I Don’t Like Green Eggs and Ham 2002

Zainab enjoyed the festivities of spring but always wanted to hurl. Just the thought of going to her babushka’s house for Easter was enough to send her running to the bathroom. The house was always closed up because of the rain. The house filled with cigarette smoke until Zainab could only get a breath of fresh air in the bottom foot of space above the stale carpet. Then there was Grandma’s stove.

The Polish woman who was generations in, cooked everything for days. She woke up and began cooking dinner. The sauerkraut was the first and worst smelling. She then added kielbasa to it for a slightly altered pungent aroma. The flavors of both would meld and mellow together in perfect harmony after a long day of simmering.

Zainab still wanted to eat her coveted bowl of kapusta on the porch, away from its lingering odor that permeated the house. She would visit friends from the Indian subcontinent with the heady aroma of spices that equally permeated their houses. “I will just eat on the porch,” was her solution for her queasy yet longing stomach in every situation.

This year she had to go without alcohol and pork. She took the usual invitations into mind before addressing her replies. The St Patty’s Day green beer and pub crawl was definitely out. A mint shake and a green dress to go grocery shopping would have to suffice. Downtown Detroit would have to survive with one less drunk White girl getting away with shit nobody else could.

Fat Tuesday was the day of the crazed paczki fans. The normal filled donut in every shop was a paczki for the day. Even Dunkin Donuts had lines for blocks on Fat Tuesday.

The old timers Mecca of Hamtramck’s New Palace Bakery was legendary. The lines of Detroiters snaking through the tiny city began in the wee hours and didn’t stop until ‘sold out’ was announced. Orders for the following year being placed at the same time.

Lent was Zainab’s favorite. Daddy, the Catholic in name only, didn’t like fish and demanded meat on Friday. Since mom was Protestant, it was fine. Zainab loved fish and chips though.

She would travel to Bode’s in Plymouth for a carry out of their fish and chips since getting a seat during lent was impossible. The added corned beef sandwich was obligatory and lunch. No judgment. It’s for God because it’s lent and so good.

Easter was always the bane of Zainab’s existence. She loved everything up until the drive to Grandma’s house. It was a nightmarish drive down scenic Hines Drive to Dearborn. Her parents would be smoking in the front seat of Daddy’s T-Bird and she’d be stuck in the middle of the back seat, literally. It was pleather and Easter dresses don’t cover enough flesh. The girls velcroed their way out of that car.

Zainab would be having dry heaves the entire way with occasional pit stops to puke along the scenic drive in her Easter finest. The rest of the family trying not to be angry yet not exactly pleased with the entire affair. Once Zainab got her driver’s license, she was on her own. Drive your own pukey ass, girlfriend.

Zainab didn’t mind either way as long as she drove in the rain. If she wasn’t going to drive and rain was expected, the gremlins rules applied. Don’t feed her after midnight. She needs an empty stomach. It’s for the best.

This year she sloshed through the freeways to Grandma’s house wondering how the house would smell and the temperature inside, as always. She would naturally drink an entire 2 liter of Faygo in Rock-n-Rye and Red Pop. If her stomach was queasy after that, she’d grab the Vernors and chug away. She was never much of a drinker but she knew as much about puking as her more alcoholic family members. They shared tips.

She pulled up to the little bungalow where Grandma raised five kids. Mothers amazed her. The house was open so it was going to be a less stressful affair or so she thought. It was packed full of people. She said quick hellos as she made her way to her grandparents.

She gave Grandpa a quick kiss and hug. He was deaf so he was quick to please. She then moved to the Queen of the household. She knelt down and gave Grandma a more dignified kiss and slight shoulder squeeze of a hug in her seated position. The cigarette being moved aside and the smoke curling in Zainab’s eyes. She then sat beside her for greetings.

Zainab inquired about her and Grandpa. She listened to the latest gossip about the Polish ladies and the close enoughs. Zainab tried to say that Mohamed and her were fine but the Polish mother came out for Easter and every other day.

“Go get some ham. There’s kapusta and city chicken too. I didn’t make much this year. I’m getting tired of cooking so much for every holiday. Nobody comes anymore. You children are so ungrateful.”

The truth was that she insisted that everyone go visit her for every holiday. If someone had the nerve to give the poor woman a break and bring food, nobody knew that person any longer. They would get the lecture of the century from Grandma about her cooking, age, abilities, manners and anything else that she could think of.

Zainab politely excused herself to say hello to the other elders. The food had to wait. She worked her way from oldest to youngest before hitting her own generation with a nod and a polite, “Fuck off, dickwad.” They all then hit the stove and fridge. She had heard the entire selection a million times over but now got to see it, taste it. The angels were singing.

Then Zainab looked in the pots filled with bits of pork. She never liked much pork or meat but she just left those pieces for others. She prayed that her beloved kapusta didn’t contain kielbasa but it did. She settled on the passed over skillet of potatoes and sat down with her pop.

“Not much on your plate. You on a diet or something?” Her aunts were always dieting but holidays were a definite cheat day that you must take. Aunt Ruth sat down with a massive plate of ham, kielbasa, sauerkraut and a cookie for a carb.

“No. I don’t like ham and everything has pork. It’s best for my tummy anyway. Is it good?”

“Oh, yeah. It’s fabulous. So, what’s Easter to you guys, anyway?”

Zainab had been preparing for the great Christian Muslim divide but forgot that it’d come as she tucked into a newfound plate of deviled eggs. She slide the rest in, chewed, licked her lips, wiped them and took a sip of water before telling the tale.

“We don’t believe in Easter because we don’t believe that Jesus died on the cross, was resurrected or is the son of God. Other than that and the addition of Mohamed, they’re basically identical. Peace and blessings of Allah be upon them.” The last line Zainab mumbled.

“What’s that mumbo jumbo? And WHAT?”

“The last part was a prayer. Jesus is a prophet who is equal to all of the others. Just no die or son thing.”

“That is just some stupid ass bullshit right there. Why don’t you get some ham?”

Just then Uncle Pedro plunked down a container of pickled eggs that had green dye added to it. “Now you can have green eggs with your ham, Tina? ¿Que pasa? Leftover from St Pats.”

“Tina was just telling us that Muslims don’t believe that Jesus died or is the son of God, Pedro.”

“¿Verdad? You don’t believe in Jesus.”

“I believe in Jesus, Isa. Ugh. Jesus is a prophet and messenger of Allah.”

“Allah?”

Uncle Dan decided to use his Palestinian roots to help a bitch or niece out. “Allah is the Arabic word for God. My parents would say Allah instead of God.”

“Oh, okay. Who wants cervezas?”

“I’m going to pass on that, the green eggs and the ham.” Zainab watched Uncle Dan lob a giant pickled green egg into his mouth and gulp. “And I am going to the bathroom. Bye.”

The house watched as Zainab ran towards the safety of the bathroom. She opened the window and splashed cold water on her face to get some relief. When she returned, she grabbed a glass of Vernors and headed to the porch. She looked over at her cousin Jesus who was lighting up a joint and laughed at her crazy, mixed up life. She never knew what strange thing might happen next. She just prayed for no more green eggs and ham. Yuck.

Until next time.

Ma’salam.

Min sadiqatuk, Drsy.

From your friend, Darcy.