Deja Vu

For several weeks, I knew that Fayez’s brother was coming to the USA to attend college. I had never met him….never seen him….knew next to nothing about him. I knew generic, peripheral information about him. I knew that his name was Sultan….but only because I had asked about ten times; I new that he was 18 years old…. I knew that he had graduated from high school the previous spring…..in Saudi Arabia, of course. I knew that he was a very smart guy…. “Smarter than I am,” Fayez had told me….proudly, I think. I knew that Sultan was an athlete….that he played handball on the same team that Fayez had once played on…. Again, Fayez had graciously remarked, “He is a better player than I am.” I knew that he intended to study some form of science. Fayez had initially told me that he wanted to study genetics….. And, I knew that he would be studying language at Southern Nazarene University in Oklahoma City. Fayez had chosen this school for him…..although I have no clue why. It is owned and operated by the Church of the Nazarene…..one of the more conservative Protestant denominations in the USA. And….I know, because that is the church that I and my family attended the entire time we were living in Lyons.

All this information may sound like a lot…..but it is really nothing. All of this stuff can be found by reading a book….or by watching a TV show….or talking to somebody. But, I still had no idea who this guy was….or what he was like. I had suggested to Fayez a couple times that perhaps I could talk to Sultan on Skype….and help him practice his English. But, these suggestions went nowhere.. Now that I think about it…..I had never even seen a picture of him.

Fayez spends his Thanksgiving break at my house….or at least, part of it. Fayez’s birthday always falls just a day or two before Thanksgiving…..so we usually start our Thanksgiving festivities with a birthday celebration….albeit a rather miniature affair….with only Fayez and me in attendance. And, this year was an important milestone in his young life: He turned twenty-one years old! Of course, I do not need to remind American readers how important this day is in the life of a young person….male or female. This is the date that the magic door swings open…..and there lies one of the greatest of opportunities: The right to buy alcohol legally! Never mind that the person has already passed through other doors that had previously been locked. The door that leads to a driver’s license…. The door that leads to the right to vote…. The doors that opens on to legal tobacco….legal lottery tickets….legal contracts….legal sex….. The door marked “twenty-one” is the final door….the big one….the one that contains the “forbidden fruit”. OK….I am talking about normal, red-blooded American, European and Asian youth. But, Fayez is not from America…or Europe…..or Asia. To Fayez, none of these “treasures” seemed to make any difference. Even though I tried to make the day special…it was just another day for him. But….that was not my fault! But….now, I am digressing seriously from the story.

This year he announced that he was bringing Sultan with him. I was looking forward to meeting him….. I mean, I was looking forward to just seeing what he looked like. As I said….I had never as much as seen a picture of him. Not a good, recognizable pictures, at least. It seems to me that Arabs have an entirely different attitude toward pictures than most people have…..the American, the Europeans, the Asians… Or maybe it was simply Fayez. But, however you look at it….I was eager to get a glimpse of Sultan.

Originally, they had planned to arrive around 11:00 A.M. I knew this was never going to happen….because I know Fayez. And, sure enough, sometime around 9:00, I received a text message saying their departure had been delayed….and it would be the middle of the afternoon when they finally got here. Then a little later, I got another message….. This time is was a snapshot of his GPS. Now, I was pretty sure they were on their way. Accompanying this message was a selfie of Fayez….and another guy, whom I presumed was his elusive brother….Sultan. This was the first real picture I had seen of him. Actually, when I looked at it, my first thought was, “Wow….he looks older than Fayez.” He had a definite mustache….something that made him look older, I suppose.

As usual, there was not much to do….except wait for him. And, as usual….I sat in my recliner and fell asleep. And, as usual….I left the front door unlocked. And, as usual….I was awakened from my sleep by a voice saying…..”Wake up, Beryl.” And, standing in front of me…with his ever present smile was Fayez. Only this time, not only was there a smiling Fayez standing in front of me….. There was also a smiling stranger….. A stranger who really looked nothing like the selfie that had been taken a few hours earlier.

But….there was the unmistakeable smile…..almost like the smile that I had seen on Fayez’s face the first time I had met him three years earlier…..when I met him on the road a few hundred feet from my house…..about five hours late after getting lost on his way to my house….. Sultan’s smile was equally as bright….as genuine….as spontaneous….and as inviting….as that first smile I had seen on Fayez’s face. It would become the smile that I will probably associate with him…..just like the smile I will always associate with Fayez. De´ja´ Vu.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The Birthday Festivities

After the proper greetings, with the requisite small talk out of the way. After the suitcases were properly deposited in the proper rooms…..Sultan would sleep in the spare room, since he would be here for the entire winter break…..and Fayez would be relegated to sleeping on the top bunk in my room….the same place where he had started three years ago…..the birthday festivities began.

Well…..obviously, it wasn’t a big party…..only Fayez, Sultan and I. But…that is bigger than it has been in the previous three years, when it was only Fayez and I. There were no party games….no clowns….no ponies….no dancing….. But…there were fun little hats, the little things that when you blow on them….they unroll in front of your eyes. And, of course….there was a birthday cake…..the smallest one Walmart sells! Instead of lighting 21 candles…..we had only TWO candles: a candle in the shape of a 2 and a candle in the shape of a 1. 21…..Get it? There were birthday (paper) plates for the cake…..and birthday napkins…. And, birthday plastic forks and knives. It was sort of a throw-away party. When we finished eating the cake…..we simply threw everything away. No fuss…no muss….no bother. I would estimate that the party lasted at least 15 minutes!

I don’t think Fayez gets into parties like Americans or Europeans do. And Sultan? I think he was completely bewildered and puzzled about what was actually taking place! Chances are, he had never seen or attended a birthday party in his entire young life. He sat and dutifully ate his cake….probably wondering what the heck was happening. But….it just doesn’t seem right to let somebody’s 21^st birthday pass by without some sort of celebration. I mean….in the USA becoming 21 years old is a monumental milestone in one’s life. And….this is, after all….the United States of America.

Fayez said he did not want a cake. No birthday cake?? That’s almost un-American. Of course, I knew that he even though he said he didn’t want a cake…… He really wanted a cake. And, Fayez…..knowing me like he does….knew that I was going to buy a cake.

“OK,” he said, “if you are going to buy a cake, buy the smallest one available. And…don’t buy a chocolate cake.” These requirements were OK with me. Smaller cakes are cheaper! I ordered the cake at Walmart. It was the smallest cake they sold, the woman in the bakery told me…… Not very big at all. I picked up the cake on Tuesday. Wow…. If they had sold the smallest cake they make….I could only imagine what their largest cake must look like. Actually, we could have fed most our rural neighborhood with the cake.

We ate only a small fraction of the cake at our “party”…..and put the remainder of the cake back into the box….and put the box on the kitchen counter. And, basically…..that is where it stayed….untouched….. until a couple days after Fayez and Sultan left. And, then I threw it in the trash! But, that is beside the point. We DID have a birthday cake.

As soon as the “party” ended, Fayez announced that he was going to go study for his final exams. As he disappeared into his room….Sultan and I got into the car and took off on an trip of exploration. For first stop was Valley Falls, of course. This segment of our exploration took probably a grand total of ten minutes! High lights of the tour included such notable sites as the post office….the school….the swimming pool…..the two baseball fields…..the football field…..and a trip up and down Broadway….or whatever the main street of Valley Falls is called. I have lived here since 1969….and I am still not sure what the name of the main drag is. I am pretty sure it is Broadway….but…it also may be Main Street. It really doesn’t make much difference. There is not much left there any more. There are days when a person can drive down the main street of town….a length of two blocks…three, if you really want to stretch it….and there will be only three or four cars parked on the entire stretch. And, I suspect that most of them belong to employees of the few stores that remain.

Our tour continued at Paradise Point….the abandoned state park a few miles south of my house. I think it is safe to say that Sultan probably found Paradise Point to be slightly more interesting and enjoyable that the tour of Valley Falls. Even in late November when the trees are barren of leaves, it is a quiet and rather beautiful spot to visit. Back in the “old days”, before the budget cuts of the Ford administration, it was a lively, bustling park…..with camping spots, picnic tables, fire rings, restrooms and showers….and relatively good roads. Now….it lies dormant….largely uncared for….infested with acres of poison ivy…..

After our brief excursion we returned home to prepare for our evening’s activities.

The birthday celebration continued with a birthday feast at the Golden Corral. I doubt if Sultan had ever seen so much food…..just sitting there waiting to be eaten. It was a good introduction to American gastronomical delights…..and probably also gave him a hint as to why so many Americans are overweight. For most of the time we spent at Golden Corral, he followed Fayez around…..who helped him identify the vast array of strange foods.

We ended the evening at Terry’s Bar and Grill….our usual late night favorite. Fayez had taken at least one of his text books with him so he could study…..a little bit of over zealousness, I think….so that left Sultan and I to get acquainted with each other.

Let’s face it…. It is difficult to really get acquainted with somebody when neither of the people can speak each other’s language. This rule obviously applied to Sultan and me. My knowledge of the Arabic language is nonexistent. And Sultan’s understanding of the English was…well….about as close to nonexistent as you can get. Let’s compare my knowledge of the Arabic language to a dead battery. You turn the key…..and nothing happens. Not even a click. Sultan, on the other hand: Well, there may have been a click…or maybe even a feeble response. But….but not even close to what it takes to start the car.

With the help of our cellphones….and, I can honestly say this is one place where it actually came in handy…..and the Arab-English dictionaries we had downloaded….we were able to carry on a low…painful….halting…bewildering….conversation. But, throughout the entire two hours of near torture….the smile rarely disappeared from Sultan’s face. Yeah….I would say we took a giant step in getting acquainted.

Sultan’s First Thanksgiving….and the Rest of the Visit

The next day…Thursday…was Thanksgiving….Sultan’s first Thanksgiving. And, it has become more or less a tradition that Fayez and I go to our friend’s….Sam Delap…..apartment to eat. Sam is a good cook. And, his culinary creations are delicious. Thanksgiving meals are sort of traditional….but well….let’s say that they an art form in their own unique category. You know how it is when you walk through a contemporary art gallery? All the pictures are “art”…..but none of them can be crammed into a single style or category….they all have their own special character. That is the way Sam’s Thanksgiving meals are. They are traditional…..but, you know this is probably not the way the Pilgrim mothers had prepared the same meals the day the Native Americans came to celebrate…..if they indeed ever showed up at all. But….let me say this: If the Native Americans (Indians, as they were probably called back then) did sit down with the settlers on that famous day in our history….. And, IF Sam had been the cook…..they would surely have liked his food….and probably would have shown up every weekend for more.

If it had not been for the delightful meal…..and the great time we had at Sam’s apartment…..Thanksgiving Day would have been miserable….a bummer. It was raining when we drove to Topeka in the morning; and it was raining when we left Sam’s apartment to drive back home in the afternoon. If there were any redeeming factors….it was that Sam sent us home with most of the left overs.

The steady rain had diminished to a light rain….almost a heavy mist….by the time the late afternoon had arrived. Fayez was still urgently studying for his final exams. I urgently settled myself into my comfortable recliner for a nap. I don’t remember what Sultan did…..probably he took a nap, too. Poor kid. His brother was busy studying; his host sound asleep in a recliner. What else was there to do…..except sleep?

Fayez is rather obsessive about studying. It seems to consume his life. In fact…..I think it is his life. But, this fact also made it possible for Sultan and me to spend time together that may otherwise not have been possible. Fayez spent most of the visit in his room…..or this time, it was Sultan’s room. Sultan and I were left to entertain ourselves. This was good in a couple ways. First of all….Sultan was actively involved in our conversation. He had to be… It was only he and I. It was entirely normal for him to automatically look at Fayez whenever I asked him a question. And, it was entirely normal for Fayez to simply answer the question for Sultan….eliminating any sort of interaction between Sultan and me.

Or there is a second scenario…..and this happens commonly when there are two people who speak the same language…..and one person who does not speak the language. The two people who speak the same language simply proceed to talk in English….and the person who does not speak the language is simply left out. This is basically what happens when Fayez and I….and Sultan….are together. We simply go ahead and talk….and leave Sultan out of the conversation.

I mentioned this several times to Fayez….. “We need to include Sultan in our conversation.”

Fayez’s most common response was, “Oh, it’s OK….he doesn’t care.”

Well…..I don’t know. Maybe Sultan didn’t care. I never asked him. However, I can speak from a long history of personal experiences……and I can say with some authority: Yes….It does matter. And….Yes, I did care.

My earliest experience in being left out of conversations dates back to my days in South Vietnam. Until I learned to speak the language, I was largely an outsider when I was around Vietnamese. They babbled their unintelligible language…..and I did not have a clue what was going on. Fortunately, Vietnamese people are usually polite enough to make an attempt to include their non-Vietnamese speaking friends….such as I….in their conversations. Of course, I realize that it is virtually impossible for somebody to translate every work that is spoken. I also know that it felt good to be included in their conversations.

My second…..and probably most extensive experience in being left out of a conversation….comes from my experiences in Germany. I have spent time with the families of each of my former German exchange students…..visiting them in their homes. I can recall many incidents when they sat and talked in German, while I merely sat there….uncomfortable…..wondering what they were talking about….and if they were perhaps talking about me. (Of course….they weren’t. I hope.) There was nothing intentional…..or ulterior….about it. They just did not think to include me in their discussions.

A couple rather amusing incidents stand out in my memory.

I was visiting in the home of one of my former German students. I was led to the understanding that my former student and I were going to leave and go check out his town….and perhaps the area around the town. As I sat there waiting to leave, an argument seem to break out…..and in my mind, a rather heated argument. The argument….or maybe I should call is a discussion….went on for what seemed like several minutes. Voices were raised….and the discussion became rather animated.

“Oh, no,” I thought. “They are probably talking about me. Maybe they don’t want (him) to drive the car. Maybe they have something planned. Maybe I had done something wrong.”

After a while, the discussion came to an end. My exchange student turned to me, and said, “Come on. Let’s go now.”

When we were in the car, I asked him what the argument had been about. Was there a problem? “Oh….no,” he said. “We were just trying to decide that kind of bread I should buy for dinner tonight.”

Another such incident took place one evening in Berlin when I invited Frank, one of my former students, and his sister to dinner one evening in a Chinese cafe. It was a pleasant evening as we sat and talked. Both of them speak fluent English….so communication was no problem. Our conversation was interesting and funny. At the conclusion of the meal, we motioned for the check…..which was my responsibility….and which was mine to pay. But, when the waitress arrived, both Frank and his sister looked it over closely…..and they began an excited and animated discussion. I had no idea what they were talking about…. They called with waitress over….and an ever more animated…. No…let’s called it heated…..discussion ensued. There was much pointing….much gesturing….raised voices….. Again….this went on for a minimum of five minutes….probably more. At last, things calmed down. Frank handed me the check, and said something to the effect of, “OK…. You can pay it.”

When we were safely outside on the sidewalk, I asked Frank about the problem. Wow…it seems that they thought the waitress had charged ME for a large size drink….and she only served a medium size drink. A heated, prolonged argument over perhaps a total of 10 cents….. And, as it turned out….there was no mistake at all.

Another incident…..and I promise this will be the last example….occurred during another visit. I was visiting Robert, my German student from 1998-1999. We….Robert, his parents and I….went to the city where Robert’s grandfather….his dad’s dad….lived. During the course of the visit, Robert’s parents took the grandfather out to a restaurant for lunch. Of course, I went with them. We we sat at our table eating. Most of the conversation was in German, of course. At one point, it was very apparent that they were talking about me. They were stealing rather furtive, sidelong glances at me. Nothing very overt or obvious. But, I think most people can sense when people are looking him them. Of course, I certainly didn’t say anything….. Like….”Why are all you people looking at me?”

But, again, when Robert and I were eventually alone, I asked what was going on back in the restaurant…..what were they talking about? “Oh,” he said, “My grandfather asked if you were married. When we told you are single, he asked how you manage to live….without a woman to take care of you….to cook your meals….to do your laundry. He just can’t understand how a man can live by himself.”

I thought it was a rather strange thing to be talking about…..especially in a family gathering. But….I hope I satisfied his curiosity. There I was. Alive. Functioning. Rather well educated and successful. With at least a small degree of sanity. And, I was fully dressed…..in clean clothing….with socks that matched…..and my pants on frontward.

So…..the point of these stories is: Don’t tell me that it is OK…..or that the person doesn’t care. Because I know that it is not OK. And I know that people do care.

And, with Sultan, I knew at the time that what we were doing was rude and inconsiderate….that it was wrong to leave Sultan out of our conversations. And….if could have changed it….I would have.

But….Sultan and I would have other opportunities. That night…..Thanksgiving night….we sat in the front room with a fire burning brightly in the wood stove, and continued the conversation we had started the previous night in Terry’s Bar and Grill. I had downloaded an app on my cell phone…..translating English into Arabic…..and vice versa….which helped our simple conversation along.

Thanksgiving night was also the night that I introduced Sultan to the Kansas Jayhawks by presenting him with a K. U. t-shirt. This is an event for which I can imagine he will thank he for the rest of his life.

During Thanksgiving night….true to what the weather forecast had predicted….there was a mild accumulation of ice. When I first looked out the front door on Friday morning, it was apparent that the world was covered with a thin layer of ice. And, part of that world happened to be the windshield and windows of my car.

Our plan for the day was that I would take both Fayez and Sultan to the mosque in Topeka…..the same one where I always take Fayez when he is staying here. Then we would come back home and make chili for supper. Fayez said that the service….or whatever it is called…..started at 1:30. In order to be there on time, it is a good idea to leave our house approximately one hour in advance…..just in case there are problems along the way.

As is usually the case, we were running a little late. About 12:40 I went out to start the car so it could warm up a bit…..and also to clean off the windshield. Unfortunately, the ice that had accumulated on the windshield and the windows was far greater than I had anticipated. I mean we had a serious ice problem. This was not the kind of ice that could be removed with a few swipes of an ice scraper. It was not even the kind of ice that could be removed with an ice scraper….period. Turning the defroster on full blast was at least a psychological help…….but, not a very practical help….at least, as a quick solution.

The only solution seemed to be boiling water! ……One coffee maker at a time. So this is what we….Sultan and I….did. We boiled a container of water…..took it out and poured it on the windshield…..scraped what we could. Then boiled another container….. Luckily, I have two water boilers, so we were able to keep up the process rather continuously. It worked….but it was a slow process. Remember…..not only the windshield was covered with ice…..but also all the windows. The rear window defroster helped a great deal in melting the ice a little bit….. But, when the entire process was finished….and the car was safe to drive…..it was already after 1:00.

“Do you still want to go?” I asked Fayez.

“Yes, it won’t make any difference if we are a little late.”

“OK…. Let’s go.”

It was after 1:30 when we got to the mosque. I stopped to let them out….and then made a U-turn so I could park my car in front of the mosque. I had intended to sit in the car and write some messages while I was waiting for them to return. I had barely had an opportunity to turn on my cell phone…..much less to write a message…..when I looked up and saw them walking toward the car.

“It started at 1:00,” Fayez said. “Everybody had already left.”

Oh well….sooner or later the ice on the windshield and windows would have had to be cleaned off…..so the effort wasn’t entire in vain. And, I was happy that I didn’t take off and go somewhere while I was waiting.

With the mosque part of the plan taken care of……we returned home to accomplish our second objective for the afternoon…..making chili.

Since I have no formal, written recipe for making chile, it is largely just a matter of mixing some stuff together in what seems to be pleasing amounts: hamburger, tomato sauce, diced tomatoes, chili beans, onions, green peppers…..and of course, the spices. This was Sultan’s first experience with chili. He was largely in charge of browning the hamburger…..which is the most labor intensive part of the process.

Actually, my role was mainly as the “supervising chef”. I kept a watchful eye on each step…..and made the major decisions concerning the ingredients. I am always amazed when people with no experience or knowledge of chili-making procedure want to take off and go their own direction. Who knows? The result could well be delicious….but, it does not turn out to be chili. It turns out to be…..well….whatever name the person wants to give it. My job was to make sure that the chili turned out to be “chili”……and not this other unknown creation.

After we had satisfied our stomachs with chili….and the kitchen was somewhat tidied up….. Fayez returned to his room to resume his studying. Sultan and I were given another opportunity to spend some time together. We could have sat in our warm living room in front of the brightly burning fire and talked. Or we could drive down to Topeka to Terry’s Bar and Grill for the evening. It was cold outside….but it was not snowing. The windows on the car had already been cleaned….. So..why not go to Topeka? Sitting in Terry’s Bar and Grill is always an invitation for conversation. It is a neighborhood bar in the truest meaning of the word….and friendly people were sitting at the tables eating, talking, laughing…..watching whatever game happened to be playing on one of the multiple TV sets.

Our conversation was interesting and lively. But, as you may have suspected, we did not discuss the global economy….or world peace…..or solutions to American involvement in Afghanistan. Our conversation was very basic. Again we depended heavily on the translators on our cell phones. But, these conversations were the foundation of a lasting understanding and trust that had begun to develop. These were the moments that would cement the bond of easy familiarity, of brotherhood and affection which rule our future contact. And, this is far more important than the substance….or lack of substance….of our simple, elementary dialogues.

Sultan had never witnessed anybody drinking a pitcher of beer. So…..for him….if he gained nothing else from these hours spent in the bar….. He now knows that I am fully capable of drinking a pitcher of beer with no apparent adverse or debilitating side affects.