Fatima

Every Thursday I tutor Fatima Salah, a young, beautiful, high school freshman who is an immigrant/refugee. Like many in this position, Fatima is wedged between various identities; her parents are from Somalia, but she was born in Kenya, she is Muslim, but is growing up in the United States where the grind of daily life makes this religion difficult to fully practice. One can assume nothing about her. She sits slumped over and speaks in a quite voice, yet she is a powerhouse in soccer, LOVES Bollywood to the point that she learns Hindi just by watching it, uses Spanish swear words and plays chicken with the rushing traffic on Powell Boulevard by her house.

Although she can be unpredictable, our visits have a definitive pattern. I enter their two story apartment through the living area, a long room patterned with wall to wall colorful carpets. All furniture is pushed against the wall, leaving a large space for prayer, eating, watching tv and doing homework. Tapestries with text from the holy Quran and image of Mecca decorate the white walls. Fatima’s mother, Aminat, yells for Fatima to come greet me. Fatima runs down the stairs and either goes straight to the closet without a word to get her book bag or declares “I don’t have homework!”

When she does, I tutor her in math. Now, this is surprising for me because in my mind I am horrible at math, but Fatima’s cool, calm nature takes away all nervousness and I sit with her until her assignment is complete. When she doesn’t have any we talk or explore the internet.  When Fatima claims to be free and clear of homework her mother chimes in, “homework! YES! Fatima yes!”

Lately, Fatima will go on the internet alone and her mother will make me ginger coffee and doughnut-like pastries. Aminat sits on the couch with me and I ask her questions about Somalia…

-om