Silk Roads: China, The Middle East, and The New World

It didn’t really seem like and auspicious beginning, arriving at the airport in Amman to find our flight overbooked. It appeared as if the five of s were not going to be getting on the plane to Istanbul. What was odd is that the reps from the airline were concerned – much more concerned than they would have been in the states.

With a touch of irritation, though, I began to think of little I was going to like this leg of the trip. It felt like it was going downhill fast. What I was not thinking was that there is always a reason for the delay. Miraculously, I boarded the plane after a hot, slightly upsetting stint of time in the crowded Queen Alia International Airport to find I was seated away from the group yet again – someone who looked a lot like Russell Crowe. He was a little more care worn and a lot less intimidating. We began to chat and I learned that he was an Iraqi, from Baghdad. He was traveling without a passport in a group of men, a tour.

He has no passport.

It struck me like a blow. He has no passport. He has no one to protect him, no one to speak for him. He has no passport. He belongs to no country. If someone should decide to hold him he has no human rights. He travels on the whim of tolerance.

His smile was so warm and genuine. We exchanged pleasantries in a mixture of charades, Arabic and English; laughing the while at our own silliness. His name is Ziadt. He was traveling for one month through Syria, Jordan, Turkey and Lebanon. They had tried to begin in Germany but had arrived only to be turned away at the airport.

He has a wife and new baby that he enthusiastically pointed out to me in the only picture he had in his wallet. He missed them very much. I showed him my Lonely Planet book for Turkey. He asked me if it was available in Arabic. He thought it was wonderful. We spoke about my education. He thought it was great that students in the US were encouraged to travel. He shared with me that he had once been a teacher in Baghdad. When I asked him what he does now he looked slightly puzzled then showed me that he washes dishes for people who live in the green zone.

We were both quiet for a moment. What to say about the sadness that rests between us. “It is very difficult,” he acknowledged.

Soon our talk turned to me again. What do I do? Since there is no tradition of live theater in Arab culture, and people look at me with bewilderment when I mention Shakespeare, I likened working at a theater to performing poetry to a large audience. This he understood.

When they brought hot towels for or faces he was unsure of what to do so I showed him. Putting it on his face made him feel so much better! It refreshed him, returning his smile and laughter. While we ate he taught me Arabic words (this continued for the rest of the flight). After the meal we were served tea, pronounced ‘shai’ in Arabic. I murmured the Arabic word before it was poured and the attendant and Ziadt laughed, spoke in Arabic to one another and then smiled at me.

We were brought copies of the Jordanian Times in Arabic and English. On the front page was a picture of some US soldiers in Baghdad. He looked at the picture, smoothed his fingers over it. “I am surprise that you are not like them.” He smiled, “you and laughter fill…” he gestured to the space around us. The flight was almost over. As we crossed central Turkey some mountains with snow were visible through the window. Ziadt pointed at them then made a smaller mountain with his hands.

“What is this?” he asked.

“Mountain.”

“Mountain and Mountain, they do not see. But person and person,” he gestured to him and me, “then we see.”

We soon arrived in Istanbul. I wished him well, not as well as I should have. I should have made efforts to find him a US sponsor for citizenship or given him my email address and worked to stay in touch. Instead we parted quietly, with a smile and a wave.

I have never been so overwhelmed by kindness. Someone who should wish me and mine ill for all that we have not done, all that we will never do. For him to wish me well…

For him to bless me with smiles, laughter and the gift of friendship for those 2.5 hours of life…I hope that he is blessed.

Ziadt

Be careful. Be well. Be happy.

And may you find many others who see.