Desert Flower (16 page)

The woman looked at me like I was from outer space. “Oh, yeah sure. Switch it on.” I plopped

down on the floor in front of it and stared greedily at her TV. After four years, I could look at it without somebody chasing me out of the room like a stray cat. “Didn’t you ever watch television at your uncle’s?” she said curiously.

“Are you kidding? Sometimes I would sneak in, but I’d always get caught. “Watching TV again, Waris?” I mimicked my aunt’s snottiest voice and started snapping my fingers. ‘“Back to work, now, come on. We didn’t bring you here to watch television.”

My real education on life in London began with Halwu as my professor; the two of us became close friends. I spent that first night in her room, and the next, and the next. Then she suggested, “Why don’t you get a room here?”

“Well, first of all because I can’t afford it, and I need to go to school, which means I won’t have time to work.” I asked her shyly, “Can you read and write?” “Yeah.”

“And speak English?”

“Yeah.”

“See, I can’t do any of those things and I need to learn. That’s my biggest priority. And if I start working again, I won’t have time.”

“Well, why don’t you go to school part-time and work part-time? Don’t worry about what kind of job it is just take anything until you learn English.”

“Will you help me’

“Sure, I’ll help you.”

I tried to get a room at the YMCA, but it was full with a waiting list. All the young people wanted to be there because it was cheap and very social, with an Olympic-size pool and fitness center. I added my name to the list, but in the meantime I knew I had to do something because I couldn’t keep taking up poor Halwu’s space. Right across from the YMCA, however, was the YWCA; it was full of elderly people, and fairly depressing, but I took a room there temporarily and set out to find a job. My friend suggested logically, “Why don’t you start by looking right here?”

“What do you mean? Right where?”

“Right here. Right here,” she said, pointing. “McDonald’s is just next door.”

“I can’t work there there’s no way I can serve people. Don’t forget, I can’t speak English or read. Besides, I don’t have a work permit.” But Halwu knew the ropes, and following her suggestion, I went around back and applied for a job cleaning the kitchen.

When I began working for McDonald’s, I found out how right she was. I thought that for the hard work I did the wages were poor and that perhaps the management took advantage of my illegal status. As long as you were a hard worker, the management didn’t care about your story.

My career as kitchen help at McDonald’s put to use the skills I’d learned as a maid: I washed dishes, wiped counters, scrubbed grills, and mopped floors, in a constant effort to erase the traces of burger grease. When I went home at night I was coated with grease and stank like grease. In the kitchen we were always short staffed, but I didn’t dare complain. None of that mattered because, at least now I could support myself. I was just grateful to have the job, and besides, I knew I wouldn’t be there for long. In the meantime, I’d do whatever it took to survive.

I began going part-time to the foreigners’ free language school, improving my English and learning how to read and write. But for the first time in years, my life wasn’t only about work. Sometimes Halwu took me to nightclubs, where the whole crowd seemed to know her. She talked, laughed, and was hysterically funny just generally so lively that everybody wanted to be around her. One night we went out and had been dancing

for hours until I suddenly looked up to realize we were surrounded by men. “Damn!” I whispered to my friend. “Do these men like us?”

She grinned. “Oh, yeah. They like us very much.” This notion astonished me. I scanned their faces and decided she was right. I had never had a boyfriend, or even the attention of any male other than some weirdo like my cousin Haji which hadn’t exactly flattered me. For the past four years I’d simply considered myself Miss Nobody the maid. Now here were these guys lining up to dance with us. I thought, Waris, girl, you have finally arrived:

Oddly enough, even though I always liked the black men, it was the white guys who were most interested in me. Overcoming my strict African upbringing, I chatted away, forcing myself to talk with everyone black, white, male, female. If I was going to be on my own, I reasoned, I had to learn survival skills for this new world, which were different from the ones I was raised with in the desert. Here I needed to learn English, and how to communicate with all sorts of people. Knowing about camels and goats wasn’t going to keep me alive in London.

Halwu supplemented these nocturnal nightclub lessons with further instruction the next

day. She went through the entire roster of characters we’d met the night before, explaining their motives, their personalities basically giving me a crash course in human nature. She talked about sex, what these guys were up to, what to watch out for, and the special problems in store for African women like us. Nobody had ever discussed this topic with me in my life. “Have a good time talking, laughing, and dancing with these guys, Waris, then go home. Don’t let them talk you into having sex. They don’t know that you’re different from an English woman; they don’t understand that you’ve been circumcised.”

After several months of waiting to get a room at the YMCA, I learned of a woman who wanted to share a room there. She was a student and couldn’t afford the room by herself. This was perfect for me, because I couldn’t either, and the room was large enough for the two of us. Halwu was a great friend, and I made others at the Y, because the whole place was swarming with young people. I was still going to school, gradually learning English, and working at my McDonald’s job. My life

was moving along, smooth and steady, but I had no idea how dramatically it was about to change.

One afternoon, I got off work at McDonald’s and, still covered with grease, decided to leave through the front, passing by the counter where the customers ordered their food. And there, waiting for a Big Mac, was the man from All Souls Church School and his little girl. “Hello,” I said, gliding by.

“Hey, it’s you!” Clearly I was the last person he was expecting to see at McDonald’s. “How are you?” he said eagerly.

“Fine, fine.” To Sophie’s friend I said, “And how are you?” I enjoyed showing off my English. “She’s fine,” her father replied.

“She’s growing quickly, isn’t she? Well, I’ve got to dash. Byebye.”

“Wait where do you live?”

“Bye-bye,” I said with a smile. I didn’t want to talk to him anymore, because I still didn’t trust this guy. The next thing I knew, he’d show up outside my door.

When I got back to the Y, I decided to consult the all-knowing Halwu about this mystery man. I grabbed my passport from the drawer, flipped

through its pages, and pulled out Malcolm Fairchild’s card from the spot where I’d stuck it the day I buried the little plastic bag in Uncle’s garden.

Marching downstairs to Halwu’s room, I said, “Tell me something. I have this card, and I’ve had it a long time. What is this man? I know it says fashion photographer, but what does that mean?”

My friend took the card from my hand. “It means somebody wants to put clothes on you and take your picture.”

“You know, I’d really like to do that.”

“Who is this man? Where’d you get this card?” “Oh, he’s this guy I met, but I don’t really trust him. He gave me his card, then followed me home one day and started saying something to my aunt. She just got pissed off and started yelling at him.

But I never really understood what he wanted.” “Well, why don’t you call and ask him?”

“You sure?” I said, making a face. “Should I? Hey, why don’t you come with me and you can talk to him find out what’s the story. My English is still not very good.”

“Yeah, go call him.”

It took me until the next day before I worked up the courage. As Halwu

and I walked down to the pay phone together, my heart pounded drumbeat in my ears. She put a coin in the slot, and I listened to it click. She held his card in one hand, squinting at it in the dim light of the dark hallway as she dialed. Then a pause. “Yes, may I speak to Malcolm Fairchild?” After exchanging a few opening comments, she got right to the heart of the matter: “You’re not some kind of pervert or something, are you? You’re not trying to kill my friend? .. . Yeah, but I mean we don’t know anything about you where you live or nothing… uh-huh, uh-huh… yeah.” Halwu was scribbling something on a scrap of paper, and I strained to see over her shoulder.

“What’s he saying?” I hissed. She waved at me to be quiet.

“Okay, then. Fair enough… we’ll do that.” Halwu hung up the phone and took a big breath. “Well, he said, “Why don’t you both come by my studio, and see where I work, if you don’t trust me? If you don’t want to well, that’s okay,

too” ‘

I covered my mouth with both fists. “Yes. And? Are we going to go?”

“Shit, yeah, girl. We might as well check it out. Let’s find out who this guy is that’s been following you around.”

The next day Halwu and I went down to inspect Malcolm Fairchild’s studio. I had no idea what to expect, but when we opened the door, I stumbled into another world. Hanging everywhere were enormous posters and billboards featuring pictures of beautiful women. “Oh…” I said quietly, spinning around the room, looking at their elegant faces. And I just knew, like I’d known the day when I first heard Uncle Mohammed telling Auntie Sahru back in Mogadishu that he needed a girl to take to London this is it. This is my opportunity this is where I belong this is what I want to do.

Malcolm came out and said hello; he told us to relax and gave us a cup of tea. When he sat down, he said to Halwu, “I just want you to know that all I want to do is take her picture.” He pointed at me. “I’ve been following this little girl for over two years, and never have I had such a hard time just to take a photograph.”

I stared at him with my mouth hanging open. “That’s it? That’s it you just want to take my picture a picture like this?” I waved at the posters.

“Yes.” He nodded emphatically. “Believe me. That’s it.” With his hand he drew a line down the center of his nose. “I just want this half of your face’ he turned to Halwu - ‘because she has the most beautiful profile.”

I sat there thinking: All that time wasted! He followed me for two years and it took him two seconds to tell me he just wants to take my picture. “Well, I don’t mind doing that.” But suddenly I became wary, remembering some of my past experiences alone with men. “But she’s got to be here, too!” I put my hand on my friend’s arm and she nodded. “She’s got to be here when you take the picture.”

He looked at me with an expression of bafflement. “Yeah, okay. She can come too…” By this

point I was so excited I was barely touching the chair. “Come day after tomorrow, ten o’clock, and I’ll have someone here to do your makeup.”

Two days later we returned to his studio. The makeup woman sat me down in a chair and started to work, coming at me with cotton, brushes, sponges, creams, paints, powders, poking me with her fingers, and pulling my skin. I had no idea what she was doing but sat quietly all the same, watching her perform these strange maneuvers with these strange materials. Halwu leaned back in her chair, grinning. Occasionally I would look at her and shrug or make a face. “Be still,” the makeup woman commanded.

“Now’ she stepped back and put one hand on her hip and looked at me with satisfaction ‘look in the mirror.” I stood up and stared in the glass; one side of my face was transformed, all golden, silky, and light with makeup. The other side was plain old Waris.

“Wow! Look at me! But why did you just do one side?” I said in alarm. “Because he only wants to photograph one side.” “Oh…”

She led me out to the studio where Malcolm positioned me on a stool. I swiveled around, studying the dark room full of objects I’d never seen before: the view camera, the lights, the battery packs, the cords hanging everywhere like snakes. He twisted me in front of the camera till I was at a ninety-degree angle to the lens. “Okay, Waris. Put your lips together and stare straight ahead. Chin up. That’s it… beautiful” Then I heard a click, followed by a loud pop which made me jump. The flashes went off, the lights blazing for a split second. Somehow, the lights popping made me feel like a different person; suddenly in that moment I imagined myself as one of the movie stars I had seen on the television, smiling into the cameras as they exited their limos at the premieres. Next, he took a piece of paper from the camera and sat looking at his watch.

“What are you doing?” I asked.

“Timing it.” Malcolm motioned for me to walk over into the light and pulled off the top layer of paper. As I watched, a woman gradually emerged from the sheet of film as if by magic. When he handed me the Polaroid, I barely recognized myself; the shot showed the right side of my face, but instead of looking like Waris the maid, I looked like Waris the model. They had transformed me into a glamorous creature like

the ones posing in Malcolm Fairchild’s lobby.

Later in the week, after Malcolm had the film developed, he showed me the finished product. He put the transparencies up on a light box, and I loved them. I asked if he could make more pictures for me. He said it was too expensive, and unfortunately he couldn’t afford it. But what he could do was have prints made for me of the shot he’d already taken.

a couple of months after Malcolm had taken my picture, he called me at the Y. “Look, I don’t know if you’re interested in modeling, but there’s some people who want to meet you. One of the modeling agencies saw your photo in my book and said you should call them. If you like, you can sign with their firm and they’ll get you jobs.”

“Okay… but you have to take me there… because, you know, I don’t feel comfortable going alone. Will you take me there and introduce me?”

“No, I can’t do that, but I’ll give you the address,” he offered.

I carefully chose the ensemble I would wear for my important meeting with Crawford’s modeling agency. As it was summertime, and hot, I put on a red V-necked dress with short sleeves. The