Ravi the Unknown Prince (12 page)

He told us that she had a few marriage proposals but she kept saying no and he did not want to force her.

The same date was fixed for both weddings Harun and I; a double celebration at uncle Ismail’s house.

While friends and families rallied around with wedding preparations me and Harun were sorting out Muna and Ayesha’s travelling documents, as we were all planning to leave at the same time.

Afterwards, I went to visit the people I knew and to invite them to my wedding, the old lady in Corentyne had passed away.

My two school friends Ramnarine and James had left the village and were living and working in the Essequibo district.

Miss Price was not in the best of health; I took her to a private clinic for treatment and made arrangements for her follow up care.

I spend some time with her and I told her where I studied and the places I lived and worked over the past years, and where I was heading out next after my wedding. She sat quietly and listened most attentively.

Then she said that she never once gave up on me as a student and it was a pleasure teaching me.

She was happy at my achievements and to play an important role in my early life.

“After all that you had endured,” she remarked, “There was always light at the end of the tunnel.”

I told her I took my inspiration from her, no matter how tough it became, I was not a quitter.

Many days later, I carried out some repairs on my house, and had electricity put in, and running water in the yard and into the kitchen area.

You would be surprised what money can buy, if one was prepared to pay, money talks over there.

After my wedding Muna and I were going to spend two weeks at my house, and then I would have it boarded up again, before we left the country.

O
ur wedding was simple and not too extravagant; the whole village turned out because we were well known.

On that day I had mixed feelings; my parents were missing from that important day of my entire life to give me a hug.

Uncle Ismael and Maymun took their place instead, as well as Miss Price and her husband Ronald.

The days that followed, Muna and I would go down to the sea, at the back of my house.

We would walk on the white unspoilt sandy beach or sit on that same log of wood and look for the friendly pair of manatee through binoculars.

We heard from a few villagers that the pair had a calf, and the mother was aggressive with some fishermen when they came close to her young.

Those two weeks went by so quickly then we were all heading back to New York for Muna to meet Asma and the rest of the family before we left for the Middle East.

In the New Year Muna and I left New York for Kuwait where I commenced my teaching profession, and Muna went to evening classes to learn Arabic.

In Ramadhan of that year we flew to New York to spend two weeks before the Eid celebration.

We continue to fast with all the family and to celebrate Eid at the end of the fasting.

It was Muna’s first Eid with the family and Asma was making rude remarks about her.

I confronted her and told her to stop it and to be more polite when speaking to a stranger or to someone older than herself.

Then she came and sat next to me holding one of her sons and smilingly said to me.

“Has an, you better be careful when you fall asleep at night. She might eat you if she wakes up hungry, that cannibal wife of yours.”

“Asma, why is it that you dislike Muna?” I asked.

“Because you married her instead of me,” she answered boldly.

“Don’t you get the message? I was not interested in you, I am going to tell your husband if you don’t stop this nonsense,” I remarked.

“He would not believe a word you say and I would deny it,” she replied.

I suddenly realised that I was dealing with a spiteful and evil woman and the quicker I took Muna away from New York it would be better for both of us.

In response I said, “Asma you should try and lose some weight.”

She got angry and shouted at me in front of every one that I called her a fat cow.

“I did not say that you were a fat cow,” I answered politely “I was just trying to tell you to eat less and to watch your weigh.”

Four years on, I was at the airport in New York with Muna and my son when I ran into Ali, son of London multi-millionaire Abdullah.

He told me that he came to New York on a shopping spree with his mother Liz and youngest sister Zainab.

I asked him about his two other sisters Hannah and Fatimah and their dad. He told me that his sisters got married.

Hannah married a Pakistani guy who owned a restaurant and she gave up teaching to help in the restaurant.

Fatimah married an electrician and was working as a midwife in the hospital.

“I am happy for them,” I remarked.

“What about you doctor Latchman and your brother?” he asked.

“We are both married with a child each,” I answered, “You see that woman sitting in the far corner holding that little boy, she is my wife and he is my son.”

He looked across and enquired, “How old is your son.”

“He is two years old,” I answered.

“Is your wife an Arab,” he questioned.

“She is from back home but she speaks Arabic,” I replied.

I told him that we lived in Kuwait where I was presently working, and that my flight was now boarding.

I shook hands with him and gave him a hug and told him that it was nice seeing him again.

As I walked away to join my family I thought, every-thing happened for a reason.

Seven years later I went home to the West Coast of Berbice with my wife and two sons Nizam and Husain, to visit Miss Price; she was seriously ill.

While we were out there I was told that some one was looking for me and asking questions about my whereabouts.

As far as I knew I had no extended family and therefore I ignored it and flew back to Kuwait after Miss Price’s funeral.

Many years later when I was in New York on a short visit, uncle Ismael took the three of us children and his wife in the upstairs flat and sat us down.

Then he told us that he had decided to go back home to cotton tree village before the next winter set in.

He was in America for nearly twenty years and that it was time he retired and left the country with his wife.

He had made a ‘Will’ leaving the house to his three children and that there was a small mortgage to pay each month on the house and the three of us should contribute towards it.

Asma then said, “Dad, Hasan is not your son and he is not entitled to your property.”

I was shocked after hearing that remark; there was a long silence before she spoke again.

“Harun, you got nothing to say?” she asked her brother.

He did not reply, and then I spoke up.

“She is right, uncle Ismael. You should leave your property to your own children.

I will sign over my share to Harun and Asma,” I remarked “I want peace and not war.”

What I never had I would never miss and at last I did not have to contribute towards a mortgage.

That autumn before uncle Ismael left New York I went back to see him and Maymun.

Muna bought them a few gifts from Kuwait and we all sat together, ate and chatted as though nothing had happened.

After they flew back home, I took my family back to Kuwait and never visited America again.

We all went instead to England to visit one of Muna’s married school friends living in Birmingham; Faridah and Abdul Latiff and their three children. She was a house wife and he was a property developer.

He told me that there was a lot of money to make in that type of business; perhaps that was how Abdullah in London made his millions.

They lived in a five bed detached house with a garage in the suburbs away from the main road with a lawn at the front and a large garden at the back where they grew vegetables.

I told him that I liked the area that he was living in and he encouraged me to look for work in a University in Birmingham.

He said, I would be accepted and that I was born when our country was once ruled by the British and not after.

My sons loved it over-there and we decided to look at a few private schools for Nizam.

He was fortunate to get a place at Harrow School and his education continued in England.

Many years later, I came home one evening after work and Muna told me that Harun rang and he said that I should ring him, it was urgent.

I hesitated for a moment then I picked up the receiver and dialled his number.

He told me that his father was ill and that he was going home to see him and that his sister Asma had already gone.

“Is it serious?” I asked

“I don’t know, but I am going with my family,” he replied.

I told him to book three seats on the same flight that he was going on for me, Muna, and Husain and I put the phone down.

He rang back and asked if Nizam was not coming and then I told him that he was at a private boarding school in London.

After I hung up the phone, I thought I must not make hasty decisions. Nizam was in his second year and I should not disturb him.

I told Muna what was going on and to start packing our suitcases, we could be flying out at the week-end.

I took some time off work and informed the head of Husain’s school and we left that week-end.

I met Harun at the airport and took our tickets and paid him in US dollars.

His son Hamza was the same age as Nizam and his daughter Tasnim was six months younger than Husain.

My nine year old son was having a conversation with Tasnim and they were both giggling away, and then she showed him her finger which she trapped in their door that same morning.

At take off Harun sat with his family and I sat with mine, afterwards I left my seat and went to sit with him, while Ayesha sat with Muna.

There was so much to catch up on; he told me that he did not like what Asma had said when his dad told us about the ‘Will’.

After their parents left the country she moved in with her three children on the top floor apartment, and was using the basement as well. She and Ayesha his wife did not get on.

“Tell me about Nizam,” he asked.

“He is doing his O’ Levels, and then his A Levels. That is what they call it in England and then he is hoping to go on to University to study Medicine.”

“What about Husain?” he asked.

“Presently he is undecided on what he wants to do. He kept telling me he wants to travel and see the world,” I answered.

“He looks more like his mother,” Harun remarked.

“What is Hamza doing?” I asked.

“He is going to do Engineering, like me,” he replied and Tasnim is too young to know what she wants.

While Harun and I spoke on various issues our three children were having their own conversation and our wives were laughing with each other.

Muna and Ayesha got on very well; they were married at the same day and came to New York at the same time.

They became good friends and kept up that friendship by telephone and writing to each other.

When we arrived on the other side Ayesha’s brother Imran was there to meet the seven of us and drove us home.

We all piled into his seven seated cruiser with our suitcases at the back. All the children decided to sit together.

I sat with Muna and Ayesha in the middle seat and Harun sat in front with the driver who was his nephew.

Harun asked Imran how his father’s health was. He said that he was hanging on as he wanted to see his sons.

“What is wrong with him?” I asked.

“The doctor told us that his tubes were blocked and they put him on oxygen and some tablets,” he answered.

I was thinking that if he was in America he would have treatment for that type of illness, but now it was too late.

No one was talking after hearing such news, and then Imran broke the silence and told me that a man from Georgetown was looking for me and he left his number with them for me to contact him.

“What this man look like?” I asked.

“He was dressed in a suit. We think he is a lawyer, but he would not disclose anything to us, he wants to see you in person,” he replied.

“What have you done, dad?” Husain remarked.

“Nothing I can think of, son,” I answered.

“Why is this guy looking for you then?” he asked.

“There is only one way to find out; is to meet up with him in person,” I replied.

Muna was grabbing at my arm as she spoke “Don’t go, Hasan. It could be a set up.”

I reassured her that I had done nothing wrong while living in this country. “Why someone would want to set me up? I must find out who this person is and what he wants from me.”

When we entered into cotton tree village suddenly a wave of sadness over-took me and I had to prepare my self for the worse.

On arrival as we pulled up outside of the house I saw some men wearing white knitted prayer hats on their heads and they were sitting on long benches underneath a section of the house.

Harun and I quickly jumped out from our transport as uncle Yunus the older brother hurried towards us and hugged both of us at the same time.