When I finally go to the main part of the house, Latifa is nowhere in sight and Sharif and my father are still sitting in the chairs with a coffeepot on the table between them.

“Good morning,” I say from the doorway.

Sharif stands up and bows. “And the best of good mornings to you. I hope that you have awakened from a most delightful sleep.”

What do I say to someone who talks this way?

“I have informed your father of my tour guide abilities and he has given his approval. The tour will begin today, late morning, for a visit to my mother. Latifa has already been informed and is making the necessary preparations. I am hoping this meets with your approval.”

“Indeed it does,” I say and giggle.

“Europe has given Sharif more words than he knows what to do with. Maybe we should call him ‘The Orator Without an Audience.’”

“All due respect, Abu Jalal, but I believe I have an audience of a most attentive nature.”

My father smiles. “I must get on with the day.” He gets up and brushes by me without another word.

“I have to do a couple of errands and then I will be back for the two of you,” Sharif says and winks.

I always liked Sharif’s mother. She never made me feel that she was judging me and, like her son, always seemed interested in whatever I had to say. She was so happy for me when I told her I was going to the States.

Even though I saw her when I first arrived for an official greeting, this time is warmer with plenty of hugs and kisses and more hugs and squeezes. She is looking old, but she is still very strong. She sits us all down and goes to make coffee. Latifa gets up to help her, as she does anywhere we go, and Um Sharif stops her.

“Please, Latifa, do not come to my house and work. You deserve a little peace.” Latifa is clearly pleased and sits back in the chair smiling.

When Um Sharif comes back she starts asking me questions, just the way her son does. “Do you like living away from home? Is it very different there for you? Is your uncle Hamdi very American? Are you going to stay longer?” The questions seem endless.

When I finish my coffee, she takes my cup to read the grounds. Holding the cup in front of her, she turns it around and around in her hand. “You have just come from a very long trip for the sake of others, but soon it will be your turn. There is a lion knocking on your door.” She winks when she says this part and Sharif laughs.

“What does that mean? Is it bad?” I ask, but she turns to Latifa and asks her questions that won’t let me get my question in.