MEET WADAK HARBI “Experiences are the raw material we use in shaping our identity…” Dr. Krystine Batcho by Lois Cosloy

What do you see when you close your eyes and recall your earliest memories? Researchers tell us that children are often capable of retrieving snippets of their past from ages three and up; traumatic events may prompt memories at an earlier age. As a young child, you possibly remember playing in a park, a favorite toy, a pet, a grandparent’s hug, or a family trip. Wadak Harbi remembers the raging Iraq war where she was born and raised in Bagdad until the age of four. Her father, threatened with death to himself and his family, fled from Iraq to Jordan. Wadak's earliest memories are of people fighting and being killed in the streets of her homeland before her eyes. “My older brother remembers more than I do,” she tells me. “Do you talk about it?” I asked. She answered, “No we don’t. It’s over. It’s gone.” “And your parents?” I asked. “My dad says the pain of it all is equivalent to hair being snatched off. At night, if I listen carefully, I could hear my mom cry. Then too, I’d start crying until I fall asleep.” In Az Zarqa, one of the largest and most expensive cities in Jordan, Wadak’s mother, father, and big brother (at the age of ten) searched for jobs, needing to find shelter and food. After two years, her family immigrated to the United States at the urging of friends who’d settled in Atlanta, Georgia. They encouraged them to come to the United States for a better life. Arriving in Atlanta, Wadak was surprised to see so many people of different races and ethnicities. Enrolled in the first grade she recalled being bullied for an entire year; bullied for her inability to speak English and her Muslim religion. Her parents had great difficulty finding jobs, each having limited English language skills. Her father, “a very smart man,” Wadak tells me, graduated from Bagdad University where he earned a Master’s degree and taught classes of Arabic and Islamic studies. Unable to find gainful employment, Wadak’s father was coaxed by friends living in Maine to travel north. His experiences in Atlanta had unsettled him and dashed his hopes. Ultimately, he did bring his family here, settling briefly in Portland, then Westbrook, where a son was born, then on to Portsmouth before reaching Kittery. Years later, as a fifteen-year-old freshman at Traip Academy, Wadak said, her expression one of pure unbridled joy, “It’s wonderful here! It’s my best year ever.” I questioned, “How is it making friends here?”

She said, “I’m really surprised. I expected many nasty looks and sideways glances. Here, everyone is really nice and accepting. Some people crack jokes about Muslim people but I don’t take any of it personally. There was just one time- and I won’t mention nameswhen this kid said that he was going to fill the inside of his jacket with knives and guns for a Halloween costume and shout ‘Allah Akbar’ to scare children away. I asked ‘Do you even know what Allah Akbar means?’ He didn’t. The words ‘Allah Akbar’ translates to, God is great. We say them when we pray. If people make fun of my religion, I will speak up, but if it’s about terrorism or race related, I tend to pull myself away.” I spoke candidly, “Wadak, you are living through one of the most difficult times in our history. You are Muslim and you are here. Please don’t think that any significant number of people here are anti- Muslim.” She replied, “My dad says, ‘Purify your life from hate and pretend it is not there.’ Some people choose to see the ugliness in the world, my family chooses to see the beauty. I choose to see the beauty, too.” Before we met, word of Wadak’s accomplishments in photography and in writing reached me. Traip staff didn’t hesitate to tell me, “she is beautiful both inside and out”. “How long have you been interested in photography?” I asked. “I started getting involved two years ago when my dad showed me pictures of Iraqlandscapes, and portraits of himself as a child and of his family… I took photos with my phone, then I started to experiment with cameras. With a phone, I can take pictures and then edit them. Using a camera, however, is complicated; I have to edit while taking the pictures. I prefer phones. When I entered Traip, I realized that I had so many opportunities, so I formed a photography club. Did you see the display board by the stairs? Our club photos are there. I have an Instagram account. I post my pictures once in a while. The amount of followers I get motivates me.” But in rapid succession, Wadak announced joyfully, “But writing is my favorite thing to do! I can express my feelings through writing easily. I write every day of every minute. I vomit my words out onto paper.” Currently she is writing three books of fiction simultaneously, the first already well over 150 pages, Cataclysm, is a modern twist on the Holocaust set in 2017; the second, White Lilly is a tale about a young girl living in Scotland and the third, The Last Call, a werewolf tale, a fantasy thriller. “Not to brag, “ she tells me, “but I have a 3.9 in Mr. Singer’s creative writing class. He announced a writing competition. I submitted a piece and was awarded an honorable mention. I received the award from USM. This made me want to write more.” “What did you write about for the competition?” I asked. She answered, “I wrote a memoir of my mom. She suffers from low blood pressure. A year and a half ago, she fell on the floor unconscious. I thought she was dead. My dad

called 911 and she was taken in an ambulance. She is okay now. My biggest phobia is losing people that I love.” Her father’s eight siblings and her mother’s seven and many cousins remain in Iraq. Six months ago, Wadak and her family returned to visit. I asked, “When you go back does the past go back with you?” “Yes, it’s horrible in Iraq,” she tells me. “There’s trash everywhere and you can taste the dust in the air. I feel bad for my family because they got used to the weather and the everyday gunshots in the air. ‘How are you okay with this’, I ask them. ‘It’s just a gunshot. It’s nothing’, they’d answer. When my little brother came with us six months ago, all he talked about was cartoons and toys, but then, my five and six-year-old cousins would talk about guns and soldiers. My little brother was in shock. He asked me, ‘Why are they talking about military stuff?’, ‘Because they live in Iraq’, I answer in pain. My brother’s mind was colorful compared to my cousins’ dark and violent ones.” I commented, “If I’m treading on private or sensitive information just tell me.” Wadak motioned me to continue- “Has the family over there asked you if they could come here?” She answered, “Yes, all of them, but they can’t. They’re trapped. My Dad brought his mom, my grandmother, with a visa card. Now, she can’t come again.” “Because of the ban, (note: the ban has recently been lifted),” I commented. She nodded, adding, ”We have passports. We can visit them anytime, but things are hard now. We went to Iraq six months ago, two years before that, and four years before that. One of the hardest things for me to do is say goodbye to my family, because you might never know when you’ll see them again, or if you’ll ever see them again.” Watching and listening to Wadak, one can’t help but be touched by her earnestness, compassion, and optimism. “Do you have a role model?” I asked. She replied, “My mom. She’s been through a lot. Any person who won’t give up on their beliefs and dreams can be my role model, but if I had to choose a certain person, it would be Rosa Parks.” Her father has told her, ‘If you put a diamond in mud, it will remain a diamond’. “I try to be honest with myself, be the real me- all the time,” she tells me with a smile. No doubt Wadak’s purity and brilliance will continue to glow. Lois Cosloy is a Kittery resident and a retired educator who has a special interest in showcasing the talented students in the Kittery School Department. She can be reach at [email protected]