Naming Names

The shortest line isn’t always the straightest distance between two points. I scheme my way through each obstacle between me, a duty-free book store carrying the latest Esquire and the bar nearest departure gate. For example, as I zigzag my way through the terminal, stopping at the first x-ray and metal detector, onto the counter where I check-in luggage and pick-up boarding pass, then on through passport control and another security screening, I avoid lines that may appear to the untrained eye to be the shortest.

Since summer is time for annual reprieve from desert heat for khawajahs and locals alike, there may be what appears to be a short line but if I see the eldest son of a large, extended, multi-generational Arab family standing there, a dozen passports in hand; I'll move on; in fact, I try to avoid any line with Arabs in it because when they greet one another--let’s say it’s passenger stepping up to the immigration official--both of them hold up the flow as they seem to be chit chatting like long lost cousins. It is not, however, just chit chat, but in fact an obligatory exchange of salutations and farewells each referencing God’s greatness, God’s will, God’s mercy, God this, God that, so forth and so on.

And odds are they just might be cousins. If they notice that they share some of the same names in their catalog of names which include not only a given name but their father’s name, and two or more "who is the son of, who is the son ofs" in addition to the family and the tribal name, they could start questioning one another seeking common ground counting degrees of separation. When Arab meets Arab, odds are high that a queue jamming conversation may erupt . Ask them to hurry it up, and they will answer "Enshallah"; "Sorry, but this conversation is now in God's hands."

 

I look for the lines with the most khawajahs who may or may not even trouble themselves with a "How are you?," and a "Have a nice day".