An Immigration Story:
Jesus and the Super Bowl
Reza Khabazian
Leaving your homeland and residing in another – with a totally new culture, language and set of laws and regulations – is very challenging and requires a lot of adaptation that, in most cases, is also very frustrating.
But, looking back at those challenges many years later makes some of them look funny, some amazing, and some, of course, sad.
The truth is, no matter how we feel about them, the challenges are, for sure, part of the history of immigration that needs to be documented for use by our grandchildren or simply by historians to picture the hardship that first generation Iranians had to go through to meet those challenges.
The main purpose of this column is to encourage our readers to start telling their stories so we can present a diverse documentary. The first of this series–“How I Met A Dime”–was published in the last issue of Peyk. This is the second part of Mr. Khabazian’s story.
The title of this part of my story may be funny to you, but please wait so I can explain.
One week after landing at JFK, we found ourselves in San Antonio, Texas, visiting my wife’s cousin en-route to our final destination—Kingsville, Texas—where my college was located. Razi, my wife’s cousin, was going through his graduate studies in San Antonio. He was married to his cousin (!!) and they had a baby boy. Therefore, I felt I was almost in a similar situation with him—with the exception that my wife was not my cousin!
Razi was nice enough to take me around town, giving me a chance to taste Mexican food as well as fried chicken (which I loved very much), learning what ketchup is, on top of helping me get my driver’s license and making me familiar with the new land.
Because it would be difficult to get situated in our new destination—renting an apartment, gathering the basic furniture, purchasing a car and, more important than all, registering at college—we decided that my wife and our son would stay with her cousin for a few more days and I would travel to Kingsville alone.
The bus was packed with passengers. The only spot I could find was almost at the rear of the bus next to a black gentleman, probably in his late 40s.
Good morning, I said, while taking my seat.
How D!, he replied, and turned his face toward the window.
What was that? I thought. Isn’t the answer to good morning also good morning? Suddenly, I remembered Rahim, my friend in Iran who told me: “In Aamrika, black PEEPLE don’t like white PEEPLE, white peeple don’t like black peeple.” I hoped “How D” wasn’t a bad word. Even if it was, what could I do other than just wait and see?
After just a few minutes getting on the road, the gentleman turned back to me and said:
Where you heading?
ESCUSE me??
Where you going, I mean?
To Kingsville.
For vacation?
No. To study in college… getting my master’s degree in Horticulture.
How nice. Where you from?
San Antonio.
I mean originally.
Oh…. Originally… from New York.
(Now with a big smile on his face) Which country are you from, where were you born?
Oh… sorry…. My country, IRAN.
Hum… I, Ran… Shah of I, Ran… . Lots of problems over there these days.
Unfortunately, yes. Now, we have Military Government… very bad… very bad.
Military Government? You mean Shah is gone?
No, no, he is still in the country.
But you said there is a military government in place.
Ya. Shah is there but people cannot stay out at night, no more than three people can walk together. Is a sad situation.
Oh… I see… there is Martial Law in place. (Now trying to change the subject) You must be Moslem, right?
EYYYYY… my parents are.
And you?
Love all religions.
That’s good… that’s nice…. What do you think about Christianity??
Good, I love them, too!
(Another big smile on his face.) What do you think about JESUS?
Jesus? I don’t know… what that is!
JESUS… the messiah… the prophet.
Oh…. Sorry, sorry, you mean MASIH…. We call him Eisa… E… Sa! He was a very good person. I like him very much.
Very good indeed, have you studied the Bible?
Bible?? I don’t think I did… I am sorry, I don’t know what it is!
Bible is the holy book of teachings of Jesus.
Oh my God, I am sorry… we call it Engil… N… Jil.
How nice. Have you studied the Bible?
No.
You should, you see, all the problems we have these days in the world… .
He went on and on talking about how all the problems we see in the world are mainly because people do not follow the teachings of Jesus. With my very limited knowledge of the conversational side of the English language, I was trying hard to pick up some words here and there to get what he was trying to convey to me. He reached his destination way before I did. We shook hands and said goodbye while he was wishing me good luck in my studies. Now, I was certain that “How D” was not a bad word; something else for me to figure out what that really meant.
The bus stopped at many other destinations and, at each stop, some passengers departed to the point that I became the only passenger sitting at the end of the bus. The bus driver happened to be a black man. Looking out at the scenery, I realized we were at the heart of a desert, with huge cactuses that I had seen only in Western movies.
“I hope the driver is also as nice of the black man that I had such a nice conversation with and does not drop me right in the middle of this desert getting bit by rattlesnakes that are underneath all these huge cactuses!”
Seeing some greenery was an indication of approaching a town or a city until I saw a sign that read: “Welcome To Kingsville, For a Day or a Lifetime.”
Reaching into my wallet to make sure I had Mehdi’s phone number, I thought: “I hope he picks up the phone and comes to the station and picks me up, unlike what I faced in New York!”
The bus stopped in front of a rundown building. The driver, looking in the mirror while opening the door, cried “Kingsville!” I could not believe that this one-story small and old building could be a bus station. Unlike what I saw in San Antonio, this building was far from being a bus station.
I got out and the bus left, leaving me standing in front of a closed door with an old sign saying “Greyhound.” To find a phone, I walked around the building without any luck. I looked at the street on the right side of the building—it was a long, empty street with absolutely no sign of any person walking or any car coming toward me. I turned my head to the left side of the building and did not see any sign of life.
“Which way should I walk? Right or left? How do I know? No sign of life in any direction. But, I can’t stay here. I have to find a phone. How about going to the left side of the building? At least I see a traffic light in the far distance.”
I walked through the empty street that was surrounded with two-story buildings on both sides with short balconies overlooking the street. It was about 4 p.m. A gentle breeze was blowing, having fun pushing a tumbleweed in many directions.
“I remember seeing this scenery in Western movies… tumbleweeds, empty streets, balconies. Anybody living in this town? If yes, where are they? That’s why the sign reads for a day or a lifetime. People either leave this ghost town after a day or get shut from the balcony and stay here for a lifetime!”
As I approached the traffic light looking for a pay phone, I saw the neon of a movie theater. Looking closely, I thought I saw a person sitting in the box office. Slightly relieved, I approached the window and saw the first person in Kingsville.
Hello, I started.
Hi.
Is there a pay phone around here?
We have one in the lobby.
Can I use it?
Sure, come on in.
Mrs. Randall was a lady in her 60s. Her short blond hair was groomed very nicely in a way that fit her just fine. To my surprise, Mehdi did not pick up the phone.
I just came to your town and need to go to Texas A&I University. But my friend who was supposed to pick me up doesn’t answer the phone. I need to wait a few minutes to call him again.
No problem, you can stay here.
Thank you, can I ask you a question?
Sure, go ahead.
I did not see any car running or any person walking in the street. Is this town always quiet or because today is Sunday?
This is a busy town….
But I was very surprised that I did not see anybody.
Well, because today is the Super Bowl.
Super Ball… escuse me… what is Super Ball?
With great shock) You don’t know what the Super Bowl is??
Sorry, I am in your country only one week.
Oh… Ok… so you haven’t watched football?
Yes…. A lot…. I love football. In our country everybody loves football!
Which country is that?
Iran.
I… Ran… ok… I am talking about American football.
No… no Amerikan type.
Ok… the Super Bowl is… .
After listening to Mrs. Randall’s description of an event I didn’t understand, second and third calls were made with no luck of talking to Mehdi.
Did you talk to your friend?
No. He is not home!
My shift is almost over. You are more than welcome to stay here and try again.
No. Thank you. I like to rent a room in a hotel if you tell me where I need to go!
You can’t find it. Why don’t you wait a little more so I can drop you at one?
Mrs. Randall dropped me in front of a motel, gave me her business card, and asked me to call her anytime I needed help. That was the exact picture of America that I had in my mind: kind, educated, and helping people.
Luckily, there was a Mac Doonald right across the street from the motel where I could proudly walk in and order myself a Big Mac, a medium Coke and, of course, french fries with lots of ketchup!
The story will continue in our next issue!
Please help us to document our experiences of migrating to America.
