Gone With The Wind

My hair was blown about again today, but I figured, what difference does it make? It is so long and bushy that no matter what I do to it, it looks long and bushy and blown, and the guys I work with don’t care what I look like. As far as they can tell, I am older than their mothers, and who cares what women who are older than Mother look like? So I will stop worrying about my hair other than whether it is clean.

That is just one of the niceties of our lives that I am giving up – a regular visit to a hair stylist. Others are my cup of French Vanilla Café in the morning, a comfy chair in which to sit as I read or watch television, ANY chair in which to read or watch television, Top Chef, Kathie Lee and Hoda (my secret and shameful vice), the smell of the clothes when they come out of the dryer – or after Max has folded them – a magnifying make-up mirror, a mattress that is more than four inches thick, a bathtub, people to talk to during the day, and so much more. I won’t even mention pork tenderloin, salmon on a cedar plank on the grill, a bottle of Paraduxx (to Susan and Gary, who were kind enough to share), a bottle of much less exquisite Menage a Trois or Apothic Red, and on and on.

But my life is somewhat different now. I miss those things, and I miss my family and friends, but I have met some people who have touched my heart, though I didn’t really expect to meet anyone who would touch my heart. I knew I would make friends and acquaintances, I would have a shared experience with a group of people, some of whom I might stay in touch with, but I wasn’t expecting to meet young people whose lives will turn on what happens both now and in 2014, when the Americans and allied troops will be gone from this country.

I confess that I am worried about what their lives will be like. Today, I talked with Esman about his family. At 29, he is the oldest boy of ten children (he has an older sister, and he seems wiser than his age), and his youngest sibling is five years old. His mother is 48. He and his wife and son live with his mother and father and the remaining children, and I think I figured that to be 13 people. Hasat and his wife and baby live with his mother as well; his father died when he was young. He wasn’t in the office today, and I can’t really remember, but I think they may also share that home with some grandparents. This is all custom here, and even if these men wanted to have a home of their own with their own wives and children, they would be looked upon badly if they left their parents’ houses.

I, of course, kept thinking about how Max’s mother and I would have gotten along had we lived in the same household. I particularly remembered one day – maybe someone’s birthday, maybe the Fourth of July – when she asked me to tend the corn on the cob that she wanted to cook. Well, corn on the cob goes into boiling water and stays there about long enough to take two or three big breaths, and then it’s done. So I looked, and the corn was in the cold water on the stove, and the burner was on. I took out the corn and waited for the water to come to a boil. I went over to talk to Vida or something, and then I went back to check on the water. Barbara had put the corn back in the pot. I took it out. I watched her put it back. After one more trip around the merry-go-round, I decided if she wanted to serve corn that was tough as a boot, okay. It wasn’t mine, and I didn’t have to eat any of it.

It was much better that Max and I should have our own home.

In the office, we also talked about how each of these young men has only one wife and each wants to keep it that way. I assured them that their wives have the same desire. While each of them has one or two distant relatives with more than one wife, most of their relatives and the other people they know do not have more than one wife, nor do they plan to. I wondered how long it would take before their society and culture would look at marriage as more monogamous, and they both thought it would come in another generation or so.

I am also curious about how arranged marriages work. I know that Esman knew his wife prior to their marriage. He had met her at some family function, because she is a very distant relative to his father. In fact, Esman advised his parents that he was interested in his now-wife, and told them they should start the marriage process. I haven’t found out about Hasat’s marriage yet, but I think you know you can count on me to have the story sometime soon.

We also, for some reason, and I can’t remember what, talked again about religion, and I was again surprised that Muslims know one of our Old Testament stories - the story of Abraham and the sacrifice God called him to make.

For those of you who don’t remember the story, Abraham and Sara had waited for a son for years, but she could not have a child. Sara told Abraham to take another wife, and so he married Hagar, and she had a son named Ismael (this is where Islam is born). Later, Sara became pregnant at some advanced age, and had a son, Isaac. Then Sara told Abraham to send Hagar and Ishmael away, which he did. After Isaac was older, God told Abraham that he wanted Abraham to make a sacrifice to God. God told Abraham not to worry about the sacrificial lamb, that God would provide the lamb, but to take his son Isaac with him to the altar for the sacrifice. After Abraham had arrived at the designated place and built an altar, God surprised him and told him that Isaac was the sacrifice. Abraham, a dutiful servant, prepared to kill his child, and as he was about to do so, God stopped him and told him that it was a test, that he really shouldn’t kill Isaac, that God would provide the sacrifice, which was a ram caught in a bush, and that God loved Abraham for his faith.

I always hated that story because it is so horrible – that God would put Abraham through such heartache as a test. That always seemed mean to me. I just figured that this was something I never would understand, and so I just stopped trying.

Well, Muslims have the same story, except that Abraham is to murder Ishmael instead, and Abraham knows about what is required from him prior to his going to the place for the altar. He dreams about it, and dismisses the dream, and then dreams about it again, and finally God comes to him and tells him that , yes, he is to sacrifice his son Ishmael. The story has the same ending – God stops Abraham from murdering his child, provides a ram for sacrifice, and praises Abraham for his faith. I wonder how many more stories our religions share?

We also talked about the pilgrimage and the celebration following that, but I want to talk with Esman again to make sure that I have it right. I will let you know about that after we have another conversation.

I began talking about this to tell you about how much I like these young men and how their lives have opened my eyes to something that is different from what I am used to, but I am something different from what they are used to, and we get along well. Whatever I take from this experience, I can tell you that they will be a very good part of it. I know what I will return home to, but I wonder what their world will be like after I, and others like me, are gone. I can only hope.