Systematic Chaos

I pushed open the door and awkwardly rolled my suitcase behind me.  Three guards were sitting on a bench across from the windows where they should have been sitting.  I approached and greeted them in Arabic, handing my passport to the one that stood up.  He found this foreigner speaking Arabic amusing, even more so that she had an Arabic name. What do you do? Do you teach? yes? Good.  Do you have a residency visa? No I replied, I used to but now I don't.  Oh well, he motioned to the other guard just now standing up.  Get this girl a visa! She needs a visa! And proceeded to ask me more about what I do.  Visa now granted, I walked with him to his window as he stamped me into the country.  Ahlan wa sahalan he said with arms held wide.  Welcome.  They were good words to hear.

Very different words than a week ago when I entered into the neighboring country. No warm greeting there. Instead, suspicions about a single girl traveling, a girl who lives and works over there, a possible threat.  My travels to other Middle Eastern countries, countries in current states of war, were also found threatening. Questions, circles, more questions, and more circles. I held in my temptation to roll my eyes at the whole thing. You would too if you heard some of the questions.  Once cleared I was again interrogated briefly and told to sit on a bench.  1 hour later, I was desperately looking at the clock knowing my bus to the north was to leave in 15 minutes.  Frustrated and annoyed, knowing I've done nothing wrong, I swallowed and pasted a smile on my face.  Asking the women at the window what I was waiting for, while at the same time acknowledging in my head that there are people who pass through this everyday and endure longer waits, and worse conditions.  My blue passport has entitled me and I need to remember that.
A week later I returned and the only comment the man at the window said is, I see you like the Middle East--flipping through my passport and seeing it filled with Arabic.  Yes, I said. I do.  And with that final stamp, I left, sighing with relief.

Back with visa and stamp in hand, I proceeded to the chief guard who at first attempted his gruff, I'm the boss exterior with me.  Again amused at my Arabic, we started chatting, and I don't think he even look at the stamp.  You are welcome.  He said in accented English.  Thank you, I said.
I proceeded to the taxis, where I haggled with the taxi mafia, who finally realized, I knew what I was talking about.  Take this girl home he told his driver, and in I got.
"Hamdulilah Al Salame, said driver.  Thank the Lord you have returned in peace. Returned.  It means I was once here.  It means this is my home.   I responded, "and peace on you".  Tears pricking at my eyes.  Yep.  How comfortable this was, this smoke filled taxi, these necessary greetings, these streets of chaos.  I was home.  And I was going to leave it in 6 weeks.

Years ago, the chaos they call a system at that border would have frustrated me.  It would have pushed against my American orderliness.  Now, the uncomfortable is comfortable.   I'm leaving to go back to the orderliness and some days... some days when I'm running errands, I've been triple parked into my spot, or my car gets back into, I'm thrilled.  Then other days I think, as hard as it is to live here, I've figured it out.  There's comfort in this system and there are things I've come to love about it.  Like the 30 minute chat I had at the phone company to a friend and former student who just got engaged. Other customers could wait, showing me pictures of her fiancee was way more important.  I'll miss the massive plates of hummus, the fresh olives and homemade olive oil the women I work with give me, the communal breakfasts, and the intentionality of relationship.

I pulled up to my home, greeting my neighbor who was curious where I had traveled from.  Oh! We are from there! But I haven't been there since I was a child.  You are so lucky.   I am, I say. And swallow tears as I step into my home, knowing soon, I will be leaving the Middle East.  The place I love so much.  I only hope that one day, I will hear the words, Hamdulilah Al Salame, once again.