Winter morning

“Madame L! Madame L!”

She opened her eyes to the gray windowless room. She didn’t move. For a moment she felt confused. Where was she? Then it all came back. She was in jail, women's jail in Sharjah. How many inmates were in her cell? Enough to get claustrophobic at night.

The cell was empty. She tried to keep her eyes open, but her eyelids were too heavy.

Where was Fatima, the cell boss from Uzbekistan and the fortune teller for all Russian-speaking inmates?

“Fatima, I wore red high heels in my dream. What does it mean?”

“That’s a good dream. You will meet a nice man very soon.”

“Fatima, I swam in the ocean in my dream. What does it mean?”

“That’s a very promising dream. You will throw a big celebration soon.”

Soon… Did the prostitutes lose track of time here? They didn’t. They needed hope. Fatima was their anchor.

“Madame L! Madame L!”

She didn’t move. Three hours ago she wanted to climb over the concrete walls of the jail yard. The walls were low and tempting. Would the guards shoot her? A thought of spending a night in the windowless cell with ten inmates was terrifying. She would suffocate. And what about her new job at a publishing company in Sharjah? Would they wait for her to get out of jail? Probably not. No one knew she was in jail.

Where was that lovely girl from Kyrgyzstan who introduced her to the Russian-speaking inmates and offered her a headscarf?

“Never sleep without a headscarf or you will get head lice.”

How long did she sleep on Fatima’s triple mattress? When would she get her own mattress?

“Madame L! Madame L!”

This time the voice was loud and insistent. She almost jumped to her feet.

“It’s me. It’s me. What’s up?”

“Khalas jail. Khalas jail.”

She could not believe the words she just heard. They stroke her like invisible bullets. Bullets of relief, bullets of hope, bullets of happy ending. In a split second “khalas” became her favourite word. No more jail. No more court hearing. No more 50 lashes and a month in jail, although she was ready to get 100 lashes to avoid any jail time.

Two policemen who had taken her here earlier that morning waited for her by the jail entrance. She wanted to hug them, but she was too shaken. She just smiled, thanked them and got into their car. Four hours ago she asked the policeman to save her from jail and they did. They became her heroes. Her humble heroes.

“Where are we going?”

“To the police station.”

Her heart sank, but she did not let her temporary anxiety turn into panic.

The Chief of Police, presentable and intimidating, was coming down from the second floor. Every step he took was in slow motion. She tried to stay calm. Her eyes met his. The Chief smiled. She smiled back.

“Habibti, can you promise me one thing? When you drink in Dubai, please stay in Dubai. Sharjah is not your city. Here are your car keys and driving license.”

She wanted to hug him too, but she was too shaken. She just smiled, thanked him and went outside. With her hands still shaking, she started the car. 

She was saved. Saved. Waves of joy washed over her. She drove to Dubai. She didn’t know how lucky she was. Nobody got out of jail in Sharjah in four hours. She did.