Belly Dancing at the Bus Stop

By Sarah Turland

When fifteen-year-old Nora returns to school in Australia, she despairs of ever fitting in. In this land of big spiders, short shorts and zero interest in world affairs, Nora is as strange as snow at the Sphinx. She doesn't know the songs, she hasn't seen the TV shows and, worst of all, she wore sandals on her first day of school.
The only place Nora feels like she really belongs is on the front seat of the bus.
Then Samuel joins Nora at the bus stop. He seems to be the only person in the whole school who genuinely cares about her. But is he really worthy of her trust?
Or will his secrets break her heart?
Travel with Nora as she takes the long journey home through faith, hope and love.
With a little belly dancing on the way.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Sarah Turland
• Release date: Jun 20, 2018
• ISBN: 9780463496176

Sarah Turland

Sarah Turland is an award-winning author whose short stories have been published in both Egypt and Australia, as well as performed on stage and radio. She began writing Belly Dancing at the Bus Stop while living in Cairo, Egypt. She now lives with her family in Australia. Belly Dancing at the Bus Stop is Sarah Turland's debut novel about culture, identity and finding a place to belong.

Book preview

Belly Dancing at the Bus Stop

written by

SARAH TURLAND

How do you fit in when you don't even know who you are?

Belly Dancing at the Bus Stop

By Sarah Turland

Copyright 2018 Sarah Turland

Cover design by initiateagency.com Cover photos: by Erik Lucatero and Mike Wilson

Smashwords Edition

This book is available in print at most online retailers.

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you are reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to your favorite ebook retailer and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

Table of Contents

Prologue: Egypt

Part One

Part Two

Part Three

Part Four

About the Author

Acknowledgements:

Belly Dancing at the Bus Stop would never have happened without the support and encouragement of so many people.

Thanks Jonathan for your patience, encouragement and enthusiasm over many, many months of writing, editing, rewriting and re-editing. You’re a keeper!

Thanks to my boys, who believed in me – even before I believed in myself. Thanks to my girls for reading this multiple times, for laughing and crying in the right places and for caring about Nora almost as much as I do.

Thank you to those of you who read the manuscript when it was very raw and gave me feedback. Thanks also to my proof readers; you all know who you are!

A special thank you goes to Rebekah Rodda. Thank you for the hours and hours you spent editing and critiquing the unnamed manuscript helping me to improve it. That manuscript would never have made it onto this paper without you! Thanks!

My final acknowledgement belongs to J.C. You were with me every step of the way. Each time I came to an obstacle in the process you opened the way forward in new and wonderful ways. You gave me this dream and helped me make it happen.

Sarah Turland

PROLOGUE:

Egypt, Saturday Afternoon, 23rd August

Ellie’s car was in the middle of the road, with a long line of drivers behind it honking their horns. Dodging the donkey droppings and narrowly missing a pizza delivery man on his motorbike, I ran to her car door. The burst of coolness from the air-conditioner hit me about the same moment that Ellie did.

‘Nora! Wahishtiny!’ She squealed as she flung herself at me and wrapped her arms around my neck.

‘I’ve missed you too,’ I tried to say, but her shoulder wedged into my throat made it a little hard to get the words out. I settled on giving her Cairo kisses, two to each cheek, and then a shove so I could get in and shut the door behind me before I ended up with my backside in one of those donkey patties.

‘How,’ I began, after catching my breath and giving my neck a quick rub, ‘was the U.S?’

Ellie shrugged, ‘The same as always.’

‘Did you go to Disneyland again?’

The driver interrupted her denial in heavily accented English, ‘Where to go now, Mees Ellie?’

‘Shaara Sitta please,’ Ellie directed in Arabic.

She was about to get us lost. Again.

‘No it’s not. It’s Road Seven. Shaara Sabaa!’ I interrupted.

‘It is too.’ She giggled. ‘Sorry Mahmoud! Ana asfaa! Shaara Sabaa.’ ‘Okay, Mees Ellie.’

Ellie looked down and flattened out her skirt. ‘So do you like my new dress?’ She didn’t wait for me to answer. ‘I’m so glad we had two suitcases each! I brought back so many clothes.’

She always brought back lots of clothes. She was also always trying to get me to borrow them, as long as they fitted my parents’ rule that I cover my knees and shoulders in public. Luckily we were the same size.

‘Did you eat lots of Reece’s Peanut Butter Cups?’

‘Of course! I think I put on five kilograms while we were there.’ Ellie put her hands on a flat belly.

‘You say that every year, but you never do.’ I laughed and slapped her shoulder, glancing briefly at the taxi heading towards us on the wrong side of the road. Our driver swerved and muttered something about crazy donkeys, but Ellie was oblivious. She grabbed my arm and pointed out the other window. ‘Nora, you know what happened yesterday?’

I thought for a second. ‘You got hit by a tuk-tuk again?’

Ellie rubbed at a faint scar on her elbow and a frown flickered over her face. ‘No. Very funny!’

My grin widened. ‘You slipped onto your backside on a squashed mango again?’ I giggled at the memory.

‘Stop it.’ Ellie covered her face with her hands. ‘That was so embarrassing!’ Her frown soon evolved into a smile. ‘Perhaps not as embarrassing as splitting your shorts playing basketball though.’

I groaned. Not the old pink underwear story. ‘You know I won’t ever play basketball again!’

Ellie’s smirk said it all. It was definitely time to change the topic.

‘So yesterday?’ I asked.

Ellie pointed out the rear window. ‘You see that man, the one who walks around selling those wooden flutes?’

‘The bald one?’

‘Yes.’ Ellie giggled. ‘He asked me to marry him!’

‘Josh will be very disappointed.’

‘Josh!? What!?’ Ellie dissolved into laughter, making the driver shake his head and mutter under his breath in Arabic about us crazy foreign girls.

By the time the driver parked in front of Ruth’s villa we were both in hysterics, gasping for air, trying to compose ourselves enough to get out of the car. Ruth’s guard opened the gate for us and we staggered round the back, doubled over in fits of giggles. We ran straight into Ruth.

‘Wahishtiny ya Nora!’ She grabbed my shoulders and air kissed my cheeks, a tube of sun cream in hand. ‘Wahishtiny ya Ellie.’

‘I’ve missed you too!’ Ellie added her kisses without stopping to take a breath. ‘What did you do this summer? I’m so hot. Oh, I’ve got so much to tell you. Nora, tell her what happened yesterday!’

‘About Josh?’

‘NO!’

‘What about Josh?’ Ruth said, pulling us to the pool. ‘Nadya’s here already, come and get in and tell us then.’

So we did. We swam and we chatted, comparing our summers and commiserating over Hanneke moving back to Holland. Later we went inside and Nadya insisted on teaching us belly-dancing again, though Ruth laughed more at our attempts than she moved her own hips.

As the call to prayer wafted from the mosques and signalled the setting of the sun, Ellie’s driver returned for our homeward trip.

‘I can’t believe our holidays are over.’ Ellie complained half-heartedly as the driver stopped in front of our building.

‘At least you’ll see you-know-who tomorrow,’ I replied. I had to jump out of the car quickly to dodge a slap to my shoulder.

‘You are never going to forget that are you? It was a stupid crush for one week - in Year Five – you loser,’ Ellie called through her open window.

I blew her a kiss and turned to the gate, but her voice still carried on the wind, ‘I think I feel like playing basketball tomorrow, Nora.’

She got the last word in again and I laughed all the way home.

On the fifth floor Mum answered my knock. The familiar drone of the air-conditioner greeted me through the open door, but, something was out of place. I stared at Mum and Dad and my sisters sitting with them on the couch. What was wrong?

‘Come and sit down.’ Dad said as Mum pulled me in and closed the door.

A family meeting? I wracked my brain for what I might have done but came up empty. Well, my room was a pigsty but that had never called for a family meeting before.

They all looked very serious.

‘What’s the matter?’ I perched on the edge of the couch.

It was my ten year old sister who spoke first. ‘Nora, we’re going back to Australia.’ Katherine swallowed a sob.

‘Huh?’

‘Katherine, let Dad explain.’ Mum’s voice was supposed to be firm, but it wavered, a little like my stomach was beginning to.

‘What do you mean, Mum?’

‘I just finished telling your sisters, Nora. We are going back to Australia.’ Dad answered.

‘To visit? In the summer?’

‘Not to visit. To live.’

Now I was confused. ‘To live?’

‘My department has started downsizing this year. It’s only a matter of time before, well, we’ve been praying about it and I applied for a job back home at the university.’

‘Back home?’ Whose home?

‘The university emailed today with an offer. It’s a great opportunity and your mum and I think that the timing is right.’ He stared, unmoving, at an ant crawling near his bare foot. ‘I start in January.’

‘January?’

Dad nodded.

‘What about….about school and youth group and Ellie and Ruth and….’ And my whole life?

Remarkably, my youngest sister was grinning. Clearly Leila didn’t comprehend what was happening. ‘I can’t wait to see Granny again!’

No one else was smiling. Or saying anything. The sound of street dogs barking outside was the only thing louder than my thoughts, which finally spilled over.

‘I don’t want to live in Australia.’

‘Sweetie.’ Mum reached out but I pushed her hand away.

She must have said something else, there must have been more discussion, but I didn’t hear any more of it. Finally, I stumbled to my room and lay on the bed as my fun memories of the day dissipated into scenes of suitcases, airports and transit lounges.

And more goodbyes.

I stared at the peeling paint on the ceiling, fiddling with the stitching of my old teddy. Koala had come as far as I had when we’d left Australia so long ago; back then I’d wiped my tears on his fur as we’d waved at Granny through the departure gate.

Now, as I tugged at the aged thread, I felt the rip burst open his belly. Sitting up, I squeezed the broken teddy to my chest in dismay. I hadn’t meant to damage him, but now his stuffing had begun to spill out.

‘Are you alright?’ Mum poked her head in my door.

I nodded, biting my bottom lip, as she came and sat beside me.

‘Are you sure?’

Leaning on her shoulder, I barely shrugged. ‘Is it going to be okay Mum?’

She gently smoothed the hair from my forehead. ‘It’ll be okay, Nora. You’re going to like it in Australia.’

Okay?

Like it?

Whatever.

What Mum should have told me was that my life was about to be ripped in two.

Just like my koala.

Part One:

Australia, Wednesday Afternoon, 28th January

So there I stood, on the other side of the world, waiting at the bus stop and holding my new backpack so tightly that my knuckles were turning white.

Route 139, the sign said. That was the one I had to catch. This was where I was supposed to be.

I stretched my tense fingers and toyed with the zip on my bag. The students milling around hadn’t noticed me. I guess I looked like one of the crowd here. My bag was the same. My uniform was the same, more or less. My fair skin even fitted in with the majority. But they were talking, laughing and so sure of themselves, while my eyes jumped back and forth from the road as I tried to stop chewing my bottom lip.

I wanted to be back in Cairo, walking through the market home from school. Dodging the donkey carts, feeling the familiar life bustling all around me, the smell of mint and garlic in the air.

But it was no use thinking that now; I was in Australia and was here to stay. Everyone who knew my parents from before, all those grey headed old ladies, said over and over, ‘Aren’t you glad to be home, dear?’ So little did they know. There was home. And my friends. And my life.

The bus appeared over the crest of the bridge. My heart beat a little faster as I twirled the card Mum had given me in my hands. I’d never caught a bus before by myself. I never went anywhere by myself much in Cairo. It was safe, but not that safe. Not that I was by myself right now, but the kids jostling and pushing in the queue behind me didn’t look like they cared a bit about me either.

The bus pulled up and the students marched up the stairs, yelling and chatting to their friends while they entered in a crush. Oblivious to my nerves. My turn. I looked at the machine looming in front of me and caught my breath. Where was I supposed to swipe the card? I waved the card under the arm of the girl in front of me. Nothing happened. I tried again. Still nothing. The students behind me seemed to murmur. I stared at the card, sweat moistening my forehead, willing myself to think.

‘What’s taking so long?’ The turbaned driver yelled in his thick accent, to the crowd stalled behind me.

‘Sorry,’ I whispered, too quietly for him to hear.

The student behind me said, ‘Like this.’

He reached forward. It was so easy if you knew how. But the tickets back home were the paper ones, not like these things. Nervously I mirrored him.

Beep, the machine finally agreed with my card. At the same moment that my backpack slipped off my shoulder onto the ground. In front of all the students on the bus, my books spilled down the aisle. My face burned beetroot as I thrust my card into my pocket and knelt to shove books back into my bag, hoping my new laptop still worked. The boy behind me passed some of my papers; I grabbed them without daring to look up.

I didn’t follow the others to the back of the bus but sat quickly on the nearest seat. Reserved for disabled, it said. Oh well, I was so clumsy I nearly was. Unwelcome tears welled in my eyes as the bus bumped to a start.

The bus accelerated as I numbly stared at the road ahead, my homesickness increasing with every turn of the wheels. It all seemed so foreign. Was it the park with gum trees stark against the blue sky that made me feel so distant? Or the fluffy story-book clouds floating above them? Or was it simply that there was a sky at all, without the multistorey buildings blocking the horizon?

Was it because it was eerily quiet outside this metallic cocoon, with no one walking the streets, all the gates tightly closed?

Then the traffic. In front of me the shiny cars travelled the road in neat lanes, stopping and starting in unison as if they were dancing to some sort of mysteriously slow tune that was never played in Egypt.

It was all so utterly different. So ordered. Methodical. Like everyone else on the bus who knew the rules here.

But not me.

I pulled my eyes from the road with a sigh, belatedly registering movement beside me. The student, the one who showed me how to use the card, was sitting right there. How embarrassing.

I risked a glance at his face to see if he was laughing at me. He had to be a good looking guy, didn’t he, with that rumpled hair around his tanned face and those blue eyes which drew me in like a newborn baby could.....oh…..the same eyes that caught me staring.

‘New to the bus?’ he asked kindly.

‘Mm,’ I admitted, looking down at his chest rather than meeting his eyes again. He wore the seniors’ badge from the campus across the road as well as a prefect badge. Both were stuck skewed on his tie, like he’d pinned them in a hurry and not looked at them again since.

The bus stopped. Just as I began to wonder whether he’d speak again and what else I could do to avoid eye contact, a sour faced old woman clambered on, bumping shopping bags with her cane.

‘I’ll be seeing you round then,’ he said, pointing briefly to the disabled sign next to me, then he stood up for Sour-face to sit down.

I flashed a glance of goodbye with relief and the lady sat down next to me.

‘Thank you.’ She said shortly to the boy. ‘And what school do you go to young lady?’

‘English Communit…..’ I started…‘I mean Light Christian College.’

‘You sure? You forgot the name of your school? Strange child,’ she said with a frown.

‘It’s my first day at this school,’ I faltered, turning to look out the window, hiding the tears burning again in the corners of my eyes.

Thursday Morning, 29th January

I squinted into the morning sun to read the number on the bus stop. Assured now I was in the right place, I sat wearily down on the bench.

Even after a week, I still hadn’t completely recovered from jet lag. It had been a crazy seven days. I’d seen all the family, trying not to get any of the names of everyone we re-met wrong. Bought school uniforms, had interviews, the furniture shopping. Moving back into our house.

I had very, very dim memories of our house from all those years ago. The house had been smaller than I’d remembered, and plainer, hardly distinguishable from all the other yellow bricked houses in our street. It was still in a state of supreme disarray at the moment. My younger sisters were excited about the backyard and the trampoline all dusty from storage and had spent yesterday evening arguing over whose turn it was to jump on it.

I’d ignored their laughter that had blown through the window and Mum’s questions about my day and had set to putting my most precious possessions in their