friday night

I nodded.  Anna made a little fist and knocked on the maroon door. Nothing. More knocks, then the door opened-- the door next to the one we stood in front of. A woman with no teeth and a head wrapped loosely in a flowy patterned scarf looked out at us, and smiled. Two more faces appeared at the door; her 17 year old daughter, and that daughter's 9 month old son. All three came out and started talking and waving and pointing and knocking. Adar wasn't home. "You phone now!" the daughter suggested. I did. Adar told me "Stay! Don't go! I'm on my way!", a message I successfully relayed back to these neighbors. They then pounded on the door again, and this time it opened, a new face, also framed by a bright wrap motioned all of us in. "Sit you, please." said the daughter, and handed me her baby.

She then walked over, turned on the  t.v. and began scanning through rows of Somali music videos on the screen, finally settling on one, and adjusting the volume til there was no chance the upstairs neighbors weren't in on what we were up to. She grinned and began clapping and swaying in a way I don't think I will ever be able to. Baby on my lap drooled and smiled up at me. Mystery woman came back into the room and joined in on the dancing. And so did Anna. Rain began to drum on the window. And there we all were, in a dim little apartment in Salt Lake City, waiting for Adar.

"He no cry! Is very good. You very good!" the daughter said as she sat down on an office chair next to the couch, out of breath. She asked how long I had been here. America? "Yes. Me one year.You?" Well, my whole life, really. "Okay!" We then talked about her work, about English and when babies start to walk, about my pregnancy, about her mother.

Almost an hour passed before Adar came through the door, and with her six more people. She scooped Anna up, covered her with kisses, and managed to pull me into a hug at the same time. She then introduced me to the woman who had opened the door for us originally, a new roommate, a refugee form Somalia who arrived just two weeks before. Holding my shoulders, "This is Breeen. This is my best friend!" she told the room.

We walked back to Safio's room, where it smelled of unchanged diapers and spilled milk. She showed me the new machines the nurses had brought, to help Safio with breathing.  Anna and I talked to Safio, who was curled up motionless and covered with a thick blanket on the bed. Anna pet her cheeks and hands, as I listened to Adar explain the latest health struggles and successes.

Another knock, a delivery man with formula and supplies. He was welcomed in, across the dance floor (living room) to the kitchen table, where he tried to explain forms to be signed to Adar as a confident teenager translated, mostly inaccurately, above the noise of the music.