A short preface; the following are two articles meant to be read in tandem as one. Two former SUSI students wanted to share the story of their experience from each of their perspectives. Specifically Stephanie and Mahmoud wanted to write about their interactions with each other over this time and what they came to understand of one another.
Stephanie Abboud
On the eve of our departure back home, all of us gathered into a circle and were asked to share what we’re really taking back home with us from the program. When my turn came, with tears in my eyes, I talked about how Mahmoud and I each came from one of the two opposite ends of a spectrum, but somehow managed to meet in the middle by the end of the program. Everyone in the room knew about the clashes that happened (a lot and very often) between Mahmoud and I. So when I spoke, they all laughed. I didn’t have to try too hard to explain, almost everyone witnessed our stand-offs, and they all witnessed our eventual friendship. I think most of them were intrigued by the special bond we shared. As I look back at it now, I’m certain it must have been a beautiful process to watch.
Mahmoud is a year older than me, and while that doesn’t make for a difference between us, there were many other things that did. We came from different genders, different countries, different religions, and different societies. A difference in one of these characteristics would not do much –but the combination of differences in all these characteristics set us straight out on a collision path. Don’t get me wrong, Mahmoud is amazing with a heart of gold, but getting to know him was tough.
During our first days in the US, I had the impression Mahmoud was a cool and fun guy (and he is). A few days later, we had our first disagreement, and apparently, it wasn’t going to be cool between us. Mahmoud told me he did not believe in friendships between men and women. I, not only did, but most of my friendships were with men. That meant my friendships were something he frowned upon, and I did not want him to judge me. So after failing at convincing him (and at making myself look moral), I promised to show him that not only are inter-gender friendships possible, but beautiful too. Little did I know back then that this was not going to be the last of it.
Two days later, I found the audacity to ask something that surprised him “Am I an infidel to you?” This was our first dialogue about religion –the first of more to come. I did not want him to sugarcoat it to be polite, so I kept arguing and pushing him to admit that he did, but he would not say it.
The following day, Mahmoud compared my outfit (a tank top and shorts) with our friend’s (long-sleeves and jeans). He told me with so much sass “She is cold. She is cold and you’re not.” I knew then that my outfits were going to become another thing Mahmoud frowned upon. From that day on, I would wake up every day and think “Is Mahmoud going to judge me if I wear this?” I wanted him to see me for who I actually am, not for what I wore. The day after, we were going to a mosque. I asked Zeynab, one of our friends, to put the hijab on for me the way she does it herself. Mahmoud scans me, smirks, and says “Did Zeynab put the hijab on for you? Well that’s not the proper way to wear the hijab. If you want to wear it like that, might as well not wear it all” and turned around. I stood disappointed –Here I was excited to be introduced to their religion and making an effort to dress appropriately, and he was criticizing me for wearing the hijab the same way a Muslim woman wears it herself. Later that morning, he commented on my ankles still being visible and on how that made my pants not suitable for the visit and walked away. I began wondering if our cultural and religious differences make him hate me.
The day before going to church, I made sure to get back at him and tell him to wear decent shoes out of respect to the place we’re going to. I thought he took me seriously. But the next day, he went in flip-flops. He was also talking and joking all service long. I was annoyed. Why could I show appreciation for his religion and he couldn’t respect mine?
A few days later, Mahmoud sat on the bench cross-legged in a basilica! I had enough of him. He wanted me to abide by his religion’s rules, when he couldn’t show basic courtesy towards mine.
Of course however, just like every story, ours could not have happened without a turn of events. Mahmoud and I were seated next to each other in a Jewish synagogue and talked together, but I was judging him inside, having had enough of him and his strict conservatism for the past two weeks. On our way out, Mahmoud suffered from a hypotension crisis. I was so scared for him and of losing him. The tears we all cried broke down the wall I had built against him. It was then that I realized that, no matter how much Mahmoud criticized my behavior, I had profound love for him. I think he realized that too then but he couldn’t understand why. And maybe that was the lesson we both needed to learn: Love for difference. We both can pinpoint that this incident broke the ice between us, but we’ll both still admit, to this day, that this wasn’t the end of it. And while it wasn’t the end, it was definitely the beginning of a friendship (he still won’t admit it’s a friendship, so he can call it what he likes). We began talking often, having friendly conversations and small talk, and enjoying each other’s company. Dialogue. But most of all, it was religion we discussed. Does God exist? Which religion has the real truth? Are Christians going to hell? The Holy Trinity, Jesus, Mohammad, the Qoran. Everything. But of course, we would face trouble again.
One night, when my advice on relationships to one of his friends back home included “A girl is free to do whatever she wants”, Mahmoud explained “She’s a Lebanese girl, so don’t really listen to what she says.” I stormed out of the room and didn’t even bother hearing his explanation. Am I too liberal for him and his friends to the point where my opinion should be disregarded? I was genuinely tired of our antics, and was giving up on getting anywhere with him.
On our way back from an Islamic Center, Mahmoud scolds us for not asking the Imam questions. He said that he was asking questions he already knew the answers to out of respect only. I looked at him and snapped: “Don’t talk about respect when you walk into church, sit cross-legged and flaunt your flip-flops when I had specifically asked you to wear sneakers for “respect””. He was surprised of my reaction and didn’t expect it. As he was answering, I, once again, walked away. That same afternoon, I wore loose pants and a bra-top for a pool party, as I thought I was dressed accordingly. Mahmoud yelled at me for hanging around the pool when the men were swimming. He could have explained that they believe it’s haram for me to look at their nude torsos, but he yelled instead. I was starting to get used to that, but what came next was, to me, the straw that broke the camel’s back. When I was casually talking to him, he handed me the nearest jacket he found, and told me “The next time you want to talk to me, dress accordingly.”
All trip-long, I had never been as outraged of Mahmoud, as I was when I heard those words, that I just walked away and sat on my own in the nearest room. I was furious. This was him blatantly imposing his culture on me. He had reached a whole new level: He wanted to change the person I am, my behavior, and the way I dress. He was saying that if I wanted to talk to him, I had to behave the way he sees fit. I was fuming. Some of our friends tried to mediate, tried to calm me down, and talked to him. But I wasn’t going to let it slide and Mahmoud wasn’t going to take it back. As fed up as I was, I decided to give him the silent treatment. The only times I would break my silence were to snap back at anything he would say with a clever comeback. I wasn’t going to let him hear the end of it. It was cute; we both wanted to be in the other’s presence, but ignored each other instead because of course we had a stance to hold.
The next morning, Mahmoud did not wear flip-flops to church. He wore sneakers. During the service, while he laughed a little, he would stand when everyone would, and sit down when everyone did. I loved watching him blend in. But I was still infuriated, so I wasn’t going to say anything or give him credit for any effort. Our friends kept trying to mediate for the next three days. Every time, I would list the things Mahmoud told me so far and explain how this was the worst of it and how fed up I am. But deep-down, it was him I wanted to be the one talking to. I wasn’t going to make the first-move so I kept snapping at him until he would react and try talking to me. And he did.
For the first time in 3 weeks, Mahmoud and I sat down together to talk. Two of our friends acted as facilitators as Mahmoud and I took turns to speak. I explained how angry I was, and gave evidence that I had reason to be. It was the first time I actually told him how I felt instead of ignoring him or walking away. Mahmoud really listened. He gave me the space to empty everything I wanted to say. He then explained to me his point of view and even apologized. I was happy to hear one but I just wanted him to understand how I felt. And for once, he did.
While Mahmoud and I had always discussed our religions and societies, this was the first time we sat down together and actually opened up about how our differences were affecting us. And by far, this was our most fruitful conversation of all. Moving forward, he still wouldn't admit any of us girls were his friends, or that I'm an infidel, but I stopped pushing him to. He stopped criticizing my outfits, and, together, we began having civil debates about our cultures and lifestyles. None of us had changed, but we had finally learned to accept each other the way each of us was.
Mahmoud and I spent the next two weeks on great terms. We enjoyed having each other around. He hung out with us more often, went out with us, talked more, and made some inside jokes. We took pictures together. I remember our friends’ looks of pride when they saw us talking, or insisting on waiting for the other to tag along. Proud of the place we reached. Before we went back home, he told me he was going to miss having someone praise him all day long. That night, he even addressed a group conversation to me. We were talking about salvation, and I still remember him looking at me with every word he said. Mahmoud also encouraged me to speak up when I was right and make myself heard. I did so when he pushed me to. We got each other goodbye gifts; I got him a book about Christianity he was looking for along with another book: “Seeking Allah, Finding Jesus”. I thought it embodied our experience together perfectly.
The last day, goodbye came. When it was time for me to leave, I had to find a way to properly bid Mahmoud farewell. He was busy with his back turned to me, so I ran from behind and hugged him with all the strength I had. With all the affection I’ve ever had for him –all the affection I could never show him because he absolutely is against all kinds of inter-gender physical contact. And that was exactly why he was taken by surprise and screamed “NOOOOO” right in the middle of the hotel lobby. You see, even when we had managed to put our differences aside and meet in the middle, we still clashed. Rebecca laughed; it was one last Mahmoud-Stephanie episode to end the journey.
Mahmoud and I learned the hard way that no matter how different two people are, there is always somewhere to meet in. The less different two people are, the easier a middle is to find. In our case, meeting each other halfway meant that each of us had to cross over a long, very long, path. But we did. We argued, fought, clashed, and even hurt each other. But we also talked, listened, made an effort, and found a middle ground. Dialogue really does bring people together, and bridge between cultures. I was a 21-year old Lebanese Christian girl, too liberal for him. He was a 22-year old Egyptian Muslim guy, too conservative for me. But we were both young, Arabs, and we both believed in God and shared some common morals and values. It took us a long while to learn to put our differences aside and focus on what’s beyond. Today, a year in, I couldn’t be any happier that we did. Mahmoud taught me (and he still does) so much. I still turn to him for questions about Islam. But beyond that, he made me more understanding than I thought I was, more tolerant, more accepting. The Stephanie that travelled to the US for SUSI in July 2018 was not the same Stephanie that came back to Lebanon in August 2018 –and I owe a huge part of that to Mahmoud and the journey we experienced together.
