I met Mahdi — not his real name — in the late 1980’s when we both worshipped at a small mosque in the state of Colorado. Mahdi was an Arab immigrant in his early forties. After finishing college on a scholarship from an American engineering company, he got a job, married an American Muslim and settled in the United States. The Mahdis were a model Muslim family, winning the respect and admiration of everyone. Mahdi was the embodiment of early Muslim preachers who spread Islam throughout the world, especially in South East Asia where Indonesia is now the largest Muslim state in terms of population.
My brother in Islam, Mahdi, used to invite me to his home for iftar — to break the fast — in Ramadan. Most of those attending his iftar parties were recent poor converts who needed someone to hold their hands and show them the right direction. The mosque was the place where we celebrated social events. Friday was a happy occasion when people met, exchanged greetings, discussed their religious and worldly affairs and listened to the teachings of the imam. Mahdi felt he was more Saudi than Saudis themselves; he shared with all of us moments of joy and sadness. He thought so highly of the people of the Kingdom that he dreamed of becoming a Saudi citizen and of his children growing up in a Saudi environment.
After I returned to the Kingdom, we kept in touch with each other. I still keep the copy of the Holy Qur’an he gave me on the eve of my departure from the US. And then suddenly, Mahdi seemed no longer interested in communicating with me. For over a year and half, he seems to have been trying to avoid any contact with me. When we do speak, he is not very eager to hear the news and I have come to feel that he wishes that I had not called him. I wondered if someone might have told him some stories about me and I finally asked him what had caused this change.
Then came the answer: “I still have the same warm feelings for you and all those Muslim bothers whom I knew and with whom I shared moments of joy and sorrow. But to be frank with you, as an Arab immigrant, I want to live in peace in this country. I don’t want to get into trouble with the authorities or be questioned about having contacts with a Saudi. This is a serious accusation here and could ruin my career and my future. The American media has gone crazy. I still dream of seeing you but in circumstances far different from those at present. Please, if you still love me, leave me alone.”
He burst into tears and I could hear his sobbing voice ringing in my ears long after he had gone silent. I asked if I could write about him and he agreed on condition that I didn’t use his real name. I picked the name Mahdi — which means the guided one — for a brother who embodied innocence and righteousness and was loved by all those whom who knew him.
- Arab News From the Local Press 5 June 2003
