A week after I started, my office mate arrived to start his stint as a respiratory physician. Dr. Sherif, also originally from the desert, had been in New Zealand for 17 years. He had started his career in his native Iraq as a urologist. He left with his family for better horizons and landed here, where there was a need. He had to start his training all over again. So as an older man, he became a house officer and then registrar, ultimately settling on medicine and then respiratory medicine.
Within the first days of our sharing space, the US sent troops into Iraq and then began bombing ISIS targets. Dr. Sherif exclaimed to me with a slight laugh, "Oh, and now your country is invading my country!!" This stopped me in my tracks. There were a few other comments about me being American (and the only American in my department). I could not tell if he was serious or joking with me.
As time has gone by, my office mate has become a bit my BFF. He is very funny--and was decidedly joking with me. Maybe even testing me. Of course, the Iraqi-American office mates could not let the national relationship go by unmentioned. It was good of him to break the ice. Coming in as an American to NZ--or anywhere as an expat I would assume--can be a little tricky. And for a somewhat introverted me, definitely challenging. But given the circumstances, he was sizing me up politically and socially.
It turns out he agreed with the recent bombings and generally felt that the US had done some good in Iraq. He doesn't hate Americans. But we agreed that it was a mess and felt horrible about the situation as it is. He is an observant Muslim, praying dutifully throughout the day. But not in the office--he usually walks across the road to his home and his prayer mat.
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My first permanent registrar on my acute team was Zai. She was away, back home in Malaysia when I first arrived and so didn't meet her for a few weeks. I finally met her and was slightly surprised at her hijab. She also covered all body parts except for her face and hands with draped and flowing fabrics. Sometimes a long skirt, sometimes long pants, sometimes a long dress. She was petite and soft spoken, but committed and worked hard. Turns out she was struggling with her one year-old son's care, given her husband's long absences at sea as a marine engineer and her long days and night shifts as a medicine registrar. When she returned from Malaysia, she brought with her a cousin to help with her baby. She also was soon pregnant again.
I was surprised, too, at my initial reaction to Zai. This is difficult to describe and I'm embarrassed a bit now but in all honesty, I felt resentment at her outward expression and assumed that she would judge me--a Western woman, with my bare ankles and arms. Something about the hijab, the effort it would take to physically express one's religious beliefs, took it to the next level. After working with her for a week or two, my initial reaction softened. No, I'm not as open-minded as I think I am. No, I'm not as non-judgmental as I would like to be. Ugh.
My fear, and possible assumption that her hijab meant "militant," soon turned to curiosity. One lovely and civilized aspect to work here has been tea time. After rounds, unless the work load is crushing, the team heads down to the cafe for shared warm drinks. Zai liked a hot chocolate or chai latte. Our other team mate, Heidi, also avoided coffee and shared the same drink preference. Heidi was originally from Hong Kong but had lived in NZ since she was 10 and had the most adorable Chinese/Kiwi accent. In October, our chats went political, toward Heidi and Hong Kong, where student protests were heating up. Turns out her mother was there working, and so we got some inside scoop. Heidi felt hopeless that the conflict would actually have any effect on relationships with China. She looked a little anxious about it. Her mom was safe.
As time went by, I felt more and more comfortable and close to Zai. We were both mothers--an immediate common thread in the fabric of humanity. We bonded over long work hours. We bonded over stories of humanity, those kind of truths that are stranger than fiction, over sadness and family drama that is medicine. She had a great sense of humor and loved to laugh. She was smart. She was older than I thought (in her early 30's), and mature. Then came a day with a very light patient load and little work so our morning tea was extra long. It was that day that I asked her every question I had always wondered about Islam.
Again--I don't consider myself ignorant. In my defense, I lived in Taos where religion is either Catholic or not, and I've just never had access to Islam as a religion or a person. It's only what I've read about it, and unfortunately seen on the news. But I felt like such an idiot when I told Zai that I'd never known a Muslim. I sounded so stereotypically American. Which it turns out, I am.
The hijab and clothing is to cover the female form so as to keep men from becoming distracted by the desirable bodily curves. I wondered if taking away all of that stuff about how you look would in some way keep people focused on you, the real you. Especially as a professional woman, and someone who started in science, I have to say that I grappled with my appearance a lot. How do you look professional? Feminine without over-sexualized? How tight is too tight? How do you keep the focus on the content of your character and not the composition of your clothing?
And yet the feminist in me saw the victim-blaming inherent in this approach: if a man can't control himself it's clearly the woman's fault. It also turns out that I have no chance of going to heaven in the Islam world. Zai brought her mat to faithfully pray in the registrar office, and I now know that there is a smartphone app that tells you when to pray depending on where you are in the world and will also point you toward Mecca. Ingenious. It's notable that during winter hours and short days, you can combine prayer sessions--so maybe three instead of five. It's all based on the sun.
Zai's family is muslim, along with 70% of Malaysians which I did not know. It's all she's known, really. And Zai is not judgmental in the least, of me or any of her patients. She believes everyone should choose their own path. She clearly loved her colleagues, she took excellent care of her patients. She had put herself into the Anglosphere on purpose, she couldn't have hated it. And she had no other agenda. She never talked about her religion, she was not interested in converting anyone. It was just her. What I didn't ask her was how she reconciled the expectation of women in her religion and her culture, with being a professional herself. There is a cognitive dissonance in it.
It's funny that I've had a baptism into Islam, culturally speaking, here where I am. Especially because there aren't all that many muslims here. Zai told me that their mosque was very small, and that she and Dr. Sherif made up a significant contribution. It's something I've learned that I truly did not expect to, here in NZ. I know it shouldn't take having to personally know someone to change one's opinion about something. I didn't know it would. I didn't know what I thought about non-extremist, non-militant muslims--I was never confronted with it. Which is kind of outrageous as an American.
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Zai is returning to Malaysia, her last day was this past week. We said goodbye and I hugged her and rubbed her sweet growing belly. I wished her well. I can guarantee that she taught me far more than I taught her. And surrounded by colleagues from the world over--literally--I know they enrich me as a physician and human far more than any of my fancy American medical knowledge enriches them. This is NOT me being anti-American, really friends. I had the freedom to choose to come here. I had the opportunities to get my education and do so much in the US. I'm just amazed at the lessons I'm learning out here in the bush. Over and over, lessons I did not anticipate.
I like my colleagues, the united nations delegation that we are. I'm glad Dr. Sherif is my office mate. He has all kinds of information about NZ and medicine that he is very enthusiastic in sharing. Most of all, I was happy that Dr. Sherif actually had the same temperature comfort zone that I did. I suppose as a fellow desert dweller we both needed the heater on 24/7 through the winter and early spring. And thank goodness--the warm weather has arrived!
Love that you have found comrades at work. What a gift that you've been given to have their life and experiences to enrich yours - I'm sure they feel the same about you my friend.
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Thanks, Ang! Love & miss u 💚
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