Trip No. 1
April 20, 1987

Eidoh, like Helen of Troy, has a face that launched my life into a one-year, consuming tailspin. How our paths crossed was truly fateful, and seemingly influenced by the deceased Bilquees, Eidoh's elder sister. Two years past Bilquees' death, in early April 1987, I caught Eidoh's fanciful beauty and youth, while I was in a veranda with Italia a very close friend, ironing out some personal problem on her elder sister Idid's veranda. Suddenly, Italia diverted us from our discussion.

"Issey, there she is-Eidoh." Italia extended her arms, pointing across the far end of the veranda to where a group of adolescent girls were passing a hot mid-afternoon watching passers-by. "As always," she confided, "when she is in town on her periodic vacation, she stays with her cousins and nieces in that apartment. Now that Bilquees is dead, she is the only surviving daughter, and also the youngest in the family."

"Oh, yeah! She is very pretty," I said, mesmerized.

"Ain't she?" Italia nodded.

From a distance of about thirty feet, I caught the fanciful beauty and youth of Eidoh. I must meet her, I told myself.

Shereen, Eidoh's niece, was an amiable 16-year-old with attractive green eyes. Often, she engaged me in conversation when Italia and I were at Idid's home. The ability to converse with me in English enhanced Shereen's self-esteem, since in the country most of the educated elite spoke English. And, fascinated by me, Shereen could not contain her curiosity.



"I do, indeed," I said quickly. "Very much."

"Come to our place tomorrow. Visit us, and meet Eidoh there," she surprisingly announced.

"Are you serious?" My eyes pierced hers, gauging her truthfulness.

"Of course I mean it!" Shereen haughtily affirmed.

An irresistible opening. I would not decline it, not for any good reason in the world. Still, I had a few concerns.

"What about your uncles and aunts?" I probed. "Do you think they would approve of it?"

"Don't worry. It'll be alright," she firmly assured me.

Late afternoon, April 7, I was at the moldy apartment building. From the atrium, Abhy, a relative of Eidoh, busily chasing cooties from her daughter's head, motioned me inside. Having been in the house before, I proceeded to the room once occupied by Bilquees and her family. After her death, it was turned into a den of unmarried females. The group was already inside waiting for me.

"Hi, everyone!" I said, excited, my eyes scanning the group. "Hmmm. I can tell you have been eager for my visit, huh?"

"Yes! We are waiting here excitedly for you!" Shereen exclaimed. "Please, Elizabeth, take a seat," she gestured to the sole chair, evidently reserved for me.

"Thank you. But I'd rather sit on this bed, if you don't mind."

"Okay! Okay! No problem," the girl readily assented.

On the bare flat wooden bed, pushed back against the wall, and usurping most of the space of the small, rectangular room, I settled onto a corner. Shereen, the self-declared leader of the group, took a seat beside me; others, for lack of chairs, joined in. At that vantage point, I was like a teacher in front of a captive class.

The group, other than Shereen, was composed of Bilquees's other son and daughters, and those of Teres, an aunt from the Moses family-and Eidoh, their young aunt on the mother's side, who remained rather detached, in a corner.

"Eidoh," I called, "why don't you sit here closer, with the group?"

All I got back was her silence.

Close up, Eidoh was a paragon of my ideal beauty in a woman. Caucasian, yet distinctively of Indian extract. Her eyes were a giveaway, uniquely attractive. Her long lashes, thin and a little curled up, fringed eyes carved long and slightly slanted, concealing her small, light brown iris. Her eyelids seemed heavy and halfway open, as though squinting at the light. She resembled the actress Kirstie Alley. I found it extremely beguiling.

Everybody in the group appeared excited at my stories; including Eidoh, aloof but attentive. Not too long in my position, the bed suddenly creaked, then slumped down on my side, pulling me down with it. I was jolted by the abruptness. In that posture, I must have appeared funny; the youngsters let out a muffled laughter.

"Very, very sorry, Elizabeth," Shereen apologized, reaching down to help me. "Are you alright?" she asked, inspecting me for injuries, half-amused but genuinely concerned.

"I'm okay, just somewhat shaken." I stood, dusted at my clothing, and composed myself. "Nothing more than few scratches," I added, examining my arms.

"That bed, actually, has a broken leg at your side and was temporarily set on a pile of bricks. I totally forgot," she explained, embarrassed. "Again, very sorry, Elizabeth."

Then, turning the situation back to its light mood, she self-deprecatingly added, "It might have been my weight that could have brought it down." We all laughed at the difference her whopping 160 pounds would have made.

Soon, I was back to my normal effervescent self. "Okay. Let us resume where we left off."

"Tell us more about Amreeka!" Shereen prompted enthusiastically.

It was not a surprising demand, since they might have heard from their uncles of the greatness of America, with its wealth and goodies. Their uncles, meanwhile, love to drink, and were more intrigued by the liquor that overflowed during parties in homes of expatriates.

"America is indeed a unique country," I began, speaking mostly in English. "Over there is a guaranteed constitutional freedom bestowed to every citizen, including the freedom to say what you want and to express your opinion. Food is abundant and very affordable-it is rather hard for anybody to go hungry. There is generally fairness in the justice system, and court cases are decided in timely fashion, taking at most two years. Also, there are plenty of exciting places to see and visit."