Where? What? When? How? Next?
Shedding light onto the most recent frequently asked questions from my closest friends to every other person…
When my brother Zain and I were younger (five and seven respectively), still living in the Middle East, my father told us this true story of a man named Tariq Bin Ziyad. We would lie on top of the roof of our house, connecting stardust sparkles in the sky covering the vast Arabian Desert, and listen to our father tell yet another story, never knowing if the story about the mermaid that sang underwater for her long lost lover was part of history or myth. All stories are real when you are that young.
Tariq bin Ziyad, a newly converted Berber slave, was a lieutenant of Musa bin Nusair, the Muslim Viceroy of Africa. The Berber slave was destined to be the conqueror of Spain, which would become the biggest Muslim territory in Europe, which for eight centuries under the Muslims would keep aloft the torch of civilization and culture that at last dispelled the gloom that had enveloped Medieval Europe.
The Islamic principles of equality and fraternity had enabled the conquered to easily “convert” [by the way--no Muslim army ever asked occupants of any land to 'convert'] and all races to take their share in the government along with the noblest of the Arabs. Islam recognized no distinction of caste and creed and readily promoted talent wherever found. This is why all capable “slaves” of these countries ended up occupying the highest positions in any Islamic polity and many slave dynasties had magnificently ruled over Muslim subjects. In May 711, Tariq bin Zaid with 7,000 Muslims crossed the Straits in ships in small contingents. As his troops landed in Europe, Tariq concentrated them on a hill, which took the name of ‘Jabil-ul-Tariq’ (The Rock of Tariq), now known as Gibraltar. Once his troops arrived there they asked Tariq: What do we do with our ships? As in, where and how do we dock them, who watches over them, for how long, how do we strategize how many go on forward and how many stay back with the ships. Tariq Bin Ziyad replied, which would become the classic sentence in Muslim history (and eventually our family), “Burn all ships.” There was no watching over them, there was no going back; they were going to win or die. My father said it was a testament of having conviction beyond belief; real faith—faith that God/Universe has faith in what you are about to embark upon and hence you must do what you have set out to do without looking back.
When I decided to take a year long hiatus from my beloved New York the aforementioned mindset is what I had. Forget burning bridges, I had burnt all ships and I felt I was on my small lifeboat trying to dock on the only stable (despite how unstable it can be) shore I knew: my parents’ farm house in California.
In July of 2009 I sublet my place in NYC for a year to two attorneys from Sydney getting their L.L.M. from Columbia University, packed with the help of friends who are better than any movers, drove my car on a fantastic, twelve day cross-country road trip to California with my mother, barely able to contain the beauty of Utah, and learned how to use Twitter (friends wanted updates of the road trip).
My father was too happy to have me home. In his ideal world, I would one day permanently move home and create an office in the backyard from which would hang my law shingle and we would create an artists’ colony (all friends with creative pursuits could come aboard) and assist each other with our endeavors to change the world into a better place. Sounded great to me too, except…what to do about Africa, Asia and all the other places I frequently choose to visit…
Well, if I wasn’t home to put up a solo law practice, “What’s the plan?”
“I have burnt all ships.”
I waited.
This could go either of two ways knowing my father and my lovingly volatile relationship: an 8.0 richter scale “discussion” which would destroy us both or an ocean breeze which would allow to turn course for the rest of one’s life.
We held one another’s gaze in a gentle lock. I knew he knew I was not going to utter a word more than that about my “plan.”
He inquired, “Timeframe?”
Fair enough. No plan can be in a vacuum, however long one deems the chronological constraints of time appropriate in this physical realm.
“A year.”
Fair enough.
I had said a year only because my apartment was sublet for a year.
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I remember those roof top stories! great post! =)
Lovely post Annie, interesting that you say “Islam considered no distinction of caste and creed and readily promoted talent wherever found.” From what i’ve seen it sure doesn’t promote talent where it should now (back then perhaps, but i disagree in this day and age), and that’s a shame—on merit and talent alone you really don’t get anywhere in many Muslim states.
On a lighter side, next time you pass through Utah definitely ping me! The stars and constellations are crystal clear at night here, and perhaps you could tell me one of your fathers remarkable stories as well (or yours.)
When you speak of your family my dear friend, i reflect back and really wish my Mom and Dad took the time. It’s that nurture and care that has made you into the stellar and strong person that you are now.
I hope i enjoyed your [Part 2 of 4] as much as i did this one, err i have a feeling i will!
Best,
A