Just Desserts

Just Desserts

           Malika Badawi, owner of Almaza restaurant and her assistant Shakira finished setting up the dining room, then hurried to the kitchen to make sure they were out of sight before the male manager unlocked the front door.

           “Can you believe it’s been nearly a year since the occupation?” Shakira remarked as she removed her full body covering.

           “Longest year of my life,” Malika lamented, removing hers as well. “We had a packed house on our last night of freedom. Then the guards burst in, told everyone to leave and they almost shut us down.”

           “Until you gave them a taste of your famous baklava and they let us stay open. With a few minor adjustments. Like the partition they built between the kitchen and the dining room.”

           “I remember all too well, the captain of the guards told us we could stay open and cook for the men, but we could only sell desserts. Just desserts!”

           “It’s a good thing they let us prepare other items for the military on special occasions like the anniversary celebration next month or we’d never have made it.” Malika added. “I’ll call a meeting after closing tonight with the entire staff to finalize the details and discuss our future plans, such as they may be.”

           Malika opened the back door as her staff began their shift. “Time to get this party started.”

           Watching the women prep for the halva, kanafeh and of course the baklava, Malika knew this was the last job her staff would be allowed to do. Once the restaurant closed permanently, they would be required to return to their “women’s” duties at home. It was so tragic, she thought. If only there was were something we could do to stop this insanity and take back our lives.

Malika’s pondering was interrupted by the sound of Shakira frantically opening and closing cabinets.

“What’s going on?” Malia asked.

“We’re running low of the wheat flour we need to make the baklava. I can’t seem to find any in the kitchen and we have to make tons to serve at the celebration.”

“Relax,” She assured her friend. “I’m sure there’s plenty in the back storage room. Let’s go find it.”

While the rest of the women were busy cooking, Malika and Shakira went into the storage room. Malika found the light switch near the door and turned it on.

“Be careful back here,” she warned. “The guards moved some of the larger bags to make room for the preparation tables we’re going to need next month and I’m not sure if they put things back where they belong.”

Just as Shakira heard Malika’s warning, her toe hit something loose and she nearly tripped. When she looked to see what was, she was surprised to see a dusty ornamental rug.

“Look at this, Malika,” she pointed to the obstruction. “Did you know there was a rug here?”

“No, I’ve never seen it before. I assume it was covered by the flour bags. When I opened the restaurant, this storage area was so full we could hardly see the floor. I have a flashlight, let’s take a look.”

Malika shined the light on the rug. When she ran her hand over the colorful design, she felt a small indentation in the enter.

“This is odd. Shakira, give me a hand.”

The women grabbed the rug and pulled hard  revealing a door hidden underneath.

“Let’s see where this goes.” Malika opened the door revealing a ladder that led into the darkness. Curious, Malika cautiously climbed down the ladder, Shakira following closely behind. She ran her hand over the walls until she found a switch that illuminated the entire underground chamber.

What the women saw both excited and terrified them. Hundreds of boxes labeled M15 lined the entire cellar area. Malika forced one open, and counted 20 fully armed assault rifles. She hurriedly closed the box and began walking toward what she thought was the end of room.

“Shakira,” she cried. “Do you have any idea what we found? There must be hundreds of guns down here.”

“Look at the shelves,” Shakira added. “They’re filled with boxes of ammunition. I wonder what else is down here.”

Shakira diligently continued walking alongside Malika as they explored the hidden cellar. When they reached the end, they discovered planters of growing mushrooms.

“Shakira, do you have any idea what this is?”

“If I were guessing, and I’m not, I’d say these are not your ordinary Za'atar variety.”

“I’m not guessing. I’d know psilocybe cubensis anywhere. One of my less successful dates in culinary class was a magic mushroom connoisseur, if there is such a thing. He was very popular and quite wealthy as I recall.”

“Guns and drugs? That’s quite a find we…uh, found.”

“No kidding. I have no idea how long this has been here. The previous owner never said a word to me, for obvious reasons. Grab a few shrooms, and I’ll take a rifle. I’m beginning to get an idea. Let’s go upstairs. Our little staff meeting just took a very interesting turn.”

The women exited the cellar, closed the door, replaced the rug and covered it with a few bags of flour.

Malika called her staff together. Her chef Jaffa had already put on her covering preparing to leave early.

“Sorry, Malika, but it’s that time of month and you know the law. I have to be at the isolation camp before sundown or… I don’t want to think about the consequences if I’m discovered out in public.”

 The women didn’t need for Jaffa to apologize. Under the new regime, menstruating women were required to be exiled to an isolated area located about a mile away from all the men. Although they were treated well, they had no contact, or communication with anyone on the outside.

“Can you wait just a few moments, Jaffa.” Malika began. “Shakira and I just made a fantastic discover and if my plan succeeds, we will no longer have any need to be isolated or be treated like property.”

Malika showed the women the rifle they’d found. There was a huge gasp followed by applause and cheers when she told them about the huge arsenal under the restaurant.

“I have a plan. It’s very dangerous. Our very lives are at stake, but I say it’s time we fight back and reclaim our lives and our rights. Jaffa, please come here.”

Jaffa stood. Malika raised the corner of Jaffa’s burka and, with a roll of duct tape, strapped the rifle to Jaffa’s inner thigh.

“Having your period is perfect timing. If you’re brave enough to enter the camp with the rifle on your leg, we have a way of arming the women.”

           “If you walk into the camp with other women, you won’t be noticed. Men ignore us as it is, no one will ever know you’re packin’ heat.”

            Muted giggles were followed by an ominous silence What seemed like hours before anyone spoke was actually mere seconds.             “I have no problem carrying this into the camp.” Jaffa announced. “Even if I were caught, death would almost be a welcome relief from what I’ve been subjected to this past year. But one gun is not going to start a revolution.”

           “You’re right of course. One gun and one woman won’t make much of a difference, but there are twenty-five women to a cabin at the camp. There are twenty-five cabins in the camp, that’s… Shakira, you’re the math whizz, what’s that total?”

           “That’s easy, Malika. 625. And every woman on the island has to be in a cabin at least once a month That’s thirty days. 625 women a day, we can raise an army of just under 19,000. You know my husband works in the census office. He laughed when he told me the women on our little island outnumber the men by more than double, mostly because so many were killed in the war.”

           “That sounds about right. We counted a rough estimate of 500 boxes in the cellar, each with twenty rifles comes to just about what we need.”

“Even if we have the weapons, we’re just women. The men will be armed as well. How are we supposed to fight trained military? The men still have the advantage.”    

Malika smiled wickedly. “Not if we send them on a little trip, the psychedelic kind.” She opened her hand to show everyone the mushrooms.

“We have more than enough to flavor all the lovely desserts we’ll be serving the day of the anniversary. With all of us working together, there won’t be an aggressive male in all the country, including the President.”

Jaffa started walking toward the door. “One more thing, since there isn’t any way to communicate to the cabins, how are we going to let them know what’s going on?”

      Malika handed Jaffa a box of baklava. She scribbled a message and placed it in underneath the dessert.

           “This is how. We’ll take twenty-five boxes to each cabin. The guards know our boxes look like and what they contain. They’ll never suspect a thing. And if they ask, just give them a free sample of the dessert. The messages are well hidden under the doily.”

           “And remember, the anniversary celebration is only six weeks away, so we’d better get started. Besides Jaffa, who else here wants to commit potential suicide?”

           Every hand went up. Malika led her mini-rebellion into the basement where she armed each one.

           After the women had gone, Shakira and Malika selected their own weapons.

“Are you ready to do this?” Knowing the answer, Malika asked anyway.

“More than ready.”

 The women left the restaurant through the back door, completely ignored by the guards who, by now, had become bored with their assignment and let the women pass without so much as a glance.

With the rifles completely covered by their burkas, Malika and Shakira walked through the streets and made their way to the isolation camp. Malika entered one building, Shakira another.

The windows were covered, there were no cameras so no men outside could see or hear the women inside. As planned, Malika gave each woman a piece of baklava and gestured them into a circle where she then revealed the hidden rifle, and further details of the plan.

“One of you will come into the kitchen, to work. Or so you’re going to tell your husbands, or anyone else who asks. When you arrive, you’ll be given a rifle to take to the isolation camp where it will be distributed to all the other women who enter, one by one until the entire female population is armed just in time for the President’s celebration.    

“The President has ordered a feast to be served to everyone, including himself. He’ll never suspect those delicious desserts have a special ingredient and since only men are permitted to attend the celebration, once it starts they’ll be too high to even lift a gun, and by that time we’ll be in the palace, armed, in the crowds, behind the military, just in case they do resist, but I highly doubt they’ll be in any condition to oppose us.”

And so it went. Every day for the next six weeks all the women followed Malika’s plan. Each entered the back of the kitchen, and each left with box of psychedelic baklava and an MK15 strapped to her leg. Because the restaurant was always busy, the traffic in and out of the kitchen wasn’t questioned.

The day of the event the entire military regiment lined up in position ready to start the parade. Making their way through the lines were the disguised women who handed out mushroom laced baklava to the grateful troops.

Tables had been set all along the parade route on which were platters of baklava. Since the President made it mandatory for every adult male over the age of 18 to attend in a show of respect and adoration, everyone partook in the sweet delicacy.

 It only took a few minutes for the mushrooms to have their desired effect. While the men were trippin’, the women were confiscating all their weapons. They forced the men from the tanks, which didn’t take much force as Malika had predicted.

Plate in hand, Malika approached the Presidential grandstand and handed pieces of baklava to the entire delegation, including the president. His smile of appreciation was soon replaced by a grimace of confusion as the drug took its effect.

Malika whispered into his ear. “This is a bloodless coup, Mr. EX President. Please follow my assistant, she has a very comfortable cell waiting for you.”

As the men were led from the stage, Malika turned to the now cheering women before her, she tossed off her burka and threw it to into the cheering crowd.

For the next three days, the town was lit with bonfires, fueled by thousands of burkas as women throughout the island celebrated the end of tyranny and oppression. A new government composed of men and women was elected to serve all the people. The isolation camps were transformed into a school for girls who had been denied education under the old rule.

Malika re-opened her restaurant, serving a full menu along with her famous desserts. She gave it a new name: “Hurriya” which means FREEDOM.