A beautiful flower. almeen bano

question about your religion.” The way she looked at me told me she wanted an answer, and she wanted it now.

      I sat there expressionless. I wanted to answer the religious question but couldn’t bring myself to. “Do you have a last name?”

      “Nagi. It means ‘a close friend of Allah’ in Arabic. Does Gold have any specific meaning?”

      “I never even thought about it. It has been my family name for generations. I suppose someone in my family had a lot of gold. Now that we have our names out of the way, shall we begin the tour?”

      Elaina frowned. “Not yet. Again, you still haven’t told me your religion. It’s such a simple question.”

      I clasped my hands in front of my body and shook my head. There was just no way around this. This looked like the beginning and end of my so-called relationship with Elaina. Although I was shocked a little by her being a Muslim, I was trying to accept it. Hopefully, she would do the same for me despite the history of fear and hatred between Muslims and Jews.

      “Please try not to be upset. I’m Jewish, although not a very religious one.”

      “So you are Jewish. So are half the doctors I have worked with here. They are all wonderful people. None of them are Israelis, though.”

      “You don’t like Israelis?”

      “I was never allowed to go to Israel due to the differences between our governments. Growing up, I only heard bad things about them. It’s hard to say whether I like or dislike them. I can only go by what my parents told me. Wait, I did meet a few in England, and they were all nice people, but I never associated with them. It was taboo in my family.”

      “I see. Well, I’m not Israeli and have only visited Israel once, when I was thirteen years old. I am also not always a fan of the Israeli government. You mentioned your parents. I don’t mean to pry, but are they still alive?”

      As soon as I asked, the smile on her face disappeared utterly. Her lips tightened as she shook her head several times. She looked down at the ground. “No, my parents were killed in a van as we tried to avoid the bombs of the Syrian Army. They were killed instantly, but my brother and I survived since we were sitting in the back.”

      I could see tears streaming down her face. “I’m so sorry to hear that. I have no idea what you feel, as I have never experienced anything like that. I’ve never been to war, and my parents are alive and well in New York. Again, I’m so sorry. Forgive me for asking. It must be tough to talk about it.”

      “Yes, it is. I was in shock for a long time, but my brother needed me to take care of him. He became deaf from the bomb blast and now depends on sign language to communicate. Yet he is happy here.”

      “How old is he, and does he live with you?”

      “Fifteen. He was young when our parents died. No, he lives with Salah and two other teenagers. Salah is an older man who is like an uncle or father to me. When I need help with something, I often talk to him. I would love to have my brother live with me, but I am so busy working and visiting patients that I do not have enough time to care for him. Plus, there are not enough rooms in the hospital area for Ishmael. He needs his own space. However, we see each other frequently, and I try to cook him a meal at least a few times a week.”

      “I assume that Salah communicates with him via gestures or signs?”

      “Yes, Salah knows how to communicate with him. He is not as good as me, but he tries hard to teach Ishmael how to work in the bread factory and learn new vocabulary words in writing. It’s not easy being deaf in this refugee camp.”

      “I imagine it’s not. Does he have any hope to get his hearing back?”

      “At this time, no. Maybe if he was in the United States, the doctors there could do something for him.”

      “That’s so sad.”

      That seemed to piss Elaina off. She folded her arms in front of her chest and frowned at me. “Yes, he’s deaf, and yes, it would be great if he could hear, especially in a place like this, but he’s happy, so that is not sad. What is sad is the thousands of Syrians who were killed by the monster controlling the government and the rest of the world that ignores the actions of the government.”

      I sat there, torn between the desire to comfort Elaina and the realization that such an intimate conversation had unfolded between us—a conversation that delved into our family histories, particularly hers. My arms remained at my sides, unable to offer the solace I longed to give. Elaina’s vulnerability hung in the air, and I waited, my silence echoing hers. How did she endure the unimaginable horrors she described? Her resilience astounded me. To carry on after witnessing such devastation required an indomitable will that defied the darkness that threatened to engulf her.

      And yet, there she sat, recounting her past with a courage that humbled me. How did one find the strength to smile after enduring the unspeakable? Elaina’s spirit was unyielding, her determination unwavering.

      As for myself, I wondered: had I witnessed my family torn apart, their lives shattered by violence, I might have crumbled. Perhaps I’d be confined to a mental institution, haunted by nightmares, or worse, swallowed by the very darkness that had consumed her homeland.

      Elaina’s bravery was a beacon, illuminating the path forward. I glimpsed tragedy and triumph in her eyes—the indelible marks of survival etched upon her soul.

      And yet, there she sat, recounting her past with a courage that humbled me. How did one find the strength to smile after enduring the unspeakable? Elaina’s spirit was unyielding, her determination unwavering.

      After being silent momentarily, I said, “Your story is incredible. Most people in your shoes would have crumbled. Are you all right to give the tour?”

      I looked down and shook my head. After a moment, I heard Elaina’s sweet voice. Somehow, her mood had changed. Indeed, I was not expecting that.

      “I am OK now. Shall we begin our tour of the camp? Hopefully, you will find it interesting and enjoyable,” she said with a playful tone. “The people here have a lot to offer if you get to know them.”

      I nodded, and Elaina and I got into a golf cart with her in the driver’s seat.

      Our initial destination led us to a play area where a lively group of young children awaited. Elaina gracefully stepped out of the golf cart, immediately capturing their attention. She conversed with each child individually, her words flowing in Arabic—a language foreign to my ears. Yet, comprehension wasn’t necessary; the transformation on their faces spoke volumes. Elaina, an unspoken inspiration, illuminated their world.

      I stood there, a silent observer, witnessing the magic unfold. Her bond with those kids transcended language barriers. She embraced them, one by one, and they responded in kind—a symphony of hugs, laughter, and shared warmth. In that moment, Elaina became more than a person; she embodied hope, resilience, and the power of human connection.

      We got back into the golf cart and turned onto the street; Elaina said, “Za’atari has a busy market known as the Sham Elysees, which stretches almost three kilometers through the center of the camp.”

      I looked down the road and saw what seemed like a thousand shops.

      “This is unbelievable,” I said. “How do they do it?”

      “The Jordanian government trains with us and helps us out. Many trucks bring goods here daily. We will see more of this later. Of course, you are free to explore some of these shops whenever you wish. They will love your money.”

      “I’m sure they will. So, what’s next?”

      “This refugee camp comprises all kinds of people from all over Syria. We have doctors, lawyers, engineers, teachers, and so forth. They all had to leave their previous lives at home and start over. Most of them are unable to work anymore in their chosen field.”

      “So, what do they do all day long?”

      “Some of them have part-time jobs. Some have become vegetable growers. Some work at improving the electricity grid so we can have internet.