When Bats Love Mangos

"But why Doctor? Why would bats love mangos?!" I eagerly asked my American professor. "Because they simply do Ibrahim!" she chuckled. For me, it was quite bizarre to relate between an obnoxious creature and one of my favorite fruits. Ironically, on the same day, five years ago, my fellow man spelled it out clearly to me: You are no more than a bat! And I hated bats since then. Now, I am not here to condemn what my friend said, because I have to admit, he was not wrong after all.

Since I was young, I have always been considered different. I was not a typical Yemeni teenager who chewed Qat with his friends and learned how to drive. Some people might believe being different is cool because it means being unique. But this is not necessarily the case. Others find it pathetic, just as my friend pointed out earlier. I did not like many of our customs and traditions. For me, it was quite difficult to understand why, on earth, would some people practice Bara'a. I did not grasp the point of wearing a traditional "knife" on your waist while walking. Why bother? Back in Yemen, I had my tiny room, packed with black jeans and dark T-shirts and, simply, that was enough for me.

My traditional religious parents did not really appreciate the way of life I liked."Why are you doing such nonsense?" was part of our daily conversations. I made sure, however, to flash them big smiles from time to time while letting their words just hang in the air. You might assume I am devoting this article to expressing my deep apologies to my parents. Not really. Although we did not look eye to eye, my parents and I had a very special relationship, which is not simply understandable. Although most of my actions topped my parents' not-to-do list, I still know they loved me more than any one else.

I hope I am not conveying the image of a spoiled boy descending from a filthy rich family because this is not really who I am. Yes, I went to a private school and I ate Kelloggs Corn Flakes on a daily basis, but I did not have any cell-phone with "cool" ring tones and I did not bring hundreds of riyals like other kids did. And when I got into the high school, unlike my friends, I did not embark on romantic adventures with girls. Life, for me, is simpler than that.

Being a naïve diligent student was a good excuse to ease the anxious atmosphere back home. Although I was not the typical obedient son when it comes to family, I was one of the best examples when it comes to school. It is not really some kind of schizophrenia or a paradoxical personality, which needs an immediate therapy. It is simply the constant struggle between being what I want and what others want.

First, let me assure you that being different is not a denial of one's identity. I have to admit, however, that many teenagers are completely influenced by the West, which is something I consider pathetic if not gross. Fortunately, being different, for me, does not mean born to be different. In fact, it is the ability of looking at life from a different corner. For example, I knew a Yemeni friend who traveled to Egypt for a holiday. He considered every lady he saw without a veil simply a prostitute and every gentleman with a necklace purely gay. On the other hand, I knew an American friend who traveled to Yemen for a holiday. He considered every Yemeni lady with Nekab inferior and every Yemeni gentleman with Ganbia a terrorist. Now which one is worse than the other? I think no one is. Just like our Yemeni fellow did not like the unusual lifestyle he noticed, our American fellow condemned the strange lifestyle he touched. Such examples make me wonder why ethnocentric individuals bother to travel and discover new cultures if they not to appreciate them.

I have always listened to the Spice Girls; indeed, I still do. And that was not highly appreciated by some people I knew. A religious friend lectured me once saying that a horrific event, only, would slap the wild child in me and wake me up! One month ago my grandmother passed away in the same building I live in here in Cairo. She actually fell down in her kitchen while I was watching FRIENDS! Although she is not technically my grandmother, she was an old Egyptian lady whom I have known since I was born. When I ran to help her, I realized that the old lady was not going to make it. I, basically, whispered in her ear a couple of times trying to wake her up but it was too late. There was nothing to salvage.

It was the first time for me to observe someone dying. In the movies, they say that dead bodies are always cold like a piece of ice. Here, it was the opposite. She kept on beaming heat while I was as cold as a piece of ice. It may sound like the horrible experience, which my friend has predicted. But he was wrong after all. Four hours after her death, I was peacefully studying for my next-day exam, which I passed with an A. And after four days of her death, I was listening to the Spice Girls again! Now what?

This incident, basically, clarifies the fact that one's self is more complicated than being infected by painful experiences only. You might believe that ruthless and heartless individuals would not simply be affected because this is the way they are. But I think it needs a "will" to change, not just a hard time. Thus, it is crucial that we have to understand the differences among us and deal with them with respect. Not just condemn them because they are simply not similar to us. Now, in Yemen, for example, tension exists elsewhere between traditional and non-traditional individuals (just like the unstable relationship between old and new generations). But why does one have to be either this or that? Why it is hard to grasp the idea that one's identity can be influenced by traditions while coping with the constant changing world?

Back to my friend who told me that I am no more than a bat. I wonder now if he has ever known the fact that bats love mangos? If I were considered to be a bat than I would like to say that, just like humans, I share the same pleasure of eating mangoes! To wrap up the whole article I would simply say for traditional life style advocates: try to trust the ocean for once and you will never drown. There are a lot of things that happen around you. Why not take a look at them?

And for those who advocate total non-traditional life-style, I want to tell them, according to my own experience, fitting a square into a circle is no life. By a square I mean the new extreme trends and notions; and by circle I mean our purely traditional lifestyle.

Unfortunately, I realize now that back then (in the dark-jeans era!); I did not devote any room for my culture in my own identity. To make up for what I did, I have decided to travel to my family next summer after I canceled my stupid guitar class. Instead of playing guitar, I will be searching for a willing traditional person to teach me to play the Yemeni Mezmar. I know it is not that much. But at least I want to be able to perform something one of my ancestors was capable of.

Eventually, I just want to say that I am quite glad that I had my chance to realize all the mistakes I did. I think if my life was nothing, but following the orders assigned by my parents, I would not appreciate my traditions, my people, and most importantly my country. I would like to conclude with a beautiful phrase an Egyptian friend said it once:We will live the life we choose; we will fight and never lose…