Confessions of a Muslim Girl

Chapter 18 - Like a Ninja

Long wait. I apologize. I'm not even blabbing!

"What a ninja. Ninja hijabi, no less. Now that’s pretty damn awesome." -- Maysa Malik

Chapter 18

Like a Ninja

☼ Maysa Malik ☼

            African Culture Festival is definitely an event that is worthy of being looked forward to. This is my first time coming here after five years, and already I can’t wait until next year.

            At the entrance, mock African huts house the ticket-sellers. The African men and women selling the tickets are wearing vibrant traditional kaftans, complete with mesmerizing geometric patterns. Rubina, Nazia, Noha, Farah, Farah’s cousin Leila, Naomi, Naomi’s little sister Belle, and I all split up so that we can get our tickets faster.

            I head over to the third line with Belle and Shazia. The lady at the booth happens to be Xiomara Johnson, the former Riverside High student who holds a girls’ soccer record for the most goals in one season. She graduated about two years ago; she always comes back for the festival, though.

            “Malik!” She greets me by my last name.

            “Hi, Xiomara! Wow, you look great, like an African beauty.” She knows my name?!

            “Thank you! Gosh, Coach has told me so much about you – you’ve really accomplished a lot since freshman year!” I bow my head in humility, like the Prophet, may peace be upon him, taught us.

            “I still have a long way to go, but thank you.” I say, paying for the three tickets. She bids me goodbye and we meet up with the rest of the group.

            Djembe drums beat in the background and a troupe of dancers are dancing proudly on the stage about fifty yards in front of us. Their banana yellow, lime green, and brilliant scarlet red clothes flap in the breeze as they step to the beat.

            Little stands surround us on all sides. At one, a South African woman is selling her bead earrings, colors so brilliant that they can be seen from where we are standing. At another, an old man sitting in a rocking chair, a griot, or West African storyteller, is reminiscing fables to the gaggle of young children intently listening.

            Exchanging glances, we all grin at each other. Naomi, generally the authoritative one, declares. “Ok everyone! We have, like, three hours to enjoy ourselves. We don’t all have to be together all the time, but the minute any of you are unreachable on your phone, we will come and get you, and then you won’t be able to go off on your own again, understood?” Most of her monologue is directed towards the younger sisters (and cousin), Belle, Nazia, Rubina, and Leila.

            “Ok, guys. Who has a cell phone?” Farah asks. Farah, Noha, Naomi, and I all do, but Rubina and Belle do not. Their parents claim that they are not old enough. Surveying the group, Farah says, “Ok, so roughly, it will be Rubina, Belle, Nazia, and Leila. A couple of rules though, ok? If you guys want to split up, you have to be with at least one other person. And in one group, at least one cell phone with everyone’s numbers in it. Got it?”

            Everyone nods. We split up – Nazia and Rubina go off one way and Belle and Leila go in another. The rest of us head over to the tent with all the Ms. Riverside Africa contestants in it. A woman is looking at a clipboard in stress. The sign on the tent says, ‘No Non-Contestants Allowed’.