Abu Omar

I think I’d like to rename this blog Um Cecilia’s American Adventure. Let me explain:

New Year, new students. As an introductory exercise, my students have to write about each other. One of my Saudi students, Riyadh – who by the way, was not named after the city; rather his name means “many gardens”, he told me – was consistently referred to by fellow Saudis as Abu Omar. In fact, on his own paper he signed his name Abu Omar/Riyadh. So I asked him about it.

“My son is named Omar, so I am called Abu Omar, father of Omar.”

Abu Omar/Riyadh is a professor back in Saudi Arabia. So I asked him whether at work he is also called Abu Omar or whether it is a private, personal name.

“At work, too, everyone calls me Abu Omar.”

“You’re called Abu Omar everywhere?”

“Yes, I and all fathers are called ‘Father of’ by anyone who knows us.”

“So what is your wife called? Is there a counterpart for women?”

“Yes, she is Um Omar.”

In Saudi society greetings are not “How are you?” but “How are you? How is your family?”, even if you don’t know the family. The family defines you; it is not only your pride and joy but who you are. You, alone, do not exist; you are part of your clan. You exist in relation to your family, and Abu and Um reflect this primacy of the family.

So I began to wonder: what happens to people who have no children? Are they not entitled to such an affectionate form of address? Are they left out of this tradition? So I asked Abu Omar and another Saudi student. They said, “No, they decide what they’d like to be called. Abu whatever they choose. And sometimes they choose their father’s or mother’s name if they have no children.” So maybe I was Um Katherine before I became Um Cecilia. Or maybe I would have randomly chosen Um Priscilla or Um Mildred or Um Gertrude. Then again, maybe I would have chosen more tastefully (my apologies to all the Priscillas, Mildreds, and Gertrudes out there)! My students went on to explain that there are certain Abu/Um names associated with certain first names because of associations from the Prophet Mohammed’s time.

I like this. It is warm and familiar and emphasizes personal, familial relationships over professional accomplishments and power. It brings everyone back – or up – to the same level.

When we meet someone new in our country, usually one of the first questions is, “What do you do?”, so we can define, or pigeonhole, our new acquaintances into some predetermined hierarchical mental schema. In Germany, Abu Omar would be Herr Doktor Professor Riyadh. His family would merit neither mention nor interest. It is a separate realm, one that has no place in professional life.

In his society, one’s crowning achievement is not degrees or professorships or riches earned but parenthood, or kinship, something we all share. And how wonderful that families, personhood, and warmth come before accomplishments, at least in the way they address each other.

So Um Cecilia’s American Adventure it is!