Between Two Worlds

Exactly five days remained before Fouad returned to Montreal. The idea of ​​leaving again began to inhabit him more intensely: the suitcases not yet ready, the papers almost in order, and that pang in his heart that was felt every time he looked at his parents or his sisters.

He had spent almost his entire life in France, here in the Paris suburbs. Between the people pushing to get on the metro when the next one arrives in two minutes, the bitter people, and the baguette bought every four mornings despite weariness. There was a sort of familiar, typically French chaos in all this. And despite everything, he loved this life.

But he felt the need for change, for something new. This is why after his university Bachelor, he chose to pursue a master's degree not in France, but in Montreal, in a school called"Institut Nova Business & Management".

Integrating him wasn't easy: between the interviews, the administrative procedures, and his fairly average academic record, he focused everything on his motivation and the duaa. 

Because even though his chances were low, he knew that Allah never abandons a sincere heart, especially when the intention is to make his parents proud and help others around him.

This is what gave him the strength to aim for what he thought was too big for him... but which, with the help of Allah, turned out to be within his reach.

After spending a year there, he is happy to come back to take a breather. He only has one last year left before finishing his course, and he has promised himself to take full advantage of these few days in France before leaving to complete his course.

And today was an off day: no outings, no shopping, no administration. Just home, family, and improvisation.

Towards the evening, while he was on the sofa watching TF1, Nour, his 8-year-old sister, burst into the living room like a tornado.

-Fooaaad! cria Nour.They said you're the one cooking today! Mama and Baba arrive in 2 hours, they are expecting a real Master Chef-style meal, they have to make the main course and dessert! We don't have time anymore! 

-Wait... What? Since when is it me?!”

He barely had time to protest when Nour grabbed him by the arms, and he was a prisoner of the diabolical plan. He ends up in an apron, stuck with Nour who was already breaking the eggs, putting half of the shells inside.

-It might be a long evening...  sighed Fouad

Meanwhile Fathia was standing in front of the bathroom mirror, in her pajamas. She held a wide-toothed comb in one hand and the new Aromazone serum in the other. Her thick, dense curls pulled a little on her arms, as if they were fighting with her. She took a long breath.

-Ya Allah... each loop has its own character... she whispered, a tired smile on her lips.

She'd been there for almost an hour, section by section, gently detangling, rehydrating, sculpting her curls like a living work. It was hard, yes, but she wouldn't give in. Not today. Not tomorrow either despite everything.

She observed her reflection carefully. Her deep honey-colored skin, her features inherited from Ghana, and this crown of hair that no Indian or Brazilian straightening could tame. Not because she couldn't afford it but because her hair was her. Just like her veil had become her. A Muslim woman, black, proud, standing in the face of prejudice and heavy gazes.

Yes, sometimes it was complicated. The comments when she was little: " Tes cheveux sont spéciaux",awkward questions too: " Pourquoi tu ne penses pas à te lisser, c'est plus propre quand même c'est raiment impossible a coiffer". 

Mais elle avait appris à répondre par le silence et par la beauté naturelle de ses boucles parfaitement définies qui étaient désormais sa fierté. Du collège au lycée avec ses différents coiffure et son assurance de caractère, les gens ne pouvaient qu'admirer cette beauté africaine qu'elle incarnait dans sa banlieue parisienne. Elle a fait semblant jusqu'à ce que ça devienne vrai. et quand elle se sentait moins belle que les autres elle se remémorait ce vieux proverbe qui dit“The moon and the sun are not alike, but they are both beautiful.” 

She remembers this proverb even more now given that she veiled herself the first year after baccalaureate, this veil reinforces the difference and hides a certain beauty to reveal another of course but she was not the only one in France to face the difficulty and the sweetness of putting on this veil and then is it not a good thing that people can finally distinguish which community she belongs to?

"O Prophet! Tell your wives, your daughters, and the wives of the believers, to draw back their large veils over them. This is more proper, so that they may be recognized and not be offended. And Allah is Forgiving and Merciful."

(Quran 33:59)

Satisfied, she was about to rub a little light oil on her ends when a loud BAM followed by muffled laughter rang out from the kitchen.

She froze.

-Fouad ?she called out, on her guard.

Another noise. This time something that looked like a lid bouncing against the ground.

She ran up barefoot, going down the stairs, quickly throwing her hair into a bun.

And there she saw them.

Fouad, in an apron, holding a ladle dipped in what seemed to be a dubious red sauce, and Nour, their little sister, covered in flour, a whisk in her hand. The ground? A mosaic of vegetables, peelings and rice.

-Are you serious here??!

Fouad raised his hands, falsely solemn, and Nour burst out laughing, his cheeks full of donut dough.

Fathia rolled her eyes then burst out laughing too.

-  Mama and Baba are going to destroy you, we have to fix this and quickly!

Laughing, she grabbed a towel to wipe the counter. 

Even in this hilarious chaos, she did not lose her bearings, she looked at the clock hanging on the kitchen wall, there was only one hour left before her parents and Sabrya, Fouad and Fathia's other little sister, arrived.

-Nour, stop singing Oshi no Ko with the ladle, we’re not in a music video here!s'exclama Fathia.

-It's not a ladle, it's a star microphone! I am Nour the diva! 

-Fouad, your onion isn't supposed to be black, is it?

-It's not black, it's caramelized.

They cooked Jollof rice in their own way: without rules, without a timer, but with lots of laughter. Nour was making jokes about how Fouad was crying while cutting the onions again, while Fathia was trying to save whatever could be saved in the pan.

Around 8 p.m., the whole little family gathers in the dining room. The dish was almost good, according to their mother "for a first try" and their father joked: "At least no one was poisoned, it's a success." 

Fouad felt light. Happy. He enjoyed every second, especially this kind of meal where everyone spoke at the same time, where anecdotes cropped up without warning.

But suddenly his father stood up and tapped his glass with a spoon.

-Fouad, before you leave, your mother and I have something to tell you.

Fathia turned her head slightly, smirking. Nour was fidgeting in her chair, her eyes shining with excitement and Sabrya was already giggling, thinking about the face Fouad would make when he heard the news.

-It's a surprise!ajouta leur mère.

Fouad arched an eyebrow.

- Wait... you don't intend to send me with Nour in checked luggage, do you?

-No but almost. Sabrya added. 

And there, Nour couldn't take it anymore.

She raised her hand like at school and shouted:

-It’s Fathia! She's going to Montreal with you to study! Tadaaaaa!

A silence fell. Heavy and light at the same time. Fouad's mind was caught off guard.

-Quoi ?!

He turned his head towards Fathia, half embarrassed and half laughing, then towards his parents who were shaking their heads and sighing.

-We wanted to tell you gently...dit le père en soupirant.But Nour doesn't know how to keep a secret for more than three hours.

Fouad felt a surge of emotions rise. First, astonishment. Then the confusion. Then a little wind of worry. He thought back to the last few days. Yes, there had been signs. Conversations in hushed tones between his parents and Fathia. Papers on the living room table that he was told not to touch. Even the fact that Fathia asked more questions than usual about life in Montreal, accommodation, registrations.

He shook his head.

-Attendez, vous êtes sérieux ? Elle va vraiment venir avec moi ? 

-Oui, dit sa mère avec douceur.She was accepted into a master's degree in Digital Business / E-commerce and in the same school as you! Then since you're already there, we said why not? She won't even have to look for her own apartment, she will live with you! You will help each other.

Fouad bit his lip. He didn't know where to start.

-I'm not following you there, you were doing law! What is this 180° turn? ?!

Fathia put down her fork, straight and confident, and faced him with a smile, proud of herself.

-J'ai toujours rêvé d'avoir ma propre marque de couture, dans un style Modest fashion, à mon image : élégant, pudique, affirmé. Bon c'est pas très original pour une voilé mais tu connais à quel point j'ai toujours été attiré par la mode mais je pensais qu'il n'y avait pas d'avenir là dedans donc je me suis forcé à m'orienter vers le droit. Mais plus le temps  avancait et plus j'ai peiné à continuer, j'ai validé avec justesse parce que je n'aime pas ce que je fais. J'ai fait une introspection sur moi même, sur la direction que je voulais donner à ma vie et j'ai décidé que j'allais faire ce qui me plait mais faut que j'ai des bases sur le domaines du marketing digitale. Je veux monter un projet avec mes propres règles, des règles compatibles avec l'islam, pas besoin de compromis.

-But why Canada? There are plenty of master’s degrees of this type in France! 

-I found a good master's degree in France which could give me skills on the market but after reflection, continuing my studies in France does not appeal to me, I need a challenge and above all a totally different environment. I can't travel alone, I need a mahram and you are one plus your school "Institut Nova Business & Management" offers different courses including the one I want to do! I applied, I took the tests, I was accepted, I talked to Mama and Baba about it, they said yes. I even have half financing. And  I admit that knowing that you are there reassures me a little.

-Elle s'est vraiment débrouillé comme une grande !Said the father, nodding impressed

He took a deep breath. There was a mixture of anxiety, responsibility, and a little joy that crept in. He never imagined sharing this adventure with someone in his family. He had learned to live alone, to get by in another country, to build a daily life far from his bearings.

But now he wouldn't be alone anymore. Fathia was more than a sister, she was his ally in all living room debates, the only one to beat him to failure and to remember the smallest details of their childhood.

He gave a smile.

-I didn't think you were really going to come live with me, in MY apartment...?

-Considering how you cook I think you really need a female presence at your side  She also gave a knowing smile. 

Fouad sighed 

-Tu crois que Montréal c'est The American Dream ? L'hiver, tu vas pleurer ta race. Les trottoirs sont gelés, les cours sont à 7h30 du matin, tout coûte cher, et les gens, même s'ils sont sympas, ils vivent leur vie, vite. Et la solitude c'est réel.

Their mother intervened, amused by the scene.

-You have never been alone! Allah has looked after you perfectly and now your sister is joining you! Then honestly, I sense an ounce of drama queen in your words...

Fouad smiled again, in fact his mother had understood him well, he had forgotten to specify that Montreal, this big city, was a dynamic and multicultural city, where you hear both French and English spoken on the same street. It is known for its prestigious universities, its festivals, its varied gastronomy and its artistic atmosphere. Montreal offers a unique blend of modernity and tradition, with neighborhoods very different from each other. Winter is long and cold, with lots of snow, while summer is warm and lively. It is a welcoming city, especially for students and newcomers. Fathia, who loved this kind of atmosphere, would find there what she had been looking for for a long time but which she could not find in her Parisian suburbs: peace.

-Okay, well I think it's in your best interest to learn how to do your laundry on your own. I'm not your concierge.

The whole family laughed with tears, Fathia was happy with the reaction of her brother who in the end had decided to accept her presence at her side. He is the ambitious one who plunges his head into ideas. And she is the one who plans in silence. But both want the same thing: to live better. Otherwise. And not without faith, not without Allah.

Nour exclaimed again and raised her glass of water:

-Well... We raise our glass to the future halal business manager who is going to squat in the boy's apartment with no cooking skills! "

-  Hahaha très drôle Nour, on t'as jamais appris a respecter tes ainées ?he said grumbling

Dinner resumed in a relaxed atmosphere. Fathia asked a thousand questions about Fouad's apartment, about the papers that remained to be done, about the start of the school year. Fouad still felt a little knot of apprehension, but the warmth of their complicity was taking over.

And deep down, he knew it: even if it upset his bearings a little, it was also a rare chance. Having a piece of his family by his side, in a country so far away, maybe it wasn't so bad.

He looked at his parents, Nour who was singing with the fork, Sabrya who was observing the household scene with a smirk and Fathia who was already tapping on her phone to show him the purchases for the trip.

Yes, these last five days were going to be precious

Then what came next promised to be a new adventure.