Maganda! March 24, 2007
Posted by jewaira in Kuwait, Life, Stories.27 comments
11:30 a.m.
At the doctor’s office. The cheerful nurse gets me ready for the doctor’s physical exam. I pop up gingerly onto the examining table and she covers me with a white sheet. Only the ends of my recently manicured toes are showing. She pulls the sheet down to my waist, and pulls up my shirt. She smiles and murmurs some words in Tagalog. I smile back and wonder if there is something wrong with my bra. “Maganda! That is beautiful in Tagalog,” she tells me as she moves away. I look at the ceiling and wonder if I should joke about her flirting with me…but decide against it as the doctor saunters over.
11:45 a.m.
I am waiting outside the hospital. A very worried, very pregnant woman emerges, clutching a handful of medical papers. A young rakishly thin man accompanies her. It can’t be her husband, I think. She is nervous and flustered. I am guessing that the doctor has told her it is Time and she must be admitted. She bursts out at him in Arabic: “What are we going to do?” He pulls out a cigarette and is so nervous he does not light it right away. It hangs there between his lips like a pacifier. The pregnant woman pulls out her mobile and calls home. She gives instructions to someone to :”Wake Baba up. Tell him ako mama hospital ako baby. Hurry!” Oh! So her husband is fast asleep at home and the maid has to wake him up.
Soon hubby calls her and she explains that she wasn’t prepared; she was just coming for her regular check up but the doctor has told her she must be admitted.
The young man beside her lights his cigarette and the acrid fumes curl into my nose. I want to say: don’t smoke so close to her; the baby!
12:30 p.m.
I am standing at the check out queue at Sultan Centre. My trolley is not very full however I jealously guard my place because from the corner of my eyes I can see a man holding half a dozen packets down with his chin, inching his way behind me with a pitiful look in his eye. I am half expecting him to ask me to let him pass.
Suddenly I can’t stand it anymore and I turn around and say good naturedly: “You know there are Express Check out Counters over there… ” I advise, looking to the far left.
He looks at me and points behind him to a trolley, full to the brim and says : “No, ako arabanah!”
I turn around and mutter to myself: “9ijj ligafah, Jewaira, putting your nose where it doesn’t belong!”
12:40 p.m.
Outside Sultan Centre, Salmiya there is a hub of activity. Along the sidewalk people leave with heavy trolleys and others make their way in from the open car park. Two middle-aged women pass me, with large designer sunglasses and they seem to be speaking in an Eastern European language. I notice they are wearing elegant trouser suits and I stare at the one wearing sheer white linen. Her turquoise g-string is visible under the light material. Her rounded ass moves with the momentum as she sways in her high heels and continues to chat with her companion.
