Bo3Bo3

In my neighborhood

2009-08-10T17:53:00.001-07:00

In our neighborhood, there were less than 5 houses when I was growing up in the streets of tabarboor. Who am I kidding, there were no streets. Everyone knew everyone. Who am I kidding, there was barely anyone. On four hills, 5 houses resided overlooking the valleys down below. Shepherds driving their sheep roaming the hills of this once beautiful majestic land. Few army jeebs pass by and on occasions, the soldiers would stop to get a drink of fresh milk and chat with the shepherds.

In our neighborhood, there was no traffic lights, nor there were any streets. Few tents here and there parallel to the camps. I remember when one of the residents there lost a son due to natural causes. The whole neighborhood came out to pay tribute. Who am I kidding, the whole neighborhood fitted in one tent.

In my neighborhood, there were no stores to sell anything. When one needed to buy anything, they had to go to to the city. Usually, one person would buy for the whole neighborhood all they needed. Sellers would walk door to door to sell fresh produce, fresh milk, and even live stocks.

In my neighborhood, we used to wait eagerly for the Eid to go to the city and walk in down town. Flashing our new clothes and showing off the new chocolate bars we just bought. Stop by a pastry shop to buy few pieces of baglawah.

In my neighborhood…..who am I kidding…there is no more a neighborhood in my neighborhood anymore.

Two weeks in heaven, Day 15, Sunday/Monday...the end

2009-06-03T18:51:00.000-07:00

My vacation is about to end. Today is the last day. It will probably be the ugliest day in the vacation. I did enjoy every moment and every event that occurred to me the last two weeks. I was up too early today for some reason. Maybe because it is all about to end. I admit that I have a very mixed emotions about today. On the one side, I am about to go back to my family..and on the other side, I’m about to leave behind what is considered the dearest to my heart, this desert land of Jordan.

My brothers and sisters started to flood the house early today. My older brother showed up at about 9 am with breakfast. The regular hommus, fool and falafel. My mom was drilling me asking me for what would I like to eat. I felt as I was on death row and being asked for the last meal before I am about to be executed. It’s not that bad if you ask me. Such sad feeling is a very good feeling. It makes attached to something that you hate to leave behind.

The house is again full with family members who came to say goodbye. The weather was beautifull as if this country is teasing me on my departure day. I was sitting down as everyone was talking and laughing. I laughed too on few funny discussions and incidents, including the one where my niece insisted on bringing the hommus to the table and ended up spilling it on the carpet. My father was yelling at the little girl, and everyone was laughing at my father for looking like a grumpy old man.

As usual, my father is a control freak, sort of. He insisted on arranging the luggage to hid the jameed fearing that it get caught. I left the whole thing alone for him. He was pretty much fighting with his own shadow and yelling at the 4 cans of pastries that I took with me. He told me to carry the gold that I bought for the wife in my pocket. The jameed is going in two cases just in case one gets busted, the other one escapes safely into the states. I tried to tell him that customs will allow jameed, but he insisted on doing whatever he wanted to do, so I left him for his hobby.

After he was finished, he told me that every case has exactly 50 lb. I told him that I allowed 70 lb since I’m traveling first class (not because I paid for it but because of my elite status on delta airlines). He then went back to rearrange the two suitcases and that included a trip for him to amman to buy more jameed, mixed nuts, and even knafeh to be frozen all day and out at the time of my departure from the house. I just got myself out of the whole thing. I wanted to spend more time with my family.

My other brother went out and got me two boxes of toot from “soog el7abalah” to munch on before my departure. Lunch was almost ready and my mom acted as if she was saying goodbye for a her little son. She started cooking early in the morning for my favorite dishes. There the fried stuffed kebbeh, the raw kebbeh that she learned from her mother allah yer7amha, and the usual bo3bo3ian tradition of mansaf and fattet jameed with lamb tongues. I just don’t know how am I supposed to eat all that and be ok on the airplane.

After lunch (late lunch) family members started leaving the house and saying goodbye to me. It was a sad day to many of us, if not all. I don’t know when I will see them again. My little sister insisted in staying late with me to the end. She sent her kids with daddy and stayed behind. I was munching on the toot as if there was no tomorrow. The clock moved so fast that it was about time to load the luggage into my brothers car. My flight is at midnight, so I told my father to stay in the house. That didn’t work of course as he insisted on going with me. So we ended up taking two cars. My father, my two brothers got into my father’s car. I went into my third brother’s car along with my two sisters. We headed out at about 9 pm that night. Driving on the airport street that night was a long trip for me as I started thinking about the future and how can I come back to this country for good.

I started watching everything that was happening on that street. Every car passed by, every store we passed, every turn we took, and every word we chatted during the trip were all recorded in my memory not to be removed. We got close to the airport, and I really needed to use the bathroom. As soon as we parked the cars, I rushed inside to the nearest bathroom. It’s the damn toot that is acting up now. I don’t know what it was as I ate too much of everything that day. We unloaded the luggage to inside the airport on one of the carts. It was about 10 pm now and everyone was standing and talking. I asked them to leave, and after I insisted, they agreed as long as I let them know that everything is ok.

I went through searching. I headed straight to the delta counter, and got my boarding pass after arguing with the lady at the counter. She was cute though. She wanted to charge me for extra weight (above 50 lb) and give me a regular seat. After I tried to educate her that elite members get automatic upgrade, and after she asked her manager, I was able to get my seat and the extra weight. Did I mention that she was cute? Ok I did. I went upstairs to the duty free shop, and waived goodbye to the family. A dude approached me trying to get me enter some kind of drawing to win a beautiful Mercedes that was parked right in front of the duty shop. I declined of course.

I got a bottle of perfume for the wife, and some candy for the house. I called my wife to let her know that I was in the airport. I then went to the smoking section in the airport and sat there for few minutes. Now it was time to head to the gate. Again went through another security check and then straight to the gate. As soon as they started boarding, I walked through to my seat. I was very tired so I did manage to catch 30 minutes or so of sleep while they were boarding the plane.

The moment came, and the plane took off. I started to look through the window with no luck of seeing any recognizable area. Then, it was pitch black as I knew we were over the sea. I can’t believe that I am leaving Jordan. I tried to go back to sleep, with no luck. My stomach was not comfortable. So I took out a book that I brought with me to read. It was a book about old Arabia and the evolution of modern day Arabia. I can’t remember the author but he is an arab scholar teaching in the states. Oh well…the book was exciting for the most part, and fabricated for few parts in there.

12 hours later, and at about 6 am local NY time, the plane arrived. There was another El-Al plane that had just arrived from tell aviv. It was a funny scenery when passengers from each plane converged and mixed to the custom booth. I got there, showed the passport, and went to pick up my luggage. Less than 15 minutes later, my luggage showed up. I picked them up and walked to the custom booth. Couple of questions later, the guy said “welcome home” and ushered me to go on. So I did, with two over weight luggage. I took my luggage to the connecting counter and got them checked in. I walked to the outside and started smoking. It’s only 7 am now. My connecting flight is at 2:40 PM. I have more than 7 hours. I wanted to get an earlier flight but with no luck. Monday is a bad day for travel in the states. I wish I knew anyone in NY to maybe go and visit and kill time. I was so tired to leave the airport. They changed the gate twice so far and that meant lots of walking back and forth. The clock is going so slow. I called work to check my messages. I then called my wife to let her know I was in NY. I didn’t wanna call her before 10 am to give her a little sleep.

The last thing I wanted to do is work on during my vacation. But I had lots of time to kill, so I started calling and doing work over the phone. Heck I even scheduled a conference call and got busy. That helped move the clock faster as it was now about 1 pm. I got some lunch in the airport and headed out to my gate. Soon after, I boarded the plane and started snoozing in the hot muggy day. I woke up half way to Indianapolis. Soon after, the plane started it’s descend. I walked outside the plan to the luggage counters. I called my wife to let her that I arrived and that she can come and pick me up. I got my suitcases and waited for her outside the airport on the curb side. I could see her car approaching…aaah…finally.

Leaving Jordan has left a big wound in me. The last two weeks made me a different person. I met lots of people and walked through the streets of my beloved home. The aroma of life in Jordan is something I can never experience in the states. It’s alive. There is always activity in there. You feel bored someday, you simply go visit a brother or a sister…or even a stranger that you met online. I can’t do that here. This trip has transformed into a different person. As funny or silly that may sound but it did. I am working on going back for good. I am seriously doing that. I expect that in 2 years, I will purchase one way tickets for my family to go and rest in peace. I just hate the thought that I may die one day and not find a brother or a sister stand over my grave, somehwre in USA to recite a verse from the Qur2an. What am I doing here? This question was a stranger to me, until I came back from Jordan. So..what am I doing here wasting my knowledge and life? I think I can better utilize what I have. I can see that day happening…..and very soon.

The above posts were not for entertainment, or to kill time posting on the web, but they were my morphine shots that took away the pain of leaving behind such a beautiful life. Enough with the drugs and pain killers for it’s time to perform a transforming surgery once and for all. I hope ya’al enjoyed reading what I have written over the past 2 weeks. I hope that it may have convinced someone out there to saddle his/her horse and take the long ride back home. I know I am. Funny how the song “I wanna go home” for Michael Buble’ is playing in the back of my head at this moment.

Two weeks in Heaven, Day 9, Monday

2009-05-31T18:03:00.001-07:00

Not too many things to do today. I actually and deliberately kept today free of any commitments. I wanted to roam on my own. I asked my brother to drop me in the morning on his way to work somewhere on gardens street. He told me to wait when he is off to take me to places. I don't want to go to places. I just wanted to be alone. Not that I had enough with my family, but I wanted to satisfy my desires to be alone. After lots of debate, and after my father insisted to drive me anywhere I wished, I convinced them to leave me alone. I am not a kid for crying out loud. Their worries are that I will get lost somehwre. I mean come on people, I travel a lot to strange places and I can take care of myself. Nevertheless, I felt special for a change.

He dropped me by a bridge next to a big supermarket (safeway or that sort). Actually, it was probably 1/2 km away from jabri ..I think. At any rate, I started walking on this street. Under the bridge, there was a small grocery store. I stopped to pick up a pack of cigarette. If only my wife finds out that I smoke, she would do kill me. I stopped smoking, officially, about 7 months ago. Yet, when I travel, I buy a pack to ease my stress. I know I am not making sense, or giving a justification, but I felt that cigarettes ease up my stress when I'm alone. When I go back home, I stop smoking and it doesn't bother me at all.

I sat on the side of this small store, and took one cigarette out, and started huffing and puffing. I then got up and started walking. This was about 8 am. Lots of cars in the street. I didn't know what to do or where to go. I then passed by alkal7ah restaurant. I wasn't hungry at all. But it brought back some memories. I continued walking not caring about food. Strange...I know. And then it hit me. I stopped a taxi (which was very difficult). I asked him to take me to the bus station where I can take a buss to zarqa. He started asking me if I was not from here; as if he didn't figure it out yet from my question. I said yes, but I do come here every year just to hint to him that he won't be able to trick me with a higher charge.

On the way, and after I told him I was from the states, he started chatting. Same questions that I hear almost every day. Swine flu, politics, and how can anyone immigrate to America. I think there is a big misconception about things in America. I mean why would anyone suggest that the US government deliberately renamed "pig’s flu" to H1N1 or some kind of number just to cover-up the negative effect of eating pork? Seriously, this is the third time I heard that there is a name cove up. His rational was that the government didn't attempt to cover up mad cow disease with some kind of number system, so why this "pigs flu"? Oh this discussion is giving me a big headache. Regardless, he was a nice man.

Got to the station about 20 minutes later. Not too far from the city center. I went then to a buss that goes to zarqa. I do have an uncle that my father doesn't speak to. He is actually my father's immediate cousin. They argued about some stupid family stuff 2 years ago and are still not talking to each others. I do like this uncle of mine. I hope my father wouldn't get angry for me going to visit him. I mean he offered to take me to see him. I just wanted to see him alone, without my father.

I got to zarqa, which changed a lot, and took a taxi to Alsa3adah Street. My uncle has a small shop there as his retirement shop. I was dropped at Alsa3adah Street and started walking. There used to be a movie theater there called Alhamra Theater. It used to show 3 movies for one ticket back 25 years ago when we used to visit home from the UAE. I had a cousin where we used to sneak outside the house and go watch some movies. I couldn't find the theater. I can't remember on what street it was. Anyway, I got to the shop. I walked inside. I could see my uncle sitting behind the counter while a worker was cutting shawarma for some customer. It smelled good, but I wasn't hungry. I said hello, but he didn't recognize me. I love his kashrah. I hope that no tourist ever get in his restaurant because he will get a very bad impression about the good old Jordanian smile. Who am I kidding, everyone has the same kashrah. He asked me what I wanted to eat or drink, and I said "come on uncle, you can't have that bad of a memory. He then recognized that I was a member of the family...but still didn't know who. I told him who I was and he couldn't believe it.

He then started complaining why my father wouldn't let him know that I was in the country, especially that my vacation is so short. I told him to forget about it and let’s chat. His immediate comments were "are you ok in here? No problems with the government? Do u need any assistance?" I laughed and told him to relax; I had no troubles getting in the country. And yes I renewed the passport and I am ok. Still the shawarma smell was bugging me as my stomach was grinding. I told him I could use a sandwich, but he said "are you crazy, I won't feed you here. Let’s go home".

So we went to street number 16 in "new zarqa". His house is there. We got there and greeted his wife. His little daughter is now a teenager. And she is beautiful, yet he is one of the ugliest uncles I have, and most are ugly. His wife is cute. She started preparing lunch. He eats heavy. He is heavy anyway. There was mo3lag and some hummus and other stuff. He sure makes a hell of a hummus. After this heavy lunch, we sat and started talking about the family. His approach was that he has had it with this family of ours and that he is happy away from everyone. "Those who want me, they can find me" was his answer to most of my questions. I didn't wanna press too much on this as I was here in zarqa to see him. My phone started ringing and it was my brother asking me where I was and if I needed any ride. I told him I am fine and don't worry about it. Didn't realize that it was after 3 pm now. Time flies by too fast. I excused myself to go home, and he insisted to drive me to tabarboor. I asked him that I had more things to do before I could go home. Again he insisted to take me to those places. I refused and told him that I may not see him again this trip but I will sure come and see him when I come back to Jordan.

So he drove me to Amman and dropped me in Mecca street...or maybe almadina street by three grocery stores people refer to them as "soog el7awamel" I was told once that if I wanted to find toot or any rare fruit not in it's season, I will find them in one of those three stores. I wish I could remember the street name. Anyway, I walked in the first place, and this young Egyptian man came asking what I was looking for. I hope that I don't look pregnant to this guy. Before I could answer him, I saw toot. Oh God, I can't believe it. I love this fruit. I bought me two small boxes, and a small box of apricots on the spot. I waited for a taxi to take me home. I got home at about 6 pm that afternoon holding my bounty. I rushed into the kitchen and washed the fruit and started digging while everyone was laughing. They asked where did I find this, and I said "soog el7awamel". They didn't know that I know about that mysterious market. My uncle told me about it in zarqa.

I told my father that I visited my uncle, and he quickly changed his face. I quickly apologized for him but told him that even though I recognize the differences, but that’s my uncle, and that God knows if I ever see him again. He overcame that and actually was happy to hear that I cared about the family. I have to care.....I don't get to see them often, unlike my parents. Not too long after that, the same uncle of mine called my father telling him that he was gonna pick up another uncle of mine (the one near jabal alqosoor) and come and spend the evening here. Of course my father couldn't say no.

Both showed up about an hour later with playing cards. Now, I let my uncle beat me twice so far, and that’s it. So I teamed up with my father against the two. My father takes cards way too serious, so I made sure that I do not make any error, and I was clean that night. On the one hand, I got my revenge against that uncle of mine, and on the other hand, my father felt good beating his cousin...at least in playing cards. I hope that this be a start of the relationships to go back to some kind of normality between the two. I really wish.

It was now 11 pm, and my mom was asking me if I was hungry. I started jumping and saying "mom..please..stop talking about food...please". Actually, a box of toot can do wonders to your stomach. I felt that I was getting sick from it. I think it makes your stomach not holding food for too long as I was rushing back and forth to the bathroom.

Oh my...it is passt midnight now and I am exhausted. I walked a lot today. I had lots of fun. I think I did.

two weeks in Heaven, Day 14

2009-05-30T06:44:00.000-07:00

Day 13, Friday
I woke up with a headache this morning. Maybe because it’s getting very close to fly back to the states. I don’t what is going on, but anyway, I just feel a little tired this morning. As much as I heard about the swine flu, I feel that I am infected. Oh well. I walked outside my room, trying to open my eyes, and saw my mom in the kitchen. “Morning mom”, I said. She greeted me with a freshly brewed coffee from the coffee maker that I sent to them a year ago from the states. As if she was preparing me for the inevitable return to my “normal”, but not so normal, life. I sat across from her in the kitchen as she was preparing homemade mo3ajjanat. What is it with the obsession with food in this family? But my sister assured me days before that the past few days, and since I arrived to amman, life in the house has transformed. What I’m seeing is only happening because of me, and that people, family, brothers, uncles, etc only gather in the house because of me. So I take it that the moment I leave, mom and dad will back to the isolation life that they live? She said “and more”.

That’s sad. I really enjoyed the family gathering. The most important reason that I am truly thinking to go back is because of this family life that I lack. What these people know that they have a treasure. Come and live in my life. You are bored one day, you won’t be able to go visit your sister or brother. You are feeling lonely, you can’t call your mom to come and spend few days with you. You are feeling sick, no sisters around to come and help sooth your life. How can they not see such treasure? Well, I once heard my father say that a kid eating chocolates every day, and you offer him chocolates or a piece of bread, chances are he will chose the bread. I feel that they have a treasure, but you can not value a treasure unless you are deprived of it.

Ma3aleena, today is going to be a family day and I intend to enjoy every moment of it, whatever happens. I just hope that I don’t eat food a lot today. For a change…maybe…I just hope.
I have four brothers. My eldest brother lives in the UAE. I am second. My younger two brothers live upstairs in their apartments that Dad built. One of those two brothers doesn’t pray. I tried, but he is just stubborn. I don’t know why. His wife prays and she is very conservative. Allah yehdeeh. So, he didn’t go to Friday prayer. Instead, he went to pick up the food from “qasr almandi”. You see, the day before we sent a lamb to qasr almandi to make 3 big mandi dishes. I wanted to make sure that the meat was baladi, so we did the slaughter a day before. Anyways, he wanted to go and pick up the food. He was also supposed to go and pick up my older brother from his house. The one who lives in the UAE but has a house in amman. My father, my other brother, and I went to the mosque, We drove there.

Here is another treasure that we don’t have, yet, the locals may not value as it should be valued. It’s the mosque. You get to sit down in a mosque, on a Friday, where no shop is open (almost) and every man, child is in the mosque. You get to hear a Friday lecture in Arabic. You don’t get to worry about looking at your watch to get back to work. You get to feel the comfort of the mosque. What I would do for such life every Friday. Nevertheless, you get to see weird things again in the mosque. Well, not all weird. There were lots of soldiers in this mosque. Why not as there were a couple of camps left in tabarboor. Big change over the past 20 years or so. There was also this old man wearing a mouth cover, like the one we say the Chinese wearing during bird flu epidemic few years ago. Are you kidding me 7ajji? Please tell me that you are not worried from swine flu in tabarboor. Maybe he was being cautions that’s all. I don’t know but I didn’t like seeing such thing in Jordan. Oh well.

We finished the prayer and headed back to the car, and ultimately to the house. My other brother was still in the house. I yelled at him for not going to prayer. So he left to pick up my other brother, and then we were supposed to bring the food at about 3 pm. And that’s what happened. At about 3 pm, I left with him, and my older brother to get the food and the needed stuff. We stopped at habiba and got two big knafeh dishes, one kheshneh and one na3meh. Came back home to find the rest of the family around. We let the women do their thing as men sat outside in the back yard chatting. My father was guarding his trees from the attack of the children. Every time they come here, they destroy. The poor man needed help, so I called on the children, which was many, and took them aside. I challenged them to sit quiet for 30 minutes and I’ll go and get them candy from the store next door. That worked wonders.

There we are. The four brothers, Mom and dad, all alone in the back yard, as my two brothers in law, the one who just came from Canada a day earlier, and the one who owns his little factory stepped aside to chat. I leaned at my two younger brothers and told them to continue this habit. Maybe we need to establish an every Friday family gathering. I told them I am welling to sponsor that financially, if it is the problem. But that wasn’t the problem. The problem is that they couldn’t see through my eyes the value of such gathering. I could see big smiles at my parent’s faces. Tell me that this is not worth it? Both were complaining about life and work. Nevertheless, they promised to at least do a monthly thing. You know what? I’ll take it one step at a time.

Food is ready. Men in guest room, women in the living room, and children in the kitchen being supervised by a woman on a 10 minute shift. This was the attack plan to minimize the destruction and damage to the house. It worked. The food was delicious. My brother in law bragged that he was the one who picked the meat. We sat down and ate, and had lots of fun. Everyone was joking and enjoying the moment. I felt that my mom was full of joy as she was joking with the two brother in laws who were trying to pick on her by saying things about her daughters. By 5 pm, the knafeh was being served. I wish I took so many pictures that day because it was a day to remember. A family gathering where everyone was happy. One of the children came and reminded me about the store next door. So I took about 16 little children, went to the store next door, made them form a line outside, and one by one, they walked in picked one thing and walked outside. The owner was laughing, and so did I. I told him about the reason and he said “you should do this more often” laughing. So the troops went back home, in one line, to the house, and I had to guard them making sure that they threw the wrappers in the garbage and not in the front yard.

It was singing time. The brother in law who just arrived from Canada started singing. Everyone was singing along some traditional songs. Mixed ones. I was leaning back on one of the chairs, with a fake smile to try and hide my sadness and sorrow for not having such a wonderful moments in my life. I should enjoy this moment while it lasts, for such family moments are very rare in my life. To be honest, I was tearing up a part inside and felt rivers of tears flowing, but only inside. I needed to step outside for some fresh air..or maybe some poisonous tobacco. As I light my cigarette, I remembered how I used to argue with my wife that a man shedding a tear to other than God is a sign of weakness, for it’s ok to be weak in front of God only. I wished that could shed one tear..a real outside flowing tear, to express my emotions that night, and tried to force myself to do that, yet, myself was trained to resist and fight such emotions. I just couldn’t…but I wanted to. I started another cigarette as my Canadian brother ion law came to check on me. This was the same one that received me in the airport when I decided to go back and see my family back in the nineties after being away for many years. He is slick and I hate it when he tries to analyze me. I bet he knows how I am feeling right now. I just wish he shuts up and not talk. He said “by the way, the jameed will be here tomorrow morning, straight from madaba”. I laughed, and so did he. He was leaving to Lebanon tomorrow and he is the one that usually arrange for the best jameed on earth to get to my hand.

The night was getting closer to end..or so I thought. Everyone left home. I received a call from a friend of mine whom I didn’t see in 6 years since he left the states back to Jordan. He had just arrived from the airport and his mom told him that I asked about him upon my arrival. He came and picked me up. “Where to” he asked? I said “maaaan, lets go to coffee shop and sit down..I wanna talk to u about good old times”. He refused and we drove to reem albawadi. I told him that I had just finished a mandi and knafeh fest. He refused and insisted on me eating. This obsession in food is very contagious in Jordan. We had little mashawi as we talked about home, country, and the land. He told me to come back home and that he will do everything he can to assure a better life for me. I know he is capable of such thing. I really want to come home.

After 3 hours, he drove me back home and wanted to say hello to my father. He loves my father, as my father was teaching his back in the Jordanian military school. We sat down and chatted. When I asked about how his wife is doing, he said that she has flue and is sick at home. I yelled at the man for leaving his wife and hanging out with me. I kicked him outside and was angry at him. I said goodbye to this man not knowing when I will see him again. He promised to come and visit me in the states when he comes here again.

At about 12 midnight, the house is now suddenly quiet. No one but me, my sister, and my parents. I headed to my room and got ready for sleep. I started to visualize the activities of the day again and again to make sure that my brain memorizes it perfectly. I don’t want to forget any moment from today. The one thing that was missing from today was that my wife called today and I wasn’t around. She calls every day to give me the daily report, and gets mine as well. I’ll call first thing tomorrow. Tomorrow I am invited at my older brother’s home, and so my brothers and sisters and their spouses, exactly like today. Not bad bo3bo3…two memorable days back to back. Good night ya’al/

two weeks in Heaven, Day 13

2009-05-30T06:39:00.000-07:00

I'm gonna skip couple of days for now.

I got the call earlier from ala that we’ll have our meeting tonight. Sometime around 8 pm. However, I was supposed to visit my uncle in the morning..closer to lunch time. I am also supposed to go with my brother in law to slaughter a lamb for a dinner fest on Friday in my parents home. I wanted to invite my sisters, brothers, and their families for a dinner. At any rate, today is supposed to be a very busy day.
It started with me and my father visiting my uncle. We got there about 10 am. Again, there seem to be some obsession with food in this family of mine. The visit was just to say hello and spend couple of hours with the guy. Instead, he planned barbeque. At 10 am…barbeque? I couldn’t say no. I really wanted to say no. I honestly did. Regardless, we spent good time in his house. They have a maid from indonisia…or that sort. She wears the veil. Such a lovely face. Another example of the many houses in Jordan that do not need maids, yet, they have. I mean my uncle lives with his wife..and I don’t see the need for a maid. Oh well, this is the norm these days there.
We got back to the house at about 1 pm. I rushed with my sister to go to marj el7amam to catch my brother in law before he leaves the house. He was still sleeping at that time. So we get there as soon as we could. He was ready to leave. The plan was that I go with him to slaughter the lamb, since he knows good places for that, and then come back to his house, and then my sister and I go home before 8 pm. Sounds like a good plan….simple. That’s what I thought initially. We went to his small factory somewhere in amman. I was impressed by his small place, and the fact that he is building himself. We sat in the office. I told him that we need to leave. He agreed. Well, not so fast. Two visitors arrive to the factory. They started talking about business plans. After about an hour, they left. My brother in law and I head out to this place to slaughter. Got my eye on a small lamb, barely 26 kg whole. The dude did his job, and within 5 minutes, we were heading out as the butcher told us to come back in 2 hours after the meat cools down. My brother in law wanted to take me to city center. He spoke highly of a restaurant down there, called shahrazad. I was full, but he wanted me to try something different. We drove down to city center. This was about 5 pm now. We got to the restaurant

There, we ordered some 3arayes. I just wanted to eat 3arayes there as I heard so good things about that place. He ordered an additional 2 kg mixed grilled meat, 1 for him and 1 for me. It tasted so good. I couldn’t finish. He kept on pressing. I was begging for mercy. He ended up winning. I ate the whole damn kg mashawi. We then walked in the center. We took some steps that made me feel like an old man. We arrived to the parking garage, picked up his car, and drove out. On one of the traffic lights, a man crossing the street stopped in front of our car. He was talking to another man that didn’t cross yet. The light turns green. We sound the horn. He doesn’t even look at us. My brother in law drives the car slowly to hit the guy. The dude gets mad and slams his hands against the hood of our car. My brother in law rushes out with a small ganwa on the side. He aims to hit the guy..and the guys backs away apologizing. This is all new to me. This is strange. No one has any patience in this country?

We drove back to the butcher house, and got our lamb. Drove back to marj el7amam. My sister was waiting in the car outside. We rushed home. I wanted to use the bathroom at my sisters house, but we just didn’t have time. I have to be home at 8 pm. We drive fast back to the house. We got there at about 8 pm. I rushed quickly to the bathroom. I could swear that I lost 2 kg in that one trip to the bathroom. So I call ala, and he said that he will be there in couple of minutes.

Standing in front of our home, hiding behind a wall, smoking a cigarette fearing that my father see me. Enigma and ala show up. I got in their car, and all three of us drove away. I didn’t know where we were going. I was hoping to have a very late dinner. I can barely breath. 5 minutes into the drive, I decided to put on the seat belt. These guys drive crazy in this country. Nothing worse than to ride in a car where Enigma drives, and ala gives direction as where to go. We now headed to the airport. We meet up with Sa2ed on the way. We got to this nice park, the park of the king of Bahrain…such a long name.

There, Hector comes to the gate to lead us to the camp area. So we get there. Nice park. So I get to have mashawi for the third time today. I couldn’t tell the guys about my experience today. So I kept quiet. Some of us sat down, some started lighting heeisheh, and some started to grill the meat. Hector had a friend with him. The smell of barbeque is so overwhelming. We talked about everything. A third friend of hector also showed up few minutes later. It was about 10 pm now and the food is flooding the big dish that is in front of us. I sat next to ala, which is not a good idea as the food was disappearing fast there. We then started telling jokes. None of the jokes that were told that night can be told in here. The night was crisp. There was a group sitting not too far from us. They were a little loud…singing and dancing. Luckily, we were not sitting too far from the bathrooms. I needed to be close. The problem, there was a dog between me and the bathroom. I had to carry a long stick, just in case the dog develops a good taste for human meat.Toward the end of the night, most of us were cold and obsessed with the red burning charcoal. We gathered around the two grills, and stayed warm. It was cold that night.

At about 1 am, we decided to call the night off. We headed out, and off we go. I was home about 1:30 am thanks to Enigma’s driving. Tomorrow is also going to be a busy day as we are having lots of people coming over. My brother just arrived from the UAE to see me. Last time I saw him was 13 years ago. My other brother in law also arrived a day earlier from Canada. So it will be a busy day.

Day 7, Saturday

2009-05-26T14:23:00.001-07:00

Today was the day that I head to the city center in amman. In the morning, we, my sister and I, headed out to a restaurant I think called alia. I could be wrong. It was on the university street. The plan was to get mo3ajjanat, so we did. Headed home to find that my brother already got falafel and hommus from a tabarboorian restaurant. Can’t remember the name as well. We gathered around the kitchen table for breakfast.

My father was as usual taking care of his trees. He brought me some eski denia, which we don’t have in the states. I even forgot what kind of fruit is that, or if there were any seeds inside. So I took a big bite and felt a bunch of big black seeds. It tasted so sour of course. But it tasted good since it was he himself who picked them up.

Closer towards lunch, my brother , sister, and I got into the car and drove to the city center. It was raining a little..off and on of course. We parked the car on the main street there, few hundred meters before a mosque. We walked down the street. This is the Jordan I left many years ago. The sound of corn horns, the smell of diesel, the traffic, the angry policeman, the tourists…all that and more.

As we were walking, I asked where is hashem restaurant. I wanted to eat in the same restaurant that the king and his family ate at. There it was. A small restaurant with a bout 4 tables or so. So I asked what is the signature dish of Hashem, and they told me it was the hommus. Hommus it was. I always wished to eat in the old style restaurants, where you have to fight away the flies off of your plate. I loved it I swear.

Then we went walking towards this place for souvenirs. I bought few shapes of petra (that’s what they know in Jordan), two small argeeleh, and few more shapes, one of them was der3 kollana al2ordon and another was the picture of jerusalim, a 3D picture. Wow. All that was only for 40 dinars. But my sister was not done yet. So she started to negotiate with the worker there for a better price. I stepped aside since we don’t do that in the states. She managed to get him to give us 5 JD discount. I was counting the money to give the guy. She then asked him for something weird. I never heard of it before. A term called “hadeyyeh 3albee3ah”. I gave my sister a look to please leave the guy alone. She pushed me back and told me let me handle it. The guy looked at me with looks begging to put an end to this. I told him “dude, I’m from the states and have nothing to do with this”. She managed to get couple of shirts displaying the flag,.

We walked outside to this area with lots of cloth shops..traditional cloths. I wanted to buy a gown for zaid, and a small dress for my daughter. We found this beautiful gown and I wanted it. She asked the salesman about the price, and he said 7 JD, but for her, it’s 6. She wanted 5, and I was like “are u kidding me? Let it go”. The guy pulled the gown away and said “sorry” so we walked outside. She was angry at how he treated her. We looked more for a store that has the same gown. We found this guy saying it was 8 JD. I told my sister “see, if we got that one, we would’ve been better off”. We didn’t buy it. My sister said that even if the first salesman gave it free to us, we shouldn’t take it. It’s a matter of principles. What principles?
So I went to this place, and the guy was pulling us inside to look. I said “man, I’m looking for other things”. He insisted on us to enter his shop. Nice dresses..traditional ones. But I didn’t want that. He then pulled this dress..blue..traditional..and I quickly fell in love with it. He saw that in my eyes. How much is that I asked. He said 25 JD. I wanted it so bad. He then started to pull dresses for my wife, and I again fell in love with another one. I wanted both so bad now. He informed me that if I was not 100% convinced in buying them, then don’t. He was nice in a way. I wanted them. So he said 20 JD for the little one, and 30JD for the larger one. Not bad. But wait a minute, here comes my sister again. She was slick this time. She told the guy that he is the face of Jordan and that people (like me) who come as tourists would need to see the true face of Jordan. The guy smiled and said 45JD for both. My sister again asked him “ween elkaram el2orduni?”. He laughed, and so did I. I ended up getting them for 40 JD.

I still need a gown for my son. We went to this place..small place, next to a ma7ma9eh. The guy pulled us in..asked what we were looking for, and pulled this gown..an emarati gown. He said 15 JD. My sister said that she just found one for 6 JD. He said tat he too has a one for 6 JD, a Chinese one. I loved his way of sale. He started going down…13…12..10 JD. I pulled my money and started to count..stopped at 9 JD..he said “haaat ya zalameh zahhagtni 7ayaati, mabrook” while laughing outloud.

We walked back to the car..but before doing so, I wanted to see the original habiba. I always heard stories about it..is it a legend? Is it realty? There it was…a small..very small place. No room to sit..or even stand. U buy the knafeh and u walk away. So I did. Ate it in the car.

It was about 7 pm now. I asked my sister to drop me about 1 km away from home, right next to the po box of tabarboor. I started walking home…thinking about this life of mine. What would it take for me to come back here? Why am I still there? How can I utilize my knowledge and life to serve this land of mine? Silly me, I started thinking about a letter to send to the king to share with him my concerns and my vision for a Jordan that fully utilizes the expertise and the services of it’s people. It’s a duty on me to do so. So I started to build what is going to be the content of my letter. Would the king even bother reading a letter from an unknown Jordanian stuck in foreign land? Maybe not..so I brushed it off. Sometimes, when you are thinking under the influence of emotions, you tend to get into silly ideas.

As I walked past thye small mosque next to arab bank, on the curb, I saw this nice family. A papa, a mama, and one little girl, walking in the opposite direction of mine. I started to wonder why can’t I be sufficient like this guy and come and live here. I mean he may be unhappy at home..or maybe broke…or maybe barely living. But his walk with his family is what I am missing. I want to have the luxury of walking..and then stopping for falafel..or maybe some icecream…and cross the street running fearing a car hitting me…and maybe buy a kg of tomato or zucchini on my way home. That’s the normal life that I miss.

To be fair to myself, I have decided to seriously explore the opportunities for me to come back and settle here. I need it. I just can’t continue living a life that is not meant for me. Oh my…time flies by so fast. I have reached our home. I sat outside next to the eski denia tree and started looking across the house, through the backyard and watch people walking by..cars driving by…mountains in the back distance..and there it was, the big Jordanian flag from a distance. So depressing..ain’t it. But there was my uncle inside screaming at me to come in and play cards as he liked how he beat my whachamacallit the other day. So I got beaten again. The taste of loss is so sweet, when the winner is my uncle and my father. Let them be happy about how they beat me in cards, only if they know I was much much happier seeing them that moment. Good night now for the final count down has started as I reached the midpoint of my short but lovely vacation.

Two weeks in heaven, Day Six

2009-05-22T14:30:00.001-07:00

At about 10 am, I woke up on the noises of ne of my nieces yelling at the door. The smell of freshly made coffee was allover the place. I can’t open my eyes as I woke slowly toward the bathroom. I needed a shower so bad, and that’s not because I stink. It’s just the power of shower water on the mind set of a man. Water here in Jordan flows little compared with the water in the states. I can easily spend 30 minutes under hard flowing water and never feel a time lost. But here, the water looked like barely flowing from the shower head. I felt bad for the people in Jordan and wished they enjoy the hard flowing water as w do.
The deal was that I go pray with my brother in law in the nearest mosque, and then head to my other sister’s house. So my brother in law and I left to the nearest mosque. My brother in law wasn’t enthusiastic that we were gonna be on time as he called the imam of that specific mosque “abu sree3” for he finishes prayers quickly. We drove to another mosque, a couple of kilometers away. We got there in time. We spent about 15 minutes listening to the lecture and then there was the prayer call. It feels good to be in a mosque that is crowded and no room to sit. Mosques in America have barely few rows filled.
After the prayer was over, we walked outside the mosque into the main street that connects marj el7amam with amman. I could see the signs on the road directing cars to amman, airport, and madaba. There were plenty of cars parked on the street selling vegetables and fresh produce. There were also sellers having their goods on the ground. Toys, plastic products, and even apparel products were amongst the main products sold. Another guy with a station making karabeej 7alab. I couldn’t smell the aroma, it was too much for me visioning deep fried dough. Yet, there was a long line for that.
We continued to his car and drove back to his house. My sister was waiting for me to drive to my other sister’s home. So we said good buy to the family (and the three little angels) and drove to our next destination. It was about ..umm…about 4 km away. On the way, we drove through marj el7amam. I liked the outlay of the city (except that one small round about I think on main street there). As we passed the market place, where they sell fruits and vegetables, I saw a shepherd with his sheep grazing around the market. At last, I saw what I missed the most. I used to see the same in tabarboor in the past, but not any more. It’s a shame, if you ask med.
So we arrived at my third sister’s home. She is older than me by about 4 years. Heck, her oldest daughter has two twin girls that were born 2 years ago. They don’t look like each others that much. Maybe when they grow a little more, they may develop a more look alike faces. Sat down in the front yard and started talking. My niece married this dude from hebron. So I have to not joke about khalayleh at all in his presence. He is nice, but his accent is funny. No offence to my beloved khalayleh friends of course. There, my parents were also waiting. My brother dropped him off and went to his in laws in na3oor.
Here is a thing about my nephews and nieces of this sister. They have adopted their father’s family name (which is normal of course) and they have developed this pride and ego that such name carries. I don’t wanna mention the family name, but they hold higher status (not in my opinion as I see them thieves in the west bank) amongst others. So, they brag about that name. I on the other hand, find that to be always an opportunity to hammer them and point how such name is associated with corruption. Even my brother in law is corrupted..at leas was in the past at a minimum. Still, those are my family…my blood..even if they felt that the other family’s name is bigger, or better.
Food time has come. Here is the thing. I’m not a foodaholic as I may have sounded in these posts. No…but my family is. Somehow, food has become the main reason to get family members around to see each others. So, we go inside to this big dining room table..I mean big…I mean it served 12 chairs on a normal setting. The main dish was “msakhan” as my sister perfected the dish. There is a saying in the family that when we wanna eat msakhan, we go to marj el7amam to visit my sister. There were regular flat taboon msakhan, and there were the rolls msakhan. There was also kaftah (for the khaleeli dude as he doesn’t like msakhan). On the far side on the table, there were the other regular small dishes that my family have consistently put in every food invitation. Grape leaves/zucchini and kebbeh. There was also a lamb magloobah for those who didn’t like chicken in msakhan. I got to try all of course. I don’t wanna go in details about what I did on the table, but I’m sure the picture is already developed clear.
My sister also makes great knafeh and gollaj. Figure…my day can never be easier can it now. I couldn’t eat a lot so she made me take a dish home with me. But I wasn’t going home yet. Of to Na3oor now to the in laws of my brother. We got there few minutes later. I remember visting this family 4 years ago when I last visited. Very nice family, and very basic. The father greeted me wonderfully. He started showing me the two stories he built for his two sons. Beautiful. Very respectful man. We went all the way to the roof, and wow, he prepared a beautiful setting for the family to get together in summer nights. He pointed across the street to this beautiful home/palace, and all the gardens around it. It’s supposed to be for an emir from Qatar, and a TV producer as well. The hills around. the scenery, the wind, the fresh air..all was good. I wish I can go back and live in Jordan…one day.
Couple of hours later, his brother came to visit him. He started introducing me to his brother and family so honorably as if I was his kid. As if this man is taking honor of being related, via nasab, to me. I never felt so special in my life, as I did there. It bothered me as I am not used at such treatment. Again, topics like the swine flue and the aggression of America dominated the discussions. His brother then started talking about the 67 war. My father got incolved as well as both started reflecting on the past. I needed to smoke, so I winked at my brother to call me to the kitchen.
I went there, and there were two beautiful girls. I turned around and excused myself, but my brother told me that it’s ok and not be shy. I lit cigarette and started chatting with the young girls about everything. The two were in the university. Smart and educated girls. My sister was there and so was my brother and his wife. They asked how much I gained over the past 5 days, and I said maybe 2 or 3 kg. One of the girls got me a scale and said here prove it. All laughing, I got on the scale, and bam….4 kg….oh my God…how can that be. Mrs bo3bo3 will kill me. I had lovely 10 minutes and smoked 2 cigarettes, then went back to sit with the guys. They are still talking about the war.
The night was almost over, and we excused ourselves. My sister wanted to drive her car, but my father said “you wouldn’t know your way through these narrow streets, so let me get you to the main road. After trying to convince dad to drive all the way to tabarboor, she gave in. She suggested to him to go and ride with my brother, but he refused as well. I was wondering why wouldn’t she want him sitting next to her. He drove like crazy through the dark small streets. I got scared myself, especially when he says “or those lights of a car, or a house on the side of the road”. That is scary. Is he able to even see the road, if he can’t distinguish the lights?
We got to the main highway, and I was relieved. My sister was not. So as she took the wheels, he started telling her to go to the left lane..then right lane..then avoid a speed trap by the bridge..then take the left lane to avoid the traffic coming into the highway..then take the right lane..then take this side street to avoid traffic..then…then… Now I know the rest of the story. We got to the house and she told my father “please, never ride next to me again” smiling of course.
It’s about 11 pm now. I have no schedule tomorrow. My sister wants to take me to carfour mall and then to visit my uncle in jabal alqosoor. I also wanted to relax a bit. So, we’ll see what tomorrow holds for me. But now, I’m tired knowing that I just gained 4 kg in 5 days.

Two weeks in heaven, Day Five

2009-05-21T18:59:00.001-07:00

Day 5, Thursday

My youngest sister reserved today for her. Tomorrow is for my older sister. Both live in marj el7amam. So it should play very well. In addition, my brother in laws wanted to invite me to their humble home in na3oor. I like that family. So I figured two nights in marj el7amam should do this. As the traditions dictate, I stopped at “Arafat” pastry shop to pick up a couple of cans of sweets. We left our home in tabarboor at about 12 noon on Thursday. My mom prepared some kebbeh to take with her. Earlier that week, my sister asked if I preferred to go out to eat as her husband wanted to take the whole family to some of those big restaurants outside of amman and on jarash’s way. I prefer to eat in the house.
In Arafat, my single sister, the one that lives with my parents, and I went inside the store. As you all can see, my appetite is overwhelming. I bought two cans of baglawah. It looked good as gifts. But my eyes were set on hareeseh on the far right corner of the store. The guy working there saw me and offered a small sample. But he doesn’t know that I want much more. So I bought ½ kilo to snack on the road to marj el7amam.
My father doesn’t like to drive during the nights, so the deal was that he will drive us there, and my sister will drive back. My brother was supposed to follow us at 3 pm when he gets off work, along with his wife and beautiful two daughters and little son. So my father wanted to drive my sister’s car, a small hundai, like ala’s car. Maybe a newer one. My sister got greedy and pressed on my father to drive the Mercedes that he just bought, thanks to the recent Jordanian law cancelling the tariffs on cars for retired officers in the Jordanian army. My father won of course, and we got in the hundai. But I gotta give it for my sister for she tried hard enough.
We got to my youngest sister at about 1:30 pm. The three little angels greeted us with joy. My sister promised a surprise. It turned out to be “67alat”. I don’t eat that anywhere. That’s the damn filter for the liver. It’s yuckie. But she promised that it will be different. When my wife came and visited last year, she spoke highly of the 67alat that my sister makes. My father never changed. He does the same things he did in our house here in the states when he visited last year. There he is in the kitchen frying the kebbeh. My mom is preparing it for him. My sister is working on the stuffed 67alat, and the liver.
It’s food time (what a surprise). The 67alat look so damn good. There are so many of them. So I tried them, and my God, they tasted so damn good. I couldn’t stop. I tried some of that baked liver, and went back to the 67alat again. One after another, I couldn’t stop. No kebbeh and no more liver. Just 67alat. I may have eaten 4 or 5 whole ones that day. Again, as usual, I laid back on the couch complaining about my stomach.
My brother in law wanted to show me something. We went outside. He actually wanted to take me away from my father so I can smoke a Marlboro or two. He has a beautiful setting outside. We sat down, and then he pointed west towards some hills. He said “that’s Palestine..and you can actually see Jericho from here. I looked closely and yes I could see the promised land. What a beautiful site. The teat then came and wow, what a scenery.
At about 5 or 6 pm, my father wanted to go home. So my brother took my parents with him and they left home. My sister and I stayed behind. Soon after, my brother in law went out to drive in marj el7amam. We got to alqadi pastry shop and had small portion of knafeh. There is no place in my stomach at all. We then got to this coffee shop and sat there. He is 31 years old, but very active. He now owns a small plastic factory that he started from scratch. I admire his persistence to achieve. He only has a high school diploma, but had to quit college to support his mom and brothers. I remember when he proposed to my sister, he didn’t even have the money to buy the gold. But my father had a good vision in men, and he helped him stand up on his feet. Now, he is standing up and providing for many people.
While we were at the coffee shop, his brother showed up. His brother sounded like a loser that lives in the states. No consistent job and always in trouble. I felt that he was like a typical arab American. Oh well, who cares. I was enjoying the chat with my brother in law. He even got to my mind an idea to go back to Jordan and start a small plastic factory. This is how he started, and he offered to provide as much assistant as he could, especially in regulations and connections in Jordan. To tell you the truth, I was convinced for a moment, but who am I kidding…I suck when it comes to business.
We stopped at a small store on the way back to his house, and we picked juicy hot roasted penuts. What is it with people in Jordan and food? I mean easy. I bet I am now 3 kg heavier in the past 4 days. Oh well, we got back and we sat down chatting and munching. The three little girls started arguments as who loves uncle bo3bo3 more. So I played a little with them..hide and seek, and watch out for the bo3bo3..,monster. Actually, this is how I got my nickname, is when I was chasing zaid when he was little and mom would tell him “watch the bo3bo3, he is after you”. Sounds like corrupted family that terrorizes children…but we are not.
There was a movie….about a prisoner who is dumped in an island, and on the island, there were two factions of prisoners..the good and the evil. An old movie if you ask me. So I mentioned that I saw this movie years ago. They watched and were excited. At about 1 am, they all were tired, so all three asked me to tell them the ending so they can go to bed. So…I did. My brother in law and I slept in the guests room, and we locked the door fearing that the kids, who slept at 9 pm, would be up early and bug us.
Tomorrow, I am visiting my older sister. The last time I was in Jordan, she was in dubai during the shopping event. I love her so much….and I hate her husband so much. Thank god he is in abu dhabi for work so I don’t get to see his face. See ya’al tomorrow. Maybe tomorrow I don’t eat this much again. Maybe I will.

Two weeks in heaven, Day four

2009-05-20T18:29:00.000-07:00

Day 4, Wednesday
I seem to like the habit of sleeping till late morning. I again got up around noon. The night life in amman is so amazing, even if you spend it chatting with family members or playing cards. Today I’m supposed to visit my wife’s family. This is the first time I visit them after my father in law died, may he rest in peace. It is also the first time after my young brother in law was killed at an early age. Till today, my wife’s family refuses to accept the deyyeh. I think it’s a matter of time before his killer is killed.
We got there about 2 pm as we were invited for lunch. After greeting them, and comforting them, I sat in the guests room. My dad and my mom were with me. My uncle showed up a little later, with his wife. My brother in law, who is teaching chemical engineering in Jordan, also arrived a little later. We sat down and started chatting about the usual. How is mrs bo3bo3 and how is America. Is it true that America is deliberately changing the name “pigs flue” to H1N1 to hide the fact that pork is bad? This proves that Islam was always right. I know how people think over there. I don’t blame them. I tried to dodge such questions as much as possible fearing that I speak my true mind and anger some people there.
Lunch is ready. AAAAh..music to my ear. They made lots of food. Kabsah, stuffed chickens, kuftah, and the usual grape leaves. I ate very good. I couldn’t help it, but the food was truly good. I am now thinking how am I gonna handle that my brother invited me for late luch, and that tonight, at 8 pm, I’m meeting good friends from Mahjoob for dinner. I know today is gonna be a bad day for my stomach. Oh well, I wanted to enjoy the moment.
We then sat back in the guests room and started talking. There is money for my wife from her inheritance that I was given. I then took my brother in law, the one who has a chemical engineering degree, and started talking about Jordan. Projects like withdrawing water from the red sea to the dead sea was one of the topics. He is doing great handling projects that the EU is supporting. Of course, government again was blamed for so much bad things in Jordan. Typical discussion in the homes of amman.
It was time for me to go home…tabarboor that is. So at 5 pm, we got back to the house. I quickly went upstairs to my brother’s apartment for late lunch. Hos wife made kabsah and mlookheyyeh. Agaon, and against the pleas of my stomach to stop, ate pretty good. His wife makes great pastries as well. I wish I could call the guys and cancel tonights appointment, but I couldn’t. I really wanted to meet these guys and finally put a face on a nick name.
At about 7:45 PM, I walked towards the French bakery in tabarboor. That was the meeting place with Ala. I bought a pack of Marlboro ultra light from the store next door. I was standing on the street, puffing on my Marlboro. I called Ala and told him where I was. Few minutes later, this guy shows up in his car looking at me smiling. He called my name and I answered. So he made a U-turn to pick me up. I got in his car and we drove to the town. I asked where we were meeting, and he mentioned “qasr almandi”. Only if he knows that I had two kabsah already today. I was ok for a third one.
On the way, he called the remaining gang members to let them that we are on the way. So we got there, and we stood outside. The first victim showed up, Enigma. I looked at his plates to see if they were mokhabarat plates. They were not. A sign of relief that is. After greeting, the Jordanian way, we waited for the fourth member of our meeting, Hector. He showed up less than 5 minutes later. A very quiet shay man. Enigma was of course the tallest one. It took me some efforts to greet him. I needed a ladder to get up there.
We went inside and got a table on the second floor. After making sure that their lamb is balady, we ordered mandi. The four of us were eating. Ala was surpassing all of us. He wasn’t talking a lot of course. We tried to talk about general things, still, we got dragged to talk about mahjoob. The fifth member then showed up. “wa7ad mo7aseb” was his nick name. Another quiet man.
The bill came, and as usual, a fight erupted on the table as who will pay. Since Enigma is mokhabarat, and he was the tallest one, he won the battle. We then headed out to habiba. We had some knafeh. Most of us ordered one style; i.e. either kheshneh or na3meh. But of course, Enigma had to be different, so he ordered half and half. He wasn’t happy with his choice, but good, he deserves it. 2 hours later, the waiter came and kicked us out. It was about midnight now.
Our next stop was bel monde coffee shop on mecca street. We got there, parked the car, and got inside. I rushed to the bathroom of course. The waiter came and asked us what we would like to order. Ala was going to order banana split, but after everyone looked at him, he changed his mind. We started talking about the encounters with police. Each had good stories to tell. We laugher hard that night. At about 1 am, the waiters there again kicked us out, but kindly. You know, they placed the chairs on the tables as a sign that they are finished for the night. The other sign was that we were the only table there. So we got up and left.
Ala and I were given rides back to his car. His car was not responding. Mtann7ah like it’s owner. We charged the battery and of we went. Enigma stayed behind us to make sure we got to tabarboor’s traffic light safely. Ala’s car is now without head lights. If he stops, we are done. Luckiely, he kept going in the dark. We got to my house safely. Later, I found that he also got home safely.
The sad thing is that the night is over. How can it be over? I wish I can rewind the clock back few hours to enjoy one of the best nights I spent in Jordan again. My stomach was sure happy that the night was over. I laid back thinking about tomorrow. Come to think of, I don’t even know if this was Wednesday or Thursday. I am not even sure. Regardless, it was a night never to forget. I met some good people that I never seen before, yet, I felt that I known them for long time. See you tomorrow..which is probably Thursday…or Friday…who knows..I may have forgotten a day here or there.

two weeks in Heaven, Day three

2009-05-19T17:26:00.000-07:00

Day 3, Tuesday
I was a little tired from last night. Maybe the fact that I was awake for over 36 hours during my flight and to the time I slept played a hand in this exhaustion. I managed to wake up at 11 am on the sound of my little nephew who was slapping my face as I was asleep. Of course, my brother got to hear about that. Looking at this boy’s face brings so much joy. He is only 10 months old but is very active. I was angry at myself because I missed the joy of buying hommus and falafel in the morning. Oh well, today I shouldn’t eat much since my brother is preparing barbeque. He only makes 600 JD a month, and I hated to cause him any money. But we all know how Jordanians insist on what they call “wajeb”.
We went to “yajooz” area to slaughter a lamb. Aaah…the joy of seeing live sheep running around. That one on the far side looks good. I can see his leyyeh hanging, and my brother loves barbeques leyyeh. If you ask me, that’s not my thing. So we slaughtered the lamb and had the guy cut it for us. A little for the koftah and a little for the kabab. Even the bones didn’t go to waste. They would look good under grape leaves and zucchini. So we went home. The women started to prepare the meat. My sister and her husband arrived at 4 PM. There comes the three little angels. My other brother arrived at 5 pm and we loaded the cars. They were debating as where to go. Some suggested some park in Yajooz’s road. Some suggested the house since my father prepared a barbeque stand next to a nice looking water fountain. They asked me, and I wasn’t sure what to answer. I really wanted to be in a place that over looks amman. I missed my moments of isolations on the hills of tabarboor. So we head out to this park on Yajooz’s road. I can’t remember the name. It was on a steep climb.
We started hashing and nashing. My sister had prepared the music. Dabkah music. We started singing and dancing. I got tired quickly and wanted that few moments alone. I wanna speak to the desert. Sure I’m crazy, but it’s joyfull craziness. So I went to the highest point in that park and looked south west. Amman is beautiful. Especially around sunset. Mountains full of houses. Houses full of people. I wish I was one of those people. Then I heard the song “ma7la eldaar” for al3abdallat from my sister’s radio. I laid back, leaned my head against a tree and started enjoying this moment. I felt that the land was singing joyfull of my coming home. I told you I’m crazy…but happy. Then I heard people talking. I looked to my right and found two young girls talking. Maybe sisters. Ok bo3bo3, easy now. Mrs bo3bo3 won’t be happy.
Oh…Mrs bo3bo3. I almost forgot about her. I called her to let her know how happy I was. For a moment, she started talking about how tough it’s without me there. My mind wasn’t with her..nor with the two women. The desert and the mountains are taking me from her. So I comforted her over the phone. Come on honey, it’s only been 3 days. The call from my father to come and fiest struck my ears, so I told her I’ll call her back. I ran quickly to the food. I haven’t had breakfast and I was hungry. The food tasted so beautiful.
Ala called me to confirm our meeting. I then called a Hector and he didn’t recognize me. I also thought it was a wring number. The meeting was set for Wednesday, tomorrow. Good. It was then time for us to go home. I wished I could stay, not because of those two cute girls, but because I was enjoying something I was always fanaticizing about…loneliness on the hills of amman. I had to go with the family in the end. So we drove home.
We got home, and I decided to go with my brother to get pastries. He suggested Arafat, habiba, zalateemo, and alsahl al2akhdar. I didn’t care. I was in the mood for hareeseh. So we went to alsahl el2akhdar for some hareeseh. I ended up getting hareeseh, knafeh, and something called “been nareen”. I think I gained 5 lb already in the first three days.
My uncle finally showed up at about 10 pm. He wanted to play cards..so I teamed up with my mom, against him and my father. We won the first round, but lost the two next ones. Oh my…it’s almost 3 am now. I think I should get some sleep. See you tomorrow.

Two Weeks in Heaven

2009-05-18T18:04:00.000-07:00

As many of u, and the mokhabarat, know that I have just came from my jordanian vacation. I have enjoyed every hour and every minute, to the point that I would love to share my humble experience with you. For that, and as a punishment to you all, I am gonna post a post per every day I spent there. Sue me :)
Day 1, Sunday 4/26/09
As my delta flight approached Palestine, and as I heared the captain demanding passengers to sit down because it was a "closed air space" as he indicated, I started watching from my window the middeterrenian sea. Suddenly, I could see palestine. It was about 4 pm that afternoon. I could see cities..and there was part of the dead sea. Even though I never seen palestine, and nore did my father (except during the war), I still have lots of feelings towards a land that is dear to my heart....and my religion. It's the land of my grandfather after all.
I could now see queen's alia airport from a distance. My heart started pounding faster. The plane continued flying pass the airport, probably preparing to approach the airport from the east. I always get a window seat. During my flights in the states, all I see is patches of green..rivers..and lots of communities. But now I only see yellow...beige...nothig but desert. I told myself, in a loud voice, "sa7ra sa7ra, w rabb elka3beh ajmal men jannat al2ard".
The plane landed..and now we were taxing towards the gate. I got my carry-on, and stood eagerly to exit the plane. The door opened and I felt a born again bo3bo3. As I walked through the brisge into the airport, I could see cigarret butts on the floor. For a moment, I felt " damn, they will never change" but quickly awakened to the fact that I don't want them to change.
I approached the Visa counter to obtain a visa on my US passport, i saw the jordanian natinal counter empty. I went there, and asked if I could enter using my 2 year expired jordanian passport. The guy at the counter smiled and told me "of course you can". So I did. I went straigh to the duty free market for the normal procedure. 4 cartoons of cigarrettes for my brothers. I then got my two luggage and went straight to the gates. One guard stopped me asking if I had more than 2 cartoon of cigarettes, and I answered yes I have four. He laughed and instructed me to continue on.
As I passed through the arrival hall, I saw my father. I greeted him as usual and we went straight to his car. We loaded the luggage into his car and drove out. He is getting older and older now, yet, I could see the youngness in him as he was driving like a race car driver in his new car. I was happy seeing him happy as well. Of course, he called home to let them know that we are on our way.
On the drive home, I was starring at the land. I couldn't believe that I am in Jordan. It felt as I was on one of regular business flights, but this is different. I still see people on the side of the street selling coffee. There were some selling "7amleh malaneh" and bananna's. Amman changed. It's still beautifull. There is the big flag that I could see from dad's home in 6abarboor. We go through streets that i don;t recognize.
Then we apprach 6abarboor traffic light. It is still the same. Now I know my way home. Same places that I left 4 years ago. We now apprach our 25 years old home. Back in the days, there were only two houses on that hill, one of them was ours. There wasn't even a raod leading to it back then. As I exited the car, I could see my two brothers and my two sisters. I greeted them and was suddenly surrounded by so many kids I don;t even know who is who.
Not to my suprise, the smell of jameed was filling the neighberhood. I sat inside the living room talking to the family and mom was planning the "mansafiesta". I ate..and ate..and ate more. It's now about 9 pm, and I wanted habiba knafeh. So I got my sister and we drove to habiba. Got me 5 kilo's and went home. Everyone was yelling at me that 3 kilo would've been enough for the small familia. So I told them fine, you get your 3 kilo, and I'll do the rest. I don't know how I managed, but I did finish the rest..sort of.
One of my sisters is married, so she had to go home wiuth her husband. The other one is not. We sat home and we made coffee, and drank. I didn;t wanna go to bed, but everyone else wanted to. I didn;t care it was 2 am. I just wanted to utalize every minute of my stay in jordan. So we all slept. I was up at 5:30 am on the sound of prayer. i admit that I was so happy hearing such sound. This is something we never hear in america. So i got up, prayed, and prepared coffee. My sister woke up on the smell of coffee.

Day 2
I woke up early hearing the fajr prayer. Nothing beats drinking coffee in our front yard seeing the sun barely coming out. I tried to be quiet as much as possible, but the sound of cars was overwhelming. Tabarboor sure changed a lot. At about 7 am, my brother came down from his apartment. He was going to work. Few chats, and he was on his way. There was something itching me, and I used to do it in the past. I want to go and buy breakfast…like the good old days. So I kept bugging my sister to get ready for breakfast.
She insisted to take me to abu jbarah. I didn’t care. So we headed straight to abu jbarah. We got a can of hommus, a can of foul, and 40 pieces of falafel (at which, my sister was gonna get a heart attack). On the way back to tabarboor, I watched the school kids wait for their rides. The traffic was pretty bad, but we were heading home, and that is against the traffic flow on a work day.
We stopped at a bakery in tabarboor that specializes in 6aboon. We bought 4 pieces (oh..the smell…it sure is heaven on earth). We were home by 9 am. My parents were up of course. We gathered in the kitchen to prepare the breakfast. All four of sat down around the kitchen table and I started enjoying the falafel. They didn’t eat much, but that’s ok. They don’t know that most of us in ghorbah would pay dearly just for a half an hour around kitchen table, with the family, and feeling the beautiful morning breeze of tabarboor. It’s not the falafel…but the whole atmosphere.
Ata little before 10 am, I could hear my father calling me so we can go and renew the passport. We left the house to the government building. May have been the 4th circle???I can’t remember where it was. Have I mentioned that my father drives like a young stallion? Ever since he got his Mercedes, he was acting funny. It awakened a young driver in him. At any way, I was holding the side bar in the car throughout the drive. He scares me. But maybe this is how all Jordanian drive.
At the counter, we filled a quick 2 page application and attached pictures and took a number. I loved the concept of taking a number and wait your turn. This wasn’t the case few years back. My number was called, and I went to the window. A beautiful Jordanian woman was working behind the counter. I wish she smiles. Why can’t she smile. Please smile. For heavens sake smile…I won’t take it the wring way. Oh well…never mind. I gave her the application, paid my 20 JD at the cashier and was told to come back in 30 minutes. So my dad and I walked….toward a company called “baytona” not too far from the passport place.
We got inside and my dad was trying to get dividends on his stocks in that company. They owe him for two years. It wasn’t a lot, but he thought to stop by since he was in the area anyways. The guy working there apologized that he doesn’t have money in the cashier to pay him. My dad was yelling at the poor guy and questioning how a company this size doesn’t have 590 JD in the office. I was laughing at the way he was yelling.
It was 30 minutes and we got my passport back. We drove back to the house and we were home before 12 noon. I was a little tired, but if I sleep now, I’ll be up all night. So I didn’t. I walked towards “down town tabarboor”. The sun was hot, but that tabarboorian breeze is making it easy on me. I picked up my cell phone that my sister got me for the 2 weeks, and called Mr ala aldeen to let him know that I have arrived. I asked him to give me a couple of days until I finish seeing my family and then we shall get together.
I then went home and sat..awaiting my brother’s arrival. He came home at 3 pm. We then went out for a drive. My mom was preparing lunch for the family. My second favorite meal…grape leaves and zucchini. I bought few books and PC programs for Zaid as mrs bo3bo3 instructed (and threatened) me. Teaching Arabic for English speaking children. At 5 pm, we were home. We ate. My sister and her husband showed up. Finally..I missed those three little girls of hers. The 2 years old one is cute. They r all cute, but this one was sweet and was trying to get closer to me.
After lots of tea and coffee, it was time for shawarma. So my two brothers, and my two sisters went out to mecca street in a hunt for reem’s shawarma. We bought 20 meat and 20 chicken shawarma’s….in “shrak” bread. I couldn’t wait to get home to eat..so I ate two meat shawarma’s on the way. We stopped by habiba on the way and grabbed a couple of kg of knafah.
We had lots of fun that night. Again, my sister and her daughters had to leave home. I do appreciate my brother in law for bringing my sister. They live in marj el7amam, which is a far distance from tabarboor, yet he didn’t mind driving her back and forth. My father started his argeeleh, and I snuck outside for a cigarette. I am almost 40 yrs old, yet, my father never saw me smoking…ever. Maybe I’m still scared since the time his frind saw me smoking and my father chased me with his gun in the street s of alain, UAE when I was 15 yrs old. Oh well….I am so tired now. I think I wanna sleep for 20 hours. Tomorrow, I’m going to visit the family of my wife.

mama I'm coming home

2009-03-15T07:21:00.000-07:00

Naaa..this is not about a song by Guns 'n Roses, although I love the group, but rather about me..kind of.

So....I booked the tickets to go to amman..a 2 week vacation. It will be a month before I go, but the excitement..the anticipation is overwhelming me. I am already planning day by day schedule there. I know that two weeks are not enough, but my schedule already looks so big.
It's been 3 years since I went there. I'm sure lots have changed. Maybe more fancy restaurants..or crowded buildings. I just hope that there are few spots left for those of us that are not interested in seeing a modern amman. People laught at me when I start listing my fantacy activities in amman..from buying a falafel sandwich on the street, to seeing a shopphard walking with his sheep, or maybe going to the restaurant next door, with an empty plate, and buying hommus.

I sure miss tabarboor. I miss the constant sound of car horns..the morning breez from the west..the deserty looking hills (if they are still there)...the smell of shawarma from a syrian restaurant on main street in tabarboor (forgot the name, but next to a big super market down the street from arab bank branch). I miss the smell of sheep running around in the streets...the sounds of guns during a wedding....the music of the same wedding. I miss walking in the vegetable stands by that small mosque again not too far from arab bank. I miss the smell of bread...the smell of olive trees as I used to walk from my parents home towards tabarboor main street...and down to the small round about, again if it still exist there.

To protect myself from an emotional melt down (yeah..it could happen to a bo3bo3 as well), I am preparing myself that none of old tabarboor is remaining..and instead, a busy modern small town that is no different than amman itself. That would be a shame..a sad ending to a small town once was the city of soldiers where you would see more army jeeps than regular cars..where when you go to the mosque, you would think that you live in an army camp by the overwhelming number of uniforme wearing worshippers.

In all cases, those will be the best 2 weeks of my last three years, regardless of what kind of tabarboor will I encounter in 5 weeks from now.

A tale of tapes

2009-03-01T06:40:00.000-08:00

Last night, my wife and I decided to watch our wedding ..so I got the VHS, and started converting to DVD. The process took about 2 hours as I bought the cheap convertor that takes too long. We then started watching the wedding tape. Back then (thats seven years for those who are keeping score), the tape starts with a big picture of my wife with some songs and yada yada. Our son, zaid, was also watching. He said "mom, is that you?" and she answered yes. he said "you looked like a clown, too much paint". So I laughed my liver out of my nose and she was mad telling abu elzooz that it's normal. It seems that the wife had too much makeup then. At any rate, thats not the intention of this post, but felt like throwing a cheap shot at my wife.
There she is, so beautifull walking toward the chair (or whatever ya'al call it) and there is me..heeey..I wasn't bald back then..and still as ugly as I could be. I am holding her hand, and we both sat together. I can't remember what we were giggling about, but both seemed very happy. She was (and still is) shy, and I was as bad as I could. Here comes her sisters talking to her...ok...enough?..please leave the little stage...ooh I wished I could push them off as they hang out there for too long.
Oh there come three beautifull girls..dancing with joy..coming to help their brother and stand next to him. I can see them pulling me off to dance with them. I do look like I'm performing de77eyyeh in the middle of the three. My cousins join and so did my brothers. I could see two of my uncles going outside the hall..and I know what they are doing. I could see them taking their guns out.
As we are watching the tape, i kinda felt some tears..but instead of flowing out, they were floing inside of me as I watched my sisters. I really need a dose of going home for few days. I need that shot of morphin to relief the pressure that is growing inside of me. I know the cycle will happen again, but my pressure gauge is running out of room.
Oh well...there are things that the more painfull they become, the sweeter they also become.

A bathroom thought

2009-02-25T09:10:00.001-08:00

Last night, we had a problem in the house...plumbing problem. I was up all night. Finally, I caved in for my wife's opinion and called a 24 hrs/day plumbing service. After paying $220 for 25 minutes work, I finally went to the bathroom.
As usual, a thought came across to me. I remembered how in the old days we used to throw some rice for the pigens to come and feed. I also remember seeing lots of bird feeders at work and many places. We have one too in our backyard.
I then started asking myself...oh wicked self...are humans good by nature or bad? Are we good inside of us and express it by doing something that we gain nothing out of, except bringing some happiness for other creatures (as in bird feeding). Are we naturally good, but sometimes we exhibit bad behavior (abnormal to our nature) as in not feeling responsible to help other human beings?
Or we are bad and evil by nature, yet we go out of our ways sometimes and feed some birds here and there.
This is like looking at the glass half full or half empty. What are we? good or bad, by nature. And of we are good, then why do we exhibit so many bad behaviors for our fellow humans.
If we had no religion..and no laws whatsoever...would we revert to the evil nature or simply the good one? If murder had no punishment..or adultary had no consequences...or beating up humans had no consequences...would we still do it? We all know that adultary is not allowed in islam, yet, in heavens, the rewrd for some is 72 vergins. We know that drinking is not allowed, yet in heavens, there will be rivers of wine. We are asked to pray 5 times a day, yet, no prayer is asked from humans in the heavens. Is this a sign that humans are bad by nature, and that we have to go out of our ways (and be good) to get the promissed rewards?
I hate bathroom times...it has a toll on me.

Honey...lets talk

2009-02-23T18:39:00.001-08:00

My typical work day usually ends with me going home after a hard worked 8 hours plus. All I want is to eat my dinner, sit down, watch few minutes of CNN, Fox news, and a little of MSNBC, before I flip the channel to my favorite two channels, military history and travel channel. This is pretty much how my week days end up with.
The other day, I sat down for my daily after work ritual, and I noticed my wife a little sad. There is a part of me wanting to ask her "whats wrong honey...r u ok?" and the other part is saying " shut up and pretend that you didn't notive her sadness". The struggle continued for a while, but sadly, the good side of me won. So I did it. "Honey, are you ak?". She started complaining that we don;t talk alot these days. She is right. She usually goes upstairs to help zaid study...gives him a bath..and then reads him something to help him go to bed. I sure hope I am sounding like jelouse of how she is given attention to our son more than me. I really am not. A man sometimes need to sit down and relax in isolation.
So I agreed with her that we are not talking too much these days. I actually feel bad for her because of my constant travel. I mean last week I was in Tenessee, and this week I'm spending half in Chicago, and that already started. So I agreed with her and asked her to talk to me about anything she wishes...heck..why not..she is my wife after all, and the one that withstand my thoglet dam.
At any rate, she started talking about her firiends...how this one is not happy with her husband...and how that one is misstreating her husband...and how another one is wanting to have kids while the husband doesn't want. That took more than an hour. She then started talking about food and different ways to cook different meals. She then reverted to talking about her sisters in Jordan. I kept quiet all this time.
At the end of the night..I told her "honey...now you know why we don;t talk? it's because I am interested in your friends stories..and your sister well being...and cooking...it's just doesn't interest me". I was being honest. I mean I don;t care about any of her friends...well..except the one that makes good layali lebnan. And I'm sure she wouldn't be interested in my work stories and what i do at work.
What the heck can we talk about? I like politics, she likes egyptian movies. I like science, and she likes faked arab history. I like lamb, and she likes veggies.
So...next time your wife asks you to spend some time to talk to her...run to the nearest coffee shop.
I still love her and wish that she is not bored. Now watch how the women nazi group jump on my back and start attaking my old mentality...se sayyed..but I am not se sayyed.

Cell phone abuse

2009-02-18T04:07:00.000-08:00

I'l try and keep calm during my attempt to express my frustration with sell phones. ...errrr...naa, it won't work.

Yesterday, I caught a flight from cincinnatti airport to memphis, TN. Everything was fine. The flight was delayed about 30 minutes, but thats normal. There were about 40 passengers in this small 50 passenger communter jet. As wel all know, cell phone usage is not allowed during take off, and during the flight. However, this usage is allowed after landing. It takes about 10 minutes to taxi and get to the gate. Now, as soon as the anouncment of allowing passengers to use cell phones, some people got their cell phones out and started to check messages. Again, thats normal and I do that as well. Yet, there were some people that started dialing and talking to people on cell phones. Now, why couldn't these people just wait 10 minutes...just damn 10 minutes. The dude next to me called his wife (supposedly) and started a stupid unneeded conversation with here. "Hi honey, I just landed. How are the kids. Ok I love you. I'll talk to you when I get to the hotel". errrrr.....I would bet money that the same dude called his wife again from the car rental shuttle to do the same. Many people started tasteless conversations during that 10 minutes. Some retard few seats back was talking so loud using his silly looking bluetooth as if he was in his office. He was a dude going through divorce and was discussing some stuff with his attorny. As if we needed to hear such conversation. I hope his wife end up taking all his money, and not just half.

People...my fellow human beings..if you can hear me. Stop this cell phone abuse. I remember 10 years back, cell phone usage was at minimal because of the cost. Now, those damn companies come up with the 2000 minutes plans that is so annoying. And what you end up with is a person trying to use his/her 2000 minutes before the end of the month. "well, I paid for those minutes". errrrr.

I have encountered so many ignorants using cell phones while in the bathroom. Damn this blue tooth hand's free technology. I don't want to hear your private conversations. Unless you are discussing some information on stock investing, and unless you are furbishing information that could make me rich..shut up please.

oooooh..don't even get me started on text messeging in the airports. This is why I try and minimize my travel during spring breaks. Although that teenagers speaking over the phone is so annoying that it makes me puke, yet, text messeging is even worse. I hate my life.

signed:
a very annoyed and frustrated traveler.

A year ago

2009-02-15T07:53:00.000-08:00

Wow...It has been one year since I last posted. It has been a very busy year, but I'm back. I will start posting again regularly. I hope everyone is still doing great. Will be back very soon.

9 days

2008-01-30T17:57:00.001-08:00

9 days...thats the number of days that I have been stuck in tenessee trying to finish some work. No good sign in the horizon yet, but I am going home, regardless. I'll come back later to finish such work, but for now, I feel like a car that is running low on gas, and must refill. A battery that is weakening and I gotta re-charge. I travel alot, but never more than 5 days. This is 9 days straight, including weekend spent in the factory. I wanna go home.

The worst thing about my travel is the night. Once the clock hits 6 or 7 o'clock, I start get into this sad feeling. I gotta eat, and thats my dilema. Not that I eat too much, but the fact that I am eating alone most of those nights. Every night is a sad night for me. being away from my family, spending the nights alone, is what gets me.

Well, tonight was a little different. I went to this hibachi japanese place in Jackson, TN. I was, as most time, alone. I sat on a table, and there was a family. There was once child, probably 7 years old. He looked like my son zaid, so much. I was starring at the kid, and loking back to the chef. Didn't want to give the wronge impression that I was a child predator. But I couldn't help it. The kid was trying hard to use the chop sticks, which I myself don't know how to. So i asked for a "cheaters chop sticks" Those were sticks with a rubber band at the top of it to help control them. I started teasing the kid that i am able to use mine, and he wasn't. Smiles back and forth, and his parents joined in the fun.

Before you know it, I started chatting with the family. You know....about everything, heck, including the middle east policy, which I try to avoid. The kid looked at me and said "heeeeey, your cheating" All were smiling and he managed tp use his sticks.

Nights like that makes me ease some of the pressure of traveling. It ain't fun, ya'al. loool I am starting to sound like a southern tenessee dude.

The light at the end of the tunnel. I called my boss, whos in spain for some meetings, and told him that I am going home. he agreed and wished me well. I booked the nearest open flight, friday at 9 am from memphis airport. I am going home. I need to be home.

Coping with the past

2008-01-23T19:22:00.000-08:00

Hummm...ok...let me try and gather my thoughts here. It's all about the past. No matter how hard we try to escape it, it keeps "haunting" us constantly. I am a person who is having a hard time escaping the past. I understand that the past is essential to have a future of course. But I sometimes I wish I could turn the switch off on it somehow.

Every day passed, is saved somehow in your memory. You can't just delete it. Wish I could. But how can someone at least block it from the constant haunting? How can you pick and choose what to remember, when to remember, and how long should you remember any incident?

I am a firm believer that the past, with it's goodnes and evil, with it's light and darkness, with it's sad and happy, with anything and it's "anti thing" is like a house. You can't simply take parts of it, and say, lock it not to be ever seen again.

I am a weak man, and I'm sure many are, if not all men are. Sometimes, a thought haunts me from the past and I start hearing voices. Don;t panic, not the kind of voices that makes a mother drwon her 4 kids. But voices of people that I may have hurt intentially. Voices of matters that I have given up on like drinking. Voices of the child in me ....was me I should say. Voices of a land that I have left 20 years ago and wanting me back. Voices of a smile that I once had frequently, but hardly now. Voices and voices everywhere I look.

I try not to be isolated. I try to be around people to keep those voices from haunting me. Some of those voices are asking me "why did you do this" and some voices are telling me "come back to me, you need me".

This is silly. I mean I am an educated man (don't mind the village language that I speak). I have a decent job that is very exciting and challenging. How can I talk about such silly voices. But I kid you not, them damn voices are around me even as I am writing those words. Sometimes I wish that I was never been. Or maybe that I am about to expire. Them voices gets to you after a while. This is not a typical bathroo thought, but rather like a realty show. I wish I can pull the plug on those voices. I never meant to hurt. I never meant to leave my land. I never meant to be who I am today, or whom I was yesterday. It just happened. I guess hallucination can hit anyone, regardless if they are educated or not...even if they were bald headed jordanian dude. So execuse me for a moment as I have to fight off some more voices. Yep.....Bo3Bo3 has gone insane...or maybe he was already insane.

My wife is jelous

2008-01-22T19:23:00.000-08:00

Finally, my dream came true. Yeppp....she is jelous. During christmass, we decided to travel to cleveland, ohio to see some friends. Cleveland is the last place I wanna go to, especially during winter. Nevertheless, my wife made lots of friends when we were there. I guess we both fit each others nicely. I'm very social in my nature, and she is twice as much. We got to the hotel late that night, and after a quick dinner downstairs, we decided to call the night off.

The next day, we visited a friend of ours. A jordanian couple, christians, but I won;t hold that against them :). Kidding of course, koll ennas khair wbarakeh. At any rate, my friend's wife is a nice cook, except when it comes to mansaf, no one beats my wife in that catagory. So we had a dinner, some stuffed chicken, and now it's desert time. Now, I gotta be honest and say that my friends wife makes the best "laialy lebnan" ever. And she makes it when I'm there always. I made the "error" one time and complimented her so much on this beautiful dish. Ever sence, she makes it every time we visit them. My wife doesn't like that of course...a woman's thing if you ask me.

As usual, I was living in another world while i was eating layaly lebnan. Before I finished my plate, she brough the second plate to me. I never say no to food, especially if I'm enjoying it. So I started eating the second plate while humming and mumming and living the best fantacy of my life, yes, food fantacy. I complimeted her again, and her husband said "I wish u visit us every wek, because thats the only time she makes it that good". My wife was staring at me with her eagle's eyes as if she was telling me "guess who's sleeping on the couch tonight". But I can't help it. before we left, I asked my friend's wife if she can give the recipe to my wife. She did of course, and she wrote it in details as well. On the drive back to the hotel, I asked my wife if she could make it for me when we go home. She took the notes out and shreded the papers and throw them in my face. Right there, I knew I screwed up so much. I've got burned before on the veal parmasian dish when i told my wife that I had the best veal parmasian in a restaurant. She never made me veal parmasian again, and she makes a great veal parmasian, from the scratsh.

The next day, we visted another couple, from gaza. Great couple I should add. They made the same dish we ate the last time, a baked leg of lamb stuffed with garlic and origano. I once again screwed up. I never learn any lesson at all. I told my wife again if she could at leat try and make the same dish, and her reaction was as the night before. I wish I can keep my mouth shut when it matters. I don't enjoy her veal parmasian no more. she never makes me layaly lebnan nore the leg of lamb. I mean I should know better, for I do sincerly appreciate a good food. I need good food in my life, and I'm paying a heafty price for my lack of "quitness".

A half full cup

2008-01-16T16:36:00.000-08:00

As I was dinning alone in this restaurant, I started to stare at the half full (or half empty) glass in front of me. This is not good since my table was the only table with less than two people sitting around it. A bathroom moment came to me. Before you started thinking to much about such moment, it's a moment where I start thinking about things that can only torture my mind.

Is this glass really half full or half empty? Phillosophers spent many years analyzing such statement..or question. I asked myself a question "of wicked self, is this glass half full or half empty"? To be honest, i didn;t know the answer, and was tempted to take a ruler from my case and measure the damn thing. Funny how people tied up this glass concept to life. I mean some will tell you that it's half full to keep hopes and aspiration always alive. Others would say a half empty representing time gone and never to come back. yes, like our own age. Middle age is either sad moment reflecting on all those years (don;t u love the song "holding back the years" by simply red?). Or it maybe a hope for a better second half that you are yet to go through. This is when the great bo3bo3 discovered a theory to fend off all those sad moments that results from starring at a half glass. To me, a half empty glass is good knowing that the other half is sitting somewhere in my stomach (or bladder depending on the speed of the digesting cycle). Yes exactly like the half steak that is sitting infront of me at this moment. I know where the other half is.

Then a thought came across of me regarding this half thing business. White is good...it represents pureness and happiness. As in white christmass or white wedding in reference to the white wedding dress. Black is bad...it's evil. But if you think for a moment, you would come to the realization that black is good while white is bad. Black absorbes light and shows it's real identity. White reflects lights and shows whatever it's reflecting. Wicked ain;t it? Didn't i say it's a bathroom moment? darkness is good, according to this wicked theory.

But wait a minute. How did we ended up going from a glass on the table to discussing darkness? Again, this is the beauty of a bathroom moment. I have overlooked the most important thing in all this incident. You see, there was a piece of meat sitting i the bottom of the glass, and this what I should've been focusing on. As to where this piece came from, I'll leave that to your imagination as a moment of bathroom has came right now...this moment, and this is literaly speaking not figuratively.

Whats wrong with being an arab american?

2008-01-15T17:48:00.000-08:00

The other day, I was talking to a friend of mine who was visiting the states for few days. A bathroom moment hit me, and I started to ask. “Dude, how do you folks perceive us?”. After trying to escape the question, he caved in finally. Here are some of the interesting misconceptions…or maybe true conceptions about arab Americans.

Show-offs
This is an interesting thing to hear from a Jordanian dude who belongs to a society that is purly build on show off. A society that names specific clothes items after singers and dancers (as in tannooret ruby…etc) It seems that arab-americans have the tendency to talk so much about the fact that they could own two cars, a home, and enjoy vacations. Talk about the availability of department store, fancy restaurants and much much more. This happens especially when arab Americans travel back to the middle east with their fancy stuff.

This democracy talk
Yeah dude…all you talk about is how you have democracy and you could curse your president in the middle of down town. You brag about it knowing arabs can’t dare to do the same in public. So now you think you know it all? You know all about globalization and it’s effect on developing nations. You know all about primaries and caucuses. Or that fancy term of electoral college. Please…don’t lecture us about such things.

Not in touch with arab realty
You forgot all about your origins and chased a handful of dollars. You consider yourself American while other Americans still look at you as a foreigner. Wake up dude…and smell the hummus.

English language
Oh yessssss…this is the number one thing that gets on our nerves. Do you want to really convince us that you forgot your Arabic language? Stop inserting words like “man” “sure” “ok” in any Arabic sentence. We know that you can speak Arabic, so why this show off?

The funny thing is that I started to buy his views. I see many arab Americans use the above examples for purely show off. I mean some dude have been only few months in the USA, and they display the behavior of “dude…I forgot my Arabic” and other type of behaviors.

Is it true that arab Americans could not get rid of the show off mentality that they brought with them from home? I’ve been an arab American for almost 20 years. I take pride in trying to preserve the morals and values that I was born with. I also take pride in the values that I picked up from the states. I believe in this land’s democracy and wish that we could apply it in our world. A pride that got me into so many arguments with other arabs who focus on the war in iraq and criminalize every American value because of such war.

I am still alive

2008-01-12T18:44:00.000-08:00

It's been ages since I posted anything here. Work has been taking so much of my time and the fact that my parents came to visit us two monthes ago (and still here :( ) is adding on top of that. I have lots of stories to tell, especially on this year's election in the states. Hope everyone is doing great.

9/16/1970

2007-09-17T17:52:00.000-07:00

A dark day in the history of both sides of the Jordanian river. Many of us were too young, or not even yet born to live such era. However, this era left few black dots on our lives. We hope that we have overcome the typical instigating questions of why it happened and who was the aggressor. We are beyond that. We should be beyond that. We ought to be beyond that. Darn it, you need to be beyond that.

Nevertheless, one can not forget how such bad days affected his/her life. We shouldn’t forget. Yes we should forgive, but please don’t ask us to forget. True that the battles lasted for 10 days, but those days were enough to leave such marks.

I sometimes try to drag my father to tell me more about what happened in those 10 days. He always leans back and tells me that he took them off his memory. I don’t buy that at all. I know. I then try the same with my mom. She tells me few details here and there. But not enough to draw a detailed picture of what happened.

The one story that they both tell always, is the attempt on his life on Feb of 1971. Well, they can’t lie about it, as the evidence are still clear in our old house on the edges of tabarboor. Bullet holes on the walls are witness of what happened that day.

As he was driving home one day, two PLO fighters were waiting by our house. As the car approached the home, bullets started flying. The driver was killed instantly. Dad ran to the house, with the two fighters chasing him. They finally got to him, and took away his gun. One of them was waiting by the door guarding the door. The other one demanded that my father kneel down on his knees in the front yard. He put the AK47 to his head. Mom screaming begging for them to let him live. I was one and a half years old in her hands. The fighter was yelling at my mom to shut up. Then suddenly, a bullet hits the fighter guarding the door. A Jordanian army sniper on one of the roof tops got to him. In the panic, the other fighter started shooting in all directions hoping to get the sniper. My father quickly ran inside to his other gun. Bullets allover the place. In the end, two bullets hit my father, one in the leg and one in the stomach. The second fighter was killed.

Sadly, the above incident left a bad reaction on my father. I remember when I left and came to America, dad portrayed Palestinians to be evils. He himself is Palestinian by origin, even though he was born in Jordan. But after maturing, I questioned his feelings toward his own people. He was always angry at the note of me mentioning that not all fingers are alike.

35 years later, he himself matured in this issue. Now, finally, acknowledged that not all fingers are alike.

So, whatever those days left on you, maybe it’s time to reach out to the other side for some reconciliation. War is over. Peace roots are strong in our land….hopefully.

I hope that you folks don’t misunderstand this post to be instigation of an old wound..no ladies and gentlemen. It’s an attempt to acknowledge the past, build on it, and look for a brighter future.

My self made prison

2007-07-26T19:10:00.000-07:00

Before I write what I wanna write, I know that ya'aal will ask and tell me "whats preventing you from doing it?" This is not about such question..I feel that I can't answer, but rather about venting. Venting that many of you may be dying to let out of your chest. Regardess....I'll speak my mind.
Sometimes, when I'm alone, and with no one around me, someone takes over my mind. It is as a nightmare that haunts me always, sleep or awake, it won;t matter.
I start day dreaming, or as some will call it, hallucinating, about Jordan. This is probably a good time to stop reading if your not in love with such beatiful land..i won;t blame you at all.
I sometimes vision myself sitting on my favorit childhood hill, of course in 6abarboor, playing with a stick writing some scribbles on a beautiful sandy hill. As I lift my head up, and watch those shiphards with their sheep roaming the beautiful desert, I live a wonderful love story of a young boy with this land. A yong boy who was forced to leave at an early age, his beloved land.
Visions like walking in the streets of amman, hearing the horns of the cars, and the yellng of the crowd. Smelling the aroma of food and gasoline that fills such streets. Walking from a place to another, a restaurant to a coffee shop, and passing by the small stores. Watching the faces of the people who are busy trying to figure out what to buy for their loved ones waiting eagerly at home.
Daydreaming has never been my thing...but it's haunting me now. I start to ask myself, why me? Why did I leave? How can I go back. Please don't ask me to answer such difficult questions...for I can't answer. Just stuck in a world I seemed to choose for myself, yet I blame others for my misery. On ocasions, satan seems to be winning some grounds in his battle against me, and I start asking and blaming God. Lasting for moments of course, before I snap out of it and go back into my blues.
I'm becoming more sensative..pathetically sensative you may say. I could be sitting down sipping my tea after a long day's work, and suddenly, my wife starts singing with a low voice songs from the folklor of jordan. I then feel tears from my eyes, yet, not flowing outside, but inside towards my heart torturing every cell in it. I wish she stops..but I seem to enjoy such torture. To add more on such miserty, I sometimes yell at her "stop". Only to se her going into her own misery speaking of how her aunt used to sing such sings to her as she helped her to sleep at night.
I came to realize that Jordan is a curse...a beautiful curse. It's probably painful to live jordan now, but I damnguarantee that it is more painful living away from her. Her hills, streets, alleys, aroma, harship, and the sweet nights we spent on the roofs laying on our backs counting the starts on a beautiful july night in 6abarboor. I guess some of us were distened to be tortured by her presence, as well her absence, from our lives.
What saddens me that many jordanian americans tried to go back and settle in jordan. Only to come back dragging the signs of failures for not coping. Execuses that may make sense to you, but never did to me.
True I found the career and respect that i worked so hard to earn..but I just can't win the tranquility of being "home". I kid you not, but I pray that I am forced to leave home..yeah..forced as in kicked out of the states. I just can't seem to make the "right" decision. Torn apart between protecting my career and family, and between a life that my soul is so eager to live...home. Between selfesness and between responsibility toward my loved ones.
So..why don't you simply pack your bags and leave?.....I told you not to ask..so why are you doing this to me? You'll laugh at what instigated such post..but so what? laugh anyway. I was listening to some sings...and suddenly..omar elabdallat song "ma7la eldaar weldeereh...." played on my computer as I was sitting down in my hotel room thinking about tomorrow. Suddenly..tomorrow seemed to be so far away as I was stcuk in my self made prison of torture. I guess I deserve it. Oh well.....life is a female dog after all, ain't it.

My wife is finally a US citizen

2007-06-21T17:57:00.000-07:00

Today, and at 9 am, was the court ceremony for the citizenship for my wife. Got up early in the morning, gathered the papers and got in the car as we drove to downtown Indianapolis. The appointment was 9:00 am. We were there at 8:50 by the court room door. Got in, sat down and waited for the ceremony. 9:00 am sharp, one Chinese American immigration worker started by telling the 52 naturalized citizens of what to expect in the ceremony.

The started calling names, and each person, went to the bench, took the certificate, and sat down on a designated seat. They called my wife’s name, and she got up, and took her certificate, and sat down. She looked back at me very panicked. I gave a look to comfort her and went to her and reminded her that this is nothing serious, just a celibration..sort of.

At 10 am, 49 new citizen were sitting down. Finally, the last three, who’s names were called earlier but were not there yet, came through. Two Egyptian young girls (sisters) and a Saudi young man. Now, we have a full house.

The judge then asked each one to stand up, and state the country of origin. This was something new to me, I never seen this before. I heard countries like south Africa (almost 10 from there that looked like nazi in hiding), Pakistan, libya, Saudi Arabia, Egypt, selvadore, Dominican, mexico, Serbia, Albania, and many countries. In the end, he told them why he asked the origin. He iterated the fact that every American came from somewhere sometime ago. He wanted all to know and see this as they r becoming citizens. He had a long speech, which I was really impressed, to a point that I was begging a korean woman to calm her son’s down a little as I wanted to listen. It was a very impressive speech about freedom of expression, democracy, and how citizens will loose their right, if they don’t exercise they right to vote and elect.

Then, a line of “politician opportunists” read congratulation letters from congressmen and house members of Indiana. All in all, 9 speakers gave speeches to the new citizens. I was only impressed by the judge. During the other speeches, I was busy searching the room for good looking chicks to smile, say howdy, and use zaid as a bait to get them come and say “ooooh..what a cute boy”. I couldn’t find any good looking ones.

I, however, was angered by the 25 or more kids who were thinking they were in a park. God I hate this. I mean if u know ur kid is a noisy kid, please get a baby sitter. One particular kid got on my nerves big time. As I was going back in the court room, I saw a seat open. I went there, but one of the kids there (he was Pakistani) said “there is someone sitting here” Ok..my normal reaction would be “so?” and would sit down. But I always try to be nice as much as possible. I smiled at him, walked to the side, and stood leaning in the wall. Suddenly, a 4 or 5 years old kid sit in that seat. I starred at that kid, and he was looking scared at me. I kept starring at him. He never looked at me again.

In the end of the ceremony, I sat in the back seat. Those kids were playing and making noised. Then, that same kid came and wanted to play with them. That’s when I yelled at him saying “why can’t u kids be quite? Go outside and play, or be quite. This is not the park”. His mama came running toward him, as I sat leaning back. I managed to see his mom’s face, who was not very happy, but I didn’t care anyway. Couple of the people managed to give me a “good job buddy” look as they too were bothered by them kids.

So, walked back to the car, drove back to the house. So, today, my wife is a US citizen, and I gotta be honest, this was a very impressive day. I heard great speech by a judge that moved me and made me proud of such rights to vote, and express freely.

I miss her so much

2007-06-15T16:16:00.000-07:00

I need her..want her..want to feel her on my lips, and feel it's warmness burning my desires. I want to kiss her so bad..but I can't. If I give in..I'll lose the respect of my wife. She won't be happy if I ever go back to her.

It's my cigarette....Tuesday, June/12/2007 at 6:20 pm, and as I was driving to hooters in cincinatti, I smoked my last cigarette. I decided to quit that specific day, cold turkey.

4 days later, I feel like shit, tired, and body so weak and numb. I never experienced the pain of addiction..but now I do. I never imagined being a slave to something so little, and now I do. I have never imagined how weak I am, but now I do.

Stop bo3bo3, think, take a deep breath (now that u can without pain in lungs)..and stand by ur word. It's today or never again. You lose the fight today, and u ain't standing up again.

Stop bo3bo3, think, and take a look at ur loved ones and what it will mean to them, if u kick the habit. I'll make it easy on u buddy...
Family? or a cheap pack of cigarette?
see, it's not so tough after all.

Stop, and don;t look back. Many people are living smoke-free...and so u could.

I wish I can claim I'm strong, but I'm not

2007-05-09T19:19:00.001-07:00

Tonight, I decided to go to the arabic restaurant, across the street from the hotel, for good old arabic food and a shisha. I gotta admit that I had fun eating, and smoking shisha on the side walk, beside cute college girls, and endurinf the looks of the passers as they watched me buffing and huffing smoke. Nevertheless, there was a wedding party in the restaurant, and there was a table full of bottles of alcohol.

You see, I've been alcohol free for about 7 years. Since the day I married my wife, I dissontinued drinking once and for all. I wish I can claim to be strong in that catagory, but sadly, I am not. The bottles were calling my name. and I felt a moment of weakness. I could hear the vodca telling me "come and get me oh sweet darling". Thats when I decided to run outside and smoke my shisha.
I travel a lot these days, and part of my work is "pampering" plant managers and managers in general. That means that I take them to fancy restaurants, and let them run the bill into the tripple figures to satisfy their drinking habbits. I struggle in such activity. I sit away from them, but my blood keeps itching for a drink. I wish I can claim I'm strong, but I am not. I am just lucky the God is watching over me. Every time I feel a moment of weakness, God provides an escape rout for me before dragging myself back into this sinnful habbit. I know that if I caved in, then I'm just gonna be wasted for years to come. I don't want that at all. Seven wonderful years so far and I pray that they last till the day I face my God.

I'm no angel, and I know your cheering for such confession. I'm just a human being, who is weak, volurnable, and tempted always by the devil. I just hope that God keeps watching over me and keep me away from such thing. It's bugging me that my wife interrogates me after I come home. She questions me and smells my mouth to make sure that I'm still clean. I am clean..and I hope it lasts forever.

I miss her already

2007-05-08T13:41:00.000-07:00

My parents stayed with me over six months. They had just left to jordan last week on thursday. I was planning for mega activities the minute they depart back to jordan. A vacation trip and some good old catching up to do with my wife and son.

However, I found out a week ago that I need to attend a conference in cinsinnati the week after they depart. So I'm stuck away from her. I also found out that I have to travel to Boston next week (for the week) and to tenessee the week after. Thats three weeks away from her, except for weekends. The months of july through december don't look better. I have to stay 2 weeks every month in both, cincinnati and tenessee. Thats not counting the urgent travling, and it usually happens.

I love my job...it's creating an opportunity that I just can't say no to. Financial security to her and my family. Great career advancements. But I'm missing a touch in my life. I wanna walk outside to the park with her. I wanna go out and dine out as we used to do in the past. I wanna go shopping with her. But can't do it often.

So instead, I plan for my numbered days with her monthly to do something. Have fun just like any other couple out there. I wanna run in the house butt naked again. well..ok..maybe that was way too extreme, but u do get the picture. I wanna feel, act, behave, and live as a married man. I can't. I know that my parents will be back soon. Could be 2 months..or 5..who knows, but they r coming back.

I wanna be wild again..and live wild. But instead, I'm constantly flying/driving and it's having a toll on my personal life. I sometimes feel that I'm not married at all. The next three weeks will be harsh on the both of us. Maybe i should take her with me next time.

I am not racist

2007-05-07T18:51:00.000-07:00

but have feelings...negative feelings toward some ethnic bckgrounds.

So, there is this conference that I'm attending in cincinnati, ohio. It's a technical conference on plastics. I checked in the hotel yesterday, sunday, and delayed my conference regeistration till monday. Historically, registration goes smoothly.

Monday 6:30 am: Bo3bo3 gets up from bed panicked due to the alarm clock. It seems that I didn't know how to set up the alarm. Believe me, alarm clocks these days are very complicated and you sincerly need a manual to know how to operate the thingie. So I woke up on some rap music. I quickly ran to the shower and prepared myself for the conference. 7:30 am and after checking my work email, I went down stairs to the restaurant for a quick breakfast. usually, a cup of coffee and a muffin would take care of me.

Monday 7:50 am:Bo3bo3 walks into Duke energy center, where the conference is located, only to find a long line. I could almost swear that 60% of the attendants are chinese and indians. As usual, I searched for a cute girl (and believe me, they are difficult to find in such conference). I found my victim, and waited as she got in line, and I quickly got behind her in line. Don't get me wrong, but I'm born a yacker and social by nature. "Hi how u doin...yada yada" and the conversation started.

Monday 8:45 am:Bo3bo3 is still standing in line. The problem is that many chinese didn't understand english pretty well, and some were registering today. I rigesterd few weeks back, but had to stand in line for my badg and schedule. These guys take too long on the registration booth. The lady tells them something simple, and they keep asking things that I have no clue how they relate to the conference activities. My legs are tired, and my back hurts from my laptop case. If it wasn't for this cute girl, I would've done something stupid, seriously.

Monday 9:10 am:finally, I got my badg and goodies and walked out to see if I could see anyone I recognize. I found what looked to be a couple of arabs standing in a corner. I walked to them and read their names on their badges. they were arabs. The usual "hala abo elshabaab..keef el7al" and we started talking. They were an algerian and a tunisian. We agreed to meet at lunch time to have a lunch together.

Monday 10:45 am:Bo3bo3 walks out of the conference hall and wait for those guys.

Monday 11:30 am:still waiting

Monday 11:45 am:realized that those arabs were not gonna show up. they must have been scared of me. i would've. All I wanted is a chat with fellow arabs and talk technical, thats all. they said at 11:00 am..yet..none showed up. So I decided to have lunch on my own.

Monday 1:30 pm:Bo3bo3 goes back to the conference hall and attends the afternoon session.

Too many chinese and indians. The problem with the chinese is that they never speak english and I hate the way the smile. The indians are funny. The minute one of them starts making more than $12/hr, they think highly of themselves. They start speaking in a language as if they were doctors. The walk as if they were the sultans. And they wear cheap $25 suites. Very cheap.

The problem is that this is only day one...4 more days to go . I can't handle this.
Oh well...poop happens I guess.

clarification regarding saudi laws

2007-04-25T15:46:00.000-07:00

ok...recently, I've been feeling like a youtube addict. In addition, I'm also feeling an addict on alarabiya.net website.

Today, i read a news piece (http://www.alarabiya.net/Articles/2007/04/25/33871.htm) regarding a saudi woman with her 2 daughters. It appears that she traveled with her daughters to another town for some exams for her daughters. Her husband was sick in the hospital. Well, this lady tried to get a room in a hotel, but she was rejected because she doesn'y have "mo7ram" with her. She had to hav a male relativenfor them to get a room. So she ended up hiring a taxi and paid the driver money so she, and her daughters, could sleep safely.

Few days ago, I came across a story about saudi sexual harrassment against women. so I checked youtube, and found some disturbing videos. In one video, 3 young saudi's (and the 4th is video recording) are harassing 2 veiled women. They were groping them, touching them in all places, and in an instance, one man holds one of the girls from behind, and acting a sexual act that made me just go insane. The girls were begging these guys, crying, and trying to push them away. Finally, one of the guys may have awakened and started pushing the remaining 2 away from the girls as they ran away. The person recording the tape was yelling at they guys to do more to the girls.

Oh..what about the recent forced divorce because of "3adam kafaa2a"? In one case, the court ruled to divorce a saudi woman, against her will, because her brothers complained to the court that the husband is not fit (socially) to be their sister's husband since he was from a different tribe. The problem is this couple have 3 kids. The wife is in jail now because she refused to leave jail, except to her husband's home, whom she loves.

Sometimes I wonder, is islam really behind this? I am a muslim and I never heard such stories except in saudi arabia. Where are these laws coming from?

Ok..maybe some of my friends (and not friends) call me anti-women. Maybe I am to certain extent, allthough I strongly dissagree, but maybe I am unintentioally. But come on people...if women in saudi arabia are deprived from basic humans rights, how can men live happy? They are fathers, how can they approve such thing to their daughters? Whats the freakin reason or rationale behind preventing women from driving? seriously, did the prophet of islam PBUH say "thow shal not allow his woman drive a car or ride a camel"? I'm just going insane regarding this. And divorcing because the husband is not from a desired tribe? how did this evolve from islam?

I feel pitty for saudi girls..I really do.

And for jordanian girls too. Just yesterday, a father was convicted of raping (yes rape) his 2 daughters at the age of 8, and when they turned 15, after continious rape, they complained to the police. Guess what. The gave him six years jail, and because the mother dropped her rights, he got 3 years now in jail. Thats rape people. In the states, he gets many years in jail. And we blame the western laws and civilization? hell no, God bless america and it's judicial system.

Done.

Wicked thoughts

2007-04-20T16:31:00.000-07:00

Ok...so I'm married..I know..and I know u know..but..but..ok. Well, I travel alot for business..but mostly in the states. My boss gets to do europe..while I'm stuck in north america. But thats not the problem.us see. I flirt..friendly flirt. I talk the talk, but never walk the walk.

When I was taking care of a french deligate, I took them to this dinner. they were 4, 3 guys, and hot knock out frenchie. I tried as much as possible to restrain my wicked mind from screwing up. But knowing myself, I always fail. So I was flirting with frenchie and talking about so many things. The conversation dragged to the nude beaches of france. My boss was winking at me to shut up, in a funny way. I just couldn't. Then frenchie hit me with the bomb. "you are a ladie's man aren't u". I sat back, paused for a moment, and said "no way..I just love to talk to women" with a wicked smile.

Then I started to flirt with the waitress. do u have a boyfriend" I asked. "yes I do, she answered". I quickly followed up with "well, sit down so I can tell you why you need to dump him". It was a lovely evening and all were laughing. My boss sat back and let me lead the night. When all was done, everyonr was happy.

Then few days later, a supplier took me to lunch. Again, my dilemma happened again. Nikki just looked fine. I asked one of the waitresses about her name. I called her to our table, and she came, eventhough this was not her table. I said "hi there...my name is bo3bo3, and I can figure out ur name with few seconds looking at your eyes" She was suprised when I told her that her name is nikki. So I started chatting with her, and at the end of the day, she gave me a piece of paper with her phone number. Then, I knew that my humor flirt was crossing the line. As always, I showed the paper to my wife and she shook her head saying "ma2oltelak ra7 teeji 3araasak ghazz fehalshaghleh" So now, I can never have lunch at TGIF in indianapolis west side.

I need to slow down..but what can I do. I just love sweet talking women..it's just in me. Nothing serious in my mind and no intentions..but..but..I need to stop this before it's too late.

Ok bo3bo3..think sweet thought..think mansaf..or magloobah with chunks of lamb swimming in the sea of love..I mean sea of rice soaked with eggplant and carrots..think man..think.

2007-04-17T18:41:00.000-07:00

I want to die
(inspired by the song Vorreri Morire for Andrea Bocilli)

I want to die..in a field of heavenly grass
Starring at beautiful clouds as they pass
Feeling the western breeze toward me mass
As my soul departs ..leaving me a carcass

I want to die while seeing your smile
Watching you happy and in such style
Feeling your heart beating for a long while
Of happiness, as I walk the long mile

I want to die, while touching your face
Remembering your love, that I still embrace
Sweet memories that I can never erase
Leaving this doomed world, without a trace

I want to die, sitting beneath a tree
A happy ending, for we both agree
A love that is never meant to be
And doomed for failure, I’m glad that you see

But I know my death, as it will be violent
Screams and agony, but never silent
A wicked life, God knows how it was spent
Too late for any recovery, too late to repent

So go ahead, take such miserable soul
You are only leaving, an unnoticeable hole
In a beautiful world ….so magical as a whole
But this soul of mine, is simply out of control

So yes, I want to die..I daily for it, pray
Release my pain, and set me astray
From humanity that is in total dismay
Yes..I want to die..please….show me the way

AAA
4/17/2007

Superwoman does exist

2007-03-21T13:51:00.000-07:00

I guess this post is dedicated to her...superwoman
Allthough Bo3Bo3 may sound an anti-woman some days..but thats because people missunderstand what he is trying to say..or deliver.
She is the mother of my children...and we can all try and analyze the amount of love or compassion that a woman has towards her children..but I guarantee you that we are not giving her half the credit she deserves.
She is a complete half..of the man. Thats to say that a man is only half man without his essential other half. The cup of coffee never tastes the same if she didn't put her magical touch on it. A smile is never a smile unless it comes from her shiny face. Allthough the time of miracles has long gone, and only Jesus had the healing hands upon touching a living soul, yet, her touch is a true healer when she lays her hand on the man;s shoulder for comfort.
Superwoman does exist..and it's no miracle to her. She loves being superwoman and she withstands not taking the full credit for her role in life. Try holding a baby in ur body for 9 months..and maybe you'll understand. I thought I did understand..but every day, i come to the realization that superwoman is becoming more super every day.
This is dedicated to her....my superwoman. Without her, I'm half the man I think I am. But my superwoman is more super than any other woman out there..she is again, my superwoman.
I found that she is more super these days...My parents have been visiting me in the past 4 months. I was worried that she may be aggrivated by their presence..but..God..she is super. I have never seen so much love or compassion that any woman gives her parents, as much as my superwoman gives my parents. One would quickly become confused into thinking that they are her parents, and not in-laws. She takes care of them beyond belief..more than I do. She smiles to them more than i do. She comforts them more than I do. Sometimes, i become frustrated, especially with my dad, only to find my wife siding with him against me. And in our bedroom, she lectures me on how I should be more forgiving for their age, and should be more tolerable for their age. And when I say "come on honey, when was the last time you dressed freely in your own home?" Her answer is always "their comfort and their blessings are what will make you or me enter paradise"
I'm just amazed for her level of patience..and the sacrifices she is giving. Any woman in her shoes would've gone mad if her in-laws stay for 4 or 5 months..and this superwoman is never bothered by their presence. Add to that the fact that my parents become pushy sometimes, and would nag about her and what she is doing in the kitchen or going to the mall...yet, her responce is always a smile and sweet words to them. They then quickly forget their naging and start treating her better than their own daughter.

Oh well, happy mothers day honey for you are one hell of a superwoman out there.
__________________

Cincinnati

2007-03-20T18:27:00.000-07:00

So I got up this morning to drive to cinci city. It's about 2 hours drive..and I had to make it. It was on a short notice, but thats the nature of my job.

Typically, I would get to the hotel room, order dinner, and get to work from my room. I sometimes debate myself to get the heck out and just take a walk while enjoying a camel's light smoke..but I usually fail. this time, I insisted on me getting out of the room. Life is more than just work work work.

So i walked on the ohio river side..and it was beautifull. I passed by Hooters..paused there..and again debated myself to go in. But come on Bo3Bo3...you were just in Hooters last week in memphis, TN..so come on buddy...just keep walking..come on, you can do it. I won finally..I mean the good side of bo3bo3 won (for a change). I walked to this nice sea food restaurant..called "Fish Market" on the shores of ohio river. I had to eat at the bar because thats where smoking is allowed. There was this woman who had a big cake in front of her..and she was laughin with the bar tender about how big is this cake.

I felt the urge to speak...not because she was beautifull..but simply because I have a big mouth. "hey..i can help you with that if you wish" I said. She laughed..and asked "can I join you?". Suddenly, I felt bad. All I wanted is to be friendly with this woman. "sure you can" I said. But deep inside, I was screaming "damn it lady..please don't"

Suddenly, she started yacking and talking about middle east, politics, love, diversity (and how she dated hispanic and african americans even though her dad didn't like it) and yada yada yada. I tried to ignore her as much as possible..but hey, even a bo3bo3 gets distracted by a half-dressed woman half drunk in a bar.

She then hit me with the big one. "can I get your email address so I can ask more questions about the middle east?". I paused for few seconds..and said sure u could. "I'll give it to you before I leave". I was counting on her forgetting the whole matter or maybe get a hint. At any rate, the food was great..and folks, try the oysters covered with lemon, garlic, and melted cheese with a side of spinach.

an hour later, she got up and said "it was nice knowing you,I gotta go now" I said "pleasure was mine, please drive carefully". I was relieved that she forgot about the email address (or even if she intentionally didn't ask for it, i didn't care in any way). I quickly paid my bill and left the restaurant fearing that she'll be back now that she knows I'm not from cinci city.

Oh well..I took the short walk back to the hotel..and passed hooters..and forced myself to keep walking. Who knows what was awaiting me at Hooters at this time of the night.

Here are some photos of the beautifull cinci city.

It's been a month

2007-03-16T19:30:00.000-07:00

It's been a month since I posted anything. I'm really busy these days, and work is taking a toll on me. The responsibilities are growing and so are the expectations. My parents are visiting me these days. Allthough I love them so much, but I feel sad for I'm not able to take them around the states. I'm traveling like crazy these days..and I seem to spend more nights in hotels than my own home. I have lost good amount of weight in the past 2 months....and seem to smoke more these days.

For all my beloved anti-smoke nazi's, I promise that I'll quit very soon...maybe days. I guess this post is for those who are close to me and all those who care. Consider it a quick update on how is my life going on. Searching for a car, but it has to be uglier than my wife's car...or else..I'm in trouble.

My email is aabu_ali@hotmail.com for all those who want to stay in touch. I can't promise when is my next post will be...but I sure miss blogging.

Note: my wife is a walking angle...I trully believe so, and I'll tell you why next time. God bless

Amjad

When dreams turn into nightmares

2007-02-19T15:13:00.000-08:00

It was a Saturday morning. I woke up a little happy that day. Nothing has happened yet, but I felt it was going to be a good day. I decided to take a walk. Gathered my walking gear (my good old friend of camel’s light and my dark glasses that I use to hide my eyes) and walked on the side walk. It was just a pleasant day and the sun was as crisp as it could ever get.

I saw a coffee shop at the end of the street right on a corner of another street. I decided to sit there for a while as I reflect on my days as usual. “What would you like to drink sir?” this young waiter asked me. “a black cup of coffee please” I replied. I took one of my “poison by choice” cigarette and soon after, the thick smoke of this beauty of art was filling my lungs and the surroundings.

I took out my small notebook that I always keep with me and thought of writing my thoughts. Although I suck in poetry, but somehow, it found a place to my heart. It wasn’t easy finding that small part of my soul that is sentimental, fighting it’s existence against my practical and scientifically way of thinking, but it somehow did.

I looked around for any inspirational object of person to initiate that process of writing. I waited for the pen to start writing, but with no luck as I couldn’t find that inspiration.

Suddenly, with my eagle’s eyes that usually search the planet for cute eyes, or cute faces, I saw this woman sitting down reading a book. I looked away, but again, somehow, my soul grabbed my attention and stirred back toward that woman. It seems that her blue eyes and thick reddish hair were too much for my eyes to look the other way. But there was something about that woman that wasn’t clicking right. She seemed to be reading but her eyes were not moving with the words she was reading. I then started to believe that she was simply in another world of her’s.

I decided to get up and start a conversation with her. I walked to her table and asked “can I join you ma’am?”. She noted yes without a word and quickly shut her book and leaned back on her chair as if she was waiting for the conversation. We spoke about many things from her personal life to mine and heck, we even touched a little on the subject of politics. The time then came for our departure and each of us went their way.

The next day, I went to the same coffee shop and waited for her to show up. She did, and we talked and laughed. I suddenly found myself attached to this woman and any interaction with her. Days went by and we spoke more and more and seem to get attached to one another. I gotta be honest with you, this woman made me feel just amazingly good. I felt that there was love between the two of us. We were talking openly with one another.

Then one day, and as I was eagerly waiting for her arrival, she didn’t show up. I suddenly felt not right as every cell of my body was crying for her arrival. But she didn’t. I kept going back to the same place day after day, but my unknown beauty was no where in sight. I never gave up on her. Somehow, she gave up and decided to disappear. I promised myself to tell her “I love you” the next time I see her, but with no luck. I miss that sweet smile of her and I miss the way she was playing with her hair. But with no luck. I started to suspect that I was living in a dream, a sweet dream, that was never meant to have a sweet ending. I kept pressuring myself to wake up from this dream of mine as it was taking a toll on me…and finally, I managed to awaken. I looked around and all I saw is my friend camel’s light sitting next to me. No one was around. I didn’t know whether to be thankful that I awoke, or feel sad for knowing that it was just a dream. How can a dream transforms into a nightmare……that I’m still searching for an answer for.

Traveling is not easy these days

2007-01-30T17:53:00.000-08:00

oh boy. My flight from indianapolis got cancelled as I was sitting in the plane. So I got out and scrambeled to get another flight to cleveland. I finally found one that goes through cicinatti. I got it and went through security. I only had 2o minutes beofre my flight. They stamped my tickets with "extra security". So I was searched and grilled in questions while I hear my name on the intercom. I finally managed to catch my flight..barely. The next day, I flew back home to indianapolis. The airport was almost closed because it was snowing bad as u'll see in the picture. Finally made it through after spending 40 minutes "deicing" the plane to prevent it from crashing because of ice. I'm home now..but I just sometimes think how on earth I manage to be able to make it home.

The long waited Battle

2007-01-28T15:16:00.001-08:00

Finally…the wait is over. It’s been more than 3 months since I enjoyed a good home cooking mansaf. Today, I announce that I am a happy man. Finally…my wife and mom decided to please me by making me the happiest man alive.

Three months since I sat down face to face with mansaf. Day after day…I hinted and gave signals, but no one was paying attention. But the wait is over, and I stood face to face starring at the mansaf loaded with sweet looking lamb, and pine and almond nuts giving this master piece the greatest work of art.

Face to face..it was a war in which a sole survivor has to emerge. This house was too big for both of us, and one had to go. It was a war of survival, and I fought it well. Slowely, one by one started withdrawing from the battle field. Mom, then wife, and finally my dad withdrew from the field. Suddenly, I saw myself alone with almost half of the big sweet mansaf tray still intact. But it has to go, or else, I will lose the fight. I kept fighting, and taking casualties as I felt my stomach was begging me to stop.

The heat of the battle was burning up. Two big chunks of meat are still trying to fight my trained forces of WFD (weapons of food destruction). With one blow, the first of the remaining meat chunks was annihilated. Then my forward forces isolated and siege the last enemy combatant hiding behind a small hill of rice. My forced advanced and took heavy casualties again, and captured the last enemy combatant. Take no prisoners was the goal of this battle. Dad, Mom, and wife were shocked watching the battle from a distance fearing for their own safety. They called for a cease fire and pledged to the UN community to interfere. But this was the long waited war and the last thing I needed is UN observers. So I finished the enemy..to the last drop of rice and emerged the sole winner of this fierce battle.

Finally…I’m a happy man. I call on all men to withstand their grounds and fight their own battles with a mighty force. Don’t give up your fight. I urge you not to. Long live the revolution and God helps us all.

I hate Chicago..seriously I do

2007-01-15T15:35:00.000-08:00

Ok, so I was sitting down in my office going through tremendous emails and suddenly, my boss walks in. “Can you do me a favor please?” he asked. I answered yes sure..whats up? “I have a meeting tomorrow in Chicago, but I can’t attend, can you go there in my place?’. I answered “you ###%^$ and %$#%^^% why the $#$#@@# do this to me” inside my head. But my mouth failed me and said “of course, count on me”. Damn bo3bo3..when will you ever learn how to say NO? So I arranged for the quick short trip knowing that I’ll hate every moment in it.

I got in my car and started driving to Chicago (around 190 miles from Indy). My coworker told me earlier to watch out for ice for the conditions are bad in chicago. I was just pissed off at my self. So I drove..20 miles..and it was raining..then 80 miles later and around Gary, Indiana, the snow rain started to look like snow, and the roads were ugly. I knew my day wasn’t got any better. I stopped for my red bull booster and went back on the road. The roads started to look uglier. Finally, I was on I-80. Constructions and trucks. At any rate, I called my wife asking if she wants anything from Chicago. She said bread/hummus, foul, cheese, ……..” Oh my God, now I have to stop on my way at “alrasheed stores”. So I stopped to get the stuff she asked for. No, I don’t follow her orders and she is not controlling me..but we both agreed that her opinion is what counts always .

I also decided to stop at the Nile restaurant for a falafel sandwich. I just love their falafel. Then drove to the hotel, about 15 miles north of O’hare on I-294. Only to discover that this hotel has decided to go smoke-free 2 months ago. Can my day get any worse than this? Oh yes it can. I’m looking from my window now and all I see is snow. Tomorrow’s drive to the meeting will be as ugly as it can get.

I hate Chicago so much. I end up staying 30 miles from downtown, and I a hotel that I can’t smoke in, and surrounded by snow. God, take me out of this misery…I hate Chicago.

The final chapter...freedom of expression

2007-01-03T14:49:00.000-08:00

Those of us who were born in the Middle East, know for a fact that freedom of expression is a fantasy, a dream that never came true and doesn’t seem to in the near future. Governments never allowed it and the people themselves never bothered to obtain such privilege. I always heard that focusing on how to provide for the family is more important than complaining about governments or religious intolerance. Give me bread, not the right to speak was the norm back then. True there were lots of “revolutionary” movements, but all were politically motivated. The movement for internal change was taking the back seat always due to the focus on the Arabic situation on the political map.

When I immigrated to the States, I started seeing signs of freedom of expression. Although I was slow keeping up with the changes around me, but I tried to cope with such great change. Early nineties witnessed the first gulf war. We went out for a demonstration against the gulf war. This was the first time I ever go out in a demonstration. I didn’t need to cover my face nor I needed to fear baton waving security personals. It was a great feeling to be able to express your approval/disapproval with anything on mind. The uprising in the Palestinian territories was another example. Suddenly, I felt that I’m tasting something I didn’t know how it could ever taste have I stayed in the middle east.

I do realize that the foreign policy of the united states is full of flaws and injustice, but the fact that you, as a citizen, can express your disapproval with such policies is a great thing to have. I now realize the value of freedom of expression. And that somehow affected me when dealing with others. You can actually stage a demonstration and draw a funny picture of the president of the USA, in front of the lawn of the white house. Comparing such scenery with what you see on arab TV of arab demonstrators makes you see the two extremes. But the greatest lesson I learned was that freedom of expression has two sides. Just as you want to have the freedom to express, you must give such freedom to others.

One demonstration sticks in my mind was during the Palestinian uprising, and in front of a synagogue in east Cleveland. We were around 40 or 50 demonstrators. There were swat teams and police force that could’ve been larger than us. They pointed out where we can demonstrate and where we can not cross. They were holding the riot gear, and some even climbed on the roof of the synagogue with rifles to prevent any deviation. As expected, a group of jewish demonstrators also staged an opposing demonstration, and there was an area of about 10 feet separating the two groups. In this area, there were cops to prevent anyone from crossing their designated area. It was supposed to be a peaceful demonstration, but it turned a little ugly at the end. One jewish demonstrator crossed the the line and got close to our area shouting anti arab slogans. One of the cops got a hold of the guy and pushed him back harshly. A couple of jewish demonstrators ran toward us and they spitted at some of us so close before the cops could react. During that, one arab dude slapped the face of one of the two guys so hard that he fell, but by that time, police was concentrating on that small area and they prevented any further problems. We then went home after we expressed our voices against the Israeli occupation.

I participated in many demonstrations in down town Cleveland and few outside such as NY and DC. Just like most arabs here, we enjoyed such feeling of being able to express our views. Again, freedom of expression comes in two sides. During one demonstration in downtown Cleveland, the KKK were staging a demonstration in the late nineties. Many ethnic groups, including arabs, gathered along side the African American American community and staged an anti-demonstration to the KKK. For the first time I hear people yelling at us calling us names and demanding that the country be purified from any “colored” skin that is not Arian. I hated hearing those calls, but I realized that freedom of expression is far more than expressing your own views.

I was listening to the radio one day and I suddenly heard a speech. I can’t remember who the speaker was but it was a guy during the sixties about freedom of expression. The meaning of it is that when you as an African American, accepts the rights of a white angry man to burn a cross in his private property, that’s a freedom of expression. Just as you wish to scream for your right for equal opportunity in employment, education, and treatment. I tell you, the speech moved me so much that it changed how I view things. I, as a muslim, must accept the right of anyone saying that I, again as a muslim, bear an evil religion. He has the right to demand my deportation for no reason. He has the right to say whatever he wants to say about me, and I have to accept that. Only then, I can demand my right for freedom of religious practicing, freedom of wearing any cloths I wish, and freedom to speak my own language. Wait a minute bo3bo3, that means you also have to accept the fact that they have designated a part of the beach in Cleveland to be a topless beach. Ok..I mixed up here. But that’s the beauty of it. It’s to respect the others right to express, even in dress code, in the same manner that you demand acceptance from others.

Sadly, and being born in a middle eastern society, you would get conflicting reaction. If you try to adopt freedom of expression when dealing with others from the middle east, you would always run into a wall of rejection. This is so obvious in forums that have members from both camps. The mentality of such rejection is very strong. I could accept easily someone who attacks my religion or ethnic background, provided that it remains in the dialogue phase and never evolves into a violent behavior. Would it hurt me hearing someone attacking my prophet or religion? Absolutely yes. But I can not deny their rights to express freely their opinions. I’m seeing this always here and on other websites of course. But to me, I adore the concept of freedom of expression, even if that meant for others to call me a camel jockey or an arab hillbilly. It takes so much effort to practice how to freely express your views, but it takes twice as much to accept that others have the same right.

This closes my experience being an immigrant to the west. I tried to shed light to what an immigrant encounters, and what typical reaction he/she may have. With this, I knew I was gambling. I decided to strip almost naked so others see me through my mask and cloths, and I knew that it could generate animosity or rejection toward me. But to be honest with you, I came to the conclusion long time ago that this is who am I, and you could hate me or respect me based on whether you judge me relative to my past or today. It did back fire on me on few occasions, but believe me, I never cared. I am who I am, and what made me today, is what happened to me in the past up until yesterday. I shared so much details of my private life, and conveyed the details straight from the heart to portray exactly how I felt, regardless if it was a wrong or a right feeling. I hurt others and others hurt me. I loved others and others loved me. It’s life, and admitting such life is half way to the “solution” provided that there is a problem at any rate. Some of the actions I did in the past may seem to be unjustified and unforgiven, and I agree. But I don’t want to lie, so I’ll tell you this. As long as I have the respect of my family, that’s all what counts. Thank you very much for reading and I hope it left a positive impression on some of you. I also hope that these chapters have helped some to avoid the pitfalls that I have fallen into, for they now see the result and what could it do to the soul. My deepest apologies if my words have hurt some of you, for the intention was all the time a good intention. I’ll see you around.

END

Chapter XXVI. In the mosque

2006-12-25T13:48:00.000-08:00

It was natural that I would look for a mosque close by for social interaction with people of the same faith as mine. To me, a mosque was not just a place for worship, but rather a social hang out as well. When I started to go back to my religion, sort of a born again mulsim, I chose the mosque that was closest to my home. I was still single back then. The grand mosque of Cleveland was my choice. It was the biggest mosque in north east ohio. It was well designed and very clean. The community was almost split half and half between arabs and non-arabs. Most of the arabs were from Palestinian origins. It was natural since the Arabic community was mainly Palestinians in Cleveland.

In the beginning, I would go to the mosque on weekends (and Friday prayer) especially in Ramadan. Many families would cook home cooking food and bring to the mosque for those who don’t have access to such food (like students). It was fun where we would eat then maybe sit down and talk about islam or any social issue that relates to the community. However, it was not always healthy environment. The arab muslim community still have racist behavior against non-arabs (like Pakistanis…etc). But most notable, was the racism against blacks. It was kind of silly (and sad) when you hear comments like “abeed” which means slaves in English. This was a common term used by arab muslims when referring to black muslims. It was also disturbing when the Islamic school charges high fees for tuitions where poor black muslims couldn’t afford it. And when the Eid calibrations happens, and the community decides on an activity for the Eid, they choose an activity where the fees are $50 per person. Hence, rarely you could find black muslim family attending such celebration. Was it intentionally organized? Maybe, but I do recall hearn some arab muslims saying that they won’t allow their kids to attend a celebration where blacks go too. Things that make you wonder how some think.

Then there is this power struggle inside the mosque between arabs and non-arabs. Ultimately, a group of arabs decided to start their own mosque, and they did. It was about 15 miles away and you would rarely see non-arabs there. It was too obvious. Some blacks too aligned themselves with mosques in the east side of Cleveland where most of the African American community live. Such struggle also affected the decision as to when announce important dates like Eid or Ramadan. I remember one year in the early 2000’s when the muslim community started fasting on 3 different days.

Sometimes, visiting the mosque was a challenge. A challenge to restrain yourself from reacting to the ignorance. One day, a friend of mind wanted to invite others for food in the grand mosque because his wife just gave birth to a baby girl. So I went there. I sat outside with group of people who talked only about business. Suddenly, one took playing cards from his pocket and now they started a game. I was just sitting down watching in internal anger. Then, the prayer call started and I went inside for prayer. There were only 20 to 30 people praying. But the faces are not the same as those outside. I then went back outside only to see the majority of the people there are still there playing cards or watching the game. I just wondered how those guys couldn’t at least ptay for 5 minutes then go back and play. Or even try to hide their idiotic behavior by not at leat playing cards on the door of the mosque. It was simply pathetic. To me, it was ok for others not to pray (kind of), but at least don’t exhibit such behavior.

One day, and during the last days of Ramadan, and while the imam was persuading the faithful ones to pay their zakat, an Egyptian man burst in the mosque and lashed out on the imam. This was in the far west side of clevaland in a small town called Lorain. I started going to that mosque after I married and bought a house closer to that area. At any rate, this Egyptian man was angry at the imam for suggesting $10 dollars per person as a zakat to be paid for the poor ones. This man wanted the zakat to be paid as “food of the land”, and not as money because 1400 years ago, that was the norm. The imam was kindly trying to persuade this man that there was a fatwa indeed allowing zakat to be paid as money because some families need milk and medicine instead of a pile of sacks of potatoes. In the end, the Egyptian man screamed at the imam saying ‘I swear by Allah that if given the chance, I will kill you for changing the rule of Allah” and he walked away. The imam was in total silence for what he just saw and heard. Sadly, you may have a community of 100 families, and all it take is just one man to ruin it for all.

To give you another example, I was at school on one Friday, and it was time for prayers. So we went to one room in the library building to attend the prayer. We were about 40 students give or take. While I was sitting down, I saw a Lebanese female student. I know her pretty good. But this is the first time that I se her praying. She was wearing a jeans and a tshirt. As I understood later, this was her first attempt to pray for she was thinking about wearing the veil and starting prayer. So she was dressed in a jeans and a modest veil. Suddenly, our visiting imam (he was either Palestinian or Jordanian..don’t know) looked at her and asked her to leave because she wasn’t dressed for prayer. She asked if she can at least stay and hear the lecture without praying. He became angry and demanded her to leave for her presence in this area was not healthy for others. Suddenly, she started crying and walked out. A group of muslims (including myself) stood up and screamed at the imam for turning away a muslim who is eager to pray, and we walked away and had our own prayer, and included the girl with us and anyone walked out.

Islam in America is very tricky. The imams here don’t get approval for their lectures and hence, are not monitored by any authority that makes sure that the lecture is within Islamic teachings. This becomes very dangerous into turning some people to terrorists, or even causing the wrong “islam” being practiced. Whos to say that a self-imposed imam will abide by the real Islamic teachings? What about his followers? For that reason, mosques became heavily infiltrated by the counter terrorism authorities and personals, and that made it difficult for others to feel secure or safe from either fanatics, or the hands of the FBI that sometimes blindly put people in jails for long period of times.

Today, I go to the mosque close by my work and would pray and leave very soon after fearing any negative interactions. I wish I can join in social activities for the mosque, but with all honesty, it’s very difficult for me to keep my mouth shut upon hearing the different versions of islam depending on who is lecturing or talking. Eid was announced a month ago to be next week Sunday, yet , everyone else is saying it will be Saturday. Who is right? I don’t know, but I’m following Saudi Arabia these days. But before I leave you now, I have to tell you this little story. During one Ramadan, we had 2 vistors from out of town who stopped by for “taraweeh” prayers. At any rate, the imam finished praying the first 6, and he then started reciting some supplications and he was doing it almost like a song or “nasheed”. The two guys stood up, and told him that he is wrong and leading others astray, and declared that his prayer was wrong, and waked out angrily. Maybe his prayers were wrong, and maybe not. But this was no way a way to help someone corrects an action. Anyway, I’ll talk to you tomorrow, and it may be my last chapter in my life, and will go back to normal posts again. For those who are counting, this was chapter 26. I want to make my next chapter about freedom of expression in the united states as I feel so strong about such concept. Let me know what else you wish me to talk about. Have a great holiday and enjoy your time off work/school….etc.

A strange trip

2006-12-21T20:10:00.000-08:00

and I think I even got molisted in it. You can close your jaws now. I know that hearing that from a 37 years old man is a bit disturbing. This is how it started. 8 days ago, I was flying on a business trip to boston. We have a plant there (special plant but can't give you details what they make). So, I am up at 5 am to catch my flight at 7:30. My beloved wife made me a quck cup of coffee, and a kiss "see ya later" and I was in my car by 6:00 am. The airport is about 24 miles away so it took me about 30 minutes to get there. Parked my car and took the shuttle to the terminal. 6:15 now and I need to hurry up.

So I take my last cigarrette before entering the terminal, and go straight to the gate. But before the gate, I have to go through security. So I took my shoes off, belt, keys, ring, watch, and my jacket. Walked to the explosive dtection device..and...beeb beeb beeb. Suddenly, all eyes were looking at me. Heck, some even stood there watching me. The dude said "ok we have an alarm here, step to this side please and someone will be with you shortly" So i did. I saw a cute looking girl searching a woman in the search area. She said "I'll be with you in few minutes sir". Thats ok anyway, everyone is now looking at this ugly arab guy waiting to be searched. no problem at all.

5 minutes go by, and she leaves the area. then I saw this freaky looking guy (actually, too soft to be a man). He told me "please step in here sir" with a soft tone. Damn it bo3bo3, we were building hopes on the cute girl now see who we have to put up with I said to myself. Made me take my wallet, and spread my legs (don't get any ideas please :) ) and said "I'm going to pat search you". So he starts searching..down to my legas..all the way up to my shoulder..then back down again, then on my back down to my feet..then ..then..then...the damn thing is taking too long. I started to suspect what this guy wants. I've been searched before as I fly at least once a month anyway, but this is no ordinary search.

I sat down afterwards and he said "why did the machine beeb?". Duh me. I told him "I don't know, I didn't make the machine, but maybe there were traces of chemicals since I work in a chemical plant" He didn't like my answer, so he signaled to hi guys. Two guys started interegating me, and 8 minutes later, they let me go after they saw my low level security clearance. Ran to my gate so fast cause i heard my name in the intercom. Got there and went to detroit. Our travel agent gave me 45 minutes only between flights, and I had to run from gate A22 to gate C4 in McCenmara terminal. If you know the terminal, you'll know that it will take you about 25 min running (incluiding riding the train) between the 2 gates. No smoking yet. anyway, got to boston and did my work.

On the way back, the NWA agent told me that my reservation is taking me from boston-detroit-pittsburg. Ok ma'am why the hell would I wanna go to pittsburg if my home is indy? She said she can get me flight from pittsburg to indy and I'll get home at midnight. It was 4 pm at that time. I said "No No No ma'am, I don't wanna zigzag between the states to get to indy, just fix it". So she did and I got to detroit. the flight was late as usual, and it was raining. Now I had to run from C4 to A22 and barely made my connection. No smoking yet. The flight to indy was only 48 minutes but was the worset flight i ever had. The plane was shaking sideways and people were screaming. A dude next to me going home from college was scared. I just wanted to smoke a damn cigarrete so freakin bad. I got to indy picked my car and drove home. Kissed my wife and junior and straight to bed.

Poetry moment

2006-12-21T13:42:00.000-08:00

Just want to post some poems I wrote over the past weeks for a change. I have developed this love toward gothic poetry and started to try and express some poems. In the same time, I also wrote love poems which reflects an opposite picture of what you will see here. Here are few examples of gothic poems I wrote some time ago and recently.

How dare you

How dare you judge me
But your own actions, you can’t see
Driven by my faults and mistakes
And one look at yourself is all what it takes

You cast all these stones upon me
These sins I have commited are not all I see
You try to deny your past and present
You pretend it didn’t happen, but it is so evident

Accusations and harsh words burn like the sun
And deep inside you know what you have done
For once, open your eyes and shut your mouth
Your actions is what this is about, stop your wrath

Different from mine they may well be
But they are similar do you see
Your labeling me harshly with disgrace
And your own actions you can’t face

How dare you judge me
And pretend to be someone you can’t be
Seek inside your soul and you shall see
That you are just another copy of me

AAA 12/20/06

I hate you

I hate you..and everything about you
Yes…
this poem is for you

All you ever did is making me cry
Hating what I have done…
that’s no lie

Wishing to slaughter my emotions
Drowning them like a sinking ship….
in the oceans

Watching them diminish slowly
to the unknown
Your death….I shall never postpone

I despise you, and everything about you
Yes….
these words are for you

I am not your toy, nor was created for your joy
My feelings were never made for you ……
to destroy

I know…I really know what you’re doing
I see…I see what, in your heart,
…You are brewing

A fool, to hurt, torture, and to use as a clown
But today, I see, I hear, and I’ll never again….
drown

AAA 9/6/06

Trapped

I'm trapped here in a life I can't understand
forced to live the so called way while hands are bind

nothing I think of or do can ever be right
from the eyes of those who believe God is their sight

I'm here to live happy not to fulfill someone else's need
so why must I endure all this pain, agony and greed

I'm ripped apart with every stereotype and neglect
just because I don't fit in to what they think is correct

but I shall end this torture and not be attacked
for I am me and nothing shall make this heart cracked

So I'll break their chains and take their weapon
they can't control me and trap me into this prison

AAA 8/7/06

Lonley Illusions

So many intersections I have passed
So many bridges to cross, gotta hold fast
I am lost and can't seem to find my way
As I run passed the forest, in dismay

Loneliness lives inside me, and more
I can see it, feel it, the agony , a burning sore
So many miles to walk…. where do I begin
To express my hopes and my dreams within

I am lost, don't have a clear destination
I need to regain strength, and find salvation
Thoughts, constantly spinning in my head
Trying to determine what’s really, for me, ahead

It is cold and wet, yet again, today
The rain is falling, the sun is far away
Thinking deeply, of life ….and be deaf,
Insignificant to anyone …..except myself.

Loneliness is not a curse nor is it a regret,
It is a time of seclusion, when I forget
Not meant to be shared, nor even understood
My only salvation, from realty, if I just could

So yes, I’m truly stuck, in within
Where could I start, or just begin
But myself I promised, never to write again
About loneliness, for it too much of a pain

Tomorrow, a new page, new sight
Of love, pleasure, and no longer fight
With white doves flying, and trees so tall
I no longer, to loneliness, shall ever fall

AAA 6/24/06

I am who I am

I am who I am, greatness in me
I've become an exaggerated part …
of my individuality
Trying to think weird thoughts
and getting mad at my simplicity

I've become a joke to me
Lost my real self,
For me
And for someone else

Now it all coming back.. you see
So farewell to you..and me
Farewell to what once the center…
Of insanity
Setting the sail, and looking back
Trying to once again, let go my mentality

I walked through the shadows of insanity
Slipping slowly by those never before seen me
Declared the ghost....master of abnormality
Smiling constantly at those who lynched me

Optimistic, but realistic while hope is still in me
my pains don't run that deep, no more
Just an ecstasy
For I see the way, back to my realty
As I waive my hand to you, and to me

You haven't really got any clue about me
What it all means to you, is not the same
To me
Slip sliding away, turning my back on me
Slip sliding away, the long waited journey

AAA 6/7/06

Unholly Warrior (a bet disturbing, read with caution)

My soul is the blood of life, as I fall
I sleep in blood that I keep thinking of
My hunger and desires, for no one at all
Death is hell and i do not desire love.

If love is to be desired, than what I wish for?
If not, than when, might I ask, do I wish for hope?
As I hold the sword of death, I seek you no more
Eternal happiness, through darkness, I shall cope

I cannot speak nor do I really dare
to express truely how I sincerely feel
For those that take of my words I can't spare
Those that I have loved, I can no more conceal

There maybe no importance in my words
I will not desire anything that will expire
And allow me to send the flying birds
I cannot trespass on that unholly fire.

My heart stained by love from the past
That keeps reminding me of the darkened soul
Though I tried to extinguish the fire fast
But the flames kept growing higher as I fall

To you I seek an everlasting peace
A blow, or anything that would ease
This torture inside me, that won't decease
Damn you I am calling on you......please

I can see the end, the moment of time
When I hold on this sharp knife of mine
And as I look at it's beauty, such a shrine
And hold it high above, seeking my own devine

As it enters the heart, I feel the dying fire
The peace at last, for this freaky soul
Twisting and tearing apart and lefting me higher
From this doomed body once and for all

Oh sweet one I need you now as before
Free me from this miserabe desire
Revive me....I seek me no more
I feel this heart is getting dryer and dryer

As I depart ...finally from this body of the weak
I look down on what was nothing but a freak
Blood is flowing and from me it'll never again leak
As I haunt all those, who of me made this freak

Shine and rise oh great soldier of death
Fasten your sharp knife and after who have sailed
To flow the rivers of blood..with your mighty breath
Now it's my turn to seek, those me have failed

With one blow, your head is to fly
And your flesh I shall eat, don't ask why
As I cut through your veins and hear you cry
Questioning my action, how dare you, just die

Feed me off those who set my own fire
And watched me agonize and me, neglect
Today I revenge, with your skull lefted higher
on my spear..a warrior who came back to collect

AAA 6/4/06

Dark Tears

I feel fatigued, tired and in so much despair
My heart beats miserably, wrecked beyond repair
I wish I could go to sleep, and never ever awake,
But I've always known; life is never ours to take.

If it was all up to me, I'd want to die while a sleep,
There's no one to stop me and the cut is already too deep
I could slit my throat, and no-one would even care,
But I know deep inside of me that I wouldn't dare

Sitting up all night, alone in my room
Shaky and weeping, imagining doom
Nothing here to distract my mind, my fears.
There's no-one around, to even dry my tears.

So as I held the blade, feeling my veins
A cry from within, screaming, please refrain
I looked around and no one do I see
Yet, somehow, my soul decided to once again, be.

AAA 12/5/05

Chapter XXV. The coffee shop

2006-12-18T18:20:00.000-08:00

Immigrants here in the states tend to hang out in places where their own “people” are around. There is little italy in the east side of Cleveland where Italians hang out and you could see the restaurants and the café’s. Little china is another one and so was little greek in the near west side by the orthodox church. As for arabs, there were few hang outs. One was “beit hanina” where Palestinians from that village have a social club and a wedding hall. Weddings take place in there. I went to a couple of weddings, and quit frankly, they were mistakes. I never wanted to go, but the guys insisted that I go. It’s not because I didn’t like to be around my own “people” but I just get the sad feeling of back home during weddings. Keep in mind that I was also single at that time, and for a single man, that was harsh I guess.

In those weddings, there are few things that makes you want to pull your hair. Maybe that’s how I lost my hair after all. Ok I can’t blame it all on the weddings, my dad’s genes has something to do with losing hair too. In one night, I went to a wedding. I didn’t know any of the families, or anyone. I just went out for fun that’s all. To my surprise, I saw strange things. I have never seen gold in my entire life as I saw that day. One lady was walking (and I don’t know how she could) with a necklace..wait..not just a necklace, but ..umm..how to describe it..ok..imagine those rose necklace that you get when you go to Hawaii, well, it was all gold. Probably 5 kg of gold around her neck. Other women had such fashion in the wedding too. Do I sound envying? Maybe. But the fact of the matter is I never seen gold in my life as I saw that day. Then they started giving money. So, there was the big guy, the kahuna of the family, and he took the microphone and started mentioning names and amounts. So and so has given $1000. The thing kept going on. Then he demanded that all dancers leave the dance floor, and started talking about how he was close to death and had a stroke, and god saved him. He then said that he wanted to thank God, so everyone leave the floor, except his sister so and so so he can dance with her. Frankly, it was pathetic. I thought he was going to donate money for charity.

As I got up to go to the men’s room to wash for the prayer, I saw kids fighting and cursing in a language I could only hear in the show soprano’s. At any rate, few of us started praying on the side while the music kept going on and the dance was still active. Not that I mind, but I wished that we could’ve found a different spot to pray. I couldn’t wait too long there, and went home. I just didn’t feel comfortable, you know, single in a wedding is not a good thing I guess.

Then I discovered the coffee shop. I used to smoke shisha so it was the perfect place for me. One night, I went to the coffee shop on lorain road, and sat outside by myself. I could hear guys playing cards and again cursing at each others. They cursed God, sisters, mothers and fathers. Yet, they were all smiling. I loved that place as long as I kept my ears shut. I would go there, sit alone, smoke the shisha and sip my tea and go home. I just needed an hour alone with my shisha, that’s all. On occasions, I meet guys and sit with them, but I never get to meet them again. Rarely that I see the dude again. But the hour was enough time to vent problems and harships. One guy in particular sticks in my mind. He was a Palestinian muslim who was married to a Christian Palestinian. They divorced few months after marriage and his mother in law took their child and baptized him and sent the video to him to torture him. I don’t have anything against my fellow Christian arabs at all, on the contrary, I enjoy their company a lot. But this incident sticks in my mind because I could see a guy crying without tears at all.

Another old man, a Jordanian Christian, whom I enjoyed so much. I saw him 3 times. He reminded me of home. He left his family back in Jordan and came to the states to work and support his family. You’ll be amazed of how torture this man went through. He invited me to the new years party at the Arabic church on West 117th street about 15 miles south of lorain road. Can’t remember the street name but it was known. We had good food and a nice music. Saw lots of people that made me feel home some how. But again, his story sticks to my mind. Oh..and the story of the Palestinian student who was hooked on drugs and his dad came to take him back to Jordan. This was devastating for all who knew the guy.

A fight broke out one time between some Jordanians and Palestinians guys in the coffee shop. I witnessed the fight while I was smoking my shisha. Simply pathetic. The two Palestinian/American guys went to Jordan last year and they were humiliated at the airport. It seems that they, as I heard early that night, threw their US passports at the guy who worked the airport passport booth. He didn’t like their attitude so he called security and it seems that the two guys were humiliated. In the coffee shop, they were cursing Jordan and all Jordanians. Couple of Jordanians didn’t like what they heard and that’s how the fight broke. Chairs were flying and shisha were breaking in the air. The police came and took all to the station. Yep…it was pathetic in all means.

Before the coffee shop opened, there was a night club owned by a guy from beit hanina. It was for arabs of course. So when I used to drink, I went to that place. There was a good singer, his last name was “haddad”, a Jordanian. He has a lovely voice and he would sing for Palestinians/Lebanese/Jordanians/you name it. I sat at the bar having my drink, and suddenly, a fight broke loose. It seems that a guy was hitting on someone’s wife. So they fought and knifes appeared and someone was cut. The police came and it was not a pleasant sight. Another night, I over heard someone discussing the details of how they would implant someone in jail to kill the killer of his brother. There was some money discussion. I don’t know the outcome, but the brother seemed to be pushing to kill hi brother’s killer in jail. Arabs drink pretty wild when they do and I do remember on a couple of occasions that I took some guys home because the owner, who was a friend of mine, asked me to take them home and don’t let them drive. Thanks God I am done with that stuff now.

Taking you back to the coffee shop, it was a nice place to be for someone like me. I got to hear omm kulthoom singing while I smoke my shisha. I loved the atmosphere. It meant home for me. I could hear stories of back home from guys who just came back from a visit. I got to kill time as I really needed to murder time in some instances. But it had it’s negatives of course as I mentioned above. I came to realize that arab hang outs are tricky ones. One needs to make a hang out for each religion, each country background, and each age group. Mixing all the above together spells troubles.

Then I decided to join the mosque, and that will be very exciting. Arab mosques in America are not fun either as I well show in the next post very soon. But right now, I had a long drive from Indiana to TN and feel exhausted. But since I’m staying for 4 days here in TN, I’ll have all the time to write while stuck between my beloved four walls that toughed me all about life and the importance of isolation while sipping coffee and smoking my camel’s light cigarette. See you soon.

Who are you?

2006-12-18T15:46:00.000-08:00

Sometimes, it’s difficult to understand who you really are. Seriously, you seem to know who you want to be, or who you were, but when it comes to today, you struggle to understand who you truly are. They say that admitting realty is half the way, but you still need to go all the way. So who are you?

Funny that you go through a past that is full of so joyful memories, yet, it is also full of painful ones. You think that you are better off by pulling the plug of those sad memories. I admit it that sometimes, I wish I can somehow plug my brain to some kind of machine and do a partial formatting to get rid of those bad memories. But what we fail to understand is that those sad memories are an essential part of who we are. Who are you?

Forget about describing who you wish to be some day, or what you want to be. Just focus on analyzing yourself in the current situation. You may laugh at this, but I sometimes sit down and start this debate with myself. True I have hard time convincing myself of what my aim is, but it’s worth the troubles, believe me. Crazy? I may be, but I know that I give so much importance to know who truly I am. So who are you?

Those nights I may stay awake thinking of things that can only make me feel sad or maybe shed a drop of tears…or two. Or those days I start day dreaming about a certain day in history that involved me. In the end, I came to realize who I am. Maybe not the full picture, but a close one. It’s like writing a resume or some kind of a description about yourself, with it’s positives or even negatives, it doesn’t matter at all. Do you really know who you are?

A flirter, but never intended to hurt anyone? Maybe. A very sensitive man who is pretending to be the macho of all men? Again maybe. It just takes lots of guts to confront yourself and demand from it to come out lifting that mask you may like to wear all the times. It ain’t easy giving up the mask. It’s like having two choices, one that show you naked and transparent, or another with colorful clothes that makes others say “wow…that’s cool and pretty” It just not easy. One should weigh the positives as well as the negatives of such naked body. Are you ready to be naked in front of others? Do you know who you are?

But clothes are important to portray a certain image of ourselves. Being naked is like being vulnerable to others. I gotta say that I am never a big fan of this nudist movements, but with all honesty, I am a fan of the nudity of the soul. Never mind about those clothes, just attempt to confront yourself, and demand to know the truth. Maybe you know the truth, but you are not brave enough to admit it. Who know. I don’t. Who the heck are you?

I love fun, and social life, but feel isolated. I love the bar atmosphere, but not a drinker and hate the smell of alcohol. I love humor and consider myself to be good at putting a smile on others, but can’t tell a joke. I am a strong man, who developed a certain personality, but very weak and would produce tears for the simplest reason. I love love itself, but seem to be lost with expressing with words. I…well…I am attemting to be naked, but it doesn’t seem to work at all, for my nakedness will cause so much….lets say mess to me and to others. Do I fear the accusations and the looks of others? NO. Do I care about who others see my nakedness? NO….But I seem to be so attached to the clothes and the mask that I’m having a hard time letting go. Can you let go?

Part XXIV. Family Guy

2006-12-10T19:31:00.000-08:00

I guess I’m not done bragging about myself, am I? Bear with me a moment for only very few things in my life that I can brag about, and this is one of them. There will be more time for lynching myself for errors and mistakes, but for now, I need to feel good about myself. Especially that I’m now stuck in the airplane while they fix the captain seat after it got broke. God I hate Detroit. Anyway, lets go on shall we.

I was brought up amongst 7 other brothers and sisters of mine. We were four x four, and it seems that my dad has discovered the secret of manipulating the child’s sex. Ok ok..he didn’t. We were always trained to listen to dad and mom, and never question any “command”. Yes they were commands and I think my dad thought that his house is an extension to his office. We would only start eating dinner after he takes the first bite. No TV when he took his afternoon nap. Those of us who stayed late at night, we would hear it pretty harshly. Some of the punishment was TV time deprivation. Allowance was another tool in his arsenals of punishments. But needless to say, he did have a system and he was tough in implementing it (except the youngest one, he always got away with it).

Early in my childhood, I was known to be a trouble maker. Some of the incidents are embarrassing, but oh well, it can’t get worse can it now. I am told that at the age of 5 years old, my mom punishment me very harsh. She caught me naked with a girl and trying to get her naked. Now before you think this or that, keep in mind that the mind of a 5 years old is not capable of such wicked thoughts. I’m sure there was something else in my mind at that time, and I doubt it was related to “sex” again due to the impossibility of a 5 years old boy thinking about such stuff.

In some cases, I was punished for putting my youngest brother in the freezer and told him not to get out until we count to 100. I was lucky that my parents came early that night and saved him. Of course I got punishment in the story I told earlier when I was chasing my sister with dad’s gun. So yes, I got in trouble when I was growing up. Troubles that included “un-allowed” interaction with the Pilipino maid, or driving my dad’s car. Many instances, but for the most part, my parents depended on me heavily when they were hone out of the house. I took care of my brothers and sisters (with the exception of the freezer thingie).

I’m the oldest amongst my brothers and sisters, and according to the constitution of my family, I was second in command. My brothers and sisters knew that and they followed the rules. I got to plan for any fun in the house while my parents were away. I took care of the kitchen planning, trips, who collects woods and who starts skewing lamb on skewers. I planned for the Eid schedule for them, where to go, and who goes where. I can’t say I was a dictator, but I was learning from dad. So there were regulations in the house. When I was around 14, I started taking care of breakfast. Every morning, I would get up before them, and would start the breakfast. Cheese, eggs, and sometimes, cereal. I made the milk (you do remember Nido, the dried milk), and made the tea. I would then wake them up, and get the teat to my parents while we had breakfast.

I then started saving my allowance to get the little ones candy and toys. I was 15 and my youngest brother was 2 years old. There was a specific chocolates that had a picture of a lion on it, and he loved it so much. My 4 years old sister loved twix. I managed to save my allowance so every Thursday, they would wait for me on the balcony and as soon as they see me, they would rush to the door to get their candies for the weekend.

Ok, they just announced that they fixed the captain seat so I have to shut down now, and will continue once the airplane on the air. Ciao

Back again, finally. Just because we were growing up in the UAE, people quickly assumed that we are sissy kids. Kids who are hooked on kitkat or twix. Maybe we had chocolates, but we as kids went through life, just like other kids. We didn’t have all what we wished for, again just like all kids. To me, being the oldest son, made me feel responsible somehow. Weather it was about taking care of the little ones, or the big ones, I tried to me the family guy as much as possible.

I gotta admit it that from the first day I left home, to the states, I felt like someone who was simply pulled away from his family. Suddenly, I’m not that captain anymore. It may sound silly, but I started thinking a lot of times if my brothers were getting breakfast or not. Who now brings the candy for the two youngest ones? Who helps dad going to the market? Why does this and this and some of that? I felt with a big void after I left them. Now, tea doesn’t taste the same, nor milk. Breakfast…stopped in my life for it lost it’s meaning. It kind affected me so much that even when my brother grew and became 13 years old, I would ask him on the phone if he wanted me to bring him candy. Those of us, who left little brothers and sisters behind, know that the thought of them growing up was never in our minds.

So, as a natural reaction, I carried this behavior with me. I was in charge of cooking for the guys. No, they didn’t make me wear a French maid outfits, but they did enjoy my cooking. But before I could make good food, I had to practice, and they all agreed to be my genie pigs. I remember one time we wanted to make “maglooba” (or ma’looba as some may prefer to call it). I instructed one my roommates, who was from gaza, to buy the needed mterial. Cauliflower, potato’s, rice, and beef. We didn’t know about the lamb yet in America. So the dude came back with all the stuff. I started frying the vegetables (potato, cauliflower), and during that, the meat was cooking. The meat was done, and to be honest, it looked funny. I asked my roommate if he got the right meat, and he said yes. But the meat looks different. So I pulled the package from the trash, and there it was, pork. So we ended up substituting the meat with 3 cans of tuna. Honestly, it tasted …well..really ok, and we liked it.

We were creative in cooking, and we seemed to wanna learn so much. One time, I was sitting with two roommates of mine, well..semi-drunk, and we said “how about a stuffed lamb?”. As soon as my roommate said that, I looked at him and smiled. It was the challenge now, and must do it. So we called all those who were interested in the stuffed lamb. The turnaround was 9 guys. Not bad. So we bought all the needed material, and decided that we make it in our apartment. We didn’t have any recipe at all. But we did well. It was one of my roommates and I who took charge in the cooking. The remaining 7 were to split the cost on all seven of them, which was not even 120 dollars total. We spiced up the lamb, stuffed it with cooked rice mixed with ground beef, and we poked the lamb so many pokes and stuffed every poke with garlic. We marinated it with yogurt and spices, then wrapped it all around and put it in the oven. The guys gathered and it was a great gathering. We enjoyed it.

There were times where we didn’t succeed in such work. The time where we tried to make stuffed cabbage and the damn cabbage didn’t want to role easily. I discovered that I needed to boiled it with water first. Or when we tried to make mlookheyyeh and the whole thing fell apart. We were luckier on the falafel side after the second try. That paid real good in the end. I mean there were students who relied on junk food, and there were others who put on the kitchen gear (not the French maid outfit) and started learning.

On occasions, even after we got married and started out own families, we would get together and bring back the good old days of single life days. Well, except the drinking side, some of us remain drinking and some gave it up. I can say that this family guy business has affected how I look at things related to responsibility. Today, if my wife or junior wanted any piece of cloth, I would not hesitate to buy it as soon as possible. But if there was something I liked for myself, I would think so many times before buying it. Maybe this is not related here, and maybe yes, but what I’m trying to say is it is so easy to convince myself to buy things for them, and is so difficult to convince myself with my buying needs. Makes sense? I guess not. Oh well. Gotta leave now, we are few minutes away from Boston. See you around.

Chapter XXIII, Part three

2006-12-04T18:48:00.000-08:00

It’s a guy thing. If you give every woman a dollar for every time she hears that, she’ll be a rich woman. After all, I’m an arab typical male/man/husband. Guilty as charged, yes sir/ma’am. The funny or sad thing is that this mentality carries on anywhere you go. Whether in America or Jordan, an arab man will always be an arab man. So I’m not stand up here and defend the action of an arab immigrant man, but rather will present them hoping that it makes an woman smile, and a man thinking “dude…you have given out the secret”.

On one day, we were invited to a her friends house. She had this Jordanian friend and she wanted to introduce me to her husband. I went along her plans of course. Now, I was brought up in a mansaf infested home. A home where mansaf has a rituals. It has to be made the right way, or else, I start to hallucinate. So we walked in their home and ..uhhhhh..the aroma of jameed and mansaf is filling the house. I knew I was going to be good friends with this guy. The two ladies started the conversation and we got involved. He was a Christian Jordanian man. A very nice man I shall add. So we talked about the usual arab topics; food, politics, and how we value the super bowl commercials. Then came the time for the seductive mansaf to kick in and we sat on the table. I suddenly saw spoons and plates. I panicked, but quickly gave up to the looks of my wife daring me to open my mouth so she can hit me with her purse. I remember her purse, and no I will not want to be hit by it again. So I shut up. I gave him the benefit of the doubt that they may have thought I eat mansaf out from the plate and with a spoon. Then I saw the mansaf..but..but..wait a minute..what is that? White meat? Chicken? Now I lost it. And just as I was to open my mouth, she pinched me in my leg. Ouch..that hurt. I looked at her, and she looked at me begging me to keep my mouth shut.

How can withstand seeing mansaf with chicken..in a plate..and a spoon laying next to it? If my dad ever found out that I ate mansaf with chicken, he will send my cousins to assassinate me. What to do now? I wanted to scream, but knew if I did that, I’ll end up sleeping in the garage. So I decided to shut up tearing inside, eating chicken mansaf. I went through hell before, but this was a different hell. I couldn’t wait till I got back to my house.

My wife is a peaceful lady, but she is Jordanian too (well, off Palestinian origins like me). When I married her, many of my friends advised me to look for a veiled muslim woman. I was smarter and searched for a good quality woman. So one time, we went to the mosque for a social gathering. My wife wasn’t praying at that time, and she wasn’t wearing veils. The usual jeans and the t-shirt. So we walked into the mosque, and she grabbed a hold of a veil from the mosque and simply placed it on her head. Her hair was showing of course. I was sitting with the guys. Then the time to go home came, and we got in our car. She started complaining about this Syrian woman who refused to shake my wife’s hands in the mosque. I told her relax honey, this is how people act in the states. The funny thing is that my wife never forgot this story as you’ll find out soon.

2 years into our marriage, she asked me “would you want me to be veiled?” I said “it’s all up to you for your doing it to God not me, and you’ll always be you regardless if you wear veil or not”. So she decided to wear the veil. And we were invited to a birthday party, and the Syrian woman was there. Now, I know my wife real good, and as I said, she is peaceful, but she is an arab woman after all. So she goes and sit down without shaking the hands of that woman. I was watching of course for I knew that my wife will do something. Then the Syrian woman approached my wife and I could hear her congratulating my wife on the veil. My wife was smiling at her, but I knew these smiles real good. They are the smiles before the storm, believe me I know you arab ladies. Then the Syrian woman said “I’m glad that you wore the veil, because I honestly didn’t shake your hands because of the lack of veil”. Here, I looked around searching for a place to hide behind. My wife told her “aren’t you ashamed of your self? How can you reflect a good image of muslims? If you thought I was wrong by not wearing the veil, you should’ve tried to talk to me, but to do what you did, that was a shame”. I laughed so loud, and I saw my wife getting up and coming to me asking if it’s time to go home or not. Now, to all of you, this may sound like a question. But to me, it wasn’t. It was a command “you either get your behind up now and take me home, or I will start a fight that you will not be happy about” So we got up and execused ourselves and drove home.

Or the time when I acted so stupid..just for a box of chocolates. So it was her birthday…and just like all arab men, I forgot about it. I walked home, and she was sitting down. I sat down, and said “the food honey?” She started crying and here I knew I was in trouble. To make a story short….she was mad at me for forgetting her birthday. I got mad at her for getting mad. She said “not even a cheap box of chocolates/”. I got up and started eating by myself, and that box of chocolates caused me 3 weeks of no chocolates. Till today, I refuse to bring the chocolates….it’s a guy thing.

So now she needs a driver’s license. I started training her on how to drive. Bad idea because I am a lousy driver, and I get angry a lot. After few trials, I called my friend and he started teaching her driving. On the test day, I took her, and in the car, was comforting her preparing her to fail. “honey, it’s ok if you fail from the first or second trial..look at me, it took me 3 trials to get my license. We went into the place and her turn came. A guy approached her and said “bring your car around”. So she did. Junior was only 7 months old. So I started thinking about how to comfort her when she comes back with the failing results. 30 minutes later, she came. I stood up and prepared myself for the lines I was memorizing the past 30 minutes. I said “lets go honey, we’ll talk about it in the car”. She said “no, I need to have my picture taken..I passed”. What? No way. A side of me wanted to yell at the tester for passing her. How can she be better than me? Again, it’s a guy thing.

Back in 2005, and when she was in amman, I decided to buy her anew minivan. So 3 days before she was to arrive to Detroit airport, I bought this brand new minivan with DVD player and all kind of options. When I picked her up from the airport, she was happy to see the new car. 2 days later, she hit the garage with it. Minimum damage but was enough to hold it against her for eternity. A guy thing of course.

It was difficult for us to make friends. I was very picky, and so was she. We hade our great Christian Jordanian friends., A Syrian couple and 2 palestinian families. We were hanging out together always. Friends were a rare thing to find in America. We needed people that we can communicate with, and feel comfortable around. But then she started making friendship with Americans. This was nice because it will allow her to pick up the accent. So suddenly, she started going out to the mall with her friends. Then to the hangout, the secret woman’s place of the olive garden in Westlake ohio. That proved to be a good step for her.

I wish I can talk more about the behavior of married arab men, but I fear the guys will take revenge against me. But it’s a fact, that arab wives put up so much with our behavior. We could be living in the states for 20 years and it would mean nothing. We still don’t know the value of the cheap box of chocolates, or the simple “I love you” statement. We think that the twins in the bud light commercial is what women should look like, but in the end of the day, we go wild if we see our wives dressed up openly in the public. Damn…now that I’m stuck in some hotel room in Cincinnati hundreds of miles away from her, I feel the need to call her before I go to bed…again. So if you’ll excuse me, I need to leave now. Hope she is still awake now.

Chapter XXIII, Part two

2006-11-29T15:53:00.000-08:00

I tried to spend as much time as possible with her before my departure back to the states. 4 nights before my departure, I asked her dad to allow his daughter to go out with me. He screamed at me of course rejecting the idea. I tried with my mom to talk to her mom, and that didn’t work good. Then my wife asked her brother to interfere, and he did. After all, he studied in the west and was a little more open. So he spoke to his father and somehow the father agreed on the condition that all 3 of my sisters are present. I’ll take that anyway. So, we picked her up from her home around 4 pm, and went to our house. My brother was driving us. We went to our home first, and spent some time together. At 7 pm, she called her dad informing him that we are going out.

So on the road to “reem elbawaady”, her phone rings every 25 to 30 minutes, which was ok with me after all. We got there, and me and two sisters, along with my wife walked in. My older sister couldn’t make it with us. We sat down and ordered food and a shisha for me. My sisters then asked to set in a different table, and we were ok. I wanted to be alone with her anyway. As I was sitting down, a man approached my sisters table, and was talking to them. I prepared myself to get in a fight with that guy. But one of my sisters signaled me to sit down, so I did while starring at their table. The guy was talking to my middle sister, who then got up, and pushed the guy while screaming at him. I then sat down enjoying the scene of my sisters handling the guy. One of the waiters then came over and pulled the guy outside. I tell you, my sisters are very tough when it comes to guys trying to bug them, so I didn’t worry. I then got up and went to the bathroom. There, there was a guy who approached me asking how much do I charge for the girls. He must have thought that I was a “girls handler” as they refer to it. That’s when I lost it and started beating the guy in the bathroom. As he got out, I chased him kicking, and one of his friends came to rescue him. He managed to hit me very hard, but luckily, a couple of waiters came to rescue me. When they asked about what happened, I told them exactly what happened and how I can not enjoy a dinner with my family, so they took care of the guy pretty good.

So I sat back down, and managed to have her wipe a couple of blood drops off my mouth. That was a great feeling. The problem is the blood was the results of me biting my tongue while I was talking and getting punched by the guy’s friend. Embarrassing to bleed for a silly cause during a fight. Finished the dinner and the shisha, and went outside walking as we phoned my brother to come and pick us up. It was a nice walk where we chatted about everything that could relate to our life. My brother then showed up, and we all got home around 9 pm. Had a cup of tea then dropped her at her home.

In my final day in amman, I wanted her to come with me to the airport. This was a tough task. I mean we had to work pretty hard to convince her dad to let her go out with us in an evening. Imagine me asking him to let her spend the night since my flight was at 4 am on KLM back to the states. But I wanted it so bad. I wanted to be like those lovers in the movies (sure..go ahead you can laugh) where she would waive goodbye to me and I do the same. It’s like as if I was a child day dreaming. I fought hard to get her to spend the night. My whole family and so her step mom and brothers tried hard with the dad. In the end, he caved in to pressure and allowed that to happen on the condition that her step mom spends the night too. In the end, it happened. Her step mom came to me at around 5 pm asking me not to forget the traditions and never do anything that is not from our traditions. I promised them. We sat outside by the fig tree in the back yard of my dad’s home, and we talked and talked, laughed, dreamed together, and planned our future together. Sadly, when you are enjoying your time, time seems to go too fast. Before we know it, my brother comes to us telling us it’s time to go to the airport. So at 1 am, we drove to amman international airport, and I had my brother and sister with me along with my wife to be. After checking in, we sat and had some refreshments. Then the time came for my departure. After hugging and kissing my sister and brother, it was time to tell her goodbye. So I extended my hand to shake, although I wanted to hug her so bad. We did marry in the court, and it wouldn’t be a sin. But the words of her step mom were still ringing. So I extended my hand, and she looked at me with a sad look. But couldn’t hold off, so I ended up hugging her a goodbye hug. It may have lasted for a minute or so, and never wanted to let go. Then I went up the stairs in the airport, and looked back at her. I guess my dream came true as she was waiving goodbye, just like the movies.

The first thing I did upon my arrival, is calling her. I started calling her every week, at her work. Sometimes I call her house, and after 30 minutes on the phone, I hear her step mom yelling from a distance asking her to hang up the phone and save the money for our home instead of wasting it on phone calls. Then we started chatting on msn and I started to act and look like a teenager in love. Not a whole lot happened in the 1 months between the two trips to amman, but I finally managed to go to amman after we finished the US immigration work for her to join me. It’s now time for the wedding.

So we had our wedding in amman. I had only 2 week vacation, and we needed to act fast. The wedding was arranged. Then her dad suggests to have a separated wedding parties, one for women and one for men. I honestly didn’t care either way. My family didn’t like the idea. Eventually, we ended up having a separate wedding parties. If you ever go to an “all guys” wedding party, it looks like a funeral. Guys sitting down sipping coffee or cold drinks while talking about…again politics in Jordan. The funny thing is I was sitting along side my wife, in the women’s section. As if I wasn’t considered a guy anyway. Oh yes, I saw girls dancing, so why the wedding was a separate one? Oh well, it happened, and I enjoyed it.

Then it was over. Now, I have made so many bad decisions in my life, but that night was probably the worst. You see, my wedding was 3 nights before our trip back to the states. I wanted to stay in a hotel those 3 nights. My dad and mom raised hell and they swore that they won’t attend the wedding unless I staid those nights in my parents home. Now, visualize with me the following. Two newly wed people, in their first night, and spending it in my parent’s home. Nevertheless, they had their way and I stayed with them those 3 nights. Do I need to go in details here? One side of me itching for a yes answer, and it is wining the battle. Lets see how far my other side can withstand this details. The first morning, I walked outside the room, and there she was standing waiting by the door. It was my mother, and she quickly rushed in. I held her telling her “yo mom..where you goin?”. She pushed me aside and went inside and closed the door. Oh my God, where am I? Then I walked and there were my sisters giggling and my father giving me the look of “how did it go?”. Ok..ok no more details, but I tell you, those 3 nights were really a nightmare.

We then flew to the states. Aaaah finally we are going to be home alone with no hassles or troubles. She was still scared and shy. Of course, she was crying now that she is away from her family. How can anyone have a honeymoon like that? Regardless, we managed to live life and be happy when we could, and be sad when we had to. But life in the states, for two people, living together in home, is not that easy in the beginning. And just like all marriages, it was rough in the beginning. I mean we are talking about 2 strangers getting together under one roof, in one room, on one bed. So yes we did have problems early one. She liked this, and I liked that. She cooked this and I loved to eat that. She used this and I wanted her to use that. Yes, we had our disagreements early on. Just like the time when we……ok..I’ll stop for now and continue in another time. My fingers are getting tired and I can hear her calling me to have dinner now. True that I love you, but I love dinner more. See you tomorrow.

Part XXIII. Marriage in the USA

2006-11-27T15:32:00.000-08:00

Just like any single man, I wanted to live with a companion, a soul mate, a partner in life. The search was not easy due to different factors. Factors such as finding the a mate who is culturally compatible to me. Religion is also another factor, if not the most important one. Finding the right woman was a big task for me, for it is a big investment for life. This is not a short term deal. I know I may be wrong describing marriage as an investment or deal, but the fact of the mater is it is an important decision in life.

However, it’s a pretty difficult scenario I was put in. Being the “bad boy” I was made it difficult to find trust in women. Regardless if this was my fault or anyone else, it was just difficult. I’ve seen women who were never honest with their husbands, and I’ve seen women who were so eager to live the sinful life. That played negatively toward my search for the right woman that I can trust and feel good with. You see, once you live a life like mine, and once you see the type of women I’ve seen in my life, you would have difficulties to convince yourself that men out there are not as evil as you are, and the same is for women. So how can you establish the level of trust in the other gender after coming off such a life? I know it was not their fault, and the fault is mostly mine, but how can you overlook that past?

The search started early when I was still studying. I knew this nice girl, she was 18 years old. Well, if you lived with arabs in the states you would find that a large chunk of them try to marry their daughters at an early age to protect themselves from the social “seductive” nature of the west. So at any rate, she was 18 years old and just finished high school. She was beautiful, and from a well known family from Palestine. I knew her dad (who loved drinking and gambling at that time) and he was a very nice person. Her mom was wonderful. I knew the family via my interaction in the arab community. Her mom loved me to the point that she was sending home cooked meals to the gas station I was working in. She would send her husband and kids (the 18 years old daughter and the 12 years old son) where they would even spend some time with me. I needed that for it made me feel like home, somehow. I felt that the mother loved me to be a son in law. It was difficult to find a “nice” guy like me with a degree to marry their daughter, and they didn’t have relatives in the city they were living in.

I started liking the daughter. On occasions, I would drive in my day off to their home and spend some time there. Relationship got better where I would take the girl and her brother to the park, and even the movie theater. Now, I wouldn’t trust anyone with a guy like me, but I valued this family so much that I drew the line between me and getting to do anything with the girl, and was very cautious to protect their honor as if it was my own honor. Thank God I did good in this category. Then I decided to propose to the family and ask for their daughter to be my wife. I asked the girl first and she was very ok with the idea. I then went to her dad where he worked and asked him for his daughter. He was very happy, and later, the mother was too.

However, there was a voice in the back of my mind bugging me about the idea. What if this girl was like the rest of the arab girls I knew? So I decided to do my own investigation and started watching the girl. I discovered things that made me quickly change my mind. I told the dad that I can’t marry now and will need to pursue my second degree before thinking of marriage. He was ok with that, and when another man proposed to his daughter a year later, he asked me, and I told him that I am still not ready for marriage. That ended peacefully.

My second trial was not even that good. Without lots of details, I liked this Palestinian girl. I knew her brother very good, and knew the family. I proposed and everyone was happy. Except the girl. In my first visit, she sounded very interested since she knew me for over 3 years from the interaction with her brother. But somehow, she rejected me. However, her brother and father tried to pressure her. I knew that because the brother told me that she is not accepting yet, and he needs to spend more time to convince her. Because I liked her, I agreed. But then, I realized that I was making a big mistake and can not accept to force myself on any girl. Like I said earlier, this is a long term investment. How can I live with someone that doesn’t love me. That’s when I quickly went back to the brother and told him to forget about it, it’s not a big deal. I still know the girl and her brother till today, and both are wonderful people.

My third trial was a very interesting one and should make you laugh. A friend of mine, from the local mosque, told me about this girl. She was beautiful and very religious. Her dad deceased long ago. I was coming out off two failed attempts within a year and was not ready for a third one that soon. He told me that her mom wants to meet me. I declined of course because this is not the way things should go. Heck, I didn’t even see or meet the girl yet. In one night at the mosque, he came rushing to me and said that her mom is her and she just wants to talk to me. I was angry at such approach, but didn’t want to embarrass him in front of the mother, so I accepted on the condition of him iterating to the mother that this is just friendly meeting that is not related to marriage at all. He agreed of course.

So I sat down waiting for the mother. She came in the room, and my friend was there too. The mother’s sister was present too. After the normal “hey how you doin” intro, the mother started asking me questions about me. After every question, I would look at my friend with a look of “whats going on here?”. I decided to just answer all questions for the sake of my friends who was begging me with his looks not to act like the normal “trouble maker” mentality that I have developed over the years. Then the questions were starting to become funnier. Comments like “we rejected a man because he refused to spend $12,000 extra on the type of meals for the wedding”. Put it this way, she asked me about 5 questions about me, then she shifted to ask about my dad. His work, how much land he owns, where he worked, if he owned houses or not, his citizenship, and so many questions that relates to the wealth of my father. I really tried very hard to refrain myself from laughing in the “meeting” and did very good except when she said “oh, your dad worked in the UAE army, that’s good, they make lots of money in the UAE”. I just couldn’t hold myself, and laughed a little. She then said “ok, I’ll let you know”. “let me know what ma’am? I didn’t even see the girl yet” I said. She replied saying “we’ll see God’s willing”. She left the meeting and I was so angry. I felt humiliated, and sat down putting my hands on my head of the humility. My friend apologized to me, and I yelled at him for putting me in this situation. I didn’t propose yet. I didn’t even talk about marriage. I told him “listen man, please tell her that I’m not interested all” He calmed me down and said he will not pursue this further.

So two weeks later, I see the same woman, and she asks me when will I come and visit them. I was again shocked and told her that whatever God wants, will happen. I asked my friend if he told the woman about my decision yet, and he said “yes and swore to me”. But seems the mother wanted to pursue this. So I went back to the woman and told her “seems that God doesn’t want this marriage to happen”. The sad thing is I never got to see her daughter yet. Maybe the daughter is very nice, but I tell you, with a mother in law like that, even satan will refuse to become her son in law.

That’s when I decided that I can never marry from the states. In the same time frame, my mom told me that “my current wife” was still available. I knew the girl when I was visiting Jordan. I quickly told mom to ask her if she would be interested, and she was indeed interested. So I decided to go to Jordan and see her. Upon my arrival, my brother in law has prepared a list of potential “candidates” for marriage. I was brought up in America of course, and that concept just didn’t click in my mind. The list contained Christians and a 17 years old girl. I told him that I was here for one person only, but he told me to give it a shot and see a couple of other women for marriage, just like everyone “else” in Jordan. I honestly didn’t like the idea, but went through with it just to see how the system works. I agreed to see 2 girls in amman, just to understand this traditional marriage and how it works, and to get my brother of law off my back. It’s kind of funny somehow. In one instance, I sat down with a well educated 23 years old woman (I was 30 back then) who was brought up in kuwait. Very educated and modest woman. We sat down for a couple of hours. I had so much enjoying this meeting. We were sitting in a room, with the door open, and her mom was looking at us across the open door from the other room. She can see, but can’t hear what we say. I asked this girl honestly if she see’s herself marrying this way. She said that she fought against seeing me, but her family pressured her, and she was apologetic for saying that. She also said that she doesn’t see herself marrying me. I smiled and told her that I had to come here too, and we both agreed to talk about college matters instead of marriage just to finish the visit. We smiled and we laughed, and it was a very friendly and happy meeting. We both knew that we won’t get married, and we both agreed it was the right thing to do. Maybe that’s why it was a happy meeting.

After we left, my sister and brother in law were happy saying that I was laughing loud, and so did she, and that’s an indication that things are great. I told them the story, and told my brother in law that I won’t see any other girl. I now dedicated myself to meet my real future wife.

Her family knew, and my whole family knew that she would be the greatest fit for me. So I went there home for the first time, and we sat down and talked for many days. She would sneak out with my sister, and I get to meet them in a restaurant. I sometimes went to her work, and spent some time after work with her. I liked her so much, and she seemed happy with my presence. However, I needed to come clean with her. I decided to gamble and tell her about my past. One side of me didn’t want to lose her, but the winner side wanted to be as honest as possible with her. I told her everything about my past and how bad I was. I prepared myself for rejection too. She was sad for hearing what I told her, and she requested couple of days to think about it. Two days went by and I didn’t hear from her. I was sad to lose her, but I just needed to let her know everything. Then few days later, she called and approved me to formally propose after I gave her assurance that the past was gone.

I decided to propose and get engaged. So, like any typical Jordanian or Palestinian family, my father asked to meet them, and they planned for a specific day. On that day, I saw so many relatives of mine that I never seen before. We sat down in their garden, and then their family members started to appear one after another. I have never seen more guns in one room, than that day. So as the usual…my dad asked for their daughter, and her father (God rest his sole) agreed, pending the girl’s approval, but wasn’t too happy. He asked for 2 days to consult his daughter, and after the two days, he agreed. The funny thing is when we went back two days after the initial meeting; he requested to talk to me alone. We excused ourselves from my dad, and walked around the house. His words were exactly “listen, I don’t like you, but I respect your father and family. I know that all you punks in the states do drink and sleep with other women, but because of your dad, and the fact that my daughter agreed, I’ll approve this wedding, but rest assure that if you ever do something that will hurt my daughter, I will fly to the states, and shove a gun up your…and shot you”. I somehow never thought of his words and told him “don’t worry dad, I’ll be fine and your daughter will be fine”.

We had our small engagement party and it was fun. I never seen a more beautiful woman than her that night in my life. I was on top of the world, and don’t recall I was ever happier than that night. Then the time for departure came…..and that’s in the next chapter.

Finally...an arab american engineers organization

2006-11-26T12:55:00.000-08:00

AAAEA

Last night, as I was sitting down sipping my weekend night coffee, I got a call. It was from an engineer whom I knew some time ago. He is an arab civil engineer in southern USA. After a short chat, he described to me this organization for arab engineers in the USA. It’s called arab American association of engineers and architects. It’s head quarters are in Chicago. I got excited about the idea and told him to have them call me, for I’m very interested.

This morning, I got a call from a local computer science newly graduate arab engineer. She is local here, and works for a big firm. We chatted and I liked the idea so much. This coming Saturday, they are having a meeting in Indianapolis to initiate a local chapter.

To be honest with you, I was always looking to be active in my technical field, but with an ethnic touch. I always search for arabs, in every conference I go to, because I’d like to be always in contact with my likes. Well, I mean on the technical arena, not the weird bo3bo3 behavior. So yes, I’m excited for this.

For those who are interested check them out: http://www.aaaea.org/

I’m looking forward to it.

Chapter XXII. My parents

2006-11-15T15:34:00.000-08:00

Dad

My dad was born in 1939 to in Jordan. He started his career as an army soldier. The way this career started was when he was 18 years old, and doing great at school. Sometime in late fifties, the Jordanian army opened the door for recruits to join the military college. My dad rushed to the center, but it was too late as they closed the gates on any new candidates. Being a persistent teenager, he jumped over the fence, and eventually, was caught by the military police. They were to kick him out of the center, but he was making lots of noises, and refused to leave. He was beaten, and was pushed toward the gate. He then demanded to see the king. Of course, they laughed at him, and thought he was a crazy teenager. He kept screaming and demanding to see the king. Suddenly, the head of the camp heard this noise and came out to see what was going on. He asked my dad “and why do you want to see the king”. His answer was that he wanted to complain that those soldiers are preventing him from doing his duty. After few laughs from the soldiers, they allowed him to pursue the testing station, after explaining to him that king doesn’t live in the camp. Ultimately, he passed the tests, and proved to be a very good candidate.

He started the ranks in the military college in Jordan. He graduated there, and finished his masters, and was assigned to teach there. He was amongst the first year graduates from the college, and was sent to Egypt and then a year in sand hurst in England. Trips to Pakistan, Oman, and France then followed in the next 2 years. Then he met my mom (his cousin) and decided to start a family. Of course back then, it was different. My mom was only 16 when she married my father, who was 29 years old at that time.

Having a dad who spent all his career in the army gives you a first look witness account of what happened in Jordan in that troubled era. In the 1967 war, he was stationed in Nablus, and the orders came to withdraw as fast as possible. My mom was always making fun of my dad that he is being faster during withdrawal, than offensive move. So, he was a platoon leader there. His platoon was composed of around 30 tanks and vehicles. My dad decided to sit on top of the first tank since he knew the area very well, and wanted to speed up the withdrawal to protect his soldiers. The officers asked him to join him in their vehicle, but he declined. The column was withdrawing fast in a narrow route between Nablus and the bridge. Then suddenly, the israeli’s spotted the retreating column and pinned it down. They first shot the leading vehicle, to block the route for the remaining ones. The tank was hit directly, and my father flew off the tank, semi-unconscious. He laid there motionless, and in shock. The israeli’s then hit the last vehicle in the column, to pin all remaining vehicles in between. Then, they started killing Jordanian soldiers with machine guns and tank shells. It’s a little disturbing to see your soldiers die one after one, screaming for names of fellow comrades, and trying to fight back.. The driver of my dad’s regular vehicle was taking cover. He was a Christian Jordanian who knew dad very well of course. He saw my dad laying in blood, so he tried to rush to him. My dad waived to him not to do that and keep under cover. The driver refused, and rushed to my dad, who was lying by a tree, to help him out of the field. Then my dad saw a direct bullet hit the driver. This was very disturbing to my dad for he loved this guy so much.

At any rate, the israeli’s managed to kill all, more than 110 soldiers, but only two remained alive. Few Palestinian farmers saw what happened and after the battle was over, they came to help all who needed help. They spotted two alive soldiers, injured, and they hid them from the israeli’s. The news traveled to Jordan, and my mom was told that her husband-to-be was killed in action. My uncle worked in the medics for the army, and he confirmed that the whole battalion was destroyed. The Palestinian farmers managed to sneak the two soldiers back to Jordan, and again, my uncle drove home as fast as possible and said to the family “the son of the……is still alive”. Suddenly, sadness turned into happiness in a time where all news were very sad. This story is well documented amongst those who served in the Jordanian army, and amongst who served in 1967, so if you know one that served in 1967, ask him about that specific battalion, and share your sadness for the fallen heroes of that war.

In late 1968, the battle of karaama happened. My dad was stationed near “salt” city. The news came from the bridge that the israeli’s are gathering. The orders were “stay in positions”. The Israeli army moved in, and 12 jordanian soldiers were massacred. The Israeli troops circled around to meet by a valley near salt city. There was a Jordanian group of soldiers (around 20) on a hill, and they too got massacred. Till today, on that hill, there is a grave for one of the greatest heroes in that war. I can’t remember his name, but the grave is well marked. The Jordanian army communicated to the PLO fightrers that the israeli’s are advancing very fast toward their positions. They withdrew to karamah, and here, luck plays a favorable side with the PLO fighters. During their retreat to a specific area, there was an Israeli unit that was airborne to that same spot, by accident. The fighters hammered the unit, and killed most of it’s soldiers. The Jordanian artillery, where my father was stationed, decided to take action. They hammered the Israeli units who were gathering near salt city, and they pinned them very hard. Lots of heroic stories in that day. The israeli’s didn’t know what to do, and they too started retreating to the bridge. But the Jordanian artillery never stopped the pressure, and the israeli’s lost a lot of lives then. The orders came from amman to not to give up the fight, now the army commanders saw the taste of victory. The PLO fighters were then hammered by the israeli’s, and the Jordanian artillery intervened and lifted the pressure off of the PLO. In the end, the heroic decisions of the small units commanders were the decisive reason for such sweet victory. True that the leadership of the army was slow in reacting to the great advances of the Jordanian army, but in the end, all were in the same page.

Then came the 1970’s era. The PLO fighters were stationed everywhere in amman. Some atrocities were committed near salt city and “ajloun” by the fighters. Many disturbances were reported. That led to the late king Hussain, to issue his famous 10 points peace plan with the fighters. That fell apart too. The Jordanian soldiers, including my dad, hung bra’s on the guns of their tanks and artillery machines. That was a sig of distress within the army units. There was a fear within the army of a civil war inside the army itself. The army leadership demanded from the late king to put a stop to this, before the army splits into 2, and hell break loos,e in a nice way of course. I can’t remember, but was told that in 1970, my dad would come home bleeding where he just passed a security check point that belonged to the PFLP. They beat him up, made him undress of his army uniform, and urinated on it. He was a high ranking officer in the army, and a liked scholar at the military college back then. Heck, just before that incident, he graduated a man named “Muhammad saeed elbaady” from the UAE, who few years later became the commander of the armed forces in the UAE. During the same period, the Pakistani president, “daya alhaq” was also studying on the hands of my dad, before he became the Pakistani president.

The Jordanian army decided to move in, and they moved in swiftly against positions of the PLO fighters. When they retreated to “jarash”, my dad was the head of the artillery unit there, and was partnered with a man from the tribe of ‘alrousan” and another man from the sharkas ethnicity. Again, they received news that 3 farmers were massacred in their farm in the road leading from amman to jarash, by the PLO fighters. The orders then came to pursue the PLO fighters, and in jarash, the artillery units hit hard. In one interesting incident during the Jarash battle, there was a group of Jordanian civilians of Bani hasan (if I remember correctly) who were angered by the killing of the farmers, and they decided to move to jarash not knowing whats going on. The artillery shells fell on that group too. It was an ugly war fueled by anger and by the desire to capture on the opportunity and hit the PLO before they could regroup. In addition, news from the north were not good where they spotted Syrian tanks crossing the borders to irbid and ramtha, so the Jordanian army needed a win to increase the moral of the soldiers and continue pressure.

After the war ended, my dad retreated back to his house in zarqa. Few weeks later, 3 PLO fighters were hiding, and as soon as they saw my dad’s car pull in, they started shooting. The driver of the car was killed, and my dad escaped toward the house to get his rifle, not depending only on his gun. The PLO fighters pursued him, and they got a hold of him. As they demanded that he kneels on his knees so they can shoot him in the head, my mom was crying begging the fighters to let him live. I was 3 years old then, and can’t remember a thing. Luckily, one of the PLO fighters paused a little and demanded that they throw my mom and me into a room and not to let us watch them kill my father. A Jordanian soldiers was watching whats happening from the rooftop of a close by house. He must have called for help from any soldier who was nearby. Bullets started hitting our house, and they managed to shoot one of the fighters, and my dad quickly rushed to his gun and started shooting, inside the house. The remaining two fighters were killed, and until today, a bullet scar in my dad’s left foot, as well the bullet ridilled home is still a witness and a reminder for my dad. He refused to rent the home out, and refused to cover the bullet holes.

In 1974, Muhammad saedd albaady phoned my dad and offered him to come to the UAE and train the artillery. He followed that option, and went to the UAE. Well known officers like “ereikaat” and “ka’abneh” followed a year later. That’s when my life in the UAE started. Again, he was in the armed forces, and he was the second in command in the UAE artillery forces, after “Muhammad sa’eed suhail”. We lived in the city of al-ain, naturally, because that’s where the armed forces camps are located by the mountain of hefeet.

Looking back at the circumstances where I grew made me wonder. I grew up away from my father, or in fact, he lived away from us. I got to spend time with him only in the UAE away from the pressure of wars and civil disturbances. He was a tough man, and I think still is. Tough enough that I am not daring to smoke cigarettes in front of him, now that I’m 37 years old.

Mom
My mom was born in 1951, and she was my dad’s cousin. Her mother was a Lebanese. Somehow, her father and mother got to know each others, and decided to marry. By the age of 16, she married my father. This was common, to have a 29 years old man marrying a 16 years old girl. At the age of 18, she gave birth to me, and was forced to live in an era where she had to grow fast and adapt to the situation quickly. Stories like how she walked 4 KM from our home toward an army camp in zarqa city to get water during the civil war. I may not have lots of stories about mom to share, but I’ll try and list some.

She was a quiet woman who was heavily dependent on my father for leading the ship. She is a sweet, and very forgiving. Although back in her times, she was dragged to the mini skirt and the funky looking hair style, but she managed to become more conservative down the road. As usual, she had to breast feed me, and I seem not to have enough. I was jumping on every woman who visited us to feed, and that embarrassed my mom. She was tiny, and didn’t have enough milk, I guess. So I had to look for other “sources”, and my guess, is that I can not marry any girl who grew in our street, for chances are she is my sister via nursing.

Just like my father, she was also a sharp shooter. He was good with guns, and she was good with shoes. I was a bad boy in my early age, and mothers had only one weapon, the shoe they wear. So I remember that I did something bad one day, and ran away from mom. There is a stair that leads from the house down to the street. I was running, and looking back at mom, who was holding her shoe, and she looked like as an army engineer calculating the wind speed and the angle. Suddenly, I saw the shoe flies from her hand, I looked forward and ran faster, but was hit with a direct hit on my head. I was probably 5 years old then. Ouch, it was a painful one.

One time, I stole my dad’s gun, and was chasing my little sister. I was six, and she was 2. I pulled on the trigger so hard, but the gun just didn’t go off. My dad’s gun never had a safety on, because of the era of that time. My mom saw this, and she quickly jumped on me, and put the gun away. All I could remember that day are two things: one is that my sister was lucky that day, and two is that I was beaten so bad that I think I have witnessed all means of torture that the british army left in Jordan. Thinking about gives me the chills now.

Since I love food, which is not a surprise by now, I used to hang around my mother in the kitchen. I learned how to cook at an early age, and became my brothers and sisters “keeper”. Every school morning, I would get up, make milk, and tea, then make breakfast for my brothers and sisters, before they get up to school. The dinner was always made by my mom and I together. One time I really cried so hard, is when I left to the USA, and my mom told me that since my departure, my brothers and sisters are not eating breakfast, in the same fun way when I was there. I missed those days. Oh well, time moves fast anyway.

In times where we anger our dad, and he starts yelling on us, or physically beating us, she would stand in the middle, and she gets beaten too, and my dad demands that she moves, and she refuses at all, absorbing all the beating. But back then, married couples easily get over such incidents and they start smiling together as if nothing happened.

Making my happy was very easy. All she wanted are good grades for us, and to see us building our own lives. Yet, small things seem to leave good impressions on her face. I one time bought her a cheap ring, was about 20 dollars, and in my first year in the states. I sent it to her with a friend, and until today, that’s her favorite ring. She knows it’s cheap, but she loved anything that her kids buy her.

She is a simple woman, who, at her age, doesn’t know lots of things out there. It’s funny to hear both my parents talk about politics, especially concerning the Palestinian issue. She feels that Hamas is the long waited salaheddin, and of course my dad thinks any PLO or Palestinian leadership, are different faces for the same coin, and that all are corrupt and a curse on the Palestinian people. Or when my dad gets in the kitchen and my moms begs him to get out. Oh well, age does get to you after a while.

Chapter XXI. The Canadian maple tree

2006-11-14T15:31:00.000-08:00

One cold late fall morning (could’ve been middle December) , sometime in 2004, I left my house around 7:30 am to go to work. It was snowing that day, not a whole lot, but probably an inch or two have already accumulated on the ground. So I drove my very short drive, a 1.2 miles, from home to work. I parked my car in the employee parking lot, and walked out of the car. As I was slowly walking toward the entrance, I noticed a tree. It was a Canadian maple tree. It looked so beautiful, so colorful, and so big. I smiled at such tree, as I learned to remember the almighty God whenever I see his beautiful creation. I could see colors like red and orange, and many other fascinating colors. As I walked beside the tree, I stopped for few seconds to fascinate my eyes with such view. Then I walked toward the entrance and got to my disk.

Like many of us show off engineers, we spend 30 minutes in the morning sipping coffee and yack about last night’s sports events. I remember that it was a basketball game talk, which I’m not that into anyway. The reason I remember that, is because as I was waiting my turn to get to the coffee station, there were two ladies who were getting coffee. Typically, and out of courtesy, we would pour our coffee in the cup, and move over to the “sugar and cream” station, about 5 feet away on the bench. The two (they were HR “people”) poured their coffee, and simply took control of the coffee station and instead of moving over to the sugar/cream station, they started bringing sugar and cream to the coffee filling area. It was frustrating for me, and few other guys. Maybe because I had a negative encounter with one of the ladies in a previous day, I don’t know. And for those who would typically jump on me at this time screaming in my face “you are an anti-feminist”, I say, chill my friends, you’d need bigger material for your arguments against my views toward women. So finally, I managed to get my coffee and go back to my office.

It was about 8:10 am by now, and I started sipping coffee. Then suddenly, and as I was looking at my calendar to chick for today’s tasks, the vision of the tree popped in my head. This is December, and yet, there is a tree that has leaves on? I started asking myself. I quickly walked out toward the parking lot, and stood in front of the tree. I looked around at all the trees, and all had no leaves. But this one….still has leaves, and very colorful and beautiful. I just couldn’t believe it. There were lots of tree around our chemical plant, and all were without leaves. Something weird about this tree. I loved it beyond belief. It stood the test of harsh weather, and snow, and still held on to it’s leaves. That tree reminded me of patience, love, commitment, and withstanding the harsh nature. But the one important thing that popped real good in my head, was..simply, my home, Jordan.

I walked back to my office, and started thinking about Jordan. So much for a productive day at work, for whenever I get into this mode, I simply produce zero. And as usual, before those who are waiting to lynch me for any simple mistake I may commit, I need to remind them that I used to put between 55 and more hours every week, and even on weekends too. Yet, I only get paid for 40 hours since I’m a salaried employee, so again, chill my friends (yep, I am beginning to sound defensive a lot these days, thanks to the very few). So I spent the day reflecting on Jordan.

Somehow, I felt that the tree represented my home, Jordan, and it also reflected my sadness of homesickness that haunts me regularly. To me, this tree is Jordan, holding on to it’s people, beloved sons and daughters, for as long as it could. Or maybe those leaves are the people of Jordan holding on so tight to their mother tree, withstanding snow and rain, not wishing to let go. I feel it’s mutual love between the leaves and the mother tree. It tries to make them beautiful, so colorful. It spreads them out so each can get a share of sun and light. It cries whenever a leaf drops or flies away. It never let go, unless, the leaf simply decides to go away.

And the leaves, they make the mother tree so beautiful. They feed such beautiful tree. They protect it and they make it grow. They try as hard as possible to hold on. But when the time comes, and the leaves fall on the ground, and if you can look at the two, you probably would realize how sad this scenery is. Leaves under mother tree on the ground, refusing to go away, even when they were detached from home. A naked, and maybe ugly, tree, that is looking down for it’s leaves seeking an answer for what have happened.

I was born in Jordan and had to leave home and went to UAE when I was 7 years old. From that exact day, till today, I have been in Jordan for a total of less than 2 years. I am 37 years old now, and if you do the math, you’ll realize that I spent 24 days a year, on average, in my homeland. I never got to taste what homeland means. Sure I loved the UAE, and had my best years (11 years) there, but it wasn’t home. Sure I spent 19 years in the states, but still, I can’t feel that it’s home. But when I went back to Jordan in 1997, I felt of a pleasure I never felt before. I tasted what it looked like to be in a place that you call “home”. People like me (not as weird as me), and language like mine. Ethics closer to mine, and culture that is truly mine.

I sometimes wonder why can’t leaves stick to mother tree, and never depart. I’m sure life would taste different for both. Some may argue with me, and they have a valid argument, that the departure of leaves in realty, represents death, and the need of new generations to carry on and protect, love, and belong to the same mother tree that will always be there. I recognize that, and I do agree. But to me, and at that moment, the connection just happened, and regardless if it was a weak connection, but it was a one that made me feel good, and sad.

Every summer, and upon hearing the news of uncle so and so are coming from Saudi Arabia, or aunt so is coming from milano, every story like that, stirs anger and sadness in me. Every summer, when amman’s streets become congested by foreigners, and inhabitance alike, I start wondering as when my time will come and be a part of such gathering. Every time me and my wife go to greet someone who just came back from amman, I get into an argument with my wife for I never want to go. Yet, she wins the argument all the times (did I mention that my wife is from Nablus?). Every time I taste a pastry that just came from amman, I get into my pre-determined isolation mode. Why do I have to suffer?
I am a strong man, and went through many hardships, just like all men and women in the world. I do have a great control on the way I express my emotions. I cry a lot, but always internally, not allowing others to sense my tears. Call it male ego, or what have you, but every man knows what I’m talking about. Yet, I am yet to control the flow of tears upon hearing the words of God, or upon remembering home. No comparison between the two of course, for the words of God are far superior to any emotional effect of any other thing. I am dead serious, that I have a weakness of controlling my tears in those situations. Oh well, every man has a weakness, and to make myself feel better, I did see a man cries when he saw the movie “Philadelphia”.

So here I am, yet another summer passed, while I spend it in the good old US of A. Living a haunted summer where I have dreams of being in mecca street, by “abu jbaara” famous falafel stand. Or sitting on a chair in a coffee shop listening to great music, and the voices of happy, and angry, Jordanians discussing politics and how Italy should have won world cup this year. Or maybe walking by the busy street (forgot the name) where there is a small old mall, or shopping center composed of 4 floors, and by a famous shawarma restaurant. God I wish I can remember the name of that street. It’s sad when you can’t even remember common street names of home. Or the constant nightmare that I keep getting at least once every month, where I’m sitting down on my favorite spot in tabarboor, overlooking a couple of military camps, and on occasions, seeing shepherds with their sheep roaming the beautiful desert of Jordan. Oh well, they say no pain, no gain, and sometimes, the more painful it is, the more sweet it will be upon the long awaited meeting time.

Part XX. Dude, you have an accent

2006-11-12T13:27:00.000-08:00

Being a foreigner, it was automatically that I’ll have some kind of heavy accent. You could tell who is an arab and who is an Indian or from any other parts of the world. That causes some kind of fear of being in front of an audience, even if that was in the supermarket. Hence, every student was faced with this fear, and every student was faced with a situation where he or she had to speak to an audience, in English.

The first time I had to speak to an audience, I made a mess. It was in my social science class, where my teacher asked me to stand up and talk about my paper. Well, I knew I was in trouble when I said “yes sir” and she quickly laughed with the class and told me “you mean yes ma’am”. Boy, this was not going to be a good day. I started talking, and I could tell that many people didn’t understand what the heck I was talking about. I could see the looks on their faces trying hard to make sense of what I’m saying. I slowed down a little, and I now sound like one of those arabs on CNN trying to express their opinion about an issue.

I was shy and tried as much as possible to avoid my public interaction in class. One day, my history teacher told me to work hard on my speech abilities for my English not only sucked in writing, but also in oral presentation. I was saddened by those coments for I thought all those teenage years listening to zeppelin and Michael Jackson should have helped me mastering the English language. Well, they didn’t. Class after class, I started to understand my difficulties in the language.

Then came my time where I had to present my graduation project to representative of 2 companies and an audience of students. Oh my God, what a bad experience that was. I kept my voice down, a natural reaction to the lack of self confidence in my ability to speak the language. I relied on the slides to express my views, but my advisor kept alerting me to use the face to face communication and stop relying on reading directly from slides.

In my masters thesis defense, I had other types of problems, but somehow related to the language. The teachers were grilling me harshly on my findings, and they were not happy with my conclusions. My advisor was an Iranian who was anything but supportive. I felt strong about my conclusions, but they were hammering me on them. The fact that the findings don’t fall in the current chemical industry environment of management, gave them a tool to ask harsh questions. 3 hours later, most were convinced that it could work in the chemical industry. You see, I was proposing using a japaneese manufacturing management technique, to be used in the chemical industry. It’s related the use of kanbans and kaizens, a batch type process operational techniques, in a chemical environment that relies heavily on continuous processes. The representative of the company that I was working on as the model of experiment was happy and seemed to be very excited about the idea. The teachers were not. Eventually, I got out of it with the least damages.

During my work years, I started to write technical papers and present them in front of scientific audience. The audience is different this time. They are people from the industry and they know exactly what you are talking about. They came to hear your ideas, because they know so much about them, and they will ask you every detail question, to squeeze as much information as possible. I had to do something about my lack of self confidence in my English language. Well, I heard one time on a show that the best way to escape such fear, is by pretending that the audience is full of naked people. Crazy? Strange? I know. I tried it, and it had two different effect on me, depending on who was asking me the questions. So I needed something else.

I spoke to my manager at work about my fears. He told me that I should feel better than anyone in the audience, because I’m able to speak two different languages, English and Arabic. That helped me a lot. I felt that I was indeed better than them. I’m trying to express my ideas in a language that is not my mother language. Let’s see if they could do that in a language that is not English. So yes, I finally was able to overcome such fear, and today, I speak in front of audience on monthly basis.

The one thing I could not overcome, is spelling. It got me in trouble many times. One day, my wife was traveling to Jordan. It’s been 6 weeks then since I saw her. I wrote a report, and sent it to so many people in the company. The report goes like “Sex phenomena’s were recorded…”. It was supposed to be “six” instead of sex. So, few minutes later, emails started hitting me back with mockery and fun. They were teasing me, but was funny too. Some replies were like ‘seems your wife’s departure is affecting you” with a nice smile in the end. Until today, I owe so much to Microsoft spell checker, and without Bill gates, I would’ve probably landed a job cleaning bathrooms in a train station.

So yes, all students, and foreigners, do face such dilemma when it comes to expressing their views in English. I see many Indians, and many eastern Europeans struggling with the language. It’s difficult on us foreigners, because we fear that we make a mistake, in front of everyone. But I think if we look at it’s positive, it will be easier cookie to handle.

Part XIX. The life of a student

2006-11-11T06:33:00.000-08:00

Depending on where you end up, your life as a student will differ from a place to another. Even in a place like America, such life will also be different from one person to another. Mine probably was very similar to many who came from the same background I came from.

There were three types student lives in my opinion. One represented those who came from a rich family, where they owned cars and nice apartments in downtown. Another is those poor students who dad sold his land to be able to send his son/daughter to study abroad. And the typical one is that of those who simply worked and studied on their own.

When I set foot in America, I had a decent support from my family. Lets just say that I didn’t have to work, but still, was living a simple life. But the environment I came to contained students who were working 50 hours, and studying. I was a little odd amongst them. And as peer pressure grew, I started following their life style.

We were four student living in one apartment that was located on top of a gay bar. All three were always at work, but I was alone in the apartment. That was ok anyway. It gave me the excuse to just walk in the street and know America. This life didn’t last too long of course as my dad was pushing me toward living in the dorm. So 4 months after I came to America, I moved to the dorm.

My life in the dorm was an interesting one that didn’t last too long. I now live in a building that contained boys and girls. The smell of alcohol was pretty strong. It was normal to see a boy and a girl expressing love in front of others. Again, I came from a society that didn’t have such views in public. Of course that also made me go crazy for such view that must have felt good for them, but for me as I was shy of girls.

I moved out of the dorm, against my dad’s will, and lived with another student who came from Kuwait. He was Palestinian. We were both not studying like students. This is was my first encounter with drugs “marijuana”. He would light one and smoke it while I watched him. It smelled pretty bad. I came so close to trying it, but pulled back very quickly. This was something I didn’t want to do, and luckily, never did in my entire life. Instead, I relied on alcohol to enjoy myself. I eventually moved out when he stole some money from me.

I then hooked up with 2 palestinians, and a Jordanian living in an apartment. It was 2 bedrooms. This was probably the best roommates I ever had, and this lasted for almost a year. They were poor, simple, and did study. The two Palestinian muslims were drinkers, yet, the Christian Jordanian was not. So we were 3 muslims and a Christian. It was an interesting life I think. We had lots of fun as a group. We cooked meals like home, and we took cloths to the laundry place just like families. Our group grew bigger as we started connecting with others like our own “kind”. On weekends, we would gather, almost 10 of us, and get in one of the apartments, and cook big meal. Try to visualize this with me. On one weekend, we decided to cook a “magloobah”. So we got the chicken, the rice and the needed vegetables. We prepared the ingredients and fried the vegetables as well as the chicken, then got one of those big cooking pots, and simply cooked. It smelled good. When the meal was done, it was time to flip the pot upside down on a big dish. We discovered that we don’t have a big dish. So, the only option was to simply take the food directly from the pot. But we wanted it to be a truly “magloobah” and that means it has to be flipped on a big pan. That’s when the engineering minds started to think. So, we got a roll of aluminum foil, and as you know, it is about 40 cm wide rolls or that sort. We cut pieces, laid them next to each other, connected the sheets, and now we have an aluminum foil sheet that is about 1 by 1 meters. We flipped the pot on this sheet, and simply gathered around and started eating.

Cooking was a quiet experience for us. Strange meals started to appear, depending on what was available. We cooked on weekends, while dined out on weekdays. I remember the time when I tried to cook pasta. I placed the pasta in cold water, and started cooking. But the pasta was almost melting, and the color was changing. A quick call to mom and I knew that I made a mistake. Or the time when we tried to make stuffed cabbage. The cabbage wouldn’t hold on, and the rice was going allover the pot. We ended up eating something that tasted like stuffed cabbage, but didn’t quiet look like one. Heck, we even did a whole roasted lamb that really came out pretty good. So that helped me to enjoy cooking, as well as eating. I had to learn how to cook. Or else, I would melt in the hamburger world, which becomes boring after few weeks.

I didn’t know how to drive, so one of my friends showed me how to drive. He had a stick shift car. It all started when he wanted to sell it, so I bought it for $300. Now I have a car, but don’t know how to drive. It was a 1976 Honda civic, which meant that it was 15 years old. So I learned how to drive, finally, and after 3 trials, I got my drivers license. It was my beautiful car, although one light was only working, and 3 months later, the first gear was broken, so I had to start on the second gear. Still, I enjoyed driving it, and did put up with flippers flying toward me from the passing cars. It broke on me a year later, but do have good memories in that car. My second car was a trans-am that looked like the knight rider car. That only lasted less than a year after I made the mistake of letting friends to borrow it. I went through other cars that last for few months, and so on.

Then there are those bad times, where I was hurt pretty bad financially. Days when I gather coins and go to the corner supermarket and buy a can of corned beef for $2 and a loaf of bread for a dollar. That would last me all day. Or when I was beaten pretty bad when I was walking from school toward the bus station at 8 pm in a snowy night. Although I gave them my money and watch, still, those bastard enjoyed beating me up. A scar that is under my chin is still a reminder for that night.

It was very difficult to obtain good friends in America, especially amongst students. There is a hefty price to pay to be able to screen good friends from bad ones. Some stole from others, and some snitched on others to immigration or to teachers. But it was the price to pay. One day, I lend a friend some money, not much, but it was a good amount. He promised to pay me back in 2 weeks once he gets paid. Well, 2 weeks go bye, and others follow, and I never seen the money. I then was in a very bad financial situation where I seriously didn’t have money to eat. We couldn’t get credit cards back then as students. So I was with friends in this Arabic social club. I managed to get a free cup of tea there when one of my friends offered me one. Of course no one knew I didn’t have not one cent in my pocket, nor the bank account. Then this friend shows up, and I felt relief that finally, I’ll dine in a restaurant tonight. I approached him, and he told me that he didn’t have any money yet. I went back feeling depressed that how can I be that poor, and I used to live in a fancy life in the UAE. I borrowed, and this was the first time I ever borrow money, from a friend of mine. Eventually, some friends knew of this, and they were angry at that guy. They then took me to show me how he was spending some time with his girlfriend in a restaurant. I rushed there, and saw him. I went to his table, and was really angry. He knew what was going on, and he quickly said “hey dude, I was looking fro you, I have your money now”. He was scared because he saw two guys with me, and he saw me very angry. That’s when I did something stupid. I told him that I didn’t need the money anyway, and he can keep it, but I wanted something else, and will get it. I knocked him off his chair, and swore to him that I’ll take his girl from him, while she was looking at me with a scared look. My friends rushed me out of the restaurant before the owner catches us. At any rate, he managed few weeks later to beat me up when I was caught alone. He was a big guy, and I was always tiny, and one on one, he would beat me up easily, and he did.

Bad decisions are a constant haunting for students in America. I came close to death twice in my life. Opps, let me change that to three please. I was working one day in a store, and this dude comes in, with a knife and demands the money. I hated the store owner, and wanted to give all the money for the guy. But my pride and foolishness was overwhelming. The guy comes around the counter, and sticks a knife on my back, that was sharp enough to hurt. He didn’t stab me, but just held the knife too tight on me. I tell you, this was scary for me. Maybe it wasn’t close to death, but to me, this was the first time I felt like that. Anyway, and after I opened the register for him, he knocked me on the floor, and stepped on my back threatening not to move, while he took the money. The second time was when I bought a gun. Don’t ask me why, it was just a cool thing. So I got the gun, and went to the basement of the house we were living in, and placed a can of Pepsi, then stood few feet away, and shot the gun. It felt good, but I missed the can of pop, even from such short distance. I tried again, and managed to hit the can. It felt good, so I started shooting my little 380 gun (it was small) until I heard a noise right next to my ear. It felt strange and felt like the sound of bullets in a western movie, but this was very close. Then I felt a little pain on my right ear. I go upstairs and see little bruise on my right ear. It was very red, and seems that the bullet slightly hit my ear. That’s when I knew I was so stupid to try a gun in a basement. The third one was when I was working the night shift and had to take pills that kept me awake. Then I felt nausea and fell down. The owner took me to the hospital, and discovered that the pills that I was taking were causing irregularity in the blood flow from the heart.

I can describe the life of a student in more details, but it will take so many pages to show what students go through. I saw many friends go through harsh times, and I wish I can talk about them, but can’t for their own privacy.

Part XVIII My dad and I

2006-11-06T16:15:00.000-08:00

I know I know….smoking is a bad habit, but this is how it started. The strongest encounter with my dad was around smoking of course. When I was 16 years old, I started smoking, only to impress girls and fit in with the kids I wanted to fit in with. So I gave in to pressure and started my journey with Marlboro lights. The way we would walk in the park, with cigarettes hanging out of our mouths, and walking by the girls was a quiet experience. They liked it for it was a cool thing back then. A kid who smoked was a tough wise kid that feared nothing. I guess when you gamble with being caught smoking by dad or mom was indeed a fearful thing. So yes, I was the wise guy..or should I say the wise kid amongst a group of “cool kids”. That worked nice so the girls were impressed and you could hear their giggles as soon as we walked by, out of their “impressed” status. Yes, they were impressed by our group.

However, the price of being the “cool kid” was hefty. My dad was known to be a “gunaholic”. In addition, I hated the shoes that the army was issuing to them. I mean it hurts for crying out loud. Oh well…my coolness was about to take a toll on me. So I was walking like a rooster amongst the hens, and the cigarette was hanging out of my mouth as if I was Clint eastwood saying “hey punk, are you feeling lucky today?” or maybe Robert Dinero and his famous line “hey you…are you talking to me?”. Then suddenly, I saw a friend of my father who was walking the opposite direction, and he saw me smoking. I started remembering the shoes that my father wears, and started praying that he doesn’t tell my father about what he just saw. I quiet frankly saw my life in front of me, right there, and felt that My god was punishing me for the past 10 minutes when I was flirting with my chemistry’s teacher who was the most beautiful woman I saw, up to that time of course. I guess God is watching me and the time has come for punishment. Still, I had a slight glimpse of hope that either this guy didn’t see me, or he may have felt petty and not told my father.

So I go home shaken as if I was hit by a lightening. Dad was asking me “are you ok?” and I answered him yeah sure dad..everything is fine. Now, my dad is the kind of father that wasn’t rough on me, and the last time he laid a hand on me was when I was about 13 years old when I cursed God in front of him, after he cursed God. He slapped me on my face that I felt my head turned around few turns. When I questioned him for why he hit me, he yelled and said I only curse God in this house, not anyone else” Of course I wasn’t convinced, but it’s ok, he is a changed man now and went to haj a couple of time. So anyway, few days later, I was walking home after a soccer game (we called it football of course) and as I walked in the house, is saw my mom shivering and telling me to get out of the house. I panicked and got scared. Then I see my dad screaming at me from the hallway and cursing me with every bad words that you could think of. Then he goes to his room, and I see him coming out with his favorite UAE army issued gun, and he runs toward me. I ran out as soon as I could, and was still running in the street. I looked back and saw my dad with his gun running after me. Now this is a funny seen, but I guarantee to you, I almost peed my pants that day. He was screaming at me saying he was going to shove the gun up my…ummm..well..you get the story anyway. I ran to the mosque, and stayed there. He was not around. He must have gone back to the house. Still, I was in no way to go back home like this. I know my father, and he is..well, was a crazy man, specially with a gun in his hand.

I called my uncle and begged him to do something about it for I was about to lose my life for a damn cigarette. Just around 10 or maybe 11 pm, my uncle comes to the mosque and picks me up. I got in the car with him after he assured me that he calmed my dad down and he was not going to shoot me. He was laughing when he said that, but I wasn’t. So I walk into the house, and I see my dad so angry screaming at me why would I smoke. I just didn’t answer. I couldn’t anyway even if I tried to. Then he gets up, as I was turning around to go to my room, and I feel this big painful kick on my behind. Quickly, I knew that my father feared army issued shoe has struck my behind. It was so painful that makes the pain of hemorrhoid looks like a vacation from pain. Ouch…it was a very painful one. Oh well, at least it felt better than a bullet into my behind.

15 years later, I asked my dad “hey dad, were you really going to shoot me that day?”. He paused..and said “well, you were bad that day” and that’s when the thought of my father being a crazy man was assured in my mind. He would’ve done it, maybe shooting my leg, I don’t know. All I know is that I’m 37 years old now, and until today, I can never smoke in front of my father. He smells me, and he knows I smoke, and he told me one day to go ahead and smoke, but no way, I’m serious, I can never smoke in front of my dad. But this is for another reason of course. He gave up smoking when I was 13 years old for us as I found out later. I respect him so much that I just can’t break his heart and have him see me smoking, even if he felt I was smoking. Beside, the shoe mark on my behind is still showing. Ok, fine, I was exaggerating a little about the shoe mark but I respect him that I just don’t see myself lighting a cigarette in front of him.

Today, and in my own home, and as my parents are visiting me in the states, I sneak upstairs to the master bath, and open the window, and turn on the venting fan, and smoke my cigarette. Could’ve been an army shoe trauma, I don’t know, but this is what’s happening.

Girls were another reason that got me in trouble with my dad. There was this girl, and she was my age, 17 years old back then. I didn’t like her at all for I was in love with another girls. So at any rate, she calls my house, and speaks to my oldest sister begging her to have me call her. My sister would tell her to forget about it. So few days later, I see this girl coming to my house, with two guys, whom I found out later to be her dad and uncle. So they walk in, introduced themselves and sat. My dad didn’t know what was going on, but I got a clue. So I went back to my room thinking of what these guys want? Then my dad calls me, and that’s when I saw my life again in front of. I walked in the room, and he told me to sit down. Then the girl claimed that I was bothering her over the phone and was flirting with her. Of course I denied strongly, but my dad was yelling at me to shut up and not to raise my voice in the room. So the girl and her dad went on and on about this story of theirs. Luckily, my dad asked “what have you got to say about this?” I said “ask my sister and she will tell you who was bugging who, and beside, I would never flirt with a girl, that is the girlfriend of my friend” Now, keep in mind that “girlfriend” is different than the today’s common term. That’s when the girl started crying, and my dad yelling and I’m screaming “ask my sister, she called our home two days ago dad, and I refused to talk to her” Before they could ask my sister, the visitors decided to walk outside the house, and I could tell that I have won my first battle, but still, could see the flames coming out of my fathers eyes. He asked me later to be honest with him, and I swore to him that she was the one was bugging our house.

Or the time when my sister decided to go out with her friends, wearing a skirt that was above the knees, and a shirt that was too tight. I behaved like the man of the house and demanded that she changes into a more decent outfit. Then my dad comes running, and pushing me outside her room telling me “when I die, you decide what she wears, but today, she is going out like this, take it or leave it”. Of course I took it. He trusted my sisters so much for he knew what kind of girls they are. He always believed in giving them the freedom they wished for, but within the honor of the family, and they proved to be up for the task. Heck, if you think I was tough, wait till I start talking about my sisters and what they did to guys who tried to flirt with them. Maybe in another chapter.

Although I had a strong relationship with my dad (believe me I did), he managed to make me run outside the home for few hours on few occasions. Like the time when I stole his car when he was a sleep for test drive, and instead of putting the gear on reverse, it was on first, and hit the house. I didn’t even get it outside the parking garage. I ran away quickly anyway, and came back later.

Nevertheless, he had lots of positive effect on me. He trusted me, even when I was 17 and a half years old when he threw me in abu-dhabi airport to travel to America. He knew I was responsible in the house, and when he left for extended time, he would tell the whole house that I am the man now. Even today, I look up to him, and he trusts me very nicely. Sure he was tough, but I tell you, what he did to his country and his family by far surpasses any negatives he may have. Funny I’m writing these words, and my dad is sitting in the end of the room watching aljazeera TV. I would smile while writing these words, and taking a quick look at my dad’s face, and remember the “good old day”. So if you’ll execuse me for now, I need to sneak upstairs to the bathroom so I can smoke a cigarette and come back to start working on my next chapter.

Chapters from an Immigrant's life, Part XVII. Bad boy nerd

2006-11-01T18:32:00.000-08:00

Ok..some may think that I am a nerd, or a geek. Sometimes I wish I was, and sometimes I thank God that I’m not. I was pretty smart during highs cool, except , the last 6 months in my senior year in UAE. I used to be in the lead in all my subjects, except Arabic and Islamic religion classes. I was caught cheating in an exam in the Islamic religion class, and I barely passed those two subjects. Of course I never studied chemistry before the exam as I was ok in this subject. Got in trouble few times and had to bring my father to school to bail me out. I was responsible of firing our chemistry high school teacher by inserting adult rated videos in his office, and reported him to the administration. Needless to say I was the one who used to tie the garbage canisters to our physics teacher and was the one who inflated the tires of the car of our religion teacher. I hope they are not reading this of course.

During my first year in the states, I was a smart student and surprisingly, got A’s in my classes. One class I remember was the “jaz’ course, where I would walk through the disks in the final and cheat off the other students. I never studied jaz and never liked it. But later, I fell in love with Luis Armstrong and …whats the guys name that composed “sketches of spain”. Oh well, I forgot him, but did like Jaz because of those two composers. I did good in my social studies course and wrote a paper that is still in the library at the college I was going to.

I of course performed very well in my chemistry class that my teacher was making me grade the other students homework and papers. The guy was a womanizer, and maybe that’s how I became one. He loved his female students, and I did too. I even fell in love with my qualitative analysis chemistry teacher, although she was married, but I just loved her. So yes I was a good student…but not to the level of being nerd.

Now, being a trouble maker my life, I did things that will guarantee that I will never enter the hall of fame of nerds. There was a challenge one day. The word “challenge” is my weak spot as I always say “I’m in” before even hearing what the challenge may be. At any way, I lost the bet, and now I had to pay the price of my gamble. The punishment was to run butt naked from the college of engineering, all the way to the BA college. This is about 300 feet only. At 3 am exactly, 2 guys and myself stripped down inside the college of engineering, and ran out of the door to run to the BA college. To our surprise, there were other students who were informed of the run, and were waiting to see or take pictures. As soon as I ran through the door, I saw people screaming and laughing at us. Boys and girls, heck even a homeless man chased us on the street whistling at us. I just wanted to get to the BA college and put on my cloths again. Finally I got there, only to find the campus police waiting for us there. This is not a good day for me I whispered to myself. Anyway, we got in trouble and given warning.

In my organic chemistry I class, there were more than 100 students, and as usual, probably two thirds were girls. So, I and a group of arab students (we were 4 total) made up signs with numbers from 0 to 10, and sat outside the door. Every girl student going in, was rated as we raised those banners with numbers. Sometimes we get “screw u ### hole, what a jerk” and sometimes we get “you guys are cool”. One time I was slapped with a purse by this gorgeous girl, but I didn’t care, it was well worth it. It’s not like I was sleeping with those girls, no way, but it was meant for fun by flirting with them innocently (turned violently in the case of flying purse of course)

The best story that I remember was in organic chemistry lab. The experiment was extraction caffeine from tea. I did the experimenst and it was great. I then wrote the lab report, only I missed the word “caffeine” and spelled instead as “caffeine). I got 8/10 of course because every wrong answer will also subtract one of the correct ones. I was angry, and argued with the teacher screaming that of course I meant caffeine. He never gave in, and as usual, I lost the battle.

In my physics lab, I did wonders. Pointing the laser at the teachers back, and put gum on a Chinese student chair (he was way too smart and that troubled me). In the chemistry lab, I was able to make a quick reaction to produce HS gas. Hs gas is the bad smell from sewer. I did it easily (very basic reaction) and quickly dispersed the vial on the lab bench away from mine. The teacher smelled it and the whole class was almost puking. Of course they never knew who did it, but I tell you, I almost puked with the class. It was fun though. In my transport phenomena chemical engineering class, there was a student who was sleeping in the class. Then suddenly, he farted, and the whole class started laughing. But there was this vietnamees student who I never liked anyway, and he was laughing loudly. I cashed on the opportunity and started yelling at him to shut up so I can concentrate on the class material. I just wanted to pick a fight with the guy. He cursed at me in class, and the teacher was sitting down doing nothing. I got up, went straight to him and pushed him with my right foot off his chair till he fell. I was expecting the teacher to kick me out, but he was busy laughing at the whole thing. He started screaming like a cat and I sat back down while the class was clapping their hand for what I did, they hated him too.

Of course I was not that nice all the time. I was once given a B for a class that I knew I deserved an A, and the exams proved it, yet the teacher (Turkish female) didn’t like me and still gave me a B. I complained of course and pursued her for a year till she was kicked out of the chemical engineering department. I miss those days where I stayed in the lounge at school for 4 days sleeping there and eating pizza. I miss my fights with the chair of the department who was racist against arabs. I missed the time when I was helping this knock out girl in my class hoping to get her to hang out with me, and when she didn’t, I neglected her in the final where she flunked the class. Or the time when I fought with a Chinese TA for my “heat transfere” class and he kicked my ass of course. Or when I stole the “American history final exam” from the teachers office, made copies, and helped others ace the test.

I missed all those moments. I look back and would love to bring them days back, for really I was a good student, but with bad behavior. I wasn’t alone of course, many others were like that, and I seemed to go with the flow. School years were my best years and so many stories that I went through but lack the time and space to write about them.

Chapters from an Immigrant's life, Part XVI. Career Path

2006-10-31T22:16:00.000-08:00

In 1997, I finished my Bsc degree in chemical engineering and decided that this is what I’m going to do for the rest of my life. It took me a while to land a job, and I started at $10/hr working part time. Eventually, I got the full time position. My first job was as a research assistant at a big company. I was eager to learn more and more trying to impress my manager as well as expand my knowledge. I jumped from a lab to another, and that helped me greatly. In 2000, there was the first layoff that hit the company and they laid off many engineers and scientists. I survived this wave due to the fact that I was versatile enough to fit in any position or field, so it did pay back.

I had a colleague who believed in me, and I needed someone to do so. I needed the support, any way I can get it. He persuaded me to start publishing. My first publication was actually a midterm paper in one of my elective classes that the college of arts decided to place it in the library, after having me edit it further, specifically, in the English language and grammar. I had (and am still having) rough time with control on the English language. But my first real publication was in 1999, and was my masters thesis. It was presented in a conference called “PICMET” that took place in Oregon, USA. It was about a japaneese operation management technique that I thought could be implemented in the chemical industry. I had rough time presenting it, for it was my first time in front of audience who had lots of question about such new technique to the chemical industry. It went alright although I looked sweating and scared of the crowd. It was like a nightmare that went by real quickly.

Then in 2000, I published another technical paper in a conference in Florida, and followed that with two more in the following 2 years, in NY and in Houston. The work is published in the ANTEC conference proceedings. I also had the honor to participate in writing a chapter in a chemical handbook. I stopped for a couple of years before publishing my last paper in Chicago in 2005. That was just before the second wave of layoffs hit the company. This time I was told that I was out of a job. I took that the wrong way for now I am not alone. I have a family with me. This was in 8/24/2005. So I walked back to my disk knowing that I have till 11/1/2005 to finish up my work and clear my office. On 8/26/05, another manager in another department in the company came rushing to my office asking if I accepted any other jobs yet. I said I didn’t even start looking. That’s when he told me not to look. 2 hours later, he walked in with an HR person and offered me a job in the same office I am in and in the same field I am in. The offer was the same salary and benefits, but I was honestly hurt why my company would do that to me. I declined and he quickly raised the offer significantly. That’s when I decided to take it on the spot. To this day, my wife doesn’t know I was laid off for 2 days. Didn’t want to bother her with such problem. Or maybe my pride or ego prevented me from telling her.

I was still hurt inside me. Early January, I decided to post my resume on Monsters.com. I got offers from companies for interviews but declined because I wanted to get a better job. One company called me and asked me to just and interview, still didn’t like the location (it was in Pittsburgh). Late January, I got a call from a big customers of my current employer who wanted to meet me. I paused for 10 seconds and said sure. I know the company, and I know how strong it is. I also wanted to get out of my current work for I had no trust in them no more. They did indicate to me that they cleared it with their legal department that they can talk to me, for they had an agreement not to pursue employees of the current employer, some kind of a deal part of a package between the two companies. So they flew me to Indianapolis for the first interview. I could tell that they liked me because there was no interview. It was a lunch gathering with some engineers. On my way home, my manager told me in the airport that he already made the decision and that he feels strong about me, but nothing firm yet. I told my wife that things are going ok.

This is going to be embarrassing to tell. They gave me few papers to fill and send to them. I actually forgot about the papers. My wife was eager to know why these guys didn’t call me again. 2 weeks later, I got the same call from the HR in indianapolise asking about the papers. I laughed but decided to lie. I told her that I’m sending it in mail this evening. I went home rushing and filled the papers and sent it to them. I knew that it’s a done deal. A week goes by and I get another call from the HR wanting to fly me again for a lunch with some guy who is coming from wales, England and a guy from headquarters in KY. So I flew there to have lunch with these guys, and it was fun. My manager tells me to talk to HR about what I would like to see in the offer, but I told him that this awkward. There is no offer on the table and usually, a company makes the offer and the candidate counters back. Anyway, I told the HR person what I would like to see in the offer.

3 days later, I got the offer over the phone, and it was more than I specified to her. I asked for a week to think about it, and I did. I accepted the offer as is, but asked for an extension stay for 5 months in a hotel while I sell my house and buy the new one. I was given that on the spot. I then went to my manager in the current work, and told him that I’m leaving. He wasn’t too happy for he wanted me have asked him before accepting the offer. I didn’t want to play the bargin game and I also wanted out from ohio.

4/2/2006, I moved to an Indianapolis hotel, and started my new career path. It was a Monday. On Thursday of the same week, I was told by my manager to travel to one of our plants for they are in need of some help, and I did. The plant was happy and sent great feed back to my manager. That opened up the door on other plants to seek me to go to them, and I did. I started making great friends, and enemies who were threatened by my progress. I was worried more about my family that I left behind, and fly to every 2 weeks to spend a day or two with them.

From 4/2 to 8/1, I lived in a hotel room bonded by 4 walls. That’s when I started reflecting more on my present and future. I was always thinking about my family. No matter what I did, their memories were always in my mind. I was counting the days till I meet with them again and get life back on track. Finally, it happened and they moved in Indianapolis on 8/1/05 in a furnished apartment with me. We then closed the deal on the house 2 weeks later, and moved in our new home.

Although I love my new career, and the things I am accomplishing, but this job requires travel constantly. From the time I bought my home, till today (10/31/06), I spent more nights traveling than being with my family. I have to do this to establish my presence in the current job. I guess we all have to make sacrifice for the best for our families. Beside, I enjoy traveling for I get to meet nice looking waitresses on the road, not that I would do anything, but I just love them college girls who work hard in restaurants to make a living and go to college. It reminded me with myself back in the days, although I am pretty sure I am a boy not a girl. Heck, I even know them by names and their life stories.

If I look back 10 years ago, I would have never imagined myself being where I am now. Never would even thought about where I am now. But I guess hope and luck has been good with me recently. No..not luck, but destiny. I love my new career, and I love the challenges. I also love the fact that my life turned around totally the opposite, and that was good for me. Maybe I wish I have done that earlier, but what the heck, life is good now, so why bother with when that decisive moment in my life occurred.

Chapters continue..Part XV. Arabs in the USA, The twilight zone

2006-10-30T18:36:00.000-08:00

When you work, live, interact, and deal with arabs, you’ll tend to get a different picture of what they look like. The sad thing, to start with, is the fact that they left home long long time ago and they got stuck in the twilight zone. They left home many years ago, and they were shocked with the new western society that confused them. The solution was to try to hold on as much as possible with traditions, while slowely melting in this melting pot of American society. It doesn’t sound as difficult, but bear with me.

The first thing is the language. Arabs in the states have a unique distinctive accent, or dialect. Seriously, you could tell who is arab-american by simply listening to his/her words. They, arabs, held on to the mother language, which is 50 years old probably, and were disconnected from back-home due to their fear of melting completely in this new western society. Words like “elsayyaarah mlayycheh” (meaning the car is leaking) or “barracht elsayyarah” (I parked the car) started surfacing quickly. Sometime you hear “20 ryaal” meaning 20 dollars..or qaraaat (meaning quarters) also found a place in the arab language. I could go on with the list like storaat (stores) 6awaabe3 (food stamps) pampaat (gas station pumps) ya chuzen (cousin) and so forth. The sad thing is you’ll hear this from 7 years old girls who live in the USA in 2006.

Then there is the attitude…yes the attitude. I participated in an organization called ACCESS which deals with different arab issues, social that is. During my 4 months participation, I saw many things that drove me nutts. There was a girl, a 16 years old girl, who ran out of the house because her uncle rapped her, and she can’t tell anyone fearing that they’ll kill her. Another boy who brought a knife to school to stab another teenage boy because he flirted with his sister. A 15 years old girl ran out because the imam of the local mosque wanted to approve her marriage to another man, and her family were signing on the approval. A woman who was beaten by her husband for he thought she was cheating on him, and burned her arms. Another woman who was sexually abused by her husband in ways she couldn’t tolerate it. A young man who stabed his cousin because his cousin opened a new store next to his. A widow who is in need of money. An old man who came in crying because his 2 teenage boys converted to Christianity. A father who sees his daughter doing all bad stuff, from drugs to sex, and he can’t do anything to her because the law prevents him. Many stories, specially from teenagers that will make you cry inside out knowing you can’t help them, except via disconnecting them totally from their parents to protect them from any reprisals. ACCESS is located on Lorain street and W93rd street for those who are interested anyway.

But the most troubling story to me was a young arab woman, 20 years old, where her uncle saw her walking home from her work, and offered to give her a ride home. During the ride, he touched her in places where she felt uncomfortable, and tried to molest her, or maybe rape her. She screamed and opened the door and got out. He tried to talk her into going back in the car but she refused. Then she complained to her parents, who got angry at the uncle. They then sat down to make peace, and the outcome was that the uncle will pay 10,000 dollars compensation, and he did. The father got paid, and the uncle got off the hook, and the young woman was left devastated by such actions. She felt that her honor was sold out for 10,000 dollars and she was right in feeling that way.

Then you look at education. There is a large community of arabs in Cleveland. Yet, very very few that go to college. Here is how it works. The father owns a store or a gas station. His daughter is 15 years old, so he takes her off school to protect her honor, or his honor I should say. Then his boys are also taken out of school to help out in the stores. What you are left with is a family, that is uneducated, even education is free, and are so backwords in their language or way of thinking that makes you wonder. Many parents in Palestine and Jordan sell their land, so they can provide money for their kids to study in America, and these arabs here don’t even use the free education system? No wonder that there are generations after generations that know nothing but gas stations or stores. This is really sad. It’s sad when you see 6 arab American college students in the university, and you know that there are many out there.

I coached soccer for the local arab girls, 14 and under, and had so much fun with these girls. The looks on their eyes when they have fun playing a sport. I swear I enjoyed every moment watching girls fight about fouls or screaming “3ammo…she started it”..it was really fun. But the sad part is you look around and you see 3 mothers only sitting away and no fathers. There were more than 30 girls, and only 3 mothers? And no fathers? Then I look at the baseball field next to us and I see parents rooting for their kids and makes you wonder, these girls can’t even get 2 hours from their parents to watch them play sport? The girls didn’t feel that of course because they are used at it..but I could feel it. I wanted these little girls to feel appreciated. Can you imagine the smile on their face when a father screams “that’s my girl” when she kicks the ball? I felt sad for them for I wanted them to feel that they are just like the other kids. Not even 2 hours a week? That’s ok anyway..the icecream trip after the game meant great for them, and for me too. For those who are familiar with Cleveland, this practice used to take place up until 4 years ago in a park next to west gate mall in Westlake.

When I started to fast again, I used to go to a local arab society (I won’t mention the name here) to break my fast. Families used to cook and bring the food for the single students like myself. In one day, I walked through the door, and it was still fasting time, and found guys smoking and sipping coffee while gambling. There was money on the table so I knew they were gambling. We walked to the food tables, and as soon as it was ok, we started eating. Then the guys walked in and said “go an eat..we are going to throw it away if you don’t anyway”. At the spot..I lost my appetite, and walked out of the place. It’s not like we needed the food or anything, all we needed is a taste of home where we see families around us to remind us with home, not because of the food. We are all capable of buying and dining out.

Those who lived in Cleveland during the ninties can easily remember the FBI busts on arab stores and homes. Here is a situation. Sometime in 1994 or 95, there was a major bust, and the FBI caught more than 20 arabs, men and women, exchanging foodstamps for cash. Food stamps are a some coupons that the government issues for poor families in the slumps of Cleveland. These poor families will then exchange these food stamps, for cash, at a value of maybe 75% of the original value. They needed the cash to buy drugs and alcohol, and arabs took advantage of that. So the FBI busted more than 20 familes, and the TV station loved it as they showed the faces of arab men and women in jail waiting to pay bail. In addition, the FBI busted the homes of those arabs only to find hundreds of thousands of dollars stacked in shoe boxes in attics and basements. The store owners couldn’t deposit the money into the bank because the government will ask them about the money. Hence, those guys lost everything. Of course, some arabs “civic leaders” started crying foul and that the government is after arabs in general. Well, why give them the excuse? Whats wrong is wrong, and feeding on those poor families to make wealth is wrong, regardless if the government was after arabs or not.

Arabs also mastered the technique of being on welfare (to collect government aid) while owning wealth. They could be driving hummers, and spending food stamps in the store. They also masterd the coupons where they clip coupons from the newspapers and send them to the vendor for face value. Again, those who lived in Cleveland know such busts. The tax code meant nothing for arabs. The store owner would claim that he is only making profit of 20,000 dollars, yet, he owns a mansion (registered in his wife’s name). How does the wife get away? That’s easy. They marry in the mosque only, not in the civic center, so the state doesn’t know that they are married. That’s when it hurts women the most when they get divorced, and right after they give up the houses without their knowledge by signing the deed to a cousin of the husband. Hey, arab mothers (generally) don’t know how to read or write English.

It is sad to see how arab families struggle to live in the states. One look at their kids, or their way of life and you’ll quickly come to realize that this is a very sad situation. Kids are usually the best investment for the future. You can work hard in building an emire of wealth, and when you die, your children will spend it in a very short time on bad things because you didn’t spend enough time with them to teach them how to survive.

Reality bites in the ...........

2006-10-26T05:37:00.000-07:00

Reality bites you in the…..

As usual, I had a nice meal last night, and when this happens, it spells trouble. That meant that I needed to spend quality time in the bathroom, and when I do that, my mind starts wondering around and thinking in a way that scares me sometime. So, I asked myself “oh wicked self, what have you done for her lately?”. I panicked. I looked around and I saw no one. I heard the voice again saying “yeah you, what have you done for her lately?” I said “who’s her?” After few seconds, the answer came back in a sad voice “Jordan”

Then I realized that self is torturing me again with those wicked questions that make me look weak and bad. That’s when I started thinking (yeah I spend way too much time in the bathroom) about her. I know that so many of us are so darn good in talking and writing about home, and how noble this home is. I remembered after the amman bombings, how the whole country reacted to such terror. I could remember so many posts I read in the very few days right after the bombing. Heck, I always sing the song of yeah sure I miss the falafel and the crowded streets in amman, the fig sellers on the airport road, the gathering of family and loved ones, and would sing like whitney Houston (not that I recommend anyone to hear my singing, I suck big time) about love and passion using words that can only describe a sweet love story that is filled with lust, biut the question remained “what have you done for her lately”.

I for, myself, did nothing, absolutely nothing, beside talking. I wish I did actions instead of talking during the bombings. Or maybe demonstrated during Lebanon war. But I did nothing, and what adds more on such flames, is the fact that I know others did, not just spoke. Sometimes I try to convince myself with excuses that are built on a very weak base, that I didn’t have the chance. Didn’t have the time or maybe the access to do anything. But deep inside, I can hear myself telling me “what ……..do you think these are solid excuses? That’s when I get stuck and not be able to answer back.

I got jealous of the ones who did, not just spoke. “Resalatona” is a great example of that. Some people actually did, when I didn’t. Some went to danger zone during Lebanon, and I didn’t. Some gave up lots of money and time, when I barely did few dollars. Some demonstrated in the streets when I sat down behind a computer screen typing words that anyone could type, but very few could do. I wish I was one of those few, just to be able to look myself in the mirror and say “a job well done” instead of this blame game.

Part XIV, The secret window

2006-10-23T21:21:00.000-07:00

I know that the vast majority of us saw this movie. It’s about a writer who sits in front of his window to write, only to find out he is a crazy writer who killed his wife and her lover, and then buried them in a corn field seen from the window. Yet, most immigrants, like me, do have a place, a window or a backdoor that looks at something. I have changed houses many times, but in each time, there was that one place where I can sit down and look through a window, or a back screen door to reflect on past, present, and life in general. It’s as it’s a screen, a movie screen that displays his or her life, past, present, and sometimes future. Whatever was that place, it was always there.

I work from 8 to 5, the American dream, or what I thought was. My body is accustomed to waking up at 7 am, and in weekends, this usually spells trouble for me. My best “secret window” was in my previous house, where it overlooks the lake. It didn’t look directly at the lake, but at the lake street, where there is a line of houses between this street and the actual lake. But I could see the lake clearly from my home office in the second floor. I would make myself a cup of coffee, and sneak upstairs hoping not to awaken my wife, to have my moment. I start the day with a couple of sips of freshly brewed coffee before my fingers automatically seek my pack of Marlboro light back then.

That window used to be my movie screen that displays anything my simple mind wanted to view. Sometimes it displays my past, and how I got to where I am now. The agony and misery, shame and disgust, love and passion, and hope and persistence. I could see it all. On occasions, my mind would tend to sneak away when a jogger runs by, or a car drives fast, but it comes back to me quickly after. Sometimes I wish I could forget the past, but myself keeps dragging me back to that window, and I wish I could control what it displayed. I could see the day I arrived in NY airport, and how naive I was. Or the day I was humiliated by the so many who crossed my roads. Even those I hurt during my short life in the states. I sometimes thought that God is punishing me for what my soul have done.

Sometimes, this window showed me my present, and how happy I am. A home, family, and a career that I adore. Part of society, that seeks hiding no more. I smiled so many times when I could see my wife walking behind me, and feel her arms on my shoulder. I wish I could tell her that I’m haunted by this window. She wouldn’t understand anyway, for she can’t see what was playing today. But the simple thought of where I am now was enough to fill my heart with joy. Looking around my home office, seeing my accomplishments, and the price I had to pay, was a constant reminder of hope.

My worst nightmare is when the future was playing on the screen. To be able to provide, and love, is not easy. I know that our faith in the almighty lord should offset such fears. But we’re humans, and humans always like to prepare. Where am I going to die, or will I be able to see my parents again? How is my wife going to deal with my departure, if it was distended to be then? Will I ever go back to my heavens that is somewhere in 6abarboor? Where is my comfort, is it in being an immigrant, or a bird so eager to go home? Will I ever go back to my filth of the past, and fall victim to what was once my hell? How strong am I to resist the calls of the past? I wish I could answer such questions, yet I kept going back to such secret window as if I was self-punishing my soul for what once was.

I never figured out what was my worst viewing, past, present, or future. Each had it’s way to haunt me, in their own ways. I tried to avoid the window, with no success. Until I forced myself to believe that no crime will ever be at rest, till punishment was applied. Maybe this was my punishment, or a way to heal the soul. So many years passed, and I’m yet to find the cure. But now I am convinced that the pain has to go on, till the soul believes that the dues were fully paid. And for those of you who read my poem “leave me alone, I’ve paid my dues” could relate to this chapter. Or maybe the poem “prisoner of sorrow” was the perfect description of what I maybe feeling. Heck, I have written so many poems that describe the same feeling that I have lost count. But in the end, there are things that we control, and things that us they control.

Need your opinion about writing

2006-10-21T20:12:00.000-07:00

I discovered that I love writing. I never published anything before, except participating to write a chapter in a polymeric handbook. But recently, I discovered that I have a deep feeling inside, an ambition to write. I hate to turn off any dream or ambition in me, or to feel faliure early in the process. Some of you did read what I wrote. I have few poems published here, as well as a narrative story of an immigrant. I feel and believe that if i pur my head in it, i can make it happen, specially the immigrant story. However, I have problems in english. I lack the right english language and sentence structure. But if i went back, and filled in the blanks in the immigrant story, I feel that it may worth a shot of being published. I only posted less than half of what I intend to write, and i can fill in so much more of historic events that can be included in the story.

my fears are in the command of the english language..and this sems to be a very weak aspect in me. But i have a dream, and we all dream. When i was growing up, I loved guitar, so i bought a guitar to express my love and to try and excericize a dream. However, the guita is still in it's box, even after 14 years. Every time I look at it, it reminds me with a dream that never came true because of my lack of persistance. I hate to do it again. I don't know..maybe after I'm done with the immigrant story, it opens a small window of hope in some day writing something that is not chemical related.

So I want ur honest opinion, and i will accept any criticism or judgment. Do you think I have a shot? Should I pursue it, or forget about it and focus on my career?

Chapters from an immigrant's life, Part XIII, I bought my son

2006-10-21T08:47:00.000-07:00

Part XIII. I bought my son

I have a friend..a dear friend of mine. He was married to an American woman. My understanding is that things were going great on their first year of marriage. Then suddenly, things started to turn to ugly. He decided to go for divorce. However…he discovered his wife to be pregnant. So he decided to withstand his life of hell for the sake of his child. I don’t agree with his decision, but it was his life anyway. I felt bad for the guy.

So his son was born. He named him Tariq. Tariq is aa sweet cute looking boy, and honestly, I now understand why he changed his mind regarding divorce. But his life is really a mess. I’m sure he tried to fix matters but seems his wife was unfixable. He used to invite me to his house, and I could see how crazy he was with his son. Such a cute and smart child. But I could also see in his dad’s eyes the sadness that could kill a man. A heavy purdon on his life. I felt bad for the guy.

Tariq is growing fast, and his dad’s misery is growing with it. His wife was not an honest wife. She was bad, and I suspect that she was cheating on her husband. Maybe he knew she was, but couldn’t divorce her for the sake of his son. The things people go through for the sake of children. I don’t know how he could live with her like that. I know that he wanted out so bad, but his son was like the shackles that tied him to such miserable life. I felt bad for the guy.

Tariq was 6 years old now. The father then decided to pursue divorce. He seemed to have enough of such mess. So his wife leaves him and goes to her family’s hone. She takes Tariq with her. The guy kept calling me crying like a baby with so much sadness about his son. I knew this was going to happen to him for I could see the strong relationship with his son. I really felt bad for the guy.

Three months later, the guy is still calling me trying to seek an end to his misery. I kept comforting him to hold on for longer. I wanted to see the guy strong and resisting any calls from his heart to back down and get back with his wife. I gotta be honest, I never imagined him leaving his wife, but he did, and I’m happy for him. He told me how he went to his wife’s home begging to see his son, but she refused. I felt bad for the guy.

A couple of weeks later, he called me again crying for he just heard that his son was in the hospital. I rushed to his side and went with him to the hospital. I now can see Tariq different. Skinny and so slim. He was told that his is going through a physiological shock. He was asking his wife seeking information of what happened. She was as hard as a stone. The FBI is now questioning the couple about the child. The poor man was just sitting with his face so shocked. So they wanted to take Tariq to see a psychiatrist to examine him. Tariq wasn’t saying one word as if he was just pale. He then jumped toward his dad and I couldn’t hold myself from crying and comforting the guy. God I felt for both of them. The wife was in another world.

Later, I was told that the doctor recommended that the son moves with his dad. Then few weeks later, I got a call from my friend wanting to meet me in the coffee shop. I again rushed to meet him for I could do anything for him. As soon as he saw me, he shed a couple of tears and said “I just bought my son”. I was shocked. I said “man are you ok? This is America, no one sells or buys children”. He said “dude..I’m telling you, I just bought my son” So I demanded to know what happened. Well, it seems that my friend offered his ex-wife money to give up custody of the child. She demanded a higher figure and he basically agreed. He showed me the custody papers, and that’s when my heart screamed “God is great” for I felt happy for my friend. I felt great for the guy.

Tariq is now 12 years old, and as cute as he was 7 years ago. Happy with his father, and making his father, the happiest dad alive. That story moved me so much and reminded me with the troubles in ghorbah. The things we do for our children. I am happy to say that Tariq and his father are living a happy life. He got married again, and he has a family now where Tariq is a big part of this family.

To me, seeing Tariq and his dad together, and remembering what his dad went through, makes me smile and believe that God is always there, but we have to wait and be patients. How many men leave their children to the unknown, not caring about what may happen to them? I know of many. But this man kept fighting never losing hope ever. He was willing to give everything he owned, including his life for the sake of his son.

I sometimes wonder if I was that guy, and what would I do, or have done to save my son. Sometimes, it’s hard to make the right decision, or the right decision has a hefty price to pay. This friend of mine held for 6 years living in hell, and finally, God gave him the gift of life. A great family and a great son. God bless us all.

The chapters continue...Part XII. Prejudice

2006-10-20T17:04:00.000-07:00

I had encountered very few prejudice behavior toward me. The first ever one was back in 1991 while I was working in a gas station told me that he was coming back with a gun to send me back home. I laughed..yelled at him, and cursed him. He never came back, but this was a situation where I was called “sand nigger”. Luckily it was just a simple words exchange.

In another situation, I was denied apartment because the guy found out I was arab. This is funny. Ok..I had a girl roommate, but also a girlfriend when we felt the urge to enjoy a night, or if her boyfriend wasn’t around. This is complicated and I wish I can explain more, but lets leave it at that for now. So she was helping me locating an apartment for she was going to have her boyfriend move in with her. So she called this add, and the guy told her to come and take the apartment. We both went there, and as soon as the guy saw me, he wasn’t happy. So he was asking who is moving in, and she told him that this guy is. He said “sure no problem, give me your address and I’ll send you the application”. The girl said “but you do have applications right here” and the owner quickly said “those are old needs updating”. She offered to pay the security deposit now, and he declined. I knew what was cooking in his mind. I was just sitting down and enjoying seeing my babe yelling at the guy. She eventually told him that she thinks he is a racist. He said “come on lady, he even can’t speak English, and didn’t say a word since he came in, how can I let him live here?”. So I got up, and told him what I thought about him (very honestly of course), and told him that I knew he wasn’t going to give me the apartment because of my ethnicity, but I didn’t care. I also indicated to him that I am not going to enjoy spending my money on a scum like him, and I walked out with the girlfriend.

So I did hear some “sand nigger” and “camel jockey” and that sort of things, but it was all harmless. The worst cases of prejudice I encountered where to my surprise from immigrants, like myself. One time was when I was going with my wife to immigration in 2002. The wife decided to wear the veil few weeks before that. So, we approached the help disk. There was an Egyptian guy that works there. He was mean, rude, so nasty, and very mean to us. I didn’t like his way of treatment. I demanded to see his supervisor. He laughed and said “go home” in Arabic. I said that I wasn’t allowing anyone to approach the window until I see his supervisor, and I didn’t move. So a security guard came to me, and that’s when my wife paniced. She tried to get me out of there, but I didn’t move. I know my rights in this country and I know my duties, and I wasn’t going to back off. The guard approached me and said “what do you want?” with a tone that wasn’t happy. I kindly requested that I have a right to see this man’s supervisor because he was very mean the way he’s dealing with me, yet he was smiling and happy when he dealt with the Romanian babe that was a head of me. I told him exactly that.

So the guard burst into laughing when I said “Romanian babe” and said hang on man, we’ll get you the supervisor. So I complained to the supervisor, and told him what happened. He apologized, but told me to go home now, and we’ll follow up in 8 weeks. I was ok, as long as the guy was kind to me, so I went home. Hen I mentioned the story to my friends, they all knew the guy who works there. A Coptic Egyptian man. So I quickly called one of my greatest teachers in school, who was the priest of the Coptic Church in Cleveland, and he was Coptic of course. We visited him in his house, and truly he is such a nice person. I told him the story of immigration, and he laughed and said yes he comes to my church and I always get complains from my muslim friends about him. He assured me not to worry next time I go there. Indeed, things went so smooth after that.

The other time was at my previous job. In early 2006, and after the prophet’s cartoon’s incident, a Hispanic man approached me. His name was Gonzales, and I knew the guy for few years at the job. He is a technician working in the plant. So anyway, he usually comes and asks me about arabs and muslims all the time, but I could feel in his voice that he has some kind of prejudice against us, yet he is able to control it. So anyway, I knew he was going to act silly. I almost reported him to HR few weeks ago because of his remarks on muslims. So anyway, he asked me about the cartoons, and I told him what I thought. Then after debates and cautious exchange, he told me “why do you people burn flags and chop heads because of a cartoon, this is not the desert anymore”. I paused fo seconds and said “you people?” then one of the engineers walked into my office, and Gonzales left. But I was still burning inside. I have heard a Hispanic guy telling me “you people”. That’s when I decided to go to his boss, and complained. I asked him if it was going to cause him his job, and he said “too late to ask such questions, this is our policy and when it comes to racism or prejudice, we have a 0 tolerance policy” I then told his boss that I wanted to withdraw my complaint for I hated anyone losing his job. He refused and said “I was trying to fire this guy for so many years, but was scared because he was the only Hispanic guy here, and was worried of being labeled racist, but he is lazy, immature, doesn’t do a good job, and all engineers complain from his work” that made me fool comfortable.

But there was that one time that I was treated very bad and couldn’t do anything about it. Again, this was probably 1990 or 91. I was driving my car and was stopped by police. He got out of his car, approached me. “can I see your driver’s license and registration please” he asked. I gave him both and asked what did I do? He then demanded my insurance, and I said what did I do? He asked me again “sir, I’m going to ask you for the last time, show me your insurance”. I said “sir, I’m not going to show you my insurance till you tell me why your stopping me”. So he made me get out of the car, booked me, and threw me in the back of his car. So I spent a night in jail, and in the morning, I saw the judge.

The judge was asking me “whats your name” I was still confused, this was the first time I see a courtroom. He replied “whats wrong, are you ashamed of your name?” Now I got more confused. I have a judge who is angry at me. “No I’m not, why would I?” He was still angry “I ask the questions here, and you answer. You are accused of resisting arrest and failing to provide identification, so state your name and how you plea”. I told him my name and that the cop is not telling the truth because he has my drivers liscence, and that I do have insurance and didn’t resist arrest, and then plead –no-contest hoping to get with the least problems. So he fined me a hefty fine, and let me free. Normally, judges let people go because of time served. One day in jail was supposed to be enough punishment, even for a crime I didn’t commit. So I walked out of the court, with flames inside me, but still, had that feeling of an immigrant that you can’t mess with cops.

Other than that, I got nothing but support and compassion from my neighbors or co-workers, especially after 9/11. There maybe prejudice in America, but everyone seems to be able to control such prejudice, except our friend Gonzales.

Chapters VIII and IX...sorry for forgeting to post them

2006-10-20T04:37:00.000-07:00

Part VIII. Finding God

I was brought up in a lightly conservative home. Dad wasn’t the kind of guy who goes to a mosque, or even pray. Mom was a reflection of women of the 60’s, the mini skirt and the funky hair style. But slowly, she became closer to God, and she started wearing the veil when I was almost 16 years old. Nevertheless, I may have developed a rebellion mentality and did the opposite of what they were. I was praying all 5 prayers in the mosque in the neighborhood in al-ain. It was probably a quarter mile away, and I was the only person who was praying in our house.

Prayer was a funny thing for me. I mean I was praying 5 times a day, yet, had that funky hairstyle of the eighties, and the old style jeans. I was very religious and fully convicted in God and Islam. My life style was not of that a religious Muslim, but still, I was so attached to defending the principles of islam. I even fought with my dad when I was 17 years old, because he was doing banking and getting interest from the bank. Of course I lost the battle, but didn’t seem to make me back off.

In one Ramadan, and that’s when my dad prays only, he was to be the imam. So he started to pray, and I refused to pray behind him, and prayed alone. I was 16 years old back then. When dad finished his prayer, and before saying the esteghfar, he jumped on me and kicked me a couple of kicks. Of course I didn’t like that, and decided to walk outside and eat somewhere else.

Then suddenly, and few weeks before my departure to the states, I started hanging out some guys who were going to dubai for pleasure (they were Lebanese back then, and I hear they are Russians now), and party in the intercontinental hotel in al-ain. That’s when I was introduced to beer. I started liking this new life style of mine. It was cool.

I carried on with me this life style to America. And to make matters worse, I started hanging around a group of leftist arabs at some point in time, and started adopting their mentality. They were kind, very kind and very active, but the majority didn’t believe in God. I kept my faith even when I was drinking or doing the forbidden matters. Then I started debating these guys and gals. “what the hell do you mean that there is no God?” I asked. Their answer was a simple “sure sure..the egg came from the hen who came to life through evolution, that happened after the big bang”. That’s when I got smart and asked them where did the big bang come from, or who caused it. They were smarter (at that time) and said “sure..God created the big bang, but can you tell me where did God come from?”.

To be honest, this question bothered me a lot. I then started drifting and not believing at all. God can not be an unjust God, yet we see death, crimes, oppression, and God is watching. He hence doesn’t exist, because if he did, he would’ve interfered since he is a just God.

It never stopped at that. I started preaching the non-existence of God amongst some of my friends. Some laughed at me, some left me, and some hated me for such belief. Now, I have very few friends that stood by me after my change of belief. I started drifting more and more toward my new friends from the left. I mean they were fun. Drinking and dinner parties, they had it all. Not to mention the cute arab girls of the left, this was another factor for me.

I started hating all muslim students. There was an MSA group at school, and I worked against them for most of my time there. Why not when they would never shake my hand and publicly say that I’m an infidel. I would even make fun of them and their appearance. At one time, I was parking my car in the visitor’s parking lot, and the guy who was working the booth was one of the MSA guys. He refused to let me in saying that I’m a student. We argued back and forth and I then heard him telling me “If I am able to kill you, I will oh you infidel”. He was hinting that just because we live in the states, he can not, but if this was Jordan or Kuwait, he would’ve slit my throat. I didn’t like that, and went straight to the booth, grabbed his neck, and hit him a couple of punches on his face. I then lifted the bar, drove my car in, and told him if I see a ticket or if my car is towed, he would pay dearly.

Sometime late 1998, and while I was working on my masters degree, two students who I worked with on a project were going to the Friday prayer in the 4th floor. They asked me to come with them, and I said sure, why not. I went up stairs, and saw different faces from different countries. Women, men, all were praying. I was sitting outside, but looking through the window. To be honest, I was just looking at the girls faces. This prayer never moved me an inch closer to God, but made me at least respect and acknowledge those who worship him. This is a major change in my life, for I wasn’t even considering any believer to be a sane person.

I started going more and more with these guys to the 4th floor. Then one time, I was embarrassed by one of my friends there who asked me “do you know how to pray?” I honestly forgot the prayer, and I told him that. So he asked me to come to his house, he’s having a party, but no alcohol or women. That’s ok anyway, I gave up alcohol and women sometime ago, so I went to his party. Maybe I’ll get lucky and meet my future wife there. The party was nice, guys and girls, sitting around, with the boys on one side, and the girls on the other side. Some girls were wearing veil, and some were wearing mini skirts. Then it was time for prayer, and only few prayed. So it’s not bad after all, I mean it’s not one of those muslim gathering where they bore me about life after death. The food was great, and the topics of discussion were so sweet. Nothing about religion at all. It was about cars, parents, life, jobs, and that sort of things. Then the host said “do you guys want to watch a tape?” I was shocked…tape? What kind of tape? Where am I?. So he put the tape on. The tape was for an imam called “alzanadani”. He was talking about the miracles of science in the qur2an. I found myself so attached. I felt weak. My heart was pounding faster. I asked for the tape, but there was a long line ahead of me. I decided to wait for my turn, #6 on the list.

Nevertheless, my friend may have wanted to cash on the opportunity. He took me aside, and whispered to me “I have another tape for you”. It was another tape for this imam zanadani, but a longer one with scenes of scientists declaring their shahada upon hearing the translation of some verses from the qur2an. I took the tape home, and quickly played it. I played it again and again..and felt my heart is starting to question my own belief. I’m leaning toward believing in God once again…but there was something that was keeping me away from him.

I returned the tape to my friend and he asked me “so whats up? Are you good?” I said “of course I am, what make you think I wasn’t?”. He then pushed me a little strongly against the wall and held my Tshirt and said “how long are you going to be an idiot? Whats the matter with you? Unless you believe that an illiterate arab named Muhammad wrote this qur2an that talks about science, then you are just an idiot. Tell me that Muhammad wrote the qur2an, go on tell me”. I pushed him away. He shook his head saying “you can’t be that stupid, think man, think” And that’s what I did.

I started asking for tapes from my friend..and he was happy to give them to me. Then I asked him if he has a small book about prayer, or teaching kids about prayer. I could swear that this is the first time I see someone laughs so loud, yet cries in the same time. He put his arm around my shoulder and walked with me to the lab to show me how to pray. I knew the movements, but didn’t know what to say.

The next Friday, we both went to the 4th floor, and I asked him to watch me pray first and monitor any errors. I prayed. He informed me that I had an extra “rokoo3”. That’s ok..I can feel myself looking and feeling different. I started reading more about God, and listening to Tariq swedan, and amr khaled, and these guys. I started reading books about the history of Muhammad PBUH. I found myself so attached to prayer, and to God.

I really appreciate what that friend did to me. He stood by me when I needed a friend the most. He never gave up on me, and kept trying. I could see he cared. He didn’t want anything from me, as he was leaving to Kuwait anyway. I can never forget him or what he did for me. Sometimes I look back in time and start believing that indeed God sends messages through people. I gave up on God, yet he never gave up on me, and stood by me even in times when I was cursing God.

Islam in America has another taste, a different taste than what it is in the arab world. During Ramadan, and on Saturday and Sunday, so many families will cook food and bring to the mosque, for single people like us to eat and feel home. They would hang out with us, and we get to know them, men and women, and appreciate what a good life to be amongst people who care for you. It wasn’t like they are giving charity, no, not at all. They were cooking and eating with us together as a family. That made a difference.

Looking back at time, I sometimes smile at the cycle that I went through. I started a strong muslim, then went through a phase that don’t want to even remember, and now back safe where I belong, closer to God.

Part IX. Love in America

I left my family at an early age (17 and a half is early). Every young man will go through such moments of love. Some of them make sense, and some don’t. I had my funny moments with love.

I loved this arab woman. She was probably 35, and I was 18. I met her in an arab party. I actually met her and her husband together. I somehow loved her. I was always searching for occasions where I could see her face. It never occur to me that she is married. I wasn’t after any unlawful relationship, or that sort. I just felt my heart pounding every time I see her face or hear her voice. This one sided love lasted maybe 6 months. I finally told her that I love her. She looked at me weird and begged me not to do anything that harms her marriage and to leave her alone. That’s when it occurred to me that she was married and we can’t be together. I know I know….

Then I was dragged into my darkened world, and never tasted love again, till I married my wife. I was deprived of living love moments that normal people do during their twenties life. Maybe I chose to stay away from love. I may have been punishing myself for what I was doing, or maybe I despised all women and felt they were made for my satisfaction. I frankly don’t know.

But I’d like to go back in time before I left to America. Kind of a funny story, but sad too. When I was 15 years old, I loved the cousin of one of my friends. She was the most beautiful girl I ever met in my life. I was just crazy about her. I would call her and hang up. I wanted to be with her so bad, yet I was so idiotic in my approach. I started writing her letters, and have my sister slip the letter to her without knowing. I was slick when it comes to writing love letters, and I may still be. Then I started calling her, and expressing my love to her. She would never hang up on me, but she never speaks. She just listened to my love words.

Then I started visiting her home with her cousin. She never showed attention in me, yet she was always around us. I tried to reveal to her that it was I who is in so much love with her…but I was a true chicken. Then came the time where I was supposed to depart to the states. I had to speak to her. I called her cousin and told him to bring her, and I wanna speak to her. The meeting was supposed to take place in Hardee’s in the main street in Al-ain, by the bridge. I went there first, and sat down. They came then and sat down. She didn’t suspect anything, but she looked happy. We ordered pepsi, and then my friend left us both alone. That’s when she started suspecting something. I could still remember her face, so beautiful, so magical. She asked ‘whats going on?”. I had to tell her everything, so I did. She was just listening, and shocked. I could see that she is preventing her tears from flowing. Then I told her that I’m leaving in 2 days.

She laughed so loud, and looked at me and said “so you loved me more than 2 years, and you never told me that you do, and now your saying that your leaving in 2 days?”. I said “ummmm yes”. She laughed again and said “don’t worry, I never loved you anyway, and frankly, would never love you”. She got up and walked away. I tried to see her face one more time, but couldn’t, as she got in her cousin’s car quickly and asked him to drive her home fast.

That kind of hurt me a little. I was wishing that she loved me too. But it’s ok, because if she loved me too, I could be the biggest idiot, and would leave her in pain”. So I wanted to be an idiot more than I wished to see her hurt. I was relieved somehow, that she didn’t love me.

However, my sister told me that indeed she loved me and she was waiting for my move. She was fearing that she may have been loving me from one side only. That was a year after I came to America. I was devastated. I called her, and spoke to her. Only if I made my move 2 years sooner, I could’ve lived the best love story of my early life. I mean she loved me more than I probably loved her, and she didn’t want me to feel the pain of saying goodbye, instead, she chose to look like the evil one till I settle in the states. Now I am the biggest idiot God ever created.

To me, that was the only love story, real love story I ever lived, or witnessed, prior to meeting my wife. Which in turn, was a love story that I don’t think I’ll forget either. Although we didn’t see each others a lot prior to marriage, we some how developed the respect and love toward each others. I could remember that before I proposed to her, I told her about my past, everything, and every detail, boring detail too. She of course was shocked, and asked me to give her till tomorrow to think. I honored her wish, and did that.

I was fearful that she will refuse me. Still, I had to be as open as possible with her. It was a gamble on my behalf, but had to be done. I couldn’t sleep the night, for the though of her rejecting me was haunting me. Sometimes I hear a voice telling me “you idiot, she was ok, why did you have to open your mouth?” I had to. The next day, I went to her house, and asked her if I should go through and propose to her dad. She agreed but asked me to never go that route again, and I promised her never.

Then I went back to the states alone, and was with her on the phone almost every other day. I just had to hear her voice. Now, love, women, family are all coming together. Women are not so bad after all. They are not a pleasure item. They think like me, talk like me, feel like me..damn..this great.

So I guess love wasn’t a big factor in my years in America. It seems that my mind was so occupied, and my heart was blocked from love. That’s ok…I have won the love game in the end.

Chapters continue, Parts X and XI

2006-10-19T14:36:00.000-07:00

Part X. Homesickness

I guess I started my love toward home sometime in after 1997, when I went back to Jordan after 8 years in the states. However, I left Jordan in 1975, at the age of 6 years old, with my father who landed a job in the UAE army. From 1975 till 1989, I visited Jordan for a period of 2 years total, over 14 years span. 3 months here and 4 months there, and so on. The last one was in 1984. Then I was away till 1997. So I didn’t have that relationship with home, yet. I was away all my life.

Then in 1997, and after seeing my family for the first time in 8 years, I had the luxury of seeing Jordan. I went to that same hill top in Tabarboor that I used to spend my childhood life on. For those who know Tabarboor, it’s a hill on the south side of two military camps. Dad tells me that one of the camps hosted two important prisoners in 1971, and they were the current president of Palestine (mahmood abbas) and the late abu eyad. So anyway, I went back to that hill, and tried to find what I used to see when I was growing up. I was lucky for I saw a shepherd with his sheep. I can also see a couple of humvies. The desert floor is still there. That magical breeze that is coming from the west is also there.

I started visiting places. Went to petra, and to aqaba. I also went to the castles of the crusade era’s. Went to the farms of the north and by the Jordan river. I am now starting to awaken something that was sleeping so many years in me. And that is the love of the land. I should have that feeling anyway. I proudly came from a family that defended the land, from my grandfather to my dad and uncles.

I can feel all that building in me slowly and cooking over the two months in Jordan. I enjoyed it pretty much. And when I came back to the states, it showed on me quickly. I looked for the Jordanian flag, and found it, and hung it in the house. I started hanging around my fellow Jordanians. I registered with the embassy, and got to know more Jordanians close to my location. I was happy to be able to express that I belonged to some land somewhere n this universe.

But that all comes with a price. The price of homesickness. Once you develop this love toward someone or something that is so far away from you, you start living in pain, and memories keep haunting you. I started getting depressed. Every time I hear a song, or hear of someone who is visiting Jordan, I get depressed. I wanted to be that someone. Sometimes I would wish for getting fired from my job, or forced out, just to go home. I seem not to be able to control that, but would wish to see it happen to me. I just can’t make it happen.

I was feeling a very mixed feeling. It’s a strange feeling. I started feeling the pain of being away from home, and started dreaming about home. A voice in the back of my mind was telling me to look for a job there. I did. Found one with $400 JD in a drugs factory. This was back in 1999. I thought about leaving and getting the job. But everyone, including my brother in law who found me the job via his contact (yes, called “wastah”) was screaming at me to pursue life in the state. The land of opportunities, and indeed it is.

I guess I listened to the many voices, and decided to see what happens in the next years in America. Things were going so great for me that I decided to stick around. Decided to chose career over being with family. No right choices here, both were wrong in my opinion, but didn’t have the choice. But I now know that every time I see a box of sweets from a store in amman, I feel there are internal tears that acts like a sharp knife ripping through my flesh, inside out. A simple thing like mansaf, would stir emotions so wildly inside me. But I made the choice, and every choice has a price that comes with it.

Part XI. The Coffee shop

There was a coffee shop in Cleveland. It’s an Arabic coffee shop where you get a sahlab (seriously) and a shisha while playing cards. I would go there many times. Although I hated the atmosphere where people curse God and some yemani student were sneaking “Qat” in, but for the most part, I would get lucky and see someone who is sitting alone, and go there. I wanted to stay connected with the great feeling I received when I was in Jordan. I wanted to hear arabs speaking about issues, just like Jordan. But that comes with a price too.

In one instance, I went to the coffee shop during a cold night. I got in there, and saw an old man sitting down by himself. Most of the people in the coffee shop were young kids, todays generation that thinks manhood is about few muscles and a fancy haircut like amr diab, and of course, the typical crooked walk. So I didn’t want nothing to with them. Sure I was maybe 28 to 30 years old, but I could see so much difference between the two schools of thought, my generation and theirs.

At any rate, I kindly requested to join this 40 to 50 years old man. He accepted of course, and I could see that he really didn’t want to talk too much. It’s ok..I was fine with that. Few words later, I managed to find out that he is a mechanical engineer who came to the states some time ago, got married to an American woman, then got divorced and lost his 2 daughters to her, then married again to another American woman, who bankrupted him. Wow..I doubt that this was after few words, but you know how it goes; words just keep rolling. I felt sad for him….I really did as I could tell when he pauses for few seconds to regain strength and remember some moments. I’ve done that…and I know how it feels. That’s probably a sample of so many different arab lives of what you could find.

Then of course there are those who go there drunk and start cursing God as they are losing a playing card game. At one point, there was a fight because of a game..what a shame. I saw chairs and tables flying. I remembered my arrogance when I was growing up in the states, and how I could relate to that. But these guys are no 20 years old kids, they are middle 30’s. What a shame. I had a chair hitting me one time during one of the fights in the coffee shop. I didn’t want to react, so I didn’t. People cursing each other’s sisters, and mothers, and I’m sitting down way on the end smoking my shisha and wondering if it ever gets uglier than that. It didn’t anyway.

The only reason I used to go to that coffee shop is there was a guy that worked there, an Egyptian guy, who was kind enough to play at least one Jordanian song while I’m there. I needed that to remind me with the few days I spent in amman. Reminded me with a nation, a king, and people. Reminded me with picnic trips with family as we drove the cars through the hills and the farms while listening to alabdallat or nahawand music.

I filmed a trip that I took with family, and just like any Jordanian family, you start filming as everyone gets in the cars, then as we are driving, and filming uncle’s flan’s driving, or my sister driving behind us in her car, and I could see the girls clapping their hand in that car. I was filming that, and I am sure they were listening to great music and enjoying our simple but beautiful life in Jordan. While filming, we’d have music playing, heck, call it a movie tracks, but there were iraqi’s songs, and of course alabdallat and the whole 10 yard of the Jordanian music spectra. So yes, the whole trip comes back to me whenever I hear my songs at the coffee shop.

One day, I was sitting in he coffee shop. Then I saw one of the guys that I’ve known long time ago. He was a walking bottle of scotch, and he still is. He said hello, hi yada yada where have you been, and that sort of things. I told him that I was working in a company, so he smiled and said “I’m in business”. Anyway, he sat away from me for he was waiting someone. On the other side of the coffee shop, there was a Syrian guy. Again, you really need to visualize this. The Syrian guy waived his hand at the other (Palestinian) guy asking him to join him. The Palestinian guy declined kindly apologizing for he is meeting his friend here.

Anyway, they started talking. The Syrian asked the Palestinian if he knows a buyer for a gas station. The Palestinian guy yelled (from 5 table distance) “oh yes man, I’ll buy it, how much” The Syrian said 2 million dollars. The Palestinian replied “why that expensive? I have 2 gas stations and I paid 1 million for both”. So he asked the Syrian about the location, and after he told him, he said “naaaa, 2 million is too much, but I think I can take it for 1.6 million provided that I check it first”. The Syrian declined and said he isn’t selling for less than 1.9 at any way. All this conversation and I was just sipping my Turkish coffee while smoking my shisha. Then I got up and called alaa’ so I can pay him the tab. Alaa’ walked with me outside the coffee shop and told me “my friend, those guys who were talking about millions are both working in gas stations and barely making money to pay their tab here, it’s all just fluffing talk” as he called. I smiled and thanked him. I didn’t care anyway if they made millions or pennys..both looked like the type of people you try to avoid as much as possible in your daily activities.

The funniest thing that ever happened in the coffee shop, was this arab student, could’ve been Saudi or somewhere from the gulf region as I could tell from his accent. He walked in the coffee shop, with his girlfriend, who was wearing a very short mini-skirt. They both walked calmly, and sat down as they ordered shisha and tea for him and juice for her. I knew because I was interested to see how she is going to manage to sit down with such short mini-skirt. Beside, she was cute. So, there were few arab guys that you can tell never had any encounter with women what so ever. Their eyes glued to the girl, or mini-skirt all the time. The boyfriend wasn’t comfortable…so he walked to the guys and kindly asked them to stop embarrassing him with the prostitute he has with him. A prostitute? Oh my God, did I hear him right? I guess I did because he offered her to them for tomorrow, but to stop embarrassing him tonight. They looked like a couple of wolves starring at a prey. They didn’t even answer the poor guy, instead, they waived their hand to him to scram. I knew on the spot that this is going to get ugly. The two boys were persistent, and the boyfriend got up and wanted to leave with the girl. They held him at the door and told him that he is only allowed to leave alone. So one of the guys approached the girl and asked how much for the two. Oh well, there was a deal anyway, and the thing went ok when the 2 boys took the girl home (or whenever) and the boyfriend, or at least that’s what I thought, drove home alone.

Sure it was funny…but sad too to see such behavior. Maybe I was like that 10 years ago. Maybe I think I’m different, but I’m only different because of the age. I don’t know, but suddenly I’m seeing what I may have looked like 10 years ago. It wasn’t a good feeling at all. Anyway, I loved this place. Although I didn’t make friends there beside alaa’, still loved it. Come to think of it, I’m glad I didn’t make friends there.

Chapters from an immigrant's life, Part VII. The come back

2006-10-14T16:53:00.000-07:00

Some time late September, or early October of the year 1997, I flew back from amman to the states. I was a changed man. The two months in amman were enough to make a different man of me. I can feel me very strong now. “I am ready for the jungle” I kept telling myself. As soon as I got to the states, I started planning for my job hunt. I applied and applied with no luck. Dad gave me enough money to last me for a whole year. Still, time was running short and I needed a job.

My job hunt wasn’t easy. I even drove in the street looking for any company that may look like a chemical company, or manufacturing plant. Until one day, I got a call from an agency that hires newly graduates for short term assignments with companies. I’ve got the call for an interview, and the place was about 40 miles away each way. I asked about the money and was told it’s $10/hr for 3 month assignment.

To me, this was better than what I was in. I know that it hurts for an engineer to make that low of money. But I didn’t care. If I had to clean bathrooms, I have to do it. Beside, it counts toward my experience. So I drove to this company, did a short interview, and my boss tells me to start working today. Good…that’s a good sign. I started working. They liked me at the job. I would be given short assignment, and finish it, then go back to my boss and ask for more. That introduced me to so many different job functions in the first 3 months, that they decided to extend the contract for 3 more months.

Three months later, my boss approached me and asked me to go back to school and pursue masters degree. He promised that if I get it, he will get me the best job. In the mean time, he even increased my pay level from 10 to $17/hr and extended the contract for 2 years to make sure that I am covered while doing the masters. I signed up for the masters program, and 2 months later, the company hires me full time employee with a full salary and benefits. They picked up the cost of my masters degree program of course. I was saving money left and right, and paid off my car. Now my goal is a wife.

In 1999, I graduated my masters program, and quickly, sent the degree to my parents in Jordan as I promised. I then started looking for a wife here. I approached the mosque, which I’ll describe in details how I went to the mosque later, and the guys were searching for a bride for me. Yeah, funny, I know. The first attempt was a bout a girl that I never met in my life, but was told that she is a good muslim woman. So, I was told that the mother wants to talk to me before I could even see the girl. Fine, lets talk. Her questions were more about how much money my father has, and land, and where he was working. 20 minutes later, I got up, smiled at the woman and said “I’ll talk to my dad if he wants to marry your daughter” and walked away. It wasn’t a shocker at all to me, but part of growing up and maturity.

The second encounter was toward an arab-american girl. I saw her once and I liked her. I proposed to her, and her family agreed preliminary pending my parents officially asking the girl’s hand. But because of my past, I wanted to check on the girl first. I watched her only to find that she has a boyfriend. I laughed at my luck and decided that even if I found the right girl, I will always be suspicious. The decision was to look in Jordan.

I called home, and asked mom to look for a bride for me. A potential bride that is. She says “do you remember #### (saying my wive’s name)”? I said yes mom, is she still available? She said yes. I told mom that I’m coming to Jordan in 2 weeks. I flew to amman, and met the girl. I knew her from before. She was close to us. I was 30 years old and she was 24. I remember her when she was hanging out with my sisters. So yes I know her. I got out with her few times to places, although her dad threatened to hang my head on the door of my room. I liked her. We spent great time in amman. I felt great being around someone like her. Then I went back to the states.

We kept in touch weekly almost, if not every other day. I went back in 2001 to officially propose to her. Her dad wasn’t too happy, but the deal went through as we say in Jordan. I knew that she was the one I always wanted. I knew she is the one that I need. So we got married, and then she moved to the states with me.

Chapters from an immigrant's life, Part VI…Recharging the soul

2006-10-13T18:14:00.000-07:00

Ok…This won’t be easy on me to talk about…but it’s a very important 2 months in my whole life. Sometime middle of july, I went through the gates of Cleveland airport, for a flight to amman Jordan. I was flying northwest flight from Cleveland to Detroit, and then connecting on KLM toward Amsterdam and finally amman. I got to Amsterdam, and I had to wait for 4 hours there. It was ok. I walked around. But I wasn’t behaving like someone who is going to see family for the first time in 8 years. Once I got close to amman, and saw the shores of Palestine, then quickly my legs were shaking. What am I going to say..what an I going to do? I had no clue. I just wanted to be home.

Got to amman..walked toward a smoking section, and sat down thinking of how am I going to react in this moment. I have never been in such situation before. Gather ur self my friend, you are a man, with a pride, and a strong apology that you have to show and express toward your family.

As I was sitting down, a guy approached me..saying my name. I said yes…He said what the hell are you doing here while your family are waiting outside? It was my brother in law whom I meet for the first time in my life. He told me to relax cause looked pretty bad. I begged him for few more minutes, so he sat down with me smoking and talking. “don’t be scared…whatever you do or did in your life will never affect the smile and happiness on your mom’s face right now so eager to see you, so get up and lets go” “I can’t..not yet” I said. “ok//I’ll give you 5 minutes, or else your mom will get a heart attack thinking that you are stuck in the security and intelligence office, come on lets go, they know I’m looking for you here”.

Ok gather your strength my friend…get up..and let the day go by. I got up, straightened myself, fixed my tie and shirt, and walked straight to the waiting area. I walked through…..I could see some faces. I looked and looked…then I saw my dad on the right hand side. He had a smile that I have never seen on his face before. But where is mom? I asked my brother in law who was walking beside me “don’t worry, she is home and I just called her”. It was only dad and my brother in law. To be honest with you, I was scared and felt that they were going to take me to the desert and kill me there to wash their honor. I know..it’s silly, but I was so confused and disoriented, yet happy. Dad hugged me so strong and kissed me, and I quickly overcame my fears.

In the car, I was seeing amman. Now, I can relate to home. This is home. This is what was missing from me…the feeling of belonging. I have never had this feeling before. These are my people, and I’m their son. Dad didn’t say a word, but the smile on his face was so magical. I didn’t either. It was a long silent 25 minutes drive. I asked my dad to park away a little as I wanted to surprise my sisters and brothers. The car stopped on the side of this house, which is new. This wasn’t the home I was raised in. Now, all my fears are gone. I walked to the door. I saw this teenage girl. I approached her. She panicked. She took a step back. Scared, she was really scared. I took a step forward, and she screamed for mom that there is a thief trying to kidnap her. I laughed with a couple of tears on my eyes “no you silly, this is me, your brother”. She started crying as if someone hit her, and hugged me after she saw my dad and brother in law approaching with suitcases.

I have never felt such happiness like now. We walked inside the house and mom is crying waiting for me approach her. I couldn’t wait till I reach her warm chest to finally hug me and give me what I was so eager for all those years. She never let go of me, and I didn’t either. Suddenly, voices are yelling at mom asking her to let go so they can have their share of the action.

We sat outside on a porch, drinking tea. Younger sister is missing. I asked about her, and they told me that she went with her cousin, and she’ll be home soon. It’s almost 7 pm now, and she is not here yet. Then those two girls approached us. The first one came to me running, and I said “this gotta be my sister”. Isn’t it a shame that anyone could forget a face of a brother or a sister? I hugged her and kissed her. Then I looked at the people around me and all were shocked and smiling. My mom was pointing her finger at the other one saying “this is the one you need to hug dummy”. Sure I was embarrassed, but didn’t care, so I grabbed my sister and hugged her.

Every time I look at someone’s face or eyes, they are all starring at me. Sometimes with few tears, and sometimes with a big smile. Then dinner’s time..and behold, it was mansaf. I knew for I could smell it from a distance. The last time I had mansaf was 9 years before that day. I am home now, and that’s what counted then. Faces I’ve never seen before. Relatives I never knew existed before. It was a huge gathering.

I was able to sneak out after the mansaf, to a fig tree in our house, and smoke a cigarette. Both my sisters came to me. The older one (17 years old) was a smoker too. I felt strange handing my sister a cigarette. I wanted to say so much. They too. But it’s still a shocker to all of us. They just wanted to be so close to me. Maybe fearing that I would disappear again for another 8 years. I wanted to cry so hard and so much, but couldn’t, with all these people around me. I wanted to be alone with my mother, and lean my head on her legs, just like old days, and just lay there for hours, and cry all those tears that were kept inside me for 8 long years. But I couldn’t…they are all here.

We ate and had fun, then all went home, except my cousin. The one I hugged by accident. My parents slept, and now, it was me, my 2 sisters, and my cousin. They were asking questions about America, and life there. Then I found out that my uncle died of cancer 3 years ago, and this is his daughter. Maybe that’s why she is closer to my parents, for she is considered their daughter, and kind of adopted her in a way. She was 16 years old. I was saddened by that, for my dad loved this uncle so dearly.

Then all slept, and I had to sleep. It was about 1 am. At 4 am, I was up again. I went to the kitchen to make me Arabic coffee, but without success. I didn’t know where everything is. Then my older sister, the 17 years old, woke up, and she made the coffee for me. We both sat outside in the yard, somewhere in 6abarboor, with a magical breeze blowing. We drank coffee, and then my sister went back to bed.

Mom was up now. Finally, she and I are alone finally. Without hesitation, I started crying and weeping like a baby and got close to her, and just rested my head on her legs and cried…and cried with no words. I wanted to relief myself from all that pressure, and I did.

I went back to bed after that, and relaxed my soul, and heart. I never slept that good like today. I slept…and slept…and really slept. I was awakened by a sweet touch on my face, and it was my mother telling me to get up, it’s almost 5 pm.

I got up..and again, the house was full of people. That’s ok…I’m in Jordan for a long time, and there will be some time that I can dictate who to see and where to go. I know, I still didn’t manage to get rid of my arrogance. So I walked outside to the family room, and sat down on one of the couches. My little sister…I mean youngest sister for she is no little anymore, came and sat next to me with a toy in her hand. It was an old teddy bear, very old. She asked “do you remember this?” Why don’t these people leave me alone, all this torture is killing me? Of course I remember it. It was the teddy bear that I bought her on her 7th birthday, just before I left to the states. I looked at her, and smiled, and said “how can I ever forget it”. That made my day, and it sure made her day. My brothers are back now from the aqaba trip. Business they say, but I’m sure they were up to something there. They looked similar to how I left them.

I wanted to walk..just walk anywhere. So I asked my brother if he could drop me somewhere in amman city center. I just wanted to be in the street to see what home look like. So all wanted to walk with me but I kindly declined their company and promised that we’ll do this another time, but for now, I lied and said that I have to deliver some money to someone and he’s meeting me in the city center. I promised to be home by 8 pm. I asked how to get a cab, and what to tell him.

I walked for about an hour in the city center. Just walking. Looking at people. I smelled falafel, and bought some. I didn’t know the place but later it became famous, and yes it was hashem’s restaurant. Then got a cab and asked him to drop me home. I got home, and everyone was excited to see me back. They were worried that I may get lost. They don’t know that I was lost, but now I found me, finally. After dinner, I got my certificate of the degree, and few letters from the dean’s office and the governor’s office where I was getting over the 4 years for my gpa average. I then got my graduation project. I showed to dad and mom for now I wanted to see the smiles on their face. They didn’t know that I graduated yet, and they were still thinking that I’m still away from school. Mom started “zaghroota” with tears, and dad got out his old gun, and started shooting in the air. The neighbors came rushing, as usual, and they were told that these were bullets of joy. The degree never made me happy, but it sure made them happy, and that was more enough to make me finally feel the joy of their joy. I promised mom and dad that another degree will be sent to Jordan in 2 years.

Those moments were my recharging moments. The moment where I finally snapped out of my deep sleep, and made me look straight ahead. I am now having a revived dreams and ambitions. I now feel that I’m ready to pursue life, and get married. I want to be a husband to some woman out there. It’s the feeling of responsibility that I was probably missing the most. I am now recharged. Two months are long, very long, and I wish to talk more about them. I now need to gather my strength, and head back to America to pursue my life. I promised to go back home in 2 years at the most, and I kept my promises.

To be continued..

Chapters from an Immigrant's life, Part V. To be or not to be..

2006-10-13T14:58:00.000-07:00

When I graduated in 1997 with a Bsc in chemical engineering, I was happy. I gathered my friends, all the booze I could get, got some meat, and started barbequing and drinking all night. It was a fun night. We all were happy. I was really a smart nerdy boy at school, but a different kind of nerd. The kind of nerd that doesn’t wear glasses or pocket protectors, instead, would chase girls in school. My graduation project was on top of my class, and it impressed a company that they decided to hire me as a research assistant while I am pursuing my master’s degree. Instead of making $5.50 for arabs, I am now making $17/hr researching. We’ll talk about that later, but for now, the party is up all night.

At 4 am, I had to give one of my friends a ride home. I was so drunk that I said “sure why not”. His house was about 3 miles away from mine. We were both drunk. I was also carrying my gun with me. I bought this gun after an incident that happened to me, but bear with me a little. So the gun was under the seat, and I was drunk, and drove him to his house. On the way back, I was stopped by a cop. Oh my God, I am screwed now. The day I see my dream fulfilled, is the day I’ll go to jail? How did I end up like this. Suddenly, my mind is not drunk anymore. It was screaming at me “you idiot..look what you have done to yourself”. I knew that this was my end. The cop approached me. He had his flash light looking at me. I tried as much as possible to act normal. I didn’t want him to see my eyes. He would’ve found out quickly if I was drunk by a simple look at my eyes.

“Do you know why I stopped you?” he asked me. I quickly said “I’m sorry officer, I seem to have crossed a passing line without a signal, but I did make sure that there were no other cars, and I really needed to go home for I’m sleepy after studying all night for my test at school tomorrow”. “What class r u taking and what school r u going to” he asked my while looking at my registration and drivers license. I answered him. He then handed me back my papers and said “I see that your almost home now, drive carefully son”. I was so shocked that I cried while driving home.

I went home and started thinking….maybe it’s time for me to wake up. I picked up the phone, and called my brother in law asking about my parent’s home number. I haven’t spoken to them in almost 4 years. He informed me that they always ask about me from friends, but they never knew my phone number. I knew that because I warned my friends never to give my number to my parents. I took the number and called. Mom answered…I hung up. I called again..she answered..and I hung up again. I was so scared to say anything. I paused for few minutes, then called again. She answered again, and I said “yummaa….”(which means mom in English. I could hear her cries over the phone. I again said “yumma…..I’m coming home yumma..I’ll see you soon”. She asked me if I needed money for the tickets or anything, and I said “no mom…I’m coming home as soon as possible”.

I started evaluating my life. Maybe it’s time for a new beginning. How did I have the heart to not speak to my family for 4 years? I now have sisters whom I left as 8 and 10 years old girls, and now they are 16 and 18 years old. Or my brother who was 4 years old and now he is 12. How did I do that? I know they were asking about me, but I never asked. And what about drinking? And not believing in God. I started thinking that God does exist and he just saved my life and career. I must be doing something wrong, because my life is not normal at all. Now is my chance to snap out of it.

I asked myself who am I? A question that I have been failing to answer. But I have to answer now, this is my chance. I am, me..a smart boy growing up in the UAE, with dreams and ambitions. I am me, a graduate with an engineering degree, ready to start contributing to society. I am me, the lover of all lovers, who wouldn’t say no to any woman that needed some action in her life, married or no married. I am me, a walking bottle of alcohol, wake and sleep on alcohol. Wait a minute….that doesn’t make any sense. Those were two opposite sides that just don’t make any sense. It’s time to give up one of them. Only this time, I gave up the correct choice. I can not be who I want to be, while doing wrong.

I swore on the day of 24th of june, of the year 1997 that I shall never drink alcohol again. I succeeded till today, with few weak points in the beginning, but still managed to be finally alcohol free. I knew I had to do that. I felt bad for degrading the family name in such filth. I didn’t need that. I gave up women on the same day. I swore never to touch any woman except my wife, once I find her. I was firm in that. I never felt weaknesses at all, and burned my phone book so fast, before I could change my mind.

I quit my gas station job, bought a ticket, and flew home. That in itself was a very painful, and joyful moment in my life. From the time I walked through the security gates in cleveland airport…..I better stop now.

To be continued.

Chapters from an immigrants life, part IV, working for arabs

2006-10-12T14:33:00.000-07:00

Part IV. Working for Arabs

So I needed to get a job to be able to support myself after the disruption of flow of finance from dad. I couldn’t work openly or get a job like anyone else in the states. Just like other arab students like myself, I searched for jobs within the arab community. I first worked for a Palestinian guy who owned a store, a small store with no windows, on some corner of the least secured place in Cleveland. I was happy. Now I’m making $2/hr whole working 76 hours a week and making 150 per week. This was the first money I earned myself. I worked hard for it, and it sure tasted so damn right. Yeah babe…show me the money.

3 weeks later, the owner fired me saying that his nephew needed the job. Of course, he didn’t pay my third week. So I worked 76 hours free for him. Made me angry. Life is not easy, not like before where the check from dad will be in my account every 3 months. Then I got another job working from 10 pm to 4 am in an area called “the flats” where the nightclubs and strip joints are located. I was selling gyros. Although I worked for 5 hours, but I made more money than working in a store. I loved this job. I made friend with so many people, night people. But now, I’m watching other people have fun, in a part of night that I used to have fun in, only now I can’t. So what…I needed the money…yeah babe..show me the money.

I lasted few months in this job..up toward the late 1993. Made enough money, and saved some of it. Then in one night, I was approached by 4 guys, and I quickly knew that my luck will run out. They were drunk. Then suddenly, out of no where, one of them struck me in the face that I felt my jaw broke. I was on the ground, and all I could feel are kicks on my body. They left me alone after they broke the stand (like a hotdog stand) and took all the money I made that night. The funny thing is you get be bleeding lying on the ground in this area called “the flats”, and no one will offer help. As if there was nothing was going on at all. Probably everyone was drunk to notice a bleeding person laying on the ground. Oh well…it’s the price of making money, so show me the money.

The owner of the gyro stand didn’t like what happen, and fired me. So now, I’m looking for another job. Went back to working in a store. $200 dollars a week, 7 days a week, from 9 am to 10 pm, with one day off each month. I lasted in the job for a couple of months. The daughter of the owner, who was 16 years old, kind of liked me. I liked her too…but….she is only 16. So we both were friends, very close friends, but each of us was scared of doing the one crime that ruins us both. I think I loved her. You know what I did love her, and didn’t want to hurt her. But it was obvious, and her mom noticed that. So she told the father, who came to me one day so angry (I could remember his name..abu sami, and he was from a city called elbeereh in Palestine), and started yelling at me warning me from getting close to his daughter, and he would never have his daughter marry a scum like myself. He cursed me by calling me “your garbage, and don’t dream of marrying my daughter”. I responded screaming from the top of my lung, “I’m not garbage, I came from a big honorable family” and turned my back and started destroying the shelves in his store, then walked out.

I took the long ride bus home (3 busses from the east side of Cleveland to a community called Lakewood), and it was about 2 hours ride. I was thinking all that time. Thinking about my dreams, ambitions, and where I wanted to be. Why am I not understanding whats happening to me? I’m 23 years old young man, and all I do is wrong…after wrong. And I’m not garbage. I came from a big family, an honorable family. My family shed blood for Palestine and Jordan, while these people sold their lands to jewish settlers, got cash money, and immigrated to the states. I’m no garbage. Who the hell am I? I now asked myself the one decisive question…who am I? Like usual. I failed to know the answer because my mind was so busy thinking how to get back at those arabs who degraded me and my family. Then found a way where I get the pleasure of hitting them where it hurt the most….and I did all I could….[edited by author].

Sometime late 1994, I landed a decent job at a gas station in the east side of Cleveland. I was paid $5.50/hr and again working for an arab (from a town called beet haneena). I worked the nightshift, while went back to school in the day. At any rate, I’d love to discuss other aspects of my life, especially at this point of the story, but will have to restrain myself from doing so…don’t want to be that transparent. I started studying hard and working hard. I even bought a brand new car, same year model. I worked so hard in this place that I ruptured a disc, and was almost paralyzed for 2 days till I was able to regain my control. School was going great. Somehow, I am awakening now. I was still weak for women and booze as we say here in the states.

I had to get out of working for arabs. I got nothing but misery and almost physical disability from working for arabs. I had to endure so much of their hatred and oppressive behavior toward us. They have abused me and others, and on top of that, they were always telling us that we’re lucky that we have a job with them. Yet, they were gaining a lot by having cheap labor, less taxes, and not having to pay overtime at all.

Sometimes I look back at those days and laugh at some incidents that occurred while working for arabs. In one time, I was hungry so I grabbed a bag of potato chips, a small bag that cost 25c and ate it. The owner looked at me, and said “that was delicious wasn’t it? I didn’t see you paying for that?”. I was angry of course, yet, it was so funny that I laughed, and gave him a dollar and said “I’ll get 3 more bags later today”. The customs were your food was supposed to be free in the store that you work in. A lousy 25 cents bag of chips.

Sometime, the idiots will have me pick up some food for them from their homes, and I would drive to their homes to pick up their food. I liked that because I got deserts in their house, for many times I would smell something tasty, and say “wow that smells good” only to have the wife or daughter make me sit down and eat whatever she was baking.

To summarize, working with arabs had lots of good things for me, like meeting their wives and daughters (most were very nice, unlike the males in their families), eating fresh made arab food, establish my personality toward others, taste oppression, and finish my education without the need of my dad’s finance. Some bad things happened were like oppression and how it affected my aspiration, enduring the looks of the 17 years old arab boys driving the best cars, eating the best food, having the best life, yet when you ask for 50 cents raise, they go wild. I know that there was a mentality against arab students, I really know that. We had something they didn’t have…and that is education, and persistence to endure hardships in pursuing our dreams. Oh yes..they also hated us because of their nice wives and daughters who were nice and caring.

To be continued

Chapters from an Immigrant's life, part III. The wrong path

2006-10-11T06:26:00.000-07:00

Like most of arab students who study abroad, the first thing in their mind is school. However, the problem also is that the next thing on their mind is women, let’s face it. I was young, full of energy, and looked at Michael Jackson and George Michael as the inspirational sources. So I dressed funky, with those shirts, and unzipped few buttons on the top, even though I lacked the muscles or the chest hair. But it was the norm back then, and wanted to look cool. The race has begun for me against time and the goal was….with all sadness..it was to sleep with as much women as I could. What the hell was I thinking?

Having a girlfriend was the last thing on my mind. I didn’t need commitment as it will slow me down. So I started going to the nightclubs with the guys. Stay till 4 am drinking, or trying to get some girl drunk . I wasn’t paying good attention to my school work at all. I was pretty smart on few topics that I was passing easily, and others, I would flunk, again easily. My Gpa was still surviving, and my advisors were all trying harder with me. I always told myself…There will be time for school, let’s have fun now. What the hell was I thinking?

Then I started hanging around a group of leftist Arabs. I started attending their gathering, and parties. There was drinking, and there were women, plenty of women, so I found something to grab my attention to their side. The one better thing is now, and for the first time…I mean the second time, I could sleep with arab girls. This was a no for me as I always had the Arabic honor of screw any woman in the world, but never arab women. Silly you say? I know. I was still growing up and far from the maturity level any young man would want to be. What the hell was I thinking?

So I did what I did while hanging around this group. Only now I started to wake up. Now I am a part of a revolutionary young men and women, who seek justice for all, and suddenly communism was looking pretty good for me. And now..for the first time, I am starting to believe that Palestinians are not bad people, unlike what my father (who is Palestinian) was telling me all those years. Now I am attending demonstrations, and participating in intellectual debates to convince the public, and convey the message of love and equality to the rest of arab men and women in the community. I knew if my father knew about this, which would seriously send a hit man to kill me. I could remember his advice. He did advice me against drugs and women or drinking, but the majority of his lecture was “don’t drag yourself along side Palestinians for they will sway you off the right path”. I know why his hatred toward the Palestinian revolutionaries, for they tried to assassinate him back in 1971. What the hell was I thinking?

I started paying more attention to school. Now I changed my mind about dentistry. I started to like engineering. 3 years so far in America, and I am still in first year chemical engineering college. That’s ok..I’ll manage from now on. Dad wasn’t too happy about my progress. He decided to stop the flow of money. I felt angry. Not at this time dad. I am almost there, and I am awakening. He just didn’t send any money. I decided to never call family again. Months go by, and it’s almost a year and a half, and still, I didn’t call. I changed my phone number too. I flunked school, and decided to start working just like the rest of arabs. I have hated myself for so many were calling me a part of the “borjwazy” people. I wanted to be from the workers people. I wanted to be just like those who raised the red flag in Russia whole building their country from ruins. I wanted to be just like Che Guevara. The hell with the fancy life I was brought up in. What the hell was I thinking?

I got a job in a gas station. I worked there for about 4 years. I’ll talk in details in another part about that period of my life, but in short, those 4 years have changed my life forever. But for now, I am still in the wrong path. Drinking and women are still part of my life. School was missing from my life. I’ve been in the states for about 4 years now. It’s 1993, and I’m still disoriented. Every decision I made was wrong…very wrong. My life was not a life. As if I was simply killing time awaiting my death. My normal day routine was work from 9 am to 8 pm everyday, while getting paid cash money that is the equivalent of one half the minimum wages. I would go home then, and start drinking. By 10 pm, I would have pulled my phone book, and started to call any woman who wanted a piece of the action tonight. If I was lucky, I would be still not drunk when doing so, because few times I would call 2 women at the same time, only to cause problems, and lose both on the spot. I know I know…what the hell was I doing?

Sometimes I would love to view my life in the first 4 years in America as some movie, where I can pull the plug and cut out any unwanted scenes or memories. I do believe that our past is what made us who we are today..but I would’ve loved it if those 4 years were never part of me, regardless of who could I have become if they were not part of my life.

Chapters from an immigrant's life, Part II..The Disorientation

2006-10-10T15:31:00.000-07:00

Part II…The disorientation

My first day at school was around 2 weeks after I arrived. I’d love to talk in details about those 2 weeks..but I just can’t. I got in the bus, and remembered everything my friend told me to do. Say hello, then insert 55 cents into the machine by the driver and say “can I have a transfer please” I did exactly that..and walked to the back of the bus, as I used to do in my high school days. I tried not to stare at people’s eyes. Maybe that’s why I sat so far in the back. This was the first time I go through cleveland’s ohio streets. The past 2 weeks were just driving close to home with friends. But now,….. I’m on my own.

I got off the buss in downtown, and I was amazed to see tall buildings and so many people, in one area. As I was waiting for my next buss, I saw few pigeons gathering around me. I laughed internally and imagined how I would chase such birds if I was in al-ain. We used to do that a lot when I was growing up, with my friends, chasing birds and cats. But now,…I’m on my own

The college, which to my surprise is also called “school” here in this part of the world, looked different. I was expecting to see few buildings, all isolated within a wall, just like high school. But it wasn’t. It was many buildings in part of downtown, and looked like a small town. But it’s ok…now I have to concentrate on registering for classes. I remember how first day at school looked like when I was growing up. Well..it was like any normal day, you walk to your class, and your given books, and that’s it. Now I have to ask questions, and look for lines, and would need to have the courage to ask. I have to be honest, I was a little shy to approach people. From line to line, walking with few hundred dollar bills, scared that someone will steal them from me, just trying to find my way to the right line. It’s so harsh I tell you…for now, I’m on my own.

Then some girl felt pity for me. She asked me “do you know your way around here?” My answer was No. She said “neither I, lets help each others and go through this day” with some witness in her eyes as if she was about to burst. So we got together, and we were able to go through the day. Except when I was about to pay my tuition, and when the cashier said “$1800” (some where around there), and I started to count hundred dollar bills. Then we both walked toward the cafeteria, as I was about to express the Arabic honor of no woman shall pay for lunch in the presence of a man. We ordered some sandwiches, and I held her hand when she was about to pay for her’s and I said “no no I pay”. I could tell the surprise looks in her eyes, and maybe they were the looks of “where did this idiot come from? What land?” So we sat down, and we were eating. It’s so good now, because few hours ago, I was terrified for the fact that I was..on my own.

We started talking about school, majors, and then where I came from. Then the religion part came about. Anyway, I managed to tell her that I don’t eat “pig meat”. She said “you are eating a ham sandwich”. I replied “yes I know, it’s really good, we call it mortadella back home”. I found out later that ham is pork and is also pig’s meat. I learned so many things in the first few weeks. I did manage to be a friend with this girl, she was really kind, Although my friends did suspect that I had something going on between me and her, but nothing ever happened. I did try, but she was a very strict catholic, and no I know what that means. God it’s so wonderful being on my own.

Or is it not? True I was having fun every day and almost every night, but when I tuck myself in bed, and get ready to sleep, I start remembering my life. Suddenly, I’m away from home, mom, my little sisters, brothers. Now this is becoming realty. I am sleeping in a house without my mom around me. Sure I was almost 18 years old, but hey, it was a major change that happened so fast. Now who’s going to wake up in the morning back home and prepare the tea, and the breakfast for my sisters and brothers before they go to school? I used to do that. Who’s going to take my youngest brother to the arcade on almadina street in alain? I used to do that. I started remembering my life that is now suddenly changing. I left the girl I loved for 3 years. I left my friends. My football games in the small playfield that we, boys, built it’s goal posts and cleaned it from rocks. I just realized that now I’m on my own.

Sleep now my friend, for tomorrow is another day. I tried to convince myself that shedding a couple of tears wouldn’t make me les of a man. Funny that it didn’t take me long to acknowledge that, still, I covered my head under the sheet, and cried like a baby, and although I was alone in the room, still, I was worried that someone may see me crying. I just wanted to get it over with so I can concentrate on my classes tomorrow. I’m going to start writing in English now, and those who went through the first day of school in the west, know that it is not easy fitting in class on day one. God it is scary being on my own.

Chapters from an immigrant's life, Part I, The departure

2006-10-09T16:06:00.000-07:00

As I was growing up, I wanted to be a dentist. Don’t ask me how and why, it just a teenager dream. Wanted to go to great America and flourish there. Be the great one. Make difference in the world.

So the time has come. I am a young 17 ½ years old grown up man. Ready for challenges. “please dad, send me to the states, I won’t disappoint you” I begged my father. I remember going to the US embassy in abu dhabi. My dad was wearing his uniform. We applied for the visa and the time was for the interview is approaching.

Then I heard my name. My heart started pounding as if I won the greatest prize. “good morning major” the counselor greeted my dad. We went inside, and suddenly the interview started to look like a chit chat between the counselor and my dad about do you know flan and flan..etc.

I received my stamped passport and headed back to al-ain. The travel time from abu-dhabi to al-ain is about 2 hours (160 km). My dad was talking to me about his wasaya. Make us proud son. Don’t commit sins. Don’t do this and that….But my brain was thinking about America. The women and the alcohol and the nightclubs..I was so eager to get there. Pretty amazing what to expect from a teenager…but it’s the norm back then.

My mom was happy, and sad in the same time. I didn’t understand her mixed up feelings, but now I do. She was feeding me like there was no tomorrow. “mom..it’s ok..I’ll manage” I kept telling her. But she started to cook all the meals I loved. Now I understand.

Then my father got me the ticket to ohio. My flight was a week before my friends (two). Mom went crazy. “why are you doing this, you could have waited for another week so he can go with his friends” she kept screaming. I didn’t understand her fears. My brain was still thinking of the whiskey and women. Dad insisted that I go alone. I didn’t understand why..but now I do.

On the day of the flight, I remember that there was what looked like a funeral in my house. Little sisters crying..brothers crying..Mom screaming, yet, I can remember the sharp “feelingless” looks in my dad’s eyes. I didn’t understand why..but now I do.

As I was walking away, actually being dragged by my father, to the car. Mom was sitting on the ground in front of our home in al-ain crying. Sisters around her crying too. Then suddenly, I shed a couple of tears that I didn’t even know why..but now I do.

My dad drove me to the airport, and I managed to look back and take one final look at mom. God I love her. During the 2 hour drive to abu-dhabi airport, my dad didn’t say one word. Not one word. I can still see the sharp look at his eyes. I started wondering why didn’t he cry too. I mean everyone was crying, except him. Heck, I even cried for no reason, but he didn’t. I didn’t know why…but now I do.

My dad shook my hand and said “allah ma3ak” and turned his back on me and kept going. I kept looking hoping to see him look back, and he never did. Again, I didn’t know why..but now I do.

I went through security in the airport, and straight to the duty free shop. I made sure that my dad wasn’t watching me, then bought 2 cartons of Marlboro light and a bottle of whiskey. The funny thing is I wasn’t a drinker..but again..my mind was crazy enough to buy it for the heck of it. I do have a crazy mind, and I do recon that. I didn’t know why..but I really know now.

The flight was long. I stopped in London, then straight to NY. From NY, I missed my flight so I stayed in a hotel somewhere close to Laguardia. I called home from the hotel, and my mom was crying now more because of me missing the flight. Dad took the phone and told me what to do. I could hear mom saying “dayya3t elwalad allah ysam7ak” which translates to “we have lost our child because of you”.

I was still ok…”feelingless”, with two cartons of Marlboro light and a bottle of whiskey. I took the bottle out, and decided to take a sip. I am a grown man now, so I need to act like onw. It was one sip…and yucky, threw away the bottle. I couldn’t understand how people drink that…but now I do.

The next morning, I arrived at Cleveland airport. Straight to the hotel, then called my contact there, who happened to be one of my dad’s friends children studying in the states.

The next few days, I started feeling the homesickness. It wasn’t bad…but my brain was busy planning for my conquer of america’s women and nightclubs.

To be continued