Alatash

Alia Al Hazami

Description

ALATASH is about a young African lady called Alicia Anderson. The story follows the complications that forced the young Alicia to grow up too fast. It showcases her growth from an innocent girl to a resilient woman. ALATASH puts matters of privilege in perspective and proves that age is but a number when facing life.

Sujets

• Children's

Informations

• Publié par: Sail Publishing
• Date de parution: 12 avril 2017
• Nombre de lectures: 0
• EAN13: 9781912022410
• Langue: English

Extrait

Alatash

Alia Al Hazami
Published by Sail Publishing L.L.C.
Copyright © 2016 by Sail Publishing L.L.C.

All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the publisher except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

Cover design by Aalaa Albastaki
Front cover sketch by Reem Al Ali



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This one goes out to my grandfather Abdullah Mohammed Bin Shabib, I'll miss you forever and always.
Acknowledgments

First and foremost, I would like to thank my role models my father and mother for their endless support and love through this.
Secondly, I'd like to thank my family for pushing me forward with their kind words, especially my wonderful cousin Abdullah Al-Marzouqi for taking the time to go through my work, my beautiful cousin Latifa Al-Marzouqi for helping me grow throughout the years, my dear sister Mariam Al-Hazami for being my second mother and for inspiring me, my brilliant brother Hamad Al-Hazami for his daunting 'reverse psychology', all my uncles and aunts especially Mohammed Al-Hazami Mayed Al-Hazami, Salem Bin Shabib, Mariam Al-Marzouqi, Aisha Bin Shabib and Fozya Bin Shabib.
Thirdly, I'd love to thank my exceptionally loving friends Jawaher Al-Noman, Lamya Qais, Mahra Al-Marzouqi, Reem Al-Attar, Maitha Al-Hajri, Noura Al-Hashmi, Fatima Al-Serkal, Fatima Al-Suwaidi and Aseel Mohammed. I owe them so much for being there for me, baring with me and believing in me. Also, Safiya Al-Nuaimi, Nour Al-Harmoudi, Hana Al-Ayoubi, Maryam Al-Hashimi and my teacher Carmelita Williams for motivating me, pushing me to the extreme and keeping me positive.
Fourthly, my gratitude goes towards Think Up GCC, Untitled Chapters and Sail Emagazine for posting my work, allowing my voice to be heard on a larger scale and for helping me improve my writing.
Lastly, I'd be more than happy to thank the Twitter community; I literally wouldn’t be here without their support and feedback. A special thank you goes to Shahad Bin Thani, Reem Al-Redha, Maryam Bin Sougat, and Fatma Lootah my fellow writers, I hope your dreams come true the same way mine did.
This book is dedicated to all the people who shaped me up and made me the strong person I am today. I love each and every single one of you whether I mentioned you or not. Never stop believing, because one day you'll get what you truly wish for.
Table of Contents

Oh, Africa
Tia the witch
Goodbye Africa
The departure
A new home
This ain’t Wonderland
An everlasting childhood memory
Rightful pain
The embassy of joy
The Lewises residence
A new life
Home sweet home
Fate
Hallelujah
Welcome back despair
Holding on
Employment
Frustration
Loveless
My future
Leaving home
Brand new adventure
Mr. Jassem’s household
Blessed
Baby don’t cry
Midnight madness
7, 8, 9 BOOM!
My baby
Pain of a mother
The UAE welcomes you
Funeral
More change
Over thinking
Follow your arrow
A long drive
Another home
Is my house my home?
My darling my child
Instincts disapprove
Grand opening
One last glance
Nothingness
Dear Mr. Lewis
All grown up
Something new
Nine to go!
A beauty
Long wait over
I am no more
Scoundrel
My true home
Aseel
Pain
Goodbye, for good!
Turning point
Epilogue
About the author
Oh, Africa
Alicia Anderson
On the first page of my story let me tell you that I haven’t lived a proper life. My life has been a series of unfortunate events; it has been full of problems and I had a traumatizing childhood. As you can see, my life hasn’t been as beautiful as Picasso’s art. My name is Alicia Hope Anderson and here’s my story.
I was born on the 7th of May in the year 1960 to an African family in a small African village in Ethiopia, to the parents Faith and Malik Anderson. My parents were extremely happy to have me as I had an older brother who died from cancer before I was born; they were truly thankful to the lord for having another baby.
I’m an exact replica of my mother; I have her keen big brown eyes and big pink lips, her dark brown hair and her freckles. Like my mother, I was known for my maturity. Though I had a tiny body, everybody claimed that I had a big brain that didn’t suit it.
I can’t really remember the first eight years of my life; all that I can remember is that my family suffered from poverty and due to that I didn’t get to spend a lot of time with them as they were always working trying to provide for me. My father had two jobs. He was a butcher by day and a janitor by night. He suffered immensely to provide food on our table. He’d leave at 5:30 in the morning and come back at 12:00 midnight. I got to see my mother more, but I didn’t have time to talk to her. She used to work at Mr. Jacob Maxwell’s orphanage and that took up all her time.
Mr. Jacob was an American man who owned an orphanage in our village. He had dark brown eyes and a funny looking mustache that resembled the ones cowboys had. He was slightly fat and was rather short. He had a few hairs left on his head and had a peculiar walk; he walked like a penguin!
He owned an orphanage right next to our tiny house. He was such a nice man; he lived in the orphanage just to make sure that the little kids have a good life. The orphanage was absolutely splendid. It was a huge house with 25 bedrooms; each five children would share a room. The kitchen was so grand; it had a beautiful navy blue chandelier dangling from the ceiling and the shiniest kitchenware I’ve ever seen. It made our kitchenware look shabby. The living room was so warm. An extravagant television set was placed at the center of the room and a flaming bright red fireplace was present. It was the fanciest place I have ever seen! Mr. Maxwell was a generous man; he once told mom that he wanted the orphans to live in the same environment he’d want his own flesh and blood to live in. He was my favorite white man. Not all of the white people were nice to us though. Most of them would give us nasty stares and call us niggers. My mother hated them. Mr. Maxwell was so different; he’d greet my mother with "Hello beautiful" and sends her off by saying "Time to get your beauty sleep gorgeous." I liked going to work with mom; Mr. Maxwell would give me sweets and then allows me to play with the other kids.
There was a girl named Petunia Marshall. She had a glorious fiery personality that couldn’t even be compared to the flaming fire in the fireplace. Her face was full of slightly visible freckles, and she had the most beautiful honey-like eyes I have ever seen with the longest eyelashes, and she certainly was the sweetest little girl. She was my best friend. We were inseparable! We had the best time together.
I didn’t go to school; I went to the orphanage instead. Mr. Jacob had sessions in which he’d teach us how to read and write and would always give us fun assignments. My mother loved taking me to the orphanage as it puts a huge smile on my face. Plus, it provides me with the education my parents would never able to afford. Her priority in life was to make me happy, but my constant visits to the orphanage weren’t good enough for her. She didn’t want me to have the childhood she had. She wanted me to be extremely educated. To her, knowledge is the most important thing a person could have. She got an offer from my aunt Tia a couple of years ago to take me to Sudan, the hometown of Tia’s husband, and enroll me in a school there.
Aunt Tia was a wealthy woman. Her hair was as dark as the nightfall and her eyes were as cold as ice. Her appearance made her look like one of those evil queens we hear about in fairytales. I didn’t like her one bit. She terrified me; there was something about her. I couldn’t breathe properly every time I saw her. The sight of her made me feel like all of the happiness was sucked from the world, but my mom disregarded and overlooked what I thought of her. She found her to be somewhat perfect.
One day while we were going back home from the foster house, mom finally decided that she wants what’s best for me and would give me up to her so that I get provided with a good life. The moment I was terrified of was here. The moment I dreaded the most was here. The moment I was trying not to think about has finally arrived. Mom picked up a payphone, rummaged through her tiny handbag in order to find a few coins, inserted them into the payphone, and dialed a long number. My heart was beating rapidly, and I was thinking to myself "Don’t pick up. Don’t pick up. Don’t pick up," but to my dismay my aunt picked up the phone. "Hello, who’s this?" I heard. My mother took a deep breath and said "It’s your sister in law, Faith." I was staring at her with wide eyes, feeling betrayed and pleaded my mother to hang up. She pushed me away.
"Oh, hello darling. Did you come to your senses yet?" She asked mom that question every time she talked to her.
My mother gulped, "As a matter of fact I did. As much as this is killing me I want my daughter to have a proper life. I don’t want her to suffer the way we did. Come take her away Tia." I started crying hysterically, and my mother joined me.
"T-Tia" she continued, "T-take her away a-an-d p-p-pll-lease take care of her. Please"
Aunt Tia started squealing with joy. "Wonderful! I’ll come as soon as possible! Pack her belongings this instant!" She shrieked, "Mohammed!" She yelled to her husband "Alicia is finally joining our little family."
Mom was wiping away my tears as she said "I have to go now. Please love her like she’s your own kid… Please" and then hung up.
Tia the witch

I didn’t want to go to Sudan with her. I hated my aunt. I started screaming in the middle of the busy street "Why did you