Post by The Exodus on Dec 17, 2011 22:14:55 GMT -6
Character: Samara al-Jabiri
Age: 27
Gender: Female
Occupation: Receptionist/Healthcare Administrator
AI: Megalyn Echikunwoke
Personality: Samara isn’t exactly a people-person, much to the chagrin of patients who call her desk to schedule appointments or to sign in. She’s wickedly sarcastic, sometimes unhelpful, and extremely organized. When she punches out, a different Samara emerges: one just as snarky as the one behind the desk, but one with a playful streak. Energetic Samara will say anything— and do many things—for a laugh or to amuse herself. She's generous with friends, who she makes judiciously. Samara would die for the people she loves, even if those lucky chosen are few.
History: Born to Rashid and Nasira al-Jabiri in Clinchy-sous-Bois east of Paris, Samara’s earliest memories are of the smells, tastes, and sounds of her parents’ restaurant: Le Souk Café. Though neither of her parents attended college, they owned and operated one of the most successful restaurants in Clinchy-sous-Bois. People came from all over town to try Nasira’s braised lamb shank and to get a strong mug of Rashid’s brewed-in-house coffee. They weren’t wealthy, but the family wanted for little as far as Samara could see. The eldest of three (her brothers Malik and Omar are four and six years younger than her, respectively), Samara was a bright child, if a bit of a trouble-maker. Her father lamented her behavior as improper for a young woman—pranks and talking back to teachers, mostly. Her mother often agreed with her father in public, but privately, admitted to amusement with Samara’s feisty nature. As Samara grew up, her mother was the closest thing to a best friend she had. She didn’t understand how the other girls in her neighborhood thought—dreaming of nothing better than a good marriage and a lot of kids was never really Samara’s style. And spending time with boys who were not related to her was taboo without her parents’ watchful eyes. It wasn’t a bad childhood; it just seems strange to Samara now when she looks back. Much of her time was spent being groomed to take over the restaurant. She learned all of her mother’s recipes and how to balance her father’s checkbooks. She waited tables, cleaned dishes, and rang up customers until she left home.
Samara wanted to get out of the small town suburbs and into Paris, which though only ten miles away, might as well have been the moon. What she heard of the capital was enchanting. Samara dedicated herself to studying and persuaded her father to let her go to college on the proviso that she go into business, to bring her worldly, city-knowledge back to Le Souk. Samara agreed eagerly and attended Le Sorbonne in Paris at age 18, intent on earning her business degree.
Paris was a shock for Samara, who was raised in a cloistered community of Maghreb/Moroccan immigrants. She abandoned the veil her mother and father insisted she wear growing up after six months in Paris. After a year, she learned to hide her slightly accented French under colloquialisms and posture that mimicked her Parisian friends. She told people she was from Meudon and that her last name was Janvier. Her new friends weren’t imaginative enough to question her; professors indulged her, understanding that the wave of xenophobia coursing through France was enough to scare a lone girl in Paris. With her background kept tightly under-wraps, Samara’s playful nature came back in full force and more than once, Samara found herself in the dean’s office pleading not to go on academic probation for some silly scheme she and her friends designed. She eventually made good friends with the dean and graduated with honors from Le Sorbonne’s school of business at 21. She returned home, as promised, degree in tow, ready to teach her father more efficient business models. She was home for six months when riots erupted in the streets of Clinchy-sous-Bois. Her family’s restaurant was one of the first buildings to fall victim to arsonists protesting socioeconomic problems within the community. Three weeks later, Samara went back to Paris to attend a friend’s wedding. When she returned, it was not just to the charred mess of their restaurant and apartment, but to the news of her parents’ deaths. According to the chief of police, the arson had just been a warning from the protestors; Rashid and Nasira had both been shot by anti-immigration rebels. Samara was devastated. She resolved to restore her parents’ restaurant to its former glory. However, Malik, as head of the family thought they would all be better off if they sold the restaurant and if Samara married a family friend who was now living in Toronto. Samara refused to marry the friend; but in exchange for her social freedom, she sacrificed the rights to Le Souk to Malik, who sold it and used the money to immigrate with Omar to the United States. Samara doesn’t hear from them often, but she knows that Omar is pursuing an engineering degree at MIT and that Malik has a wife, two children, and a limo service in Boston.
Samara, though, returned to Paris in search of a job. She was unable to secure one for a number of months and spent her time sleeping on the floors of various friends. After nearly a year without success, Samara became a receptionist at the Hospital Europeen Georges Pompidou. She feels this is a waste of her degree, but the pay is surprisingly good, so she’s stayed for the last several years. Secretly, though, she’s saving up money to buy back Le Souk or to open her very own restaurant in the heart of her adopted hometown.
Other: Samara is not religious. She was raised Sunni Muslim, but does not practice as often as she believes she should or would like. Samara has taken up yoga and various self-defense methods of martial arts. She says they give her more peace of mind than putting her faith in God ever did.
She speaks French and Arabic both, though the latter only when a patient comes to the hospital who cannot speak French, when she’s showing off, or when she’s pretending she doesn’t understand the horrendous French that tourists use to speak to her on the Metro.
Age: 27
Gender: Female
Occupation: Receptionist/Healthcare Administrator
AI: Megalyn Echikunwoke
Personality: Samara isn’t exactly a people-person, much to the chagrin of patients who call her desk to schedule appointments or to sign in. She’s wickedly sarcastic, sometimes unhelpful, and extremely organized. When she punches out, a different Samara emerges: one just as snarky as the one behind the desk, but one with a playful streak. Energetic Samara will say anything— and do many things—for a laugh or to amuse herself. She's generous with friends, who she makes judiciously. Samara would die for the people she loves, even if those lucky chosen are few.
History: Born to Rashid and Nasira al-Jabiri in Clinchy-sous-Bois east of Paris, Samara’s earliest memories are of the smells, tastes, and sounds of her parents’ restaurant: Le Souk Café. Though neither of her parents attended college, they owned and operated one of the most successful restaurants in Clinchy-sous-Bois. People came from all over town to try Nasira’s braised lamb shank and to get a strong mug of Rashid’s brewed-in-house coffee. They weren’t wealthy, but the family wanted for little as far as Samara could see. The eldest of three (her brothers Malik and Omar are four and six years younger than her, respectively), Samara was a bright child, if a bit of a trouble-maker. Her father lamented her behavior as improper for a young woman—pranks and talking back to teachers, mostly. Her mother often agreed with her father in public, but privately, admitted to amusement with Samara’s feisty nature. As Samara grew up, her mother was the closest thing to a best friend she had. She didn’t understand how the other girls in her neighborhood thought—dreaming of nothing better than a good marriage and a lot of kids was never really Samara’s style. And spending time with boys who were not related to her was taboo without her parents’ watchful eyes. It wasn’t a bad childhood; it just seems strange to Samara now when she looks back. Much of her time was spent being groomed to take over the restaurant. She learned all of her mother’s recipes and how to balance her father’s checkbooks. She waited tables, cleaned dishes, and rang up customers until she left home.
Samara wanted to get out of the small town suburbs and into Paris, which though only ten miles away, might as well have been the moon. What she heard of the capital was enchanting. Samara dedicated herself to studying and persuaded her father to let her go to college on the proviso that she go into business, to bring her worldly, city-knowledge back to Le Souk. Samara agreed eagerly and attended Le Sorbonne in Paris at age 18, intent on earning her business degree.
Paris was a shock for Samara, who was raised in a cloistered community of Maghreb/Moroccan immigrants. She abandoned the veil her mother and father insisted she wear growing up after six months in Paris. After a year, she learned to hide her slightly accented French under colloquialisms and posture that mimicked her Parisian friends. She told people she was from Meudon and that her last name was Janvier. Her new friends weren’t imaginative enough to question her; professors indulged her, understanding that the wave of xenophobia coursing through France was enough to scare a lone girl in Paris. With her background kept tightly under-wraps, Samara’s playful nature came back in full force and more than once, Samara found herself in the dean’s office pleading not to go on academic probation for some silly scheme she and her friends designed. She eventually made good friends with the dean and graduated with honors from Le Sorbonne’s school of business at 21. She returned home, as promised, degree in tow, ready to teach her father more efficient business models. She was home for six months when riots erupted in the streets of Clinchy-sous-Bois. Her family’s restaurant was one of the first buildings to fall victim to arsonists protesting socioeconomic problems within the community. Three weeks later, Samara went back to Paris to attend a friend’s wedding. When she returned, it was not just to the charred mess of their restaurant and apartment, but to the news of her parents’ deaths. According to the chief of police, the arson had just been a warning from the protestors; Rashid and Nasira had both been shot by anti-immigration rebels. Samara was devastated. She resolved to restore her parents’ restaurant to its former glory. However, Malik, as head of the family thought they would all be better off if they sold the restaurant and if Samara married a family friend who was now living in Toronto. Samara refused to marry the friend; but in exchange for her social freedom, she sacrificed the rights to Le Souk to Malik, who sold it and used the money to immigrate with Omar to the United States. Samara doesn’t hear from them often, but she knows that Omar is pursuing an engineering degree at MIT and that Malik has a wife, two children, and a limo service in Boston.
Samara, though, returned to Paris in search of a job. She was unable to secure one for a number of months and spent her time sleeping on the floors of various friends. After nearly a year without success, Samara became a receptionist at the Hospital Europeen Georges Pompidou. She feels this is a waste of her degree, but the pay is surprisingly good, so she’s stayed for the last several years. Secretly, though, she’s saving up money to buy back Le Souk or to open her very own restaurant in the heart of her adopted hometown.
Other: Samara is not religious. She was raised Sunni Muslim, but does not practice as often as she believes she should or would like. Samara has taken up yoga and various self-defense methods of martial arts. She says they give her more peace of mind than putting her faith in God ever did.
She speaks French and Arabic both, though the latter only when a patient comes to the hospital who cannot speak French, when she’s showing off, or when she’s pretending she doesn’t understand the horrendous French that tourists use to speak to her on the Metro.
