Two months passed without Janiah on earth, no longer protecting, serving, or challenging Jabr. Though he had braced himself for her absence, the void she left behind was undeniable. Yet, as much as he could be ready, he was. He had no choice but to step into the role she had always envisioned for him—strong, capable, a man of faith and responsibility. He was finally allowed to return to Ahmadi, but before he left the mission compound Fadel stopped by to deliver more news.
“Well, Fadel. There’s been so much, I can’t even begin to say it all. You know Janiah finally left us.” Jabr broke the news first.
“I know brother. I was sailing back from West Africa. Foster informed me by short wave. It’s my last voyage there.”
“You’re giving up the sea?” Shock hit him with a stomach cramp.
“No, I’m selling my freighters that I sail in the Middle East. I’ve borrowed money and bought five new big ships to sail from Amsterdam and London to ports in the States.” Fadel was beaming, bursting with the news.
“You’re not borrowing money, surely not after all my trouble.” Distress pulled his face to a frown. “Debts always end up in the sand. I know that.”
“I’m borrowing but I have the ships as collateral.”
“But why?” Fadel’s financial judgment had always exceeded his. What was behind this?
“The US is starting the Marshall plan, to rejuvenate Europe. There’ll be no end to it for years. I may not be here again, for a long time. It’s vital for us to say goodbye the best way we can. So much has happened. And I need to say this. I love you Jabr.”
Tears rolled down Jabr’s cheeks. I love you, too. I’ll probably never get to the States, but if I do, I’ll find you.”
With the news from Fadel, that he might never see him again, Jabr drove back to Ahmadi, both stunned with the news but happy for his return to Jomana and the baby.
God had provided in ways that Jabr couldn’t have foreseen. He had a wife who loved him, a healthy baby boy, and a steady job at KOC that allowed him to stay afloat without slipping back into old habits of accumulating debt. Each day was a test, but Jabr found the rhythm, a peace that wasn’t dramatic but stable. The weight of constant financial worry had been lifted, and for the first time in a long while, Jabr allowed himself to breathe.
Mary, once a constant shadow in their lives, had become a distant figure. She seldom visited, preferring the company of her grand villa and the questionable intrigues that occupied her time. Jomana rarely spoke of her mother or her father, and Jabr took this silence as a blessing. Perhaps Jomana was finally ready to live independently of her mother’s schemes.
Pliny, their little boy, practically a toddler, was already a handful. Adventurous like his grandfather, Pliny never stayed still. Jabr often caught himself smiling as he watched the boy crawl across the room, determined to explore every nook and cranny. It was a reminder that life, despite its hardships, carried forward.
Things were calm. Peaceful, even. And for a moment, Jabr believed that maybe, just maybe, there would be no more disruptions, no more upheavals. It was a foolish thought.
At a staff meeting one warm afternoon in Ahmadi, the air heavy with the scent of oil and sand, Jabr listened as Ashby Grantham, the chief of KOC, led the discussion. “We need more engineers,” Grantham said, his voice firm and matter of fact. “There’s more oil under this ground than anyone imagined. We need people to extract it.”
Jabr sat back in his chair, half-listening. He knew this well enough—he’d been part of the team helping to manage the logistics. It wasn’t his area of expertise, but it was interesting to observe. He let his mind wander, absentmindedly tying his shoe under the table, thinking about dinner with Jomana and what little Pliny would get into next.
“We’re going to send one of our non-engineers to the United States for petroleum engineering training,” Grantham continued.
Jabr didn’t even flinch. That kind of announcement didn’t apply to him. He had no background in engineering or advanced education—just years of scraping by, learning through necessity. He tuned out slightly, his focus drifting.
“That’s why we’ll be sending Jabr Oslander and his family to Texas Tech.”
Jbar’s hands froze mid-knot. He looked up slowly, as though unsure if he had heard correctly. Grantham continued talking as if the matter were already settled, but Jabr’s mind had stopped. Why would they send him?
“Jabr, stay after the meeting,” Grantham said casually, as if they were discussing a minor detail, not uprooting his entire life.
The meeting ended, and the staff filed out, leaving Jabr alone with Grantham. Jabr fidgeted, unable to shake his confusion. “I don’t think I can do this, Ashby,” Jabr said, his voice shaky. “I mean… I can handle some basic math, but calculus? Physics? Geology?” He shook his head, half-laughing at the absurdity of it.
Grantham smiled, but it was the kind of smile that told Jabr this wasn’t a joke. “I’m aware of your background, Jabr. But you’re the man for the job. We’ll send you to Lubbock, Texas, to the Petroleum Institute. It’s a three-year course. Your expenses will be covered. You’ll be fine.”
Jabr blinked, still trying to absorb it all. “Three years? I don’t know if I can… What about Jomana and the baby? What if it’s too much? I’m not—”
“You’ll manage,” Grantham cut him off gently but firmly. “Unless you don’t want to leave Kuwait?”
The thought struck Jabr hard. Leave Kuwait? His whole life had been here—his struggles, his victories, his family. But Grantham was right. This was more than just an opportunity. It was a chance to reshape everything. He swallowed, still overwhelmed. “I need to talk to Jomana.”
When he got home that evening, he sat Jomana down, unsure how to start. “They want to send us to Texas,” he said, the words strange even as he spoke them. “For me to train as a petroleum engineer.”
Jomana’s eyes widened. “Texas? When?”
“Soon. Three years of school. Grantham says they’ll cover the costs, but… I don’t know. It’s a lot. I’ve never done anything like this before.”
Jomana’s face lit up in a way that Jabr hadn’t seen in a long time. “It’s a fresh start,” she said, her voice filled with optimism. “Don’t you see? It’s God giving us a new chance. You’ll have a career, something stable. And we’ll be far from my mother’s schemes.”
Jabr nodded slowly, her enthusiasm contagious. He hadn’t thought of it like that. Maybe this was a chance to break free from everything—the past, the debts, the expectations.
And before he knew it, they were packing up their lives, boarding a plane, then London, New York, and finally landing in Lubbock, Texas. The dry, flat plains of West Texas were different from Kuwait, but the heat and wide-open spaces felt familiar. They settled into a modest house near the university, and Jabr found himself surrounded by students who were almost still children.
Buying his calculus and physics books at the campus bookstore felt surreal, as did sitting in lectures, scribbling notes next to teenagers. He struggled at first, the concepts foreign and daunting, but every night he would come home to Jomana and Pliny, who gave him the strength to keep pushing forward.
On Sundays, they attended a small Presbyterian church on the outskirts of Lubbock. It wasn’t long before they were invited to lunch after services. The warmth and hospitality of the congregation surprised Jabr—Texans, as Jomana had said, weren’t subtle, but they were kind.
Two months passed, and to Jabr’s shock, the church elders asked him to serve as one of them. How could they reach this conclusion? It was yet another sign that their new life was taking root.
One Friday evening, as they were winding down from the week, Jomana appeared in the doorway with a gentle smile. “I have news,” she said, her eyes gleaming. “I’m pregnant again.”
Jbar stared at her, stunned. Then, slowly, a smile broke across his face. “Again?” He laughed, pulling her into his arms.
“God really does know how to shake things up, doesn’t He?”
