Wandering Around an Albuquerque Airport Terminalby Naomi Shihab NyeAfter learning my flight was deta

Wandering Around an Albuquerque Airport Terminalby Naomi Shihab NyeAfter learning my flight was detained four hours,I heard the announcement:If anyone in the vicinity of gate 4-A understands any Arabic,Please come to the gate immediately.Well—one pauses these days. Gate 4-A was my own gate. I went there.An older woman in full traditional Palestinian dress,Just like my grandma wore, was crumpled to the floor, wailing loudly.Help, said the flight service person. Talk to her. What is herProblem? We told her the flight was going to be four hours late and sheDid this.I put my arm around her and spoke to her haltingly.Shu dow-a, shu-beduck habibti, stani stani schway, min fadlick,Sho bit se-wee?The minute she heard any words she knew—however poorly used—She stopped crying.She thought our flight had been canceled entirely.She needed to be in El Paso for some major medical treatment theFollowing day. I said no, no, we’re fine, you’ll get there, just late.Who is picking you up? Let’s call him and tell him.We called her son and I spoke with him in English.I told him I would stay with his mother until we got on the plane andWould ride next to her—Southwest.She talked to him. Then we called her other sons just for the fun ofIt. Then we called my dad and he and she spoke for a while in Arabic andFound out of course they had ten shared friends.Then I thought just for the heck of it why not call some PalestinianPoets I know and let them chat with her. This all took up about two hours.She was laughing a lot by then. Telling about her life. AnsweringQuestions.She pulled a sack of homemade mamool cookies—little powderedSugar crumbly mounds stuffed with dates and nuts—out of her bag—And was offering them to all the women at the gate.To my amazement, not a single woman declined one. It was like aSacrament. The traveler from Argentina, the traveler from California,The lovely woman from Laredo—we were all covered with the samePowdered sugar. And smiling. There is no better cookie.And I noticed my new best friend—by now we were holding hands—Had a potted plant poking out of her bag, some medicinal thing,With green furry leaves. Such an old country traveling tradition. AlwaysCarry a plant. Always stay rooted to somewhere.And I looked around that gate of late and weary ones and thought,This is the world I want to live in. The shared world.Not a single person in this gate—once the crying of confusion stopped—Has seemed apprehensive about any other person.They took the cookies. I wanted to hug all those other women too.This can still happen anywhere.Not everything is lost.[photos by Annie O'Neill - part of the “Out of Many” exhibit that was featured at the 2018 Festival of Friendship in Pittsburgh]  -- source link

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