My daughter is a feminist. She has the language to fight, or rather, she knows what is no longer up for debate. Once she told me to stop calling myself a tomboy. I wanted her to know it was okay, but she can tell when I’m forcing it. Like with Belle and Sebastian. She used to love it when she was a kid, but now it’s charged. She feels infantilized; she shrinks into the passenger seat.
My daughter hates odd numbers. Seventeen will be an in-between year for her. I do this thing where I figure out how old I am by adding her age—the last two numerals of the current year, that is—to the age I was in 2000. The math feels easier that way. Like it’s rooted somehow. I can see our living room window from this stretch of 148th. She left the light on. I hear the cars rushing along the Hudson and cannot wait to be home.
MARYCLARE CHINEDO
YEARS AS MENTEE: 2
GRADE: Junior
HIGH SCHOOL: Bronx Lighthouse College Prep Academy
BORN: Bronx, NY
LIVES: Bronx, NY
PUBLICATIONS AND RECOGNITIONS: Scholastic Art & Writing Award: Honorable Mention
MENTEE’S ANECDOTE: During the Girls Write Now orientation, Morayo and I had to come up with pair goals. Right off the bat, I knew something I wanted to accomplish. I wanted to win a Scholastic Art & Writing Award. Every weekly meeting after that was dedicated to trying new writing genres; learning new, saucy vocabulary; and making me an overall stronger writer. By pushing me out my comfort zone and supporting me, Morayo was able to help me grow as a writer and as a person, and I landed the Scholastic Award.
MORAYO FALEYIMU
YEARS AS MENTOR: 5
OCCUPATION: Senior Program Manager, Peer Health Exchange
BORN: Miami, FL
LIVES: Elizabeth, NJ
MENTOR’S ANECDOTE: Maryclare has such a bright, humorous voice as a writer. Her pieces inspire me to tackle my usual topics from a more comical or satirical stance than I normally do. It’s been a pleasure bouncing ideas off of her, and I look forward to the way that we will work together in her senior year!
A satire about a plane full of Muslims entering America in the year 2117. It is an exaggerated version of what the future may hold if the current administration keeps up its discriminatory policies.
Attention! Attention all you people who decided to come to come to this part of the world out of all the other countries. It looks like you had limited options. Because . . . America? Really? Anywho, I hope you enjoyed your flight with Ban-Ottomans Airlines. Before you get out of your seats, I’m going to pass out a pamphlet. Excuse me, lady, make sure you take one and pass it back. I’m sure your daughter doesn’t need it. You can give her the rundown when she gets older. You see this booklet right here? It’s sacred. It’s the second Bible. Read it, understand it, meditate on it, live by it, and breathe it! If you want to assimilate into this country peacefully, I suggest you read it. I’ll just read it out for you. Sorry, I know it’s not in Arabic. This is America, deal with it. Shall we begin? Great!
Rule number one, look at my fingers . . . one: Thou shalt not bear any name that rhymes with Mohammed or any characters in the Quran. Yup, that’s right! So all you Mamadous, Fatimas, Fatoumatas, Alis, Aboubacars and so on—you guys are screwed. But don’t you worry, what happens on Ban-Ottomans Airlines stays in Ban-Ottomans Airlines. My lovely assistant, Lulu, is coming around with name-change forms. Feel free to take one if you’d like to live in peace. Moving on.
Rule two: Thou shalt not bear any items related to Islam. Any hijabs, prayer rugs or Qurans, there will be none of that. Even a little keychain of the kaaba is forbidden. Don’t even waste your time and try to hide it. The Islamic Hunt Services are one step ahead. That means weekly checks, people!
Rule three is pretty simple. Every morning, you must recite John 14:6 aloud. I can’t quite remember what it’s about, but I think it’s something about accepting Jesus. You guys will find out soon enough.
This fourth rule goes out to the ladies. You may not like this, but, you gotta show more skin. All that modesty stuff you guys talk about—that’s gotta go. If you wear skirts or dresses, they cannot be longer than your knee. If skirts and dresses aren’t your thing, then shorts only! I can’t stress that enough. Don’t worry, guys, I’m almost done.
Let’s go to rule five. By a show of hands, how many of you like food? I should see more hands than that. Anyways, every year between May and July, there is a mandatory—I repeat, mandatory—all-you-can-eat buffet. How does that sound? Amazing, right?
The last rule is not that big of a deal. But, you have to leave all your phones on this plane and pick up a new one on your way out. We don’t think you all are dirty or anything. We just want you guys to pick up a new phone customized for Muslim immigrants. This new phone has everything your old one has except for a compass. But I’m sure you all don’t use that anyways.
Okay! I think that’s it. I don’t want to keep you all any longer. I’ve pretty much covered the basics. Now don’t go crying on me, now. You guys chose to come here. I didn’t drag you on this plane. All right, then. Now that that’s settled, get into a single file line and get off this plane. Don’t forget everything I’ve told you unless you want to end up in jail!
Thank you for flying with Ban-Ottomans Airlines! I hope you enjoy your stay and have a peaceful assimilation into America.
Dear Lady Liberty
MORAYO FALEYIMU
Since Maryclare was exploring satire, I decided to have a go at humor. My piece is a Dear Abby–style column penned by none other than the Statue of Liberty. Similar to Maryclare’s piece, my work also deals with assimilation, but from a sordid “love triangle” perspective.
Dear Lady Liberty,
I’m caught in a love triangle between my homeland and America. Any advice?
Sincerely,
Homesick Everywhere
Dear Homesick Everywhere,
You poor, tired, huddled mass! I’ve felt that same way for years. I am of French heritage, but I’ve lived in the United States for centuries. Being bicultural is hard. Over time, you start to feel like both places belong to you, but that you don’t belong to either one.
My advice? Choose to belong to yourself. Redefine the borders of this love triangle, Homesick! In fact, abolish the triangle! Be the center of your own universe. Homeland and America can duke it out in the boys locker room.
Now, I know what you’re thinking. Too