Interacting with Iraqis

LtoR: Me, D, and L.

Strange smells wafted from the pot-luck buffet of hot plates arranged across the counter. Peppers and tomato sauce and sweet fruits and foreign combinations of seasonings. At the end of the line are the sweets. Some kind of nut--like a large almond coated in a sweet outer layer with little... bumps? horns? Beside the almonds is a bowl of small round balls. They crunch into a fine powder between my teeth like cocoa pebbles, but not as sweet and only the barest hint of chocolate. I load a few more dolmas on my plate and head for the living room.

Their language is melodic and beautiful and unlike anything I've ever heard. They correct me when I try to pronounce their names the right way. After four times or so, they say, "You can just call me Rana. It's easier that way." I feel bad that I cannot pronounce the hidden syllables or even remember the easier English-ified versions of their names by the end of the night. But there is only one of me, and so many more of them. "You'll get it with time." my mentor Sandi reassured me. Most of them have lived in America that they speak English well enough--especially the children in school--but they still turn to one another from time to time and speak in their own private tongue.

This semester, I've been branching way far out of my comfort zone in more ways than one! Sandi and her husband Tom invited me over to their house to meet their Muslim friends from Iraq. Not knowing what to expect, I went. And I went a second time, and a third time. Their group is called "People of Peace" (or POP) and they try to meet a couple times a month. They've been building bridges with these Iraqi refugees for over five years and the families are all very close.

Every time I hang out with them, it's different. At my first meeting, everyone recited poetry (some original some not) and even the children participated. The next meeting was held at a different location and a few others I hadn't met showed up. A girl named Nora (??) told me about a Chinese folk tale she was reading at school and we talked about peacemakers in the past. On the day after Thanksgiving, we held our own Thanksgiving to welcome a new Iraqi family to America. I tried my hardest to learn all seven of the children's names, but now I can only remember three! Maybe it'll stick the next time I see them. They don't speak as much English so one of our friends translated. We'll hear their story, bit by bit, just like the others before I came. But for now, I guess I'll have to learn some Arabic or just try to transcend the barrier with the language that everyone understands: a smile.