She's Like a
Rainbow
Genre: YA Magical Realism
Release Date: June 13th 2016
Summary from Goodreads:
“The summer I turned ten, my life took a fairy
tale turn.”
So begins Reema Ben Ghazi’s tale set in Morocco, SHE'S LIKE A RAINBOW. Reema
awakes one morning to find her skin has changed from whipped cream to dark
chocolate. From then on, every few years she undergoes another metamorphosis,
her color changing successively to red, yellow and ultimately brown. What is
the cause of this strange condition and is there a cure? Does the legend of the
White Buffalo have anything to do with it? As Reema struggles to find answers
to these questions, she confronts the reactions of the people around her,
including her strict and unsympathetic mother, Lalla Jamila; her timid younger
sister, Zakia; and her two best friends, Batoul and Khalil. At the same time,
she must deal with the trials of adolescence even as her friendship with Khalil
turns to first love. One day, in her search for answers, Reema discovers a
shocking secret – she may have been adopted at birth. As a result, Reema
embarks on a quest to find her birth mother that takes her from
twentieth-century Rabat to post-9/11 New York.
Reema’s humanity shines through her story, reminding us of all we have in
common regardless of our particular cultural heritage. SHE'S LIKE A RAINBOW,
which will appeal to Teens as well as Adults, raises intriguing questions about
identity and ethnicity.
Buy
Links: Amazon
kindle | Amazon
paperback | Barnes
& Noble
Colucci holds a BA in French and
English from the University at Albany and an MA in Education from Framingham
State University.
When not writing, Colucci enjoys practicing
yoga, taking long walks and playing with her chocolate Labrador Retriever,
Phoebo. Now that she and her husband have four grandchildren, they spend as
much time as possible in Virginia with their two sons and their families.
My Mission Statement:
It is my hope that SHE’S LIKE A RAINBOW will promote peace
and understanding among people of different cultural and ethnic backgrounds. My
aim is to stimulate discussion on everything we have in common as human beings
regardless of our particular heritage. We are all interconnected.
Excerpt:
From Chapter 4 - Patience
We were not very strict Muslims. We did not pray five times
a day, nor did we go to Mosque every Friday (though we did attend on all the Aids
or Holy Days, to celebrate the Sacrifice of Abraham, the end of Ramadan,
and such). Zakia and I emulated Mother and did not cover our heads. As she got
older, Mother took to praying and began to wear a head scarf whenever she went
out, removing it at home, leaving it on in her shop. She did not insist that we
begin wearing one however. Since Zakia and I went to the French Mission
schools, we did not receive religious instruction as part of the regular
curriculum like our cousins who went to Moroccan schools did. To fill this gap,
Mother hired a tutor who came once a week to teach us the Koran and to
supplement the mediocre Arabic lessons provided at school.
Mother had
several copies of the Koran. There was one, wrapped in gift paper that she kept
in her room. I had come upon the sealed package one day when I was about seven
and, not knowing what was inside, I had torn the golden wrapping to have a
peek. Afterward, when I’d asked Mother why she kept an old Koran that was
falling apart, she had scolded me severely and boxed my ears. She told me that
Father had brought the holy book back from the Haj and had carefully wrapped it
in order to preserve it.
Needless to
say, we did not use this book for our lessons. Instead, Haj Brahim (he was
addressed as “Haj” because he, like Father, had made the pilgrimage to Mecca ) would take down
the large, heavy Koran from the top shelf in the book case and try to help us
understand the verses. When this failed, he would settle for having us memorize
them.
Not content
to just recite the words without understanding their meaning, I had convinced
Mother to buy a version that had the Arabic on the left side with the French
translation on the right. This was the book that I used for my private prayers
and to search for an explanation for my multiple transformations.
I was not
having much success however and decided I must talk to Haj Brahim about it. I
didn’t want to ask him in front of Zakia, so I would have to choose my moment
carefully.
One
afternoon, Haj Brahim showed up a little early for our lesson. Mother showed
him into the sitting room and asked Naima to make some tea. Zakia was having a
shower because she had participated in a race at school that day (that she’d
lost, of course). Seizing the opportunity, I slipped into the room and gently
closed the door.
Haj Brahim
was a portly man, in his sixties and decidedly bald. He was an old acquaintance
of Father’s who had helped Mother settle the inheritance after Father died.
Mother was in a predicament as a widow with only daughters. In the absence of a
male heir, Father’s three brothers had tried to wrest as much as they could,
but Haj, who was an expert in Islamic law and connected to one of the Mosques
in Rabat , had
made sure that Mother’s rights, however limited, were protected. (Those rights
would have been even more limited had Father not already taken several
precautions while still alive, such as putting many of the deeds and wealth in
Mother’s name.)
I cleared my throat and Haj, who sat leaning
back on the sofa with his hands folded in his lap, looked over at me and
smiled. As always, he wore a little white skull cap that he only removed now. I
began hesitatingly to describe my problem. Haj must have been aware of my
transformations as he’d been giving us lessons since I was nine and still
“Reema, The Palest One of All.” He had never mentioned anything about my
“condition” though. He listened carefully as I timidly described my tormenters
at school, mother’s failure to sympathize, and my personal doubts as to God’s
role in all this. I stopped abruptly when Naima brought the tea and placed the
tray in front of me.
Using the
knitted mitt, I grasped the silver teapot and poured some tea into one of the
crystal glasses. Then, I poured the tea back in the pot and served us both. I
glanced at the clock. Zakia would be coming in any minute and my chance would
be lost. Haj nodded subtly, as if he understood my urgency, and went to get the
Koran from the shelf. He put on his reading glasses, then took them off and
wiped them with the cloth napkin that Naima had given him.
He paused
before putting them on again and recited to me, “’Endure with patience, for
your endurance is not without the help of God.’ God presents us all with
different challenges, Reema. You must have patience and His wisdom will be
revealed to you. All in good time.”
“But, why
Haj? Why is God doing this? Making my skin change color all the time like I’m
some kind of freak. What have I done wrong?”
Without
answering, he opened the book to the very end and read me a verse:
As time
passes,
Everyone
suffers loss
Except
those who believe
and do
good deeds and urge one another to be true
and to
bear with courage the trials that befall them.
I could
hear Zakia coming down the stairs. I quickly noted the page so that I could go
back to it later.
Haj closed
the book and said softly to me, “You are young, Reema. What seems like a great
‘trial’ today may not seem so terrible later on. You are a good girl. Just be
brave – and patient.”
He patted
me lightly on my hand. Somehow, it did not feel patronizing or dismissive. The
butterfly touch of his fingers gave me hope.
GIVEAWAY:
Blog Tour Organized by:
No comments:
Post a Comment
Thank you for stopping by and for taking the time out to share your thoughts with us. We really appreciate it!