Two women shopping

Fine print: wikimedia

Today I had to help Manal understand the concept of fine print. She had been given a coupon for a nearby thrift store (thrift stores give coupons!), so off we went shopping. The coupon gave her $10 off, but she had to spend $25 first. That was the fine print. Try explaining that using Google Translate! First she picked out some things for $10. I suggested a bright red sweater, holding it up to my neck, and she scrunched up her face to say as if. Some facial expressions are, fortunately, universal, and I laughed because I wear bright red sweaters. She picked out a bright pink sweater instead. Ahh. How differently God has made us all. Finally she figured out she needed $25 worth of stuff and added some pillows, but when we got to the register, she didn’t realize she had to pay $15! The lady was very patient as we sorted things out, and Manal still got a good deal.

At the apartment, halfway through our language lesson, Rashad disappeared for a few minutes to do his prayers, and then a while later, the phone started singing in Arabic, and Manal turned to listen intently. I finally understood it was her call to prayer (she mimed genuflecting as she would have seen the Orthodox Christians do in her country. She does not know our prayer customs). She disappeared for a bit and came back covered in a white flannel outfit with little pink flowers that covered her completely head to foot. She rolled out a small mat on the carpet at a slight angle from the wall, facing Mecca, and spoke a few words aloud and kneeled three times, touching her forehead to the floor. Rashad communicated that you would do this prayer anywhere. “Supermarket?” I asked? “NO!” He answered with a frown, motioning that you would never pray where people could walk in front of you. “No,” he said, shaking his finger. I realized I could be offensive if I weren’t considerate in this matter.

He then went on to mime the oblations necessary for prayer, showing me exactly the ritual washing he does once or twice a day. He mimed washing his face and head, mouth, nose, ears, neck, hands, arms, elbows, toes, feet. It was important to him that I understand. I wondered what he thinks of our praying habits.

It was my birthday. They all sang Happy Birthday around the dinner table. In English. Sort of. Then for the cheering part at the end, Rashad mimed firing an automatic weapon into the air. “TTTTTTTT!!” He gets little 4 year old Hamad to do the same thing.  It’s our turn to be alarmed, saying, “NO! Not in Canada!” And I make the sound of a police siren and mime being taken away in hand cuffs. I realize I’m alarmed Rashad has brought with him the idea of automatic weapons firing into the air. I guess we do the same thing when we blow off firecrackers. It’s gunpowder going off dangerously with a bang. In celebration. Celebration bombs. Oxymoronic.

Gun Salute: Wikipedia

Yes, they are foreign..foreigners…alien…aliens. We are so different. I can alarm them. They can alarm me. I can come across disrespectful. So can they. We can offend one another. Misunderstand one another. If we do not first build a platform of good will and trust, we can be in trouble. But this is a family that has been through hell, and they have survived and come as foreigners and refugees to “my” land. My job as a Christian is to welcome them. Pray for them. After all, we Christians are all “temporary residents and foreigners.” They remind me of who I am. I am thankful.