//LOOKING FOR LOVE AMID WAR//
It’s mostly because of the circumstances that I remember Nada.
Although she was stunningly beautiful, highly intelligent, articulate and incredibly nice, we didn’t share much time other than a movie and a few phone calls. It was clear to both of us we had little more than a mutual, fleeting attraction in common. And so we quietly moved on before we got close.
It was the early 1990s, a time similar to our current political climate. Nada, a citizen of Kuwait, was in the United States visiting relatives when Iraqi dictator Saddam Hussein (ever heard of him?) invaded her country. The U.S. granted her, her mother and brother political asylum, and she enrolled in a Texas high school. Nada was 16 and placed in the 12th grade. A large Michigan university had already offered her a full scholarship upon graduation.
I was 18, living with my parents, attending a nearby community college and working at my small town’s only supermarket.
Nada first saw me while I was working. That she liked what she saw was a miracle – goofy blue apron, nerdy red clip-on bow tie and all. I’m sure I noticed her then, but then again I noticed most of the girls. The goofy grin I wore back in those days must have worked.
A few days later, her uncle approached me. “Hi, how are you doing. There’s a senior at XXXXX High School who would like to meet you,” he said, showing me a wallet-sized photo of Nada. I remember smiling and saying something like, “Wow. She’s beautiful. That would be great.”
Nada returned to the store to meet me a day or so later. She seemed a little shy, but we exchanged smiles and pleasantries and made plans for the weekend. She wanted to see “Father of the Bride.”
My dad warned me to watch out – this Kuwaiti girl might be looking for a green card. She also might have family members who could “make me disappear” if I treated her badly. I laughed that off and felt sure her intentions were of a casual teenage nature. Although something her uncle had said stuck with me: “She’s looking for her Prince Charming.”
I drove to the apartment her family was renting and met her mom and brother. We hopped cheerfully in my jalopy and motored to the theater.
She was a 180-degree turn from the Chatterboxes I was used to dating. Her English was perfect, but I got the sense she was unsure of it. Or maybe she hadn’t been on many (any?) dates before – or at least with a goofy American boy. The conversation didn’t flow evenly. But it was a nice date and I liked her.
Kuwait is a wealthy, modern nation in which citizens are exposed to many aspects of Western culture. But because I was unsure of exactly where she was coming from, I returned her home without a kiss. She sure seemed to want one. I sure wanted to give her one. But the wall was too high for me to climb. (Idiot!)
Sometime between our date and the last time we talked, I was in my college library reading a book on Kuwait and its culture. My jaw dropped, Wile E. Coyote-style, when I read the part about how marriages are traditionally arranged there ...
A relative of the girl approaches the boy in a public place and sets up a meeting between the two.
Whatever freak-out moment transpired in the library was ruled moot by the fact we drifted apart soon after. Our lives were different. Our goals were different. Our cultures were different – although that gap could have been bridged with patience.
To this day, I believe Nada was merely looking for what many teenage girls the world over seek – a boyfriend. Innocently. Honestly. Lovingly.
Nada has probably long since found her Prince Charming and is living happily ever after. If we happened to bump into each other today, we’d share photos of each other’s children and laugh about our brief history so long ago.
And then I’d give her a goodbye kiss on the cheek.
