It was the first day of the Hijri New Year when Mom decided that we should visit Ikea to buy my niece an orca soft toy that she liked very much. I’m not a fan of Ikea.
My last experience of it was eleven years back in Kuwait, where I got claustrophobic and almost sprinted my way to the till.
In front of me, stood a B-list Kuwaiti actor who kept eyeing me over his shoulder for acknowledgment. I ignored him and kept counting the customers in front of us to estimate the time I’d be out of the labyrinth.
The Omani Ikea experience wasn’t any better as the minute we got inside my claustrophobia started and the first image that came to mind was of Jennifer Lopez landing the serial killer’s mind in the Cell movie. Ignoring the glory of the Swedish furniture surrounding me, I started walking fast, following the arrows on the ground fanatically, and looking at direction signs to know how much left of the labyrinth (with no mention of shortcut whereabouts).
Mom on the other hand shifted to the usual Zombie shuffle mode - with her upper body leaning forward on the trolley - something that only shopaholics do to scan every single item on display.
I commented loudly that the way to the toy section is long so we need to move fast (which fell on deaf ears of course).
The deeper we got into the labyrinth; the more people kept popping up magically like in a video game- mostly hyper kids of all ages accompanying their parents.
However, the most interesting characters here were the staff members with their blue vests that had the word Hej! At the back in yellow (but why Haj when we’re celebrating the first day of Muharram? Oh! It’s hey in Swedish).
I turned my head to check on Mom and walked back unwillingly to catch up with her. She was standing next to a pool of liquid on the floor, wondering loudly if it was water or a kid’s urine: “someone who’s stuck here just like us!”
With a frown, I inspected the liquid for a few seconds before declaring it water and urging her to move forward. When we reached the toys, I grasped the first orca and was ready to run to the till.
However, Mom wasn’t convinced about the orcas’ sizes and kept comparing between them carefully for a few minutes, before deciding which one to take.
My irritation was increasing by the minute as the arrowed aisles seemed endless. By the time we reached the cutlery section I felt like being taunted: I’m surrounded by windows that display the mall outside which I can’t reach (I imagined myself knocking on the windows hysterically and shouting at passersby: “Get me out of here! Please!”).
We passed by a section that played a Farsi song that stopped in the next section and continued playing again in the following one like a horror movie soundtrack.
Despite my impatience, I noticed a sign identifying the word Samla in Swedish that means to gather, which reminded me of the Arabic word Shaml (No time for linguistic contemplation about words’ root. Keep walking!).
We reached the till at last and the Chariots of Fire theme started playing loudly in my head. Alas, we had to wait in the long que before finally leaving, with a promise of never returning. And the orca? Upon seeing it my niece decided that she liked her blue whale toy better (also Ikea’s!). Well, she’s too young to understand my strenuous orca quest. I’m saving the epic for future reference.
The writer is author of The World According to Bahja
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