Back home, I drive by the largest mosque in America on my way to the mall.
For every Jack or Sarah in my class, there were three Alis and a Malak.
I got a few extra days off every year for Ramadan, a Muslim holiday.
Where I wore scarves around my neck for fashion, many of my female classmates wore them around their heads year-round for religious reasons.
Street signs, business names and even letters sent home from the schools come in both English and Arabic.
I grew up in Dearborn, Mich., one of the largest Arab communities outside of the Middle East, with 40,000 Arab-American residents out of 98,000 overall, second only to Paris.
The schools, however, had a larger population of Arab-Americans. Since Arab-Americans classify as Caucasian on demographic surveys, there isn’t a lot of information about the Dearborn Public School’s racial distribution. I’d guess that my alma mater, Dearborn High School, was about 60 percent Arab students.
Another school in my district, Fordson High School, was probably about 90 percent Arab, and most of the school spoke Arabic as well as English. I have a friend who went there who told me some of the classes used to be taught exclusively in Arabic.
Coming from an entirely diverse city has in turn given me unique experiences. One of the things I miss most about Dearborn is the culture I grew up with. If I ever hear snippets of Arabic being spoken around campus, I stop and listen and feel a little bit more at home.
I grew up learning Arabic slang terms — “yallah” for “hurry up,” “habibi” for “darling” and my favorite “shahatas” for “sandals.” (“Dude, you’re wearing socks with your shahatas?”)
Another big word was “wallah,” which roughly translates to “I swear to god.” Students in my classes tossed around “wallah” like valley girls do with “like.”
These words became part of my — and just about everybody else’s — vernacular.
When I came to East Lansing, slowly the words faded from my tongue, since most of my new friends didn’t know what I was talking about.
It was strange for me at first, coming to a fairly white-washed community, at least in comparison to what I was used to. I never truly understood how others viewed Middle Eastern people, since they were an integral part of my everyday life. If I ever heard someone say that a person was a terrorist because they were Muslim, I assumed they were joking.
Sadly, I’ve discovered that ignorance abounds to this day. It boggles my mind to know that some people actually think any random member of the Arab community is a part of al Qaeda. When the nation found out that President Barack Obama’s middle name was Hussein, some people actually thought, oh, yes, of course, he must have been Osama bin Laden’s golf partner. Not all Arabs or Muslims are terrorists, just like not all white people from the south are part of the Ku Klux Klan. There are going to be ignorant people in any culture, but because of the negative stigma attached to the Middle East from wars and the terrorist attacks from small extremist groups, the entire society gets a bad reputation.
I have come to appreciate how growing up surrounded by diversity has given me experiences with, and made me more open to, different cultures and ideas. Some people have absolutely no clue what the difference between being Arab and being Muslim is, or what actual Arabic food tastes like.
For the record, Arab is an ethnicity and Islam, or being Muslim, is a religion.
And I haven’t just learned more about being culturally aware, I also have had the chance to be spoiled with some pretty great cuisine.
You guys are seriously missing out on the best food out there. Don’t be fooled by imitation store-bought Arabic food, because the best stuff is homemade by grandma or from small family restaurants. And MSU, step up your hummus game.
Emily Jenks is a State News reporter. Reach her at ejenks@statenews.com.
