Life in Paradise: A Family's Struggles

By M. Haroon Monis

A family arrives to the United States with hopes and desires, but without much else. Haroon Monis, author of Journey into Paradise from the Hell of Afghanistan, continues the saga of his family's life in this book. Life in Paradise shows the tribulations and triumphs of an immigrant family in the USA.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Lulu.com
• Release date: Apr 7, 2011
• ISBN: 9781257450435

Book preview

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Prologue

When I was going to middle school, I used to make and sell bead necklaces, which allowed me to buy the things I wanted. The beads on these necklaces were held together by a strong thread that resembled a fishing line. The most important component of the necklace was that thread; it held all the different-colored beads together. It also held the clasps together, making the necklace a work of art.

In the same way, the Monis family was held together by one of these threads. That thread, however, was disconnected when we left Afghanistan. We left a huge part of our lives behind as we embarked on our journey into a new world. We were now in a different place, and even a different time now that we were using the American calendar. The year was now 1988, not the late 1300s as the Afghan calendar suggested. Making our new home was a new wave in the ocean of life, and we had not yet learned to swim, let alone tackle the riptide that would soon attack us.

Part I:

Adjustment Period

Chapter One:

Arrival in Paradise

November 28, 1988.

10:30 PM CST.

The night was clear with the exception of the few clouds that floated lazily across the dark skies. The stars gleamed and twinkled against the canvas of night that had swept the city of San Antonio, Texas.

Having traveled halfway around the world, I had lost the concept of day and night awhile ago. The dark sky above me and all its reminders of what a night should be was the only thing that made me believe this was night

Jetlag had set in about twenty-four hours ago. But this moment was what all of us had waited for so long. We had arrived at our dream destination; the paradise of our furthest dreams now lay in front of us.

The plane descended into the airport as I pressed my face against the window to get a glimpse of paradise. I took in the lights of the city through and the beauty of this place through the window, but it was not enough. I waited impatiently to feel the reality of this place.

As I stepped onto the ladder attached to the side of our plane, which had carried us from Dallas to San Antonio, I took a deep breath and focused my eyes. I still had this waning feeling that this was merely a dream from which I would soon awaken. San Antonio was the final destination of a trip that had begun in Islamabad, Pakistan. That trip had actually started in Kabul, Afghanistan, a year before that.

I took a few steps down the ladder, and looked back to find the rest of my family members doing the same. I took a few deep breaths of the cool, crisp November air and walked slowly, carefully with the rest of my family. The city lights on this night delighted me; the America I had envisioned in my dreams was now in front of me. This was a surreal moment for all of us. People have dreams and hopes, and that is what keeps them driven to endure the daily struggles of life; but few achieve the dreams that seem impossible. This was the moment, the reality of a dream.

None among us who had just arrived here had seen our nephews and niece. None of us had ever met our sister-in-law, our American, blond, blue-eyed sister-in-law. My older sister Roya and I had never even seen my oldest brother, Nadir.

He would be waiting at the runway some place. I had only seen pictures of him, his wife, and his three children: two boys and a girl. His oldest son, Yosuf, was almost the same age as me. We were separated only by about two years, but Yosuf looked older than me. I guess that American nutrition was superior to what I had sustained myself by most of my life.

Then I saw them; I recognized Bary because I had seen him before in Afghanistan, although I had not seen him in five years. He looked the same although a bit older. Nadir was standing next to him; he looked pretty close to what his pictures that I had in mind showed.

Next to Nadir, stood my nephew, Yosuf. At the age of ten, Yosuf was bigger and looked a bit older than I. We embraced. It was good to finally see the oldest member of our family who until this moment had only existed for me and my sister, Roya, in pictures.

The fact that Nadir had kids made sense. He had gotten his life pretty well-managed here in the U.S. For me the concept of him married was a bit awkward because he was the only sibling of mine who wedded without me being present at the ceremony. The changes that America would bring for the Monis family was much more different than the awkwardness I felt embracing my oldest brother.

What lay ahead for us would surely provide challenges none of us entertained at that moment. The paradise into which we had just arrived offered us an ambivalence of choice: Freedom from the things from which we had run away and challenges in the monetary department. No longer was the Monis family the wealthy owners of an ice-making factory. We had just become part of the poor America: the forgotten segment of the population. We