Before he answers my question, he slowly reached for his cup of coffee. Took a sip and put it back on the table that stood between the two of us. We were at our backyard. The grass is professionally trimmed. Of course it would be, the person who has done it is my dad; a farmer by birth. Across from us at the other end, the cabinet door is open. My dad was there a few minutes ago. He was getting some tools for his project. He plans to build a garden trellis. Now he temporarily stopped to drink his coffee and do my interview.
“You see my son Majd; you still have a long life to live. You still have many years to consider a different place. For me, I have lived in countless places in my life. You uncles would sometimes jokingly call me “homeless of the world.” I know that Michigan is not the best place I have ever been to, but I eventually decided to settle here after all."
Why Dearborn of all the places? I ask while looking at my list of questions.
“You have a list of questions too? You make a good journalist” he smiles. “Weren’t you going for business school by the way?” he jokes.
Yes dad. I haven’t changed majors yet. Surely you will be the first to know if I do. So should we get back to the interview? I remind him.
“Oh your interview, I remember.” He pauses for a moment and takes another sip from his favorite coffee mug. A big white mug with three L letters on it.
Even though I figured that they stood for “live well, love much, laugh often.” I liked to ask my dad what they meant to him. He would repeat Bessie Stanley’s quote by heart.
“To laugh often and love much; to win the respect of intelligent persons and the affection of children; to earn the approbation of honest citizens and endure the betrayal of false friends; to appreciate beauty; to find the best in others; to give of one’s self; to leave the world a bit better, whether by a healthy child, a garden patch or a redeemed social condition; to have played and laughed with enthusiasm and sung with exultation; to know even one life has breathed easier because you have lived—this is to have succeeded.”
Every time my dad says this quote, it makes me feel good. I have always known him as a wise and an honest good man. He then interrupts my thoughts saying:
“I decided to live in Dearborn because I simply figured that while you get a good education in the US, I am still surrounded by the biggest Arabic community outside the Middle East. At this age, I can only look back and search for my old friends who happened to live here too. It is true that I have lived in America for the past 12 years, but I am longing for the language, the tradition, and the culture I was born with. It is something that can never be forgotten.”
Do you think things would have been a lot different if we had stayed in Yemen? I ask
“Can’t tell you. We didn’t stay there so I guess it doesn’t make a difference now.” He smiles again and waits for another question. Consequently at this rate, my questions will run out before I gather sufficient information. I change my strategy and start asking broader questions.
Tell me about my childhood and birth? I ask hoping that it will be a little bit longer answer.
He takes another sip from his mug of coffee and puts it back on the table. He sits back more comfortably on the chair and closes his eyes. I get excited because I know that story time has just begun.
“You were born on October 13, 1993. It was daytime, in a small light yellow painted room against the busy street of Baynoon Street in Sanaa, Yemen. Your little cousins along with the neighborhood kids were lined up in front of the door trying to peek into the room to see the newborn baby. In the same room, Little Majd’s grandma, Aysha is on the phone speaking to relatives who called to congratulate the family. Even though she was in her 80s, she maintained her dark black hair, glowing unwrinkled skin, and a voice that lightened up the room. Grandpa Salem is talking politics to our neighbor Malik who mysteriously never misses such an event. Sometimes I think he gets my family’s news before I myself even do! Salem was waving his cane and telling Malik that the General People’s Congress has to win the election. Not a radical Socialist Party that will drive Yemen centuries back into the dark ages. In a few minutes, their conversation deepens and they both forget about the actual event that brought them to my house in the first place. I miss those old days!” he opens his eyes and picks up the mug to take the last sip of coffee.
Do you want me to get you some more coffee? I offer.
“The old man has had enough coffee. By the way, did you know that caffeine never leaves your body? So the first time you had coffee or soda, your body still has some caffeine substance left.” Another daily fact my dad brings out.
“You see my son Majd; you still have a long life to live. You still have many years to consider a different place. For me, I have lived in countless places in my life. You uncles would sometimes jokingly call me “homeless of the world.” I know that Michigan is not the best place I have ever been to, but I eventually decided to settle here after all."
Why Dearborn of all the places? I ask while looking at my list of questions.
“You have a list of questions too? You make a good journalist” he smiles. “Weren’t you going for business school by the way?” he jokes.
Yes dad. I haven’t changed majors yet. Surely you will be the first to know if I do. So should we get back to the interview? I remind him.
“Oh your interview, I remember.” He pauses for a moment and takes another sip from his favorite coffee mug. A big white mug with three L letters on it.
Even though I figured that they stood for “live well, love much, laugh often.” I liked to ask my dad what they meant to him. He would repeat Bessie Stanley’s quote by heart.
“To laugh often and love much; to win the respect of intelligent persons and the affection of children; to earn the approbation of honest citizens and endure the betrayal of false friends; to appreciate beauty; to find the best in others; to give of one’s self; to leave the world a bit better, whether by a healthy child, a garden patch or a redeemed social condition; to have played and laughed with enthusiasm and sung with exultation; to know even one life has breathed easier because you have lived—this is to have succeeded.”
Every time my dad says this quote, it makes me feel good. I have always known him as a wise and an honest good man. He then interrupts my thoughts saying:
“I decided to live in Dearborn because I simply figured that while you get a good education in the US, I am still surrounded by the biggest Arabic community outside the Middle East. At this age, I can only look back and search for my old friends who happened to live here too. It is true that I have lived in America for the past 12 years, but I am longing for the language, the tradition, and the culture I was born with. It is something that can never be forgotten.”
Do you think things would have been a lot different if we had stayed in Yemen? I ask
“Can’t tell you. We didn’t stay there so I guess it doesn’t make a difference now.” He smiles again and waits for another question. Consequently at this rate, my questions will run out before I gather sufficient information. I change my strategy and start asking broader questions.
Tell me about my childhood and birth? I ask hoping that it will be a little bit longer answer.
He takes another sip from his mug of coffee and puts it back on the table. He sits back more comfortably on the chair and closes his eyes. I get excited because I know that story time has just begun.
“You were born on October 13, 1993. It was daytime, in a small light yellow painted room against the busy street of Baynoon Street in Sanaa, Yemen. Your little cousins along with the neighborhood kids were lined up in front of the door trying to peek into the room to see the newborn baby. In the same room, Little Majd’s grandma, Aysha is on the phone speaking to relatives who called to congratulate the family. Even though she was in her 80s, she maintained her dark black hair, glowing unwrinkled skin, and a voice that lightened up the room. Grandpa Salem is talking politics to our neighbor Malik who mysteriously never misses such an event. Sometimes I think he gets my family’s news before I myself even do! Salem was waving his cane and telling Malik that the General People’s Congress has to win the election. Not a radical Socialist Party that will drive Yemen centuries back into the dark ages. In a few minutes, their conversation deepens and they both forget about the actual event that brought them to my house in the first place. I miss those old days!” he opens his eyes and picks up the mug to take the last sip of coffee.
Do you want me to get you some more coffee? I offer.
“The old man has had enough coffee. By the way, did you know that caffeine never leaves your body? So the first time you had coffee or soda, your body still has some caffeine substance left.” Another daily fact my dad brings out.
When was the first time we left Yemen? I ask quickly before I lose control of the interview.
“When you were about ten years old, we had to relocate to Qater. Your mom rejected the idea but eventually she compromised. The Yemeni embassy sent me to work there at an immigration services office for eight years. Eight hot years! The temperature was so high and dry. Every day I wanted to scream with anger at the sun to back off. The streets were empty, yet inhabited with the sandy winds that vision can’t even pass through. When those unpleasant eight years were over, I was again sent to work at an immigration office in a different country. In a way, I saw it as an opportunity to escape the desert. However, Russia’s climate was no better. As hard as you can imagine Moscow’s cold weather, multiply your thoughts by five. In any random month of the year, the highest it ever got when I was there is -7ºC. It was so cold; your tongue could freeze if you stupidly forget to close your mouth for a minute. It only took me one year to be defeated by the weather. I was defeated because I couldn’t stop thinking about the green mountains of Ibb and its refreshing air back in Yemen. I couldn’t stop thinking about the friends I had left behind, the places I visited, and the culture that I knew best. Unfortunately, when I was back, an opportunity to go to the United States was awaiting me. I took it.”
When my dad came to America, he worked as a merchant marine. The transition from a diplomat to a sailor was not easy. However, my dad was very satisfied living here in the US. He has told me once that “no place on earth values the human freedom and rights more than the USA.” I have concluded in the later years, that this was one of the main reasons he decided to stay in the United States
“When you were about ten years old, we had to relocate to Qater. Your mom rejected the idea but eventually she compromised. The Yemeni embassy sent me to work there at an immigration services office for eight years. Eight hot years! The temperature was so high and dry. Every day I wanted to scream with anger at the sun to back off. The streets were empty, yet inhabited with the sandy winds that vision can’t even pass through. When those unpleasant eight years were over, I was again sent to work at an immigration office in a different country. In a way, I saw it as an opportunity to escape the desert. However, Russia’s climate was no better. As hard as you can imagine Moscow’s cold weather, multiply your thoughts by five. In any random month of the year, the highest it ever got when I was there is -7ºC. It was so cold; your tongue could freeze if you stupidly forget to close your mouth for a minute. It only took me one year to be defeated by the weather. I was defeated because I couldn’t stop thinking about the green mountains of Ibb and its refreshing air back in Yemen. I couldn’t stop thinking about the friends I had left behind, the places I visited, and the culture that I knew best. Unfortunately, when I was back, an opportunity to go to the United States was awaiting me. I took it.”
When my dad came to America, he worked as a merchant marine. The transition from a diplomat to a sailor was not easy. However, my dad was very satisfied living here in the US. He has told me once that “no place on earth values the human freedom and rights more than the USA.” I have concluded in the later years, that this was one of the main reasons he decided to stay in the United States