Ravi the Unknown Prince (10 page)

I entered into a large sitting area which was two rooms made into one, with colourful wall paper hanging from the ceilings.

There were large sofas with matching cushions and curtains, and fitted carpet throughout the rooms and corridor.

Mahogany wooden furniture was dotted around, and vases of plastic flowers, including ornaments from other countries were placed on the mantel-piece.

I sat down to admire the interior design, which was practical and colourful its blending effects were both relaxing and homely.

The way the English decorator the interior of their house fascinated me compared to other countries.

Minutes later a woman in her late fifties came in followed by Maymun carrying a tray of tea.

I was told that in England the people drank a lot of tea even on a hot summer’s day, just like the Egyptians would smoke hookah.

Uncle Ismael said, “Hasan, this is my sister Nazmoon, the eldest of the family, she is a State Registered Nurse.”

As a mark of respect, I stood up and greeted her with Salam; she responded to my greetings and then she came up to me and gave me a kiss on both my cheeks.

She said, “Welcome to my home, now I can say that I kissed a Prince and a handsome one indeed,” she uttered.

I was stunned at her remark, I thought I left this princely past behind me in Hope Village, and to start a new beginning in another land, but it seems it was back to haunt me.

If I had not found out about my ancestors I would be standing in a state of shock at the sudden out burst of the woman.

I looked around me out of curiosity at the others in the room, and it seemed they all knew.

Maymun sat opposite me and asked, “Did you know about your ancestors.”

I nodded my head and said, “An old lady who used to live a few doors away from me told me what she had heard from my grand-father.” I answered.

I thought that it was all a myth, as there was no proof to back up her story.

My great grand-mother was not an imaginary person, she was real, but yet I was not convinced.

“Please forgive me, I apologise, if I did not share that part of my life with uncle Ismael and Harun.

I want to be me, the young man from Hope Village on the West Coast of Berbice, and not a prince whose identification is blowing in the wind.”

“Never mind son, Musa remarked we must find you Cinderella to complete the picture.”

“I would rather this information remain within these four walls uncle, until I leave London,” I said for my benefit.

“We would not expose your secret, Hasan, to money man Abdullah, and his family,” Musa remarked.

I looked at Nazmoon for reassurance; she was sitting on a foot stool in the corner of the room.

“As you wish Hasan,” she answered.

After having tea and snacks, all of us men went to the Mosque for prayers which was five minutes drive away.

Building work was being carried out on the Mosque, to make it larger.

We were told that only the old men attended the regular five daily prayers, but during Ramadhan and Eid it gets crowded.

I was jet lagged and after Maghrib [sunset] prayers and supper, I went upstairs to have a lie down in one of the bed rooms I would be sleeping in for the next five nights, in that four bed semi detached house.

I must have drifted off to sleep until I heard a knock at the door, and Harun walked in and said,

“Hasan dad said to wake up and to come downstairs looking presentable. Our future in-laws are here to interrogate you.”

“Charming,” I uttered.

Harun would always say something silly to either scare me or make me laugh.

We looked after each other and bonded like blood brothers for the past six years we had been together.

I was the brother he never had, and vice versa, he would always come to me first if he had a problem or was short of money before he went to his father.

I felt terrified as I sat up and looked at him to regain my composure and collect my thoughts.

I was beginning to think, do I have to go through this kind of ordeal to look at a girl? Was my CV not enough, I hope she was worth it.

In America it was difficult to find a decent girl with moral values, they grew up too quickly without a childhood, and it’s like looking for a needle in a hay stack to find a suitable partner.

We were recommended to meet this family in England but I still had my doubts, as to what this couple was looking for in me and Harun.

“What does our future mother-in-law looks like,” I asked.

“She is English, fat and friendly she had a difficult life. Her parents threw her out on to the streets when she took Abdullah to meet them.

Her brothers beat her and Abdullah, and they both ended up in Casualty, her people don’t like blacks and Asians.

This happened in the late sixties, but they were determined to stay together, her name is Liz. That is all I found out about her.

As for father-in-law Abdullah, he got a degree in Law; but does not use it. He was born on the East Bank of Demerara.

He came here in 1961 to study, and only went back home once when his father died but never took his family with him.”

I got up, had a wash and changed my clothes and went down stairs, ready to be cross-examined by this lawyer and his wife.

I entered the room said Salam to the couple who were sitting next to each other, and shook hands with Abdullah.

I was told by my religious teacher not to come in contact with non Mehram [not closely related] women not even to shake hands with them.

I sat next to uncle Ismael on the large sofa and he asked if I managed to sleep a little, I told him that I dozed off but was still feeling tired.

The woman was looking at me and smiling and then she said, “What subject do you teach in Egypt,”

I thought she got a profile of me, why ask?

“Mathematics and Chemistry,” “Alhamdullah,” I answered.

“What was the meaning of the last one?” she questioned her husband.

He did not respond to her, perhaps he did not know, uncle Ismael then said.

“It’s Arabic; both my boys speak Arabic it meant Praise be to Allah,” [An expression we-Muslims used].

I was waiting for the next question when Nazmoon walked in with tea and cakes for the guests.

The woman turned her attention on the tea in front of her, and said, “You all are invited for tea on Saturday, and in the evening we are going out for a meal.”

I looked at Harun and said in Arabic, “Don’t forget to take your English pounds with you; we might ended up paying for her meal.”

Harun started laughing, Ismael did not think it was funny and looked at both of us and said to the guests.

“These two always joking and laughing. When-ever I ask them what was the joke, they would say its nothing dad.”

Abdullah was slim and tall, light brown in complexion with a few grey hairs on his head, clean-shaven and spoke like a polished English gentleman.

His wife was much shorter, a little over weight with brownish colour hair, green eyes and a friendly smile.

No more questions were thrown at me, instead she told us a little about London, Scotland, and where she was born in Bristol.

Then she asked if we brothers would like to live and work in England, it was an open question, so I did not answer.

The look on uncle Ismael’s face told a different story in fact he was furious.

Maymun answered and said, “My sons can’t make that decision until they see your daughters.”

Husband and wife kept quiet then uncle Musa changed the subject to motor cars, and his job on the British rail.

We all sat and listened in silence to him and the others as they joked and laughed with one another.

Harun and I kept looking at them with their comical behaviour.

Uncle Musa and Abdullah met, when he bought the house he is presently living in from Abdullah.

As they were from the same country they kept in contact with each other and meet up regularly and their wives became good friends.

One day Abdullah told uncle Musa that he was looking for two decent educated or skilled young men for his two grown up daughters.

Nazmoon contacted uncle Ismael and that was how Harun and I came into the picture.

On Saturday our noon prayer and lunch, Maymun reminded me and Harun to dress smartly; we were all going out in the evening from Abdullah’s house to a restaurant for supper.

Ten minutes later Abdullah arrived in his cream Mercedes to take some of us to his house as we all could not fit into uncle Musa’s car.

He took uncle Ismael who sat in the front and Nazmoon and Maymun at the back.

We did not leave immediately until we had a pep talk from uncle Musa.

He told us how old the girls were, and that they were beautiful and educated, and their father was very strict with them.

“He can be controlling and he wants what was best for his girls which was understandable.

You two must look at the girls properly and when we get to the restaurant in the evening sit opposite the one you chose.”

Harun said, what would happen if we chose the same girl, uncle Musa started laughing.

“You guys are funny,” he remarked. “It is unlikely, there are three of them but if this happens we would deal with it.” This match-maker was sure of himself.

Uncle Musa continued; “Ask her questions that you think and feel comfortable with, and why you think she was the right one for you, and don’t be mesmerised by her beauty.”

While we were on our journey through London, I tried to remember what my Arabic teacher had told his students.

He said, a pious woman must be number one, and he elaborated on that subject.

Modesty would fall into place if she is virtuous, [chaste] and beauty, wealth and the rest can follow later.

Harun interrupted my thoughts when he said to uncle Musa. “Only the old people practice Islam over here and the women do not look too modest either around these parts. It is like America.”

“Don’t be negative son,” he said “You will have to teach her, those children went to Madressa when they were little.”

Shortly afterwards we reached our destination; we drove through a private road with small trees and flowering shrubs on either side of the road.

Then we reached a black wrought iron gate which swung opened as we approached and uncle Musa drove through it.

A large detached house stood in the grounds among large potted plants and a colourful front lawn.

He parked up on the drive way where there were two other cars by the side of a closed garage.

The building looked like two semis, combined into one detached house. Abdullah opened the front door and greeted us and took us into his sitting area.

It was richly decorated with expensive wall paper, sofa that matched the curtains and cushions, furniture and rugs and much more, it was like sitting in Aladdin’s cave.

I read somewhere that an English man’s house is his castle, Abdullah was not an English man by birth, but he certainly lived like one.

He showed me where to sit and he took Harun to the other side, he separated the two of us.

I guess because we conversed in Arabic and laughed, and he was not having any of it or there could be some other motive behind it.

The door suddenly opened, and liz came in carrying a tray of tea and placed it on a large glass top table that stood in the middle of the room, with the steam still pouring out from the top of the mugs.

Nazmoon followed next with one of the daughters behind her, she was dressed in an Asian out fit and looked quite young.

She pulled up a green leather foot-stool and sat next to Abdullah, her father and they were whispering to each other.

She smiled and said that they were coming with the cakes but very nervous in case they dropped it.

Then two other young ladies came into the room holding a tray each with single pieces of cake on a plate.

They placed the tray on another coffee table and then they began to serve us. I was watching the girl walking towards me holding a plate in her hand.

She was wearing a peach coloured Asian outfit, she said Salam and smiled as she handed me the plate of sliced chocolate sponge cake covered with icing on the top.

I noticed that she had a dimple on her right cheek her hair was light brown in colour with brown eyes, slim and pretty, with beautiful complexion.

I was lost for a moment she reminded me of Muna back home. Why did she served me, and the other sister served Harun.

They must have seen us before and made their choice, the one that served me sat on the other side of her father, and the other sister sat on the single sofa.

Abdullah put his hand on the girl’s shoulder and said, ‘This is Hannah, she is 23 years old, and this one is Zainab she is 18, and that one is Fatimah, she is 21.

Fatimah had green eyes like her mum and light brown hair, Zainab looked like her mum, very English; all the girls were beautiful.

Hannah came with the tea, she smiled as she came closer, and handed me the mug of tea, I said, “Thank you,” and she smiled again.

The same was taking place on the opposite side of me, it was like watching a silent movie, with the crockery noise in the background.

Uncle Ismael broke the silence, when he asked Fatimah, whether she was studying or working.

She replied, “Uncle, I am a trainee Midwife.”

“What about you Hannah?” he asked.

“I am a junior school teacher, uncle,” she answered.

After we all finished eating and drinking, the three sisters, collected the dishes and left the room.

While the men and women were chatting among themselves, Harun joined me and said, “The girls picked who they wanted, and I thought it was up to us.”

“What did you think of her?” I asked.

“I like her, he answered, she can deliver all the babies,” and he started laughing.

“What about you,” he enquired.

“She reminded me so much of Muna, when she smiles I thought that I was looking at Muna, right now I am undecided lets see how tonight goes.” I answered.

When it was time for prayer all of us men performed ablution, and left for the mosque, including Ali.