I first met Mohammed through a friend, who was working on Mohammed’s resettlement case in Jordan. Mohammed worked with an international contractor in Baghdad, where he worked his way from being a translator to a top legal adviser. His work ended with several assassination attempts on his life, the last of which left him severely wounded and eventually fleeing the country without his family.
When Mohammed and I first got in touch through email, Mohammed was working in Dubai to support his family while his wife Zina and his children Ali and Saad stayed behind in Jordan. He wrote me this in his first email:
Mohammed returned to Jordan to reunite with his wife and sons late last year. The company he was working with in Dubai was not treating him well, was paying him half the salary of the other workers, and like many Iraqis, his UAE visa was eventually canceled.
The loneliness eventually passed, but empty days spent without employment or the ability to work to support his family tore at his pride and sense of self-respect.
“After almost twenty years of marriage, Zina and I never fought,” said Mohammed, his wife still gazing at him with soft, fresh eyes. “Now, we find ourselves fighting like other couples. This is not good.”
Today was our first meeting after communicating solely through email and skype. I felt I already knew the entire family. They welcomed David and I with the same hospitality I found in my own country of Cambodia, with open arms and without reservation.
We sat in the sitting room, which also doubled as the family bedroom, drinking mint tea and Turkish coffee. David and I sat facing Mohammed and his wife and two sons, the sun shining behind us and lighting their faces in front of us. The understanding that David and I felt so naturally in our intimate encounter with Mohammed and his family was somehow missing in so many stories Mohammed recounted that afternoon.
Mohammed recalled one small incident involving a large gathering of Iraqi and international advisers. In Iraqi culture, once offered a cup of coffee one should immediately drink from the cup and when done, one should shake the cup lightly to indicate one is finished and is satisfied. To place the cup on the table without first drinking it, shows one is unhappy or unsatisfied.
Many of the foreign advisers placed their cup of coffee on the table, intending to drink at a later time. The Iraqi advisers grumbled beneath their breath. One of the foreign advisers asked Mohammed what was the matter; he could feel a sudden tension in the air. “Just tell everyone to drink immediately from their cup and give a small shake when they are done. Everything should be fine.” As Mohammed predicted, the advisers drank, shook their cup, and all was well.
One unfortunate adviser, sitting in the back of the room, did not hear the instructions to shake his cup. Every time he finished his coffee, his cup was replenished. He was drinking coffee the entire afternoon!
I don’t remember if David and I set down our cup first or drank our coffee and tea immediately or if we gave our cups a little shake when we were done drinking. That really didn’t seem to matter this afternoon. What mattered was that we were talking, communicating and sharing stories and opening up a rare line of communication almost unheard of between Iraqis and Americans.
For David and I, this feels like the appropriate first step towards true understanding.
When Mohammed and I first got in touch through email, Mohammed was working in Dubai to support his family while his wife Zina and his children Ali and Saad stayed behind in Jordan. He wrote me this in his first email:
Loneliness is just like standing in a big dark room with a spot light exposed only on you and darkness devouring the rest of the room, feeling helpless and weak knowing you were put there against your will and u can only feel the hunger and cold tears of your beloved ones dreaming of nothing but RESPECT and a better chance of life that was once so happy and warm. If I’m lucky I might be able to get out of that room by opening the door to bring my family to a better standard happy life.
Mohammed returned to Jordan to reunite with his wife and sons late last year. The company he was working with in Dubai was not treating him well, was paying him half the salary of the other workers, and like many Iraqis, his UAE visa was eventually canceled.
The loneliness eventually passed, but empty days spent without employment or the ability to work to support his family tore at his pride and sense of self-respect.
“After almost twenty years of marriage, Zina and I never fought,” said Mohammed, his wife still gazing at him with soft, fresh eyes. “Now, we find ourselves fighting like other couples. This is not good.”
Today was our first meeting after communicating solely through email and skype. I felt I already knew the entire family. They welcomed David and I with the same hospitality I found in my own country of Cambodia, with open arms and without reservation.
We sat in the sitting room, which also doubled as the family bedroom, drinking mint tea and Turkish coffee. David and I sat facing Mohammed and his wife and two sons, the sun shining behind us and lighting their faces in front of us. The understanding that David and I felt so naturally in our intimate encounter with Mohammed and his family was somehow missing in so many stories Mohammed recounted that afternoon.
Mohammed recalled one small incident involving a large gathering of Iraqi and international advisers. In Iraqi culture, once offered a cup of coffee one should immediately drink from the cup and when done, one should shake the cup lightly to indicate one is finished and is satisfied. To place the cup on the table without first drinking it, shows one is unhappy or unsatisfied.
Many of the foreign advisers placed their cup of coffee on the table, intending to drink at a later time. The Iraqi advisers grumbled beneath their breath. One of the foreign advisers asked Mohammed what was the matter; he could feel a sudden tension in the air. “Just tell everyone to drink immediately from their cup and give a small shake when they are done. Everything should be fine.” As Mohammed predicted, the advisers drank, shook their cup, and all was well.
One unfortunate adviser, sitting in the back of the room, did not hear the instructions to shake his cup. Every time he finished his coffee, his cup was replenished. He was drinking coffee the entire afternoon!
I don’t remember if David and I set down our cup first or drank our coffee and tea immediately or if we gave our cups a little shake when we were done drinking. That really didn’t seem to matter this afternoon. What mattered was that we were talking, communicating and sharing stories and opening up a rare line of communication almost unheard of between Iraqis and Americans.
For David and I, this feels like the appropriate first step towards true understanding.
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