You knew when he came into the office; he announced his presence with long drawn out sighs and a rattle of activity at the tea station. I would spy him from my desk, through my office door to the open area staff would congregate in, and inevitably, he would fix his tea, and drag himself into my office in a show of exhausted and overwhelmed exaggeration. Leaning sideways in the chair, tea cup resting on one of my files, an elbow propped on my inbox, his index finger would poke against his cheek as he rested his chin on his palm. Then he would tell me stories of his trials and tribulations, with just the right dramatic flair. Incredible the hardships he undertook everyday. And when I finally would lift an eyebrow in query, he'd smile. A wide smile that stretched his lips, dimpled his cheeks and flashed his teeth against a mischievous face. Then quickly, in an offhand offering, he'd toss me the key things I needed to know, what he'd been able to do, and what would have to wait yet another day. In a few short sentences I would have what I needed to plan the logistics around All Of This. I would advise what we needed most urgently and request it be top priority. He would nod, and just as smoothly, he'd slip back into his smiling slump, drink his milky sweet tea, and hypothesize, that tomorrow, god willing, maybe.
This man lives far away, and I speak of his tendencies in past tense because I doubt I will ever see him again. But when I think about his small patch of the world, and when I read geo-political news stories about oil and war, and when I hear what ignorant people say of Muslims, like they are some monolithic entity, I think of him and his stories. And I remember and love how he let us enjoy our time together. I'm telling you about him because he keeps my would grey and nuanced. He is one of the people in my mind who stop me from moving to absolutes or absurd assertions. And I wish for you to know these people too.
