By Nuha Dadesh
An ordinary girl with an extraordinary life journey; a perfect description of the past 16 years of my existence on this planet.
Tripoli, Libya is where my first ten years were spent. Correspondingly to everyone, my childhood had its ups and downs: from new siblings, good grades, and new friends to my grandfathers' death, getting in trouble, and bullies. Overall, I was settled and happy.
My life drastically changed when my parents, siblings, and I traveled to the United States of America. My family immigrated so that my father could acquire his Ph.D.
Fast forward five and a half years of adapting to what became my second home, I found myself back to the same city that built me. I returned all grown up, with a new first-language, a distinctive viewpoint on life, and loads of stories to tell.
It was a bittersweet day due to my devastation of leaving Dearborn and happiness to see my family and friends again. The airport welcomed me with a power cut on that very hot September day. I was sitting on a bench still traumatized by the fact that I actually returned to Libya when I saw this man coming in my direction. Fortunately, I didn't scream or do anything embarrassing 'cause that man turned out to be my uncle. After we shook hands and exchanged glances of each other, he did what he does best and started to mock me. Minutes later, I started to recognize faces that were so endearing to me.
I can still vividly recall that car ride with one of my uncles from the airport to my grandmother's house, where everyone was welcoming us. The first person that I saw once I got out of the car was my grandmother in tears of joy, of course! She hugged me tightly and I would've been in tears as well if only I believed what was going on at that moment. I remember thinking to myself, " Wow! Grandma is really short!" In fact, she was shorter than me. As I stepped in the house, my three aunts were all gathered up, and more than one voice was saying, " She looks like Masaraa!"
There were many welcomes from loved ones, and each encounter was unique; some people changed greatly, but others stayed the same.
The first week back in Libya involved lots of sleeping. Plenty of times, they'd try to wake me up because friends and family were still coming over to see us, however, that was an impossible task. I did lose a lot of sleep during the last days in America, the airports journeys, and on the multiple airplane rides, but I suppose that it was my way of escaping reality.
After a week of staying at my grandmother's house ( from my father's side), I went with my other grandma to sleepover. That night became days , and they were doubtlessly the most exciting five summer days of my life. My uncles and grandma spoiled me, to say the least. In fact, they even took me with them to the pool house they owned. During the day, like the sun, I would be full of light and energy, but as the daylight turned into darkness so did my thoughts, and I'd usually cry myself to sleep. I never wished for my life to change, thus when it did, I didn't accept it.
My dad came and picked me up back to my grandmother's house. Another week of unforgiving summer heat and frequent power cuts passed. I mainly spent the daytime using my phone since it was the only thing that kept me connected with the western world. I would text my friends if they were up, listen to American music, or look at the photos of me in the USA.
Junior year of high school started after residing in my hometown for less than two weeks! My anticipation for school was as low as how I was feeling. A few days earlier I swam carelessly in the pool, and I got the most unfortunate sunburn of my life. I realized how unflattering I appeared which made me despise heading to school even more, but my dad was stern as ever and forced me to go.
My father and I went into the office to tell the principal that my papers for school haven't arrived yet and if she would let me in until the papers came. I was astonished by her acceptation of his request. As a teacher guided me to one of the classrooms, she asked me a question that I didn't know would be asked hundreds of times more. "Why did you come back?" she asked. "My dad brought us back because he wanted to live in Libya" is the answer I kept giving. I never understood his way of thinking. As I walked down the corridor, many thoughts were erupting in my mind. "Can't believe I'm here." " Why am I here?" " This is definitely not Edsel Ford High School!" Those thoughts came to a stop when I saw this girl jump out of her desk and literally scream out, " NUHAAAAA!!!" It was Ritaj. She was the girl that became one my best friends in fifth grade, shed tears when she saw me leaving Libya years ago, I talked to for an hour on the phone months before I came back. For some reason, I just stood there so oblivious to everything. Our conversation was the typical chat between two best friends that haven't seen each other in over five years. Another companion that I realized was sitting in that classroom was Khawla. She didn't recognize me but she remembered who I was when I told her, "It's me! Nuha Dadesh." The first day of school wasn't as dreadful as I thought it would be. That day I walked home to my grandma's house since it was closer than where we were staying.
The second day didn't start out well either. Finding an outfit to wear was a bit of a disaster since half my clothes were at grandma's and the other half was in my suitcases at home. Luckily, I managed to find a black dress with a black cardigan and a gray scarf. Apparently, I was late because a teacher was yelling at some students and I. No one told me when school officially started. I stood in the morning line with all the students as we did some exercises and listened to the national anthem. I saw a teacher picking some girls out of the line, but I didn't give much thought to what I witnessed. It turned out that those girls were chosen since they weren't wearing the school uniform ( I got lucky!), but once more no one informed us that the uniform was obligatory the first week of school. Out of those girls that got verbally abused by this "counselor", was my best friend since first grade. Doha: the girl that sat next to me on my first day of school, threw a surprise party for me in fifth grade, also was in tears when she hugged me goodbye. This time, I was the one that did the recognizing, and once again she sat next to me. As we were talking, she reminded me so much of my best friend Sara. Moreover, the English teacher walked in and asked the class about their summer vacation. Everyone randomly blurted out answers. Then, suddenly, the class was a bit quieter when I shared with them the states I visited during the summer. The uniqueness of my summer wasn't the cause of the silence, rather it was the fluency of my English and my American accent. With a sweet smile, the teacher commented, " I like your accent!" As it became a routine, I also walked home to my grandma's house that day.
The following two days didn't prepare me for what was coming. I started to get to know my companions better, thought I was blending in, and tried to accept reality. I sat next to a darling named Tasneem, who also was a classmate of mine in primary school. As friendly as possible, she would try to start conversations, but I kept responding with one-word replies. My misery disguised the fact that I was a loquacious individual. Furthermore, I mainly listened to people and made plenty of observations.
The first Thursday of the school year was an unpleasant one. The school required that all girls must wear white scarves, which made any beauty on my face disappear. I took a look in the mirror, and the reflection it provided was not an attractive one. The sunburn that I got days ago didn't help either. To make myself a bit more confident of the way I looked, I put on a bit of eyeliner. But I immediately wiped it off 'cause I remembered that that wasn't allowed as well; besides, it didn't even help much. It was the typical chaotic school day in Libya. The third period was supposed to be gym time, however since there was no gym, we went outside to the courtyard that was filled with sand and garbage. We were all thirsty for a cold drink due to the summer's high temperatures. One of the girls went to ask the teachers for a cup of water, while we waited patiently in the hallway. Out of the blue, as I was having chit chat with Doha, a hand grabbed me into a room. I comprehended what was going on whilst remembering the rumors I heard earlier. She got out some wipes and started to wipe my eyes out ever so aggressively. She took a look at the tissue and saw a dot of leftover eyeliner on so she started wiping my face too; hoping there would be some bronzer on. I was in a frantic panic. Two women walked in and sat down. The most uncompromising woman I have ever met was cursing me and I couldn't dare stand up for myself. Her words were harsh. She asked for my name and said that she was going to show the paper tissue to my dad! Obviously, she wasn't having enough fun because she decided to take a look at my scarf in addition. She invaded my private space for the second time and asked how many scarves I was wearing. Confused at the question, I answered "ONE!" Apparently, there were girls that wear double scarves so their Hijab would look puffier. After she wrecked my scarf, she ordered me to go fix it. My whole body was shaking as I was trying to put it back on. She came next to me, took my hair tie, and told me that I couldn't wear it anymore!! One of the teachers commented, " I know her sister Nada that goes to the nearby Middle school! She wears her Hijab in a modest way, and she is a respectful girl." I mistakenly thought that she was going to get me out of this mess, but she continued, and I realized that she wasn't on my side neither. " This girl, well, she's the opposite of her sister! I couldn't even recognize that they were related." I finally got the urge to say something; " What are you trying to call me?" I guess I shouted ,and the monstrous female yelled at me for disrespecting a teacher. Afterwards, she continued to screech at me for not putting my scarf on the "proper" way. I kept apologizing for no good reason. " I was in America and I don't know the rules for this school. I promise that I will follow them from now on," She replied, " I know what these girls that come from America are like!" With her head held high, she stormed out of the room.
Every single tear that was found in my body exited out of my eyes seconds later. Shouting uncontrollably for my dad to come take me out of school made the two teachers that stayed in the room fear me in a way. Ironically, they brought dry napkins and wiped my tears. " There's no need for your father to come," one of them answered in a scared tone. I persisted my demand. One of the teachers took me to a really disgusting bathroom to wash my face. Without consciousness, I found myself in a room with a bunch of other teachers and my friends calming me down. Nonetheless, it was too late to stop my crying. They took me back to the classroom, and I continued to cry in front of everyone! During lunchtime, I went up to my uncle, who was a teacher, weeping. I told him everything in detail. I was again in that room with the counselor and uncle Hassan. She was being nice to me and asking me why I was crying. " Look, sweetie, if you need any help this school year just come to me!" My crying, sobbing, and weeping ended when I unbelievably witnessed her act. " Tell her Ok," he said. I looked at him in disbelief too. "OK?" I got out of the room. My uncle took me home 'cause I couldn't handle any more Libyan drama.
"Uh oh! She's crying!" My aunt, Hanan, and grandma came to see what was wrong. I went upstairs crying. I called one of my best friends back in Dearborn, Luma. She was in the car heading to school when I complained about my school day. " Nuha stop crying! I'm gonna start crying." " It'll be ok trust me." Those comforting words were my reasons for calling her. Another two to three hours of crying passed. My dad came and picked me up. By the time I got home, I was already tired of reporting the sickening story. I gave my parents a brief summary.
The whole Dadesh family was invited to my great aunt's house to celebrate the birth of her daughter's newborn baby. I managed to forget what had happened earlier and dressed up. I was excited as it was my first party in Libya. Once I got there, there was this selfish, mean woman that told me, " Why didn't you straighten your hair? Oh, it's probably the humidity that is making it look that way!" I managed to ignore her since I knew that she says those kind of unkind words to make herself feel better. I ended up having plenty of fun that night with the teenage relatives of mine. I went home feeling better.
Uncle Hassan's wife told me the next day that he had had a stern talking to with the counselor, and that I should not worry about her anymore.
