Terrorist Chili

My boss was in town over the past two weeks and we had a lot of conversations about whether I should stay or leave Uganda. Our grant was renewed and I have the guarantee of another full year of employment here but I miss the U.S. so much some days that it kills me.

It's not that I don't love Uganda, I do, but I miss my own country. I miss leading a "normal life" although I realize that term has never applied to me. I want the chance to have a life with Scott (whenever he decides to start living a "normal life" too) and I want to go back to work for my own country. These decisions weigh heavy in my life right now and I tend to rely on friends for comfort and advice.

So, tonight, I did what I normally do when I need a friend and walked across the landing to knock on Hasim and Halima's door. They are my next-door neighbors and we have struck up quite the friendship over the past few months and they opened the door, as usual, and invited me in for a chat.

I really wanted to talk to Halima, to get a woman's perspective, so Hasim left us after giving the normal greetings and offereing me tea.

We talked for an hour, with her holding my hand and giving me an impromptu hug every now and then, plus tons of good advice, until I left.

As I was walking out the door, she said, "Do you ever write about our friendship? I am sure most Americans would be shocked that we are so civilized and can be friends!"

She laughed and shut her door.

I never really thought about it but Halima is right. That's why I am writing this blog.

Hasim and Halima (not their real names) are from Somalia. Not only are they from Somalia, but they are part of a faction that the U.S. has occasionally blacklisted and labeled "terrorists." They are both devout Muslims although neither one of them is fanatic and, obviously, they are more than willing to engage in friendships with Westerners.

Halima and I became friends over a pot of mint leaves. We share the same landing on the third floor and Halima grows mint for tea while my other neighbor, Geeta, an Indian, grows mint for cooking.

I like to garden so when Geeta went back to India this summer, I started taking care of her plants...and Halima joined me one night as I was pruning the pot.

She was covered head-to-toe and I could only see her eyes but I was surprised to see her outside of the flat, as she normally remains inside at all times.

We started with formalities but, in no time at all, started giggling about life in Uganda, relationships with men, and the challenge of cooking homemade meals.

It was weird, I admit, having a conversation with someone who I couldn't see, except for her eyes, but Halima was so warm and so funny that I quickly forgot about the fact that I couldn't see her. Honestly, by the time we were done with the pots of mint, she might as well have been wearing jeans and flip-flops, I knew enough about her to have decided that I wanted to be friends with her, even though I had no clue what she looked like.

Two days later, her brother knocked on my door and said that Halima would like to see me.

So I went over and had a great dinner with her, Hasim, and their two children. Since then, we have become good friends. I go over to their flat on a weekly, and sometimes daily, basis to chat.

The first time I saw Halima without her hajab (the Muslim covering that Somali women wear), I was shocked. She is so pretty that it almost hurts your eyes to look at her (to which Hasim said, "See? Now you know why I don't want men looking at my wife!"). But after my second visit, she stopped wearing the hajab around me and I only see her like that when she is outside of the flat.

Halima also has the same fascination that my mother does: crossword puzzles. Both she and her husband were educated in Canada so their English is perfect and Halima's absolute favorite thing in the world is doing a crossword puzzle. She usually gets one New York Times crossword puzzle a month from her brother living in New Jersey and this becomes her obsession for weeks on end. She'll call me at random times and ask, "What is the synonym of 'serendipity?'" or, "What did Frank Sinatra sing in Las Vegas in 1962?" I always feel bad because I don't know most of the answers but this forms the basis of my friendship with her.

Despite the fact that Halima and her husband were educated in Canada (thanks to a wealthy uncle and clan member), they have both lived in Somalia their whole lives. They CHOSE to go back there again and again until they had kids and decided that they didn't want to see them killed or forced to fight in another war.

I had an uncomfortable moment, about six weeks back, when Hasim asked me about Scott, my boyfriend.

"What does your boyfriend do for employment?" Hasim asked.

"He's a military officer. U.S. Army Colonel, " I related, "Airborne, infantry."

Hasim shook his head. "'Black Hawk Down,' right?" he asked, relating to the event that caused so much damage for both the U.S. and Somalia...and the future of our engagement in Africa and elsewhere.

"Yes, 'Black Hawk Down,' although Scott was not in Somalia at the time," I said.

"Do you think Scott would be upset to know that the woman he loves is having dinner with people from the same country who killed his fellow soldiers?" Hasim asked.

I swallowed hard. It is rare to find that level of bluntness in another human being and I was floored, quite honestly.

"No, I have told Scott about our friendship," I related.

"And he doesn't mind?" Hasim asked, incredulous.

Then I was confronted with one of those moments where I needed to tell the truth, the whole truth, to this man from Somalia who is a devout Muslim, used to serve in the Somalia military, is married to a woman who can't go outside without being fully covered, is probably considered a terrorist in the U.S., and who once dropped his briefcase in a puddle and took off his perfect leather shoes to help me carry a load of groceries up to my apartment.

"Hasim, I don't know where to begin but let me just start by saying that Scott doesn't care who I am friends with. He is not that kind of man. As long as people are kind to me, I don't think it matters who they pray to at night. Yes, I know that the American experience in Somalia was painful for both sides and I don't think anyone has truly gotten over it completely. We thought we were helping and you thought we were invading. There was wrong done on both sides. Also, September 11th shocked and horrified most Americans. I know you have told me that in Somalia this would be 'just another day' but it wasn't that way for us. Most Americans, myself included, could not understand that level of hatred and violence."

He shook his head and indicated that I should go on.

"Honestly, it caused many Americans to hate Muslims of any stripe because those attacks were propagandized with religion so that's they way it stuck in our heads. And, honestly, the Taliban and the Wahhabis are nasty, brutal people. I know you're not like that, and neither is your family, but for a lot of Americans, there is no dividing line. I am sorry about that, I am sorry about that for my country, but that's the way it is."

"How come you are not that way?" Halim asked. "You have told me that you were five miles away from the Pentagon when it was bombed...the man you love is in a warzone and could be killed at any moment for possibly making the same mistake in Iraq that Americans made in Somalia. What is the difference?"

(I appreciated his candor but really needed something stronger than mint tea at that particular moment...)

"I wasn't raised that way," I told him. "I wasn't raised to hate people based on their religon or the color of their skin. Half of my family came to America as Italian immigrants and were treated very badly. So, when my mother raised me and my brother, she instilled in us that all people are deserving of a fair chance and respect...that you treat people as individuals. It's also, to be honest, an American value. I think Scott was probably raised that way too. Most Americans are kind, even the ones who are soldiers or marines and trained to kill people."

"But Scott is part of an organization that was wounded in Somalia. How can he possibly not hate us? I would have a hard time with that myself," Hasim admitted.

"I don't know, Hasim, and I can't speak for Scott or the U.S. military. But I can tell you that most Americans set out to do good, not evil. I get angry with my own country sometimes because I think we don't do a good job in understanding other people's cultures and histories but I can tell you one thing I know for sure, most Americans are kind and set out to do the right thing, even if it turns out wrong in the end."

Hasim smiled and said, "I guess you'd never wear the hajab, right? Even if Scott asked?"

I laughed.

"I know Halima wears it with dignity because she is beautiful and she is showing piety to both her husband and God. But no, you won't see me in one of those anytime soon. And Scott wouldn't ask...it's not part of our culture," I said.

He smiled and laughed.

I got up to leave.

Suddenly, Halima came rushing out of the kitchen with a spoon in her hand.

"Here, try this! I used the recipe you gave me a few months ago and this is how it came out!"

I nearly fell over from the spiciness of the ground meat mixture, although I recovered and thought it was very tasty...although very, very hot.

Somali Chili.

"What kind of chili did you use in this?" I asked.

"Oh, a chili pepper native to Somalia, I thought it would go well with your recipe," she told me.

I told her that her version of my football chili would probably kill most Americans but that it was a good adaptation...for Somalis.

The next day, her son knocked on my door with an entire pot of it. Amazingly, she had toned down the spiciness and it was delicious. I ate it all week.

Hasim has dubbed it, "Terrorist Chili" and I have joined him in the joke.

No, there is nothing funny about terrorism and there is certainly nothing funny about what happened in my country eight years ago and what continues to happen in his country today. But, slowly, friendships like ours are beginning to start a healing process.

A much needed one, to my mind.

(This story is dedicated to Halima, I hope I got it right. And I still don't know the answer to this month's 12 accross).