The Pizza Delivery Man, Part 2

The next day Hafid called to invite me to dinner at a Northern Virginia Arab cafe.

We met at a Starbucks near my parents' house, and then he drove us to a local cafe. I attempted to speak in Arabic, but he continuously brought the conversation back to English again and again, which was understandable. He spoke better English than I spoke Arabic.

He drove with confidence through the intricate patchwork of roads through Northern Virginia's suburban sprawl, so I asked how he knew the area so well. "I work as a courier. All over Maryland, DC, and Northern Virginia. Seven years now. So I know the area very well."

After parking, we entered the cafe. Hafid remarked, "Not like a Starbucks, right?"

It was not. It could have been a cafe in Morocco except that there was a huge parking lot surrounding the building and everyone had come in car. Inside almost everyone was smoking shisha. In the corner a small, older television was running Al-jazeera Sports. Most everyone was drinking mint tea.

As we sipped our tea, he asked about my experience in Morocco and then he spoke about his life in the United States. Hafid works two jobs: he delivers documents and pizzas. He only has Monday evenings off. All other days, he goes straight from his full-job as a courier to work at Papa John's.

A few years ago, through a contact of his uncle, he met a Moroccan woman living in Florida who happened to be from his hometown of Taza. They married soon after and she works similarly long hours. But they're happy with the situation. They will continue working hard and save up for a few more years before starting a family.

I asked him how he liked Northern Virginia, expressing a bit of my own disdain for the suburban sprawl and the necessity to drive everywhere. He disagreed. "It's not dangerous like the black neighborhoods in northeastern DC. Crime is low. And there are people from all over the world here. So everyone is a little bit like you. You can find Indian restaurants, Thai, Vietnamese, Lebanese, Egyptian, Moroccan..."

As the conversation drifted towards my experience, we talked about Islam. I told him about the Moroccans who had been very pushy in their conversations with me. He indicated his distaste for what I was describing. We both agreed that any real conversation has to be based on actual knowledge of the other side, and that knowledge is often impeded by government, society, and religion. I turned the conversation back to him, "How is it being a Muslim here in the United States?"

"Honestly, I don't talk about it very much. I couldn't have the conversation we're having with most people here. So I just stay quiet."

Later I asked him what had been key for him to adjust to life in the U.S.
"Learning English was very important. A lot of immigrants never really learn English...like most Hispanics. It took a few years, but now I can speak it pretty well."

At one point I asked Hafid, "So, do you believe in the American Dream?"

"What's that?" he replied.

I tried to define it, "Well, it means different things to different people, but historically it means that if you work hard and follow the rules then, no matter who you are or what you believe or where you came from, you can succeed in America."

Without even a pause for reflection he answered, "Oh, of course that's true."