Power and Passion (13 page)

"And you as well, Sara. You're just as
lovely as I remember.

How are your parents doing?"

"They're great," Sara replied. "We all moved
here about three years ago now. Dad is in manufacturing, and Mom is
taking some time off. Oh, and this is Pierce, my fiancé!"

Sara stepped back to introduce him. "Maryam,
I have heard so much about you," he said as they shook hands. "It
truly is a pleasure to meet you."

"I see you've already met my husband,"
Maryam replied, moving next to Ibrahim and touching his arm. He
smiled affectionately at his wife; their connection was
obvious.

The coincidence was almost too much for
Sara—that she would rediscover this dear friend half a world away
from where they had met. Regardless of how it happened, she was
thrilled it had, and as the men talked, she and Maryam took some
time to relive the old days. They caught up on each of their
lives—Sara at SO, Maryam teaching university courses and raising
her daughter. Before they knew it, the house lights were coming up,
and the emcee was thanking everyone for coming.

"Please, let's not lose touch again," Maryam
said to Sara as they followed the crowd out of the hall.

"Oh, no, I'm not letting you go this time,"
Sara agreed, linking her arms with her friend's. Behind them,
Pierce and Ibrahim continued to talk business. Sara motioned her
hand back toward them. "Besides, I think we might be linked now
whether we like it or not."

D
on't forget your readings for next class,"
Maryam called out as her students filed out of the room. "Chapters
four through six, and the rest is in the syllabus." But it was
already too late; class was over, and they were no longer
listening. She smiled to herself as she packed up her papers and
put them in folders then into her bag.
Times change, but school
does not
, she thought, remembering her own days in college and
just how quickly she had run out when the teachers' time was
up.

That seemed so long ago, but in reality it
had been only a few years since her last graduation. She'd done
undergrad at Zayed University there in Dubai, where she was born
and to which she felt a fierce loyalty, in part because it gave her
opportunities like that. The rulers of Dubai and the Abu Dhabi
Emirates had long been visionaries when it came to education and
had gone so far as to build institutions especially for girls and
women so they could learn everything the boys and men did. This
meant Maryam could attend college, something her mother and aunts
had never had the chance to do.

That was probably why her mother had not
understood her determination to go for higher education and why she
had opposed it so much. Walking out to her car now, Maryam slowed
her pace a little, remembering that tumultuous time. She'd been
fiery and young then, not yet out of her teens but every inch a
woman, she'd believed. That gave her the right, in her opinion, to
decide what her own future would hold, so she had her sights set on
university. A degree would help her get a good job, one where she
could help people, which was what she wanted to do most in her
life.

They'd had so many arguments, she and her
mother. Sitting in the car now, she gripped the steering wheel and
let her mind wander back for a minute. She remembered the yelling
and the tears on both their parts; they just never could see eye to
eye. Maryam's mother was from an older generation, one when girls
were educated only through high school if they were fortunate; a
woman's sole purpose in life was to marry and have children, just
as her mother had ultimately done. Maryam didn't knock that—in fact
she believed motherhood and family rearing were two of the most
important jobs in the world, ones she had known she would pursue
one day undoubtedly. She just had wanted to do so on her own time
and after she had accomplished other things for herself first.

Fortunately Maryam's father had been on her
side. Pulling out of the parking structure, she smiled once again
as she remembered this. Dad had always stuck up for her; he
believed education was of the utmost importance. Marriage and
motherhood would come in time, he said, and Maryam could handle
both along with her career. Just those words had solidified her
resolve, made her chest swell with pride. Her father, however, had
insisted that she say her prayers regularly and practice the ethics
of Islam, which included compassion and kindness. And he would
remind her that education was also important in Islam. She had to
be, as he always said, a good Muslim. Her father had so much
confidence in her both then and now. He always made her feel like
she could achieve anything she wanted.

And so she had, hadn't she? First woman in
her family to go to university, with two degrees under her belt no
less. A full professorship at a university in Dubai, where she was
not only tenured but well respected by students and her fellow
faculty alike. Her husband was successful and loving, and their
daughter was happy and healthy; there would be more children down
the road, she was sure, when they had the time. What more could a
woman want? She felt so blessed. Maryam never bragged, but she was
certain she had earned the right to feel some pride.

Pulling out into the late-afternoon traffic,
she let out a long, deep sigh, but there was still a smile on her
face. Her life had become so calm lately, she'd all but forgotten
about how much turmoil she'd gone through—and caused, if she wanted
to be honest—not that long ago. She guessed it had been the spirit
of the time. When she had been in her late teens and early
twenties, so much had been changing culturally in the Middle East
and down into North Africa as well. In many parts, people had been
protesting about government, society, and unemployment. It all had
been televised as well as tweeted, posted, and reblogged.

Thankfully in the Emirates, her home, things
were good—the people were generally very pleased with the way
things were running, so it was like a haven of peace among the
turmoil. Though Maryam was intrigued by the protestors and their
causes, she had her own path in life to follow. After she had
finished her undergrad degree in education, she had decided to go
on to graduate school for a master's in education. Because much had
changed in her homeland, there were even more opportunities open to
her, including going to study abroad. Many Western educational
institutions not only opened their doors but actively sought
students from her region of the world, and that was how she had
ended up at the University of British Columbia—and how she had met
Sara.

Maryam checked her watch; she was late for
their date. The night before, she and Sara had agreed to meet for
an early dinner at Toscana, a restaurant on the waterfront at the
Souk Madinat Jumeirah, not far from the school. Maryam had never
been to Toscana—a surprise since Ibrahim had brought her, she'd
thought, to every eatery in the city. They were always trying out
new places, mostly so he could check out the menus, see what was
selling, and compare their service to his. Her husband was an
excellent chef but also a savvy businessman, probably due to the
MBA he had earned. He liked to be on top of trends and was always
trying to come up with the next big dining innovation. In a place
like Dubai, that was no small feat.

Pulling up to the Madinat Jumeirah complex—a
familiar place as she and Ibrahim often came to the other
restaurants there—Maryam parked in the underground lot then did a
quick check of her makeup in the rearview mirror. She ran a finger
under her slightly smudged eyeliner and touched up her lipstick
with a tube from her bag; since her face was the only part of her
body she presented uncovered in public, she liked to make sure it
looked good at all times. Same with her fingernails, which were
always painted, as her hands were exposed as well.

She made her way to the restaurant and saw
Sara sitting on the outdoor terrace. Sara waved her over and stood
up, a wide smile spread across her face. The two women embraced
when they met, both laughing, then stood back to admire one
another. The years had not eroded the warmth between them.

"I cannot believe we are actually here,"
Sara started, holding on to Maryam's upper arms. She gazed into her
friend's eyes. "It's been too long. Let's not lose track of one
another again."

"Certainly not," Maryam replied as they
broke apart and took their seats.

Sara waved to the waiter, asked what Maryam
would like, and then ordered fresh lemon-mint drinks for the two of
them. Those were popular in the region, usually served with wheels
of lemon and sprigs of mint. The waiter brought them quickly, and
when Maryam took a sip, it was refreshing and crisp.

"Sorry I'm late," she said. "I thought I
would get here faster than I did."

Sara laughed and waved her hand at Maryam.
"When have you ever been on time?"

Maryam had to laugh at this too. It was
true; she was not always the most punctual person. These days she
managed to get to her classes and other work commitments on time,
but dinners, parties, meetings—she was always the last one to make
an appearance.

"Some things never change, huh?" she asked
then took another sip of her drink. "Which reminds me, I was
thinking as my students left today about our time at UBC. What was
the name of that class where we first met? I can't seem to think of
it."

"Oh, it was something like Infrastructure in
Developing Nations," Sara replied, squinting her eyes as she
thought back through the years. "We were doing a group project,
right? And the professor put us together."

Maryam nodded. "Yes, yes! That is exactly
what happened. He was determined make the groups ethnically and
racially balanced. There were you and me, Emirati and Canadian,
then a Chinese woman and an Indian. I'm sorry I don't remember
their names now."

"I don't either," Sara said. "But I remember
we got along well. We met outside of class a lot. I think we even
did a girls' night in once, didn't we?"

"Mmm." Maryam nodded. That had been such a
carefree time, and they'd had so much fun. Sure, there had been a
lot of work to do, but that was easy when they all had gotten along
so well. "So tell me, what are you working on now? We didn't get to
catch up much last night."

Sara leaned her arms on the table. "Well,
I'm working for the Special Olympics." She paused, waiting to see
if Maryam even seemed to know what it was. So many people didn't;
Sara was used to having to explain it almost every time she brought
it up.

"Are you really?" Maryam replied. "That's
great, Sara.

What a lovely organization."

Sara smiled wide again. "Okay, then you do
know it."

Maryam shrugged her shoulders. "Of course I
do. You mean to tell me some people don't?"

"Many, not some," Sara replied then paused
as a waiter came over for their orders. She asked for penne
Napolitana; Maryam ordered fettuccine Arrabiata con pollo. "More
people than you'd even think. I know Special Olympics is big in
many countries, but here it's like we don't even exist."

Maryam sat forward, too, concerned about the
sad look on her old friend's face. "Well, if there's anyone who can
change that, it's good, old, passionate Sara," she said with a bit
of mischief in her voice. "I remember the old days. There wasn't a
cause you wouldn't take on, no matter how lost it seemed. And you
always,
always
turned it around. Don't tell me you're not
trying to do it here too."

Sara kept her eyes downcast, but the corners
of her mouth did twist up in a smirk. "I'm trying," she admitted.
"But it's certainly an uphill battle. "

"Well, what have you done so far?" Maryam
asked, sitting back again as the waiter came around with fresh
drinks and a variety of rolls. Maryam was so hungry that she
reached right over and picked one up. It was warm and fresh, and as
she bit into it, she savored the lightly sweet taste of the dough.
It was delicious—the best bread she'd had in a while. Maybe she
would have to take Ibrahim there to check it out after all.

Sara waved her hand again, helping herself
to a piece of bread too. She tossed it back and forth between her
palms, trying to keep it from scalding her skin. "Oh, let's not get
into all that," she said. "We just got here. You don't want to hear
the boring details of my job."

"But I do," Maryam answered immediately
without a trace of humor on her face. "Why would I not want to?"
She thought for a moment as she spread a bit of butter on her
bread. It melted almost as soon as it left her silver knife. "Sara,
maybe we haven't seen each other in some time, but that has not
changed anything. We were the best of friends years ago, and today
we still are, as far as I'm concerned. That means I am here to
listen to your problems, and I imagine you would do the same for
me."