Catch the Holy Ghost

When I asked about the needs of the attendees at his mosque, the imam said that they just come to pray and leave. However, he said this with a particular hand motion that signified that there was a simplicity to what they use the mosque for. With this simplicity, I noticed a sense of dissatisfaction in his voice. Even with the language barrier of Arabic, I still was able to hear the complexity within such a simple answer. The hand motion that he made was somewhat of a wipe-away—signifying a neglect. I asked the imam if there was something more that he would like to see from those who attend the mosque, he quickly began to open up about the dissatisfaction he felt with their display of religiosity. He noted that some of them come strictly out of habit because their family have been coming to the mosque out of pure tradition. When I asked him what he would like to see from those who attend his mosque, he said that he would like to see them stay for the lectures, try to “understand deeper,” ask questions, and “think with their minds.”

In other words, the imam wants the mosque-goers to separate themselves from emotion and habit. I thought about the word emotion and why would this word come out in translation. The word emotion could just be “exaggerated behavior,” “pomp,” and “fuss.” Could it be that the mosque-goers were simply going through the motions and faking their spirituality by their exaggerated reactions to their daily prayers ? Sometimes, translations will leave you in space where you must interpret for yourself. The word “emotion” kept coming up again and again. I never really thought to ask for clarification because I felt that I knew exactly what he meant emotion.

I thought about this in the context of my religion growing up in a Southern Baptist Church. People would “feel the spirit” and “catch the Holy Ghost.” With what seemed to be like every Sunday, there was a lady in my church named Sis. Angela, who would catch the holy ghost. The would be another woman, Sis. Lily, who would speak in tongues. My church has always been filled with emotion. Sometimes, questionable emotion. Was the sermon that was preached really that powerful? Was the song that was just sang by the choir really that moving? Why was Sis. Angela running around the church and as my cousin liked to say “carrying on?” Was it really that serious?  What could cause Sis. Lily to be so moved that she would speak in another language. I was told that speaking in tongues, or appearing to be speaking in tongues is not a game because God does not like it when you “act.” When I heard the word emotion come from the translator’s mouth, I had heard my pastor say that all time we come to church on Sunday, dressed up “hoop and holler,” “fuss and shout,” “dance,” and “go home.” Sure enough, after reprimanding my church for their Sunday antics, my pastor encouraged the church to dig deeper within their spirituality throughout their week and seek a stronger, less superficial connection with God.

My pastor and the imam are similar in that they seek to remove the performative aspects that coat their respective religions. The performative aspects of religion create this space for a heightened drama that ensues and even more heightened emotion. In my church, I find that many people attend church out of habit. When I got to New York, I was destined to go to church on Sunday because that is exactly what I was raised to due. Overtime, my Sunday attendance began to wane. God knew that I had a paper due on Monday and a midterm on Wednesday. God placed me at Columbia to do this work, so I must do this work. That how it worked, right? I told myself that I would go to church on the next Sunday to worship him for helping me past my test. I found myself in church trying to dig deep for emotions. A connection. I thought about how I always felt so bad because I could never really be that spiritual. I could never speak in tongues.  I could never feel a quickening in my soul that mobilized my feet to run around the church. At one point, I used to feel like it was my duty to shed one tear in church so that I can validate that I was still connected to God. My God.

The imam prefers the word ‘believers’ rather than ‘muslims’ because the word ‘muslim’ really means believer in God. I am defining spirituality for myself. Engaging in religiosity creates so many divides. The imam called us ambassadors who will be shaping the world. As a Kraft Global Fellow, I am an ambassador who is engaging with the world, and seeking to make constant additions and adjustments to my global perspective.

Remember Me in History

Walking into the El Barounia library today I did not know what to expect. I spend most of my time in the library at Columbia. It is technically my sacred place. Burke Library, in my opinion has the upmost sanctity. Given Burke Library’s position as the primary library for Union Theological Seminary students, I like to think that everyone in the room tries to maintain a level of spirituality (even those who claim to be agnostic, must still connect with the spirit of disbelief). The students studying in the room are serious. They are serious, but peaceful. Sometimes, when I walk into the library of Butler, I can feel the thick tension. I can feel the souls in the library that have paved the way for me. I can feel the heaviness in the room.

I can often feel the heaviness in a space. The “quiet noise,” as I like to call it. I am tapped into the frequencies of the bandwidth of the room. Sometimes, I can sense things that people cannot. The El Barounia Library felt new. It felt fresh. It felt different. When information was shared about how new the library was, I was not surprised.

El Barounia Library was such a powerful space. You can feel the positive energy emanating from the books. It all became quite clear to me once I realized that we were visiting on the premier libraries (if not, only) in all of Djerba Island. It was so moving to see the way Saiid Barounia, head librarian, gently flipped turn the pages of books that he worked so hard to preserve. He spoke so proudly of the technique he used to preserve old books and the work he continues to do to maintain the new ones. He proudly showed us a bottle filled with dust that he collected from only one book. Barounia demonstrated his delicate use of his brush for sweeping off the dust from the book. With each wipe of the brush, I could feel Barounia’s pride. Through conversation, with Barounia, it became clear that preserving manuscripts had been a family legacy, requested in his grandfather’s will. While other families on Djerba island discard book, the Barounia family protects them (as Saiid describes it).

Chaplain Davis gave me the great honor of presenting to him a gift on behalf of the Kraft Global Fellows and the Office of the University Chaplain. I was so moved by how gentle his hands were. The same gentle hand that preserved these books that seek to transcend time. I want to give him gentle words. All who enter this sacred place are important. I feel the sanctity in the library at Columbia and at El Barounia. It was a beautiful moment to see Chaplain Davis writing kind thoughts on behalf of Columbia.

Before I left the library, I wanted to see what his grandfather looked like. I was quickly invited back into the conference room to view three perfectly aligned photos of three generation of Barounia men. Saiid proudly said “That is my father, my grandfather, and me.” I asked if he would like to take a picture underneath his photo, he calmly sat down underneath his photo with his hands placed atop each of his knees. His sister quickly interjected to fix his hair. After taking the photo, he made a joke and asked me if he looked any different (being that the photo taken was one of him as young lad). I said “no, nothing has changed.”

This space offers something new, but yet taps into the traditional spirit of Djerba Island. I believe that America can take a few notes when it comes to maintaining family traditions such as keeping a family library. We need to return to respecting our elders. We need to return to assisting our youth in understanding their history. I would like to return to preserving my family’s history and understanding my Haitian ancestry. This summer, I actually began constructing my family tree with my oldest living relative (my great great uncle) who lives in Brooklyn. He has since past away, but I am happy that I got a chance to listen to him and gain the knowledge that he shared with me.

 

Side note:

It is crazy to think that today I ate fish from the Mediterranean Sea. When it comes to eating, I try to not draw too much attention to myself. Maryam whispered into my ear if I would like to try some fish. I appreciated the quietness to her offering. It made me feel quite comfortable. I wanted to try this fish—fish caught from the Mediterranean Sea.

Reflections on Motion

 

Below you will find reflections on the movement that I experienced throughout the day.

 

Traveling.

My friend Natachi back home has a beautiful sign in her room that says “Not all movement equals progress.” Movement is such an interesting concept. Movement in relation to traveling is an even more powerful topic.

 

Camel Ride.

This would be my first time that I would be on the back of camel. I did not know what to expect. There was a moment during the camel ride that I felt like I was riding on top of cloud. With each stride that the camel made, I began to experience little pieces of joy. This movement from the camel propelled me to experience a joy that I had never felt before. Again, pushing myself outside of my comfort zone extended me into the depths of my happiness. Maybe this is progress.

 

Berber Village Home

When we visited the Berber home, I thought about the movement of the people who lived in these homes. Where do they go? Do they travel by foot, bus, car, bicycle? Do they need to move, at all? Moaz offered that the father of the household leaves the village and finds work in the city and often sends it back home to his children. The rest of the family remains home. With this movement that the father engages in, I assume that progress is made. However, when the rest of the country is crowding the city, it is hard to find jobs within the city.

 

Ferry Ride to Djerba Island

Jack turned to me and said “Wow, all of the traveling that we did today was completely worth it.” I thought about how we made different stops. Some stops for Josh to quickly go use the restroom. Some stops so that we all can use the restroom. Stops to witness the beauty of Matmata. A stop to witness the beauty of the Douz.

Watch my style

One of my favorite past times back at Columbia is walking through the streets of Harlem and supporting the local vendors and merchants. In Harlem, there is an African Market Place that was built in support by Mayor Dinkins to support the African migrants who were selling their items on the streets. I love escaping into Harlem and walking through Little Senegal and hearing the voices of the people as I moved through the streets. As I stroll pass the mosque in Harlem, I hear people speaking Arabic. Because I speak Wolof, I can hear and understand the words that they are saying. Walking down the streets of Harlem provides me a sense of comfort. Gliding through the streets of Tunisia with the other Kraft Global Fellows does the same. I hear the hustle and the bustle in Centre Ville de Tunis in the same way that I feel the cars of Harlem whooshing past me in the streets. As I passed the Great Mosque of Kairouan, I heard the call to prayer, in a voice that sounded similar to one that I hear on my way back from volunteering at Harlem Hospital.

Upon my entry into the reservoir viewing site of Kairouan (Bassins des Aghlabides), I was able to find a gift shop that sold Chechias, a traditional Tunisian headwear. I immediately knew that this was where I wanted to purchase my hat because the man that stood at the doorway rolled Jasmine fragrance unto my hand. I had to run upstairs to meet the group, but I told the shop owner to keep the chechia behind the counter for me because it was the last one on the shelf. He said “keep it and take it with you.” I was excited because taking items with you and being expected to “come back” is unheard of in the United States. There is a level of trust that I feel amongst the Kraft Global Fellows and with the various Tunisian people that I have met. In New York, I have built these defense mechanisms to protect myself. While on this trip, I have discovered that there is nothing wrong with being your most vulnerable self. Relax. Take a deep breath.  

As I stroll the markets wearing my new burgundy wool chechia, I noticed that people in Kairouan and even in Sousse began to look at me differently. The people of Kairouan and Sousse treat me differently. People in the street began to nod their head in slight approval. Men scattered throughout the mosque smiled at me. Strolling through the market in Sousse, one of the vendors said “nice added touch” in French. Boubacar stated that “I look like a real Tunisian.” I never really gave too much thought about the clothes that I wear and the way that people perceive me. I really just dress in a way that makes me happy and makes me comfortable. For me, when I buy clothes from my ancestors, like my blue scarf from the Ivory Coast, the voice in my heart tells me to “Wrap myself in the love of my ancestors” during finals season. It is hard to vocalize to other people why I choose to wear the things that I do because it is too much to explain.

While in the mosque today, one of the gentlemen adjusted my checia. As I bowed my head, shifted my hat, rotated it and fluffed it up. I felt like I was honored to wear this hat because he was able to adjust it for me in a way that he probably had seen it worn for generations within his family. Now, I look Tunisian ? He fixed it for me in the way that the man from Ivory Coast who gave me my scarf draped it around my neck. Now, I look like I am from the Ivory Coast? The man in the Great Mosque of Kairouan adjusted my chechia with the same care as the Senegalese man in African Market Place in Harlem placed the kufi on my head. Now, I look like I am from Senegal? People throughout the trip have been asking me in jest “Luke, how many coats did you pack?” I am not a budding fashion icon or anything to that similar vein. I have a sense of happiness when I experience the holiness in the simplicity around me. This entire trip has felt quite spiritual to me. There is a spirituality to the clothes that we wear, the food that we eat, the media that we interact with, and the people that we speak to. I rarely get a chance to commune around food with people of similar interests. Even the simple act of commuting with a group of individuals to travel from place to place is something that I rarely do because of the nature of my movement in New York City.

While in the Medina of Sousse, I kept looking for traditional Tunisian clothes that men wear. For some strange reason, I could not find the clothes that I was looking for. Towards the exterior, there was a plethora of modern clothes that looked similar to New York City streetwear. As I pushed deeper and deeper into the Media, closer toward the interior, turning corners upon corner, I began to see less tourists, and more locals. I found a location where there were better bargains, more traditional garments, smaller niche shops, less traffic and chaos, and items that Tunisians would actually use in their home. There was even a quietness to the tone of the vendors. There was a stillness to way the items being sold were staged for viewing.

On the ride back to the Carlton Hotel, I thought about how it is important for us to dig deeper. It is crucial that we must continually push ourselves outside of our comfort zones. Imagine if I stayed within Le Petit Senegal and had not pressed forward towards the gateway of Africa, also known as Tunisia. I am a believer in that every single moment in life will prepare you for something greater. In other words, there is a lesson that can be learned in every single moment (whether bad or good). We must keep pushing closer into the interior of our thoughts and actions and become one with them. Once we get to the interior of our minds, there is a meditation that can occur.

 

like a still quietness

like slowly removing your traveled shoes

like washing your hands

like splashing a refreshing cold water on your face

and

entering into your sacred place

wherever that may be

listening to the voice of God

speaking back

with prayers

conversation

from your heart

a quiet

sacred place

 

Its taken me a while to get to this place.

A very long time.

But I am happy that I have arrived. I want to stay. Here.

Capitalism & Social Change ? Team-work ?

When Dalenda Largeuche, women's rights activist, academic and director of Crediff, a “think and do tank” that works with the ministry of women began her presentation one of the first things that she said was that we have to think about women’s rights in Tunisia as a continuous process. This simple statement set the tone for thinking throughout the day.

There is a process to everything. Not everything is going to happen at the drop of a dime. Patience must take precedence. On the other hand, should one be satisfied in the concept of evolution? On the way back, a couple of the students made remarks about how they imagined the Global Center in Tunis would be. Some even felt that Youseff should have had assistants to answer his phone and that cleaning the table was beneath him. I quickly interjected and stated that showing someone kindness and being hospitable has no degree tied to it. There is a continuous process to building a global center in Tunis. What we have witnessed today is that sometimes it takes one person to the voice for so many people, in the case of Parliamentarian Jamila Debech Ksiski. Sometimes it takes one person to write a book that advances the contextualization of women in Islam, Taal Hadid, author of “Our Women in Sharia and Society.” Or maybe it takes one person to treat Kraft Global Fellows kindly in a beautiful foreign country like Tunisia. Often times, we bring these Western lenses into culturally sensitive situations and we do not have the bandwidth to tap into the frequency of someone’s social plight.

The process is continuous. Dynamic. Not static. Largueche walked us through historical events, highlighting that the legal framework proceeded the social change. Largueche commented that there is still a need for the implementation of laws that support the actual follow through of these laws. I became quite concerned about how these laws were effecting the daily lives of women who did not have access to the socioeconomic benefits of women in the elite class. A theme that resonated within her talk was that the legal frameworks that were created had to meet the social needs and also the economic needs of the Tunisia. For instance, Largueche brought up the law related to inheritance that was well-received by women and men in Tunisia. Inheritance often skipped the girls in the family and went to the closest male relatives. However, this law was changed because this lowered the economic power of women who needed to be able to support their families following the death of the patriarch of the family.

 I had strong mixed feelings about the relationship to capitalism and social change, but these are the realities of the world that we live in. In fact, all of the talks today covered this theme of dynamic change happening at the meeting point between societal change and economic advancement. When I listened to Parliamentarian Ksiksi speak, I was shaken to my core by the amount of work that she had to do to not only incite change within the society, but also, she talked about the proof of burden that she is also erecting to prove the economic benefit of equality and equity for all races represented in Tunisia. Ksiksi spoke of the 3 incidents that occurred to raise the attention of Tunisians who were oblivious to racism (and I use this term very loosely) and those members of Parliament. Ksiksi had to face extreme denial of her cause for justice by her colleagues, some of which told her that she is trying to create division and finding problems where there are none. On the economic side, Ksiksi spoke a familiar tune about the criticism that she has received related to the economic advancement of migrant population that originate from Sub-Saharan Africa. Critics say that these migrants are taking away jobs from Tunisians. However, Ksiski notes that they are doing the jobs that Tunisians simply do not want to do. Given the current political climate in the United States for undocumented immigrants all of the country and those who are kept from entering, the words that Ksiksi spoke sounded quite familiar to me.

Another instance, during the talk led by Lorena Lando, Chef de Mission of the Organization Internationale pour le migrations (OIM), in her introduction slide she talked about the varied partners in ministry that she must collaborate with to make the change necessary to change the political climate for migrants in Tunisia. In the same hand, she also spoke proudly of the positive response that she receives daily on the social media pages of OIM regarding activities that support the migrant population. She also spoke proudly of the Tunisian community rallying around the cause of the innocent young man from the Ivory Coast who was stabbed 21 times because of his cellphone. I stayed behind to speak with Paola of OIM to talk about the existing relationship between society and After speaking with Paola, she said that a study is going to be conducted in the coming months to profile the cost and benefit of accepting the migrant population in Tunisia. She remarked that it is not just limited to the economic benefit of the migrant population, there are health benefits to including the migrant population into health assessments because they often contribute significantly to health crisis and epidemics. Speaking with Paola confirmed by thought ignoring someone’s presence and labeling them as illegal does a great danger to your own personal existence and not just your perceived economic advancement. Also, it is important that we must accept people because they are simply human. Nothing more and nothing less. No profit. No loss. Just acceptance.

The Art that Nature Paints

There are certain parts of history that no one can erase. As we walked through the capital square of Dougga, our tour guide, Moaz pointed out that this was not grass during the 2nd Century BC, for all the floor was covered in beautiful mosaics and the walls were plastered with luxurious marble. For a brief, yet still quiet moment, we begin to lower our heads to allow our imaginations to fill the grass with images of the mosaics. As for me, I tried to imagine the mosaics that I had witnessed all over the Bardos National Museum from the day before. These mosaics would be created to depict wars, Greek literature, daily life, important historical figures, wars (both won and defeated), and historical moments. Chaplain Davis pointed out that each our shadows were now the replacement for what had been mosaics. Jack remarked “Wow, I have never seen such beautiful shadows, you all have such beautiful shadows.” Chaplain Davis quickly asked the group to remain still so that our shadows can be captured. I remarked that it was so interesting that Chaplain Davis was inspired to take that shot. Chaplain Davis responded “Well, it such a simple shot, but its not every day you see shadows of eight individuals.”

            As we continued to walk the ruins of Thugga, my mind began to focus on the words. In past dinner conversations, Chaplain Davis shared that she has a love for capturing moments with her camera. During my final year at Columbia, I had made a commitment to myself to be dedicated to documentation through multiple platforms such as journaling, videography, photography, and recording conversations. Although erasure may often try to force its way upon historically marginalized groups of people, I find that documentation is a way to validate the presence of past, present, and future group people. With today’s access to technology, I often find that fleeting moments of the present are actually not valued as much. The present is captured through dense portals of social media that only contain 10 second frames (often catering the shortened attention spans of the masses). The video tapes that my dad would record of our family events using a video camera stationed in the corner of our living room on a tripod have become a relic. Increasingly, these 10 second frames produced via social media have become increasing curated and inauthentic depictions of one’s “present state.”

I, for one, have become increasingly conscious of trying to accurately produce documentation of my personal state. Often times, I would post photos on my own social media platforms of different spaces, evoking my own emotions through my photography. I never knew that photography would become quite an interest of mine. I purchased a new iPhone Xs at the beginning of this school year in hopes of capturing the essence of the spaces that I may or may not inhabit (depending on my vantage point). When I went to the Apple store to pick-up my new iPhone, the Apple representative encouraged me to take free photo-walk tours offered in every single borough in New York City. One particular photo-tour that was of interest was entitled “Manipulating Light and Shadows.” Prior to this course, I had not given much thought to manipulating light and shadows. However, over the course of the photo-walk, I began to realize that it takes a very keen eye to be able to witness the light that shines upon an object and the shadows of darkness that masks it.

At the present moment, there are no mosaics, and there are no marble walls. It is just us: the shadows. The beautiful shadows, in the words of Jack. Prior to Chaplain Davis’ capturing this moment, I do not believe that I would have drawn my attention to the shadows. Even with my newly found knowledge of how to manipulate light and shadows in a picture, my eyes were not attuned to witness such a beautiful moment. I gathered from this subtle moment that even documentation is not confined to the realm of one’s imagination, for nature is also participating in the process of documentation.

Even if Chaplain Davis had not remarked that a photo should be taken of our shadows, nature had already taken its photo. I imagine that nature would have taken its photograph, manipulating its light to capture our shadows: 8 individuals, gathered together to witness the historic ruins in Dougga. The truth is, it is not just grass that has filled the empty spaces that once held mosaics, our shadows have left a mark on the space. The historic bodies that once filled the town squares have left their mark on the space. There comes a point in the larger arc of history where nature must tell its story, where nature has to fill in the blanks of each of narratives. Shade the colors of our stories with its choice of color. Where the manipulation of light is in the hands of nature, a reliable source. Nature will have its final say. Nature will provide us a space where even our shadows are important, even when they have not risen to our own attention. I thought about the number of slaves who had to work in crouched positions day in and day out in basements to produce steam for the hot baths of the upper echelons of their respective societies. Where are their stories written? In the shadows. Their stories are no more or less important than those that claim the source of light. Their stories must be dug up like gold and sent for like water within a well. However, nature has made it such that they must be excavated like special treasures and protected secrets, making them all the more important and exciting. My presence in Dougga was documented by nature, herself. For this documentation, I am blessed. My presence in Dougga was documented by Chaplain Davis, herself. For this documentation, I am blessed.  As a result, we are the mosaics that can never be erased, stolen, or removed from existence. We are the protectors of each other’s presence and/or seemingly absence in history.

IMG_2471.JPG

Blue and White Village

As we drove to Sidi Bou Said, also affectionately called by tourist as the “blue and white village”, our resident tour guide Moaz asked us what we thought the color represented to the people of Tunis. I thought that the color scheme of the city reflected the inhabitant’s attention to detail and organization endeavors. Moaz shared that the blue represented the beautiful rich blue sky that is an extended metaphor for Allah. And the white represents the purity. Jack and I began to meander throughout the Sidi Bou Said in hopes of getting closer to the sea. Within Sidi Bou Said, I could feel the calm repose as the merchants began to set up their shops for the morning.

On my plane ride to Tunisia, I was asked by a young Tunisian man who left his native country to attend college and obtain a job in Canada.  He was shocked that I was interested in going to Tunisia. He was even more shocked to discover that I had been reading a book about Tunisia entitled “Tunisia: An Arab Anomaly” by Safwan Kasri. In many ways, I resonate with the themes of this book, in that I feel that my travel experiences as a Kraft Global Fellow is a true anomaly. I did not see too many black male faces on the airplane ride to Tunisia. In many ways, I recognize that my travels abroad represent this sense of anomaly. Therefore, I feel the responsibility to bask in my existence in every single space. I vow to be present in every single waking moment. As we toured the Bardo National Museum, I felt this immense connection the artifacts, mosaics, and sculptures. I am reminded that my engagement with these mosaics, these intricate pieces of architecture, and these beautiful artifacts are important because of the voice that I am lending to my experiences in Tunisia. Therefore, as we were led throughout the museum, I had a deep sense of urgency to interact with each art piece in a more connected way.

Gateway to Africa. Tunis is considered to be the gateway to Africa due to its placement at the northern tip of the entire African continent. This is my first time being in Africa. It certainly will not be my last. With all of the beautiful doorways that I have seen thus far, they provide me with a strong sense of home. I feel welcomed in Tunis. These ornate doorways remind to never be afraid to knock on the doors. Never be afraid of opening up myself to the world. Never be afraid of asking the hard questions. Never be afraid of traveling into the unknown. These beautiful doors remind that there are opportunities that await me on the other side that I must fearlessly and tenaciously pursue.

The Unmarked Door

We arrived in Tunis at about 4:00 PM, and were expected to have dinner with Chaplain Davis at 7:00PM in a local restaurant entitled “Dareljeld.” Although it was lightly raining, we insisted on accessing the restaurant by foot rather than via our private bus. On our way to the restaurant we passed by the Ministere Des Finances’ building, and various intricately designed doors along Rue De La Dribat. I was in a complete awe as we navigated the cobble stone roads that lead to our restaurant. I was especially moved by the Quanun player and his playing of the familiar tunes “Battle Hymn of the Republic” and “When the Saints Go Marching.”

Upon leaving this restaurant, a man waiting by the door to pour liquid Jasmine water perfume on my hands for “good luck.” I felt chills when this perfume water was poured unto my hands. Imagine, someone waiting at a beautiful golden door with Jasmine water poured out of a golden canteen. To get to the restaurant, we had to knock on the door. An unmarked door. Imagine the doors that we fail to open simply because we do not knock. Tunis, on the first day, has my spirit in awe. There is a still quietness to this city that matches the depths of my soul.

Prior to coming to this trip, I kept telling my friends and family members that I wanted to open myself up to the world. Although, I was visible in my surrounding Columbia community and my Harlem community, there were strong still moments of quietude that felt deafening and lonely. I know that it is possible to be lonely and also not alone. These two states can exist in the same space. However, I kept saying this phrase over and over again to everyone that I spoke to. I rarely knew what I meant when I said this phrase. However, the night after dinner it all became quite clear. The Jasmine water perfume that dripped from my hand reminded me that my prayers had been answered. The word Jasmine comes from the Persian word yasmine, or gift from God. The petals of the flower remain closed during the day and open between five and eight o’clock in the evening. Jasmine, first imported from Andalucía in the sixteenth century, is Tunisia’s national flower. Foreign journalists began referring to the Tunisian revolution as the Jasmine Revolution in the 1980s.

To be wished well by a complete stranger, felt like a blessing from God to me. As I said my goodbye to family members, I listened very closely to the ways that they said “good-bye” to me. Some said “I love you and will see you soon,” “have fun,” “be well,” and “stay safe.”  Although I knew that I would be miles away from my permanent place of residence, I became so accustomed and acculturated to the emptiness within the pleasantries of a “simple” New York exchange of greetings. The bar was set so low because I had been craving an authentic human connection for so long. I was almost moved to tears by this simple act in Dareljeld. I needed to interact with someone who was genuinely interested in my well-being. It was all the more powerful to receive this blessing at the beginning of this fellowship.