Music.. Part II

     Hisham Abbas, a pop singer from Egypt, sang" sebtek" or " I dumped you" in my IPod classic as I passed the Catholic high football field. I can't get the smell of the wet blades of grass out of my nostrils. Those football boys were working hard at it. The field was at a lower level than the ground, that it felt to me they put the field in this huge pit of grass and mud. I always envied those boys that participated in an athletic team at catholic high. I always felt they were so in shape and that they really work hard to be at the level they are at. What I clearly remember was how I was always wondering how those fat kids who practiced in the football team could run so fast, and be that agile and light.

     I really admired how they finished school that ran from 8 to 3:15 and still had such energy to run and gun. their coach, Coach Register, whom i always thought his name was another because i couldnt understand how anyone can be called Register, killed them at practice. Other coaches i remember very well were Coach Boone, he taught me Religion in of the terms, and Coach Estes, who taught Biology to sophomores. I never quite grasped how they can be such great teachers, and also great coaches to the boys at Catholic. Coach Register had white hair, and had kind of a limp, they told me he had had a hip surgery because he had broken it many years ago. Coach Boone was this huge man,  sort of bald, and had such sense of humor that made us all crack up in religion class.  I had an incident with Coach Estes when we were practicing singing some hymn for an event at school, and of course as a muslim, I didnt want to sing. So he came up to me and told me to sing, he probably didnt know I was Muslim, or that I was a foreigner even for that matter. I was 15 back then and I almost made a big deal out of it but things passed and all went well. We can talk about the football team and my experience with it later. 

        So I passed the football field on my left, listening to Hisham Abbas on my iPod, and then left to University Avenue. I recall very well seeing the Little Rock public bus passing by, with a sign on it that read " University". I guess they called it University Avenue because it led to the University of Arkansas in Little Rock, or UALR. I pass the street, go left a couple of blocks, then right to John Gould Fletcher Public Library.  John Gould Fletcher, as came to my knowledge later, was an imagist poet, born in Little Rock, and worked with other very well known American imagist poets, namely Amy Lowell and Ezra Pound. I always went to that library after school, as it was the closest to Catholic, because whoever my ride was, Linda, or Jenny Rainwate, a great friend and a neighbor, came at 4:30 and so I had to kill the time till they picked me up. 

     So I go thought the doors of the library and I just get fired up. The scent of Air fresheners, mixed with feminine perfumes and the rich smell of books always prostrated me.  I would go to reserve my hour on one of the computers from a machine and wait till my time came. I can't forget this lady who worked there, a tall gorgeous blonde who always walked around running errands inside the library. The 15-year old me was so infatuated by her. I didn't know her but I definitely wanted to be friends with her. 

      I sat on the computer and accessed the Internet, and checked my newly acquired Facebook account because that was basically how I checked on my family and caught up with what was going on in Egypt. I remember very well that YouTube was how I found out about two very important events. One, that Egypt had won the African cup in soccer. Two, the frenzy of Turkish Soap operas had invaded Egypt and everyone there was talking about it. I remember one time I had the headphones in my ears and was listening to "Nary Nareen" , also by Hisham Abbas, and I got so excited listening to it and I started singing, till I found out I was so loud the black lady sitting next me was giving me a dirty look that told me to shut up or she will shut me up for good. I only accessed the Internet at the library because Linda didn't have a computer at home, so going to the library was pretty crucial. Once I finished my hour I would go to the book shelves and just stare at books, almost all of which I didn't know, which depressed me temporarily. I always saw one or two students from Catholic or Mount St. Mary's, the catholic school for girls and basically our sister school. I recognized them of course because it was the only school in town where girls wore uniforms. 

       When I listen to the Beatles, I definitely remember the great Mr. Bienvenue. The Louisianan man who was my neighbor when I was living with My first host mother, Jane Martin. He played the Beatles as he gave me and his son rides to and from soccer practices. I remember first time I saw the short bald man with the frameless glasses when he came up to the door and rang the bell a couple of times. I was at home alone and I didn't know if I was supposed to open the door or not. It was the beginning of the year in America, and I still felt I wasn't at home. In Egypt, if you are a guest, you almost never answer the door unless you are told to. But he kept ringing that bell till I was freaked and so answered the door. He started talking, and I couldn't understand a single thing. He had the weirdest accent I had ever heard in my life. Lousiana Accent. It sounded a lot like French I guess. That's why his name, Bienvenue, meant "welcome" in French and his son's name was "Beaux", or "handsome"in French. I could only understand the word Soccer which he pronounced SAAkar. He wanted me to join the team and play with his son. We traveled a couple of times together, I Mr. Bienvenue and his son Beaux. He was such a nice man and he never let me chip in with hotel expenses, and he would buy us food and drinks. I listen to the Beatles, and I can't help not to think of the awesome Mr. Bienvenue.

Music .. Part I

     

   The sound of music was the world to me in my year in the US. Every song reminds me of a certain situation that I was in, a place I went to listening to that piece of music, or something I was doing. Science says that smell is the most provoking sense to memory, like when you smell a detergent that you have smelt before at a restaurant, you actually remember that restaurant almost photographically, you remember what you ate and what you felt and who was sitting next to you, even the music you listened to at that restaurant at that certain point of time. Which is absolutely true for me but we can get back to that in another post, in this one, how the sound provokes my memory will be more prominent. I had bought an iPod classic that Raphael, my host mom's son, got me a great deal on. It was this silver, thick awesome creation from our friends at Apple that I had loved and cherished so much, until it was stolen from me, and the hit came from a friend. May Allah forgive him for what he did. Anyway, the iPod really helped me to document many events that happened from the music I was listening to on it during those events. It's actually a really good idea, alternative to photography, to document events in your life using music.

    

     Right now I am listening to jazz, my favorite genre of music.  To myself, jazz is my friend, it is not just a bunch of tunes brought together to compose music. Jazz is actually a cool friend. Jazz walks down the street coolly, dances feverishly or runs unpredictably. Jazz is this friend that sits with you on a bench under an apple tree in autumn dressed as chique as and fabulous as a movie star with a hat, and a raincoat, and shiny shoes, in the cold on the bank of the Rhine river with orange lamps lighting the street so far away you can never see his face. In the dark, when you are alone and the world has gone to bed, he sits with you, chats with you and tells you about your most beautiful dreams, and helps you visualize and live those dreams. With Jazz, not a problem in the world, in your world, is worth it,and everything is beautiful. Jazz loves you, hugs, and kisses you. If jazz can be touched, it can be spherical zigzag, or spiral. If you can smell jazz, then it is the sweet aroma of old wooden chairs and bars and tables of a jazz club in Paris or New Orleans. Jazz's every intention is to make people happy. Jazz always reminded me of those nights, when Linda and Kris would go to sleep rather early and I would be in my room sitting on my bed doing nothing. My bed was elevated so that when I stood next to it, my head would barely reach its level. I used a ladder attached to the bed to climb up. Attached to the bed are two shelves on top of each other, green, was the color of the bed, ladder, and the shelves. The shelves were very important because that's where I put my books and my radio. My room was basically in the basement, that Linda and Kris fixed for me beautifully to have as my own separate , almost private, area in the house,   except for the laundry room. Other than that, I owned the basement, Linda and kris owned upstairs and everything else. I spent many nights sitting on the bed, and tired of my books and not having anything to do. There was no computer at home and TV had only like four channels. So I lit my hot yellow lamp and chilled on the bed, and turned on the radio. Of course I had no idea about the stations in my area. But the radio opened at night on jazz. More often, the whole room would be dark and I would be going to sleep.  Then the softest, most smooth sweet jazz plays. A consoling, comforting piece would play and I would just drift off in the river of beauty. The tunes spoke to me, and I always felt the musicians stayed up all night just to enchant me with the fabulous music. Then, I didn't care much that I was alone or that I didn't have much to do at the moment. I sat in the most exquisite cafe in Marseilles where I can see the famous port from the tainted windows. I walked on the cobblestone streets of Prague, saw the beautiful ladies dressed in dazzling gowns going to the opera hokkuse of Prague and watched the sunset over the skyline of old churches  and  houses built with clay stones, painted orange and red. In a very old New Orleans jazz club with the most gorgeous lady in the house listening to live Benny Golson or John Coltrane tunes contemplating the rich scent from the tables and chairs, and of course the woman sitting next to me. Her scent was heavenly indeed. I went to wherever I wanted to go when I listened to jazz.

       I also have the memory of Mouline, Illinois, when we , I and Linda and Kris, went to visit Linda's sister and her son Christopher. Those smooth jazzy Christmas tunes played in the car as we went to Kruger's to do some shopping. I shall tell you about the journey to Mouline later. 

       Amr Diab always played on my iPod Classic everyday on my way from Catholic to the little rock library.  Diab's music draws out the picture of Catholic High school from outside. The empty parking because all the students have left. The only students who were still inside the school, where either the awesome students who worked at Catholic to make some extra cash, which I always tremendously respected like Seth Grandbois, the short kind of blonde kid whom I remember very distinctively because he was the first kid to help me open my locker that was locked by this lock that resembled ones on safes. When I asked , because it was so difficult for me to open at first, why the heck they don't just give keys out, they told me because students would lose them all the time and bug the administration.  Or the few students that waited for their rides like myself. Sometimes I sat with them and we chatted, like tyler, the white chubby kid with freckles and curly black hair,and glasses. Dustin, the black kid who was with me on the fitness team. Sometimes I would sit outside with the boys on the benches right outside the Catholic main door. There were like 4 benches outside the door. To the right there was this trail that led to the separate chemistry building that I had been informed was built very recently, of course very recently meant a minimum of 7 to 8 years regarding that the school was built in 1930. The trail was surrounded on. Either side by big trees that usually made it shadowy. I remember that trail very well because I always used it to go from French class with Brother Richard to Chemistry class with Mr.Edge. It rained a lot in the summer in Arkansas so it was usually a bit damp, the trail, and you could always smell the scent of watered grass and the leaves of trees. And the leaves would drop water remaining from the rain unto the trail, or unto your head sometimes. When you open the door and go left there stands the great statue that depicts the diseased GodFather of Catholic High, Father Tribou, advising a student. And then more benches till you reach the faculty parking and the very tall cross in front of the school. Farther left is the parking and the back doors for music room and the school gym. The school overlooks Father Tribou street that leads to the mall where myself and many of friends hung out, especially at Starbucks before exams.
 
      Hisham Abbas, a pop singer from Egypt, sang" sebtek" or " I dumped you" in my IPod classic as I passed the Catholic high football field. I can't get the smell of the wet blades of grass out of my nostrils. Those football boys were working hard at it. The field was at a lower level than the ground, that it felt to me they put the field in this huge pit of grass and mud. I always envied those boys that participated in an athletic team at catholic high. I always felt they were so in shape and that they really work hard to be at the level they are at. What I clearly remember was how I was always wondering how those fat kids who practiced in the football team could run so fast, and be that agile and light...

The man who swore to celibacy, Part II

     I had printed out president Sadat's speech from the Internet, and it was ten pages long. One, I can't memorize ten pages.Two, it would be more than 30 minutes to recite plus it would be insanely boring. So I just selected parts that I had heard from Ahmed Zaki's movie, Days of Sadat, that relayed Egypt's political strength at the time , the stance of president Sadat when it came to the right of Palestinians in their land that was usurped by Israeli occupation, and some verses of the Holy Quran that mentioned prophets Moses , Jesus, and Mohamed( Peace be upon them) and the universal islamic message of peace. I chose it because it was such an eloquent speech by such an avid Egyptian politician that represented my cultural makeup. I had never thought I can memorize even the little parts I had selected but " Practice and practice and practice", Mr.Wells tipped us. I remember practicing it in my room about 20 times, to Linda, and kris ( my host parents at the time) like 12 times at home or even while biking in Little Rock and North Little Rock. I kind of tried to make Sadat's impression to make sound real, but they couldn't make out the heavy Egyptian accent much. Linda actually came and listened to my speech. I had never seen a parent sitting in one of our classes at school but that was how awesome my unitarian universalist host mother was. I stood there on the podium, looking at my classmates, not fidgeting or feeling nervous, I had practiced over 40 times in front of people. I made the speech in 8 minutes non-stop, noticing Linda very focused and Mr.Wells with his eyes closed. Done. " I can't say much about the speech other than it was so sincere" Mr.Wells. He let my classmates grade me and I got a 105 out of 100. I acquired the bonus for surpassing the five-minutes limit. Valentino's speech was more than perfect, he acted out two people, one great and strong , the other poor., weak and imploring. He got an outstanding 112 out of 100. We, foreigners, and Charles Porterfield,101, were the only ones to get the bonus. It was a total coincidence but Valentino and I were so thrilled by Edgar Allan Poe's poem " The Raven" that we both chose it for our second speech. But again the Italian stallion beat me in acting out a man talking to a raven that he is only imagining. After my first speech, in study hall period, Andrew Toomer, a classmate, goes like " you are the Egyptian kid, Maauumoun ( he massacred my name like all the others) dude , Wells was bragging on you man. Later Mr. Wells in the middle of the school, gave me a big hug, something I had never see a teacher at Catholic do before. I still appreciate the gesture of passion to this day.

     I had gained some weight in my first few months in America. I tried to work it off at the Athletic club that all my three host families had access to by running the track or the treadmill , lifting some weights( by God I hated lifting weights as much as I hated to be alone, which is a lot), but I couldn't keep doing it , too lazy. What kept me from being an excessively obese person was that I played on a basketball team in my hometown. So I truly wanted to make any team at Catholic. I tried out for the basketball team but I wasn't good enough compared to the boys there( Catholic won state championship that year), and besides, I was fasting for Ramadan on the day of the tryouts, which means I neither had a crumb for breakfast nor a drop of water to drink. I had heard of the Fitness team. I thought it was for those ripped boys who were already fit who wanted to be more fit and compete state and maybe national, to make boys like myself forget all about fitness and concentrate on studying and reading and play pick up basketball for fun to avoid frustration. But fortunately, it was exactly for boys like myself, who weren't much fit and wanted to be fit , or just wanted some exercise with a school team. " I want to join the fitness team" I told J.J Molinaro, my best friend in America. " Just go and ask Wells man" he replied. I pictured Mr. Wells with his perfectly circular glasses and his firm big belly coaching the fitness team and screaming at them to run faster and push up harder and set up more, and I giggled. I went to the man and he goes like" Yeaaaaa( his words were always loud, enunciated and a bit long, I imitated his tone for a while because I loved it), we practice outside in L2 and you are welcome to join us".

     We had exactly a half our to change clothes into either Yellow shorts, or Purple shorts. Yellow was for people who got less than 200 on the fitness evaluation, purple for more. We'd head outside, find Mr.Wells outside. As soon as he sees us he goes " Run, run, Go Go!". we ran laps around the school, and the trail had its ups and downs, but I never stopped, it was the only exercise I did the whole day. We 'd also do push-ups and set-ups on those mats we put on grass. Mr.Wells would gather us in his room and ask us " Mr. Dickinson, beef or chicken? Yeah he sometimes bought all hundred something Fitness Team members burgers from my all-time burger fast food chain, Wendy's( I can't help my saliva from flowing after writing that name!!). Actually we got two burgers a piece, plus a Snickers or a Mars, or a Milky Way bar.

     I loved the man, and I am pretty sure he loved me. I asked him if there was any place I could do my prayers in after school, because I couldn't catch the noon prayers because of classes. He nobly offered his room for me to pray in, and I appreciated it very much. He was a devout Catholic but he let a muslim teenager use his room for prayers. One of classmates, Luke, made this one speech in class during speech days. It was some sort of a sermon that glorified Jesus( Peace Be Upon Him) over all righteous men who ever tread ground, and he mentioned the prophets Muhammed and Moses ( Peace Be Upon Them). I thought it was understandable because the boy was a devout Catholic as well and I had understood Catholicism pretty well by then. Mr.Wells came to me right after class." I hope you weren't offended by Luke's speech Maamoun." he said. I almost teared up.

     What came to my knowledge later was that Mr. Wells was very rich. "Loaded", using the word of my classmate. He had gone to the seminary to be a priest but he did not continue there. He had decided to swear to celibacy, a Catholic ritual that indicated that the man chose to be a bachelor for the rest of his life. I learned it was a way to be closer to the Lord. We talked on the phone 3 years after I had left America and I was very happy to hear his voice. I still long for the day to go back to Catholic and visit him and my other great teachers who really touched my life. Catholic changed my life.

The Spence

           I pressed on the water tap, I wasn't that thirsty really, but I just really wanted the water to hit my eyes directly. I desperately needed to wake up. Mr. Spencer was already inside and he doesn't allow students to come in after him. But I was Egyptian, an exception can always be made, and besides, Mr.Spencer and I were cool, and I took advantage of that when I needed it. But If I fall asleep in his class, that's just utter disrespect. It happened before, but I wasn't going to let this happen again.
        I entered the rich-smelling history class and headed directly to my seat behind Marlon, and sat down. The room wasn't air-conditioned, so most of the school year it was cold. History was first period, and the room was in this corner of the school, that the sunlight, when it comes out, enters the room at the end of the class, mostly blocked by the big trees outside the windows.So the room was always dim-lit, and we weren't that interested in lamps. The room looked old, and primitive, as if Mr Spencer meant it for us to discuss history in a medieval atmosphere, and medievel history was indeed part of our curriculum.Portraits of historical celebrities made the walls almost invisible and a Western-Civilization timeline banner was on the back wall. You can smell the watered grass and fallen leaves from the trees outside.

         My eyes are still wet , I did this water tap thing mostly everyday. But, still I am dying for some sleep. I wish I had some coffee to wake me up so I can keep up with Mr. Spencer. But what really always helped me to stay awake was the fact that the seats in Mr.Spencer's room were incredibl uncomfortable for sitting or even for sleeping.

      Paul Spencer, my history teacher, was this tall bald man with light brown eyes and stout figure. He was a lot like House, the lead character in the series with the same name. He actually looked like him a bit, facially. He was hilarious , and he picked on most of us ferociously, especially Nelson in the front. Nelson knew a lot and he was kinda well-informed but he had ego, the annoying type, and Mr.Spencer always tried to attenuate that by picking on him more than any of us. He picked on me when I was late or caught asleep in class. I don't remember him getting angry ever, just the usual " shut up" and " zip it" and " shhhhhhh" and " knock it offfff!" . The only time I recall he got angry was when he went ballistic on my buddy Marlon. He told us he got a documentary about the Nazi Concentration camps that he wanted to show us. By the way, we were not studying that part yet but it was just for enlightenment. So Marlon goes like " ahh, sweeet!" . Paul Spencer got red and just screamed at him : " What do you think is " Sweet" about that Mr. Marlon? what is so sweet about people being tortured and gassed and burned in bonfires?"

       Mr. Spencer told history like how it's meant to be told, like a story. He simplified the most complicated historical terms of politics and economy like it was a piece of cake. The class was about western Civilization, from Ancient Greece, to the Roman Empire, the medieval times, Christian Europe, The Renaissance, and the Industrial Revolution.  We specifically studied all the kings of France and England from the time of the French Occupation of England by William the Bastard in 1066 A.D. In Mr. Spencer's class , we understood history and digested it. We breathed it and lived it , and watched it. We understood how civilizations rise , and then how they deteriorate and crumble to ashes to make way for a following civilization that has more reasons to survive at the moment than the preceding one. The new civilization learns the arts and the sciences , the religious life and the political and economical styles of the old civilizations and decides which it will assimilate and which it will throw away , temporarily or permanently. He taught us to never trust just one source when it came to anything, particularly history, not even himself. He encouraged us to read or watch documentaries on the History channel. He would strike up an argument with one of the students, even if he agreed with the student, to train him to strongly defend his point and use critical thinking to prove it. History with Paul Spencer was His-Story, and Her-Story.

    We had a great friendship Mr. Spencer and myself. He was responsible of attendance in the morning and I knew where his office was. Actually, I was friends with everyone in the administration, Mrs. Fenigan, Mrs. Delorenzo, Mr. Aushburn, and Mr. Straessle, the principal. I would go to Mr. Spencer's office in the morning where his kids sat waiting for his lady friend to take them with her kids to their elementary school. We would chat a lot about the school, the curriculum. And we would discuss current affairs and I would tell him about the Egyptian culture and the Muslim religion. He would bring me up in class when one of three things came up: Islam, Egypt, and the French language.  A few times I ask him to let me step to front center and talk about the Muslim religion and clarify controversial matters for the boys. He once told me that it was very educating for the students in his class to have a colleague who was a decent, devout Egyptian Muslim that could also speak French and challenge Catholic high students in math and chemistry, and that it would alter their perspective about that part of the world for the rest of their lives. Not just my colleagues in history class, and not my colleagues in all the classes at Catholic High, but all the students at Catholic who encountered such a colleague even in the hallways. He also made it a habit to ask me about the correct pronunciation of a French term, Brother Richard my french teacher told him I pronounced the french tongue well.

     I got hold of some Skype credit and looked his home phone number up and called him. The second I heard his voice I realised how much I missed the man. I asked him about his life and his kids and the school. He told me Mr. Moran, the oldest English teacher at Catholic who taught for a splendid 42 years, wrote a book about his long experience teaching at Catholic, and I expressed a dire desire to get the book, but I didn't know how to acquire it. The call was made two years ago and I miss him greatly.

                                                                                                     Dedicated to Paul Spencer,
                                                                                                                  31st January, 2013

An exchange student.. exchanging.

         I had always liked classical music: Bach, Mozzart, Beethoven, Satie, and the rest of them. I had never gotten a CD or a cassette and actually listened to it, but it always caught my ears, and I knew what it was. I officially started listening to classical music in the U.S. At my host home I found a group of CD's and I recognized Satie. I would listen to the soft smooth music under my yellow lamp while studying, or reading. I really felt it was such a fine piece of art that I was enjoying, and music in Heaven must be something of that kind. 
        
         So, I expressed the desire to go to a classical music concert. I wanted to see how they all harmonized those sounds together to make this piece of Heaven. Coach Heine, a teacher and a football coach at Catholic High, knew about that, I don't remember how exactly but I am sure it was via Kay Barre. Coach Heine and I had a very special relationship. He never taught me, but we got to know each other and he knew where I was from and he knew that I spoke some French, he knew I loved it too,so he always pretended I was French not Egyptian. So he would scream at me in the hallways, at the top of his voice going like " Hey Sharkawy, How is France?" or " D'y'all got snow in France?" or just a simple "Bonjour". We had never really talked but those hilarious conversations that we had in the hallways with everyone laughing at us was all I needed to love the guy. He offered to take me to a classical music concert, and I was ecstatic for that. It wasn't easy though to actually get that Coach Heine, the football coach, who coaches those male teenagers that flood the fields with their sweat and testosterone, could actually like something as fine and as artsy as classical music.

       I dressed up for the big night, I wore my tuxedo and since it was March so I had to wear a coat, which was extremely elegant, and also extremely borrowed from kris, my host father at the time. Then I had my glasses that had red web-like net on either side, which many people told me was pretty cool. Coach Heine picked me up with his van and we were headed downtown. I don't remember exactly where the concert was held but i remember it was such a chique place indeed, and worth all the dressing up. So many people were dressed up, men in tuxedos and women in beautiful gowns. What I managed to know later that night, that I was sitting in Coach Heine's wife's seat. He had season tickets basically and she had refrained from coming so I took her place.

       I was surprisingly bored just sitting there looking at the orchestra play, and I wished very much I had a book to read or something while having the music as background. During the recital I had seen Miss Hunter, my beautiful math teacher at Catholic High. So in the break, I went to her and said hi and she was very surprised when she saw me there. I bet her thoughts were something like that " what brought this Egyptian Barbarian to this fine concert!?". Anyway, she was the one who told me the deal about Coach Heine's wife. She took me outside where we chatted a little, then she introduced me to that gorgeous lady that a couple of minutes ago had played in the orchestra. Right after that, she teased me that she got me to know some very beautiful, and sophisticated women, that I would have never been able to know without her help.
     
        The concert ended, I liked it very much and I loved the atmosphere of it all. We started to head out, Coach Heine and I, when a wonderful thing happened. We bumped into Sarah and her family. And yes Sarah is not her real name. Her mother, Marisa, was a friend of Linda 's, my host mother. So she recognized and said hi and I introduced them to coach Heine. Sarah's mother offered that I hang out with them, that we can all have a cup of coffee someplace nice. I was ecstatic about the offer for a reason. The reason was Sarah. She was this gorgeous girl, with long blonde hair running down her back and has cute freckles on her face. She had this exquisite gown on and the most delicate shal on her shoulders. What attracted me so much was that I had heard about her and her family. I knew she has studied French since middle school so she must speak pretty decent French, which just attracts me like a moth to a flame. Also, her mother had lived a couple years in France. French sophistication was present in the family.
        The funniest thing happened when the waiter asked me what I wanted, and then he said, " you know sir that you can't have any alcohol". So I just went like" Dang, that's too bad",  the man didn't know I was muslim and I can't have any alcohol even if I was fifty years old. We talked about many things, I asked Sarah's mother about France and I was all ears to the beauty of even the stories about that country. Sarah and I talked about both of our schools, she was in Mount St.Mary's,  which was like Catholic High's sister school. We discussed how bad it was that Catholic High only had two french courses while Mount had four, and I told her that I would love to come to Mount to take French four, and she laughed hard at that, Mount was an all-girls school. I could smell Sarah's scent from where i was sitting, it just pierced my nostrils with the sweet smell. That night was just amazing. I went to a classical music concert and then got acquainted with the representatives of the French culture in the mighty state of Arkansas, Sarah's family, the Speck-kerns.

The Arrival in Little Rock,Arkansas. Part II

       We landed in the, I always call it that, the mighty state of Arkansas. Of course the girls and I were expecting someone to come pick us up from the airport. And she was there my wonderful liaison, Mrs. Barre, also a Spanish language teacher at Catholic High my host school. Kay Barre was a blonde and always had a very characteristic scent that I still have in my nose till now, that when she would pass by anywhere at school I would know Miss Barre was here, a very attractive scent. She greeted us and we went to get our bags, one of mine was a bit late. She drove us to the hotel where we were supposed to have our arrivsl orientation. In the car I was looking out the window watching how beautiful my host state was, so green everywhere. It definitely earns its name, The Natural State. We reached the hotel, and there I saw the AFS people that I was going to deal with throughout the whole year They greeted us with "welcome to America" and all that other jazz. I went to my room, rested, changed my clothes, swam a little with Miss Barre's son, Michael, and then went back to my room.

      That night I roomed with three other boys, Mark Guill from the Philippines, Toby and Max from Germany. Three wonderful gentlemen that I was very honoured to have met. Toby and Max totally destroyed my stereotype about Germans being dull and serious, because they were one of the most lively, funny and friendly people I ever met. Mark, the phillipino, was this amazing dark-skinned kid, and we became friends right at the second we said hi. The room that the four of us shared only had two beds. Thing is, in Egypt, boys can sleep next to each other on the same bed pondering nothing of homophobia, basically because the concept doesn't exist in our heads much. But I had always thought that just the idea of sharing a bed with a guy was horrific to Americans or Europeans. But I was stunned at how okay the idea was to the Germans, apparently I had been mistaken.

           Jane, my future host mother for the first month and a half of my stay, ran the orientation. Earlier, I had my first encounter with Jane. Kay introduced us to each other, and then it happened. Jane gave me a hug!. In, Islam it was forbidden for a grown man to have physical contact with a woman that was neither his wife nor his kin. That's why I was so taken aback by her action, and I couldn't hug her back from the surprise. That moment was to be a landmark in my relationship with Jane Martin. Jane, this sweet caring loving woman that took me in her house to live with her wonderful family for the next month and a half, and later another two months, and then later took me in her heart as her Egyptian son for as long as we both will live. Jane is my first American mother, and an eternal resident of the chambers of my heart.

      The orientation was almost boring though, which had nothing to do with Jane Martin, but because, the whole content of the orientation was covered a thousand times in our orientations in Egypt. And I was very proud of AFS Egypt because of that.

The Arrival in Little Rock, Arkansas. Part I

          First of all, what I am about to talk about is my first days in Little Rock, AR, not my first days in the U.S. To be able to clearly remember that I had to get back to the journal that I had written at the time, which now proves immensely useful. In the Washington, D.C. Airport, I was waiting my flight with two Indonesian girls. Mir'atul ( short for Mir'atullah, a beautiful name) a little dark and beautifully veiled girl. And Ermy, a bit taller than Mir'atul, and at the time, more friendly, and slightly lighter in skin tone, and also very beautifully veiled. You can only imagine what state we were in. The last night in D.C. was very consuming , we had so many lectures and activities to attend and we slept very late, at least I did, for reasons that will be mentioned later. We were all consumed, exhausted, and whatever other synonyms of tired that existed, they are all relevant. Not just that, still jet-lagged from four nights ago. Everyone was very tired from speaking English all the time, which was the mother language of none of us.

         The three of us were given our ID's, Boarding passes, and everything else that should help us travel from Washington D.C, to Houston in Texas, to Little Rock, Arkansas. I hadn't looked at the map before we were told that we are going to lay off in Houston Airport, but when I did, I found out that Houston was actually deeper south than Little Rock. When I asked later why we had to lay off in a city that was farther than our target city and I got the answer that it's just cheaper. Now we are in the part that we hadn't seen before in the D.C. Airport, the Food Court. We needed some breakfast, so we just sat at the nearest place, I remember it was Fudruckers. We finished eating and we had little time so we headed directly to the terminal where we are boarding our flight to Houston. We reached there earlier than we thought, so an idea came across our minds, to just call people. The moment that the three of us were in , we felt that it had to be shared with other people. Ermy and Mir'atul as I remember called their host families. Apparently they had had some contact with them online before they came. But I wanted to call Egypt. So we headed out and we bought 20 $ Calling cards, which were total rip-offs because those cards only let you talk on the phone 20 minutes maximum. At that moment money didn't matter much to us I remember, we still hadn't exactly felt the value of one dollar. I had 300 dollars that my father had given to me in Egypt and I had the 125$ envelope that they gave us in the orientation for our first month, and that is the amount of money I was sent from the Department Of State every month for the next year. Walking down the corridors of the airport, I still felt pretty lost, inside not outside. Only a couple days ago I was with my mother and father and brothers and my uncle, everyone spoke arabic, the faces and the streets looked familiar, everything was easy, Egypt was my comfort zone. Now I was walking down the hallways of the famous D.C. Airport, Everyone looked foreign to me, they can be from any nationality not necessarily American. I had to speak English all the time, but think in Arabic. I was always checking my passport and my boarding pass because I deeply felt like a leaf in autumn, fallen under a tree and then easily blown by the wind, if I lose any of my papers it will be a lot of trouble. I can still remember the scent of detergent all over the airport and especially the restrooms. I still remember the ads on the walls, the beautiful business women, the suited-up men, and the voice of conductors.

            Time came and we had to board the Houston flight. The plane was pretty small, I had thought all aeroplanes were like that KLM plane that flew us from Egypt to Amsterdam, and then to Washington. But the I was told that those little ones were for interior travels inside the U.S. Again, feeling terribly lost and dicombobulated I checked on everything, but still I fidgetted in my seat, couldn't sit still. The most beautiful blonde woman was sitting behind me reading a book. Her face was down and so at first I only saw her hair but then when I called on her she pierced me with those baby blue eyes of hers. For the last couple of days, although I was always surrounded by people from Egypt and everywhere else, I had felt very lonely. That moment was an absolute peak of my loneliness, and what I wanted was to just talk to anyone and get familiar with them. Now if you ask me, what if the person sitting behind you was a guy, would you have talked to him? My answer would be no. Yes in my loneliness I needed the softness of a beautiful lady. But our talk wasn't as long as I hoped, I just told her that I was an Egyptian Exchange student and that I was to spend a year in America with a host family and in an American school, at the time I knew I was going to a Catholic school. She applauded and said that it was very brave of me to do such a thing in such a young age and that she wouldn't have been able to do that at fifteen herself. But then I found nothing to say and apparently she wanted to get back to her book. So, I was back to my loneliness for the next 3 hours.

        After a 3-hour lay off in Houston Airport, we boarded the plane to Little Rock, Arkansas, and I couldn't have been more excited. It's very important for an exchange student to never expect anything about their host area, school or family. The plane lands in Little Rock, Arkansas, which was named so after an actual little rock under a bridge there, at least that's what I was told.