The Memoir of a Western-Arab

I still remember the moment when I was four, arriving at the airport, walking out from the Lebanese passport check, and being swarmed by relatives saying things I couldn’t understand. Growing up in countries like Canada and the UAE, where English is commonly spoken, communicating with my extended family on visits to Lebanon has always been a nightmare.

The ride from the airport in the globalized city of Beirut to my mother’s ancient hometown of Tripoli was a long one. I remember how the billboards and signs in Beirut were in English, one a stop sign and another a billboard ad for the Spider-man 2 movie. However, as we carried on down the Mediterranean coast, the signs and billboards became increasingly foreign to me, with strange writing on them. I would soon learn that this writing was Arabic. The change I saw throughout the road trip would mirror my experiences with my family I was soon to meet. 

As I arrived at my grandma’s old apartment, which was in a building that looked like it was built 100 years ago, I was introduced to dozens of faces I had never met before. Four-year-old me, as would be expected, felt isolated from most of my cousins who I was meeting for the first time. I remember watching them make strange noises I had never heard before, screeching what sounded like “KHHHHHHH” and “DHAAAAAA”. I observed them play on the first thing that looked civilized, a stranger version of a Nintendo DS. Though it looked like I was on the outside of this group of kids, it didn’t take long to realize that tag and hide & seek didn’t have any language barriers. So, we played for a while using hand gestures and facial expressions. I remember how I hadn’t known anything about these strangers at the time, other than my parents pointing out a couple of names. Nothing seemed normal. At that age I really believed I was on some sort of different planet and that these people were aliens. It never really sunk in to me during that trip that these people were family despite my parents stating it countless times.  Looking back, it was only at the end of that trip that I started putting the pieces together about my lineage and where my parents came from.

I always thought of myself as a Canadian, who spoke English, was born and raised in Canada and never really thought about where my family came from like any other kid my age would. Until that year where I was dumbfounded to find out I was only the third generation to be living in Canada, and that my own mother wasn’t even born in the country that I believed to be our native land.

In a short time, my family would move to the UAE for my dad’s work. My mother was especially joyful about this move for two reasons: I was going to learn more Arabic, and we could see her family more often. Subsequently, the move began the yearly tradition of visiting my mother’s family in Lebanon. 

Even though I had turned nine, I was still oblivious to the language of my ancestors. Although, I did know some very elemental phrases in Arabic like “How are you” and “I’m sorry”. As a consequence of my lack of Arabic, my actions became more artificial around my family, especially with my cousins. I can recount multiple occurrences with my cousins where I would sit and watch entire lengths of soccer matches. Keeping in mind that I fully knew that I hated the sport and would much rather be watching American football or basketball, but it did seem to be effective when trying to fit in with my cousins.

As the years of my early childhood progressed it became apparent that even though my cousins and I never shared the same language or had any sort of critical conversations about ourselves, there was a connection as children. I honestly began to enjoy travelling to Lebanon and anticipated the trips to be around my cousins, who I was evidently more familiar with. Although this was back when I still was oblivious to the language.

In recent years, I have finally gained the confidence in the Arabic language. Subsequently allowing me to communicate to a point just under being fluent. This acquisition of knowledge created a sense of anticipation and excitement, to finally be able to communicate and connect with my cousins on a personal level. Sadly, this excitement I had felt was never fulfilled during the recent trips to Lebanon. 

As the communication barrier disappeared it became clear that the connection we had as children was slowly fading away. Growing up in two different cultures, utilizing two different languages caused us to have diverging identities. I began to understand how the identity of my parents’ home county didn’t mirror the identity I had melded into. While a few things remained that we both related on, it was not enough for us to remain as close as we were when we were young. Being raised on separate continents became quite as apparent with my newfound fluency and made me feel less connected with my Lebanese half.