A woman is no man ( Etaf Rum )

0:00Hey, this is Strawberry Boy and clicks their Marie Anderson. How y'all doing out there today? I hope everybody is doing well. If you're not doing well, let's find a way to get well, look well. And of course, you know it be well. Right now we are going to tune into a woman is no man. Spring 1994. One crisp Friday afternoon while Ezra and Nadine fried a skillet of Shakshika and Sarah brewed a kettle of chai, Farida paced the kitchen. The men were stopping by for lunch after a jua of player and Farida didn't have enough food for them. There was no meat to roast, no vegetables to saute, 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 Farida

1:03who had stopped to open the pantry yet again. Why do you wait for Baba to bring groceries every Sunday? Farida stopped her head into the pantry. How many times have 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? Farida 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.

2:03But she just reached for another cookie and stuffed it into her mouth. Because what? Sarah said. Because I don't feel like it. Farida said between a mouthful. You know Mama. Sarah said reaching for a cookie. I could go to the grocery store for you. Farida looked around the table. Nadine nibbled on the edge of a cookie, while Ezra stared straight ahead. She didn't know which one of them she disliked more. Nadine, who had refused to name her son after Khaled, and constantly did as she pleased. Or Ezra, who followed commands like a zombie, and still had not mourn a son. Don't be ridiculous. Really, Sarah said. I could go right after school. That way, you don't have to wait until Sunday each week. At once, Farida stopped chewing. She swallowed. Are you crazy? Sarah looked confused. What do you mean?

3:05What would I look like sending my unmarried daughter to the market by herself? Do you want the neighbors to start talking? Saying my daughter is out and about alone that I don't know how to raise her? I didn't think of it like that, Sarah said. Of course you didn't. You're too busy stuffing your head in those books of yours to notice what really goes on in the world. Farida wanted to shake Sarah. It seemed like everything she tried to teach her about their culture rolled off her shoulders. Her only daughter was turning into an American, despite everything she had done to stop it. She had even asked Ezra to teach Sarah how to cook. Hoping her complacency would rub off on her daughter, but it hadn't worked. Sarah was still as rebellious as ever. That's what I get for coming to this damn country. Farida said snatching a handful of cookies. We should have let those soldiers kill us. Do you even know what it means to be a Palestinian girl?

4:06Huh? Or did I raise a damn American? Sarah said nothing. Her eyes glistening with something Farida couldn't quite place. Farida scoffed and turned to Nadine. Tell me, Nadine. She said, did you ever dare ask your mother to go to the supermarket alone back home? Of course not. Nadine said with a smirk. And you, Farida turned to Ezra. Did you ever step foot in Ramallah without your mother? Ezra shook her head. You see, Farida said. That's how it's done. You ask any women and she'll tell you. Sarah stared out the window in silence. Fadiya wished her daughter would understand that she didn't make the world the way it was. She was just trying to help her survive in it. Besides, Sarah should be thankful for the life she had, living in a country where she had food to eat, and a roof over her head, enough of everything.

5:07Later, Farida gathered the men around the kitchen table, crossing her plump ankles as she admired the view around her. Khaled sat to her right, Omar and Ali to her left. All of them strong and healthy, even if Khaled wasn't as young as he used to be. She wished Adam was with them, but he was working. He had so much to do, maybe too much. In the mornings, he helped Khaled in the deli, staying up front near the cash register to fill orders. Then he stopped by Omar's shop to count inventory and deposit checks before heading to his own store. Farida was grateful for Adam's help, though she didn't tell him as often as she should. She told herself she would thank him tonight. How's business? She asked Omar reaching for a warm pita from the plate Nadine had just said on the table. Alhamdulillah, bringing in a steady income, he said smiling gently as he caught Nadine's eyes. Farida raised her eyebrows at the site.

6:09She reached for the Shakshuka, her favorite dish, scooping a bite full of post-eggs and tomatoes into her mouth. Still chewing, she said, maybe now you can focus on having another child. She stole a glance of Nadine who was blushing as she said this. Farida knew her words were pointless, that Omar and Nadine would have another child when they wanted to, but she spoke anyway. The satisfaction of making Nadine uncomfortable was enough. Omar was a fool. Instead of putting his foot down as she told him, he let his wife run the show. At least Adam had listened to her and look at Ezra now, as quiet as a graveyard, not mouthy and insolent like Nadine. Let's see where that will get Omar, Farida thought. She turned to Ali. What about you, son? How is college going? It's going, Ali mumbled. Khaled looked up.

7:10What did you say? Ali slumped into his chair. I said it's going. What's that supposed to mean? Here he goes again, Farida thought, regretting that she had asked. Lately, most of her fights with Khaled had been about Ali. He thought she was too lenient with him. She thought he was too tough, that he expected too much. I'm trying, Ali said. I'm really trying. I just, Khaled's eyes were wide now. And Farida realized she was holding her breath. I just don't see the point of college. You don't see the point of college? Khaled was shouting now. You are the first person in this family to go. Adam couldn't because he was working to help us play the bills. Omar couldn't even get in. And now you're saying you don't see the point of it? Khaled, do you know what I would have done for an education? The room was silent.

8:11All Farida could hear was the sound of her own chewing. I would have given an arm and a leg, but instead, I worked like an animal to bring you here, so that you could go to college, so that you could live the life your mother and I couldn't have. And this is how you repay me? Ali looked at him with panic. Farida knew her children couldn't understand what she and Khaled had endured. They weren't even born when the Israeli soldiers had come sweeping them out of their homes like dust. They knew nothing about life, about how easily everything could be taken from you. She reached for another scoop of Shaxuka. But what did she know about life then, either? She was only six years old when the occupation began. Farida could still remember the look on her father's face as he surrendered both hands in the air when they were forced to evacuate. But it wasn't only her family. Tanks had rolled into Rambla to drive out its inhabitants.

9:14Some villagers had been killed as Israeli militia burned their olive groves. Others had died in the makeshift trenches trying to protect their homes. She had always wondered why her family had fled, why they hadn't stayed and fought for their land. But her father would always say, we had to leave. We never stood a chance. The boy doesn't like school, Farida said. We can't force him. What about all the money we've already spent on his tuition? Said Khaled, didn't you want sons so badly? Farida shot him aside long glance. Well, this is what having sons means, paying for things. It's an investment in the future of our family. You should have known it would be expensive. Besides, you have Adam to help you out. I'm sure he'll understand. She hoped Adam would understand. Lately, he hardly spoke to anyone, including her, especially her.

10:19At first, she thought he blamed her for Ezra who was only getting worse, retreating to the basement as soon as her chores were completed, barely a word to anyone. But now Farida was beginning to wonder if he was mad at her, at them, for all the responsibility they put on him. She thought back to when he was 16, how he would spend his days after school reading the Holy Quran. He'd wanted to be an Imam, he told her. But he was forced to leave that dream behind when they went to America. What was she supposed to do? He was the eldest son and they needed him. They'd all left things behind. She turned to Ali. So what do you want to do now? Ishrad. Work, I guess. Why don't you work in the deli? She turned to Khaled. Can't you hire him? Khaled shook his head, looking at her like she was an idiot. The deli barely brings in enough money to pay the bills.

11:22Don't you see all the work Adam does just to keep it running? Why do you think I want Ali to go to college? He waived his hands. So he isn't stuck behind the cash register like we are. Don't you understand the thing woman? I don't know, Farida marked. Do I? The last time I checked, I'm the reason we made it to America in the first place. Khaled said nothing. It was true. If it hadn't been for Farida, if she hadn't forced Khaled to give her his daily earnings, they never would have made it to America in 1976 or likely ever. It was Farida who had saved enough money for them to purchase their plane tickets to New York. And later, she who had saved Khaled's earnings at his first job, an electronic store on flatbush avenue in a navy blue shoebox under her bed. She, who had become ever more resourceful, limiting the amount of money she spent on food

12:23and household items, washing her children's clothes daily, so they didn't need more than two outfits each. Even baking mamul cookies for Khaled to sell his customers who were enthralled by the foreign combination of figs and butter bread. Soon she had saved $10,000 in the navy blue shoebox stuffed beneath her bed, which Khaled had used to open his deli. Farida took a sip of her child looking away from Khaled. The boy wants to work. So, let him work, she said. Maybe I'll ask Adam to give him a job in his store. Ali jumped in. What about Omar's store? What about it? Maybe I can work there instead? No, no, no, Farida said reaching for another love of Peter. Omar is still getting on his feet. He can't afford to hire anyone right now. Adam has a steady business going. He'll hire you.

13:23Khaled stood up. So that's your solution. Instead of encouraging him to stay in school, to do something on his own, you turn to Adam again, as though he is the only man among them. When will you stop spoiling them? When will you start treating them like men? He turned to his younger sons, his index finger shaking. You two don't know a thing about this world. Not one damn thing. Oh, for goodness sake, Farida thought, though she said nothing. Instead, she pulled the skillet of Shaksuka closer, taking two, three bites in a row, chugging her try to keep the fluid moving. Food. It was the only thing left that gave her comfort. She was considerably thicker now than she'd once been. But that didn't bother her. In fact, she would spend all day eating if it didn't cost so much. Of course, she knew that burying her feelings

14:25and food was unhealthy, that it could kill her. But there were other things that could kill her too. Things like failure and loneliness, like growing old one day and looking around to find a husband who resented you. Kids, who no longer needed you, who despised you despite all you'd done for them. At least eating felt good.