Author Archives: Adam Sulaiman

The Cherry Man

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“Cherries! Cherries! Sweet cherries! Blueberries! Strawberries!” is yelled in a rhythmic and catchy pattern in front of the Chinese “Thanksgiving Supermarket” grocery store.

Miguel Loeza is a young thirty-four-year-old man in plain clothing. Wearing a white t-shirt and blue jeans, he is short, but well built. He needs to be for his job.

Encompassing the front side of the store is a canvas of colors. In the background is the sound of the nearby elevated train tracks, and dozens of people walking, talking, and touching the produce being unloaded to make sure it’s fresh and unblemished. Miguel unloads packages upon packages of heavy produce, picking at most of the blemished and rotten foods that slipped through the cracks before the customers could ever find them themselves. Only the best can be on the shelves of this Thanksgiving Supermarket. The yellowest lemons, the greenest peppers, and most importantly, the reddest cherries.

“Cherries are my favorite fruit. I grew up in a farm in Mexico and I remember my mother would always put fresh cherries in my breakfast.” Miguel is completely focused in his work setting up the produce ranging from watermelons to apples to corn in a well stacked and organized fashion.

“Believe it or not, the worst part of my job is unloading the cherries. They are very small and if you don’t unload them in the container carefully, they will roll off to the floor. It happened once. The bosses were not happy” he laughed.

Miguel came to America alone eleven years ago. “It was very tough coming to America. I knew no English and I sent most of my money back to my family in Mexico.” Single and alone in America, the bulk of Miguel’s money went to his parent because their farm has been going through some tough years.

When asked why his childhood farm isn’t doing well, he sighs “Corruption and drought. The two killers.” Miguel’s family’s farm is located in Nuevo Leon, a state in Northern Mexico in a town called General Teran. His family could simply not afford maintaining the farm and Miguel took it upon himself to come to America at the young age of twenty-three to supplement his parents income. “I don’t make much money here, but every dollar counts. And in Mexico, every dollar counts twice as much.”

Miguel’s face becomes tired and sad on the topic of the farm, but this quickly disappears and in place a cheery aura is exuded when he sings his cherry tune. “Cherries, Cherries! Sweet Cherries! Blueberries! Strawberries!”

“I didn’t come up with that myself. I actually heard another worker in Dyker Heights say it, but he didn’t sing it like I do and I added the sweet cherries part. I always loved how it rhymes, so I’ve been saying it ever since.”

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When one looks at Miguel, the first thing they would notice is how strong and large his arms are. The grocery packing work is grueling. Long hours, heavy boxes, and a constant requirement for attention to make sure no one steals any of the produce.

“I could have gotten an easier job, but I don’t mind. I am a farm boy, I have always been doing hard work and I am good at it.”

And good at it he is. Miguel makes something as seemingly as mundane as packaging and unloading into an art form. His movements are concise, flexible, and quick. Occasionally he even juggles some of the fruit. Little things like that, as well as the comradery the coworkers, most of whom are Mexican, seem to have keep things enjoyable at this little grocery shop.

“My friends here are so helpful and nice. We always make jokes and talk about soccer games and memories of Mexico with each other.”

Miguel concedes though that they often make fun of him for singing his little cherry tune.
They called me “el hombre de cerezo, The Cherry Man.”

“Better than banana man I guess.”

Herlinda Diaz’s Interview As Told To Adam

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Picture of Herlinda Diaz -Adam

Herlinda Diaz came illegally to America at the age of 18, leaving her home country of Mexico. Wide spread corruption in Mexico City had destroyed, in her eyes, any possible future in her home country. She came with her husband to America with the primary goal to raise their children in an environment of opportunity and safety, neither of which Mexico could provide. Coming illegally to the States has brought many hardships for Herlinda and her family. While living under the shadows has been a struggle, she still sees America as a ray of light and opportunity.

Growing Up
“I remember I like to run in the forest because it was so beautiful.”

“I was the child of a single mother. I don’t have a father.”

Love and Judgment
“I met my husband when I was seventeen. The people in town would say that “the woman is looking to run away from the house.” They don’t like it. There were many troubles.”

Corruption at Home
“I miss many things, because it is my country. That’s where I was born. I don’t like how they manage things, the politicians. I don’t want to be there. These is many corruptions. It has beautiful places. It has beautiful people. But it also has bad things.”

“There is a corruption with the police. There is a corruption with the senators. Also the guns, there are a lot there.”

“My husband and I, we tried to get a business in Mexico. A transport business. He has a big truck. He transports products from state to state. Always the police stopped him and take money. Also when somebody else do something wrong and you go to the police, the police say “You know, if you have money, we can follow it, if you don’t, we can do nothing” Those are the kind of things I don’t like about Mexico. Maybe if cut the corruption, maybe I can go back.

A Better Life for My Children
“The place I was born did not have a lot of necessities, had a lot of poor people, and I did not want that for my family. I married so young, so when I decided to come to the United States I did not want to have that sort of life for my child.

“Yes, you know because, I look in my childhood, my youngest life, and I don’t like that kind of life for them. And right now I say “thank you America” It gave me the opportunity to bring my kids here”

Impressions of America
“I remember when I was seven years old, I listened to the people “Oh when you live in the United States, it’s beautiful, you can buy anything you want, you can do anything you want. So I grow up with that kind of memories. So when I decide to come, it was because my uncle went there and he said “oh, I have the car, I have the house, I have everything that I want” So I said I want that for me. It doesn’t matter the price. What is the price? The price is to cross the border.”

“It was not so beautiful, that’s how I would describe. Yeah, the train smell bad, the house was so old. So I said “uh oh, I don’t think this is what I want.” But I say “Well, I will be here and I will fight for what I want and a better life for my child.”

“I say thanks to America. Because I met people from the other countries, from the other cultures, from like different type of people. So I like the melting pot of this city.”

Challenges of a New Life
“When I first came to the United States, it was really so hard for the immigrants. So the first obstacle there was the language. There was also missing the family, the city, your relatives. You can fight for whatever you want, but it was forceful to get that.“

Racism from an Unexpected Source
“The first racist was you know, this is curious, but this was the Mexican people. Because I did not speak English and did not understand a lot. They speak English and they were racist to me. So I said okay, I will fight to learn English. I start to learn in private school, I paid for that. And also I tried to improve my English to get a better life, not just for me, but for also for my kids.”

The Looming Shadow of Trump
“I am scared Donald Trump will win the presidency. I guess he doesn’t have an idea how the immigrants, not only the Mexicans, even around the world, how they suffer from racists and are fighting to be part of the United States. If he say all the Mexicans are bad people. You need to show him he is false. You are coming to work hard and fight. Not fight for the wrong things, but fighting to get a place in this country.

“Trump says every immigrant are bad. It’s not true. All cultures have bad and good people”

Mexican Culture vs. American Culture
“Mexican culture is more closer. Because right here the family is lonely. Right here the family is father, mother, and child. In Mexico, it not like that. It’s all of the extended family together around the table. But it also makes troubles. Because they don’t respect the life of each other.
The sister and the brother says “you need to do this, you need to do that”, I don’t like that part of Mexico.

The Struggles of the Undocumented Job
“The boss of my job was Ecuadorian. I used to make $3.25 an hour. The minimum wage was $5.75. That’s a lot of money they were stealing from me. All those things I remember in my heart. I don’t know how Spanish people can make other Spanish people not have the same standards of life. My life wasn’t easy. But in Spanish I say “pero tu me necesitar”, but you needed me. I kept fighting and I worked so hard and a lot of hours. I said, “okay thank you, I don’t want to be here anymore.”

“Then I start to work for the pharmacy, so I need to lie. The pharmacist told me you need to say that you came from the other states and that you are a citizen to work here. So I feel bad for that. Because I never lie. I didn’t know I need to lie to get a job.”

Herlinda’s Thoughts on the Responsibility of Being in America
“Some immigrants say when we cross the border, that it is the biggest obstacle and we jump it. It’s not true. We need to jump the dialect, the culture, to try be part of this culture. So we need to fight. Some immigrants fall into assistance and start to have kids and go to the government and system to support them. I don’t feel that is good. We are running away from our country because there is no opportunity, we come to America because there is opportunity. There is many things you can do to support yourself.

Productivity Is My Passion
“I love to read and I love to make arts and crafts. So that’s my passions, reading something and try to do something productive. My dream job would be a wedding planner”

To Stay or Not to Stay
“My child I must support them, maybe then I can go back to Mexico. But, only when I feel that I get my dreams to get a better life for my children. My husband wants to go back now, but I don’t want to. This is the fighting with each other. He wants to go back. He doesn’t feel part of this country. And he says “how do you feel part of this country, if they are racist, if you need to do the jobs that even the citizens don’t want to do. Why do you want to be here if you get less money that the citizens get for the same job?” And I said “because America gave me everything that I want. Right here, I finish my high school diploma, I learn English, if I stayed in Mexico I would never do it because I have no money.”

You Gotta Do What You Gotta Do
“People don’t understand when I say that you need to be focused in your dreams and your goals and follow them. Don’t quit. They say that “you are so strict, you are so mean.” Some people say I’m so rude sometimes. I say you need to do it because you need to do it, not because you want. If you need to do something, do it. It doesn’t matter how long its taking. Some people don’t understand, especially in my circle of friends. If you don’t sleep, don’t sleep. Because I need to do it. Because I want to show that I can stay in the United States. Now with Trump, why does he think like that? Maybe he has bad experience with Mexicans. I don’t know. So I need to be focused.

The Yarmouk Camp and Lighting.

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The Yarmouk Camp is a primarily Palestinian refugee camp located in Syria that has been cut off and trapped from food and water from both ISIS and the Assad regime. The lighting in the photo I think is very appropriate to the general feeling and atmosphere of the situation where the back center of the photo is foggy and blurry, with the mass of people escaping from that center. The fogginess and blurriness I think is symbolic of the war and the bleakness of their situation.

Olives, War, and a Journey

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The story of my family’s immigration narrative starts in a small farming village of about 9,000 people. The name of this beautiful little town full of white houses and some of the best olives in the world: Asira al Shamaliya, Palestine. Asira means “to squeeze” and al Shamaliya means “the north.” The name comes from the fact that Asira is famous in Palestine for its olive oil which is squeezed out of the olives. My family still get fresh tank loads of Asira olive oil exported to us every year because we can’t believe how awful and overpriced the olive oil in America is. “al Shamaliya” comes from the fact that the village is to the north of the much larger city of Nablus. It also differentiates it from the other town similarly called “Asira al Qibiliya”, Qibiliya meaning “the south” because of it southern position to Nablus.

Asira

Asira al Shamalaya

 

Both my parents were born in this small village. My father in 1955 and my mother in 1961. Their lives diverged drastically however. During the 1967 Arab-Israeli War, Israel invaded and occupied the West Bank, which Asira al Shimalaya is located in. Forced out of their homes, my mom and her family became refugees and fled on foot, literally traversing over the Jordan River, to the neighboring country of Jordan where my mom lived the rest of her childhood and teenage life. My father and his family however remained in Asira.

This war had large consequences on my life today. Half of my family now resides in Jordan and the other half still resides in Palestine. As you can imagine, that means a lot of traveling when we visit. And given the tense nature of the region, many difficulties arise. My father’s family and mother’s family were still in touch as everyone from Asira is tightknit and in constant contact. My father visited Jordan often and would many times visit my mother’s family. They then fell in love and married each other. The wedding took place in Asira, Palestine.  My father eventually got a job in Saudi Arabian airlines as a flight attendant and his work gave him the option of being stationed in either London, Paris, Athens, Manila, Bangkok, Bombay, Karachi, Cairo or New York City. When my father told me about this choice, I always found it extremely fascinating. My life was completely formed and shaped by this decision. I could have had a very different life and experience depending on what he chose. I could have been British, French, Greek, Filipino, Thai, Indian, Pakistani, or Egyptian, but my father obviously chose New York City. In my father’s mind, it was the land of opportunity and because American culture is so well permeated around the world, (even in the small village of Asira, American films were everywhere) it seemed the obvious choice. I love to think about what my life would have been had he chosen a different city, but ultimately I’m glad he chose this amazing city.

Mama wedding

Parents Wedding

The journey to America is where the item I brought with me to class came into play. The item is is called a misbaha in Arabic. In English it would be synonymous to prayer beads or rosary beads. I brought it because it really is representative of the immigration journey of my family, specifically my mother. The beads belonged to my grandfather and were made in Palestine. When my mother married my father, she subsequently followed him where his work took him and together they moved to New York City. My grandfather gave my mother the prayer beads when she left to America as a token of safe travel and remembrance. She used it on the plane ride to calm her nerves with prayers. She was very nervous to move to a country where she knew no one. My mother has kept the beads ever since her move to America decades ago. The prayer beads itself are used in Islam as an assistance for short prayers, or saying the 99 names of God. There are 33 beads on the misbaha and when used in three cycles, adds up to the 99 names needed. It’s important to me because it’s one of the oldest objects my mother brought with her from Palestine.

Prayer beads

Misbaha (Prayer Beads)

 

When she told me about the story of how she used them to calm herself, its significance automatically became stuck with me. I didn’t appreciate how hard it is to move to a new country that is totally different from your own, so when I heard about her nerves on the plane ride, it finally hit me.

New York City is where my life begins. I was born in Lutheran Hospital, Brooklyn on August 14, 1997. Like many 2nd generation immigrants, I was raised in a blend of Arab Muslim and American culture. Being an Arab-Muslim in post 9/11 America has been a very difficult experience. In fact, few people know that my birth name was originally Osama, but after 9/11 my parents changed it to Adam, fearing that I would be bullied for sharing the name of the terrorist who brought down the Twin Towers. My name change was a difficult adjustment, but ultimately one I came to accept.

I really do live two lives in a way. At home, my Arabic lifestyle is apparent and my family still refers to me as Osama. Once I leave my house, my name changes and I am Adam in the eyes of the world. It may seem weird, but I respond to both names just as quickly and without any confusion, as if one of my names is just a nickname. Typically, I am well adapted to the blend of cultures I experience, mainly because it’s just so in the norm for New Yorkers to experience and identify as “Something-American.” Because of the open and diverse nature of NYC the feeling of being judged because of my background is less prominent. But there still is undeniable pressures. Racism and xenophobia being one, as the story of my name illustrates, but also trying to fulfill the expectations of both my American and Arab cultures. For example, major life decisions like my career is a constant balance. Arab culture in my experiences loves to propel that the best and only jobs are in medicine, engineering, or law. Trying to balance that with my own interests, which generally lie in history and politics, is a point of contention but one that I am working my way through. Right now I am on the Pre-med track but I do plan on majoring in my interests which either might be Political Science or History, while taking the necessary pre requisites for something in the medical field. It will be tough to balance two very different fields, but ultimately I think it will be rewarding. My older brother faced a similar situation in which my parents pushed him to be a doctor, but after many of passionate, late night arguments, they came to accept his life decisions and now he is getting a P.H.D in Anthropology at Brown University. Ultimately, that is the theme of the story for many immigrants: assimilation and balance. I am no different to that reality than even the earliest of immigrants to New York City.

 

 

 

 

The Quechua Staff

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The Quechua Staff (Circa 1800’s)

Quechua

The Andean peoples are named after the region of South America that they come from: The Andes mountains. This geographical area encompasses the western side of modern day Peru and Chile. The Andean peoples are a diverse group and not just one tribe/ethnic group. An equivalent would be like saying Scandinavians which encompasses multiple ethnicities and cultures but have a unifying commonality in geography and history.

The Quechua Staff is a widespread symbol of authority among Andean peoples as a whole. They are usually used in ceremonies and in the past were carried by community leaders who oversaw communal projects such as planting and harvesting. These staffs tell us a significant amount about the culture of the Native Andean peoples. It shows that there were complex and sophisticated structures of class, authority, and social hierarchy among the Andean peoples.

Individuals who carried these staffs are analogous to the nobles and royals of European history. These staffs prove that Native cultures weren’t the simple and “backwards” people that they were painted to be, but in fact were prospering and sophisticated cultures.

As I researched more about the Quechua staffs, I was interested by the evolution of the use and nature of the staffs as time progressed. When the Europeans arrived and imposed Christianity on the Natives Andean peoples, the wooden staffs began to be decorated with bands of Christian symbols. Today, they are still and often used by leaders in Catholic ceremonies and public rituals. The essence of what the staff represents remained the same through time. It is still a complex social symbol that represents a type of hierarchy, whether it be the Andean peoples using it as a symbol of nobility, or Catholics priests using it in their rituals.

What’s important to note is that the staffs were not lost completely with European colonization, but instead developed with the changes that the Natives experienced. This staff from the museum was from the 1800’s. This shows that Native practices and objects are still very much alive in the Americas and that like all cultures, they have evolved with time.