Love Amidst War

   

In the early morning hours, I woke up on the US Embassy grounds (in the Green Zone region of Baghdad, Iraq) to the deafening sound of incoming mortars and rockets with the overhead PA system blaring: “This is not a drill!  This is not a drill!  Take cover!  Take cover!”  There was no rest for me. I knew exactly what this meant!  It was unfortunately all too familiar.  As if I was on auto-pilot, I swiftly threw off my sheets, jumped out of bed, grabbed a pair of pants and a shirt, threw on my PPE (Personnel Protective Equipment), grabbed my cell and handheld Motorola radio, and darted out the door to the nearest bunker! 

            As an IT Manager, I also knew it was my responsibility to stay calm and immediately begin taking accountability of my personnel to assure our Operations staff received an affirmative accountability of all personnel under my stewardship.  Was everyone alive?  Did anyone get hurt?  These thoughts raced through my mind, hoping for the best, but fearing the worst, though there wasn’t much time to worry.  We were under attack.  My handheld Motorola radio and my cell phone were communications devices that never left my side.  They were always with me---everywhere, every day, including going to the bathroom.  I was immediately in accountability mode: “IT 1 to IT 2, come in!”  I went through the accountability drill, desperately trying to reach each employee, until all twenty-five personnel were positively accounted for.  It was a good day.  There were no injuries or loss of life---this time.  An hour or two later, we received the “All Clear” direction through our Operations Chain of Command identifying we could return to our living quarters or duty stations to regroup and get ready for the tasks at hand. 

On the other side of the highly fortified Green Zone (also called the International Zone), Saja Masarrah Mohammed also started out her day.  Her features were stunning.  She had dark intense eyes, complimentary dark hair, and porcelain white skin.  She was merely 23 years of age and had never left her country.  She lived in a run-down old building with limited water and little food, risking her life to come into the Green Zone to work for Coalition Forces each day.  It was 2004 and the US-led invasion had occurred the year prior, yet sectarian violence continued to permeate the region with frequent attacks at checkpoints and random incoming mortars and rockets shelling devastation throughout the area.  Insurgency was prevalent.  This chaotic scene around her was her daily life.  As she secretly worked for Coalition Forces, she lived in constant anxiety and fear as she traveled the awkward path to enter the Green Zone each day.  It wasn’t until after she made it through the checkpoint, entering the Green Zone, Embassy Compound Grounds, that she truly felt safe. 

She knew she was risking her life each time she would enter the Green Zone to work for Coalition Forces as an Arab Interpreter.  Despite the intense risk, fear, anxiety, and uncertainty that plagued her every footstep, she knew she had few options.  She would do everything and anything she could to help her family.  She was their only hope for survival.  She only had two younger siblings, a brother and a sister; they too needed her strength and courage.  They were relying on her.  Her parents had very limited education and the wages she earned were enough to sustain her family as her father was unable to earn decent wages following the Iraq invasion.  He had extreme difficulty finding work with his limited academic abilities.  He had no formal education.  Her father and mother did not want to leave Baghdad nor did they have any means to leave Baghdad.  They had originally moved there from Al Hillah, a Babylon Province of Iraq, shortly after Saja was born; Baghdad was the only home she knew. 

Prior to the invasion, when his daughter was just an infant, her father, Ahmed Zued Mohammad, had chosen to relocate his family to Baghdad in search of better economic and academic opportunities.  He discovered their new life there was less than what he had hoped under Saddam’s fierce and tyrannical reign and due to his limited education.  His dream was to see his children be formally educated, even his daughters, unlike he and his wife, who had not had the opportunity to receive a decent education, growing up in a rural working-class family who farmed and produced their own agriculture for daily sustenance.  Of course, he was well aware his philosophies were not the norm in comparison to many of his male Muslim counterparts in Iraq.  He was aware he was different and needed to keep many of his beliefs to himself, including his belief in Christianity introduced to him through a childhood friend who had met a missionary.  There were other Christians there, but he knew it was in the best interest of his family to hide his faith.  In all outward appearances, those around them presumed they were of the Muslim faith.  His wife and daughters all dressed very modestly, including the traditional burka, only exposing a small portion of their face and hands and they only prayed in their home or hand a prayer in silence.  Although, Baghdad was her home and she did not want to leave either, she knew it was no longer safe there.  Secretly, Saja prayed every day that one day she would be able to find a way to help her family escape the sectarian violence surrounding them. 

Having faith in God, she began her journey each day, embarking on the often uncertain and challenging walk towards the entrance to the Green Zone checkpoint, hoping she would not encounter any violence.   She often changed routes to try not to form a pattern.  Once inside the Green Zone, she felt a sense of relief and peace as she steadfastly made her way to the US Embassy Grounds where she worked at the Presidential Palace (the former residence of Saddam Hussein).  It was a massive structure with many ornate rooms, including marble walls, chandeliers, and fantastic décor.  She had never experienced or witnessed such grandeur and knew it was a privilege to work within those walls.  Most importantly, she felt as if nothing could harm her there.  

There, she worked with other Arab interpreters, including both US and multi-national forces, State Department, and other Department of Defense (DoD) contract personnel.  She was grateful for this opportunity.  One day as she quietly sat in her corner of the large office she shared with nearly ten others, she was asked by one of her superiors to work on a special project he needed completed that day.  She was advised that her work required explicit accuracy and timeliness as her superior would be briefing the incoming four-star General.  She didn’t really understand the US military very well, but felt it was an honor and a privilege.   She was pleased to contribute to the cause.

 She purposefully got to work, putting aside the mountain of other documents, projects she was also required to translate to meet this important deadline.  There were a few people in her section that she knew, some of them attended the University of Baghdad with her, prior to the invasion.  She got to know several of the other staff and thought they were all very nice.  She enjoyed the opportunity to work with them.  As she sat at her small corner desk towards the back of the large palace room, now converted to a large office filled with computers, desks, and office furnishings, she eagerly translated the documentation assigned to her.  She tried to tune out the constant noise around her from her peers.   She worked steadily for three hours, then four hours, then her eyes became tired and she needed to step away from her desk.  She decided to take a little break, use the restroom, eat something, and continue to work.  She did so, completing the assignment by her deadline just prior to her time to leave the office for the night.  Her superior was very pleased and impressed with her work.  She was very happy too and felt a sense of triumph knowing she was capable of completing a task of that magnitude.

That night, she briskly made her way out the Presidential Palace doors, contemplating her journey home, hoping and silently praying she would not encounter any problems as she returned to the Red Zone, when she was startled by a loud explosion that penetrated her eardrums.  The earth beneath her even trembled.  The fear and anxiety crept in as she wondered what had just occurred.  She was afraid her family had been injured or possibly killed.  She quickly gathered her senses and steadily made her way through the checkpoint exit, eagerly trying to get to the other side.  Others had heard the explosion too as they quickly hustled their way outside the checkpoint exit to the uncertainty of the Red Zone.  As she exited the checkpoint, there she saw a crowd of people huddled along the street corner, opposite the checkpoint to the Green Zone, where a huge gaping crater-like hole had been formed, the result of a car bombing; confirming the explosion she had just heard minutes prior.  There were several casualties, but fortunately, she did not recognize the vehicle.  A feeling of sweet relief came over her.  She knew her family was okay.  She reached home and hugged everyone saying a silent prayer of thanksgiving.

On the other side of the world, the clock struck 9 pm.  It was time for MAJ Brad Johnson, a single, beautifully, well-built blonde, blue-eyed, 33-year-old, Military Intelligence Officer stationed at Fort Huachuca, Arizona, the Military Intelligence Command for the Army, to make his way to the Tucson International Airport.  He had received orders or Iraq.  He had a long journey ahead, requiring he catch a commercial flight to Europe, than to Kuwait, where he would catch a helicopter into the Washington Pad, in the Green Zone.  Though he was 33, most people thought he was much younger and did not realize he was an Army Officer, having graduated from West Point, making the military his career.  He had been in the Army since he was 18 years old.  This would be MAJ Johnson’s second tour to Iraq as he also came through Baghdad during the initial invasion in 2003. As he gathered his tough box filled with necessities and his large military-issued back pack, he closed the door behind his townhome in Sierra Vista, Arizona, just outside the military base of Fort Huachuca, in
Southeastern Arizona.  He drove the one-hour drive with a fellow friend and soldier who had agreed to give him a lift to the airport. 

As they made their way through the heat and darkness of the Arizona night, driving down I-10, towards the Valencia Exit to the Tucson International Airport, he recalled his previous tour to another desert, the desert of Iraq.  He recalled scenes from his previous tour and recollected the words of his former Commander who advised him and his fellow comrades as they prepared to invade Iraq just one year prior: “The only way home is through Baghdad!  Stay alert, stay alive!”  He also recollected the initial treacherous journey through Baghdad and the sounds and smells immediately permeated his senses transplanting him vividly back to where it all started.  Mentally, he could never forget some of the atrocities he witnessed, but he knew that Saddam needed to be stopped and we were there for a reason.

Despite the improvements made there, there was still tension and turmoil and much work to be done and he knew he could help make a difference and felt honored to serve his country.  His father was a career military officer, his elder brother was a military officer, and he was pleased to follow in their footsteps, though his work was his mistress.  He had little time for much of a personal life though it was his desire to find a Christian wife one day and have a family.  As his mind drifted back to reality, his friend pulled up to the airline terminal.  His friend exclaimed, “Hey buddy, you take care out there and let me know if you need anything.  I’ll probably see you there in a couple months.”  MAJ Johnson thanked his friend and hopped out of the vehicle, checked in his bags and headed to catch his flight.  The flight to Baghdad seemed endless, first stopping off in Los Angeles to catch a flight to London, then from London to Kuwait.  Finally, two days later, he was catching his helicopter flight to the Green Zone Washington Helipad.  He was excited to finally get to his duty station and get to work.  He had orders to help support and lead Coalition Forces at the Presidential Palace in Baghdad, as a lead Army Interpreter and Translator. 

On the first day of work, he was introduced to his fellow international colleagues, all centered and focused on a specific goal: to provide translation and interpretation services.  He was pleased to be put in charge of a group of talented interpreters and translators who included host country nationals as well as military and other civilian personnel.  As he went around his new office to individually meet everyone, one particular girl caught his attention.  She was an Iraqi beauty and her beauty immediately captivated his heart.  He was a little taken back as he had not expected to meet anyone of interest in a war zone/contingency environment, certainly not in Iraq.   He noticed the young woman was intensely working on a translation project at her corner desk when he came by and introduced himself, extending his hand stating, “Hello.  I am MAJ Johnson.  I have been newly assigned to help lead interpretation and translation projects for the Military Intelligence Command for the Army.  Thank you for your service.”

She was also captivated by his handsome presence as she looked up and their eyes locked.  She was clearly attracted to him, but she knew he was her new boss and she could not give off any clues that she found him appealing in any way.  With a shy smile and graciousness, she handed him her hand and introduced herself.  She felt electricity when their hands touched.  She shyly introduced herself, “Hello.  I am Saja Masarrah Mohammed.  I am pleased to meet you.”  Her voice was soft and sweet.  He liked her timid personality.  She let him know that she was happy to help with any projects he needed her to complete and he thanked her again for her service and her bravery.  As he walked back to his private office, his thoughts went back to her.   He thought: How can a young woman of her beauty be so brave as to risk her life each day to help what most in her country would consider the enemy?  What drove her?  What captivated her?  What inspired her?  What motivated her?  He wanted to know everything about this mystery woman.  As several months progressed, he often caught himself gazing at her as they did projects together.  He enjoyed working with her, but didn’t want to jeopardize his job nor hers.

As the year was winding to a close and his tour was about to end, he could no longer hold back his feelings for her.  One day as they worked together on an intense project requiring all their collaborative efforts, he told her that he admired her from the first moment they met and his tour.  Since his tour was winding to a close, he could not leave Iraq without telling her how he felt towards her.  She admitted the feelings were mutual.  He soon proposed and as the months transpired, she prepared for their wedding in Jordan.  She had to reside in Jordan for several months until she received the appropriate immigration-related documentation to join her husband in America.  After finally being able to move to America, she was able to help petition for her family to come to America as well.  God had heard her fervent, heartfelt prayers and her husband was pleased to finally find the woman of his dreams.  Life continued in Iraq.  The mortars and shellings continued, the sun continued to rise and set; each day brought new triumph and tragedies.  Many contractors, civilians, and the military continued to make a difference and new stories of love amidst war continued to emerge, proving true love has no boundaries.

Secret Lives

                   Under the haze of the Hawaiian morning sun, amidst the aromatic, frangipani tree-lined streets, a timid, but precocious, 9-year-old girl, named Felicia, moved to our town.  We lived in the sleepy remote town of Haleiwa, along the North Shore of Hawaii.  Her family was small, including just a younger sibling and her parents.  Most Polynesian families in our neighborhood had at least four or five kids.  They were definitely not the norm.  Her father was one good-looking man!  He could probably pass for Dwayne ‘The Rock’ Johnson’s look-a-like!  Their Polynesian features where unmistakably similar.  Felicia’s mother was equally as gorgeous as her two daughters.   She seemed to be very reserved, like something awful had silenced her inner-spirit.  Her parents didn’t associate much with anyone so no one knew why they had moved there or from whence they came.  They were indeed the town mystery. 

Felicia had stunningly-black, long, flowy, curly hair, and skin kissed by the sun.  She was a slender build at a little over 4-feet tall; a true Polynesian beauty.  Her deep, dark eyes also held a sense of intense mystery.  She, like her mother, was also withdrawn; like a beautiful hibiscus flower that had once bloomed with glory than wilted, never to be restored to its original splendor.  The mystery of their family was as dark as the molten, hardened, lava rocks often seen along the scenic stretch of Haleiwa coastline along the North Shore.  She had a little sister, Sosefina, who was equally as stunning.  Sosefina was four years younger than Felicia and in Kindergarten.  It was often Felicia’s responsibility to tend to the constant needs of her younger sibling when her parents were working or involved in other activities.  She was like a little mom.  She was seldom seen enjoying the normal, playful activities that most of the children enjoyed in their family-oriented community.  

Sophia noticed Felicia right away when she was introduced as a new student by her homeroom teacher, Mrs. Kobayashi.  Sophia had been attending Sunset Elementary School for over five years and was glad to be able to make new friends.  Sophia immediately knew she wanted to become friends with Felicia.  Sophia had lived in the same Haleiwa neighborhood, where Felicia had recently moved, nearly all her life.  She had similar features.  Sophia had noticed Felicia seemed shy too.  To most, Sophia was a happy girl, but also had a tendency to be shy, though fiercely assertive when provoked.  She was not to be messed with by anybody!  She loved school and loved all types of sports and outdoor activities.   

She moments she relished most was spent going to Sunset beach where she enjoyed watching the professional surfers who often came to battle the pipeline.  She loved when the waves came crashing in against the seashore.  She loved when the waters would recede and she’d rush to gather all the seashells.  She loved the misty, ocean fragrance and loved the way the cool water penetrated the space between her toes; she loved the how the sand felt beneath her barefoot brown feet.  She loved the way the sun felt against her skin after she got out of the water.  It felt like a warm blanket encircling her with love.  She loved everything about being near the ocean!  She felt as if every burden had been momentarily lifted.  She was on top of the world.  The ocean was her refuge; her place of serenity.  There, she felt complete joy.  When she wanted to unwind, late at night, she also enjoyed writing in her diary, writing about the things she loved to do most and the things that troubled her heart and her home.  Oh, the secrets, that diary held.  It was another form of release and escape from her world.  Sophia had several siblings: two sisters and two brothers.  Her older brother was actually a half-brother that most people assumed was her real brother.  She liked it that way.  She wished he was her full brother and considered him so.  He was older, 13 years old to be exact!  If anyone tried to hurt her at school, she would call on her older brother to come and protect her.   

Often the guys at school would try to ‘get fresh’ with her and she wouldn’t tolerate their nonsense.  She would simply threaten to have her older brother beat them up if they touched her and that was all it took.  Oh, she could be fierce when provoked!  Though he was tall in stature than most kids his age, he didn’t have a mean bone in his body, but just the sheer look of his stature would intimidate the biggest bully at school to back off!  For his love and protection, she loved and adored her older brother.  He was artistically-gifted, smart, very shy, and kept to himself.  He was the eldest and had many household responsibilities, including many chores to accomplish every day, before and after school.  She also loved all her other siblings, every one of them.  Her older sister was 12 and vivacious.  Her younger sister was 8-years-old and smart as a whip.  Her younger brother was only 4-years-old, cute and fat, and attended the pre-school program at her same school.  He was a hand-full, always demanding so much attention from everyone, but nonetheless, she loved that chunky, little monster!  To most outsiders, they appeared to be a normal family.

At school and everywhere she went, people gravitated towards her for her friendly personality and love for people and life.  Apart from sports, games, and various outdoor activities, she also had a passion for singing and Polynesian dancing.  She loved to dance and sing; everything from Polynesian music to Top 40s.  She loved all genres of music and always had a song in her mind and a groove in her step.  She was born to dance and sing!  Though she appeared happy to most people who crossed her path, she held on to a secret nobody knew apart from her family.  She knew if she revealed this secret, it could bring harm upon her family, so she tried to distract herself with as many activities as possible and focus on all the positive elements of her life and suppress all the sadness in her heart.

She felt, perhaps Felicia could be someone she could become good friends with one day though she did not know why.  She had many friends, but there was something different about Felicia.  She considered Felicia someone she wanted to get to know and thought maybe someday she could confide in her.  Both Sophia and Felicia were the same age, of Polynesian descent, both reserved, and both seemed to have a mysterious side, a side no one knew.  Sophia felt like there was something special between them; they both seemed to carry their own, deep secret; a hidden pain that could not be revealed.  Sophia decided to befriend Felicia one day, approaching her before recess.  “Hi Felicia,” she exclaimed with excitement!  “I’m Sophia!  Do you want to play with me during recess today?”  Felicia began to shyly crack a smile and timidly replied, “Thank you.  I’m okay.  I can stay here, but thank you.”  Sophia immediately responded, “C’mon Felicia!  Look!  All the kids are getting ready to play sham-battle!  Let’s go!  You’ll love it!  It is the funnest game---ever!”  “I don’t know how to play sham-battle,” replied Felicia in a soft-spoken, withdrawn tone.  “Oh, it’s easy!” replied Felicia.  “If I can do it, you can do it!  I’ll show you how it’s done!  Just come with me!  You will love it, girlfriend!” 

The two girls left the field as friends.  Felicia was so grateful, she said with pure happiness and sincerity in her voice: “Thank you so much for inviting me to play.  I have no friends.  You are so nice.”  Sophia happily responded, “You are nice too!  You have a friend now!  I hope we can hang out at lunch time or next time at recess?”  Felicia quietly responded, “Thank you Sophia.”  Sophia  enthusiastically responded with a little bit of island-style sass, “I’m your friend now so you can hang with me any day!”  Later that same day, they met up for lunch and that afternoon, the two girls met up to walk home from school.  The next day, Sophia looked for Felicia, but she was nowhere in sight.  After school, she went home and went outside to play.  As the sun was setting over Haleiwa, she caught a glimpse of an unfamiliar girl in a dress, off in the distance, but she could only see her from the back.  Who was this short-haired girl she had not seen before?  Most of the girls all had long, black hair.  The girl had short hair, but appeared to be about the same age as her. 

She walked a little closer to get a better glimpse of the strange girl who seemed to be out on the side of her house taking out the trash.  When she got a glimpse of her side profile, she gasped in shock, like she had been kicked in the stomach.  It was Felicia, but she had hardly any hair left on her head!  She almost looked like a boy, she could hardly recognize her!  Where was her long, beautiful, flowy black hair?  Sophia called to Felicia, “Felicia!”  Felicia turned around all the way now, clearly trying to avoid eye contact.  Sophia said to her dear friend, “Felicia, what’s wrong?  What happened to your hair?”  Felicia seemed to try to withdraw her face like a snail who hides his head in its shell.  She started to speak with sadness in her voice and tears in her eyes, “I’m okay.”  Sophia asked more calmly, seeing the tears beginning to stream from Felicia’s eyes, “What happened to your hair?”  Felicia said in a sad tone, “My dad asked me to sing for him and I didn’t want to, so he slapped me and cut off all my hair.”  He said, “The next time she was asked to sing, she better sing!” 

Sophia was saddened and told her friend she would see her at school the next day and began to walk back home, deeply saddened by what she had just learned.  She thought about the abuse to follow in her own home.  She eldest brother was verbally and often physically abused as he was a child of rape.  Her mother couldn’t control herself at times and in a state of pure rage, she would lash out with anything she could get her hands on.  She would often see her brother bleeding and crying for relief.  She loved her dear older brother.  Though he was her protector, she could not protect him.  She felt helpless.  Likewise, she knew she didn’t want to get Felicia into any trouble (like she didn’t want to get anyone in her own family in trouble), so that night, she quietly went to her room after dinner, wrote in her diary, and prayed that someday things would get better. 

She never revealed the abuse that she witnessed as a child to anyone.  She locked away her secrets in her diary.  She recognized it was wrong and vowed that one day she would have her own family and would never repeat the cycle of abuse she witnessed as a child.  She later learned about God and the Plan of Salvation and she knew she could and would do better.  She has since lost touch with Felicia, but has vowed to be a better friend and a better mother and advocate against abuse.

My Sweet Little Niece, Eva

One of the things I love the most in life is spending time with my beautiful nieces.  I don’t have any children so they are the daughters I do not yet have.  I had the opportunity to spend a great deal of time with my first niece, while she was a young.  She is now twenty and attending college in Arizona.  My other sweet little niece brings me hours of fun and laughter.  This little combination firecracker-sweetheart, all rolled into one, stands less than four feet tall, with long flowy, silky black hair, piercing dark brown eyes, and pale white skin.   Her name is Eva.  Her Samoan name is Lanuola which translated means the color that never fades.   She is the ripe old age of four with a wise-cracking, witty, fiery personality---a mind all her own!  My sweet four-year-old niece allowed me the opportunity to chat with her for a few minutes and here’s what she had to say.

I began our conversation sitting at the dining room table one evening as Eva intently worked on her homework assignment, coloring figures representative of numbers on her pre-school math assignment.  Her mother and her 3-month old baby brother also sat nearby as we chatted.  “Eva, I need your help today for a school assignment.  Is it okay if I ask you some questions?”  My niece emphatically stated, “Sure!”  I responded, “Eva, how old are you?”  My niece indicated “Four!  You’ve been to my birthday!  I love unicorns!”  I replied, “You love unicorns?  Why?”  She smiled and indicated “Because they’re pretty.”  I asked again, “What else do you like to do?”  She sweetly replied, “I like to play with Barbie’s and I like to color.  Uhm, don’t write that because I didn’t mean to say that.”  I chuckled and stated, “What do you want me to write?”  My sweet Eva, stated “Love Eva.”
            

 I asked her, “What else do you like besides Barbies and coloring?”  She indicated with a beaming smile, “I like to uhm, to uhm, I like to eat pizza!”  I smiled and stated, “I do too!  What else do you like to do?”  She continued coloring and stated, “I like to play with my toys.”  I continued the interview, “What’s your favorite movie?”  She smiled excitedly and said with a glow, “Treasure Buddies.”  I indicated in a peculiar tone, “What’s Treasure Buddies?”  She explained with excitement, “There is a little boy that went to Egypt with his grandpa and his pups followed him.  The pups and the little boy with his grandpa go into the pyramid and I forgot the rest.  We’ll have to talk about something else.  There was two monkeys and one was uh, uncle, monkey, and, and, uh, there was a grandson monkey and an uncle monkey and the grandson monkey listened to the story.  They had a fight with bananas.  Two monkeys had a fight, and uhm, they had a banana fight and uh, and uh, the uncle said: ‘Hold on to your bananas!’”   The conversation continued into the evening:

I asked:                      What are your most favorite things to do?
Eva responded:        “I like to go to school.”

I asked:                      You like to go to school?

Eva responded:        “Uh, huh, because it’s fun!  And I can do gymnastics!  And I can do homework!  Write ‘D---dd----dd—dd—dd—dd!’”

I asked:                      What does that mean?

Eva responded:        “It means snow man!”

I asked:                      In what language?

Eva responded:        “In D---dd----dd—dd—dd—dd!”

I asked:                      Do you have a best friend?

Eva responded:        “Caroline  and horses!”

I asked:                      Your best friends are horses?

Eva responded:        “I have dogs, but the horses are imaginary.  The cows are in my super-mind and they are my age.” 

I asked:                      What do they look like?

Eva responded:        “One has purple hair and one has pink hair and one has blue hair and one has black hair and one has brown hair and one has 7 pieces of hair and one has jelly, octopus for hair!”

I asked:                      What is your favorite subject at school? 

Eva responded:        “Playing?”

I asked:                      Playing is not a subject.  Do you like math, like numbers?

Eva responded:        “I like when they repeat.”

I asked:                      When you grow up, what do you want to be?

Eva responded:        “A vegetariest!”

I asked:                      What do ‘vegetariests’ do?

Eva responded:        “Doing the stuff that is right and fixing people’s bodies.”

I asked:                      Oh, like a doctor?

Eva responded:        “And give people ‘vegetariest brains.’  Cut up their brain and then put some meat in it and take out the vegetariest.  Take out their teeth and put more in.”

I asked:                      Do you like babies, like your little brother?

Eva responded:        “Yes, yes, yes!”                                

I asked:                      What do you like about babies?

Eva responded:        “That they scream!”  (She proceeded to demonstrate how babies scream).

I asked:                      Do you like to dance?  What do you like about dancing?

Eva responded:        “I like dancing with Santa Claus.”

I asked:                      When did you dance with Santa Claus?

Eva responded:        “Last night.”

I asked:                      If you had $500.00, what would you buy?

Eva responded:        “Pet octopus.”

I asked:                      I’m sure you can get much more than that with your $500.00.   What else would you buy with the rest of your money?

Eva responded:        “Pet turtle, flowers, a bushel of flowers, a bushel of cows.”

I asked:                      What is your favorite animal?

Eva responded:        “A parrot; parrots are good friends.”

I asked:                      Where did you see a parrot?

Eva responded:        “On TV!”

I asked:                      Do you have a favorite song?

Eva responded:        “Twinkle, twinkle little star.”

I asked:                      Who is the President of the United States?

Eva responded:        “George Ham…President S. Monson.”

I responded, then asked:    That’s the President of our Church, President Thomas S. Monson.  What is your favorite church song?

Eva responded:        “I am a child of God.”  (She sweetly sang the whole song). 

I asked:                      What’s your favorite flower?

Eva responded:        “My favorite flowers are petunias, purple and pink--and alien flowers.”

I asked:                      What do alien flowers look like?

Eva responded:        “They have scary dots.  Only on cartoons like Scooby-doo, they can smell the alien flowers, but they’re stinky.”

I asked:                      What is your favorite song on the radio?

Eva responded:        “Oooh baby, I was born this way!  I was born this way, I was born this way!  Oooh, baby, I was born this way!  I was born this way!  I’m on the right track baby, I was born this way.”  (Lady Gaga) 

My Beautiful Polynesia

Years ago, after relocating from my native islands of Samoa; the cradle of Polynesia, I spent the majority of my younger years growing up in Hawaii, at the apex of the Polynesian Triangle.  While spending my early childhood in Hawaii, I gained a deep love for the natural and exotic elements of Polynesian landscapes, culture, and traditions.  I can still vividly recall the Hawaii of my youth.  As a young girl with black hair and tanned skin, I was like most of the other kids in my neighborhood.  We played amidst exotic tropical flowers of every shade and alluring tropical fragrances.  I also remember the soaring trees adorned with aromatic flowers, such as the frangipani (plumeria), used to make leis for special occasions, trees abounding of plump mangos and papaya, sleeping ferns beneath my feet (with the slightest touch, their tiny leaves would fold and go to sleep), bird of paradise, hibiscus, and my favorite intoxicating tiare flower, tropical rainforest ferns, coconut palms, banana plants, fresh sugar cane, taro plants, guava trees, soaring peaks, lush rainforests, tranquil blue waters, and amazing ocean creatures; these were only among a few of my favorite things about my natural childhood playground; Hawaii.

After leaving Hawaii as a young girl, it was difficult to adjust to life in the desert of Arizona.  I longed for the islands; the place of my early childhood years.  Whenever I met someone from the islands, we became instant friends.  I continued to dance hula as a sweet release; a way to stay in touch with my Polynesian roots.  I can still vividly remember my father singing while playing his ukulele to the tune of beautiful Samoan music, sung in his native tongue.  My mother would also play her favorite Polynesian music, on cassette, while I would sing and dance around the house.  Every fiber of my being longed for Polynesia.

 

                        It wasn’t until I was in my twenties, after completing my schooling and first Bachelor’s degree, that I had the opportunity to return home to Samoa, the place of my birth; the land of my ancestors.  I can remember the long flight from Arizona to Los Angeles International Airport, then to Samoa; it seemed like the flight would never come to an end.  It was a direct flight, 11 hours across thousands of miles of ocean.  As I reflected on my return to my homeland, I wondered how incredible it was that my native people had inhabited the Polynesian islands of Samoa, as sea-faring navigators without a compass; shores where many of my relatives still reside and flourish.  Then, it really hit me; I was finally going home!  I can still recall the sweet descent into Samoa as the Captain announced our anticipated arrival was drawing close.  Many of us peered out our windows to absorb the beauty of bright lights dotting the islands below.  The feeling of complete joy filled my soul.  I was finally going home.

            As we made our final descent into Samoa, the lights brightly beamed closer and closer, as the plane safely landed on the tarmac; we had arrived on Samoan soil.  Home, at last!  My dad and I quickly gathered our carry-on luggage and exited the plane, walking briskly across the tarmac to the entrance of Faleolo Airport where the sign greeted us: “Talofa!  Welcome to Samoa!”  I was surrounded by a sea of people and the alluring melodies of native Samoan voices, dressed in their traditional island-ware, singing and playing traditional Samoan music to the tune of the same sweet music of my youth.  I was really home!  Other travelers hustled about to retrieve their luggage and greet their anxious family members; some Palagis (foreigners (not of Polynesian descent)) appeared to be there on holiday as they picked up their surf boards and left on shuttle buses to their various village accommodations to catch the best waves.

      

          One of my beautiful relatives awaited our arrival; a lovely cousin who I had not seen since I was very young.  Her welcoming voice and island hospitality was as refreshing as cool lemonade on a summer day.  We made the thirty minute-commute to my family’s beachfront home in Vaitele as I soaked in the beauty outside my car window.  All along the drive, I gazed in awe amidst the night sky, at the simplicity and tranquil beauty of the sweet-smelling flowers adorning the trees like glistening ornaments in the night, seeing little fales (similar to huts) dotting the coastal villages; all with perfectly-manicured lawns brought happiness to my soul.  I had finally arrived home to Polynesia; the home of my people.

          Despite the effects of western culture, Samoa has still maintained true to its native roots.  Samoa is like a diamond in the rough, particularly stunning when leaving the main city areas, where there is only one traffic light and where time seems to have stood still.  In the early morning, the police marching band still parades through Apia and the church bells ring signaling time for evening prayer at dusk.  As I explored Samoa in the ensuing weeks, arising early to take in as many sights as possible in my two-week stay, I discovered the richness and beauty of the Samoan culture and found the language still intact.   Apart from the soaring landscapes and breathtaking scenery, I was astounded at the traditional Samoan dances still performed at the evening shows with the bounteous Polynesian dishes served during Fiafia nights included everything from fresh fish, tropical fruits of all kinds, and fresh umu-roasted pig; the tastes and smells permeated my senses.
 

          It wasn’t until a few years later, after several trips to Samoa, that I had an opportunity to also return to Hawaii, where I had spent the early part of my childhood years.  Though similar to Samoa, Hawaii was much more congested now.  It no longer held the same feeling of nostalgia that I once knew and loved, but there was still a sense of love for the islands of my youth.  Looking back now, many decades later, I believe by leaving Hawaii and Samoa, as a young girl, I have come to gain a greater appreciation for the magnificence of God and the richness and natural beauty of Polynesia.  I look forward to returning to my beautiful Polynesia again someday soon.

The Day I Knew My Life Had Changed Forever

The day I knew my life would never be the same began very early one crisp, summer morning in Honolulu, Hawaii, just one month shy of my tenth birthday.  I can vividly recall this day; the day my life changed forever.  That particular summer morning was not like any other; my elder sister and I were awoken much earlier than usual, as the sun began to rise over my beautiful Hawaii.  Instead of enjoying summer fun activities, like the beach, or playing volleyball ‘til dark, we were dropped off by my father at the Honolulu International Airport.  My father told us it was our responsibility to remain there, curbside, and wait until he returned with the remainder of our belongings.  While assigned to safeguard our curbside post, several suitcases and boxes arrived throughout the day, dropped-off by my father containing the only belongings we would be taking with us from our home; belongings such as clothing, photographs, household items, and other possessions my mother deemed absolutely necessary.  Meanwhile, my dad and mom completed the moving process, also attending to my other siblings, while my elder sister and I waited at the airport.  It was ironic to see all our material possessions consolidated into only a few large suitcases and several boxes; all other material possessions, accumulated over nearly a decade, was donated or discarded, ensuring we would be able to leave on our designated departure flight that night.  When my father had a vision or a plan, he executed it with precision; no delays, no hiccups.  Everyone got on board and that was that---no questions.

As the day progressed into night, my thoughts continued to race; a combination of confusion and excitement.  We were really leaving the oasis of Hawaii, I thought to myself; the only home I had ever known since my family originally migrated from Samoa, when I was too young to remember.  As my sister and I waited curbside from sunrise to sunset, the minutes seemed like hours, the hours seemed like days.  There were many people dropped off as we waited, dashing to catch their flights to what I imagined were exotic, captivating destinations.  As I imagined the excitement of their journeys, I somewhat looked forward to what lay ahead on my own journey, though I really had no concept of what was to be expected.  While we waited curbside for hours upon hours until night set in, my father and mother, and other siblings, finally arrived at the airport to join us for our departure flight.  Anxiousness and nervousness set in; this would be the first time I could recollect traveling abroad on an airplane, though I had been told our family had traveled often, during my infant and toddler years, back and forth from Samoa to Hawaii; while my father and aunt (who had immigrated previously to Salt Lake City) had persistently worked remotely (he in Samoa and Hawaii and she in Salt Lake City) towards finalizing our immigration process.  As the night emerged, it was becoming more and more evidently clear, we were really leaving Hawaii; confusion and excitement must have permeated every cell of my body.   

That somber, summer night, as my family and I were assembled at the gate of our departure flight, I recall one of my sweet aunts and her husband; two beautiful Polynesians, came to see us off at the airport.  It was very late at this point; the sun had set many hours prior to our final departure call.  My family members, who would be boarding our departure flight, also included my younger sister, elder sister, younger brother, elder brother, and my parents.  As we awaited our final departure call, I have often wondered if my siblings had the same feelings of intensified apprehension and excitement.  A few others also came to see us off at the airport.
 

Soon, the final boarding call blared over the loud speakers; the long-awaited moment had arrived.  My aunt was in tears, my mother was in tears; my tears started to flow too.  The reality really hit me then----we were not going on a temporary holiday.  As far as I could recollect, we never left Hawaii for any amount of time after our immigration process was finalized.  It was apparently clear; we were really leaving Hawaii for good---forever.  We were permanently leaving our home.  With sadness and uncertainty, we boarded the plane.  I can still distinctly remember the strangeness of the entire moment.  Aboard the plane, situated like sardines, the movie “Islands in the Stream” with Dolly Parton and Kenny Rogers was the feature film that night.  I recall we did get a meal; though I don’t remember what was served except I remember seeing the iconic Hawaiian orchid on my plate; a typical island symbol of aloha.  I don’t remember too much else after my meal; I must have fallen asleep.  When I awoke, it was daylight and we hurriedly exited the aircraft.  We had landed in Los Angeles.

Although the flight was probably only five hours, it seemed like an eternity.  When we arrived at LAX, after exiting the plane and retrieving our only possessions, we made our way curbside to meet our arrival party; my uncle and one of his daughters, who had made the drive from Arizona.  I was elated to see them; especially my cousin.  We were the same age.  At curbside, after they arrived to meet us, I remember we all packed into a large, blue van, loaded our personal belongings, and set off on our journey to their home, in Arizona.  I had no idea where Arizona was nor had no idea of the proximity of the airport to their home.  Since my limited exposure to the outside world (outside Hawaii) came from television shows, I felt like a fish out of water.  Most destinations on Oahu (the island of Hawaii where I grew up) are within just a few minutes, so I was unaware of the great distance we would be required to travel to reach their home in Arizona.  We seemed to drive for what seemed like a million miles through very unfamiliar territory, after leaving Los Angeles.  I felt like we would never reach our journey’s end.  While on this journey, passing what seemed like acres upon acres of barren nothingness, we must have hit a nail.  We ended up stopping to get the tire repaired, at a little pit stop/gas station, in an old western-looking town, that seemed like someplace out of a Duke’s of Hazard show; one of those “if you blink” you might miss it-type towns.  I definitely wasn’t in Hawaii anymore!

  

     As far as the eye could see, for miles and miles, signs of life were limited----dead, dry, or drying vegetation; what I thought was desolate in comparison to my beautiful Hawaii.  We continued the journey well into the night; mostly in silence as the night progressed and eased into morning.  I soon grew tired and fell asleep, awakened by the sound of unfamiliar male voices; the van had also come to a halt and my uncle was conversing with what appeared to be guards.  We had arrived at what I came to find out was actually a military installation where they resided; an Army post; completely foreign to me.  This is where we would begin our new life----our new journey.  

The ensuing years that followed our relocation to Arizona were some of the most difficult years of my life, feeling homesick for the islands I called home, often wishing I were home. I later came to see and appreciate my dad’s vision and understand his desire for us to leave Hawaii.  He simply wanted us to have the opportunity to progress, experience new things, and receive better educational opportunities within a safe environment.  Though it was initially difficult to comprehend and adjust to my new home, new school, new surroundings, and assimilate into a totally different world, as I knew it, I have come to love Arizona and recognize the unique beauty of the desert and consider it my secondary home; though I still am and will always consider myself, an island girl at heart---once an island girl, always an island girl!

Everyone Has Had One of These Days...

            Everyone has had one of these days, while on vacation, where you wake up and think, seriously, is it really necessary to get up already?  Surely, it can’t be time to get up yet, I thought.  Though my mother’s house was dead silent, the bright Arizona sun was blaring through the blinds.  I am still unclear what awoke me from my restful slumber, but it seemed like the morning had arrived way too soon.  What time was it anyway, I asked myself as I half-asleep, peered, with one eye open, and the other closed, at the bedside clock, noticing in astonishment, it was already 7:30 in the morning!  Late, late, late!


             My internal clock immediately kicked in, reminding me of my first Zumba class at my friend’s neighborhood YMCA that morning!  We had both expressed excitement and interest in working on our fitness in the New Year.  I was not too sure of the actual location, just the general vicinity, so my morning was not starting out well.  As I debated about what to do next; either reschedule with my friend or jet to Zumba class, I felt although I was pressed for time, I would still strive to get there on time.  I reluctantly, but purposefully, yanked off my sheets and left my cozy bed and completed my morning cares, in record time, before jetting out the door, cautiously rushing to meet my friend at her neighborhood YMCA!  As I left, still unsure of where exactly it was located, I felt determined to find it!  Like most days, when you’re in a rush, nothing seemed to be going right.

Along the way there, about a five-mile drive from my mother’s home, I must have hit every traffic light!  As I carefully but swiftly blazed down the road in my mother’s silver mini-van, I frequently and earnestly looked at the clock, and discovered I had about five minutes before Zumba class started, when I finally approached the street where the YMCA was located.  I slowly drove down the street, but somehow did not see the YMCA.  After reaching the end of the street, still not seeing it in plain view, I got a bid worried. I looked for my cell phone and discovered I had left it at home!  What else could go wrong, I thought.

At this point, I had come too far and was determined to find it, so I quickly flipped a u-turn and drove down the street, carefully looking for a sign or some identifier.  This time, I thankfully noticed the YMCA sign a little off in the distance; it was set back from the main street! YMCA baby, I exclaimed!  Fortunately, when I arrived, my friend was patiently awaiting my arrival at the entrance area to the YMCA building and indicated she could sign me in, but the class had unfortunately already started.  However, she mentioned, I could still sign up so I would have all my information available to attend other Zumba classes while on vacation.

I must admit, I was pleased for the unexpected reprieve after my crazy morning!  I asked my friend if she was up for having breakfast? She agreed it was a great idea.  We found our way to the nearest I-HOP Restaurant and had breakfast while planning our fitness schedule for the remainder of my time in Arizona; time well spent.  Though my morning started out less than ideal, where nothing seemed to go right, I was so glad I made the effort to keep my fitness goal and go to Zumba!  That small decision and change of attitude transformed a bad morning into a great day!