Mohammed: Meeting #3

I sat at a table in the café of the TCU library, flipping through the latest Skiff as I waited for Mohammed to arrive.  Each time I finished an article, I glanced at the front doors, hoping to see Mohammed entering the front doors; yet as the minutes ticked by, Mohammed did not show up.  After twenty minutes, I began to fold up the newspaper, reigned that Mohammed’s tardiness was an indicator of ultimate absence.  Just as I turned to exit, I heard the sound of echoing footsteps bouncing off the walls and corridors of the otherwise empty library.  Out of breath, Mohammed ran to the table and pulled out his chair, bearing a wide and mischievous smile.  Eager to proceed with our conversation in our now reduced interval of time, I quickly inquired about his past week.  In response, he pulled a pair of car keys out of his coat and gingerly set the key ring on the table.  At first, I had no idea what this action signified, clueless about what this key ring signified.  Suddenly, I remembered a conversation from the previous, a conversation about his hope to purchase a car.  As I realized the importance of the keys, I began to smile as well.  

The week before we had shared in mutual frustration concerning our lack of vehicles; now, we were able to mutually share in the joy stemming from Mohammed’s new car ownership.   Mohammed told me that he had spent the past weekend studying for his driver’s exam and had just acquired his driver’s earlier that week.  Already, Mohammed had plans to drive to Dallas or Oklahoma during Spring Break, exploring the freedom of his driver’s license and new car.  He could barely contain his enthusiasm at the prospect of spending the break with his Saudi Arabian friends and family, eating traditional Arabian food and being surrounded by his Arabian culture.  For Mohammed, his driver’s license and car meant more than a fun weekend or a more convenient means of transportation; to Mohammed, a driver’s license and car provided him with connection to his culture, family, and friends. 

After discussing his license and car for a while, we began discussing our families.  Mohammed and I compared our family structures.  Mohammed and I both have multiple siblings varying widely in age.  Mohammed revealed to me that he misses his youngest brother, age 2, the most.  After struggling to describe his brother accurately in English, Mohammed opened a file on his phone which contained a photograph of his younger brother.  Like Mohammed, I share a special bond with my youngest brother.  Mohammed and I compared our younger brothers, laughing at each other’s family antidotes and recollections.  Despite our cultural differences, many of our stories contained the same basic elements of humor.  We both shared stories about our younger siblings’ misbehaviors and temper tantrums, laughing at our common experiences. 

We also discussed our older siblings’ weddings, comparing and contrasting the practices of our cultures.  While Mohammed’s cousin’s wedding cost his family approximately $50,000.00, my brother’s wedding only cost $10,000.00.  As we discussed the food served at the weddings, Mohammed explained to me that the men would be served extremely fatty meats while the females would typically be served a different menu course containing more nutritious dishes.  I must not have masked my feelings of disturbance concerning this sexism, because Mohammed quickly began explaining the custom.  He was insistent on clarifying this custom as a cultural practice rather than a sexist regulation, attempting to red me of any negative attitudes towards his culture.  After regrouping, I was able to engage in conversation with Mohammed and understand that not all gender guidelines in his culture are meant to be sexist.  After wrapping up our conversation, we resolved to meet again after Spring Break, parting ways on an amiable and positive note.