Given, this was not her fault. Wouldn't you be arrogant and condescending if you were born with a golden spoon in you mouth? That was all Razan knew, gold and platinum. You were not worth her time if you did not drive a vehicle that could remotely catch up to her 2013 Porche Panamera S Hybrid Hatchback. Life was a race and those who cannot run fast enough should not even bother to compete, she would say. She was completely aware of the extent to which her father's influence could reach, and she never minded exercising that influence. When she wanted something, she got it. It was always that simple to her because she could afford to bestow upon others the responsibilities of "how" and "when", (with "why" out of the equation since it was always cancelled out by her "because I said so"). If you could be anyone, you would want to be Razan for she was the center of all the girls' envy and every boys' admiration.
But today, among all days, was not typical to Razan's acculturation. She was not used to waking up on her own, to find the armchair across her bed lacking her neatly folded attire of the day. With a grump she kicked herself out of the warm embrace of her Indian silk sheets and made a mental reminder to bring hell upon whoever was responsible for such utter chaos on this important day. But for now she had to speedily prepare herself for college. She needed to look her best since the professor she had to persuade for an alternative grade seemed to be a pragmatic one. She knew the task was to be difficult, but never impossible for, like her father always said, everyone has a price. As she fit into the long floral dress she acquired from Dubai some months ago, she noticed that her beautician was no where to be found. Curses, what was she to do with her hair now? How did they expect her to just toss it all back on a day like this?
"Ne pas problament du tout! Who even needs hair when you're this pretty." she said to girl looking back at her from the dresser's mirror. As such, she knit her long black hair into a ponytail braid, pulled out her bag of brushes and bleaches, and began to italicize her bold features to the best of their ability.
As she rushed down the stairs, she came across Mary, who was foolish enough to leave a broom on the edge of the last step. Luckily for Mary, Razan could not afford to be particularly attentive to such misgivings on this day, and she overlooked the iniquity just as she did Mary. But minutes later, the fact that Razan swept her hand over the dining table and came up empty handed was nearly unforgivable. Hawsa, the cook, who had heard Razan's footsteps a few minutes earlier, managed to make a tactful appearance with a Provolone Croissant, and place it between Razan's long fingers before Razan had the time to think of a befitting scold. With a loud sigh, Razan snatched her breakfast and made her way to the Italian leather key chain that bound the keys of her sports car. With two loud beeps that alarmed Babiker, the door man, she was beyond garage doors and out of sight. As her Porche sneezed into appearance at the college parking lot, May and Seham were quick to approach the car from both sides, prepared to give their esteemed friend a befitting good morning.
"I love your dress!" was the first of a line of complements that May showered Razan with today. Although, secretly, she envied the diva since May herself had stubby, short legs that could do such a dress little justice, if at all. May was beautiful in her own right,which was to be expected of Razan's entourage. She had sharp features that lent themselves to those of the Arabs, despite her natural African hair. Seham, on the other hand, was taller and slimmer, and resembled some cross between Channel Iman and Ajak Deng. She held the heirs of a model, but lacked confidence for she believed her "dark chocolate" hue was unattractive. Even after spending dozens of hundreds on bleaching creams and products of the like, she was no where near as fair as her two companions.
"Good morning Razo" Seham said in her reserved, shy tone of voice.
"Good morning ladies, I'm sorry I'm running terribly late this morning. I need to catch up with professor Abubakr, talk to you later, Ok." Razan replied, in a tone her friends took as an order rather than a suggestion.
As she swept her book bag and glided away, she could feel the piercing glares of her friends watching her pass them by. Unappreciative brats, wait for me to leave before you turn to backbite me. God only knows why I keep you around! Razan thought, as she heard the echoes of spiteful whispers begin to form. Before her anger with her displeasurable friends could escalate, she was in the professor Abubakr's crummy office.
"Good Morning, sir. May I have a moment of your time."
"Yes come in young lady, what is your name again?"
Fool! Keep pretending you don't know who I am, and I will see to it that you cease to be known or heard of again! "I'm Razan Abdel Rahim Mohammed, Sir" emphasizing her last name, with little attempt to contain her irritation.
"Ah yes," He put down his pen and glanced up to take a proper look at the character before him. "What can I do for you Razan?" he said, peeking from the top of his heavy, brown marble spectacles.
"Well I was hoping you could reconsider the grade I was given on my paper"
"You believe your paper was worth more than it received?"
"Without question, sir." Razan replied with a heavy sense of authority in her voice, as she respectfully handed the professor her paper with hopes of having it reevaluated. As she did so she clasped her hands behind her back, tilted her hips to one side, and gave the man an irresistible, wide-eyed, smile.
The professor, an elderly, experienced man, chuckled to himself as he saw through her futile persuasive attempts. He quickly took up her paper and scanned through it to get a real sense of who she was. To him, students were representations of their work and as such were to be treated on their efforts, not their identities.
"Well ya Razan. My comments seem very clear as to why you received this mark." He said as he stood up and walked around his desk to stand in front of her. "You did not meet the requirements for these criteria here, neither have you attempted to meet them by possibly writing a second draft to present to me today. As such, I cannot change your mark simply because you want me to. You have great ideas ya Razan, it's only a matter of technical skills. I suggest you go home and review the course content related to this paper, and continue to do so, so that next time you don't have to come begging for a higher grade."
"But sir…
"Thank you for your time ya Razan." The professor said, cutting her off, mid-sentence. "I'm glad you're showing some sort of interest, and ambition in your studies. Keep it up, and don't hesitate to revisit me if you counter any other problems or difficulties. My door is always open to bright students like yourself." He reciprocated the wide-eyed smile, and placed the paper into her hands giving her a kindly, pat on the arm.
As Razan walked out of the office, she found herself dumfounded. Those few minutes had struck her with a force of ambivalent emotions that compared to nothing else she had ever felt. Although she did not get what she wanted, she was strangely satisfied. She felt no spite towards the man, not only because she knew in her heart that he was being fair, but because he saw something in her that others failed to see. He had made her feel good about her grade, because he seemed to imply that she could do better, that she was bright. How did he manage to balance between kindness and strict justice?
The thoughts that swarmed off in her head were too much to suppress to a later time, so she brushed through the group of "friends" waiting for her by her car. Without a word she drove off to her haven. She stopped her car in front of a small shack, that seemed like it could fall from a mere kiss of wind. There were cardboard walls that laid their weight on long, thin logs from what seemed to be cut off a baobab tree; all of which were covered by a thick rag made of dead animal skin sown to eroded rice bags.
"Hawa! Lamy! Abaker! Where are you guys?" She called as she walked towards the shack carrying a leather black suitcase in one hand and her croissant in the other.
As she came closer, a lanky, black figure emerged from the shack. The figure seemed ecstatic at the sight of Razan, and speedily moved from the shack to greet Razan with a warm embrace. The little girl was about ten, but she was tall and mature for her age. She was nothing but a sight of skin on bones. Nevertheless, she was a Nubian beauty done little justice by her dirt smeared, shaggy attire that resulted from brutal encounters with a street-bound, poverty-struck life.
"Razo! I've missed you. Hawa and Abaker are doing shifts at Shari' Al Matar(Airport Street), Pa went to fetch some water, and Ma might be collecting at the streets nearby."
"Habibty, I've missed you too! Why are Hawa and Abaker at it again?" Razan demanded, "They know they won't sell much. They should stay here and read the books I bring for them, rather then go out and be treated like dogs in the streets of Khartoum. I keep telling your Pa not to let them go! Why doesn't he listened?!"
"Calm down Razo, you know what he is like." Lamy says with a chuckle, "'We don't know what tomorrow holds for us, best we do what we can to prepare for it' he says" Lamy quotes, squaring off her shoulders and deepening her voice in a theatrical imitation of her father.
"I just don't think children should be on the streets like that. I know how people look at them, and treat them. They are better off using their time to learn. Anyways, here's some breakfast for you." Razan said as she handed the croissant to Lamy. "I want you to eat it all, none of this divide and save for my family nonsense your Pa goes on about. Look at how skinny you are. Plus, I brought as much food as I could in this bag so they should all be set."
By now, Lamy had brought about a small rug on which she and Razan sat.
"They still don't like you coming here?" Lamy asked as she bit her teeth into the warm croissant.
"Oufff ya Lamy, don't even get me started! If I had it my way you would all be living with me, you know. I just hate how hypocritical they all are! Those nasty maids who told on your father that day, I give them hell! As for my father, he claims his political work forces him to be the way he is. But I know better. This Kezan have brainwashed him into thinking you deserve to be on the streets. 'It's Allah's decree'" She imitated, as she rolled her eyes "Never mind all that though, their fake religious claims don't fool me. You know I will continue to visit you and help you with all I can. You just watch, when I get my law degree and take over the firm I will build shelters and homes and give back, not horde it all like my father." Razan ranted on with an ambitious twinkle in her eye. As she spoke a tear betrayed her sturdy facade, and Lamy was not one to miss it.
"Don't cry Razo, it's not your fault you're rich and we are not. Allah may not have directly blessed us with wealth, but he sends us you doesn't he." Lamy said as she stretched the edge of her muddy shirt to wipe the tears that were falling down Razan's cheeks.
"I know habibty, I know. But, I don't even think it's that. Remember the paper I told you I was going to write about your family, to talk about the injustice in our country. I didn't receive a good mark on it. I was so upset, I went to see the professor because I felt maybe he was a koz. But I was wrong! He really sees something in me, and he cares that I do my best. He isn't like the rest of them, he is seems strict and arrogant but underneath there is kindness and morals, I saw it all today!" Razan said, in admiration of the enlightening incident that took place earlier that morning. As she pulled the edges of her scarf to wipe the rest of her tears, the scarf slipped off of her head revealing her hair.
"Nice braid Razo! It's just like mine! Did you braid it yourself?" Lamy said, trying to divert the conversation and bring about a lighter topic.
"You don't miss a thing do you" Razan said, ticking Lamy with one hand as she pulled up her scarf with the other. "It's not quite like yours even though I tried to braid it the way you showed me. Anyways, it looks fine from a distance and maybe someone coming from far won't notice it's not as neat as yours. Maybe they will think we are sisters." Razan said giggling, as she pulled Lamy's braid and touched it to her own.