And She Continued to Dream [Archives:2005/903/Culture]

By: Shafiqa A. Fakir
Email: [email protected]
Aneesa stood leaning against the street lamp with a bunch of newspapers in her hand and a distant look in her eyes. Some thought she was tired. Others felt she was just a lazy twelve-year-old child. Yet, to some others she wasn't even there.

Beneath those troubled brown eyes was a recurring dream. But, no one had ever asked Aneesa about it. There was no one to listen to her. No one interested in her. So, her dream was there ust there. She didn't even have a name for it. To her, they were some visions sailing before her eyes. Colorful. Vivid. Charming. At times, during such solitary moments, she stretched out her hands to hold them tightly close to her heart, but they were mercilessly snatched away from her. Leaving behind only darkness arker than the darkness within her. If only she could find those hands that whipped away those visions! Threatened a timid voice within her.

Aneesa remained momentarily oblivious to her surroundings. The summer heat burning her skin didn't bother her. The cacophony of car horns and yelling on the busy free way didn't distract her. She was walking on a green lane wearing a white frock, her hair neatly combed and tied in a red ribbon. Sometimes, she was in a classroom answering the teacher's questions enthusiastically. At other times, her fantasies took her on a ride in one of those luxurious cars that she saw every day on the roads.

Gal. Get back to work. A harsh voice shouted at her. Her mother, in her shabby filthy abaya, stood before her with a scowl on her dark sun burnt face. At that instant, Aneesa was falling down a deep pit, waiting to touch the bottom here was none)there never will be. She knew that. Again, she had that angry feeling of something being snatched away from her. Her Dream. Without a word, she slowly moved away from her mother waving the newspapers in the air to the passersby and drivers' attention: “Al-Mustaqbl Her voice frail, tired, weak.

And, whenever she could find some chance, Aneesa stole some moments and sat in a corner, or leaned against a street post and dreamt. Some thought she was tired. Others felt she was just a lazy twelve-year-old child. Yet, to some others she wasn't even there.
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[archive-e:903-v:14-y:2005-d:2005-12-15-p:culture]