As narrated by Sumayya:
By 8:00 am, all Taybs’ friends have arrived and the party is in full swing.
They are all having a ball of a time on the jumping castle, which we told them to do because we didn’t want them jumping after breakfast.
The yard is filled with loud chatter, giggles and excitement.
The smile that Tayyiba’s reaction,on seeing everything, had brought to my face has still not gone, and I doubted it would be going anytime soon.
I look toward the jumping castle where Taybs stands, waving at me, a huge grin on her face.
I wave back before turning around to check if everything is the way I want it.
“That’s the fourth time you’re checking the table Sumi! Relax man, it’s perfect!” says Shakirah, shaking her head at me.
“What time should we give them breakfast?” I ask, adjusting the fruit skewers on the plate.
“They’ll come tell us when they’re hungry.”
And sure enough, they do.
Only few of them at first, but soon they’re all crowding around the table we’ve set for them to eat at.
“Riiight, who can guess what we have for breakfast?” I ask.
They all start guessing at once, and I laugh as they each shout out incorrect guesses so confidently.
“It starts with a Y and a M,” whispers Shakirah.
“YOGHURT AND MUESLI!” yells Taybs. “My favourite!”
“Mine too!” agrees one of her friends.
“Urrgh, I hate muesli!” groans another.
“Sumayya, I’m allergic to yoghurt,” says another.
“That’s okay, there are other things too,” I say, patting her shoulder. “But everyone has to either have yoghurt and muesli or fruit before we have any junk, because then you’ll will have nutrition which will give you’ll lot energy.”
After breakfast, Shakirah and I quickly clear up the table and set out our first planned craft.
“Oooh, are we painting?” asks one of Taybs’ friends.
“Yes we are,” I reply. “Do you like painting?”
“Yes, I love painting!” she replies.
“But your hands get all yuck,” says the girl standing next to her.
“That’s why we have paint brushes!” I say, waving them in the air.
I unpack all the fairy houses I had bought to paint, and place them on the table. Then I place the paints in the center of the table.
Only once they start painting do I realize that maybe I should have gotten something easier. Nonetheless, Shakirah and I paint our own fairy houses with them.
Once everyone is finished, which is after a much longer time than I expected, we set the painted fairy houses in the sun to dry.
The kids attacked the treats table, which is laden with all sorts of delicious, unhealthy things!
The kids then play their own made up game, which they insist Shakirah and I be part of.
After their game, (which took forever to end!), we decide to do our next planned activity.
We seat the kids at the table once again, giving them each a serviette to place on their lap.
I hope that they hopefully do better at this, since most of Hamza’s money got spent in this field!
The time flies by, and after lunch, they all sit down to colour.
At 3 o’clock, I realize that I still haven’t read my Zuhr Salaah.
Crap, how has the time gone so fast?!
“Shakirah, just watch the kids, I’m going to read Salaah,” I say before hurrying inside.
I can’t help but think how everything is going so perfectly; exactly how I had planned, as I make a quick wudhu.
I’ve just started my Salaah, when a loud scream comes from outside.
I hurry through my Salaah, my heart suddenly beating faster, as the sound of a child crying gets louder.
I rush outside, not even bothering to take of my burqa (Long head covering for females).
Everyone is gathered around the side of the jumping castle.
“What happened?” I ask, as I get closer.
The kids move aside, making way for me to get closer.
And that’s when I see Tayyiba lying on the ground, her ankle sitting at an odd angle.
I freeze, momentarily shocked. Then not knowing how to react I turn to Shakirah.
“What happened?! Why weren’t you watching her?!” I scream.
Panic seizes me I sit down next to Tayyiba.
I place my hands under her shoulders, and lift her up.
She screams in pain, howling louder now.
Oh my God. What are we going to do?
But my mind is blank, refusing to think straight.
A few other kids have started to cry and I don’t even realize it, but tears are falling down my own face too.
I’m screaming at Shakirah to take the other kids inside, but she too seems to be too shocked to register what I’m saying.
My panic is increasing as Tayyiba’s crying intensifies.
What am I going to do?! What if she’s broken her leg? What if she’s hurt her back? What if she’ll never be able to walk again? Everything was going so well! I shouldn’t have left them with Shakirah!
“Tayyiba!” I say, my voice shaking. “Can you tell me where it hurts?”
“My ankle,” she cries.
I need to call Hamza.
Speed Dial 3.
It rings for what seems like forever before Hamza picks up.
“Hamza, where are you?” I ask, trying to keep my voice steady, but failing miserably.
“At home. What’s going on? Are you okay?” he asks, immediately sensing something is amiss.
“Tay… Tayyiba fell,” I manage to say between tears. “H…he.. her leg. I don’t kn..know wha..at happened.”
“On my way.”
I cancel the call, my hands shaking uncontrollably.
“I want mummy,” Tayyiba whimpers next to me.
Realization hits me like a ton of bricks.
What am I going to tell mummy and Abba?