أحبك

(Habibti)
3:40 pm. Phone conversation
"Alo?"
"Hello Sameeha!"
"No! It's Nadia! I'll get Mom"
"Sameeha!! Hello habibe!!"
"Oohhh Ellen, habibti, how are you?! Hello!"
"Is it still okay if i come to your house today?"
"Hiyati! Yes! Yes! I wait you!! You coming?!"
"Yes, yes! I come. I'm coming. I'm leaving work right now. I'll see you soon. Habibi!"
"Habibi, okay. I love you!"
"I love you too."
I struggle a bit getting there, clearing the cobwebs from my mental map of KCK. It's certainly expanded since my first Mapquest directions to Catholic Charities in July, 2009. I recognized streets I've walked now and have several pinpoints to homes of friends and students. But where was Sameeha's house? One wrong turn. I reoriented myself and continued north. Talking aloud, I directed myself to continue straight.
"I think you have to keep going, past downtown, and then it will be on the right."
If I called Sameeha, she might not be able to direct me much except for the name of her street, which I knew. My intuition paid off, and I found the turn, the apartment complex, the building, and the apartment. I was buzzed in and descended the short flight of stairs to apartment B. The door whooshed open.
"Hello!!!! Habibi!!! Hiyati!! Ohhh!! My daughter!!! I love you!! I miss you!!"
"Sameeha!! I love you too! Habibi!" We kissed each other's cheeks and hugged. I tried to be as transparent in my delight to see Sameeha as she was in hers to see me.
I caught a glimpse of someone familiar.
"Yasmeen!!! Come here!!" I cried to Sameeha's youngest daughter.
The girl who had been too shy to speak to me two years ago grinned and waltzed over.
"Hello Ellen! Why you didn't come to my birthday?"
"Yasmeen! Give me a hug! When was your birthday? I would have come."
"In March. But why you didn't come?"
"I didn't know it was your birthday. Next time, have your mom call me and I'll come."
Sameeha spoke fast Arabic to Yasmeen. I gathered from the tone and facial expressions that it was about minding her manners. I laughed, like I'd continue doing for the next two hours.

You see, I think Sameeha and I are somehow soul-friends. I have changed her name here and I chose Sameeha because it means "generous". And she is. We are from two different countries, countries who have recently considered each other enemies. Though she's not that much older than me, her face has been wrinkled by stress that I will never know. Stress of leaving her home without her husband, taking full responsibility for their children, moving to the USA. Stress of fearing for their lives before that.
I help her with her English homework and she teaches me to count in Arabic. When I arrive at 10 (ashra), I am welcomed by her overjoyed laughter and cheers of "Goood!!! I love you! You so smart!"
I think she could teach me anything.
أناناس