An hour later, Janiah intercepted Jabr as he was about to leave for the souk. She caught his arm, pulling him aside with a firmness that belied her years. “What’s going on? I suppose you’ve told her about the debt by now. It’s really weighing on you, isn’t it?”
Jabr looked away, unable to meet her piercing gaze. “No, I haven’t gotten to it yet.”
“Jabr, what’s wrong with you? You’ve got to clear this up now.” She stepped in front of the door, hands on her hips, her posture making it clear she wouldn’t let him leave without an explanation.
“I just can’t do it yet. She had too much to unload on me about her mother. I’ll get to it this afternoon or tomorrow.” His voice was weary, the excuses sounding hollow even to his own ears. He gently pushed past her and left, feeling her disapproving eyes on his back as he made his way to the fish souk.
“Jabr!” Her voice followed him, a mix of frustration and concern, but he didn’t turn back.
With Jabr gone, the house fell into an uneasy quiet. The two women, though each dealing with their own turmoil, respected each other’s need for space. Jomana spent the morning in the bathroom, the nausea gripping her fiercely—a twisted comfort, reassuring her of the pregnancy’s endurance even as it drained her strength.
Jabr returned from the souk, two fresh hamour under his arm, each about a kilo. He unwrapped the fish with a sense of purpose, hoping the act of preparing a meal might restore some semblance of normalcy. But the pungent smell of the fish soon permeated the house, creeping up the stairs to where Jomana lay resting. The scent hit her with the force of a wave, sending her rushing back to the bathroom, retching violently into the toilet. Jabr heard her from downstairs, and a groan escaped him as the reality of his blunder sank in.
Janiah appeared, her presence as commanding as ever. “Take them out to the trash, Jabr. We’ll have leftovers for supper—something a bit less fragrant.” Her voice softened slightly as she added, “And Jabr, if she starts to feel better, you’ve got to tell her.”
The day dragged on, the sun’s descent bringing a welcome drop in temperature but doing little to ease the tension. As evening settled in, Jomana came downstairs, her color returning, a faint smile on her lips. She saw the remorse in Jabr’s eyes and waved it off with a weary smile. “Don’t feel guilty. I really do like fish. Just… not right now.”
Janiah prepared a simple supper of pancakes, fried potatoes, and tomatoes. It was a humble meal, but one that suited the moment. The three ate in relative peace, the mood lightening ever so slightly as the food did its work. But the respite was brief. Jabr felt the weight of the unspoken words pressing down on him, and as soon as they finished eating, he knew he couldn’t delay any longer.
Taking a deep breath, he asked Jomana to join him for an evening walk along the Gulf. The air outside was cool, a gentle breeze tugging at their clothes as they walked side by side, the sound of the waves providing a rhythmic backdrop.
“Jomana, there’s more we need to talk about,” Jabr began, his voice tense.
“More?” Jomana’s brow furrowed, concern creeping into her features.
“Jomana, I’m in a lot of financial trouble. And now, because of me, we’re both in trouble. I bought properties—houses—with borrowed money. I thought they were good deals, but now… now they’re worthless. I have no way to repay the loans.”
Jomana’s face softened with understanding. “That happens to investors all the time, Jabr. Usually, it works out. Maybe I can help. I have some savings in one of the banks in Cairo. How much do you owe?”
“A million and a half rupees,” Jabr replied, the number hanging heavy in the air between them.
Jomana’s eyes widened, the magnitude of the debt taking her by surprise. “Oh my… I had no idea. Maybe we can negotiate with the people who made the loan.”
Jabr shook his head, the weariness in his eyes deepening. “They won’t deal. The families, Al-Bader and Al-Faraj, are notorious for this kind of thing. They’re ruthless. And they’ve hired two high-powered Saudi thugs to collect the money. And that’s not all—our house is scheduled for demolition by the city.”
Jomana’s breath caught in her throat, the reality of their situation crashing down on her. She stood up first, pulling Jabr to his feet from the bench, the urgency of their plight evident in her every movement. “How much time do we have?”
“Two weeks, maybe a month,” Jabr said, his voice barely above a whisper.
“Does Janiah know?” Jomana asked as they turned and began walking back toward the house, the weight of the impending crisis heavy on their shoulders.
“Yes,” Jabr admitted, a hint of shame in his voice. “She’s been after me to tell you.”
The walk back to the house was silent, each step carrying them closer to a future that felt increasingly uncertain.
The next day dawned heavy with the weight of unspoken thoughts and shared exhaustion. Jabr, Jomana, and Janiah moved sluggishly, their spirits still reeling from the emotional overload of the previous day. The usual rhythm of their lives felt disrupted, their minds too cluttered to continue the deep conversations that had consumed them the night before. They arose late, each feeling the strain of recent revelations and the burden of what was yet to be said.
Kuwait, with its Islamic traditions, observed Friday as a day of rest and worship. Sunday, by contrast, was a workday for most. Yet for the small Christian community who met at the Mission compound, Sunday afternoons were reserved for worship. Despite their weariness, the three roused themselves just enough to attend the service. They forced smiles, masking their internal turmoil as they prepared to introduce Jomana to the congregation, a task that felt more like an obligation than a joy.
As they entered the church, they were met with warm greetings. Several women, with the keen intuition of mothers, quickly guessed Jomana’s secret. The whispered congratulations and gentle touches on her arm were filled with genuine delight, but they felt hollow to Jomana, whose heart was burdened with the unresolved tension between her and Jabr. Jabr himself could barely muster the energy to greet Dandy and Bassema, though he knew that soon Dandy would need to hear the full truth—a conversation he dreaded.
The service began with Pastor John’s customary prayer, his voice rich with gratitude for the new arrivals and the gathering of familiar faces. The congregation joined in singing hymns, their voices rising in a chorus that should have felt comforting but only deepened Jabr’s sense of isolation. As Pastor John began his sermon, Jabr tried to focus, but his thoughts were already adrift, pulled in a thousand directions by the storm brewing inside him.
Pastor John was preaching through the book of Romans, and today he had reached the twelfth chapter. When he read Romans 12:2, Jabr felt a sudden jolt of recognition, as if the verse had been written just for him: “Do not be conformed to this world, but be transformed by the renewal of your mind, that by testing you may discern what is the will of God, what is good and acceptable and perfect.”
The words echoed in Jabr’s mind, drowning out the rest of the sermon. He repeated them silently, over and over, each repetition cutting deeper into his conscience. “Do not be conformed to this world…” How easily he had fallen into the trap of worldly success, making foolish financial deals in a desperate bid to prove his worth. But where had it led him? He was drowning in debt, his dreams shattered, and the pressure of his secrets threatening to destroy what little was left.
“Be transformed by the renewal of your mind.” But how? How could he renew a mind so mired in despair? How could he discern God’s will when he felt so far from what was “good and acceptable and perfect”? He longed for transformation, for some way to undo the damage he had caused, but the path forward seemed obscured by his own failures.
Jomana sat beside him, her own thoughts churning. She had listened to the same sermon, heard the same verses, but she was dragged down with the knowledge of Jabr’s secrets, secrets she sensed even if she didn’t yet know their full extent. The gap between them had grown wider, filled with unspoken words and mounting fears. When the service ended, they left the sanctuary in silence, their usual chatter replaced by a somber quiet. Janiah led the way, shielding them from the lighthearted conversations that might have followed.
As they walked home, the silence between Jabr and Jomana was thick with tension, a fragile thread ready to snap. The moment the door closed behind them, the thread broke, and the argument that had been simmering beneath the surface erupted with a ferocity that surprised them both.
“Jabr, why did you think we needed money to be happy?” Jomana’s voice trembled, a mixture of anger and hurt.
Jabr’s frustration boiled over. “You’ve had everything your whole life, Jomana. How else could I replace all that? How else could I make you proud of me?”
“Don’t blame this on me,” Jomana shot back, her eyes flashing with a pain that matched his. “It’s you who made the foolish deal, not me.”
Jabr’s anger faltered, giving way to a bitter resignation. “Now you’re calling me a fool. The truth is, maybe you’re right. Maybe I am a fool.” He stumbled over the kitchen table leg. “But now I’m in this for us.”
Janiah, who had been watching the exchange with a heavy heart, stepped in, her voice firm but gentle. “All right, you two. That’s enough. You both heard the sermon and the verses from Romans 12. Stop arguing and just let God’s word percolate in your hearts. This isn’t the time for blame or anger. Do something together that doesn’t require talking. Go for a walk or go up to bed—the same bed. Remember, you’re in this together, whether you like it or not.”
The room fell silent again, but this time the silence was different. It was not the silence of avoidance or denial, but the quiet of two people beginning to confront the truth of their situation, with the hope that somehow, they could find their way through it—together.
