dreamt of being a cartoonist, a comedienne and a football player. Unsure how to go about it, she became an English lecturer instead—one that gave funny lectures, doodled in the margins and knew the off-side rule. Since leaving the safety of the airing cupboard, she has acquired a doctorate, an Algerian husband, four children, a wobbly old house in Wiltshire, a farm in the Berber mountains and a huge cat called Socrates (that many suspect is actually a goat). Wendy's début novel, A Hen in the Wardrobe, has already garnered critical success – winning the John C. Laurence Award for writing that improves relations between races, taking first place in the Islamic Foundation’s International Writing Competition, and being shortlisted for the Muslim Writer’s Award 2011.

  Look out for the next funny adventure

  in the CINNAMON GROVE series

  coming soon…

  Something suspicious is going on in Cinnamon Grove…

  Auntie Urooj, world-famous beetle expert, is lonely and Ramzi and his friend Shaima Stalk think they have the perfect solution – a suitor from Truly Deeply Muslims online marriage agency! But smooth-talking Rasheed is not what he seems. He cheats at Monopoly for a start, and pretends to be an orphan… It’s time for a
ction. Ramzi and Shaima set up the Black Cat Detective Agency to find out all about Rasheed and his dastardly plot. Can they rescue Auntie Urooj and her deeply endangered beetle collection before it’s too late? A funny and exciting mystery story from the author of A Hen in the Wardrobe

  Winner of the 2009 inaugural FRANCES LINCOLN

  DIVERSE VOICES CHILDREN’S BOOK AWARD for an outstanding debut novel celebrating cultural diversity.

  TAKESHITA DEMONS

  Cristy Burne

  Illustrated by Siku

  Miku knows she’s in trouble when her substitute teacher turns out to be a Nukekubi – a bloodthirsty demon who can turn into a flying head and whose favourite snack is children. That night, in a raging snowstorm, Miku’s baby brother Kazu is kidnapped by the demons, and then it’s up to Miku and her friend Cait to get him back. Can they outwit the faceless Nopera-bo? Is the dragon-like Woman of the Wet a force for good or evil? And then there’s the Nukekubi herself, on the rampage and ready to attack. . .

  Praise for Takeshita Demons:

  “A gripping, superbly written debut novel” Writeaway

  Takeshita Demons:

  THE FILTH LICKER

  Cristy Burne

  Illustrated by Siku

  School Camp should have been a fun week. But Miku feels something is terribly wrong. And that’s before Oscar gets a festering rash on the bus, before an eerie wind blows out the camp bonfire and before Alex finds the frog-like, red-clawed Filth Licker in the boys’ toilets…

  In the forest, where nothing and no one are what they seem, Cait, Alex and Miku meet the Shape-Shifters – a mind-reading, stinking giant monkey, a pyromaniac fox with three tails and, most horrifying, the blood-eating Sickle Weasels, the kama itachi, with their lethal sickle blades.