Don’t be a Habibi, Habibi 2001

Before Zainab rang in the new year, she would discover that she absolutely detested and loathed the Arabic word, Habibi. Well, one aspect of the word. She still used it but sneered whenever a habibi said habibi. Those habibis can stay as fucking far away from her as possible. Houm kilaab!

If you know Arabic and are not this particular type of habibi, then you understand perfectly well what I just said and are probably female. So, can I get an Amin or Amen or damn straight, sister from y’all?

Okay. For the other 99% of the population, miskeena Zainab’s two straight months of habibi hell will enlighten you. A bit of a translation might be in order first though. Habibi is masculine and means my beloved. An Arab might call a family member or close friend habibi as a form of endearment. Awwwww.

The phrase, “Houm kilaab,” is highly discouraged. It means, “They are dogs,” and not cute, adorable ones. The derogatory kind. If a disgusting, despicable, slimy ass habibi is getting fresh with you, let the phrase, “Enta kelb,” fly because saying “You are a dog,” is the bare minimum punishment for that kind of jackassery.

And while we’re discussing insults, I have to give a shoutout to the reporter who threw his shoe at President George W Bush. It was the most beautiful moment of the Arab and Muslim diasporas. You could almost hear us all screaming, “Allahu Akbar,” God is greater at once. The ultimate sign of respect, beauty and perfection to a masterpiece such as that.

It was a much needed breath of fresh air as we shook our heads in disbelief. We understood the Iraqi leaders were part of a moronic dictatorship. Their press conferences were fucking hilarious as everything was said tongue-in-cheek by some rightfully terrified people. America was supposedly the ‘good’ guys but equally moronic at times. Insert shoe throwing.

It is considered offensive to have the soles of your feet pointed towards someone. It’s a thing when you’re all sitting on the floor eating in your socks or bare feet after a long day. Get your nasty feet out of my face. You’re making the food taste nasty. Please!

Well, Bush ducked and probably didn’t understand why it was done. Americans cried about how uncivilized we are. These savages throw shoes at people. It’s disgusting. We found your lack of intelligence or empathy more disturbing than a lightly tossed shoe to make a point but to each his own. I guess.

If you’re jumping ahead and assuming that Bush was a habibi, you would be very wrong. His predecessor was far more of a habibi. Yup. President William Jefferson Clinton is a grade A habibi. He made a better president than person fortunately enough for some. President Trump has never had a non habibi moment in his life.

Don’t worry ladies. Most habibis are so vile that they burn in hell. Just a little something to look forward to seeing. Their female accomplices burn too, so stay as far away from habibis as possible.

Now, on to Zainab and the habibis. It began with immigration. The bane of everyone. The lawyer had paperwork ready to file and needed to discuss it with them and have them sign. The asylum case was turned into a marriage case so they had to start over, almost.

Mohamed wanted to get a new car for the winter. His sports car was slightly foolish in the frozen tundra of the Motor City, yet normal. Nobody said that Detroiters made sense.

Zainab was a rather crappy driver by Detroit standards and worried about the skills of her African born husband. An ice cube melted in five seconds in the Sahara. What could he possibly know about driving in the snow, ice, slush and potholes that comprise Detroit roads? Well, apparently everything.

Zainab saw the tight used car lot with packed snow that glistened in the sun, revealing that it was now ice. She looked at Mohamed and asked if he was okay with parking. She was sure that an employee would help him.

He said not one word as the radio blared and the heater was on max. Zainab was waiting for an answer when she was flung into the seat of the car and was unable to move for what felt like an eternity. Mohamed turned off the car and asked if she was coming. She tried to sit upright and figure out where they were as he hopped out.

A dazed and confused Zainab opened her door and stepped out to survey their surroundings. The ice blinded her but she could see the entrance where they were before the 20 seconds of blur. There was almost a straight path forward to get back there but she did not want back in that car with fucking Mario Andretti until her vision and balance returned at the very least.

A salesman had already made it to Mohamed before she could even focus her vision. She walked in the general direction listening to them speak. She heard the salesman speak first.

Ah, Habibi, habibi, habibi. Kayf haluk?

Al-Hamdulillah

And is this your wife?

Nam.

Zainab was walking and attempting to focus on the gigantic blur as it wandered further away with bits of Arabic hanging in the crisp air. She was being abandoned, blinded and left to freeze as these new besties started a habibi love fest. She couldn’t even understand what they were saying beyond the back slapping and habibi calling.

She remained dazed and confused until Mohamed was ready to go. He climbed into the car and looked at his wife who appeared to be a mummy frozen and preserved by the Sahara. He asked if she was okay.

She nodded and told him Hamdulillah as he cautiously pulled away. He told her what they discussed and where they were going next. She began to unthaw and get ready for being a part of the shopping experience at the next used car lot.

She was relieved to see pavement and space. She jumped out and ran over to Mohamed as the salesman made his way towards them. The salesman walked straight up to Mohamed with outstretched arms like they were long lost brothers. He grabbed his hand and shook it while greeting him. He managed to make a quick motion that flabbergasted poor Zainab.

As soon as their right hands connected, Mohamed stepped into his embrace as the salesman patted his back with the three habibis and they walked off together, never even acknowledging her existence. She stood there dazed and confused yet again.

When Mohamed returned, she understood the score and was ready to play. Mohamed made sure that she was okay and not too tired from all of the guy talk before going to the next used car lot. She let him know that she was tired but she was a trooper. She could press on for him. What a great wife he had.

Mohamed pulled into a dealership and looked lovingly into Zainab’s eyes as she tried to look up at him from her curled up position in the seat.

Habibati?

Aiwa.

You stay here and rest. I come soon and we go home. Is long day. You tired, miskeena.

Shukran, hayati but I need move shway. I okay.

Okay.

The pair exited the car and she moved ever so slowly and with great effort towards Mohamed. The salesman approached and began the greeting and habibi back slapping. They continued talking with the salesman getting more and more worried about miskeena Zainab. He wasn’t moving them away from her like the others.

Zainab finally reached the pair with the salesman inquiring about her. She was actually tired and stiff. The slow crawl was a bit of defeat. She was hoping to save her energy for something good. She certainly didn’t expect to catch up with them so soon.

Sister, are you okay?

Hamdulillah.

But…

I’m just a bit stiff. I’m okay. What kind of safe, reliable, family cars do you have?

Oh, of course, Saida. Right this way. What features was the young family looking for?

Mohamed wasn’t too pleased but she made her point. She was more of a badass Bedouin than she or anyone else realized. Mohamed bought the car on his own after that scene by saying that he didn’t want to further tire her. Allah was laughing so hard at him that that He changed Mohamed’s name in their final habibi love fest stop, the immigration lawyer.

Zainab knew that at least some English would be spoken with the lawyer. They needed her signature after all. When they entered his office, the habibi back slapping was slightly more subdued and professional. Zainab still wanted to forcibly remove that word from their mouths though. Jackassery is the same in the streets as the boardroom. Subhanallah.

Zainab tried to figure out what they were saying while waiting for the brief moments when they addressed her in English but it was hurting her brain. She resorted to staring at the wall and wondering if she would end up like the woman in The Yellow Wallpaper. The odds were looking good.

The lawyer addressed her and snapped her back to reality from the gaudy wallpaper.

Tina?

Oh, aiwa.

Yes. We have everything complete except for the name. You see, the Arabic name is far different from that in America. The script is different for one. So, we get to choose his American name. I discussed this with Mohamed. His name is rather lengthy so we decided to simplify it to Mohamed Ali.

Zainab sat there staring blankly into the lawyer’s eyes while wondering what planet he got his law degree from. She had learned to formulate her words carefully so as not to call the ignorant morons. People tend to get angry about that.

I understand the reason for shortening his name but it is a rather common name. The American boxer, for example.

Yes. But nobody would confuse your husband with him.

The two men had a little chuckle at the notion. As Zainab pressed on.

That is true. Everyone knows the boxer.

Yes. See. You understand. So, you can just sign here.

I changed my last name to Ali to match his.

That’s silly. Why would you have a man’s name?

This is America. Americans like it when a child and parent have the same name. It would also seem strange for Tina Stein to pick up a young Miriam Ali, her father’s name in various places.

Yes but what would you suggest? His entire name?

I figured that his first name would be shortened to Mohamed and last to Ali as you have mentioned. To distinguish himself from the others his middle name could be his father’s name. It keeps tradition but adjusts for modernity and America.

Then why not just Mohamed Ali?

This is the age of no fly lists and government watch lists after 9/11. How many Mohamed Alis are already on those lists? He’s going home to see his beloved mother to tell her about her new daughter in law. I don’t want it marred by not being able to get him back home.

There were pauses and bowed heads out of respect for the 9/11 victims and beloved mothers. Zainab was learning how to play their games. Mohamed was slightly proud but also rightfully terrified. She wasn’t the Hollywood dumb blonde joke that Mohamed had hoped. She wasn’t the submissive American who he thought she was either. She was a Bedouin by the name of Zainab Ali and the world was going to know it.

The two men decided to have a brief conversation in Arabic with apologies to Zainab. There were a few pauses with glances in her direction. She sat upright and looked at her surroundings. She was cool as a cucumber now.

Mohamed turned his chair and body towards Zainab as the lawyer did likewise. They had a little hand gesture and nod fest to see who got the honors of talking to Zainab. It appeared that the lawyer won the honor as he began to explain.

Mohamed and I have decided that, in light of the tragedy of 9/11, his name would be Mohamed Abderrahim Ali so that his father is represented as he should. What do you think? Shall we sign now?

Zainab rolled her eyes at how thick the bullshit was while realizing that it’s the results that matter more than how the game is played.

That sounds like a fine idea. May I borrow a pen?

The lawyer handed Zainab a pen with a smile. The two men felt like proud little peacocks for coming up with a brilliant compromise. It was exactly what Zainab had said but she allowed them to take the bow.

Sometimes we get so upset over the details when the truth is obvious. Mohamed and Zainab were two completely different people. Their children would be equally, completely different people. It is always obvious who is truly responsible for what when you get to know someone. You just have to pause and listen for the sound of Allah’s laughter.

Until next time. Ma’salam. With Peace.

Min Sadiqatuk, Drsy.

From your friend, Darcy.