That pivotal moment transforms us at our core, leaving us forever changed. Is it destiny or misfortune?
Ever since a brutal calamity struck Nuha years ago, she has cocooned herself in a predictable, monotonous existenceâa self-imposed routine. Her days revolve around familiar locales in Amman, never varying. Evenings are dedicated to perusing the pages of a young girlâs diary with a dandelion-adorned cover.
But one day, an encounter upends her world, forcing her to confront an unrecognizable version of herself. This self is driven by a desire to break free, rediscover forgotten passions, and embrace happiness anew. From where did this sudden urge come? Should she grasp it or let it slip? What risks does it entail?
And whose dandelion-adorned diary is Nuha drawing strength from as she entertains all the other questions?
Spanning three generations of Jordanians, Dance Around the Dandelion delves into intricate emotions of loss, guilt, resilience, and determination. Explore the struggle to kindle hope in dark times when death seems a tempting escape. Dima Bader contemplates the profound power of relationships in lightening our burdens and soothing our inner demons.
That pivotal moment transforms us at our core, leaving us forever changed. Is it destiny or misfortune?
Ever since a brutal calamity struck Nuha years ago, she has cocooned herself in a predictable, monotonous existenceâa self-imposed routine. Her days revolve around familiar locales in Amman, never varying. Evenings are dedicated to perusing the pages of a young girlâs diary with a dandelion-adorned cover.
But one day, an encounter upends her world, forcing her to confront an unrecognizable version of herself. This self is driven by a desire to break free, rediscover forgotten passions, and embrace happiness anew. From where did this sudden urge come? Should she grasp it or let it slip? What risks does it entail?
And whose dandelion-adorned diary is Nuha drawing strength from as she entertains all the other questions?
Spanning three generations of Jordanians, Dance Around the Dandelion delves into intricate emotions of loss, guilt, resilience, and determination. Explore the struggle to kindle hope in dark times when death seems a tempting escape. Dima Bader contemplates the profound power of relationships in lightening our burdens and soothing our inner demons.
Sorrow is slippery, crafty, and cruel. It sometimes acts coy and allows us to hope, imagine, and envision a life free of its clutches. Only then, after it ensures a modicum of happiness has entered, does sorrow descend to finish what it had started.
Sameerâs line of thinking was occupied. He was rational-Â izing, evoking different memories, trying not to listen to the man in the white coat.
âWe are getting good reports about Vincristine; itâs a new drug, but I am hopeful...â
Sameer, a man of very few words at the best of times, sat dumbstruck and silent. He stopped paying attention after the word âhopeful,â although heâs fairly sure five or six other words succeeded. His wife, Lubna, sat beside him in the util-itarian office. The last time they sat on this exact sofa, about a year and a half ago, in front of this same doctor, they had received good news, excellent news, in fact. They were told that their daughter Faten was in remission and that her bone marrow was back to working properly. After several cycles of treatments, after losing her hair, after losing almost half her original weight and becoming a ghost of her previous self, after spending sleepless nights retching and shivering in one, or sometimes both, of her parentsâ arms, her bone marrow had finally started producing normal blood cells instead of only one type of defective cells.
Unlike her husband, Lubna was not a quiet woman; she had questions, she was angry, wanted to lash out, wanted to exact punishment on whatever and whomever had caused this.
âWe have never missed a check-up appointment. We have done everything like you said, every test and every exam. Faten was doing great; her last exam was not two months ago. They said she was doing well, she was healthy. What happened?! What did we do wrong?â
âYou did nothing wrong. First, she was doing well, now sheâs not. These things happen. Itâs called a relapse...â
âI know what itâs called!â she snapped at him. âI know what a relapse is.â Then, her voice calmer but still reproachful, âI want to know why?â
âIt happens. Iâm sorry, and I know itâs a difficult time for you. I understand what you are going through...â
âNo, you do not!â
âAbout fifteen percent of children treated for acute lym-Â phoblastic leukemia who achieve remission will have a relapse. Itâs no oneâs fault and certainly not yours.â
Silence prevailed in the room. Sameer was diligently inspect-Â ing a crack in one of the floor tiles. Lubnaâs teeth were metic-Â ulously working on her cuticles.
Minutes passed. The parents, regardless of temperament, were both resigned. The doctor carried on, âLike I said, this new drug is promising, reports are favorable, and we will start the treatment as soon as Fatenâs lab and bone marrow aspira-tion results are back.â
***
Everything happened too fast. Faten was doing so well, they even dared to start planning again for the future, for holidays and birthdays and graduation.
Big House was experiencing a period of festivities. Suad was getting married in less than three weeks. Her friends, much like Suad herself, were rowdy and over at Big House almost daily since the date was set. Every evening, the girls would congregate in Suadâs room under the pretense of help- ing her arrange and pack her belongings in preparation for the move to her new home, and the reality was they were using this as an excuse to dance, eat, and laugh until late into the night, later than theyâre typically allowed to stay out, but not too late that eyebrows would be raised. The parents of the young ladies knew the formidable Um Sameer, whom all respected and admired, and none of them opposed her chap-eronage of their daughters. Um Sameer was thrilled over the boisterous bunch, although she might not have been too obvi- ous in parading her delight. She had no objection to them coming over every evening, and her only condition was that her daughters, her twins and the bride-to-be, who were still living at home, would clean everything up after their guests had left and return the house to its spick-and-span status before they went to bed each night. Her girls agreed, and each carried out her chores thoroughly so as not to be deprived of the recurring celebrations.
Faten heard of the festivities in her grandparentsâ house and begged her mother and father to take her there. âPlease, Mama, just once. I just want to see what theyâre up to. Iâm sure itâs so much fun. Please. Please. Please!â
âHabibti, my love, are you sure? There wonât be girls there your age. Youâll get bored.â
âBored! No way. Besides, Mama, have you forgotten that Aunt Feryal and Aunt Fatima are only four years older than me? Please!â
âOk, weâll ask Baba to take us tomorrow evening to Big House.â
Tomorrow came, but when the time came to go, Faten said she wasnât feeling well. Lubna told her to go lie down for half an hour, and if she wasnât better by then, there was always tomorrow. Half an hour passed and then a full hour, and Faten didnât feel any better. By the next day, Faten developed a high body temperature. By the evening, the fever had spiked. Alarm bells started to go off when Lubna noticed faint bruising on Fatenâs thighs in the days following.
***
Mona and Laila, Sameerâs sisters who lived in the United States, were scheduled to come home to attend their younger sisterâs wedding in a week. A year and a half previously, and after Fatenâs diagnosis, Sameer and his wife and daughter had trav-Â eled to the United States and stayed at Lailaâs home in Houston while Faten was treated at the Texas Childrenâs Hospital.
After the recent fever and the bruising, and following an abrupt emergency consult, the overwhelmed parents were told that the cancerous blood cells had returned. Stupefied by the news, Sameer made what he thought at the time, and under the circumstances, the only rational decision: to return to Houston.
âPlease, Mother, I beg you, donât telephone them.â His tone, tired and drained of emotion, revealed that this conver-sation was the last thing in the world he wanted to be having at this moment. âThere is no need for the girls to know.â
While he was loath to do so, Sameer had to share the bad news with his parents. The twins were inside, and Suad was out with a friend on a last-minute spree in preparation for her upcoming nuptials, so the three of them sat around the table in the kitchen.
âThe doctors have assured me that Faten could receive her treatments here, but I feel that going back to Houston will be better. For her to see her original doctors, they know her case better...â Sameer trailed off, not knowing what to say any-more. He just wanted this nightmare to end.
âThatâs why I should ring Laila and Mona. How will you manage in America alone?â Um Sameer said, still insisting that her daughters should know. She felt trapped; she wanted to help her son but didnât know how.
âMother, please, I beg you,â Sameer repeated his earlier appeal. âThere is no need. I wonât get lost in Houston! The only thing youâll be doing is spoiling the girlsâ fun, and there is nothing they can do for me there. We will manage.â
âBut...â
His father interjected, âNo buts, Roqaya. He is right. It is bad enough that her brother wonât be at her wedding. Think of Suad; her wedding will go ahead as scheduled. There is nothing we can do about it. So leave it at that.â
There were very few people that could render Um Sameer silent. In fact, there were only three: her parents, both deceased, and her husband.
Abu Sameer was a man of few words, a trait his only son had inherited and perfected. As long as Abu Sameer did not speak, his wife reigned supreme in their home and among their acquaintances. But, conversely, his word was final; Um Sameer had learned a long time ago that the finality of her husbandâs words was not to be tested.
âThey are bound to notice that their brother is not around. What do we tell them then?â she asked.
âDelay telling them as long as possible,â Sameer answered his mother. âAnd when you canât keep the news any longer, tell them weâre there for a check-up and not that the cancer is back. Then, after the wedding, maybe... hopefully, Iâll have better news by then...â Sameer rested his head in his hands and wept.
On that late autumn afternoon, while the three of them sat around the kitchen table in Big House, neither mother nor father knew how to console their only son, so they looked at each other impotently because nothing could prepare a par-ent to deal with this kind of tragedyâthe sickness of a helpless child and the hopelessness that ensues from carrying such a burden.
***
The only one who raised any formidable objection to the plan was Faten herself. She demanded to know why it was so necessary to go right now on a trip before she was to see her Auntie Suad dressed in white. And what about the dress that Um Ahmad had labored over especially for her? And all the hours spent on the intricate beading of the bodice will be wasted if she doesnât get to wear it.
She begged and she pleaded with her parents, âCanât we wait for another ten days, Baba, please?â
It seemed like a reasonable request; what were ten days in the scheme of things? But the problem that both her par-Â ents noticed, but neither was willing to express out loud nor acknowledge to the other, was the rapidity of their daughterâs health deterioration. She had been lethargic and experiencing increasing joint pain that worsened each day since the fever began about a week ago. Even while arguing her case, she had difficulty breathing.
The trip was set for two days hence. Theirs was a long and arduous itinerary; they would travel from Amman to Beirut and thence to the States via London. Sameer tried unsuccess-Â fully to use Fatenâs love for flying as an incentive, but to no avail. Instead, Faten threw a terrible tantrum as a last resort to make her parents see it from her point of view.
âIt is so unfair; please, Mama, Iâll be good, I promise,â she had told them. Sensing that this whole upheaval in her life was connected to her health issues, she added while lifting her forehead so her father could check her temperature, âIâm feel-ing better already, Baba.â
It ripped them apart and added to their misery. Her anguish sliced through their beings. Telling her no was the most diffi-cult thing either had ever experienced.
Decades later, in another life, Sameer would tell another daughter about the day he refused Faten her last wish. He would explain how it felt when his heart was torn in two and how, with every passing day, the tear grew deeper, not shallower, and the pain got worse, not better.
A perfectly accurate if totally inadequate description of Dima Baderâs debut novel Dance Around the Dandelion would be something like: âNuha, a middle-aged, married Jordanian woman, has a steamy affair with a much younger man.â
Accurate, but insufficient to convey the depth and richness of Nuhaâs life and family and contemporary society in Amman, Jordan, where the novel is set. The family is affluent enough they can send Nuhaâs half-sister to Houston for cancer treatments. Ultimately the cancer returns, and the girl dies. The parents divorce, the mother returns to Kuwait City, and remarries. The father, Sameer, remarries and fathers Nuha and a son.Â
Bader covers this history in the novelâs first section, which she tells in the third person. The adult Nuha narrates the rest of the book, broken up by briefâand ultimately poignantâ diary entries by own 8-year-old daughter.
For much of the book, indeed until Nuha falls passionately, overwhelmingly, and unexpectedly in love with a darkly handsome young man who manages his familyâs furniture store, she is going through the motions of life. Somehow (and Iâd like to know how she does it) Bader is able to hold the readerâs interest while a depressed Nuha walks through her days. We learn about her extended family and life in her grandmotherâs Big House, her marriage to Khaled, and her life as part owner of a bookstore in Ammanâs Old Town.
Like most families, Nuhaâs has secrets. I wouldnât call Nuha an unreliable narrator, but even as she seems forthcoming the author reveals information carefully, naturally, and when it will have the most effect. And again, somehow the storyâNahaâs historyâgrows in depth and richness as we learn more and more about it.
I thoroughly enjoyed Dance Around the Dandelion for the craft and for the story. Bader includes just enough Arabic (with translations) to let us know these characters are not speaking English. I would not have included the footnotes to explain Jordanian dishes because they tend to throw the reader out of the story. Nor would I have included the italic sections, but that may be a personal preference. Neither of these quibbles diminish the bookâs undeniable and pleasant effect.