I don’t know if you’d call this a story or a poem or a recollection, but I call it beautiful. Enjoy!
Wandering Around an Albuquerque Airport Terminal
–by Naomi Shihab Nye, posted Apr 26, 2007After learning my flight was detained 4 hours, I heard the announcement: “If anyone in the vicinity of gate 4-A understands any Arabic, please come to the gate immediately.”
Well — one pauses these days. Gate 4-A was my own gate. I went there.
An older woman in full traditional Palestinian dress,
just like my grandma wore, was crumpled to the floor, wailing loudly. “Help,” said the flight service person. “Talk to her. What is her problem? we told her the flight was going to be four hours late and she did this.”
I put my arm around her and spoke to her haltingly. “Shu dow-a, shu- biduck habibti, stani stani schway, min fadlick, Sho bit se-wee?”
The minute she heard any words she knew — however poorly used — she stopped crying.
She thought our flight had been cancelled entirely. She needed to be in El Paso for some major medical treatment the following day. I said “No, no, we’re fine, you’ll get there, just late. Who is picking you up? Let’s call him and tell him.”
We called her son and I spoke with him in English. I told him I would stay with his mother till we got on the plane and would ride next to her — SouthWest.
She talked to him. Then we called her other sons just for the fun of it.
Then we called my dad and he and she spoke for a while in Arabic and found out, of course, that they had ten shared friends!
Then I thought just for the heck of it why not call some Palestinian Poets I know and let them chat with her. This all took up about 2 hours.
She was laughing a lot by then. Telling about her life. Answering questions.
Soon after, she pulled a sack of homemade mamool cookies — little powdered sugar crumbly mounds stuffed with dates and nuts — out of her bag and was offering them to all the women at the gate.
To my amazement, not a single woman declined one. It was like a sacrament. The traveler from Argentina, the traveler from California, the lovely woman from Laredo — we were all covered with the same
powdered sugar. And smiling. There are no better cookies.
And then the airline broke out the free (non-alcoholic) beverages from huge coolers and the two little girls for our flight — one African
American, one Mexican American — ran around serving us all Apple Juice and Lemonade. And they were covered with powdered sugar too.
I noticed that my new best friend — by now we were holding hands — had a potted plant poking out of her bag, some medicinal thing, with green furry leaves. Ah, an old country traveling tradition: always carry a plant. Always stay rooted to somewhere.
And I looked around that gate of late and weary ones and thought, “This is the world I want to live in. The shared world.”
Not a single person in this gate — once the cries of confusion stopped — was apprehensive about any other person.
They took to the cookies. I felt like hugging everyone else.
This can still happen anywhere.
Not everything is lost.
More lovely stories like these at: http://www.kindspring.org/story/view.php?sid=6607#sthash.7uTPUeme.dpuf
And what did I do today?
Well we had a work competition to see which team could bring in the most donations for the Daily Bread Food Bank… at 5 p.m. yesterday I noticed our team’s bin was empty. Instant Food Bank Bin Shame. So I sent out an alert to my equally shameful team, then hit the grocery store. I got as much food as I could physically carry. (Actually it was more than I could physically carry, Betty White has stronger arms than I do.) Our team didn’t win but, then again, of course we did.