He was a soft-spoken, polite, respectable 23 year-old from a respectable family, with a bachelor's degree from a respectable university, a stable job and a house in the suburbs, to boot. I had never seen the guy or anyone in his family when one Saturday afternoon out of the blue, his mother called my mother and arranged a late afternoon visit to hour house. My mom knew what was up.

The woman had asked plenty of questions about me, and before hanging up the phone, she added, "Make sure Nagis jan is home too."

The next day, his mother, sister and two aunts showed up at our door to give me the once over. By this point, I was 22 years old and had gone through this process for 6 years already. It always ended the same way: one of my parents would call one of the guy's parents on the telephone a few days later and gracefully decline. "She is too young", or "she wants to continue her education", were frequently relied upon when their answers and mine were "No".

For my parents, the reason was usually that the family culture did not quite mesh with ours, or the guy was not educated enough. For me, the reasons were more nebulous: for some reason or other, I did not find him attractive, or there was not a spark. I figured that since my family was handling the practical things, I could spend my time looking for those elusive sparks. Each time though, with the guy's siblings and parents flanked around him, and mine flanked around me, all awkwardly making small talk in my family's living room, it's not hard to understand why sparks were the last thing on my mind, and possibly his.

Before we would get to the phase of sweaty-palms and averting of the eyes, when the guy came to our house, there was what I call the matriarch test. And so, his mother, aunts and sister were sitting in our living room, chatting it up with my parents, staring at me for intervals too long for comfort. They would ask general questions about my likes and dislikes. It was worse than a job interview.

In high school, my non-Afghan friends thought it was very exotic and romantic. In college, they just thought it was strange. I agreed. I enjoyed the attention when I was younger. By now, it was a chore, and I knew how it would end when my parents and I concurrently disapproved of the guy: "She is too young", or "She wants to continue her education."

The next evening, his mother called my mother, offering gracious compliments of our family and me. I guess I passed the matriarch test. By the looks of things, I knew my parents would not flash the stop sign just yet, and maybe I was just a little curious too. Besides, how could I end up with an Afghan if I do not give any of them a chance?

Though I had gone through with this plenty of times before, I was nervous. My mother and father both glanced me up and down, and noddingly approved of my outfit: a knee-length summer dress. Somehow, my usual slacks or jeans did not seem appropriate. A skirt or dress seemed right. From my bedroom window; I saw a black Mercedes pull into our driveway. The mom got out, the sister got out, the dad got out and the guy in the driver's seat got out. Before they rang the bell, his dad looked him over, straightened his tie, and gave him a sympathetic smile. He was nervous too. I think it was his first time.

I came downstairs and was introduced to the young man. He shook my hand: sweaty palms and averted eyes. I still do not know where he could have possibly known me. The story was that he saw me at a friend's party. I did not buy it. I would guess that his mother or aunt saw a picture of me in someone's photo album and inquired. Next thing you know, they are at our house and it is phase two.

They sat down, and I escaped into the kitchen where my mom had gone to make tea. She had me serve them. I remembered one time when some other strangers came by, and I did not know their purpose. I chatted with the guy and his sister the whole time. I did not think of it because he looked so much older than me. I was trying to be friendly. They were not sure what to make of it.

I imagine they took it as eagerness and were surprised to hear the next day, "She wants to continue her education." After they left, my sister teased me about it for days. This time, I did not mistake it for a casual visit.

Like Jehovah's Witnesses they had come one Sunday afternoon to recruit me to their team. I knew to never let the Jehovah's Witnesses inside the house, but unfortunately, my parents' Afghan hospitality got the better of them, and many an afternoon was spent with the Jehovah's Witnesses debating whether Jesus was God's son or His messenger.

"Son."

Messenger."

"Son."

"Messenger."

"Thanks for the inviting us in. We will drop by again soon."

This process was only slightly less distasteful. After about an hour of awkwardness that stretched out forever, they finally got up to leave. I glanced over, and noticed that the guy looked relieved to see his dad get up from the couch. I am glad I never had to be on that side of it. At least, I am in my own house, my own element. And ultimately, I have the veto power in this whole deal.

After one more awkward, uneasy visit, I opted to exercise my veto power. Visit number three was already scheduled, and my mom had images of wedding gowns and sweet-faced grandchildren dancing in her head. I want to say "no",

I said. "I do not like him."

"But why? He is such a nice boy. It is such a nice family. He is in love with you", they said.

"There was no spark whatsoever."

"But you thought there might be a spark last time", my sister said.

"Nope, I was wrong. No spark."

"It will come later, when you are married", my mother added.

I was not willing to take the risk. Tell them, "I am too young."

"But you are not. He is your age."

Tell them, "I want to continue my education."

"But you are in your last year of college."

Tell them, "I do not like him."

"But you will grow to love him. I know you will."

They thought this guy was perfect for me, only I could not see that yet. It was like my parent's conversations with the Jehovah's Witnesses. We were at a stalemate. We could not see eye to eye, but tried to stay cordial. After all, everyone involved wanted what was best for me.

Like the debates over faith, this required a leap of faith in one direction or the other. My parents leapt one way. I leapt the other way. I said a decisive "no". They were deeply disappointed. They thought I made a huge mistake, and somewhere in their minds, they realized that I had leapt in a different direction from them. Their hearts were sore for it.

The episode was pivotal for my family and me. It was the first time we had come to such a crossroad, and for better or worse, our first step into a new phase in our relationship. For me, that was the day I decided to take the reins on my life. Talabgary (proposal) was not going to work for me. It did not make sense in the context of my life. I was adamant. I had to find someone on my terms.

For my parents, that was the day I snatched away a part of their parental authority and rejected their religious and cultural values. They saw me sliding down the slippery slope of "Americanization", and they shook their heads in dismay.

"She will choose someone for herself," my mother began to tell suitors' mothers on the phone in the most incredulous voice.

That was three years ago. We navigated our way through some rough times since then.

First, they did not talk to me. Then, we spoke to one another but relations were strained. I moved out of my parent's home. We made up. We argued. Relations were still strained.

Eventually, my parents and I came to an impasse in this cultural tug of war.

Just as my parents and the Jehovah's Witnesses will never see eye to eye, and neither side will give up its vision of truth, neither will my parents and I see eye to eye on what our respective roles should be in each other's lives and society. We struggle with this.

Sometimes we confront one another and sometimes we avoid the subject. The difference, I hope, is that we love one another enough to take the leap to listen and respect, not just try to convert one another. |