Chapter 32 | The Green steel door of opportunity

The madressa Mama enrolled me in was not even five minutes away from home. Mama was the one that did those sort of things. I don’t know if it was Papa’s disinterest in this regard or perhaps his mental placement of Mama in the role of all things un-Papa-like that made him a stranger to most things that involved ‘us’.

Papa had no idea who our teachers were, how we adapted to schools socially or scholastically, or the challenges we faced thereof.  Sometimes I think, if asked, Papa would have not known the name of our schools either.

 It was almost an unspoken rule, Mama was the parent, Papa, the reckoner.

The first few months at Aalima madressa was a struggle. Socially, I wasn’t able to adjust, and girls, regardless of the nature of the course, can be petty. I wasn’t trained for combat and so, just as I dealt with Papa at home, I held back my anger and pretended that all was well. Occasionally, I’d lash out, but it never fared well for me. I ended up making a glorified fool of myself, in the name of self-defence, not realizing that sometimes silence is the strongest ally.

Academically, I excelled.

Arabic, rooting itself as my favourite subject. Our classroom had no tables and I’d sit, arched, my stomach touching my knees, poured over my books. I’d often get teased about my sphinx like position but I was comfortable, and though it hurt (for some reason) I’d feign indifference.

There was one girl in my class that I was particularly fond of. Her name was Shaista, and she had this friendliness about her that made her the girl that everyone got along with but no one considered their best friend. Her cheeks shared some of the chubbiness that her body carried and we eventually became acquainted.

For that year, I considered her my friend. We’d sit with each other break time, and on the stoep outside waiting for our cars. I’d lend her books (which were always immaculate) and her metallic writing pens and some days, after madressa, I would go to her house.

Things became easier eventually, though I never found my footing socially.

Papa was out of a job then.  As a gesture of good-will, our neighbour, and by then a close friend, Aunty Fazila , loaned Papa some money. It was enough for Papa to start buying and selling cars momentarily, until the assurance of something stable came along.

Mama learned to sew with the one lone machine that stood in the lounge. Eventually it was moved to the kitchen. Abdullah Mamajee gave Mama money to build an outbuilding (aside from the Maids quarters) to be used for establishing her business.

 It wasn't easy to convince Papa that this would be in his aide, but Mama stood by her decision. The outlet was built, painted and a solid green steel door marked the entrance of a room, portentous in possibilities though small in size.