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Souhir took another step forward. “I’m planning to join them. I’m thinking about something featuring fresh beginnings and washing away obstacles and sorrows.”
A cheeky smile tugged at the corner of my mouth. “Don’t forget to ask for wisdom and patience for your scholarly endeavors.”
She turned around, confused. “I don’t think that would work.”
“It’s all about symbolism. Maternity involves both qualities.”
“That’s very unorthodox of you.”
“I’d say creative. You might as well try it.”
Souhir considered it for a moment before she nodded. “I will.”
∞∞∞
I watched as the other women performed their rituals. Some were more personal, like Souhir’s, while others asked for more general good tidings. There was one woman who particularly caught my eye.
She was older, probably in her late forties or early fifties, and dressed more modestly than the other guests. Her kaftan was plain brown, and her hair pulled back in a tight bun. In her hand, she held a simple wooden bowl.
There was something about the way she was standing—the way her shoulders slightly hunched and her head bowed—that made her look like she was bracing herself for bad news.
My mother always said that the older you get, the more your face showed your true age. This woman’s face looked tired, like she had seen too much hardship in her life.
I felt like I was intruding on something private, so I turned away. But not before I saw the woman place her bowl on the ground and cry.
But despite all that, there was a resilience in her eyes. A determination that said she would keep going, no matter what.
I didn’t know what her story was, but I couldn’t help but feel moved by her display of strength in the face of adversity.
Stopping at one of the many tables, I picked up a plate of oranges, mangoes, and papayas with a glass of mint tea. I chose a seat that allowed me to see the ceremony while remaining inconspicuous.
I watched as the woman finished her ritual and walked away from the platform. She turned towards me, and our eyes met for a moment. At that moment, I saw a flicker of hope in her eyes before she turned away and disappeared into the crowd.
My mother appeared, holding a cup of water. “I see you didn’t join us.”
“I wasn’t really in the mood for a crowd.” I grabbed a slice of papaya. “Where’s Tilila?”
“Sleeping in one of the bedrooms with the other children. Ghalla is monitoring them. Lucky for you, your mother was kind enough to bring some water for you. Hand me your right hand,” my mother asked gently, and I obeyed.
My mother took my hand and placed it over the bowl. She poured the water over my hand. The droplets were cool. I closed my eyes and took my own advice.
“Grant me the wisdom, patience, and endurance to endure all of life’s obstacles.”
The water on my hand became warm and when I opened my eyes, I couldn’t see a single drop anymore. At the back of my tongue, I felt a familiar tingle and the taste of what I could only describe as spring. Fresh, floral with earthy herbs and the slightest hint of spice. Nothing tasted like that.
“An excellent one. If not unusual.”
“It seemed rather fitting.” I took a sip of my tea, thinking about my brothers and father at the border. I hoped they would find their way back to us.
“Do you think they’ll be back soon?”
Her dark eyes glazed over with unshed tears, and she looked away. “I don’t know, Thimsal. I hope so.”
I placed a hand on her arm in comfort. “I’m sure they will, mother. They’re strong and smart. They’ll find their way back to us.”
I wanted to say more, but the words caught in my throat. I didn’t know if it was going to be alright.
“What did you ask for?” I tried to change the subject.
