“No matter what happened, we’re still Arabs. We’re still brothers and sisters. Despite everything, I still love Kuwait, and consider myself Kuwaiti despite the revocation of my citizenship. We’re all part of each other. When you see what the Americans have done to us, what they’ve done to Iraq, Libya … And it breaks our hearts, all of us. That’s how you know we’re incomplete without each other,” Um Buraq says, reminding me of Bilal when he spoke of pan-Arabism and pan-Africanism.

“Did you see the other day how Marzouq al-Ghanim kicked the Israeli representative out of that international meeting? What a man! I was so proud of Kuwait. Did you see it?” she asks.

I shook my head. “Who is Marzouq al-Ghanim?”

“You are starting to piss me off. Don’t you watch the news? He’s a Kuwaiti diplomat.”

“I think I can find it on these computers,” I say. “Jehad will know how.”

We talk about computers, “smart” phones, and the alienating technology that makes us feel like intruders in the world. We talk about Kuwait.

“Those were good times,” she says.

“The beaches were magical, weren’t they?” I say. “What I’d give to be at an evening concert by the water in Salmiya, tasting the salty air, looking up at that starry desert sky, transported by music.” I enjoy this reverie.

“We didn’t know how good we had it,” Um Buraq says. “Remember how the receding tide would uncover thousands of crabs scampering along the shoreline? And Ala’a Eddin ice cream parlor. Damn! I’d love some of that ice cream right now, and to just go back to my old house and watch hours and hours of soap operas.”

“Remember the night we met?” I ask.

“How could I forget? You were the finest dancer I had ever seen,” she says.

We both feel the weight of that day, and all the words unsaid begin to push through.

Um Buraq speaks first. “I’m sorry for what I did. It was a terrible thing. Can you ever forgive me?”

I pull her near, kiss the top of her head. “There was a part of me that wasn’t afraid of your blackmail because I think I knew you wouldn’t show those pictures to anyone. I made the choice to go along. I wanted the validation and worth that came with having a bit of money and being able to help my family. I liked breaking rules I had no say in making, at the same time that I hated how I did it.” I take her old face in my hands. “You don’t need my forgiveness, but if you want it, consider it granted.”

Joy

JOY