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Cartagena, in Columbia, was the second stop for “Constellation,” our cruise ship that sailed out of Florida to visit five countries in the Caribbean Sea (British Cayman Islands, Columbia, Costa Rica, Panama and Mexico). With about three thousand Whites, and less than ten Black passengers, this Sudanese village boy had plenty of time to test his identity and to observe and think about racial and religious relations and about the World’s dominant Christian White Civilization, as embodied in that very modernized ship.

During the first stop in the Cayman Islands where most of the population was Black, I felt a little affinity to “my long-lost brothers from Africa,” but I felt I couldn’t share their identities because of differences in language, culture, nationality and religion. That confirmed my believe that Blackness/ Negritude is but a skin-deep. Also, the many statues of a pirate called “Big Black Dick” (assumingly the dream of sexually-starving White women) confirmed another believe of mine: the Blacks’ pre-occupation with their color is the main cause behind their inferiority complex in their relations to Whites.

During the stop at Cartagena, Columbia, it probably didn’t matter whether I was Black or White because I came face to face with another race: the Browns/ the Latinos.

But, they themselves where divided into: light-skinned decedents of the Spanish who, hundreds of years ago, discovered and settled in Central and South America; brown-skinned combination of the Spanish and native Red Indians; Red Indians who were actually not “red” but darker than their brothers in North America; and Blacks.

All those groups spoke Spanish, and I didn’t know one Spanish word. So, when I saw few Blacks selling native crafts or just watching the thousands of White tourists who invaded their city, I didn’t feel I was as close to them as the English-speaking Blacks in the Cayman Islands. This strengthened my conviction that religion, language and culture were stronger than Blackness, in the contexts of both: a persons’ identity, and a person’s relations with other identities.

While waiting for our bus in a shopping area in the city, two Black women, dressed in African colorful flowing garments and each carrying on her head a tray full of fruits and vegetables, approached us, and I thought they came from a nearby farm. When they asked to take a photo with me, I was delighted and, almost yelling, said: “Welcome to my long-lost sisters from Africa.” My wife took a photo as the two women almost squeezed me between them. Then they asked me to take a photo of them with my wife, and I, intrigued by the view of two Black women squeezing a White woman, joked: “Squeeze her; strangle her; and revenge for hundreds of years of Whites’ subjugation of Blacks.”

But, the fun ended when the women asked for “American dollars,” and we realized that they were imposers; they didn’t come from a farm; their fruits and vegetables were made of plastic; and they were exploiting tourists who were looking for exotic people and things.

So, I said to myself, Blacks, for a change, could exploit Whites.

But most of my observations in Cartagena were not about relations between Whites and Blacks, but between Whites and the Latino majority. Those observations were less about race than about religion because, as the tourists’ guide told us, 99 percent of the population of Columbia was Catholics. Our ship’s passengers were mostly Americans and there were large groups from Britain, Germany and Australia. So, I thought they would mostly be Protestants, and wondered how the two Christian groups would interact.

I was surprised, and my wife and her parents, Methodist Protestants, seemed intrigued by the very many crosses and statues of Jesus, Mary and numerous saints, when we entered the city’s main Cathedral that dated back to the 16th.century.

I have never seen so many crosses and Christian statues in one place. Before coming to America more than 30 years ago, this Sudanese village boy (born and raised in Wadi Haj, near Argo, on the Nile River, in Northern Sudan, south of the borders with Egypt) would have never entered this place; I used to think that Christianity was an enemy of Islam and that crosses were to be damned, avoided and, better, burned. But now, this mellow Muslim had his photos taken standing under huge crosses and next to statues of Jesus and Mary.

Also, I had my photos taken outside the Cathedral, next to two close statues: an Indian native being Christianized by a White priest. And that confirmed another of my convictions:

Recently, I have been reading books about religions’ roles in history and in contemporary international affairs, and have come to believe that, because of the culture of logic, rationalism and secularism, most Western historians and political scientists tended to, yes, downplay religions’ roles.

One example: The British-written books at Argo Intermediate School about Christopher Columbus said that he was looking for a short route to the lands of spices – no mention of Christianity. But, during the recent few years, I learned that spreading Christianity was also an important factor. In 1492, after meeting the first Indians, Columbus wrote: “I think they can very easily be made Christians.”

In 1630, as Christian pilgrims began arriving in New English, the phrase “City upon a Hill” was delivered by Rev. John Winthrop, and was an early indication that the USA was to be conceived, if not as a Christian nation, but as very much influenced by Christianity. This Muslim, after many years wondering about the real reason behind the success of the American Dream, concluded that it is, if not Christianity as an institution, but the spirit of Christianity, which I also have come to believe is the spirit of America.

But, as the WASP (White Christian Anglo-Saxons Protestants) established, and have been the vanguards of this American Dream, the recent increase of the Catholics led some to wonder and worry about the future of the Dream.

When our cruise ship was in Columbia, I wondered and worried too. Obviously, because of the Spanish influence, most of Central and South Americans are not only Latinos, but also Catholics, and that has been a major reason for centuries-old friction with the mostly Protestant USA. This is another example of down-playing the role of religion in domestic and international relations. I have come to believe that the resentment in the USA about the millions of illegal Latinos entering the country is but a back lash by the Protestant majority. And if – or when – the Catholics become a sizeable minority – or maybe a majority by the beginning of the 22 Century — major changes in US domestic and international policies should be expected.

As our ship left Cartagena, and as I looked from a distance at its huge crosses and seminaries on top of some of its mountains, and having witnessed poverty and backwardness in the city, and knowing about Columbia’s reputation as a country of drugs and corruption, and about Catholicism’s drawbacks, its saints, statues, superstitions and obedience to a fallible man in the Vatican, I prayed that, if the Catholics/Latinos ever become a majority in the US, they would be very much Americanized and would be like the WASP (White Anglo-Saxon Protestants) who established and have been vanguards of this most free, advanced and moral country in the history of mankind.

Sailing out of Florida, “Constellation,” our cruise ship to five countries in the Caribbean Sea, stopped first at Georgetown, the capital of the Cayman Islands, a British colony south of Cuba.

The first thing I noticed was the large number of Blacks, because I had thought the population would be, at least, mostly Whites. So, I wondered how was I, one of about only ten Blacks among about three thousand Whites on the ship, going to behave: Would I “act White”? Or would I be like “my long-lost brothers from Africa”?

My White wife (of 34 years) said, with a wink: “Your brothers are waiting for you,” and my White mother-in-law advised us: “Watch your wallets.”

At first, I felt an unexplainable affinity to the Blacks as we walked in the shopping area of Georgetown. (I felt they, also, most probably looked at me as different from the army of Whites that invaded the town).

Blacks were making cigars with leaves and tobacco imported from Cuba; were running restaurants that served, among other items, jerk chicken and rum; were managing stores of Black antiques and souvenirs; and were doing almost every other thing to make money from the tourists, the cornerstone of the islands’ economy.

When we passed by a one-room Black history museum, my wife declined to enter and said she wanted to continue shopping. I entered and became a little emotional as the Black woman manager described to me, the only visitor, some of the tools, photos and artifacts from the days of the British colonialism, slave trade and discrimination. But, she said Whites and Blacks in the Cayman Islands “opened a new page, and are now living peacefully.” Answering my questions, the woman criticized the Black Americans, and said they were “haunted” by slavery. But, she added: “Their situation was worst than ours. The Whites there wrote slavery in their constitution. At least the British didn’t do that, and, thanks to God, they didn’t even have a written constitution then and I guess, until today, they don’t have a written one.”

Noticing from my accent and probably from my demeanor that I was not an African American, she was surprised that I looked at myself as a Muslim and an Arab more than a Black.

For many years now, I have come to believe that Blackness or Negritude, as pioneered, about fifty years ago, by Leopold Senghor, the first President of Senegal, should not – and could not – be the core of a Black person’s identity. I have come to believe that faith, any faith (even in one’s own self) should be the core of that identity. Not only that, but Blackness, as I have noticed during more than 30 years in the US, led to a pre-occupation of Blacks with their color. At first, that observation surprised me, then it saddened, then it angered me — until the present time.

In the Cayman Islands, I noticed that the Blacks were divided into: English-speaking natives, English-speaking immigrants from Jamaica, and Spanish-speaking immigrants from Cuba. The cruise ship added to that mixture few Black Americans and a Muslim Arab African, me.

So, I noticed that Blackness, at first sight, made me feel a little close to all these Blacks, but as I started talking to them, I realized that our identities and personalities were differed because of different nationalities, languages, religions and other cultural aspects. Actually, I couldn’t even communicate with the Spanish-speaking Cuban Black man who was making cigars from Cuban tobacco.

My observations in the Cayman Islands re-enforced another conviction: Because of Blacks’ pre-occupation with their color, many tended to have an inferiority complex in their relations with Whites.

While my wife and I were shopping, we saw many huge statues of a Black pirate called: “Big Black Dick.” Next to each statue, there was a summary of his life, with this sentence at the end: “Those who knew him most intimately knew how much of a man he was; indeed, he possessed certain physical attributes unequaled by all other men of his gender.” The sexual implications were clear; also, the word “Dick” meant both a name of a person and man’s sexual organ.

I wondered whether all those “Big Black Dick” statues were symbols of Blacks’ pride or just for entertainment.

Sitting on a bench by a street waiting for my wife who was in a nearby shop, I started a conversation with a Black man and, diplomatically, asked him about those statues. With a loud laugh, he said: “White women come all way down to here because of our sexual powers. We satisfy them more than their husbands and boyfriends. And they tell us that. They are not shy about it.”

When I asked him whether that was something Blacks should be proud of, he said, probably wondering whether I didn’t already know the answer: “C’mon man, the White man colonized us, enslaved us and, until today, is screwing us days and nights. We screw their women and that is our revenge.”

Almost 40 years before, my eyes were opened to this subject when I read “Season of Migration to the North,” a novel by Altayeb Salih, a Sudanese who became famous mostly because of this novel, which became famous mostly because of its sexual encounters between Black men and White women.

Its Sudanese hero, Mustafa Saeed, during less than two years in London, had five White women sexual partners, used a different name for himself with each one, promised to marry each one and was the cause of the suicide of two of them. To each one he declared: “I am the invader.” And, during a moment of ecstasy, one woman screamed: “Kill me, you African guerilla; burn me in your temple fire, you Black God.”

Needless to say I, then, many years before coming to America, was excited by these imaginary encounters, and dreamed I might, one day, be like Mustafa Saeed.

But, in the Cayman Islands, 40 years later, I was a different person because I had already become convinced that my color (and other attributes that related to it) didn’t have anything to do with my identity.

In the Cayman Islands, my wife and I saw groups of White women taking photos and giggling while standing next to “Big Black Dick” statues. My wife and I also took pictures of each other next to a statue, me pretending to knock him in his face and she standing very close to him. We were laughing and making obscene comments. (Later, she showed the photos to her family and everyone laughed in a certain way).

That night, when we returned to our room, and before going to bed, I, as usual, sat at a small desk to write notes about the day activities. Planning to write an analysis, I told my wife I was going to ask her serious questions about “Big Black Dick.”

But, she didn’t want to seriously talk about the subject. When I asked about the White girls giggling while taking photos next to the statues, she briefly replied, using the title of a famous song: “Girls Just Want to Have Fun.” When I said that some Black men felt proud to sexually “conquer” White women, she shot back: “I am not a man and I am not Black. Go and ask your brothers.” End of conversation. Time to go to bed.

Out of almost three thousand passengers on “Constellation,” our cruise ship that sailed, recently from Florida, to five countries in the Caribbean Sea, it seemed that more than 99 percent of them were Whites. A ship staff said that about 1,500 of the passengers were Americans and that there were sizable numbers from Britain, Canada France, Germany and Australia. I saw about five or six Blacks, an Indian couple and few Spanish-speaking people.

As for the Whites, my first observation was that the Americans were more at ease, friendly and fun-seeking. Probably because of stereotypes, the British seemed to have “stiff upper lips”, the Germans spoke in shouting words, like “Achtung”, the Australians were more wild, the French talked in a funny way, and the Canadians probably more “refined” than the Americans.

A waiter said some British resented being served coffee with the dessert at the end of formal meals — like most Americans tended to do — and wanted tea instead of coffee, and not with the dessert, but at the very end of the meal. The waiter also said that some French insisted on speaking in French when ordering their meals; some Australian didn’t “know how to eat in a civilized way”; and the Latinos “and their children make a big mess in the dining room.”

My second observation was that, as in other cruises and during more than 30 years in America, I didn’t notice or feel any discrimination against me because of the color of my skin. Actually, a long time ago, I: (a) realized that my color didn’t have anything to do with my identity and (b) decided not to be self-conscious about my color.

But, obviously, as I recognized other peoples’ colors, I expected others to recognize mine, and, so, they most probably thought I was one of very few Black passengers on the ship. I believe that was natural; for example, if there were three thousand Blacks in the ship, they most probably would have notice the presence of, say, only ten Whites among them.

Some of those Whites might have a variety of negative feelings towards me because of my color, and, if, I believed they were very few. All in all, I didn’t notice or feel any discrimination from the beginning of the trip until its end. During those few days, living so closely and in a tight environment to so many strangers, I, again and again, confirmed my conviction that it was the behavior, not the color that mattered. That was an important feeling because of my years-long confusion, sadness and anger because of the pre-occupation of Black Americans, even in the age of President Obama, with their color.

Also long time ago, I decided to, generally-speaking, demure in front of Christian Whites after I realized that, inspite of their mistakes and problems, they were the founders, and now the leaders, of this great Western Civilization. On my Islamic and African sides, there are no civilizations for me to be proud of: the Muslim one fell a long time ago, and there was never an African one.

Arriving at this conviction has calmed me and protected me from living in a state of denial. I have found salvation in being realistic. So, during 12 days in that ship, I felt surrounded and engulfed by this Christian Western Civilization, but never felt defeated or inferior. Actually, I became more appreciative.

One day, I had a short talk with a retired German couple: the husband was an engineer with Siemens, a leading German company that he said built giant electric plants in Saudi Arabia and other Gulf countries, and the wife did a Ph.D. on Gutenberg, the German inventor of the printing press (1439). On another day, I ate breakfast next to a retired British couple who said they were professors at Oxford University in Britain. Once, I had a brief conversation with a Frenchman who said he used to work at the Palace of Versailles. And once had a conversation with an American who was a space shuttle’s engineer at Houston Space Center, in Texas, and said he worked in Apollo program that sent the first man to the moon in 1969.

Then, there was the captain and the leading engineers of “Constellation,” the cruise ship itself. One day they explained their jobs, and answered questions, in the main theater in front of about 200 passengers who, probably like me, were amazed at how those few men were able to control and manage this sailing and highly civilized “small town.”

The ship itself was an example of the advance of Western science and technology:

Passengers could: make calls from their rooms to anywhere in the world; watch world news on television sets in their rooms; pick up daily printed copies of multi-language news-letters summarizing leading world’s newspapers; find, every evening on their beds, printed news-letters about the following day’s activities; and connect via the Internet to the outside world.

Then, there was the most modern spa I have been to: acupuncture “to recover balance and harmony between the physical, emotional and spiritual you”; aqua spa “for deep, whole-body massage, treatments and therapies to restore, refresh and renew”; and beauty salon “to add fullness to your features.” There were facilities for “reduction of facial wrinkles”; “elimination of cellulite”; “aromatherapy facial”; “lime and ginger body massage”; “hot stone massage”; and “teeth whitening“ – yes, “teeth whitening” on a cruise ship.

As I said in earlier pieces, the food, the way it was served and the people who served it were very modern. But, I wasn’t prepared for the most civilized meal I ever had in my life: at “Ocean Liners Specialty Restaurant.” This was the menu:

Starters: lobster bisque, tomato soup, Caesar salad, diced lobster and vegetables salad, smoked salmon, tuna Carpaccio, goat cheese soufflé, frog legs, chilled asparagus and foe gras (duck’s liver). Entrees: whole sole fish, fillet of sea bass, scallops, lobster, duck with pear, rack of lamb in pastry, shrimp flambé, veal with prosciutto, risotto with mushrooms and steak with cognac. Dessert: zabaglione with marsala, coconut burlee, chocolate soufflé, chocolate mousse cake, lemon cheese cake, selection of ice-cream, petites fours, bite-size surprises, and coffee.

Now, as much as I was fascinated by all these types of food, it was the art of serving them that, also, fascinated me.

The four of us (with my wife and her parents) were seated at the most elegant dining table that I have ever been seated at. The waiters and waitresses were nicely dressed, polite and each had a tag of his/her name and country (a nice way of starting a conversation; but, it should be short so as not to distract them from their work).

A waiter form India was in charge of our table, helped by one from Mexico for the water; one from Romania for the wine and one from Ukraine to serve the food with him. So, the Indian and the Ukrainian brought each course to each of us, standing on opposite sides of the table, and describing the food in elaborate details.

When it was time to serve the rack of lamb wrapped in a fluffy pastry, another waiter brought a moving table with the lamb and, in front of us, cut, in an elegant way, chops for three of us. I ordered sea bass on a bed of grilled vegetables, and it was delicious; cutting the fish was like cutting a stick of butter.

As I mentioned in an early piece, I was again, confused about which silverware to use for which task. In addition to ten forks, knives and spoons, there were: a certain knife for fish, and a certain spoon to taste from others’ plates

The six-course meal went for two hours, and could have been three hours if we ordered wine.

I joked that even the President of Sudan didn’t have such a civilized meal, and someone joked that even the President of the US didn’t.

I returned from the most civilized and contemplative experience in my life: 12 days in a luxurious Caribbean cruise. A Sudanese village boy among about 3,000 civilized White Christians. Who am I? And how I relate to this American civilization that I live in?

Washington: Mohammad Ali Salih

My 2009 Caribbean trip in “Constellation” cruise ship was my third oceanic cruise. The first was in 2003, in “Caribbean Princes,” with my wife, our three children, my wife’s parents, her brother, his wife, their two children and the wife’s father.

It was a blast. It was a mixture of: (1) new experience (2) children having fun and (3) an utter extravaganza.

Entertainment apart, how about the ethical meaning of that cruise?

That cruise was about two years after the attacks of September 11, 2001 and the invasion Afghanistan, and was few months after the invasion of Iraq in 2003.

I was very much angry at the Americans, especially the politicians, because of their exaggerated fear, exaggerated anger at Muslims and exaggerated responses which culminated in the invasion of two Muslim countries and threats to invade more.

Long before 9/11, I had stopped taking Valium and Librium and stopped going to counseling. Because of my anger, I went back to counseling and I, a journalist, was told to lessen my preoccupation with news and, especially, watch less news on TV.

So, during that first cruise, I did my best to avoid watching CNN on the gym’s screen when I did my early morning exercises; if scenes of American tanks rolling into Iraq or American planes bombarding Afghanistan appeared in front of me, I closed my eyes for a while.

After the invasion of Iraq and the continuous “war on terrorism,” I started wondering whether this war was part of a subtle campaign against Islam and Muslims.

But, during that first cruise, I tried to separate between the great American Civilization and the US government’s policy towards Islam and Muslims.

That separation helped me a little as I wanted to enjoy my first oceanic cruise. Also, I wanted to see how big of a civilization shock I, a Sudanese village boy, would endure as I found myself in one of the most recreational and entertaining vehicles of the Western civilization.

On the day of sailing, I was shocked by four scenes:

First, when approaching Ft. Lauderdale’s harbor, I saw the very giant “Caribbean Princess” ship at the dock. As we drove closer, it looked like a ten-story beautiful shining white building. In the nearby terminal, there were thousands of passengers. Among them were luggage carriers, custom and immigration personal and the ship’s own staff busy trying to make it easy for about three thousand passengers to make it on board.

The second shock was when I entered the ship and walked into a huge and multi-deck atrium. I was attracted by the beauty, glamour and ultra modernity of the whole scene. Not to forget beautiful and well-dressed waitresses smiling and serving champagne to the passengers and not to forget blond female passengers wearing shorts and low-cut shirts that showed plenty of the beautiful white flesh.

The third shock was the civility of dining. For example, in the elegant formal dining room where our large family was seated, I counted twelve forks, knives and spoons in front of me, and everyone else, and felt clumsy and embarrassed as I tried to figure out which was for what. The fellow diners, the waiters and waitresses and the food served were very civilized.

The fourth shock was about clothes. Actually, long before the cruise, we received instructions about what clothes to bring; for a man, black suit and a tie for “formal” dinners, and pants with dress or sports shirt for “informal” dinners. And for a woman, night dresses for “formal” dinners and dresses or elegant pants and shirts for “informal” dinners. No jeans, shorts and T-shirts were allowed in seated dining rooms.

The fourth shock was the general civility of everyone’s behavior. There was an atmosphere of quietness, smiles, greetings and courtesy.

So, the Sudanese village boy embarked on closely living with, and examining, about 3,000 civilized Christian Whites.

I returned from the most civilized and contemplative experience in my life: 12 days in a luxurious Caribbean cruise. A Sudanese village boy among about 3,000 civilized White Christians. Who am I? And how I relate to this American civilization that I live in?

Washington: Mohammad Ali Salih:

What is civilization?

I have come to believe that it is, basically, education and science, and it is relative. Even a tribe in the jungles of Africa can be more or less civilized when it is compared to a neighboring tribe.

A tribe in, say, the jungles of Congo, that knows how to create fire by rubbing together two pieces of wood, has more knowledge that the tribe that doesn’t. In ancient times, the Nubians, on the Nile River in Northern Sudan, knew how to systematically lift water in a bucket to irrigate their crops; the Pharaohs of Egypt built the pyramids; the Phoenicians of Lebanon knew how to make wine out of grapes; and the Mesopotamians of Iraq built chariots

Later, as the Western civilization started to ascend, the Germans invented the printing press, the British the steam train and the Americans the space shuttle.

But, I believe civilization is not only scientific advances; also, it is advances in ideas that help to organize, and to explain, life. Especially to explain the unknown: how and why we, and our surroundings, were created or developed?

I have come to believe that the top spiritual knowledge is the belief in a supernatural power, and I will call this power God, but it doesn’t have to be this particular name. I have come to respect others who don’t share me this believe. I have come to believe that, by nature, a person tends to look for something to explain the unexplainable and to put faith in: a supernatural, a cow, a statue, a tree, ancestors or one’s own self.

After all these years, I now try to compromise with everyone by suggesting to him/her to make his/her conscious the higher judge. I say: “Just worship your conscious.”

Finally, I have concluded that these individual conscious judgments tend to generally agree on the need for two basics: freedom and justice. Accordingly, I believe that the two most important questions throughout history have been: am I free? Is this fair?

Back to the example of the tribe in the jungles of Congo, it shouldn’t be judged only by its ability to make fire, but, also, by whether it uses the fire to, say, burn other tribes’ huts.

This brings me to the “White Christian Ship” of my 12 days Caribbean cruise. Although the Western Civilization, after the rise of the nation states, separated between state and religion, I have come to believe that Christianity was, and still is, the corner-stone of the two parts of this civilization:

(1) Scientifically, Christianity has encouraged many scientists to invent and encouraged many explorers to explore because they were seeking the blessings of God. For example, Christopher Columbus was not only looking for a short way to India, but, also, was ready to Christianize whatever people he might find there.

(2) Morally, Christianity has been the guiding light to explore what is right and what is wrong. I can clearly see in the US Constitution the spirit of God as the Founding Fathers tried to answer the two basic questions about freedom and fairness.

So, when I describe my 12-day in the “Christian White Ship” as the most civilized experience in my life, I mean both scientifically and morally. And I will try to examine the two parts.

I returned from the most civilized and contemplative experience in my life: 12 days in a luxurious Caribbean cruise. A Sudanese village boy among about 3,000 civilized White Christians. Who am I? And how I relate to this American civilization that I live in?

Washington: Mohammad Ali Salih:

My piece in “The Philadelphia Enquirer,” 5/29/2007, under “Muslim, Arab and then American”:

“The Pew Research Center’s first-ever, nationwide survey of Muslim Americans, released last week, found them largely assimilated, happy with their lives, and moderate with respect to many of the issues that have divided Muslims and Westerners around the world. They did say, however, that since 9/11, they found it more difficult to be a Muslim in the United States and that the government has singled out Muslims for increased surveillance.

Interestingly, the survey found that almost half of the respondents considered themselves Muslim first and Americans second.

Last year, in Mecca and Main Street : Muslim Life in America After 9/11, author Geneive Abdo declared, “The real story of American Muslims is one of accelerating alienation from the mainstream of U.S. life, with Muslims in this country choosing their Islamic identity over their American one.”

So, is there a contradiction between being an American and a Muslim?

Not for me. I am Muslim first, Arab second and American third.

My relation to God is the core of my identity. It supersedes my relations to countries and peoples and is separate from my citizenship.

Before I became a U.S. Citizen, pledged allegiance to its constitution, and carried its passport, I was a citizen of Sudan , obeyed its rules, and carried its passport. If, in the future, I became a citizen of, say, China, followed its rules, and carried its passport, I still believe my relation to God would be paramount.

I am Arab because Arabic is my native tongue, the core of my culture. I think, talk, write (and dream) mostly in Arabic. I have a foreign accent (and get tired of people asking me where I came from, to repeat what I say, and praising me for speaking “good” English).

I know I am not “mainstream” American. I don’t know how many innings are in baseball, never played golf, don’t understand most Chris Rock jokes, and can’t follow New Yorker-type fast talkers. Perhaps it would be different if I had been born in America, or had come (and spoken English) at a young age. On the other hand, aren’t there Chinese and Latinos who came, became citizens of, lived in and died in America while speaking mostly their native languages? Does that make them less American?

My love for America started long before I came here, by reading, writing, thinking and dreaming about America- in Arabic. My religion was never an obstacle and actually was an incentive. I dreamed of worshiping God in America the way I wanted, with no restrictions from oppressive Islamic governments, medieval sharia scholars, and the people around me.

But, like love that develops into marriage, I had to come to America and become a citizen to be a full American. And, like pledging to a marriage, “I pledge allegiance to the flag of the United States of America, and to the Republic for which it stands, one nation under God.” That’s when I said to myself: “God is paramount here, too.”

Previous Pew polls showed that 42 percent of Christians identify with their religion before their country. Among white evangelicals, 62 percent identified themselves as Christians first. That doesn’t make them less American.

I never thought I was so close to the evangelicals. Maybe I could say that I am evangelical first, Arab second and American third.”

I returned from the most civilized and contemplative experience in my life: 12 days in a luxurious Caribbean cruise. A Sudanese village boy among about 3,000 civilized White Christians. Who am I? And how I relate to this American civilization that I live in?

Washington: Mohammad Ali Salih

During my first ten years in the US, I planned to go back to Sudan – with my American wife and our US-born children. I spent years day-dreaming about a house that I would build, not in Khartoum, Sudan’s capital, but in Argo, where I was born, on the Nile River, in northern Sudan, south of the borders with Egypt.

I was more exact: the house would be in “Hilat Al-Arab” (Arabs Village), about three miles south of Argo. That was where my father was born, in a straws hut, among camels, goats and donkeys. He belongs to a Kababish Arab family, part of “Dongola Arabs”, a branch of the main Kababish tribe in Kordofan, in central Sudan that, long time ago, moved northwards, along the Nile River, to Dongola, and nearby Argo, in the heartland of the Danagla Nubian tribe.

When my father was a teenager, he seemed to have disliked the Bedouin life and dreamed of leaning how to read and write; nobody did that in the history of his sub-tribe. But, his father refused to let him enroll in Argo Elementary School which was built by the British who colonized Sudan for half a century until 1956. His father needed him to take care of the camels and hire them for the locals to carry goods and sell wood and wood-coal for cooking.

So, my father lowered his expectations from modern to traditional education, and was able to convince his father to go to a “khalwa” (Koranic school, madrassa) in nearby village of Wadi Haj, to pray and study Koran. After a day with camels, as the sun set, he rode a donkey to the “khalwa” and returned before mid-night.

A generous family close to the “khalwa” noticed this dedicated young man, and offered him a bed whenever the studies went late into the night. It was probably because this family was like my father’s, “alien” and not part of the dominant local Danagla tribe. This family belonged to the Bidairiya tribe, about 300 miles up the River Nile, next to the dominant Shaygiya tribe.

Within a year, my father fell in love with one of the family beautiful daughters and married her inspite of his family rejection because she was from outside the tribe. She is my mother.

Thirty years later, and inspite of my father’s objection, I married a beautiful girl, not only from outside the tribe, but, also, from outside the country, the race and the religion – my White Christian American wife.

As I mentioned earlier, during my first ten years in the US, I dreamed, of going, with my American family, back to my village and build a house and live happily ever after. In my dreams, the house was “civilized,” with electricity from an adjacent generator, hot water from a charcoal-burned furnace and a phone wire from the town. Those were 1980’s dreams, before satellite dishes, cell phones and the Internet.

So, during the 12-day luxurious cruise in the Caribbean abroad the “Christian White Ship,” the most civilized experience in my life, I just smiled when I remembered the village’s dream house.

But, what is civilization?

I returned from the most civilized and contemplative experience in my life: 12 days in a luxurious Caribbean cruise. A Sudanese village boy among about 3,000 civilized White Christians. Who am I? And how I relate to this American civilization that I live in?

Washington: Mohammad Ali Salih:
I, in my sixties, am a Sudanese by birth and an American by citizenship. I spent the first half of my life in Sudan and the second half in America. For 40 years, I have been a professional journalist, and for the last 30 years a foreign correspondent, here in Washington, DC, for major Arabic newspapers and magazines in the Middle East.

During the first ten years in the US, I looked at myself as a Sudanese living in the US, and planning to, someday, return to Sudan – with my American wife and our US-born children.

During the second ten years in the US, after I became a US citizen, I was confused about my identity for, at least, two reasons: (1) I pledged allegiance to the US, but still felt mostly a Sudanese. (2) As an African, I couldn’t relate to the African-Americans, mostly because I rejected their pre-occupation with their color, with slavery and racial discrimination.

These confusions, other problems facing a stranger in a strange land, raising a family and striving for a living, caused me to take, for years, Valium and Librium. After I stopped that, I spent years in counseling. After I stopped that, I spent years visiting — beside mosques — churches, synagogues and Hindu and Buddhist temples; not only looking for the “truth” but, also, to expose my children to other religions, hoping that they would grow up with open minds and seek the “truth” anywhere and in anyway.

During the third ten years in the US, in another attempt to find my identity, I started to thoroughly read the Koran and to understand it myself, without the confusing and mostly out-dated explanations of medieval Islamic scholars in the Middle East.

Accordingly, I have come to believe that: (1) The color of my skin doesn’t have anything to do with my identity. (2) The core of my identity is my faith. (3) My mixed Arabic-African culture comes second, and, then my citizenship, American, Sudanese or something else.

If I were born in the US, or came at a young age, most probably my culture would have been American, and I would have felt more American than I do now.

Now, as I enter my fourth decade in America, I have this almost unexplainable feeling: the more I feel American, the more I feel Sudanese; the more I feel at ease in the US, the more I read and write about Sudan; and the more I feel proud for being an American, the more I feel proud for also being a Sudanese.

But, I differentiate between this feeling and being a Sudanese citizen who votes and runs for political offices there. Since I pledged allegiance to the US, I stopped using my Sudanese passport.

I don’t believe in dual citizenship, although the US government allows it. For me, it is like having two wives and being equally fair to both of them. I believe that is impossible and it involves hypocrisy and self- deception.

I don’t like the description of being a Sudanese-American; I fell I am both a Sudanese and an American. Not 50 percent this and 50 percent that, but 100 percent this and 100 percent that.

I don’t know how to explain this; I will call it “Trinity Identity,” three in one, but each stands by itself: I, Sudan and the US.

One thing I am sure of: this feeling has something to do with this great American freedom. At first, I thought it was the freedom to talk, write, vote and practically do anything, But, recently, I have come to feel — but not see and touch — the “spirit of freedom,” something like the spirit of God. No wonder, because, about ten years ago, I had found that the “spirit of American” is from the spirit of God.

On the other hand, someone may reject these explanations and say: C’mon, the truth is that you feel guilty for leaving your original country, and you are trying to find an excuse. Whoever says that might be correct.

Meantime, this Sudanese village boy has found himself closely living for 12 days, in a very civilized cruise ship, with about 3,000 Christian Whites. And this experience will be the subject of these 12 pieces.

The Cambridge, MA, 911 caller, Lucia Whalen, who reported a possible break-in at the home of Black Harvard scholar Henry Louis Gates, did not mention race in the call, according to a statement issued by her attorney and backed up by Cambridge Police Commissioner Robert Haas. The call led to the arrest of Gates and a national debate about racial profiling.
“Contrary to published reports that a ‘white woman’ called 911 and reported seeing ‘two black men’ trying to gain entry into Mr. Gates home, the woman, who has olive colored skin and is of Portuguese descent, said she observed ‘two men’ at the home,” her lawyer’s statement read.
Haas said Whalen, after questioning by the dispatcher during the 911 call, speculated that one of the men “might have been Hispanic.” Haas added:” It was very clear that she wasn’t sure what the men’s race was.”
He acknowledged that in the police report the caller was said to have observed “what appeared to be two black males.” But, later, Hass said report was a summary and not necessarily based on the initial call.
COMMENTS:
1. This African immigrant who believes that his color doesn’t have anything to do with his identity, and is sad – and sometimes angry – because many African Americans seem to be pre-occupied with their color, is just intrigued by Professor Gates’ episode.
2. But, aren’t the Whites also pre-occupied with Blacks’ color, if not with their own?
3. For now, I settle on the believe that, yes, most Whites are pre-occupied with Blacks color. Unfortunately, but understandably, they stereotype it, at best, as the color of crimes and misconduct, and, worst, as the color of un-civilized and primitive people.
3. But the above-mentioned point that Lucia Whalen “has olive-colored skin and is of Portuguese descent” makes me wonder if the Whites themselves are, or beginning to be, pre-occupied with their own lily-white, North European color

“Cosmopolitan” magazine keeps saying that “women were born to attract,” which is fine with this Third World traditional Arab Muslim, But, in rational, secular, individualistic and free America, it doesn’t seem an easy job because women apparently need to balance between the emotional (“I am pretty”) and the rational (“I am equal to you”). On the other hand, men apparently also need to balance between the emotional (“She is sexy”) and the rational (“She is equal to me”), which, at least for this man, is, also, not an easy job.

That was why I was intrigued by this piece from “Forbes” magazine, advising professional women, on “Not What to Wear to Work:
1. “Showing too much cleavage at work is the No. 1 fashion faux pas. Studies show that women who dress in sexy attire in a professional environment are more often passed over for promotions than women who dress more conservatively. Bottom line: If you want to get ahead, ditch the low-cut top.”
2. “Wearing a micro-mini may send the message that you’re trying to compensate for skills you lack in other areas. Also, the knee is a visual anchor. People’s attention will be drawn downward when they approach you, instead of toward your face where it should be. Put on a skirt that you can sit down in without showing too much thigh.”

3. “Summer materials look and feel cool and pretty, but in the light of a staff meeting, they can reveal the outlines of your legs — and much more. Clothes with lining are always a safe choice.”
4. “A rule of thumb when it comes to accessories in the workplace: Less is more. Costume jewelry, when worn in bulk, tends to look tacky. The real thing, on the other hand, can come off as gaudy. A boardroom-ready look includes one show stopper plus subtle accessories. That means if you’re going to put on a chunky beaded necklace, stick to minimal earrings and arm candy.”