That afternoon at 4 p.m., Dandy called, his voice as lively as ever. “We’ll stop by with the kids around dinner. Hope that’s okay.”
Janiah let out a groan from her spot at the kitchen counter. “Dinner? We aren’t ready to feed all of them tonight.”
Jomana, rubbing her temple, sighed. “They always come unannounced.”
“No worries about that,” Dandy replied, catching the edge of their reluctance. “We’re bringing shawarmas for everyone! Lamb, beef, or chicken?”
Jomana shot Janiah a look of relief. “Problem solved, I guess.” She shook her head, a smirk tugging at the corner of her lips. “Though that’s a lot of noise for this little apartment.”
Janiah’s lips tightened. “More noise than the neighbors, at least.”
By 6 p.m., the Dandy family spilled into the cramped living room, bright-eyed children in tow, clutching bags of food that filled the room with the rich, savory scent of shawarma.
“Finally,” Janiah muttered under her breath, “we’re the noisy ones.”
Dandy laughed, gathering his family around the table. “We’re glad to see you settled in this new place. Must be quite the change from the old family house.”
Jabr glanced at Janiah, her face already creasing with nostalgia. “Yeah,” he nodded, “it’s been an adjustment. Janiah feels it more than anyone.”
“She misses the old homestead, I’m sure. Who wouldn’t?”
Janiah didn’t answer, standing up a little too quickly, offering to take the children outside to play. She looked at Jabr before leaving, her eyes tired, saying more than her words did. Jabr watched her retreat, sensing the heaviness that lingered over everything for her lately.
When the room quieted, Dandy leaned forward, lowering his voice. “There’s another reason we stopped by. A job has opened at KOC. It’s right in your wheelhouse. They’re looking for someone with your background—someone who knows Kuwait inside and out, but who can also navigate Western and Middle Eastern expectations.”
Jabr’s interest was piqued, but he hid it, leaning back in his chair. “What kind of job?”
“A kind of…liaison position, I guess. We’re calling it the ‘Kuwait Interlocutor.’ Basically, you’d be the go-between for the company and the local community. We’ve had a few…incidents. One of our guys plowed through an old Muslim graveyard. Thought it was just a bunch of rocks.”
Jbar winced. “That’s going to cause problems.”
Dandy sighed. “You’re telling me. Then there are the sheep grazing disputes, issues with camels at waterholes. The locals are frustrated, but we don’t always know how to handle it.”
Jabr chuckled darkly. “And you think I’ll know how to handle it?”
“You’re the best candidate, Jabr. No one else knows the culture and the Western aspects pf the company like you do.”
Jabr was quiet for a moment, thinking of the debts he’d just crawled out from under, the endless strain of making ends meet. It wasn’t glamorous, but it was a real job—something steady. Jomana was listening closely, her hands resting on the table, eyes wide with hope. Across the room, Mary stood near the window, looking out, her face unreadable. He knew what she was thinking: this job might mean they wouldn’t need her. They wouldn’t need her house.
“I don’t know,” Jabr said, rubbing his chin. “I’m not sure I’m up for it.”
Dandy clapped him on the back, grinning. “Come on, man. At least come out to Ahmadi tomorrow, take a look around, meet the folks. It’s worth seeing.” More than anything else, Dandy’s new warmth was a sanctification of sorts.
Before Jabr could respond, Janiah re-entered with the kids, raising an eyebrow. “What’s going on in here? You all look too serious.”
Jabr smiled, trying to play it down. “Nothing much, just talking about an opportunity. Might finally be able to take care of things around here.” He grabbed a shawarma from the bag. “Let’s eat.”
Janiah nodded, but her face remained pensive as she helped hand out the food. She was tired of surprises—everything about this new Kuwait felt like one big, endless surprise.
The next morning, breakfast was hurried. They were getting ready to head to Ahmadi, and right away, there was disagreement about who should go. Jomana insisted on joining Jabr with the baby. Mary hovered nearby, suggesting she stay behind.
“Please, Mom, come with us,” Jomana urged, but Mary shook her head.
Janiah, seated at the table, crossed her arms. “There’s no need for me to go. I don’t belong there.”
“All of us are going,” Jabr cut in, a finality in his tone that brooked no argument.
They met Dandy at the KOC office, the walls sterile and bare, the windows tightly shut to keep out the sand. Jabr’s potential office was nothing but a desk and a filing cabinet. Next door was Grantham Ashby, the British chief administrator, who invited Jabr in for a conversation.
“This isn’t an interview,” Ashby said, gesturing for Jabr to sit. “It’s yours if you want it. I’ve been here six months, and let me tell you, dealing with Kuwaitis is like nothing I’ve ever seen. They spend thirty minutes just chatting about nothing before we even get to the business at hand. And their promises? Sometimes I think saying they’ll do something is enough for them, as if the act of saying it counts.”
Jabr chuckled. “It’s just how things are here. I can help with that. But I live in the city. The commute—”
“We’ll sort that out. In fact, we already have.” Ashby stood. “Come, let’s go take a look at the house.”
Jabr told the women as they walked out, “We’re going to see a house. Maybe a new home.”
“What does that mean?” Jomana asked, but her curiosity was mixed with excitement.
The house, three blocks away, was a single-story ranch with fresh palms being watered in the front yard. Jomana gasped as soon as they walked in. “It’s like something from an American magazine! I can’t believe this.”
Mary, standing at the door, crossed her arms. “It’s small. Barely enough room to breathe.”
Janiah stayed silent the longest, her face tight, her eyes distant. “It doesn’t feel like Kuwait,” she said finally, her voice quiet. “This isn’t my Kuwait. I don’t know this place. Who lives in this neighborhood? Do they even speak Arabic? Where’s the bakery and the souk?”
Jabr put a hand on her shoulder. “It’s still Kuwait, Janiah. Just a little different.”
Janiah didn’t meet his eyes. Ashby cleared his throat. “So, what do you think?”
Jabr exhaled, resigned to his answer. “I think I’ve got a new job.”
The ride back was filled with Jomana’s excitement. “Those appliances! There’s even space for another baby, don’t you think?” Her laughter filled the car, but it was met with silence from Mary and Janiah.
Back at the apartment, the tension finally broke. Mary slammed the car door, storming up the stairs. “So, I guess I’ll be all alone in that big house after all. You were never going to move in with me, were you, Jabr?” He looked away from her and toward Jomana.
Janiah waited until the others were asleep before speaking. “Jabr… I’m out of place. First, we lose the home I raised you in, where I cared for your grandparents, your parents. Now, we’re in this apartment no one likes, and then… Ahmadi. That fake city.” She paused, her voice breaking. “You don’t need me anymore.”
Jabr’s heart clenched at the sight of her tears. “Janiah don’t say that. I’ll always need you. We need you.”
But her tears continued, soaking into her wrinkled hands, and Jabr felt the weight of change pressing down on him heavier than ever.
Janiah rose early, slipping out of bed with a quiet energy that hadn’t been there for weeks. The sun had barely started its climb, but she was already busy in the kitchen, her hands deftly working with the familiar ingredients: eggs, fresh flatbread, butter, and dates. She hummed softly, an old Bedouin tune from her youth, and for a moment, it felt like the old days—back when life was simpler, back when her kitchen was always full of the scents and sounds of family.
Jabr stirred, blinking away the sleep, and caught the scent of the eggs, the fresh bread. He rubbed his face, feeling a wave of comfort wash over him. Maybe, just maybe, things were returning to how they once were. Janiah greeted him and Jomana with a wide smile as they entered the kitchen, setting plates on the table with the same care she always had. “Come, come,” she called, waving them over. “Breakfast is ready.”
Jabr watched her closely, trying to read the woman who had always been the bedrock of his life. She seemed…restored. The familiar rhythm of her morning chores brought him a sense of peace. Surely, this meant she would come with them to Ahmadi, that she had changed her mind. He had to believe that. “You’ve been up for hours, haven’t you?” he teased gently as they sat down.
“Old habits,” Janiah replied, laughing softly. “Some things never leave you.”
After breakfast, she stood, brushing off her hands. “I’ve got some errands to run.” She smiled again, that same bright, purposeful smile from years ago. “I’ll be back this afternoon.”
Both Jabr and Jomana exchanged a glance. Errands? Jabr thought. She hadn’t been herself lately, but today seemed different—better. When she returned hours later, however, there were no bags in her hands, no signs of a shopping trip. “You two,” she said, stepping into the apartment with a smile that reached her eyes. “Take me to dinner. Somewhere new.”
Jabr nodded immediately. “There’s a new Iranian place down the street, should be interesting.”
Janiah’s eyes twinkled. “Perfect.”
They walked to the restaurant together, the three of them, Jabr and Janiah on either side of Jomana, who cradled the baby with one arm. At the restaurant, Janiah ate heartily, savoring every bite of the Persian stews and fragrant Basmati rice, laughing and talking as though no burden lay on her shoulders.
It was only when they were sipping coffee afterward that her mood shifted. Janiah pulled her chair closer to the table, her hands resting in her lap. Her voice softened as she began. “I need to talk to you both. I’ve made a decision.”
Jabr’s heart skipped. Janiah’s tone was serious—too serious. He glanced at Jomana, who was already gripping the edge of the table.
“I’ve been thinking about this for a while,” Janiah continued, her voice firm but calm. “I’m going to live at the Mission. They’ve offered me a room there, and… it’s what I want for the last years of my life.”
Jabr’s fork clattered against his plate. He hadn’t been prepared for this. He stared at her, disbelief hanging in the air.
“What? No…” Jomana’s voice cracked. “You can’t… I need you! We need you. The baby… I don’t even know how to be a mother without you.”
Janiah reached across the table, placing her weathered hand over Jomana’s trembling one. “No, you don’t need me. You’re stronger than you think, my dear. You’re a wonderful mother. You have Jabr, and you have each other. That’s what matters now.”
“But, Janiah,” Jbar finally spoke, his voice low and strained. “You’ve always been there for us. You raised me. How can you just—leave?”
Janiah smiled, but it was a sad smile, filled with the weight of years and the wisdom of someone who had already made peace with her decision. “You have your own family now. And I—I have lived my life for all of you. I’m tired. I need to preserve what’s left of the old ways. I want to be where I can be useful, in a place that still feels like home to me.”
“But Ahmadi… the house there. You’d love it. You don’t have to go.”
She shook her head. “It’s not about the house. It’s about what I need now. And I need this.”
They walked home in silence, the evening shadows long on the ground. Jomana cried softly, her hand slipping from Janiah’s as they reached the apartment. “I’ll let you two talk,” she whispered, disappearing into the bedroom with the baby.
Jbar sat with Janiah at the kitchen table, his hands clasped in front of him resting on the table. He swallowed hard before speaking. “I can’t imagine life without you by my side. You’ve been there through everything—through my father’s death, through my mother’s illness. And her death. You’ve held us together.”
Janiah’s eyes softened. “And now it’s your turn, Jabr. To hold your family together.”
He stared at the table, unable to meet her gaze. “I don’t know how.”
“You’ll figure it out. You’re stronger than you think. You’ve always been.”
He wiped his eyes with the back of his hand, his throat tight. “It feels like everything is changing too fast. And now, you’re leaving too?”
“I’m not leaving, not really. I’ll be nearby, and you can visit whenever you like. But you need to live your life, Jabr. You need to step into your role as a father, as a husband, without me in the background.”
The next morning, they drove to the mission, where Dr. Foster welcomed them. Janiah showed them her new room—plain, but comfortable. “This is it,” she said with a small smile. “Simple, just how I like it.”
Foster placed a hand on Jabr’s shoulder. “We need her here,” he said quietly. “She’ll be a great help to the patients.”
Jabr nodded, though his heart still ached. As they left, he glanced back at Janiah, standing in the doorway of her small room. She waved at them with a smile, but he couldn’t shake the feeling that this was the end of an era—an era where Janiah had been his guiding star.
For the first time in his life, he would have to navigate the path without her constant presence.
The great departure marked a turning point for Jabr, Jomana, and the baby, and for Janiah as well. Janiah was quick to get on with it. Soon back in the quiet of the apartment, she packed her few belongings with the efficiency of someone long accustomed to the transient nature of life. Her hands moved steadily, folding simple clothes into neat piles, tucking away a few carefully chosen photographs. Pliny and Khadijah—faces from a past—smiled from one frame, while another held Jabr and Fadel, younger, carefree and glaring at one another with mischief. That was all. There were no trinkets, no indulgences.
Jabrr stood by, watching her with a deepening ache in his chest. He knew this moment had been coming, but the finality of it struck him harder than he’d expected. When Janiah zipped up her worn travel bag, she looked at him, and they locked eyes, the weight of a lifetime of shared struggle and love hanging between them.
The ride to the Mission was silent. Jabr gripped the steering wheel a little too tightly, as if letting go meant something more than just reaching the destination. When they arrived, he carried her bag and the few picture frames into the small room that would be hers. It was bare, but Janiah smiled, satisfied.
He set the items down and turned to her, and for a moment, neither of them spoke. The stillness stretched out, and Jabr felt a strange mixture of peace and sorrow. There was something almost sacred about the moment, as if this was how it was always meant to be—Jabr graduating from her care, stepping into the next phase of his life without her by his side.
At first, there were no tears, just a mutual understanding that this was right, that this was the natural course of things. But as the reality of it settled into the quiet, the tears came, not in a flood but in a soft, inevitable trickle.
Jabr swallowed hard. “There’s nothing I can say but thank you. You gave your life for me… for us.”
Janiah, her face worn but resolute, nodded. “That’s the way a life is lived, Jabr—always for someone else, whether you know it yet or not. Now, you go and do the same.”
He nodded, the weight of her words sinking deep into his heart. There was no room for more. The moment had said everything.
When he returned to the apartment, it felt eerily unchanged. Janiah’s absence hadn’t altered its physical appearance. The space was just as it had been, as if she had simply stepped out for a moment and would be back.
Jomana, her gaze scanning the room, saw Janiah’s absence like a distant echo. “She didn’t need anything, did she?”
Jabr shook his head slowly, a faint smile tugging at his lips. “She has fewer earthly possessions than anyone I’ve ever known. Even here in the city, she lived like a desert Bedouin. Always moving, never attached.”
Their own move to Ahmadi took longer. It wasn’t just about packing things up; it was a slow and somewhat bittersweet transition. Two small trucks hauled their belongings, and as they unpacked, the familiar smell of curry from the apartment clung to their possessions, a lingering reminder of the life they were leaving
