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My Kind of Town
Don Chapman






UNCLE OSAMA


A prayer come true?

» UH-Windward

As she stood in the snaking line to register for classes, Fatima bin Laden couldn't help being excited. For the first time, at the age of 21, she was going to a formal school!

She'd been educated by women, of course, and knew the Koran better than most men. She knew the history of Middle Eastern dance and was adept at the music and dances of many countries and cultures. She could cook and sew. And she had most recently been blessed to learn English from her beloved mentor Basheera Ahd al-Anwar.

In Arabic, her name meant "bearer of good tidings-knowledge-ray of light," and the London-educated Iranian scholar was all of that. More than English, Basheera taught Fatima that a woman could be an intellectual and follow an inquisitive mind, in the arts and the sciences. For Fatima, the smartest person she knew except for Basheera and Uncle Osama, it was rapture -- she could be herself and take advantage of the greatest gift Allah, bless his name, gave her. Basheera also taught Fatima the clandestine martial art She Kat, based on belly dance moves, so she would never walk fearful of being harmed by a man.

So for a Muslim girl, Fatima was well educated. But until today, she'd never attended an actual school. Yes, she was excited.

"I guess this is a big deal for you, huh?" her new friend Jennifer Hira said, "Coming over from the Philippines for school. What're you studying?"

"English, of course. And I hope to take biology, astronomy and algebra."

"Ho, that's a pretty heavy load for your first semester here!"

"My mind," Fatima said with an honest smile, "is thirsty."

It's that immigrant thing, Jen thought. Work harder than the more-damn-comfortable-than-they-ought-to-be Americans and you'd succeed. Jen understood. That was the only way she was going to make a good life for her daughter Jesse -- get an education and a good job, and set a good example. Her mantra: "Work like an immigrant."

"Oh!" Fatima kind of gasped, pressed a hand to her mouth.

It was him! The handsome young Arab man she'd seen on TV last night! He was in line too, joking with another young man with close-cropped hair, an Asian. And he was wearing a gray T-shirt that read "Another U.S. MARINE to the Rescue." She couldn't help admiring the chiseled muscles bulging beneath the shirt, started to look away, but too late ... He caught her looking at him and smiled.

Fatima blushed, turned away.

But Allah be praised, Uncle Osama's prayer was answered. "Our first hope," he'd said, "is to find a Muslim in the military."

In fact, however, Lt. Basel Zakly Faris, USMC -- Baz to friends -- was the absolute last Muslim her uncle would have wished her to meet. For all kinds of reasons.


See the Columnists section for some past articles.

Don Chapman is editor of MidWeek. His serialized novel runs daily in the Star-Bulletin. He can be e-mailed at dchapman@midweek.com



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