I saw her today. Usually in the mornings, when I’m eating, I stand at the window and look for her. If it’s after 7, which is when the mom leaves with the kids, she’ll stand at the window. We’ll balcony talk, or she’ll just signal me to go into the hall where she can open the door.
I hadn’t seen her in weeks. And I don’t think I made any major change to my routine. She wasn’t coming to the window. A couple days ago, Lilu, the Sri Lankan woman who cleans for us twice a week, told me that another Lebanese woman saw me talking to Marie and the other Malagasy woman who lives on the other side of me. So that even though I was trying to be so careful not to get anyone in trouble, I probably got Marie in trouble.
When I saw her today at the window, she told me to come to the inside hall, where she opened the door. She is still trapped inside the apartment by an outer iron gate. But through the bars of the gate, we can talk and pass things back and forth. She said she really missed me. She was smiling and really excited to be talking to me. She said that the madame is actually good. It’s just the kids who are very bad—“tres bravade” (or something like that.) They kick her. They insult her. “You’re black. You’re ugly. You smell.” So instead of being abused by the madame (the one who statistically commits most of the abuse), this woman is being tormented by a three and four-year old.
The last time I had seen her she had asked me to bring her perfume. I brought her deodorant instead, which she was happy with.
Then she wanted to pray. We held hands through the iron bar. I started in English. She finished in Malagasy. I kind of hugged her, and then kissed her on the cheek. I told her I was leaving, and that if she needs anything she can ask my roommate or Lilu. Tears were shed. Allah m3ha.
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