“Leethan dooktha”: Country-less

Because Chaldeans are so few and so old, not many people have heard of us. It is hard enough to go day by day to having people ask my sister and I if we’re twins (even though we’re over two years apart) but it is even harder when people ask me what nationality I am.

I always get the question, “Are you Hispanic?” or I get an “HHHhHHHHHHola!” once in a while.

But when I say that I am not Hispanic, I get the look of well what are you then?

It’s really hard to explain the Chaldean culture in those short few seconds a stranger would think it would take to explain it.

Chaldeans are country-less because back in B.C. the Persians conquered the Chaldeans and that is why Chaldean’s old country is known as Iraq today.  

What I mean by that is, that it’s not as easy as saying “Oh, I’m Lebanese for Lebanon.” Or “I’m Australian.”

It’s way more difficult. Mostly because I do not consider myself Iraqi, so I don’t really say that I am Chaldean from Iraq. This is something struggle that I tend to go through daily (especially if I am around new people) and it gets old real fast. . I really have the urge to just yell “WHY DON’T YOU LOOK IT UP!” This is something that I am trying to perfect, where I could explain who I am in less than ten seconds and try not to be rude at the same time.

Arab: Arab

Every since I could remember, my mom would always be defensive and correct me when I would call myself Arab.

I never knew why she would get so defensive; I just went with it to not offend her.

It was hard coming to a predominantly white college and always being referred to as Arab when that was always a negative connotation in my life. I would tell people to I’m not considered Arab when they would call me that, but when they asked why I had nothing to say.

I decided to look it up (yes again, I had to look up my culture).

The same website that I referred to in my pervious blog post, http://www.everyculture.com/, also mentioned how Chaldeans do not like to be called Arab or it is politically incorrect.

In the Middle East, Arab tends to refer to the Islamic population. Since Chaldeans are known for their strong love and passion as Catholics, being associated with a different religion is simply heartbreaking.

There are many differences between Arabs and Chaldeans.

For example, in the Chaldean community women are held on a higher pedestal, and are encouraged to receive a better education by attending a college or university. Just like my generation. My parents specifically came to America so that their children (my sister and I) would receive the best education possible. This is different in very traditional Arab families where the females are not considered as high up in the social structure.

This simple difference that I pointed out might not seem like a big deal to you, but in my culture it is just another thing that defines the Chaldean culture.

Beaeh: Eggs

On Easter my family decorates eggs, like most other homes in America. However, ours are slightly different.

Since I can remember, egg decorating has been a huge tradition. My mother would go out and by the average egg dying kit for me and my sister. However, my grandmother always would decorate her eggs the way she was taught by her mother.

She would take the outside layer of white onions, the orange outside peel, and place them into hot water on a stove with a handful of eggs. She would let them boil for a long as she could and when they came out they could come out looking like this...

They were nice, bright, and an orange-reddish color. They would always standout compared to my sister and I’s colorful, vibrant, and sticker covered Easter eggs.  

Not until this Easter did I realize how much these eggs are most then just eggs, they’re tradition. my grandmother passed away almost 11 years ago. Since she has passed away, my grandfather would make the traditional onion eggs. But this year my mom made them.

This small gesture made me smile. It was like my grandmother had never left. I know I will pass this tradition onto my children so she will always be remembered.

"Leyth Kabera Minen": There is Not Many of Us

I like to think that I know anything and everything about my culture…that’s not always the case though.

Recently, I was writing a speech for my public speaking class about my Chaldean heritage. I was looking up the places that are highly populated by Chaldeans. I mean I knew where we were located and whatever by the places that my cousins are in and random family members, but I never knew why or how many were in the states they were in.

So I hate to say it, but I did research.

I found out that there are no accurate numbers on how many Chaldeans are in the United States. And the reason behind that was because that the US Census doesn’t represent my culture.

So, second best would be estimation.

According to http://www.everyculture.com/, Chaldeans first major migration to the US was in 1910 and the state they chose was Michigan. At that time Michigan was booming because of the auto industry. So most Chaldeans just followed one another and that’s why today most Chaldeans are located in the Metro- Detroit area.

There is said to be only about 70,000 to 80,000 Chaldeans in the Metro-Detroit area. Other states like California, Arizona and Illinois have less than 2,000 to 3,000 Chaldeans at all.

I knew I was a dying race, (hence my blog title) but I never knew the exact number of Chaldeans in America. I would have at least guessed 500,000. I just never took the time to look my culture up.

No matter how much I know, I should always want to know more.

I never knew that I was so rare and special to this world. And yet I think back to elementary school where all I wanted to be was of European decent to just have blond hair and blue eyes.

It makes me thank God that I am different and have such a profound voice. I want to share my culture with everyone and just show a whole new world through my eyes. Maybe others of rare cultures can do the same to open up their eyes to how beautiful each and every one of us is beautiful.

"Eatha": Easter

One of my favorite times of year is Easter. It's an extra loud time and such a great excuse to have every family member, eat unless amounts of great food and just to enjoy each other’s company.

I always like over hearing my friends and classmates talking about how excited they are for Easter and especially Easter dinner. Easter dinner is one of the most important or my favorite part of Easter. My family does not get to eat dinner together every night, nor do we get to see each other all at the same time. So this time of year is truly cherished to me and my family specifically because we get to spend a much needed dinner all together.

Besides my family, what really makes Easter dinner special is the food. We never have had turkey, ham, mashed potatoes kind of meal or all the traditional foods that American’s feast on during the holiday seasons.

We eat something entirely different. We eat cow- not the beef part, but the stomach. Yup that’s right; we eat the cow’s stomach lining.

First reaction?
“Eww.”
 I’m sure. Mine would be too if I wasn’t raised to like it.

It sounds strange and even though I know fully understand what I am eating, I love it. I honestly cannot tell you why, but I love it.

It’s called pacha.
It is extremely difficult to make; it nearly takes 8 hours just to boil in a pot. My mother starts off   by cleaning each individual stomach lining and afterwards sewing up the two sides together to make a pocket.

The inside of the pocket is stuffed with seasoned rice and sewed completely shut. Then the pacha is cooked for 8 hours like I said before in this broth made out of chick peas and other spices.

It is one of the most memorable smells and actually puts a smile on my face just thinking about it. Think of it let the smell of your mom’s homemade cookies. Well pacha is my homemade cookies.

"Salata": Salad

A couple weeks ago, I got in one of those healthy moods at my dining hall and I brought back some pita bread and a side of hummus. I was really excited to try the hummus at my college since I was very hesitant because I had only eaten homemade hummus before.

When I sat down, in the middle of the table, I took some of the hummus and spread it onto the pita and took a huge bite. I was completely surprised that it was actually really good.

Me: “Guys, this hummous is great!”

Girls: “What did you say?”

Me: “This hummous is great.” As I was pointing at the bread before I took another bite.

Girls: giggling. “What did you say…Homeless?”

I was shocked at their reaction. I did not expect to be made fun for the “right” way of saying on how to say this Arabic spread. Granted they are all my close friends and were just poking fun at me like most friends do. Expect when it comes to my culture, it is different.

I am constantly defending my culture and even explaining my culture to those who have not heard the Chaldean culture. When friends made fun of me, I was just frustrated. After arguing with them, I just dropped it because I knew in this battle I was outnumbered.

This got me thinking. I could have just said it the American way and no one would have questioned it. But, I cannot do that. It hurts me every time I say an Arabic word the English way.

You are probably wondering, “Well why? It’s just a word.” But to me it is more than that; it is who I am.

If I decided to lose that battle, what would stop me from losing every other battle? Coming to a predominately Caucasian college, I have never felt the push to conform (by my peers especially) as strong as I do now. I was born in America and am fully in love with the millions of opportunities that this amazing country has to offer me. However, I was not raised as most Americans are raised. I was born and raised in a full-blooded, full blown Chaldean family and culture. To make that even stronger, I attend a Lebanese populated, speaking, and eating Catholic Church. So the Middle Eastern culture is logically imbedded into my head.

As a young adult I have had much practice fighting these narrow-minded battles. I hate to admit it but I struggle, I struggle to keep a firm grip on my culture. There isn’t many people that I know who are in the same spot that I am in, especially at my college. It is a never ending battle. I am the army of this battle, the lone solider.

The times that I do retreat in “battle,” I cannot stand myself. I do not, by any means, try to shove my culture down anyone’s throat, but I do not like to act like it is not there like that it is not me. I try to imagine if my parents did that when they first immigrated to America and how they must have felt the need to conform. What if they had conform? Who would I be today? Where would my mindset be?

The answers are unknown and I would like to keep it that way. My parents are my everything. I am blessed because of them, I am culturally aware because they raised me to be this way. I love who I am. I am different and I would love the rest of the world to accept that fact. I wonder about how people like me acted in my position and what their respond to a group of their friends was.

Did they fall into the hidden trap of conformity?

Imagine an America where everyone was the same. Everyone spoke the same way, dressed the same, acted the same and thought the same. Where would we be? The answer is nowhere.

America should not be a melting pot; where every culture is forced to conform, just like every ingredient blends into the taste of the soup. America needs to be a tossed salad; where every culture is represented respectively in one country, just like every ingredient is shown individually but works well together all in one salad.

"Shareea": War

Being of Middle Eastern decent, I have many opinions about this war that has been taken over the news stations and the hearts of friends and family.

Because my parents are Iraqi, the moment I heard that the USA will be searching Iraq for Weapons of Mass Destruction I had ever emotion running through my head.

“When were we threatened by these weapons?” “How did they have proof of this?” “What would they do to Saddam?”

I was very young to understand most of what was going on, but one moment does stand out to me;

When the statue of Saddam was taken down by the "Iraqi" people.

My jaw dropped on the floor of my living room and I could remember my parents had the same reaction.

“Was it over?” “Is Saddam gone forever?”

My parents did not seem as thrilled as I was. I thought that they would have been ecstatic and be put at such ease because the evil, torture driven dictator was stripped of his power and that he could never do what he did to any other person any longer.

But they weren't happy, excited or overjoyed. They such sat there and watched what was happening. I think two main questions arouse in their heads that day.

1.) “Is this really the end of him?”

My parents left the warmth of their home village, their family and closest friends, and risked their own safety to leave Iraq because of this immoral man...I think it was too good for them to believe that he was that easy to conquer. They do not always believe in what the news media was showing them or telling them because they knew there are always two sides to every story.

2.) “What business did the US have to enter Iraq?”

You have to understand that this war did take down a wicked leader but it also tore a country to shreds. Families were split, thousands of people killed or severely inquired, and the citizens' safety was nowhere to be found. My parents knew this was a triumph for the US and in a way for Iraq but what next?

My parents looked at the big picture that I never even thought of, they were worried about their family and friends there, their churches, and where their once called home would go without leadership and mass chaos.