I Am An Arab by Jennah Odwah

There were so many wonderful moments at last week's Bartlett High School Writer's Week, but this is my favorite. I share this with everyone, but especially with anyone out there who insists on expressing hate towards Muslims and Arabs. These are the worlds of Jennah Odwa. Please take a moment today to read. Jennah is making the world a better place!

I am the mispronounced names from Ahmed to Akmed and Mohammed to Moe for short.

I am the elef the Ba and ta that inks the skin of others like the accent that still stains my father's tongue with words my father can't perfect, and when he realizes, his eyes fill with shame. But it isnt he that should feel shameful but the English language for not being able express the perfect roll of the letter r that slips off his tongue when he calls me princess.

I am the waves of the Dead Sea that hydrate the dry sand and give it life.

I am the falafel, hummus, and pita bread that fills up the empty stomachs in Syria.

I am the rough ? and soft ? that come from only the back of your throat.

I am the high blood pressure and cholesterol from eating too much bread

I am the dark, olive, pale, skin tones that are tainted by the beating sun.

I am the camels that carried my family on each hump. I

I am an Arab.

Now I know I don’t look like Aladdin or Princess Jasmine and no, I don’t have a pet monkey.

But my name is Jennah, my brothers names are Adam, Omar and Ali. My mom picked out almost all of the basic names out there besides Ali. And each time a sub calls my name I know that they are most likely looking for a blonde hair blue eyed girl that goes by Jen for short. But I don’t go by Jen or Jenny and my name is not Jennifer. I’m fact it’s not even Jenna. My name is Jennah, heaven, paradise. Mama picked these names for our good, she says it’s because she didn’t want us to go through trouble and people pronouncing our names wrong but I know that’s not the reason. I know it’s because she was scared for us. She was scared we’d resent our culture because of our names, scared we’d resent her for picking them. And I wish she was wrong but like every other mother in a way she’s right.

I was shameful. I was shameful of the rough Ka and soft Ha that came from the back of my parent’s throats.

I was shameful each time someone asked me “where are you from”.

I’d simply say from here. Knowing as a second grader that nobody my age knew what the Middle East was.

I knew the scarf on my Mom’s head was seen as funny and weird. But really the scarf on our head is modesty and peace.

I was so shameful. Shameful of beautiful meanings, meanings I didn’t fully comprehend as a 2nd grader, 6th grader, and 9th grader.

Here I am 16 years old at times still shameful.

Each time the chaotic and unforgiving numbers 9/11 are brought up I am shameful

Each time the name ISIS is brought up I am shameful

Terrorist - Shameful.

I am shameful although I should not be.

My dad is an immigrant. He came here with nothing. No education, no English, no money, just his culture.

I wonder if he knew that coming here didn’t just mean opportunity.

It means having to be nice to every single person no matter what they say to you just so they don’t stereotype you

It means having to stay quiet when you’re being accused for something you couldn’t control.

It means to being stopped at an airport because of your own name

It means to be seen as ill-educated because of our accents

It means having to be shameful because you aren’t paled skin blue eyed blonde hair.

My culture is the one thing that my father had, and he wrapped it around like a safety blanket. It was the one thing that felt like home and now that safety blanket is my home. And, to see it be depraved, destroyed, and belittled is shameful. Not of me, not of him, not of the Arab, Asian, Latino, Black, or white culture.

I’m proud. Do not be shameful of what you wear, how you speak or where you come from. You all should be proud

My name is Jennah and I am an Arab.

Thank you #bhsww4