Reflections on Pakistan (Part IV)

Houses in Pakistan are a lot different from America. They are flat roofed and if you have a decent income, they are usually big. When we entered my cousins’ house, it was quiet. After all it was around seven in the morning. Ali Bahi was walking ahead of me and had the honor of waking everyone up. We first went into Khala Zora’s bedroom. Her husband and she were awake but just sitting up in bed. They invited me in and we exchanged greetings. I took my seat on a pillow on the floor. Ali Bahi’s mom (I will use “Mami” to refer to Ali’s mom from now on for ease in writing) was next to me on the floor. Ali Bahi was on a couch to my left. I inspected my environment after having settled down. The room had a cozy feeling to it. I don’t mean the cozy feeling like in front of the fire place in a wooden floored house. It was unique. There were no windows and the predominant color emanating from the room was green. There was a small heater running off of gas right in front of me. I was advised to put my feet in front of it, to keep myself warm. In Pakistan, central heating is not common at all, and people usually have these gas heaters for each room.

After some chatting with Khala Zora and her husband, Usama Uncle, Khala Zora’s second oldest son came in to the room. I got up to greet him and we hugged as well. His parents introduced him as Abdullah. It was funny, I thought, that everyone knew my name but I was totally lost when it came to my family. After taking a seat next to Ali Bahi, Abdullah asked some routine questions. Abdullah was just a little younger than Ali Bahi. I sat there talking to him as well as the rest of the family, trying to get a better picture of who this long lost family of mine really was.

I brought up the story of what happened to me at the airport in Boston. When I was going through the security check process, I was “randomly selected” for a more thorough check. The security guard pulled me to the side. He came up really close, clearly invading my personal space. Looking down at me, he spoke: “Now this can be quick if you want it to be?” I knew he was trying to intimidate me and…it was working to some degree. “If you have any problems or you feel uncomfortable as I search you, we can relocate and the process may become longer. Do you want this to take longer?” I calmly responded with a no, trying hard to fight the anxiety that was building up. After padding me down, he let me go. I felt a little humiliated…and this was nothing. I wondered the level of humiliation that others must have felt in more serious situations. Just the way they try to frighten you, makes you seem guilty of a crime you didn’t commit. I felt nervous when I had done nothing wrong. How many innocent people must have been accused using this tactic? Living in America for Muslims is tough, and this reaffirmed my stance on the issue.

Anyway, this was the crux of what I related to my family. In retrospect, I don’t know exactly why I decided to share this with them. I suppose in order to get a feeling of family or being close to a people, I felt I had to share something. Since this story happened recently, I figured, why not use this. I gave them a piece of who I was through it, and their reaction to it gave me a piece of who they were. I already felt a little closer to everyone in the room.

After eating breakfast, I went to Ali Bahi’s house next door to take a nap. The plan for later that evening was for Abdullah to take me to the Abbotobad bazaar…