On the way to Rabayat City, Malik told an enraptured Amie about the customs that accompanied the festival: there would be dances, local music, camel races, and a huge parade. As they stepped out of the limo, they were hit by a wall of heat, but there was no shortage of locals selling water and refreshments.
The festival was a bustle of colors, tourists, bustling market stalls, and an amazing array of foods. Amie and Malik passed the time watching the festival goers, laughing as people took colored powder and threw it into the air. The powder would catch on to sweat and moisture, caking participants in a rainbow of colors.
A few hours later, Amie, too, was baked in a rainbow of colors; her brown hair now a mess of purple, yellow, and red, and her carefully painted on makeup all done for nothing. The air smelled like heat, sand and smoke and just when she was ready to sit down and rest, Malik told her the time had come to introduce her to his mother.
The woman walked up with her husband, somehow incredibly clean from the festivities, and looked her son over with no small level of suspicion. Zafina was there, as well, and whispered something to her mother as the three of them approached.
“This is her, then?” his mother asked Malik, giving him a pointed look. So much for her not being judgmental!
Amie looked the woman over. She had a round face and high cheekbones that gave her an air of grace. She had beautiful skin, though not without its fair share of wrinkles. She looked tired and wore no makeup, but revealed a beautiful smile that reminded Amie of Malik’s. She wore a cream-colored hijab and a yellow dress with arabesque patterns of foliage and tendrils. It was a beautiful piece that Amie could only imagine had cost an arm and a leg.
“Mother,” Malik said with a smile, kissing her on both cheeks before gesturing towards Amie. “This is my fiancée, Amie Shaw. Amie, this is my mother, Sadira.”
“Such a beautiful name,” Amie said, taking on her professional woman tone and smiling warmly at Sadira. “It’s so nice to meet you.”
They walked for a few blocks before anyone properly spoke to Amie; the family too busy catching up on Malik’s life in America to begin asking her questions about herself. Every so often, his mother would look Amie up and down and nod slowly.
During their walk together, Amie was surprised at how many locals came up and asked Malik if she was his new American bride-to-be. Clearly the royal family were well-liked and respected, as all of the passers-by would give over-enthusiastic congratulations to the couple and fire all manner of questions at them: when was the wedding date, would they be getting married in Rabayat?
In truth, Amie hadn’t thought about any of those details. She was great on her feet, though, and managed to give answers that only seemed to further excite those asking. While not everyone who approached Malik spoke English, they were all kind and congratulatory and made her feel truly welcome in their country.
They spent the afternoon with Malik’s family, enjoying the festivities, before Sadira finally asked Amie if she would go for a walk with her. Amie looked to Malik with wide eyes, seeking help, but he merely laughed and waved an over-exaggerated goodbye with his hand.
They wandered between stalls selling spices and pastries, taking in the sights and sounds of the festival around them, until Sadira stopped in front of a jewelry vendor and turned to face her, addressing her solemnly. “You love my son?”
“Very much, yes,” Amie said with a polite nod.
“What do you love about him?” Sadira asked briskly.
Amie took a breath and pretended to look over the handmade jewelry laid out before them. “He has a good heart,” she said. “I know he’s very proud of his business, and he should be; he’s smart, he’s kind, and he makes me laugh.”
“A happy marriage is important. You can’t be happy if you can’t laugh. Laugh at your faults, your mistakes, whenever you can,” she said slowly, finally relenting to a small smile. “You know he has a reputation in the United States?”
Amie nodded slowly. “Yes, I know.”
“Sometimes, men…” Sadira slowed her sentence; choosing her words carefully. “Sometimes they don’t possess the same virtues that we do, but when they repent it is our duty to forgive them. Do you believe in God?”