The Long Road Home

As I write this last blog about my trip, I am on the second to last hour of my return home that started 60 hours ago. This whole trip has been one of unplanned events, but that is ok, because Allah is the best of planners. We started this trip not knowing when we would leave, then in England, not knowing the agenda for our stay in the Caususes, and then when we finally got there, not knowing until the night before, the plan for the next day. And sometimes, like the situation with the school in Beslan or the early departure from Grozny, plans changing at the last minute. However, alhamdulillah, each one of us on this trip had a reliance on Allah that He would allow us to see what needed to be seen and nothing further. And as I look back on this trip, many thoughts come to mind and I am sure the more I speak about it with friends and family, the more I will digest and understand, because that is the nature of these trips. During the journey itself, you have one understanding, and as time passes, your understanding changes, and with the help of Allah, grows deeper and more fruitful.

We left on Friday August 12 from Nalchik to Moscow and again we flew in a Russian jet. However, this one was a little scarier. Not because the flight was bad, but I had the unfortunate foresight to look at the tires of the plane before we took off: they were bald, but not only that, they were such that I would be scared to drive with them in my car, let alone land a jet, wearing even more of them on landing when the tires screech to the ground. As asked my companions to make a special dua for our safe journey and after that, felt a little better. On the way out of Moscow, we had left at night and I was not sitting next to the window, so didn’t see the bird’s eye view. On our return, I had that opportunity. The remnants of communism still remain in that the sprawling city is an amalgamation of 15 or so story buildings that house people. Advanced in communist times was defined by tall buildings in cities, and if that is the criteria, then they really gave everyone a run for their money. From the sky, it looked like every mile or so, there was a complex of 5 to 6 buildings arranged together and all were the same. These were housing complexes for the masses.

On our arrival to Moscow we discovered that our flight was cancelled so they re-routed us through Brussels on a different airline. Since Thursday, my plan was to arrive Friday night, go up to Leeds to visit my Aunt on Saturday and then leave on Sunday from Manchester. However, that schedule would have put me in San Francisco pretty late at night. On arrival into Brussels and waiting for our next flight to London, I just happened to confirm my schedule and realized that it had been changed once again. I would arrive San Francisco earlier, but have a much longer journey. Anyway, I arrived in London and spent the night at my cousin’s place and then the next morning took a bus to Leeds. I spent the day touring around Leeds and York with my Aunt, Uncle, and cousin. They showed me the beautiful England countryside and some of the small villages. Interesting to note that these villages are very small, maybe consisting of 30 families and each of them has a pub, a post office, and a restaurant; nothing else. Also, in these towns, there is not the visible sign of immigrants as one sees in the bigger cities. The very few that do live there are all professionals or business owners that have bought large manors to the dismay of the locals, as my uncle put it. I left that night on an all night bus ride from Leeds to London Heathrow. Arriving at Heathrow, I had little time for rest and boarded my flight to Chicago. On the plane, I began to think of what I would answer to the immigration officer of my travels that had taken me to places that people could only imagine. Leaving Moscow, I had a sense of freedom on the plane, but now, on the plane to the US, I was having doubts about this freedom. I have often found that entering other countries with a US passport is easier than entering the US. Alhamdulillah, the immigration officer didn’t even ask me any questions, just stamped my passport and let me through. However, my flight was late and I only had 40 minutes from the moment the plane landed till my next plane would take off. I was convinced I would not make it, but again, alhamdulillah, Allah was lighting my way and making it easy. I arrived at my gate as the last passenger and as soon as I stepped on Board, the doors closed, as if they were just waiting for me.

So here I am, writing my thoughts as this trip comes to a close. But this is hardly the end, but rather just the beginning as my task now switches to doing something about what I have seen. In many ways, it is more difficult than the journey itself. When people ask me how my trip was, how do I answer. Do I tell them that Allah blessed me by allowing me to see things few get to see, even though throughout the trip, we didn’t know what we would see? Or do I tell them about the political situation in this area, because even after all this time, many people don’t know what or why things developed the way they did in that region. Or yet still, do I just explain the pain and suffering I saw on the faces and in the eyes of the people I saw. In the end, I think it will be a combination of all three, but my heart even now is heavy just thinking about it. I had a conversation with one of the Islamic Relief people on this trip on our journey about what he learned. He mentioned that he saw things he didn’t expect to see and it made him feel worse that he expected to feel. I countered that why is this any different that the situation that some people live in the US with, in the inner city, the homeless, and others. He didn’t have an answer and I didn’t answer for him, allowing him to think about it and let it soak in to a point that some answer will come to him. My lone journey back from London has allowed me some time to think about it and although my answer might change in time, I feel that the reason why the situation there is different is because it has been forgotten about. In the US, with the current famine in Niger, there are things being done or news being reported. In the US, every city has a food bank, or other organizations willing to help the poor and needy. These organizations don’t eliminate the hunger and poverty, but at least they are there. In Chechnya and Ingushetia, as mentioned earlier, nobody is there. And if wasn’t for the sacrifice of the people I met there who are trying to make a difference, nobody would be doing anything. If the government had it their way, even Islamic Relief and WFP would not be operating there, because their very existence admits to the atrocities they have committed. No major campaigns, no major appeals for help, no numerous institutions providing help because of the difficult political situation in the area.

Another thought that was brewing in my mind while I was there in Grozny and then as I was leaving is about the somewhat lawlessness in that area. As I mentioned, the four major groups operating are the Russian military, the FSB, the Chechan government, and the mafia. But in their competing for control, nobody is being helped. When we spoke to people, there was sadness, not anger. However, I think it is only a matter of time before it becomes anger and when it does, then the terrorists in that area will have an endless supply of recruits. It has already happened twice in the past 5 years and I suspect it will to happen because one of things that they are demanding, as the Palestinians did in the 70s and 80s is attention toward their plight. It might become a similar story, where some Chechans commit brutal acts in order for the world to take notice. The reprisal of these acts will be just as brutal by the Russian military, which will only anger the people more. The cycle will continue until someone steps in and says enough is enough. I pray this scenario does not happen, because many innocent lives will be lost. However, with no reconstruction, with no hope for a better tomorrow, people will do things which give their lives meaning, even if it is the wrong meaning. But with a wave of compassion and an open hand from us, we can spur a hope. I call in one refugee area, after a mother had finished explaining, with tears in her eyes, the situation they were in and had been in, we told her that the food was being provided by Muslims in America. Her crying stopped, her demeanor changed, and she began to thank us profusely. This one story, if repeated again and again with can go a long way in changing the hearts of the people from sadness to hope rather than from sadness to anger and despair. But it is up to us to do this, because everyone else has forgotten. But insha Allah, we will not forget.

Till Next Time,
Babi