Friday. April 20. 1962 University Daily Kansan Page 27
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Iranian Houseboy
balcony with a sheepish grin on his face.
"Sorry, mum. Old wood broke," he said.
THE PUP considered it a case of overt aggression. For weeks afterward, when the two met, he would snarl and crawl away with his tail between his legs.
Basher was sitting in a big overstuffed chair smoking a cigarette. All around him were bajis (maids). One was mopping the floor, one was shining the silverware, another was mending Dad's socks.
We let ourselves in through the gate, and walked into the house. We became aware of loud giggles, scrapings, and now and then Bashar's voice. We decided to sneak in and see what was going on.
We had been to the American Club, and had told Bashar we would be home around six. About three that afternoon, she suddenly remembered she was supposed to meet Dad down-town for dinner at 5:30. We rushed home so she could dress.
Mom and Dad were both delighted at how Bashar had turned out. Mom, for her part, was amazed at the amount of work he did. In one afternoon, he would mop all the floors, shine up all the silverware, make all the beds, except mine, clean all the crystal, sweep the house and even mend Dad's socks! Mom had trouble figuring out how he did it all. That is until one afternoon about six months after we hired him.
MOM PEEKED around the hall door into the living room, and almost fell down in amazement.
We walked into the living room and found Bashar on the floor, polishing the very devil out of the floor. He looked up and smiled as we walked in.
We made a great deal of noise going into the house, and spent a good five minutes cleaning off our shoes and hanging up our coats.
Now and then Bashar would point to a spot on the floor that one of the women had missed. He looked like a shiek in a harem. We quietly tiptoed back outside. Mom pounded on the gate and we came back inside.
"Back soon," he said. He mopped his brow and sat back on his heels.
"You like?" he asked, pointing around the room. We looked at the freshly mopped floor, the polished silverware, the darned socks.
"Woman's touch," asked Bashar. "What you mean?" He had stopped smiling.
"Why yes. Bashar." Mom said. "You really put a woman's touch into the house. However do you do it?"
"Oh nothing," said Mom, about to break out laughing. She went up-stairs and began dressing for her dinner date.
"You know?" he asked quietly,
"You saw baitis?"
"What happened to your gal friends," I asked him.
I nodded my head. Bashar lit a cigarette and explained the whole thing.
Mom became friendly with most of the Iranian women, and found jobs for several of them. They came back to see us occasionally, and helped around the house while they talked to Mom and Bashar. We really had no complaints with the set-up, and I'm sure Bashar loved the whole thing.
It seems that Bashar was operating an employment agency for out of work maids. In return for finding them jobs, they helped him with his housework. He found them jobs by listening in at parties and at the dinner table when my mother would say that so and so needed a baji, or that Mrs. Smith fired that worthless girl and was looking for another.
HE LOOKED ill, and sat down in the chair.
I knew that I was officially adopted by Bashar the day he protected my interests with a boulder.
Mom and Dad thought the whole thing was funny, but for the sake of employer-employee relations, limited Bashar to two maids a week. They called it the "Greater Northern Iran Bajji Employment Agency, Bashar Ahmed, Operator."
I had come home from a shopping tour downtown. I had taken an Iranian taxi, and as is sometimes the case, the driver had tried to overcharge me. I tried to reason with him in my limited Iranian, but got nowhere. I stormed into the house, just as Bashar stormed out.
BASHAR AND I were good friends.
I guess the reason for this was that
I didn't know just how to go about
handling a houseboy. As a result, he
could be more free with me than he
could with my parents.
I closed the gate, went inside, got a soft drink and sat down. I could
Foreign Students Feel Left Out
HAYS, Kan. — (UPI) — Foreign students apparently have a deep feeling that they don't want to be treated as if they were strangers.
This was shown recently in results of a Fort Hays State College poll of 24 international students attending here.
"I want to be a part of the institution where I study and the term 'foreign student' brings a barrier," said Amratal Patel of India. "I prefer the term 'international student' better."
Also, six of 20 students who responded to the poll said they disliked being referred to as foreign students. They said the term makes them feel like outsiders.
Nam Sok Choi of Korea added that "I do not care about the terminology. However, you do not have to emphasize the term 'foreign student.' Since I am taking the liberty of studying in the United States, I am trying to make good friends with American students. Don't make me a stranger."
Miss Lawrence Pageant
--hear Bashar talking outside, triving to get the driver to lower his price. His voice got louder and louder, as did the driver's. I went outside to see if I could help. Our Iranian neighbors, always interested in a good fight, were hanging out their windows watching Bashar in action.
The Local Preliminary To The Miss America Pageant In Atlantic City
Friday, April 20 8:00 p.m.
Lawrence High School Auditorium 19th & Louisiana Sts.
"Bad taxi driver. Want too much money. Khoob neest," he said.
ADMISSION $1.00
I LOOKED at Bashar. Over his head he was holding a huge stone, weighing easily 50 pounds. I asked him, amazed, what he was doing.
I opened the gate just in time to see the driver jump into his taxi and drive rapidly away.
"What's that for," I asked.
I pointed to the rock.
"Oh, nothing." he said. "I just going to hurt his taxi a little."
Bashar threw the stone away and turned to me.
Over the months he had been with us, I had become very attached to Bashar. When I had to return to the United States in 1958 to start college, I knew that I was going to miss him and all his shenanigans.
He came out to the airport to say good bye. He kissed me on both checks, Iranian style and said "Good-bye, little brother."
The last time I saw him was on the plane. As I looked out the window, I saw him holding the pup, who was licking his face. He raised his hand and waved as the plane rolled down the runway.
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