At forty, she was weeks away from earning her degree. This was Ni’ma’s last semester at Wayne State, yet none of her three daughters thought of her as a student, preferring to view her as their elderly tyrant. Then she would sing her favorite section, and he would reach for her hands and caress them, and say, “You have such a beautiful voice.” He would close his eyes and ask her to translate, and she would translate. She fantasized often about playing him Fairouz as they drove across the bridge to Canada together. She would play Fairouz and think of how the words would sound to his American ears. She thought of his hair as she listened to music in the car on her way to and from work, and to and from campus. She thought of his arms as she cooked dinner. Then, she began to think about her professor as she was sewing at work. So she began to wait to apply the lipstick in the car, in order not to arouse his suspicions. Her husband never commented on her appearance, and only noticed the difference if she wore her glossy lipstick before she stepped out of the house. She exfoliated her skin, wore her only lacy black bra-something she did on the days she attended the lecture.

Ni’ma drove her daughters to school and went home to shower and change. She often went to see him during office hours, and he never made any sign that he reciprocated her crush indeed, it felt impossible that he should know of her attraction to him, that he should ever return that feeling of attraction.Īt first, she only thought about him as she was getting ready for class-a lecture-style review of Ancient Near Eastern Art History, which was taught in a hall that held almost two hundred students. NI’MA HAD A CRUSH on her art history professor.

A map of home by randa jarrar