Noora grew accustomed to seeing her delve into her travel chest, every few days, in search of this or that. Then Lateefa would puff into her burka and shake her head with disbelief. “Now, why didn’t I bring that orange thoub with me? It’s so light, so cool for this weather,” or “I don’t know why my kohl is burning my eyes. I think it’s gone bad.” And then she would send Hamad and Noora to pick up whatever it was that she urgently needed. “You must go. You must go right away,” she would insist. This time Lateefa had accidentally spilled her henna in the sand. “How much henna does she need?” Hamad asked as he watched Noora empty the greenish powder into a small bottle. “I don’t know,” Noora said. “At least two handfuls to make sure she can cover all those white roots, to make sure she gets her hair nice and red.” “Maybe you had better put four handfuls, just to make sure she doesn’t send us back.” “I’m sure she will find something else she has misplaced,”
