Power and Passion (15 page)

Yes, a girls' night out of sorts was just
what she needed to take away the stress and wipe those negative
thoughts from her head. No relationship was perfect; even her
parents fought sometimes. Sara always had to remind herself of
that, especially when Pierce seemed so distant, as he had lately.
But that was just the nature of things. She loved him, and she knew
that he loved her too. That was all that mattered in the end,
wasn't it?

"Now get your mind on other things," she
said as she pulled her car into the massive parking lot at the
Dubai Mall. It was a Friday night, and so of course it was busy—
everyone coming to shop and eat, to see and be seen. It was one of
the largest malls in the world, one of the largest shopping,
dining, and entertainment complexes, and thus it was very popular.
A parade of people marched toward the structure's entrances, old
and young, Emiratis, expats, and tourists. Sara found a parking
spot then jumped out of the car and into the stream that would
usher her inside.

Their date—Sara couldn't help but call it
that in her mind now, with a bit of a silent laugh—was set for the
Cheesecake Factory, an American franchise she had tried once
before. It was at the other end of the mall; she walked along at a
brisk pace, passing stores, restaurants, cafés, and the edutainment
center along the way, enjoying the usual vibrant buzz all around.
This mall was like a representation of the United Nations, she
mused, looking around at all the nationalities and cultures. They
were all just like her—facing their own challenges, reveling in
their joys, perhaps even reflecting on their dreams.

As Sara continued walking to the restaurant,
she glanced in at the ice-hockey rink, where members of a youth
league glided across the ice, doing their exercise drills. She then
came to the indoor aquarium, where a group of Chinese tourists had
stopped briefly to gaze at a school of small sharks swimming in a
huge tank.

Finally at the Cheesecake Factory, Sara was
happy to see Joan already waiting. She sat outside the restaurant
on a bench, scrolling through something on her phone with a thumb,
a concentrated look on her face. She dressed casually in tan slacks
and a white blouse, a simple diamond pendant hanging from a silver
chain. "Joan," Sara said as she approached, a bit breathless from
the long walk. "So good to see you. How are you?"

"Oh, hi, Sara. I'm good, thanks," Joan said,
standing up as she saw the younger woman. She held up her phone.
"Just catching up on some world news. Seems an earthquake has hit
back in California, where I'm from."

Sara's face grew long. "Please tell me, is
your family okay? Did this happen where they live?"

Joan glanced back at her phone again. "I
haven't heard from them, but I'm assuming they're all right. The
quake was down in the southern part of the state, and most of them
live up in Northern California."

Sara put a hand up to her chest, a show of
heartfelt concern. "If you want to go home, I will understand. You
don't have to—"

Joan held up a hand to stop her, a friendly
smile on her face. "I wouldn't dream of it. We have work to do
here. Going home and worrying won't get me anywhere. I'd rather be
productive and take my mind off of it until I've heard some real
news. My daughter will text me when she gets a chance."

"Well, all right," Sara conceded, though she
felt bad about making Joan stay. The gala was important to her, but
nothing was more important than family, and if there was an
emergency…

"Well, looks like I'm right on time," came a
voice from behind her, and she turned around to see Maryam. She
wore a dark-colored abaya with beautiful orange and red beaded
details. Again a shayla covered her head, and her face was made up
immaculately.

"Actually, you are," Sara replied. "I just
got here myself. So, Joan"—she stepped back to let the two women
see one another—"this is my old friend, Maryam. Maryam, this is
Joan Harrison, founder of the Hearts and Minds organization."

"Oh, yes, I know who you are," Maryam said,
her voice warm and welcoming as if she and Joan were already
friends. "I've had some contact with Hearts and Minds through a
group I volunteer with, and it's been nothing but good
experiences."

Joan nodded her head and smiled. "Thank you
so much for saying so. It's good to know we're regarded so well in
the community. What's the volunteer work you do?"

As the two women continued to chat, Sara led
them into the restaurant, where Joan had already put her name on
the waiting list. In just a few minutes they were led to a table in
the crowded place, a booth with high backs for a nice amount of
privacy. Once they were seated, they ordered drinks then sat back
to talk again.

"Sara, why didn't you tell me Maryam has
such good connections?" Joan asked. "She's on the board of
Tomorrow's World!"

Maryam waved her hand a bit. "My connections
are not that good. Not as good as yours, I'm sure. Besides, I'm
only in it to help people, not to fill up my phone book."

Joan folded her hands on the table in front
of her. "Well, why do you think I do the work I do?"

Sara bristled for a moment. The question
sounded like a challenge, and she was afraid the two were already
not getting along. But then she glanced over at Joan and saw the
sparkle in her eye, that look of life on her face.

"Hearts and Minds has grown so much," Joan
went on, "much more than I had ever thought it would. But at the
end of the day, that's my mission too. The awards and accolades are
great, and I am thankful for them, but the question remains: are we
helping people? Because if we're not, I'll pack it all in and go
live in a hut on the beach. If the work I'm doing is not effective
in getting people the assistance and support they need then what
good is it? It's all for nothing then, don't you think?"

Maryam nodded solemnly. "I do. On that point
we definitely agree."

The waiter came back with their drinks, and
the women paused. Then Joan continued. "On a more personal note, if
that's all right…" She looked at Maryam, waiting for her
approval.

Maryam shrugged her shoulders. "Sure. Go
on."

"Well, I just want to tell you how gorgeous
that abaya is.

The beading is so intricate. Did you do it
yourself?" Maryam laughed, a sweet, low sound that Sara remembered
well from their college days. Her friend had always been quick to
laugh, even at herself. "Oh, no. I have
no
talents in that
area. I can't even sew on a button. I bought it from a store that
creates designs on abayas. They do phenomenal work." She grabbed
the hem of her long sleeve, where lines of beads twisted up in
twirling stripes. "I mean this is nothing compared to some of the
abayas she's done." "Really." Joan nodded, gazing at the detail on
the sleeve as well, restraining herself from reaching out to touch
it. That was the American in her—always eager to get her hands on
things, but she had to keep that urge tamed down there. It simply
was not within the customs of the Emiratis, who had different ideas
about what constituted personal space.

"I hope you didn't mind the question," she
said instead, realizing perhaps it had been a bit forward of
her.

"Oh, not at all," Maryam replied. "I
appreciate the interest, actually. There's so much misunderstanding
about Muslim dress. It's nice to see someone who's curious about it
rather than just making assumptions."

"What assumptions do people make?" Joan
asked then quickly added, "If you don't mind my asking."

"Oh, just that what I wear is reflective of
my personality," Maryam replied then took a sip of her drink as she
thought. "People who are not from this culture see my abaya and
think I'm some repressed little woman who has to cover up, or my
husband will be furious."

The three women shared a laugh over this.
Sara knew well, and Joan could already tell, that Maryam was not
the sort of woman who would submit to any other person's will like
that.

"They forget I am a person underneath it,"
Maryam went on, "with interests and likes and dislikes and—and—I
don't know, even fashion sense. I do wear nice clothes underneath
this, you know."

At that comment Sara almost blushed. She
remembered when she had first moved to Dubai and seen some women in
clothes similar to Maryam's. She'd thought the abayas were lovely
but couldn't imagine wearing one full time, both in public and at
home. It was not until she had been invited to attend a hen party
at a coworker's place that she realized this was not the case. The
women there were dressed just like Sara, some in pants, some in
skirts, each according to her own taste.

Seeing her confusion, her soon-to-be-married
Emirati friend had explained to her that women who wore the abaya
or similar Muslim garb removed it at home or among girlfriends at
private events and that when they went out, often they were wearing
jeans or other stylish clothes underneath.

"I'm guilty of that," she said, raising her
hand a bit as if she were in a classroom and wanted to jump into
the conversation. "I had a lot of misconceptions when I first came
here. You'd think being Muslim, too, I would have known better."
She shrugged, still feeling embarrassed. "And being from Canada,
where diversity is so valued—the cosmopolitan ethic in practice.
Different cultures, ethnicities, and faiths all living and working
together—it's very pluralistic."

"Oh, Sara, it's okay notto understand
whatyou don't know," Maryam said, her tone gentle and sweet with
her friend. "It only becomes not okay when you use that
misunderstanding to discriminate. Which I am one-hundred-percent
sure you never do."

"Oh, no," Sara replied, feeling grateful for
Maryam's kindness. "Of course I would never hold something like how
a person dresses against them. It's such a personal choice,
especially for women. Who am I to judge?"

Next to her, Joan sat back in her seat.
"Well, if it makes you feel any better, I had my issues, too, when
I moved here. There was so much I didn't understand." She glanced
at Maryam. "And I'll admit I thought clothes like yours were a sign
that a woman was oppressed and letting her husband control her. I
know, I know. It was an ignorant way to think, especially—as Sara
said—coming from a culture where diversity is actually an asset.
The United States is the melting pot, right?"

"Yes," Maryam said. "We have heard it called
that even here. In a positive way, of course, though I think it was
a surprise to some. Many people in the Middle East and Africa are
not aware how multicultural the United States and Canada are." She
paused, looking at Joan for a moment, her face serene and
thoughtful. "Anyway, what do you think now? About women who dress
like me?"

Joan smiled, pleased by the openness of
their discourse even though they had just met. "Now I know that you
and other women wear abayas and shaylas because they symbolize
humility and modesty, not to please any man. It is part of the
specific culture."

Maryam balled her hands into loose fists and
raised them in front of her as if cheering for the older woman.
"You understand! I wish more people did, but all they see on the
nightly news are the Taliban and women not being allowed to go to
school or drive and covered from head to foot in black with only
their eyes showing."

Sara nodded vigorously as she swallowed a
sip of her drink. "Yes, yes," she broke in. "People seem to think
that is the icon of the Muslim woman—the one they see on TV. Sure,
there are Muslim women who wear that dress for their own reasons,
whatever they may be. But there are also Muslim women who do not
cover their faces, like Maryam, and Muslim women who have varied
styles of dress but still dress modestly, like I do. There are
white Muslims, black Muslims, Asian Muslims with dark skin, fair
skin, and everything in between. And there is just as much
diversity in our convictions and traditions, all of which are
shaped by historical, cultural, and even social contexts—just like
Christianity."

"Yes," Maryam jumped in. "Take Sara and me.
We have some differences. For example, she's Shia, and I'm Sunni,
but we are both Muslims, so we share important commonalties. And as
Muslims we also have some key beliefs in common with other
faiths."

"And being part of the human race, we are
all connected," Sara said softly.

Joan nodded as she looked at the two women,
appreciating even the visual differences in their appearances that
reflected their different cultural backgrounds. "I'm glad to say I
have gained a greater understanding of this diversity as the years
have gone by," she responded. "I have also come to realize that the
majority of Muslims are peaceful people who want to contribute
positively to the society in which they live, wherever that may
be."

"Yes," Sara agreed. "Not every Muslim is an
extremist." This was a misconception that bothered her a great deal
and one that had led to some discriminatory situations in her life.
However, she found that meeting these incidents with patience,
intelligence, and an understanding of the nonMuslim perspective
helped her to cope.

"Each of us has feelings," Maryam chimed in,
"and a brain with which we form our own ideas and opinions." She
paused. "I guess that's all we want people to know: that we are
people, too, just like everyone else."

Sara nodded in agreement. The three women
sat in silence for a moment, letting the statement sink in and
enjoying the warm glow of friendship and accord that surrounded
them. The waiter came back to take their food orders then rushed
off again, and Joan once again leaned forward, her forearms on the
table.

"Well, now that we've gotten to know one
another," she said with a smile in Maryam's direction, "let's talk
business, shall we?"