Fear

In 1994 I was a single mother and college student. I was taking 18 credit hours per semester, making straight A's and taking care of other people's children at night. I can't believe how busy I was, taking only one class at a time now. Anyways, there was a young man who happened to be in several of my classes, a young man from Pakistan. I don't really remember his name so I will call him Mohammad.

I was the only female in my Calculus class. The teacher graded on a curve. When I scored 100% on every single test this upset the males in the class who were scoring around 50 or 60%. Some of these students asked me to get together with them in a study group, Mohammad being one of the members of the study group. The college I was attending, Consumnes River Community College offered free childcare to students, they had an Early Childhood Education program and appreciated the opportunity for the students to experiment on my daughter. This gave me the opportunity to study with the group, an opportunity to socialize since that was sorely lacking in my life. At the time I was planning to become a math teacher and I had been earning extra money tutoring since high school. I guess in this case I was giving it away for free. The boys of my study group and I became good friends.

I had a tremendous work ethic toward school at the time. I did every single problem assigned and re-did the entire problem until I got the correct answer, this is why I was able to do so well in my classes. I have always loved learning. Mohammad was not like that, he never did his homework, never studied, just showed up. Mohammad started to try to copy off my papers in all of the classes we had together. This really bothered me. I wasn't really great at speaking my mind at the time but I let him know that this was not ok with me. He was furious.

Later, he asked me to get together with him outside of the study group and help him study for an upcoming test. I told him I had to get my daughter and I wouldn't be able to help him. He said he didn't know I was married, and I said I am not. He asked if my husband had died or was I divorced. I said that I had never been married. He told me that in his country if a girl gets pregnant before she is married that she is stoned. I had no idea what that meant and asked him to explain and he did.

Being a young, poor, single mother in America is not a easy. I had lost my friends. My family made sure I knew how much they disapproved. My life was psychologically very hard I felt alone and ostracized. To have this man tell me the he thought I deserved to be murdered in such a violent way, that if I were his sister he would throw the stones himself, well it overwhelmed me with despair. By the time I got to the parking lot of the school I was sobbing.

This incident has always shaped my perception of middle eastern men and the Muslim culture. Is it a true and accurate description of Muslim men? This one dirty, smelly, lazy young man who upon not getting exactly what he wanted from me viciously attacked me with his hate.

Fast forward to early 2001. I am now married to Jeff and we are living in Italy. Jeff's dream for his next assign is Turkey. I say no way I am not living in Turkey. I am not living in a country that treats women "that way". I was adamant. I have a daughter I don't want her living in or being exposed to people who treat women like that.

A year later in 2002. We have the opportunity to go to Egypt. I decide that the opportunity to take a cruise down the Nile, to go inside the pyramids, to see the hieroglyphics is worth being in a Muslim country for a couple of weeks. I would be willing to cover my head with a scarf, to go into a pyramid. So we go.

Our tour guide Sammy was an amazing man. He reminded me of Bing Crosby. Impeccably dressed in an Egyptian cotton button down shirt, perfectly ironed and slacks. Sammy spoke perfect English, he had degrees from Egypt, Israel and America. He told us the story of Ancient Egypt is such a beautiful compelling way. Always careful to tell the stories in a way that was without judgment of any culture. It is hard to tell of history without impugning anyone's culture but his words and stories were carefully chosen to be without inference of bias. This trip was less than six months after 9/11 and we were all very curious about Muslim culture and asked him many questions, not only of his religion but of his government and public opinion. I learned a lot more on this trip than I can convey with words.

Another Muslim man I met on this trip to Egypt was Achmed. Achmed was our "go to" guy. Sammy told the stories and Achmed made sure that our bus arrived on time, that our lunch was ready when we arrived, he procured me some great medicine when my Western meds wouldn't stop the "peeing from my butt". Achmed was in his early 20's and quite handsome. Mandy was 11 at the time and was madly in love with Achmed. On the cruise ship while Jeff and I drank Achmed played in the pool with all the kids. He teased and threw her in, she pushed him in. They all played cards. Achmed was fun, handsome and charming. I couldn't imagine Sammy or Achmed stoning a woman to death. I didn't even think about that aspect of their culture.

Sammy and Achmed became like members of our family for those two weeks in Egypt. To us and to everyone in our 25 member tour group. Sammy was like a character out of an old black and white movie; elegant, sophisticated, well educated with impecable manners. Achmed was like my little brother; energetic and fun. Were these men a more accurate portrait of a typical Muslim man?

Years later here in Japan, our friends were leaving on their way to be stationed in Turkey. Jeff tells them how he always wanted to go to Turkey, but I don't want to go there. He tells them of my fears, of my not wanting our girls to be in a country that treats women so badly. When I listen to his words, I was embarrassed. Embarrassed that I had once been so small minded, so fearful. I judged every Muslim person based on my view of one man, and bits and pieces of what little I knew of their culture. When I heard Jeff repeating the exact words and sentiments I had used and felt so strongly about, I really realized how much this experience of living abroad of traveling the world has changed me.

I am thankful that when I go into a restaurant in a foreign country that the person who seats me doesn't say I am sorry we don't want your business because you are from "that country" that abuses prisoners of war or leaves people to die after a hurricane.

I am thankful that the cook doesn't spit in my food (I hope) because I am from "that country," that spawned Jeffery Dahmer and Charles Manson and has the highest murder rate in the world.

I am thankful that the people at the other tables don't refuse to eat at a restaurant that serves people who come from "that country" where so many men murder their pregnant wives.

It is hard to trust, it is hard to be open to understanding other cultures, but for the first time I am recognizing that some of my fears are more bigotry than fact based.