The first time I saw her she was sitting at a large circular table in the school’s cafeteria, pencil in hand, leafing through a newspaper and occasionally looking up at a television set tuned to a news channel. She was physically lean and had a pretty, no, let’s make that a beautiful face. She wore the usual blue uniform of the custodial staff contracted by the university. On her head was what I think of as a babushka. The scarf completely covered her hair and ears and was tied tightly at the nape of her neck. I assumed that she wore the scarf to keep her hair clean as she dusted and sanitized the classrooms and offices. I would find out differently months later.
Later that same day, she came to my office and introduced herself. She had a trace of an accent. She was fair skinned and had beautiful teal-green eyes. I again made an assumption that she was, perhaps, from an eastern-European country. I’m not going to reveal her identity, but her first name was a female name I’d always associated, being raised Roman Catholic, as a Portuguese name. It turns out her name is Arabic in origin and it means, “the shining one.” Anyway, the name was a good fit for her. For me she was an integral person at the university, who got along well with everyone with whom she came into contact, faculty, staff and students alike. Those teal-green eyes of hers seemed incapable of registering a bias to differences in age, skin color, gender, customs, religion, etc.
She began to stop by my office on a daily basis for a short chat and I grew to know a bit more about her. She was a polyglot, who spoke a handful of European languages and she had, in the year or so before I met her, pretty much deciphered the English language. She’d done this, as a emigrant from Montenegro to the United States, by “reading" the local newspapers while simultaneously listening to the televised news. To me her mastery of language was impressive.
She’d been a professional athlete in Europe and thus had exposure to European languages in her travels, perhaps that gave her a start in the English language as well. I recall the satisfaction evident in her face as she described taking the boat, or maybe it was a ferry, I forget, across the Adriatic Sea to shop in Italy. She told me that she and her companions would feign having only rudimentary Italian language skills. “You must have a pretty good command of the language of the country you are shopping in,” she said laughingly, “or they will take advantage of you, rob you blind.”
One day she sought my advice on an official university “work order” that had come into her possession. At the time the campus was undergoing major remodeling to update the aging hvac-system and to bring classroom space in line with more modern teaching methods which favor computers, wifi and electronics over blackboards and chalk. Her concern was that the construction workers, who were near completing their work, had misplaced the work order she’d found in her task bin and that the requested job would thus be disregarded or overlooked.
I read the handwriting on the official work order form, crumbled it up and arced it toward the trashcan. “Don’t worry about it,” I told her, "It’s just a joke.” With a look of shock on her face, her reflexes were such that she retrieved that crumpled paper, practically mid-air, before it hit the trashcan. She placed it on my desk and smoothed it out. “You don’t know that!” she said adamantly, "It could be something that you don’t understand. Workers have their own vocabulary, especially hvac and electricians.” Her husband had been an engineer in Montenegro and was now working as a janitor/maintenance provider for the large apartment building in Chicago where their family resided. “Well, I’m certain you’re correct about that,” I countered, “but, I also know that in the English language the phrase 'blow job' has only one meaning.”
Through our conversations I learned that she was a proud mother to a preschool-aged boy and a 10-month old daughter. She was a great cook and we’d share recipes and samples of our cooking on a regular basis. Hands down, she made the best bread, a crusty artisan bread, such to rival any upscale bakery.
At some point a female campus security officer, who was a “scratch” golfer, started a golf clinic on campus. “The Shining One” was clearly a natural athlete. She took to the game like no one I’d ever seen, quickly outpacing those of us who’d already had some exposure to golf. Before you knew it she was assisting our security officer coach in the lessons. Thanks to “The Shining One” I know that when I practice I must always “end on a positive,” in other words, if I am at the driving range, chipping practice spot, or putting green area and I muff a shot or stroke, I must then try another ball until I have a positive result. “Muscle memory is important, essential,” she would say, “always, always finish your practice with a successful outcome.”
One day she stopped by my office near the end of her shift. I asked her why I hadn’t see her all day or at least in the cafeteria at lunch. “It’s Ramadan,” she’d explained, “I am fasting.” We contrasted the requirements of Ramadan versus my Catholic Lent. Both religions suggest a period of introspection and prayer, both require a time of fasting. However, the Catholic church really has more of a mere suggestion of a fast (as I recall: on Ash Wednesday and every Friday during Lent, you are to eat two small meals that do not equal one whole meal.) Muslims are required to eat or drink nothing from sunrise until sunset for a complete succession of 29-30 consecutive days. I joked with her, “Basically, when Catholics fast, we cannot eat from the time we go to sleep until we wake up in the morning.”
Many people reading this are probably familiar with the disorder and ethnic cleansing that took place in the Bosnian War in the early-to-mid 1990s, so I will say no more except that it consisted of arbitrary arrests and detention, torture, executions, sexual assaults… my friend’s twin sister died as a result of this upheaval.
There was never a question when it came to The Shining One's work integrity. She was sharp, she was determined, she was talented, she was informative, she was fun. She had the same dreams and aspirations of any person who seeks a better life. It was my privilege to have met her and become better acquainted with her.
Remembering the 75th anniversary of the Japanese-American internment order:
"Today: I am a Muslim, too."
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| Just loved this photo I spotted on Twitter |
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