Tradition

by Paula Hayden

Alec sips his Starbucks coffee. It’s a “bold pick of the day,” but he doesn’t know the bean. Doesn’t care. He is happy to enjoy the comfort a coffee brings him as he sits in the mall reflecting on his decision to move here.  It was a no-brainer. Money talks. Still, this place is not quite what he thought it would be. He had had visions of mud-bricked buildings in dusty enclaves, small shops and bazaars, local grocers, and neighborhoods dotted with patches of green. He had had pictures in his head of old men—always old, always men—sitting contentedly out of the sun instreet cafes playing games and sharing stories. Pieces of that impression do exist, but the city is more, much more, than that. Alec lights a cigarette, despite the sign forbidding it. He is not sure he can reconcile the images he had of this Arab nation as a desolate desert with the reality he is living. He is sitting in a mall. He is drinking a coffee. At Starbucks.  He first hears, and then sees, five women approaching the coffee shop. They are each clothed head to toe in a black abaya, shayla, and niqab. Only their eyes show. The shopping bags they carry from Zara, Dolce and Gabbana, and Ralph Lauren, are testament to the fine shopping they have enjoyed. The Gucci, Coach, and Prada purses they carry also speak to their tastes and the money they have to spend. Will I ever get used to this? Alec wonders. The call to prayer echoes lowly through the mall loudspeakers. Alec takes another sip of coffee. I’ll try, he decides.