by S. K. Ali
“Easy for this sheikh to say,” I muttered. “He’s never been on a road trip with these brats.”
Mum shoved lollipops into Hannah’s and Adam’s hands, which shut them up instantly. Then she calmly turned off the stereo. Dad didn’t dare protest.
I looked longingly at the lollipops and then glanced at my watch: three hours until we broke the last fast in the month of Ramadan. I threw my head back against the seat and sighed.
“Did you know a cockroach can live for up to one week without its head?”
“The more important question,” I couldn’t help but snap back, “is how much longer you’re going to live if you continue with the trivia.”
We were on a road trip. It was our annual Eid-ul-Fitr ritual: driving to visit my grandparents, who lived on the south coast outside of Sydney, to spend the holiday with them.
Once upon a time, I was the only child in the family. The first-born daughter who had her parents’ full attention and adoration. Road trips were simple then. My parents smiling lovingly at me, giving in to my every demand. No sharing toys or gadgets, crusts delicately cut off my sandwiches, no question of who chose the entertainment. It was just me. Life was great. Then when I was four, a brother, Noor, arrived. It took some time to adjust, but the ratio was at least equal: one child per parent. Then a few years later, another girl unexpectedly arrived: Hannah. And then another boy, Adam. My parents clearly had no mathematical comprehension. Didn’t they realize they were outnumbered? Nobody felt it more acutely than me. I’d gone from 100 percent attention to 25 percent—on a good day! And as if that weren’t bad enough, I barely had time to myself because I was the eldest, and with my parents outnumbered, they relied on me a lot: Can you make sure Hannah doesn’t climb the fridge while I take a shower? Can you take them on the trampoline while I mow the lawn? Can you make sure Adam doesn’t play soccer with the eggs while I send this e-mail?
We were due to arrive at my grandparents’ place late at night. We had taken off four hours before sunset; Noor, Mum, Dad, and I had decided we could cope with the fast while traveling. It was only for a few hours.
But we were fasting while feeding Adam and Hannah, using food as a distraction every time they decided to cry, randomly shriek, or scream-sing the lyrics to a Wiggles song.
This was going to be a long ride. I tried to ignore my rumbling tummy and focus my mind on tomorrow’s Eid celebrations. Our Eid plans included waking up early with the family and heading to the local community hall for Eid prayers, followed by a big breakfast of falafel, hummus, fresh bread—
“Toilet!” Adam wailed. “Number one and number three!”
“Number three?” Dad cried out, alarmed. “What’s that?”
Adam didn’t have time to explain. “Toilet!”
Mum groaned. “Why didn’t you go when we stopped?!”
Adam just looked at her blankly, as if she’d asked a silly question. After all, why would he go at the nice clean service station where we had stopped half an hour ago when he could wait until we were on a lonely stretch of road with only cows, sheep, and landscape on either side of us to declare he wanted to do a number three?
Dad pulled the car over to the side, grabbed the packet of wet wipes, and took Adam out. Hannah looked out the window and started listing all her favorite foods. My stomach moaned.
“Chocolate donuts, ice cream, lollies—”
“Mum, this is torture. Can I walk?”
“Butterflies taste with their feet,” Noor announced to nobody in particular. I ignored him, and he kept on reading.
“Can we just dump the kids at some playland tomorrow?” I asked Mum. “That way we can spend Eid with Teta and Gedo without the high blood pressure.”
“High blood pressure.” Mum chuckled. “You’re thirteen, not thirty.”
“These kids are killing me.”
“You don’t mean that, Deyana. Think positive thoughts. We’re nearly there.”
“There’s seven hours to go. Can you at least give me extra credit on my phone when we arrive? As a reward for putting up with these brats?”
“Insha’Allah.”
“I guarantee it’s God’s will that I have more phone credit, Mum.”
“Insha’Allah.”
“You’re not fooling me. We all know what a Mum Insha’Allah means.”
“Deyana, be patient, and it will increase your reward—HANNAH, GET YOUR HEAD INSIDE THE CAR AND PUT YOUR SEAT BELT BACK ON! DON’T YOU DARE DO THAT AGAIN—WE ARE ON A HIGHWAY! MY GOD, CAN WE HAVE ONE, JUST ONE, MOMENT OF PEACE?!”
Mum stopped, out of breath. She looked at me sheepishly.
“Insha’Allah,” I said with a grin.
Iftaar time at last. We sat in a highway restaurant, our table overloaded with greasy, unhealthy fast food. Heaven.
I glanced at my parents. They looked exhausted.
“Bet this road trip was a breeze when it was just me, hey, Mum and Dad?”
“I wouldn’t have it any other way,” my mum said as she calmly removed the tissue Adam had shoved up his nose.
“Yeah, right,” I scoffed.
Hannah squirted ketchup onto Dad’s lap.
Mum automatically handed him Adam’s tissue.
“It’s true,” Dad said stoically as he mopped his lap.
I rolled my eyes at the ceiling.
Dad looked at his watch. The Azaan app was counting down the seconds till the call to prayer. Four, three, two, one, go!
Noor put down his book. We both reached for a fry, and Dad gave us “the look.”
“Double D first, kids.”
I raced through the dua, scarfed down a date Mum had brought along, and then, just as I was about to shove a bunch of hot, salty fries into my mouth, Hannah loudly declared, “Adam farted.”
“Did not.”
“Did too.”
“Did not.”
“Yes, you did.”
“No, I didn’t. I did two farts!” They both collapsed into a fit of giggles.
Mum, Dad, and Noor couldn’t help themselves and burst out laughing. I just scowled, ate my food, and tried to think of being alone on a long stretch of beach, surrounded only by the sound of crashing waves.
Four hours down. Four hours to go.
Mum was driving now because she’d clearly had enough of her passenger parenting duties—catching things Adam and Hannah randomly threw, finding a clean tissue/water bottle/snack/tiny Lego piece Hannah needed now, playing YouTube DJ to four children with four very different musical tastes.
Dad was only fifteen minutes in. So he was still cheerfully and naively optimistic and competitively trying to prove to Mum that managing us kids was easy. He started with a “Let’s play quiet brain games to try and get Adam and Hannah to doze off naturally like sweet angels” strategy.
“Right, who can name as many interesting things about chewing gum as they can think of?”
Adam got in first! “It’s sticky and—”
Noor cut him off. “Too easy! It’s the oldest candy in the world. Thousands of years ago, people chewed stuff that came out of plants. In prehistoric times, they chewed on stuff from trees. To clean their teeth and have nice breath. They probably needed it after all those wild animals they ate! Bubble gum was invented in 1906. Juicy Fruit and spearmint were really popular flavors and still are. Spearmint, peppermint, and cinnamon are the most popular in the world. Oh, and the first bubble gum color was pink!”
Wow. I was impressed. Secretly, of course. I wasn’t going to give Noor the satisfaction. So I just rolled my eyes at him.
“Excellent, Noor,” Dad said. “What about Adam or Hannah?”
Adam and Hannah were both drawing now. But they were great multitaskers.
“I want pink bubble gum,” Adam wailed as he colored.
“Me too!” Hannah added as she drew.
“WE WANT PINK BUBBLE GUM! PINK BUBBLE GUM! WE WANT PINK BUBBLE GUM!”
I looked at Mum. She was grinning at Dad triumphantly.
&
nbsp; Dad wasn’t giving up. He put on a big fake smile. “Okay, Insha’Allah! But for now, how about we list all the things we love about Eid? Adam, you go first.”
Hannah obviously wasn’t allowing that. “No, I will. Presents! Money! Presents! Wrapping paper! Presents!”
“What about family?” Dad said.
“Presents!” Adam said.
And then Hannah and Adam spent the next ten minutes singing, “We love presents and pink bubble gum!” at the top of their voices.
Dad slumped down into his seat, folded his arms, and closed his eyes. “Don’t these kids ever get tired?” he muttered.
Mum gave him the I told you so look.
“Insha’Allah!” I added.
They both groaned at me.
“Are we there yet?”
“No.”
“Are we there yet?”
“No!”
“Are we there yet?”
“No.”
“Are we there yet?”
“Yes.”
I rubbed my eyes and looked out the window. There was my grandparents’ blue house with the yellow shutters and white pebble path to the front door. Mum pulled into the driveway, put the car in park, and almost threw herself out the door. Dad was even faster and had pretty much jumped out as we drove in. He was already unloading the trunk. I turned to wake Noor, who was sleeping deeply, still clutching his book. I took off my seat belt and jumped into the middle seat. Hannah and Adam were snoring, little mouths open, eyes shut tight. I looked from right to left, left to right. No doubt they were plotting against us in their sleep. I wanted so badly to feel excited about Eid. The big family gatherings, presents, and food. Breakfast after a month of fasting! But as guilty as it made me feel, I couldn’t relax, knowing all our energy would be sucked up by my annoying siblings.
My grandparents were at the car now, grinning wildly. They opened the door, and I climbed over Hannah and threw myself into their outstretched arms.
“Eid Mubarak!” they cried.
I hugged them tightly.
Noor woke up and jumped out of the car and into their arms. Dad came and gently took Adam out of his car seat. Adam snuggled into his chest but stayed asleep.
“Can you get Hannah?” Dad asked.
“Fine,” I muttered.
I leaned into the car to reach for her when I noticed a piece of paper that had dropped to the floor: Hannah’s sprawling writing and Adam’s stick figure pictures.
deer Deyana and Noor
we love you mutch becoz you are owr big
sista and big brotha
Happi Eed
Adam and Hannah
They’d drawn a picture of all four of us inside a big heart. I felt all my frustration fade away, and a surge of love for them overtook me.
I picked up the card and carefully placed it on the seat. I unbuckled Hannah and gently kissed her cheek. She clasped her hands around my neck. “Deyana, I want pink bubble gum,” she whispered, half asleep. “I want presents and ice cream and Eid.”
“Me too, baby girl,” I whispered back.
“RAMADAN MUBARAK!”
“OUCH!”
I woke up the next morning to Hannah and Adam using my body as a trampoline. Noor, already showered and dressed, was sitting on his perfectly made bed beside us, reading the new book our grandparents had given him last night (1,001 MORE Random Facts—I dreaded the return trip).
“You can eat! You can eat!” Hannah chanted.
“Here,” Adam declared, and he shoved a piece of bread into my mouth.
I sat up, spluttering, and spat the bread out.
“Adam! I could have choked!”
Adam looked at the remaining piece of bread in his hand and threw it behind his back. It hit Noor in the face, sending Adam and Hannah into fits of hysterics.
Noor simply picked up the bread and popped it into his mouth.
“Food. In the day. Yum,” he said, and continued reading.
I forgot about my near-choking experience and was suddenly giddy with excitement.
“Eid!” I cried, grabbing Hannah’s and Adam’s hands and leading them in a dance around the bedroom.
“Come on, Noor!” I cried, grabbing his hand too and dragging him away from his book.
He grinned, threw the book on the bed, and joined us.
“Pancakes!” I sang. “Ice cream! Lollies—”
“Cold water when you’re thirsty!” Noor cried.
“Beach trips with Teta and Gedo!”
“Presents!” Hannah shouted.
“More presents!” Adam yelled.
“EID!”
We jumped up and down and then collapsed onto the floor, giggling and panting as we caught our breath.
Hannah turned her face toward mine. “Deyana?” she said.
“Yes, baby girl?”
“Are we going to have a fun Eid?”
I sat up and smiled at my siblings.
“Insha’Allah!” I said.
And this time, I meant it.
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
A Feast—in thanks
We must lay out a spread of the special Eid foods mentioned in this anthology to acknowledge the wonderful people who helped us bring this project to life.
One heaping bowl of jollof rice for Erica Finkel, our editor, who loved the idea of a celebratory anthology the very moment she heard of it.
Two steaming plates of chicken biryani for our agents Taylor Martindale and John Cusick, our cheerleaders from the get-go.
Three orders of fried plantains for Emily Daluga, Hana Nakamura, and Andrew Smith and everyone at Abrams Kids, who made it possible for our idea to become a book held in our hands.
A dinner of lontong and fish fry, followed by a dessert of brownies, donuts and ka’ak for each of our contributors, our dream team: Jamilah Thompkins-Bigelow, Asmaa Hussein, Candice Mongomery, Rukhsana Khan, Hena Khan, G. Willow Wilson, Sara Alfageeh, N. H. Senzai, Ashley Franklin, Hanna Alkaf, Huda Al-Marashi, Ayesha Mattu, and Randa Abdel-Fattah.
Frosted cupcakes for Zareen Jaffery for leading the way, for carving space for Muslim stories in children’s publishing.
Aisha: Three servings of gulab jaman for my children, Waleed, Musa, and Zayn, the lights of my life.
Sajidah: Mugs of hot chocolate for my children, Hamza, Jochua, and Bilqis, for all the days of Eid joy we’ve shared, evolving as the years went by from the excitement of waking up to presents on Eid mornings to our Eid nights now ending in a long bout of Super Smash Bros.
Aisha: A dish of lamb stew for my husband, Kashif, my support and strength in all things.
Sajidah: A bean pie for my husband, Jez, because I tried my first most delicious one with you the year we got married, and life has been good since, alhamdulillah.
Several tall glasses of mango juice for librarians, all of you who make way for stories like the ones in this anthology, who made us believe there would be people to embrace them.
Bags of cotton candy for the teachers who champion books that serve as mirrors and windows, books that help kids both find themselves and meet new friends. Thank you for growing lifelong readers.
Packs of pink bubble gum for our readers ready to appreciate the world in all its big, beautifully diverse glory as presented in our stories. You keep us writing.
CONTRIBUTOR BIOGRAPHIES
Randa Abdel-Fattah is a prominent Australian Muslim Palestinian academic and anti-racism advocate and the multi-award-winning author of eleven books. Her young adult and children’s books have been published in more than sixteen countries. She is currently adapting her debut novel, Does My Head Look Big in This?, as a feature film.
Sara Alfageeh is a Jordanian American illustrator and creative director. She is passionate about history, teaching, girls with swords, and the spaces where art and identity intersect. Her clients sprawl from comic designers to filmmakers, including credits with the BBC, Harvard, and Star Wars, among others. Find Sara’s work at saraalfa.com.
S. K. Ali is
the author of two young adult novels, Love from A to Z and the 2018 Morris Award finalist, Saints and Misfits, which won critical acclaim for its portrayal of an unapologetic Muslim American teen’s life. Her picture book, The Proudest Blue, coauthored with Olympic medalist Ibtihaj Muhammad, is a story about resilience. She has a degree in creative writing and has written about Muslim life for various media outlets, including the Toronto Star and NBC News.
Hanna Alkaf is the author of The Weight of Our Sky and a graduate of Northwestern University’s journalism school. She spent more than ten years writing everything from B2B marketing e-mails to investigative feature articles, from nonprofit press releases to corporate brochures, until she finally realized that what she really wanted to do with her life was, to paraphrase Neil Gaiman, make things up and write them down. Hanna lives near Kuala Lumpur with her husband, their two children, and a mountain of books.
Ashley Franklin feels more comfortable sitting with a pen than standing at a podium. Fittingly for her personality, she’s a children’s author and online college instructor who dabbles in writing from time to time. Not Quite Snow White was her picture book debut with Harper-Collins. She resides with her family in Arkansas.
Asmaa Hussein is the author of numerous children’s books like Bismillah Soup, Mr. Gamal’s Gratitude Glasses, and Who Will Help Me Make Iftar? Asmaa currently runs a small Canadian publishing company (www.ruqayasbookshelf.com) focusing on children’s books that feature Muslim characters. She lives in Toronto with her daughter, Ruqaya.
Hena Khan is the author of the highly acclaimed middle grade novel Amina’s Voice; the Zayd Saleem Chasing the Dream series: Power Forward, On Point, and Bounce Back; and her newest release, More to the Story. She also wrote several groundbreaking picture books including Golden Domes and Silver Lanterns; It’s Ramadan, Curious George; and Under My Hijab. Hena grew up celebrating Eid with her Pakistani American family in Maryland, where she still lives today. You can learn more about her at www.henakhan.com and connect with her @henakhanbooks.
