Stories from FoCo: The Hello

As a way to offer a glimpse into our lives here, I've decided to share some portraits of the people we've met and some of the new friendships we're forming. Hopefully, as you read, you can begin to see a clearer picture into our new life.


The Hello

The sun is shining and she is standing. Alone. The thin fabric of her dress lifting slightly as the breeze whispers around her thin frame.  Near her are two small girls in white dresses with purple flowers. Their dark hair pulled back in matching pigtails. Their olive skin in stark contrast to the great sea of paleness.

There are no buses here. Just people, neighbors next door, two doors, or three streets apart, all converging in this place. Every morning. And every afternoon.

Groups form as groups always do. Neighbors who've been so for decades. Strangers, now friends, who've collided over this similar space that is the elementary school, brought together by proximity and the shared experience of raising their children.

The sun is shining and she is standing. Alone.

I enter this space like a moth circling a street light. I flitter from one group, two men on the grass, their friendship obvious by the ease of their interaction, their casual stance, the depth of their conversation. Their comfort great enough that opinions are shared, accepted, rejected. The friendship remains.

The next group, two moms. Younger than I. Their conversation more a dialogue of their kids' activities, schedules, weekend plans that don't involve one another. Their friendship rooted in shared teachers and years of showing up in the same space.

The sun is shining and she is standing. Alone.

I move farther into this space. I see a faintly familiar face. My neighbor--three houses down--stands farther into the sea of paleness and the waiting groups. I move toward her and then I see her.

The sun is shining and she is standing. Alone.

I see the warm light of familiar ahead of me. I am new here. I long for connection, for the warmth of knowing and being known.

But the sun is shining and she is standing. Alone.

My turmoil lasts ten seconds in real time, but inside hours seem to pass. The first step to engaging a Muslim is to say, "Hello." I hear this in my head. The Spirit reminding me of a lesson learned months ago in my before place. My sending place. The first step to engaging a Muslim is to say, "Hello." It is on repeat. But the light is ahead. It is warm. Acceptance is sure. I argue I am not the one. Others are better prepared for this. I have no words to say. I have failed at small talk my entire life. The first step to engaging a Muslim is to say, "Hello." The record of truth plays over and over in my head. I move forward, slowly.

The sun is shining and she is standing. Alone.

Say, "Hello."

"Hello," I say too loudly. Conversations pause and then resume. She turns. Her pink Hijab hiding all but the smooth skin of her olive face. Her eyes are replicated in the two girls in white dresses with purple flowers.

"Hello," she says, softly, curiously.  Silence. Seconds that feel like hours pass. I speak, asking questions, sharing my own brief history here, seeking some connection beyond this shared space.

We are both new. She is two years into this place. Ten years in America. Four children. We share a teacher--2nd grade. We share Africa---she the north, Libya. Me, the east, Ethiopia.

We agree on the unfamiliarity of this new place. She grins. I smile.  We both miss home.

"What do you miss?" she asks, her north African accent faintly evident.

"My friends," I say, and then again "I miss my friends," because I need her to understand the hole that has been left inside of me.  She nods, the pink Hijab fluttering slightly. She understands.

An idea forms, quickly as most ideas do. I look at her, sideways. She is watching the girls in the white dresses with the purple flowers. Her daughters. Their heads uncovered. Still too young for their Hijab.

The first step to engaging a Muslim is to say, "Hello."

"We could be friends." I say it without much thought as I'm prone to do. I mean it as I'm prone to do. I want to be her friend, but not as much as I want her to be mine.

She smiles, revealing the braces that have been working to straighten her teeth. Her face beautiful. She is young. I am not.

She is Muslim. I am not.

She nods, "O.k." The North African accent slightly thicker.

The sun is shining and she is standing.

Next to me.

Our connection different. We are outsiders here. Both different, yet made in the same image.

The sun is shining and we are standing. Together. Inquiring about children, husbands, weekend activities. Friendship forming.
The first step to engaging a Muslim is to say, "Hello."