Under the Olive Tree

1. Wahid

"I mean, can you believe it, though? It wasn't even that bad. That's just what people do over there. It's not like I got pregnant, Sity, people get pregnant over there like crazy. You wouldn't believe it. You got pregnant at sixteen but you were married. Over there, you don't have to be married to get pregnant. I know, I know, it's probably out of this world to you. Well...," Amani hesitated, blinking up at the mud grave in front of her. "I guess that's not all that surprising."

She glanced around the row of six other hut-like graves around her and the back of the ones behind her. The graveyard was silent to her ears and, beneath the shade of the leaf-like roof that stretched from one side to the next, cool to her skin.

Amani sighed, glancing at the names written on the grave to her left. "Are crazy things even that crazy once you're dead? You've probably gone through much crazier than what happens here."

Her sandals scrapped against the jagged dirt floor as she took a step back, lowering herself onto the seats carved into the graves behind her. The eight-foot-tall graves seemed so much larger sitting down.

"I wish you could talk, Sity. You're practically my only friend in this town. Everybody already knows everybody and I'm just the foreigner. Sometimes they even ask me if I need a translation, like I can't understand my own mother tongue or something. They aren't even joking half the time. It's offensive and...," she muttered.

Amani fell silent at the sound of scuffling feet in the walkway to her left. She turned her head and waited until the elderly man made his way past her. Then, once he'd gone, she waited two more minutes before resuming her conversation.

"Anyway," she whispered, making sure to keep her tone low. "I just have to wait this out, right? That's what you'd say. Baba will give in soon enough and buy me a plane ticket out of this place. Then I'll go home and everything will be better."

She paused.

"No, I'd still be with him."

"Who is she talking to?" Two boys scurried past, whispering to each other and staring at her like she'd become a trapped zoo animal. "Maybe she can talk to the ghosts."

Amani glared at them then turned back to her grandma. "He's nicer than everyone here, obviously. And better looking, more pleasant, funnier, better in every way. Plus, I'm at that age now and we can get married so it'll be okay. Baba would like that, wouldn't he?"

She frowned.

"So what if he's white? I thought you wanted a blonde kid."

Silence.

"You think one of these guys would be better for me?" Amani snorted into laughter. "I don't know how things were during your time, Sity, but they've changed now. Half of these boys wear jeans that are way too skinny and the other half won't even look at me."

Amani stopped. "If there was anyone worth it, you know I wouldn't hold back, but that's the problem. Nobody here-."

"And she's talking to ghosts again." This voice was familiar and, when Amani looked up, she saw her favorite cousin strolling closer in her blue abaya. "You know, when Auntie asked me to check on you, did I consider going to the school? Not for a second."

"Reema," Amani rolled her eyes.

Reema extended her hand to help Amani up. "It's a little concerning that my first thought about your whereabouts was the graveyard, Amani. People are going to think you're weird."

She took it. "People already think I'm weird."

"Because that's what you make them think, my love. If you just tried a bit more to talk to them and be as close as you can to normal—which I understand may be difficult for you—" Amani shoved her. "They might warm up. It's a tightknit community here, you know."