David nudged her elbow. She knew he understood what would happen when she said she's Bosnian.
‘I'm fucked’, she wrote on a blank page of her notebook and shoved it in front of David. He laughed, then went to write a response – but was cut short when Rashidi's hand stretched out across the table and snatched the notebook. Rashidi's left eyebrow arched upwards when he saw the flowers on both of the open pages, then his mouth thinned to an angry line as he read the note on the final page; Anika went completely red. He closed the notebook and redirected his attention to the introductions now slowly moving toward Anika.
“Martin Koleman, Assistant Director of the Office for Nutrition, World Food Program. Here from Germany,” said the short, balding man sitting to her left.
Anika swallowed the lump in her throat. “Anika Arnaut, Program Coordinator for Afghanistan, from Mission for Afghanistan NGO.” She made an imperceptible pause before adding: “Nationality – Bosnian.”
Maybe it was the tone she used to say the word “Bosnian”, maybe it was something else; either way, almost everyone around her broke out laughing, in obvious disbelief that she was actually Bosnian. Out the corner of her eye, she noticed David trying to cover a smile that appeared despite his best efforts.
The laughter of the others was silenced by the cold voice of Dr. Rashidi. “If you are quite done making inappropriate quips, miss Arnaut, I would ask you to tell us your nationality so we can continue with the presentation if at all possible.” The left eyebrow arched again as he watched her with anticipation.
Anika couldn't believe it. Not only was it inappropriate for supposed professionals to laugh at her statement, but even Dr. Rashidi obviously thought she was screwing around with her own nationality. Feeling her cheeks go red again, this time with rage, she responded as casually as she could.
“If you don't like Bosnian, perhaps you'd prefer I be an Eskimo,” she remarked bitingly; total silence engulfed the room.
Why aren't you laughing now, assholes?
Slowly, casually and feigning disinterest, Dr. Rashidi stood up.
“Mr. Koremms, please continue with the presentation. Anika, if you would accompany me for a moment, please.” His tone was pleasant, completely devoid of the fury that would bear down upon her as soon as she left the room with him.
As she got up and walked around the table to follow Dr. Rashidi, who was already holding the door open for her, Anika felt the looks that followed her across the room. Some watched in sympathy, others with unconcealed contempt. Fuck the lot of you!
Dr. Rashidi patiently waited at the door until she went through and calmly closed the door behind them. His lips instantly thinned to a thin, furious line and, before she could speak, he grabbed her arm and dragged her down the long corridor, then down the stairs leading to the offices of the Ministry.
“Hey, that hurts,” she protested loudly the rough pressure of his hand.
Neither easing up nor slowing down, he continued until they reached a big metal door; he kicked them open and then roughly shoved her inside. An elderly guard sitting inside, sipping his tea, jumped in surprise.
“Doctor Rashidi,” he stuttered, but Rashidi cut him off with a wave of his hand.
“Ahmed, make sure Miss Arnaut remains here until the conference is over. Bring tea and water, it might be a while.”
He spun and slammed the door behind him.