Nothing Is Predictable Page 4

  It was heartbreaking, and we could barely let go of each other. Little James was hanging out of his mother’s arms, throwing himself at Mom, who had practically raised him until that point. He was screaming, “Tayta, Tayta!” Grandma, Grandma!

  As we climbed into the helicopter, I looked out the window at the look of despair on my sister’s face, and at little James still screaming. She had wanted to come with us but now married and with a child, the decision wasn’t hers alone to make. At least she had our other sister still there with her.

  Where the helicopter had to land and where the car was waiting for us was dangerous war zone territory. We had been told that assassins were hunting down random drivers who passed through the area, but there was no other option except to drive for around twenty minutes before we reached the airport.

  We jumped out of the helicopter and ran to the car, while our helpers put our luggage in the trunk. We were ordered to keep down in case we encountered any trouble. After all, we were in the heart of a war zone.

  Around five minutes into our drive, the sound of gunfire near our car shattered our nerves. It seemed our worst nightmares were happening. The sound of bullets zinging all around us was terrifying and Mom held me close to her, where we were huddled down on the floor of the car shaking with fear and praying to God to get us the hell out of the country. The poor driver was sunk so low in his seat he could barely see through the windscreen.

  “Don’t worry, we’re nearly there, we’re nearly there, stay down, don’t worry, don’t worry!” he tried to comfort us. I kept my eyes closed, crouching there on the floor behind the driver’s seat, with Mom shaking and worrying we would be hit by bullets or dragged from the car and kidnapped or shot. We were two females and God only knew what would happen to us if they succeeded in stopping us.

  Shwift! Shwift! Shwift! Shwift! The sound of bullets kept coming and I have no idea how we all came out of it alive. Not one bullet hit the car. It was a miracle. Either that, or they were unskilled snipers.

  “Jesus Christ, please just get us out of here!” Mom shouted.

  Minutes later, the firing stopped. I poked my head up and saw the driver rise back up into his seat, as if it was all just a normal part of his daily routine. However, it can’t have been so normal because the sweat was pouring down his face and he grabbed a bottle of water and squirted it all over his head and face. Then he leant over and passed another bottle of water to Mother.

  “Okay, we’re safe now, we’ve passed the dangerous area. Don’t worry, we’re in safe territory now, you can sit up,” he reassured us.

  He was wiping his face with a scrunched-up handkerchief, his hands shaking. “I’m so sorry you had to go through that, but we’re safe, and look, there’s the international airport.” He pointed ahead of us.

  Mom and I rose reluctantly, peeking through the windows. We looked around to make sure we were safe, and yes, right there was the airport. We saw soldiers patrolling outside. What a relief! Mom tipped the driver generously for getting us to the airport safely, enough to feed his family for six months. I felt sorry for him having to risk his life almost every day just to make a living.

  And to think they used to call Beirut the Vegas of the Middle East, Vegas Menaygas BS. I had only ever experienced chaos, tragedy, war, and violence.

  USA 1981

  My brother had been in America for over a year before we returned. It was a huge relief to arrive in LA, even though we had been through so much sadness: my father’s passing, leaving behind in Lebanon my two sisters and nephew. We wondered what would happen to them with the uncertainties of the war.

  I enrolled at a school near our home but settling in America was a struggle for me. I was constantly picked on as the ‘stranger’ from overseas. It was strange indeed that I was a stranger, when I had been born in America and was returning after a disastrous, very long vacation. Lebanon had never felt like home to me either, although the people were wonderfully welcoming and accepting of expatriates, but in America, my birth country, I never felt the warmth of acceptance. I wondered where I fitted in.

  As the new girl at school, I was a target for the bullies. They sniggered at me behind my back because of my strange English accent and lack of understanding of the American culture. A couple of girls felt sorry for me and welcomed me into their group. Nevertheless, I struggled to fit in.

  It was recess time and I was outside by the lunch benches when a group of girls, popular ones, approached me. I thought they wanted to be my friend. I was wrong. I innocently smiled at them and introduced myself.

  “Hi, I’m Zara.”

  “Zara? What kind of a name is that? Do youuuuuuu understaaaaaaaand what I am sayiiiiiiing?” she said slowly, laughing in a derogatory way. Her name was Ashley. I will never forget her or her face. The other girls sniggered.

  “Well, buzz off, this is our table, go and find another table,” she ranted.

  I was embarrassed and looked around at all the kids staring at me. Another girl cheered Ashley. I presumed she was her sidekick.

  I didn’t know anyone so I got up and walked to another table in the school yard, leaving them to their immature behavior. Two girls were sitting at the table I had moved to. They saw what happened and reached out to me.

  “Hey, come and sit with us, what’s your name?”

  “I’m Zara.”

  “I’m Kelly, that’s Melanie. Where are you from, Zara?” Kelly asked kindly.

  “Lebanon, but I was born here in LA.”

  “Where’s that?” Melanie asked.

  “It’s in the Middle East.”

  The girls looked confused but were kind and gentle and made no rude comments. Kelly looked at the table where the bullies were sitting.

  “Don’t worry about those bitches over there, they think they’re hot,” Kelly said.

  The mean girls got up and walked by our table. Ashley nudged me on purpose.

  “See ya later, Araaaaaaab!” They all laughed and raised their noses in the air.

  “Keep walking, bitches, leave her alone,” Kelly defended me. Melanie was a big girl and she stood up, prepared to start a fight to defend me, but when they saw her size, they bolted. We had a laugh during the remainder of the recess. I can say that day I made new friends.

  “Don’t worry, Zara. Just stick with us,” Melanie said.

  During my childhood years in the USA, I took an interest in martial arts. I had always loved watching Bruce Lee and Jackie Chan. I joined a local club and every week, I would religiously train three times at the club and anywhere I could in between school and my spare time.

  My sifus (masters) noticed my natural talent, especially my speed and strength.

  “Very good Zara, very good. You are going to be one of the best fighters we have,” my sifu said.

  His words stayed with me. I was determined to be the best female fighter in that club and let me tell you, I was. I loved everything martial arts; my room had Bruce Lee photos, martial arts figurines, and fake training weapons. It looked like a boy’s bedroom.

  Junior high school became a little easier for me but after a couple of years, just as I had assimilated into American culture, we left America to return to Lebanon. Mom needed to sort out some paperwork and at the same time, visit my sisters.

  I was about to go through the whole new-girl-from-overseas experience again.

  Chapter 9

  Hello again, Lebanon!

  Lebanon 1983–1986

  Between 1983 and 1986, I re-enrolled at the International American School in Beirut and joined a martial arts club at the school. It was the school I had attended during my years before my father died. Those years were the best of my life. The expats were from America, Australia, England, Brazil, Canada, France, and other countries, and everyone fitted in.

  I was part of a group called the ‘Rebels’. We were devious little brats from the martial arts club, getting up to pranks and making our classmates laugh. We were never bullies; I wouldn’t have had people
like that as my friends. We were harmless but cheeky.

  One of the pranks we played on our teacher was every time she passed one of us as she was walking around the room, we hung a peg on the back of her skirt or dress. By the time she sat down, she had eight pegs hanging on her dress. When she went to sit back down in her chair, she screamed and jumped up. We thought it was hilarious.

  Naturally, she reported us to the principal and we were punished. Our names were included on the public ‘blacklist’ board. All the other students sarcastically congratulated us on our achievement. Although I was always getting into trouble, I was lucky I did well academically and knew because of my grades they wouldn’t expel me.

  I was a Michael Jackson fan and at the time, he was at his peak with the Thriller album launched in 1982 with songs like Beat It and Billie Jean. I used to dress like Michael Jackson, right down to the leather jacket, and won the school talent competition with a dance that I choreographed to his hit song Thriller. I was also lucky enough to be chosen as the lead character in most of the school’s musical and theatrical events. All the Rebels had an interest in entertainment and martial arts. We used to sneak out of class to go to the gym to practice our dance routines, ending our session with sparring and a few bruises.

  Apart from all the fun of friends, martial arts, and dancing, I loved math and physics and that year I received the highest grade, 97 per cent, in the mid-year exams for physics, along with the honors award for that year.

  I had finally managed to fit in…and then we moved back to America. Here I go again.

  USA 1986–1989

  By the time Mom and I returned to the States, all my family resided in LA. Both my sisters and their families had returned to the States for the safety and stability of raising their children there.

  I enrolled at the same school I had attended before we’d returned to Lebanon. Again, I was the new girl from overseas. Although the friends I’d made a few years earlier were still there, I still didn’t feel as if I fit in. I found school in the States less fun and not as challenging, so I lost interest academically and couldn’t focus. Clearly, so many changes of country and school weren’t healthy for my stability. By the time I’d made friends and settled down in one country, I was off again to start a new life and go through it all again.

  By contrast, although my nieces and nephew were born in Lebanon, they were only very young when their families moved to America and so they had no trouble assimilating into the American way of life. I was glad they had started their schooling in America and thought the decision was the best thing my sisters could have done for their children.

  I rejoined my local martial arts club to continue my training. There, I had no problems fitting in. After graduating from high school, I immediately enrolled in a private college for business.

  I felt so cool and smart.

  Chapter 10

  Settling in USA

  USA 1990

  We had a family lunch at our place. I loved being with all my family and their children. We laughed most of the time and cracked sarcastic jokes that only my family would understand and find funny. By then, I had six nieces and nephews, three of each. Even though our tiny apartment wasn’t designed to accommodate so many people, Mom always welcomed the family with a feast that could feed fifty.

  Every time she cooked, the smell of her spices took me back to the souk of Byblos and the seafood restaurants with their alluring aromas. I felt so much love the way she cooked for her family. Being a Leb, Mom didn’t prepare just one dish. Her feasts consisted of at least ten or twelve different dishes, with homemade tabbouleh, fresh kibbe, vine leaves, chicken potato marinated with garlic and simmered in the oven, and so much more. My mouth waters just thinking about all that food.

  “So, I’ve been asked to fight at a tournament. I’m so excited!” I announced as everyone sat at the table.

  “I don’t know how she finds time for anything. Especially for college now,” Mom said to everyone as she was serving the food.

  “Boy, can I kick some ass now! Hoowaaaa!” I randomly did a kung-fu move with my arms like Jackie Chan and surprised everyone at the table. They all froze.

  “No one’s gonna mess with me! I will be the baddest-ass martial artist and business woman ever! Hoowaaaa!” I delivered another fake Kung Fu move and laughed.

  “Yes, yes. Sit down and have your lunch before you whack someone and hurt them,” Mom said.

  The day of the tournament came and I wasn’t scared, I was anxious to get up there and fight. It was my first time fighting in a tournament and I wanted to see how I could handle myself.

  I stood in the ring, preparing myself mentally, and then my opponent walked into the ring. It was the evil Ashley from junior high school who had called me an Arab.

  “My day has come,” I said to myself. I was overwhelmed and I knew that was my moment to shine and to teach that bully the lesson of her lifetime.

  She looked at me with a confused look on her face. I don’t think she recognized me, but I could tell she was thinking she knew me from somewhere. I prepared my stance and controlled my breathing to attack with one hit that would knock her out.

  As the referee signaled to call the fight, I swiftly, with all my force and precision, jumped into a round kick that sent her flying out of the ring. One kick, that was all it took. The fight was immediately over. I didn’t wait for the announcement, I walked up to her while she was lying on the floor trying to understand what had happened in that split second, leant over and said, “Not bad for an Arab, yeah? Oh! And did youuuuu understaaaaaand what juuuust happeeeeeened to youuuuuuu? Bitch.”

  I walked off victoriously, not so much because of my win, but because I’d finally taken my revenge and taught that bully a lesson. I think by then, she knew who I was.

  Italy 2008

  I walked into my hotel room one evening, stood at the door and marveled. The room was appointed with historical paintings and the finest furniture. The drapes fluttered in the magical breeze coming from the large balcony. The vast lights of Rome sparkled in the clear warm night. I knew what I needed to do that moment. I lit some candles, dimmed the lights, and turned on eastern meditation music. I threw on some shorts and a work-out top, stood in front of the balcony door in the breeze, and began to practice my kung-fu moves. Flowing freely and effortlessly, I finished off with a bit of tai chi to wind down. I sat in a meditation position, my mind clear, in control, totally at peace.

  I finally accomplished a successful meditation session.

  Chapter 11

  The love of my life

  USA 1990

  Between college, and martial arts, I found love.

  I was eighteen when I met Jamal, my first love. I have never loved anyone else in quite the same way I loved him. First love is powerful. When you are young and inexperienced, everything is pure and innocent. You love intensely, you hurt deeply; when you cry it’s the end of the world; when you yearn for them, you can’t breathe, eat, or sleep. Being so passionately in love with him was strange for me. My childhood experiences had shaped me with a somewhat warped understanding of what passion and love were. Intimacy at the time was still out of the question for me.

  We were deeply in love, but our relationship had to be kept secret. I couldn’t introduce him to Mother or my family, because it was wrong for a Christian Lebanese girl to date or, God forbid, marry a Muslim man. I didn’t care about his religious background. I loved him more than life itself. Jamal didn’t care about our religious differences either. He was a modern educated businessman who spoke several languages, and he had studied and lived in London before moving to America.

  Jamal was twenty-four when we met. He was going through a divorce to an Englishwoman he had married (to his ultimate regret) a few years earlier. He was concerned about my family’s acceptance of him and didn’t want to cause me or my family any grief, as he was preoccupied with his divorce and didn’t feel it was the right time to expose our relationship.

&nb
sp; One day, we had planned to meet at college and as always, I couldn’t wait to see him. I was waiting for him at our usual spot during my class break and as he pulled up in the car and leant across the passenger seat to open the door for me, I jumped in blissfully but then looked into his gorgeous blue eyes and saw only sadness.

  “Hey gorgeous, how was your day?” he asked as we drove away.

  “Umm, not bad, but I don’t care about my day, I’m happy now that I’m with you,” I replied, admiring his fair hair. He smiled gently and just kept looking ahead as he drove.

  “Okay, what’s going on? Something doesn’t seem right, Jamal.”

  “We need to talk, Zara,” he said in a dejected, quiet voice.

  He stopped the car at a park nearby and was silent for a few minutes. He didn’t seem to know how to say what he had to tell me. Then he suddenly turned toward me and grabbed my hand.

  “Zara, my Zara, I have to go to London, I’m leaving in a couple of days.”

  “Whaaaat? For how long? You can’t leave! Why London?” I snapped.

  “Family business complications have arisen and I need to move back there indefinitely.” His eyes were tearing up.

  “You are joking, right? No way! You can’t leave for London! Indefinitely? What the hell does that mean, ‘indefinitely’? Why, what happened?”

  “I have to take care of family business. I’m sorry, I cannot be in America any longer, it’s family affairs.”

  “This is bullshit, this can’t be happening! Ok then, take me with you!” I blurted, not caring about my studies or my family. All I wanted was to be with him. He was everything I believed in, the air I breathed, the energy that circulated the blood in my body, my every thought and desire. My life was Jamal, and I couldn’t bear the thought of him not being around.