Basim is an Iraqi man with whom I will be working in the coming months. He arrived late Wednesday night with his beautiful wife and two young children from Jordan. Basim was an interpreter for American soldiers in Iraq - an interesting position to be in for a native-born Iraqi. After five years of service, he decided he needed to create a better, safer life for his family. After a long process of applications and interviews and fleeing and persisting, Basim was finally granted access to come to the Unite States of America - the land of the free. I did not realize just how free we are. (Wait a second for all you who are spiritually inclined - I am not talking about the kind of freedom from sin that Jesus talked about; I am talking about literal, physical freedom.) Let me explain -
After several hours of waiting and filling out DFCS paperwork in the WR office, I told Basim it was time to go home. I loaded up the WR mini van with car seats and got ready to go. He said he had one last question before leaving. "My wife has a gold watch. How do I ensure we are not robbed, and what happens if we are robbed? I do not like that the apartment manager has a key to my apartment." I explained that it's the law in America for all apartment managers to have keys to their tenants' apartments, and that he could buy a safety deposit box at the bank or one at Wal*Mart or a dead bolt lock for his door. "In Iraq, there is no problem. If man comes to my house to steal gold, I have AK-47 to defend myself." He was being dead serious here. "Basim," I say, "Remember what I was telling you about the justice system here and about the police?" (He'd asked if the police were corrupt and if he could trust them.) "Well, you can't just shoot people who come to your door because of the way our justice system works." He wasn't entirely comfortable with that answer. I suppose I wouldn't be, either.
When we got to his apartment complex, I showed him where the mailboxes were and where he'd go to sign the lease in a couple of days. I showed him the pool. "Miss, are we allowed to swim in this pool?" I almost laughed. "Yes, Basim, this is the pool for the apartment complex. You are allowed to swim here." He then asked, "What about this area over here? Am I allowed to walk around and exercise a bit?" This question caught me off guard. No one has asked me, yet, if he/she is allowed to walk here or exercise there. "Basim, you are allowed to walk wherever you please. You can leave the apartment complex and walk down the main road; you can walk to the library and you can walk 10 miles down the street that way, if you really wanted to." He responded, hesitantly, "Is this just in this part of Atlanta or is this true for all of Atlanta?" I felt my insides go funny. I probably made a confused, almost hurt face. "Basim, this is true for all of America. You are free to go wherever you like, whenever you like. You are free." Immediately his eyes bulged and he smiled and exclaimed, "Really!? Really!? Ha! This is America!" To his wife he said, "Shadtha, did you hear that!?" (He translated our conversation to her in Arabic and after a few seconds I saw the same reaction of bulging eyes and a widening smile in her beautiful, black eyes and mysteriously hidden smile.)
Freedom.
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