Naema’s Story
By Nur Laura Caskey
You know, last week I was with Naema, my daughter, on our way home when I stopped by one of the gas stations by our apartment. I know the attendant there – he is Muslim, he’s said “salaam” to me several times before when I stop by, you know, he seems very nice. So Naema and I stop by, I go in to pay the attendant, and then come out to start filling up the car. You know, Abdallah wasn’t there with me so when he’s not around I just fill it up myself.
Anyway, I’m filling up my car with gas when this man drives up behind me and gets out of his car with this terrible look on his face. He is just looking at me with- with- with so much hate, you know?- and he takes out his card to pay, shooting me looks this whole time like I’m something evil and horrible. I was starting to feel so nervous, you know, so anxious to go, so I’m praying please, please, hurry up so the gas will finish pumping and I can leave. But as I’m finishing up and putting the nozzle back in the stall I hear his voice calling out to me, just covered in hate:
“You ought to be ashamed of yourself!”
I meant to ignore him, but I was so shocked by what he said that I turned instead.
“You ought to be ashamed!” he spat out again, this tiny little man with graying hair and work clothes on. “How can you even stand here looking like that? How can you even stand in this country looking like that, you goddamn terrorist?”
He started stepping towards me, and suddenly seemed that with each step he was getting bigger and bigger, and in my fear instead of just walking away like I had planned I started reacting to him instead. “Shut up,” I muttered, clutching for my purse.
“I feel sorry for your children, having to live with a person like you as their mother- is that her, is that your daughter in there, the one that you forced to wear that, that, thing on her head, too? A child and you’re already suffocating her like that! You’re a horrible person, a horrible mother! You should be taken out and shot!”
I looked back in horror at Naema sitting in the backseat looking out the rear window with her eyes round and popping against the brilliant white of her hijab, and suddenly all this protectiveness for my child raised my temper and my voice. How could he be saying these things about me, about my child, even in front of her? She shouldn’t hear these things! I can take them, you know- but her?
“Shut up- shut up!!” I started shouting back. I cast a quick glance over to the register’s window where the Muslim attendant sat. And you know what? There was no one in there with him, he was just sitting in there, alone. And I know he saw me- he had to have heard the terrible things that this guy was saying to me. But he didn’t do anything.
“Terrorist!” He was screaming now, and I backed further and further away from him in fear and anger and frustration. I don’t remember if he was actually moving in my direction or not, but he seemed to keep getting bigger and bigger, even more because nobody around was helping me. He was just sitting there screaming at me and I couldn’t do anything and neither would anybody else. “Terrorist!” he screamed at me again. “Go back to where you came from! Take your dirty oil with you, too- we don’t want your kind here! You ought to be ashamed- ashamed!!- of what you’ve done, destroying our country and forcing little girls like that one in the car to wear that- that- dirty towel!”
I was near tears now, clutching at my purse and trying to grab for my phone. “Shut up, shut up, shut up!!” I screamed back at him, even though I could hear my voice breaking and choking and knew that it was nowhere near as loud and commanding as his. Who would listen to a voice like that over his? Desperate, I reached out to the only thing I could think of. “I’ll call the police!!” I screamed back at him. “One more word-“
“Terrorist!”
“One more word, I swear-“
“Your children should be taken away from a monster like you!”
“I’ll call the police!” My voice caught in my throat at his threat as I reached for my cell phone. “I’ll call them- I’m calling them! I’m calling them right now!”
“Fine! They’ll deport your ass back to Afghanistan or Iraq where you belong- get outta here, monster!”
“I’m calling!!”
“Terror-“
Suddenly a loud angry voice interrupted him from behind one of the filling stations.
“The lady….said….for you….to SHUT UP!!!!!”
And- you won’t believe this, you really won’t believe this- this huge guy walks out from behind one of the pumps- huge! He had this long black hair in braids and a big black beard, tattoos all over the place- he looked really really scary, you know, but I, wallahi, right then, he was like an angel to me. Because he started walking over to the man who had been yelling at me and suddenly that man shrunk in size! He became like this little whimpering chihuahua where before he had seemed like a wolf!
And the big guy just walks up to him, the smaller one getting even smaller as he does, and he says to him in this deep booming voice, “The lady told you to shut up…….so SHUT UP.”
The short one looks as if he is about to faint, and starts sputtering and trying to make excuses but he can’t even get a single word out! The big one just leans in closer and tells him, “Shut up.”
I was so relieved, I was almost fainting myself. I started thanking the man over and over and over again- “Thank you, thank you, thank you, you have no idea- thank you”- and his face grows very gentle as he looks over at me, gives me an understanding nod and then waves me away, saying in a softer voice now, “No problem, no problem, don’t worry about it ma’am, s’okay. You can go now.” Then he turns back to the man and his voice becomes harsh. “What, you can’t say anything now? You were saying so much just a minute ago. What, are things different now? Go on, tell me exactly what you were telling her.”
Overwhelmed with relief and anxious to get out of there I rushed back into my car and left. While I was driving away I looked back in my rearview mirror and saw the big guy still yelling at the little one and the little one getting smaller and smaller by the minute.
Nur Laura Caskey is an aspiring amateur writer, comic artist, and recent graduate of UCLA in Women’s Studies. She was born and raised in South Louisiana and still calls the place home after fourteen years of living in other parts of the U.S. and traveling across the world. She is currently working on a series of short comics of the lives of American Muslims.