The taste of roasted red pepper humus reminds me of an Iraqi man named Babak. He was observing a science teacher at the last school at which I was employed. Babak is tall, with short salt and pepper hair, and a shade of tan skin that is darker than
Caucasians. The details of his face are gone, but I do remember that he always wore button down shirts and khaki pants. He has an accent, which I would have guessed could be Greek or Middle Eastern. When I first met him, I was a little intimidated. Babak has a fast way of talking, he is tall*, and he seemed uninterested in speaking with me when I tried to be friendly. And I did try as he was often working in the library, so usually in the same space as me, for most of the day. I am not sure when that changed, maybe it was the humus incident that finally let me see him as approachable.
Often I'd join the science team for lunch as they'd all gather in one room and give each other shit, gossip about who drank the most over the week-end, and shared embarrassing tales from past lives. Ok, maybe only three of the five science teachers joined in this raucous behavior, the other two laughing, agreeing, contributing small comments instead of stories. It was an enjoyable scene to be a part of nevertheless. I didn't eat as this happened around 11:15 am, just too damn early for me. This time when I joined the team, Babak was there too (and would be for the duration of his time). The rowdy two were already softly ripping into him, teasing him about the fastidious and somewhat large scale lunches he brought with him. On this day, his lunch assemblage included a big tub of roasted red pepper humus amongst other items.
How did it happen? How did we go from strangers to Babak sharing a carrot with me, urging me to try the humus? Me refusing, saying I didn't like it, Babak in his fast way telling me to try new things until I relented and tried it? And I liked it! After all the times I'd seen roasted red pepper humus as a snack option at parties, or Jason had brought home some to my dismay, I'd say to myself (or to Jason) "I don't like that kind." If I had ever tried this kind of humus, it was so long ago I couldn't remember; I'd just told myself I didn't like it and never tried it again. Now here I was sharing an Iraqi man's lunch, with him giving me a hard time for being so indecisive.
I'd like to say Babak and I went on to have a lasting friendship. At one point we were friends. Babak ran into some troubles - one day he needed help filling out forms for his classwork. Another day he had car problems. I helped him get a ride to school and got his car to a garage. Another day I drove him home from school. Another day he missed school as he was ill, so I made him some soup. I did this not only because I'm a good person (I am but not usually this nice!) but because I knew he was new to this country, alone here for some time to complete school and find a job, and that Babak had no friends other than us, his fellow colleagues. Later on Babak returned the favor when I was ill and made me soup, too. Sadly, our friendship didn't last. Babak was in the library one day and I can't remember the details or if something broke...I think I remember he printed over 100 pages of something off the library printer and maybe it jammed or ran out of ink. When I professionally and politely explained how and where he should ask to print if he needed to do that many pages, he was more brusque than usual and tried to brush me off. Later Babak almost got a virus on one of the library computers, which would have compromised the school's network, possibly the district's. I consulted with my IT people first, who confirmed he had a laptop he should be using. When I tried to discuss this with Babak, he was unhappy and resistant, to the point of telling me I was singling him out. I told him this is what I would do and say to any student or faculty who had the same issue, but he didn't seem to believe me. After this last incident I didn't really see Babak in the library as much, so talked to him less. I avoided lunches in the science department.
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When my science teacher first told me he was going to have an Iraqi student observing him, the thought of terrorism did cross my mind. Like first thing. How stereotypical! Coming from me, a self proclaimed open minded liberal hippy - what?! I caught the thought, said that it was completely biased and unfair (all in my mind of course) and told myself I would treat this man fair and just like anyone else. But this bias crept up in other ways and with other people. The IT guy I connected to about Babak's virus issues said Babak may not understand how we do things here. That could just be an innocous comment or not. When Babak and I first started having issues with his behavior and use of library resources, I went to the science teacher to talk. His response included that Babak was from a country where women were subservient and more docile, and certainly Babak may not be used to having a woman tell him what to do. This last example had me wondering if I was supposed to overlook Babak's behavior? And wondering if that wouldn't be some kind of anti-sexism sexism? All these little things effected how I began to approach Babak, how I spoke with him in those later confrontations.** I may have been more aggressively assertive than I needed to be, perhaps actually singling him out after all in some weird attempt to show him I was his equal in this school, in this place, to force him to respect me. Writing that now, I see how that could only end poorly...
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Only recently when I cracked open a new tub of roasted red pepper humus did I remember his name. Babak. A man I thought I wanted to understand, but maybe didn't. I hope he got a teaching job. I hope he still brings super large lunches to work, separated and organized in a million small tupperwares. With every bite of roasted red pepper humus, I send out positive vibes to Babak wherever he may be, to the universe, and to me too. I need to be open to the idea that I may not be open. I need to be open to finding my blindspots. I need to be open to stepping into discomfort if it means learning something about myself, someone else, or the world.
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*disclaimer - most everyone is tall to me
**tangent for another post - when something seems sexist/anti-feminist I get HEATED
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