Story - Past Event:-/-Love Works Miracles in the Heart:

It may be a cliche' to speak about love changing the world. It's not
something we can envision in concreteterms. So let me bring it down to
the level of one human being.
Growing up, I had a friend named Ismail. He was a few years younger
than me– when I was 17 he was 14, I think – and had grown up in a
dysfunctional family that had moved around constantly and had not
bothered to educate the children, so that at the age of 14, Ismail was
functionally illiterate.
I began tutoring Ismail andhis younger brother, teaching them to read
and write. I started from scratch, teaching them the alphabet and the
sounds ofthe letters, and working upto small phonetic words. I tutored
them for one hour every day, seven days a week, in the living room of
their apartment. Their parents were not supportive. I was never paid.
Sometimes their parents were fighting with each other at the same time
I was trying to teach. At times I noticed that the two boys could not
concentrate because they were hungry, so I began feeding them before
our study sessions, and giving them multivitamins. Slowlythey began to
learn, until they could write short essays and letters on their own.
Back then I worked for the United States Geological Survey, measuring
water levels at farms in the Central Valley, and taking water samples
to be testedfor various fertilizers and pesticides. It was hot,
difficult work. I'd ride my motorcycle more than hourto the huge
corporate farms on the west side of the valley. Armed with survey
maps, I would trudge across vast farms in 100 degree heat, seeking the
sumps that brought up ground water for irrigation.If the farms had
been recently irrigated the ground might be soft and my feet would
sink into the mud with every step. Some of the sumps were a dozen feet
deep or more, so in order to get a sample I had to toss a chain link
ladder down into the sump, climb down, fill a test tube, and climb
back out. I was very aware that if the ladder broke I could get stuck
in the sump, and I might not even be missedfor two or three days (no
cell phones in those days). It worried me.
So I began asking Ismail to come to the farms with me. He wasn't doing
anything anyway – he was not enrolled in school because he could not
function anywhere near hisgrade level. He'd ride on the back of the
motorcycle as we passed through dusty, poverty-stricken migrant towns
like Mendota and Firebaugh, sometimes swerving to avoid patches where
tomatoes or oranges had fallen from farm trucks andbeen splattered by
traffic. By the time we arrived, ourhelmet face shields would be
crusted with dead gnatsand butterflies. At the farms, Ismail would
help me locate the wells, keep an eye on me while I climbed down, and
then ride back with me. Sometimes on the way home I'd feel him tilting
a bit and I'd realize he had fallen asleep on the motorcycle, so I'd
give him a nudge with my elbow to wake him up.
Ismail was like a brother tome. I tutored him not because I wanted
anythingfrom him, but because he was like family. I loved him, though
I never would have told him so. I was notraised to speak such words.
When I was twenty years old, Ismail got a scholarship to study at the
Islamic University of Madinah, in Saudi Arabia. When it was time for
him to leave I drove him to Los Angeles and took him to the airport.
The next year was hard for him. The living environment in the
university dorms at Madinah was austere, and Ismail was lonely. I used
tosend him letters with jokes,or stories about the peopleback home.
One day Ismail called collect, and as we spoke I told him to keep his
head up, that we were all proud of him. Ismail's voice became choked
with emotion and he said, "I love you, Wael." Strange asit may seem, I
had never heard those words before from anyone./

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