Short story
Coming to AmriKa – An Immigration Story
The Accident!
Ali Sadr
Based on true events
I was exhausted and eager to go to bed. Avoiding conversation with anyone, I was surprised to find the dormitory door unlocked. Typically, everything was secured by midnight. Weary, I trudged up the stairs to my room on the third floor. On the second floor, I encountered Mr. Thompson, the dorm boss. He said he was waiting for me. “I knew you were coming back from the hospital. A policeman is waiting for you in my office.” Puzzled, I inquired about the reason for the police officer wanting to speak with me. Mr. Thompson, visibly irritated, grumbled: “I don’t know. Maybe because that guy was one of yours!” He then held onto my arm and directed me to his office. He opened the door, pushed me in, and shut the door behind me. There was a large police officer sitting behind a small table going through his notebook. I said hi. He looked up and said, “So you are the one!” I exclaimed, “Which one?” He said, “You know!” and offered me the chair on the opposite side.
Officer: What’s your name? Say it slowly.
Me: My — Name —- is — Ah-mad —Sa- ra– vi.
Officer: Can you tell me what happened?
Me: Yes, Officer. As soon as I got to my room at the dormitory, I heard yelling and screaming in the hallway. I tried to ignore it and crashed on the bed. I had just got back from the “Circle Lounge” and was a bit drunk. You see, it is Friday night after all.
Officer: Will you get to the point?
Me: I tried to ignore the mayhem outside—is that what you say, mayhem? OK, I thought the American students were just making noise. You know these students are mostly studying “gunsmith” in college and are mostly law enforcement officers from all over the country. I thought they were getting into a fight again. I am sorry my English is not very good.
Officer: Your English is fine. Can you just get to the point?
Me: Oh yes, thank you. I am practicing every chance I get. I am going to Syracuse University in September.
Officer: OK, good for you. So, what happened next?
Me: Oh yes, sorry, as soon as my body touched the bed, someone started banging on the door and calling my name. I recognized the voice. It was Jeff, my next-door neighbor. He is a nice guy. He is from Denver and he’s the only one who actually talks to us.
Officer: OK, what did he say? What did this Jeff guy say?
Me: He was pale and very nervous. I asked him what happened. He said that there was an accident. He said one of you guys, he meant one of the Iranian students, this is what they call us. Let me explain something. In our dormitory, almost half of the students are American. They are all “gunsmith” students, then about one quarter are Iranian students, and the rest are Mexicans, South Americans, Blacks, and everyone else.
Officer: Look, I really don’t care who lives in your dormitory, just tell me what happened.
Me: Yes, yes, I am explaining why Jeff, who is a gunsmith student, came to me. Because my English is a lot better than the others. Every time there is an issue about Iranian students, they come to me. Even Mr. Thompson, who is in charge of all the dormitories, comes to me.
Officer: OK, can you tell me what happened?
Me: Oh yes, Jeff said there was an accident in the restroom. I asked what kind of accident? He grabbed my arm and dragged me to the restroom. As soon as I walked in, I saw Mohammad on the floor crying and twisting. He is one of the new students. He got here last week. There were a bunch of American students standing around looking at him. One of them, I think his name is John, was very nervous and was talking to the others. He kept saying: “I didn’t know, I didn’t know.” This John guy is an ass… I’m sorry, not a very nice guy. He always teases us and yells insults in the hallway.
Officer: So, what was wrong with Mr. Muhammed?
Me: I asked him in Farsi. He cried and showed me his arm. His right arm was bent like a bow. He was crying so hard. It was obviously broken. I had seen broken arms before, but this one was bent and twisted. I asked him what happened. He started saying things, but it didn’t make sense. I asked Jeff to call the hospital and get an ambulance. He ran to his room and called for an ambulance. I asked the American students what happened. They all said they didn’t know. They just heard a scream and came to see what happened. John didn’t say anything. Jeff came back and said the ambulance was on the way. There were a lot of other students who came to see what had happened. The ambulance finally arrived and took Mohammad to the hospital.
Officer: How did you know this, Mr. Muhammed?
Me: Excuse me, Officer, his first name is Mohammad. I don’t remember his last name.
Officer: Yes, you are right. His last name is Akbari. So, how long have you known him?
Me: That’s OK. I met him last week as soon as he arrived. Mr. Thompson sent after me to translate for him. There were four other students there, too. None of them spoke any English. He was the oldest. I think he is maybe 35 years old. It was kind of strange.
Officer: What was strange about it?
Me: Nothing, just because he was much older than a typical student. I helped them get their rooms and pay their fees. The following day, I took them to the college and introduced them to Miss Finch who runs the ESL program.
Officer: What is ESL?
Me: Oh, English as a second language. This is a part of junior college. A lot of students from Iran and other places come here to learn English and then go to different colleges and universities.
Officer: I’m curious, why do they come to Trinidad among all other places?
Me: Because it is very easy to get the “I-20 Form” from here for the student visa. When I bought mine, I had no idea where Trinidad was. I really thought it was in the Caribbean somewhere. At the American Embassy in Tehran, they told me it is in Colorado. The students have to come here and stay for several months. But mostly, after a few months, they go to different colleges.
Officer: How about Muhammed? Where is he going?
Me: I am not sure. Because he is older. He told me he only has a high school diploma. He doesn’t know a word of English. I asked him where he wants to go to school. He said he didn’t know yet. He is from a small town near Isfahan, the central part of Iran.
Officer: So, when you found him on the floor, was he drunk or something?
Me: No, he was in pain. He was in very bad shape.
Officer: Do you know why he got in a fight?
Me: There was no fighting, as far as I know. Fight with whom?
Officer: I don’t know! The way he was beaten up…
Me: No, I know those American guys hate us, but we never get in a fight with them, at least since I got here. They try to scare us all the time, but no fighting. For example, sometimes we are walking in front of the building, and we feel someone is watching us. We look up and we see them with their shotgun, and what do you call it, the binoculars that they put on top of the gun… ?
Officer: Oh, you mean “a scope?”
Me: Yes, yes, they just follow us from their windows. It is scary, but fighting, no. Once we were walking on the sidewalk near the college. They stopped their Jeep and asked us for directions. My friend Reza walked to them to look at their piece of paper. They exploded something into his face and took off. At first, we thought they had shot him and he was dead. But it was just tear gas or something. A joke! It scared the heck out of us. Reza almost went blind. He is OK now, after missing school for two weeks and after $500 for medical and doctor fees. Fighting no, they do not fight. They just scare us. I see you are smiling.
Officer: No, that’s not funny! Did you ever report that?
Me: Report? No, Sir, of course not.
Officer: Why not?
Me: Well, these guys are all police officers of some sort in their own towns. They are students here. The students who were here before me told me just to tolerate them. It is just for a few months. Then we go away. It is not worth it to get deported.
Officer: So, if there wasn’t a fight, how did this Muhammed guy break his arm in three places?
Me: They said it was an accident. That’s all.
Officer: Accident? Ha! So, Mr. Sanders had nothing to do with this?
Me: Who is Mr. Sanders?
Officer: John Sanders! The one you said was kind of nervous. So, did he really fall?
Me: Kind of. After the ambulance took Mohammad away, everyone was curious to know what happened. John was really scared and was almost crying. He finally said that he and his buddies were drunk. He came to the bathroom. You know these bathrooms and showers are for the entire floor. He said he had looked from the bottom of the stall and made sure nobody was inside. Then he kicked the door hard and suddenly Mohammad fell and broke his arm. John was scared and explained to everyone that he was sure that he didn’t see anyone there and didn’t know where Mohammad came from.
Officer: So, where did he come from to fall so hard and shatter his arm?
Me: I didn’t tell the guys, but I will tell you. So, Mohammad sits on top of the toilet bowl when he goes to the bathroom.
Officer: How the hell does he do his business?
Me: He is not used to this kind of toilet. He is used to the Iranian kinds. He had told me this before. I warned him that he would fall and break his neck. He said the toilets are “najess” or dirty since everyone sits on them. I warned him and showed him how to cover the seat with toilet paper before sitting down. So apparently, he had been sitting on top of the toilet. John comes in and looks from the bottom and doesn’t see anyone. So, he kicks the door and Mohammad falls.
Officer: I’ve never heard anything like this before. So, you guys sit on top of the toilet to do your business?
Me: No, Sir, not all of us and not always!
Officer: That is weird! Thanks for the info. So that is good. I think we are done here. Do you think Muhammed would want to press charges?
Me: Oh no, I don’t think so, and I hope not. Because someone has to explain this to the court.
The End
All the names are made up
