Free Boy vs. Girl by Na'ima B. Robert

street thug, with a spray can in his hand, standing in front of a huge mural on a Birmingham city wall: ‘salaam’ it read.
    This guy had done murals all over the world, been on the BBC, exhibited in Dubai. Faraz felt a stab of envy.
    I wonder what his family think of him doing a crazy job like that?
    His dad had often said that he hoped that Faraz would take over the newsagent’s and, certainly, it was what the rest of the family expected, especially since he wouldn’t be going to university. ‘No, Faraz is not the university type,’ he had heard his mum say more than once.
    But seeing this Muslim graffiti artist,
desi
like him, getting on with it, staying true to his identity while living life as an artist, gave him a surge of hope.
    Maybe there was a way he could still please everybody… just maybe….

Chapter 9
Breaking the fast
    That night, they all went to Naneeji’s for
iftar
.
    Ummerji, Farhana and Faraz had already broken their fast with dates at home while they waited for Dad to get back from the mosque after sunset prayers. He had closed the shop early in honour of the first day of Ramadan and, soon enough, they heard his car creak to a stop outside.
    After swallowing down another protein shake, Faraz helped his mum and Farhana carry the hot containers of
pakhoras, biryani
and lamb curry, his mum’s speciality, to the car. She had been busy all afternoon, as had her sisters and sisters-in-law and, when they got to Naneeji’s house, it was clear that there was enough food to feed a small army.
    The little terraced house where Naneeji had lived for the past fifteen years since her husband had passed away was full to bursting with threegenerations. Naneeji’s sister Razia was there with her son and daughter, their children, as well as her own children and grandchildren, sons-in-law and daughters-in-law.
    After greeting everyone, Farhana took off her coat and joined her aunties in the kitchen, preparing the dishes to be served to the men who were waiting in the front room.
    Her younger cousins flitted in and out of the lounge and the kitchen, snatching bites of
samosas
and onion bhaji, high on the adrenaline they could feel from the adults.
    The women worked quickly – the men were clearly hungry because their voices couldn’t be heard above the racket that the children were making.
    As soon as the men had been served, Farhana’s mum and aunts began to dish up for themselves and the children.
    It was Auntie Najma and Farhana’s job to take all the little ones to the bathroom to wash their hands and, by the time they got back to the living room, the floor mat was down and the trays of food were being brought through. Auntie Najma slipped quietly back to the kitchen.
    Almost faint with hunger, Farhana sat down at last and took her first mouthful of proper food since the night before.
    Bismillah…
    Silence descended on the house as everyone ate from communal trays on the floor, right hands picking up curry and masala with
roti
, dipping in
raita
, collecting every rice grain.
    Food never tastes as good as after a day of fasting
, thought Farhana. She saw the same sentiment echoed on the faces of all around her.
    She looked with admiration at Naneeji and her sister-in-law, who was also her cousin, their chiffon
dupattas
covering grey and hennaed hair, both of them approaching their seventies, still fasting Ramadan, still cooking for their ever-growing families.
    Farhana felt her heart swell with joy and satisfaction. She had done it! She had fasted the whole day! And she felt sure that she had kept her promises to herself about staying on the right track.
    Malik hadn’t called or texted today – he was probably fasting too and felt too guilty to call her up. It was probably just as well –less temptation that way.
    Soon enough, the men were talking about needing more food. Auntie Sajda and Ummerji got up and went to the kitchen to empty the