America: Freedom, volleyball and the 'L.'

 

Shiringul, 21, was impressed by our rail public transportation system.

 

     Americans have no idea what we have. Not a clue. If we are ignorant of our own country, we're completely, blind pig ignorant of the world.
     Okay, that's unfair. I haven't met most Americans. I should probably water that down. Many Americans seem to have no idea what they've got...
     Which is still a shame. Because nothing makes you love American more than travel.
     Not that there aren't wonderful places in the world. I remember coming back from Paris, looking at Chicago, and thinking, "Why do I live in this cowtown when I could live in Paris?"  

    But I didn't move.
    Travel also offers the opposite. A reminder of wonders we take for granted back home. I was in some Haitian backwater, years ago, waiting for a bus to take me back to Port-au-Prince. As the only blanc within miles, I drew a crowd, curious and eager, with people imploring me, "Help me come to America! Help me come to America!"
     Finally I had enough. 

     "Why?" I asked one man. "What do you hope to find in America?"

     He got very serious and thought.

     "In American, I understand," he began. "There are roads that go over other roads...."

     At that moment I realized that I hadn't seen a single overpass in the whole damn country. And if you had never seen one, the idea of one road lofting into the air and overleaping another road, well, it would be a wonder, hard to wrap your head around.

     Think of that next time you go under a viaduct. 

     I thought of that moment last Tuesday, talking with two Afghani sisters for my Friday column on immigrants applying for their residency permits. Next to travel, speaking with newcomers is an excellent window into our world, a mirror to notice what we might not see otherwise. 

     I asked what it was like, coming to America.

     The older sister, Zeyah, answered in such a ethereal fashion that I didn't try to summarize it in the paper. She spoke of walking across the campus of Northeastern Illinois University. That's it. She didn't exactly specify what about that walk was extraordinary. To be there. Walking across campus. With so many other different types of people. And trees. Going ... wherever she pleased. With no one watching her, keeping tabs on her, following her, placing demands on her. Her whole life suddenly in front of her, her life now hers, to do with as she pleased. That's the sense I got anyway, maybe I was projecting.

     I asked her younger sister the same question. What is being in American like?

     "America ..." she began, succinctly. "It's a dream."

     How so?

     "So cool. So clean. I have my freedom."

     For instance, she can decide whether to wear a hijab or not — an option unavailable to women under the Taliban. She can work, go to school, choose what to study, play on a volleyball team.

    That much got in the paper. But there was more. She said something about lack of insects here. I asked her what made volleyball in Afghanistan different then volleyball here, and she gave a long answer which boiled down to: coaches, supervisors who know what they're doing and help.

     She mentioned something rarely gets cited when the glories of America are being recounted.

    "We don't have trains in Afghanistan."

     "Trends?" I said, misunderstanding her accent. "Like music trends?"

     "No trains," she laughed. "Red Line. Blue Line. Oh my God."

     The 'L.' You might think trains make noise and have delays and people smoke on them now. To her, they mean you can go wherever you want. I checked the train situation in Afghanistan. A couple lines in the North. Kabul started trying to put in a train system. Last year.

    I live by the Metra track. I can turn my head and see trains. Honestly, I'm already glad they're there. The commerce of the country, and convenient as hell for me. But I'm also going to try to remember that they're also somebody's dream come true.