Nine young men, it is shame that there were no young
ladies amongst them, set foot on the sidewalk of a greyhound bus station in
Davis, California. The befuddled looks of newcomers were written all over their
youthful aspiring faces. The bewilderment that accompanies people when they
land on a new continent where the language is not their mother tong, where the
culture is one hundred eighty degrees differently-oriented from their own, and
where the belief system is beyond hyper-foreign to theirs defies descriptions
and paints their brown faces with the darkest colors of the void.
But, as soon as the masks of the unknown sculpted
the shapes of their weary faces, car after car started pulling in front of
their frail bodies that endured miles of pressurized air and hours of tightly
seated conditions to pick each one of them at a time. The car drivers were like
valets but without the uniforms, without the expectations of payments, and without
even the thought of being showered with thanks in return.
A skinny curly night-haired and
bicycle-moustached fellow was greeted by the gentlest and wisest of gentlemen
to enter a sports car that beamed with opulence and fanciness. The gestures did
the speaking, the smiles did the greeting, and the beyond-obvious kindness did
the reassuring that care, love, and peace are to ensue. The drive was brief, luscious
with green sceneries, and featured roads that were spacious beyond belief.
The car pulled into the driveway of a beautiful
house. The ever-so-kind gentleman signaled for the traveler to enter to be
greeted by the classiest and gentlest of women. The beaming eyes, the genuine Mona
Lisa like smiles, and the healing gestures did the talking for this fairest and
sweetest of women any human being can ever dream to encounter.
The intellectual fellow, in his fifties,
disappeared for a while to return with a whiteboard that he set on an
easel-like tripod. English lesson one began in a flash. Names were established;
he was Dr. Burt Butler and his beloved wife became known as Mrs. Butler. The
travel-wary foreigner became known to the two of them as Taoufik Nadji (me);
the Algerian young man who came to Davis to learn English at the ExtensionCenter (EC) for three quarters before embarking on a masters degree in
theoretical physics in the United States of America.
I stayed for a week, I believe, during which
more English lessons ensued and more of my EC matters have wonderfully been
sorted out. Dr. Butler also assisted me with my housing rental arrangements and
with the bank account opening. At the house, Mrs. Butler made sure I was fed
because my skinny body then suggested possible lack of nourishment (this was
not the case at all; I was just a skinny dude whose dietary habits were unusual
and riddled with allergic reactions to a variety of foods.)
Once I settled in my rental apartment near the
campus of UC Davis with three other Algerian classmates and as soon as my
English classes began, Dr. Butler would come every two weeks or so. He would
pick me up and take me to spend the weekend with his family. As my English
improved, our conversations became more extensive and more of our respective
personal lives unfolded before our dreamy eyes and curious minds. The bond
strengthened to the point that they began taking me to some of their friendly social
functions, openhearted religious events, and exceedingly welcoming opulent
parties.
I can never forget the Christmas party where the
guests were local dignitaries, politicians, and hotshot business people from
the greater Davis area. The glamor and the breathtaking extravagant nature of
the party never distracted Dr. Butler from his self-imposed generous host
duties. He walked with me along the long table that was adorned with all kinds
of cuisine delicacies. He pointed to each of the food items to let me know
which ones were halal (that a Muslim can consume) and which ones were not. He
and Mrs. Butler did not miss any single opportunity to introduce me to their
acquaintances and friends with full pride despite my simple-kid look.
My studies at the EC in Davis ended and I had to
go back to Algeria for the summer to get ready for my next American stop the
fall of that year. While in Algeria, the Butlers and I exchanged letters and did
so for three or so more years. The last letter that I had
gotten from them before I regrettably lost contact with them was dated July 27, 1986. This letter was the epitome of how people of various cultures ought to establish bonds of
humanity, kindness, and genuine selfless love with one another. It along with
the way the Butlers, my American parents, have welcomed me in their fold and
embraced me as a member of their family defined, in my mind, what America is
truly all about. No events since and no scheming of any over-zealous politicians
afterwards were, are, or will ever be going to efface this image of America
that I have become part of its essence, its fabric, and its sublime set of
grand values, all thanks to this most caring and most generous of couples.
This story of mine is not unique nor singular. Numerous
other immigrants must have enjoyed the generosity of my fellow Americans
throughout the ages. It is sad that in the name of hollow patriotism, some
heartless politicians decided to stoop so low as to separate immigrants from
their children or mistreat immigrants as if they were a burden on our country.
Nope, these sheepish un-American acts are not going to be carried out in my
name, under my star spangled banner, and above all not on the pure soil of our
land of the free and our home of the brave. America’s generosity and her
beatitude are not going to be effaced by the acts of the few amongst us. The
orientation of our moral compass is steadier than ever.
Update and Eulogy:
In my attempts to try to connect with the
Butlers, I sadly found out that Dr. Butler passed away in 2017. My grief and my
sadness are immeasurable on many grounds:
(i)
Loosing
such a noble human being before I was able to re-re-re-thank him and his
beloved wife for their welcoming me in their lives is a grave loss in and of
itself.
(ii)
Not
knowing about the passing away of Dr. Butler soon enough so that I would have
paid my respects and attended the funeral to share his wife and his family
their grief and their grave loss was beyond describable and sad. My biological
father (RhA) passed away three years earlier back in Algeria and this new loss
only compounded the feeling of emptiness and void these two great individuals
left behind.
(iii)
I
did not known that the Butlers resettled in Sacramento. I visited this very same city
back in the summer of 2016 as a presenter at the American Association of
Physics Teacher (AAPT). Had I known that this was the case, I would have loved to
connect with them then. But, what can one do when fate takes a course different
from some of one’s own wishes.
Rest in peace, dear American father, and may
Allah (SWT) [God] reward you for all the wonderful things you have done for me and
for the countless great deeds you have showered upon individuals whose life paths
crossed yours. God bless you and bless your whole family for eternity.
