It was an ordinary Saturday morning spent washing, breakfasting and some light-hearted conversation with all those present. My elder sister had come from her home to spend a couple of days with me, otherwise our normal comfortable routine was there.
An occasional neighbor would stop in during the course of the day to say goodbye, expressing their regret of not being able to attend my dockside departure but certainly wanted to make known their good intentions and well-wishes.
For the better part of this Saturday it was a do nothing day. I had already decided to save my packing for the next morning as my sailing was in the afternoon and so I mainly rested, daydreaming mostly.
Besides it wasn’t my day to catch the chickens for dinner so I just continued plotting my near future. What would I do the first few days of my arrival in San Francisco, U.S.A.?, this I wondered.
I was departing Fiji with a heavy heart, one not completely happy inside because something was missing and that something was someone named Noori. We loved one another very much.
It was about noon when I saw her for the first time that week. My little sister must’ve told Noori the day before when she first learned of my plans.
She spoke gently only her eyes were anything but happy. “Gary, I am feeling shocked. You’re really leaving us tomorrow?”
I tried to smile in the presence of those eyes and I tenderly told her, ‘I don’t know what I would’ve done without you and your loving support Noori. I had been consumed by much anger and I feel there’s no telling what might have happened next. It would’ve involved more pain though, I’m almost sure of that.’
I know I didn’t need to remind Noori (but I did anyway) of her compassion which, time and time again had pulled me through my darkest hours, other than that moment on the docks when I realised I couldn’t return to Sonia.
I had to experience that one through completely on my own. Besides I hadn’t met Noori at that time.
And then I felt it; the similarity in which this scene was beginning to play out. I had hoped with all my being this wouldn’t be a repeat.
Our moments together had allowed our feelings to blossom yet unfortunate was our timing; still very real was the actuality of old fashioned views all too present in the form of a solid wall.
You, my seasoned readers, know all this. My family had quickly come to stand by me where Noori was concerned; this intelligent, beautiful and dynamic Muslim girl was a part of our family already. Our love however stood no chance to exist where her family was concerned and so ….
Still I made a promise to Noori and shared this objective with my family; I would travel back in two years time, if not possible sooner, to make Noori my wife and return with her to my home in the United States.
After successfully achieving this goal, I could begin bringing the family there one by one. If that’s the way I had to do it, then that’s exactly what I would do.
I long since had memorized the delicious smells coming from the kitchen of my family home, so comforting indeed. That night the aroma registered in my mind of a final evening meal in my place of birth, my childhood home filled with the ghosts of my youth, making it all the more intense.
For safe keeping I felt the need to preserve it in my consciousness.
Journeyed abroad before, I certainly had. Only this time it was final – I was moving away, really leaving home.
It was a difficult good night Noori and I shared, one with some serious lingering questions which really couldn’t be answered. After dinner my brother and my sister walked Noori home. It was the way we always had to do it.
And so it was the end of Saturday at 28 Mal Street in Suva, Fiji Islands.
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I felt a sense of urgency and my heart told me that love was key in the healing process. I wished I could see my girl – I needed to see her, to reassure her, to hold her.
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