How to Stop the Deaths of 1,000 Azrahs
Food waste is the world’s dumbest problem
“Khalid! ”my mom screams from the kitchen. “Come here!”
I roll out of bed, grinning. I should be angry, I guess. And also scream something like “Fuck you, mom! I don’t want to!”. At least, that’s what teens in American movies do. I’ve been watching a couple of those lately and I love them. Rashid showed me a secret entrance to the private cinema, and we have been sneaking in there, silently chilling in the back seats.
But I don’t feel like screaming “Fuck you!” at my mom; I’m just grateful that she is strong enough to shout.
Lately, I’m grateful for a lot of things, like the fresh food I get to eat every day.
“Bismillah,” says mom, with a smile on her too-thin face. She still looks tired — from last night’s shift — but she smiles anyway. “When things go wrong, just smile.” That’s her mantra, and sometimes it works.
But it didn’t work that time, five years ago, when Azrah died.
“Did you sleep well, Khalid-beta?”
“Yup,” I say feeling a little guilty: she didn’t sleep well. She didn’t sleep at all. “How was your work?”
Her face opens in a big, joyful smile. She loves her work. She loves the good feeling that…
