Uncle Momo, Iman, and the Lebanese Casanova

9/29/2024

I shared a Shakshuka with Ranger at M by Mokafe this morning before I left to work. That was around 11:30 in the morning. After breakfast, I had to drive to Staten Island to pick up a performer, drive to Short Hills, wait an hour, then drive an hour back. By the time I was done with it all, it was already 6 pm, I was shaking from hunger, and I could neither be bothered to gather groceries from Whole Foods nor cook them. Instead, I decided to dine at Uncle Momo. 

I didn't look my best. I was still wearing the cheetah print skirt, black top, and silk jacket I'd gone to Mr. Purple in the night before, but I'd abandoned the cheetah print Tony Bianco mules in my trunk and replaced them with my beloved taupe Steve Madden NY 90 sneakers and a pair of chunky knit socks to protect my little feet from the crisp fall air and dreary rain. Conscious of my ragtag outfit, I decided to at least put on some foundation and blush prior to exiting my car and entering Uncle Momo. My mother always reminds me that you never know who you might meet and it is in one's best interest to always look good. So. I spent 10 minutes in my car chatting with Lily Greco on the phone about the latest in Party Princess drama while I put a face on. Lily Greco is my princess protege. I'm very proud of her. 

I suppose I was wearing that pride on my face as I walked down Grove Street, past Lackawanna Coffee, and towards Uncle Momo because a tall, lean man appearing to be in his early sixties looked at me brightly and smiled at my smile. People like to see how happy I am, I've been told that many a time, so I didn't think much of it. I simply continued on to Uncle Momo, walked in, showed Marwa where I wanted to sit, and continued on talking to Lily. I'd chosen the table nestled just outside of the big patio doors kept open during the warmer months in the perfect location for people watching. I talked and people watched for about 5 minutes before the tall, lean man ambled towards me again.

"Oh! You are here! How lovely!" he exclaimed as he walked towards my table. 

He had a distinctive Lebanese accent. I thought he may have perhaps known me. Maybe from a show I'd done or from a Muslim gathering, but I didn't recognize him. I never forget a face. So, I was a bit confused. 

"Hello!" I replied. 

He looked at my headphones and then to my phone before saying "let me know when you are done on the phone." 

I nodded and watched amble away. 

Lily Greco had a date and I had a mind full of curiosity about the tall, lean, Lebanese man appearing to be in his mid sixties, so I wished her well on the date and quickly ended the call. I didn't see him again for quite a while after that. Marwa came to take my order (salmon kebab with veggies, hummus, and pita), I watched people walk down the street and made fantasies about their lives, and I scrolled through Tik Tok admiring my own posts for 7 minutes before the tall, lean Lebanese man appearing to be in his mid sixties returned. 

"Hello, I am Waleed, nice to meet you" 

Waleed, if you recall, was the name of the Lawyer I'd once seen who'd passed away tragically in a car accident earlier this year. I thought twice and spoke once because of this. Instead of saying "I know a Waleed, but he died", I said "Nice to meet you, Waleed!" 

"And what is your name?" 

"Iman" 

"Iman! MashaAllah. Do you?" 

"Do I what?" 

"Have faith in Allah?" 

That made me smile real bashfully. Waleed, the tall, lean, Lebanese man is witty. 

"I do have faith in Allah." 

"MashaAllah! So, may I ask you, Iman. Are you waiting on a boyfriend? A friend? I see no ring else I would say a husband." He probed. 

I put my chin in my hands, looked up real coy, and replied "No, I am here by myself. I sometimes enjoy a dinner alone." 

He was made jolly by my confirmation of lonesome. A bright smile spread across his face revealing a row of surprisingly healthy, perfectly straight, white teeth. A feat for a man of his age. No stains, no chips, no decay...well off for his entire life and for many generations. He was a handsome old man. His skin reflected his age, but also his health and vitality. Sun weathered, but glowing. He had a strong nose with a subtle hooked shape, think yet shapely lips, and sparkling hazel eyes. He was balding, but maintained the platinum white 3c ringlets he still had in the back in a way that looked stately. He wore brown slacks, with a white colored shirt, and a navy blue sweater vest. He is, I think, what I'd imagine my ideal husband would be like at that age. 

"I find it hard to believe that a young woman as beautiful as you is here alone....You know- I saw you walking and I could not believe how beautiful your smile is. It immediately drew me to you. It was like the sun had finally come out on this rainy day. That is so rare, to be so vibrant. So- If I may ask. What happened in your last relationships to end them because I am certain you have no trouble finding suitable suitors." 

I was both flattered and flattened by his words. Did he have to read me for filth like that? I looked around and analyzed the risk of being overheard by people who know the men I've dated before formulating an answer. The risks were high. I suppose that they always are, but higher tonight. Four people I know were already at Uncle Momo, seven that know Kaleb had walked by, I'd already seen $@719's father that day, and Ranger's best friend's cousin lived just down the street. I wasn't in a very safe space to share, so I filtered myself. 

"I...I am very spoiled. I struggle with recognizing men's loving actions if and when they fail to show me love in every way that I know it to be shown." 

Waleed clasped his hands together and bowed his head. "Baba was very kind, yes?' I nodded and he continued. "It will be very hard to find a man in this generation that behaves in the way your father or grandfather does. You won't get far expecting them to come like that, you can and will have to train them. So- may I ask- of these poor souls, which did you love the most and can the love be revived?" 

Who did I love the most? Myself honestly. I love myself so much more than I’ve ever loved any of them. I think, if I’m being honest with you, the love that I have for myself is what manifests as me being “spoiled”. The gifts, opening doors, flowers…none of those really matter to me quite as much as feeling loved. When I love, I love wholeheartedly. I am devoted to the love I have for that person and to making them feel special. If that's not reciprocated, I retreat and like a fearful animal, I will not open up again until you prove to me that it is safe. I did love one of them more than the others though. 

"It cannot be revived because it never really lived." I woefully smiled at Waleed.

He raised his eyebrows; perhaps impressed by my prose, more likely taken aback by my melancholy . "Tell me more."

Remembering myself, I replaced my melancholy with jolly and said "There isn't much else to say. I didn't allow myself to explore my feelings because they scared me! Fight or flight, you know? I fought and flew." 

He laughed at what I had to say, but I could see in his eyes that he knew I wasn't being as honest as I could have been. “Well, I can’t imagine he, or any of them, will be able to find someone to suitably replace you. I’m certain he is suitable for you, so I’m sure he can and will find someone, but no someone will be enough now that he’s known you…” 

I asked him to sit after that. I was very intrigued by Waleed, I asked him about himself. Why he was here, whether or not he had a wife, and who he had been in his youth. 

1. Why was he here? To visit with his old friend from his time in Saudi Arabia, the chef and owner of Uncle Momo. 

2. Did he have a wife? Yes, he has had 3 wives and 4 children in his life, but is now divorced. Divorced and wed for the last time. 

3. Who had he been in his youth? Well- ugh... a bit of a Lebanese Casanova 

4. No, like what did you do for work? Ah-ah- I managed projects in Saudi Arabia for a big company. I am retired now. 

   
   

I looked at him, ready to dissect him as he had earlier done me. He looked at me in anticipation of my scalpel. Before I could cut into him, Marwa cut through us both with her sugary sweet tone and my salmon shish kebab. We both smiled up at her. I think that Marwa is impossible not to smile around. She turned on her heel and I, ravenous from a long work day, dug into my meal. I ate in the way that I always do; vegetables first, protein second, carbs last. The veggies are always good at Uncle Momo. Unlike many other restaurants, their meals are balanced, I appreciate that. I had a mouthful of grilled bell peppers and onion when Waleed asked me if he could get me a drink. I quickly swallowed by veggies and shook my head "no". I used the empty mouthed moment to ask him to explain his 4 wives to me. He sat back in his chair, put his arm over the chair to his left, took a deep breath, and began.

"My first wife was...very wealthy, from a good family. I was too from a good family, but her's better off than mine. She was accustomed to and I suppose, needed more than I could offer her when we married. So, eventually, we decided that I would give us more within 5 years or we would divorce. I took work in Saudi Arabia and at first, she and our baby came, but she did not like it, so she left. Went back to Beirut. I kept working and she at first wished to return alone, without the baby, but I stubbornly told her 'no'. I didn't see why she should leave our child with her mother. She explained that she wanted to study and be without the baby for a while, my friends convinced me to accept it. She came. I made more money. But, I needed to relocate for the job. She did not want to leave Dammam for she loved the sea. So, she told me to go and come home every weekend. It was like her asking me to go from Florida to Jersey City every week. We divorced."

I commiserate with him about her outrageous request for such a commute. I also realized that he perhaps saw his first wife in me. Perhaps that's why he spoke with such conviction about how necessary it is for me to cut these guys some slack. I cut Ranger a lot of slack. I don't know if it worked out well for me. I often thought it would be better to be alone than to be as frustrated as he made me. He is a good man though, he is a wonderful man. I am blessed to have him in my life. I am just perpetually tormented by the fantasy of great romance. In a constant state of yearning for something as fantastical as a fairy or unicorn in today's world. And- suddenly seeing Runa out of the corner of my eye. 

"Runa!" I called out. '

I'd actually forgotten that she was on her way to meet me for an evening walk. Runa looked beautiful as always. Her wavy black hair bounced about her shoulders as she weaved through the dining area towards our table. She was wearing a beige sweater, black leggings, a Yankee's cap, chunky sneakers, and her signature quirky smile. Her smile reminds me of my mother's, a little downturned on one side with a little crook in the top lip. Waleed, a gentleman and cassanova, immediately shot up to collect a chair for her. He represented a dying breed of men as he adamantly accommodated Runa. He sat her, he ordered tea for her, and he adopted her into our conversation with a suavité only a man of the old world could still possess. Runa, however, seemed wary of him. The eldest of many and having taken on so many of us girls in our twenties, Runa is always in a big sister mode. "Auntie Runa" she calls it. Auntie Runa is kind, loving, and quick to protect us. So, upon hearing how many children Waleed has, she pressed at him. 

"And how old is your eldest daughter?" she inquired. 

"40 years." Waleed smiled. 

"Oh! She's my age." Runa responded kindly, but I knew her true intentions. She wanted to highlight that he was old enough to be her father and my grandfather. To set a strong boundary. 

Waleed was no simple minded man, he knew what she was doing too. And with the wit and charm of a Casanova, he pushed back. "Yes, I could be your father. Are you looking for a daddy?" 

I nearly choked on my salmon. I couldn't believe he'd made such a risky joke. Runa couldn't either! Her jaw went slack for just a moment before she fervidly declined his insinuation.

“And you, Iman? Early 30’s?” Waleed questioned me. 

“I’m 26!” 

Runa was delighted by Waleed’s shock. She had believed me much older when she met me as well. Not because I look old, but because I have packed a lot of life into a short span of time. I think it shows in my demeanor. Wisdom, though often attributed to age, is better related to experience. Many people stay “young” in their perception of the world and interactions with others because they choose not to live as much as I suppose I do. I don’t do this purposely or in pursuit of wisdom, I do it because I like to do it. I don’t know how to stop myself. Even now as I write this to you, Ranger is peering over his shoulder at me wondering why I can’t stop producing. Why I didn’t want to spend the evening doing nothing with him. I cannot because I would go mad if I did. When I neglect my dreams, my desires, and dedications, they call to me like a siren. Driving me insane until I finally return to them. For that reason, I submit to the horrors of life in exchange for knowing the beauties of it. Well, in everything, but romance I do and you have seen the way romance calls to me. How it frays my edges when I deny my need for it. Simply put, I am often impulsive, so I experience more than others do. 

“26! And such a conversationalist, so lived!” Waleed exclaimed, his voice coated in curiosity. 

Runa, ever my cheerleader, chimed in. “I thought she was older too, when I met her. Owning a successful business at 26! She writes books too. She’s a very special girl.”

I was rather embarrassed by all the talk of my successes. 

Next Waleed told us of his second and third wives. His second wife bore two children for him and lived in comfort. She was a kind woman, but their romance died. She wanted to be in Lebanon and his work was in Saudi Arabia. He was dutiful to her, but not faithful. Unsurprising. Duality is its definition. Good people are not perfect people. We all have needs and the devil is much stronger than men. Waleed shared with us that his second wife introduced him to his third wife. Nightmare fuel if I've ever heard it. One day, his second wife requested that he meet with a woman in order to make a business deal with her. His second wife, 2 from now on, did not want the third wife, 3, to know it was her. She felt they wouldn't get as good of a deal if 3 knew it was her. So, Waleed called 2 from 3’s office and worked out the business deal. Because it was a secret that Waleed had a wife and that the wife was 2, 3 felt no hesitation to pursue Waleed and Waleed withheld the truth. The began an affair.  Then, one fateful day, the religious police arrived at Waleed’s door, beat him, and arrested him for adultery. He spent a month in jail. High up at a major business, his colleagues pulled strings and found him a solution. He would marry 3 and they would fix the date on the certificate to reflect the marriage for the day before his arrest. Waleed found freedom in his 3rd wife. He kept this a secret for some time, but aunties talk and word traveled fast even in those times, so it wasn't long before 2 found out. She demanded he divorce 3. So, he did. He divorced 3, received the certificate of divorce, mailed it to 2, and married 3 again the same day. The Lebanese Casanova and every woman’s worst nightmare. Eventually, his Visa ran out and he was too old to renew it, so he left 3, returned to Lebanon, and eventually divorced 2 as well. I kept thinking like…I'd be lucky to find one spouse. This guy has 3? 

By the time Waleed finished the story of his final wife, it was time for dessert.  Marwa looked distraught as she brought over the menu. In the months I've known her, she's not once been able to hide an emotion. I immediately knew what she was preparing to share. There was no Muhalabia. I was correct, the gently flavored milk pudding that occupied my little treat fantasies was no more. So, we ordered the Saffron Rice Pudding and more Nana tea instead. A consolation prize. Waleed was furiously scrolling through his phone while we ate the rice pudding. After 3 minutes and 43 seconds of scrolling he looked up and smiled brightly. 

“Aha! Here it is. I told you I have 4 children, yes? But I've only told you of 3 so far. So, one day, last December I received a call. ‘Is this Waleed *****’. I say ‘yes, it is’. She asks me if I lived in Paris from 1993-1995, I say ‘yes’” 

Runa and I were on the edge of our seats, clinging on to the climax of his story. Having lost her patience, Runa suddenly shouted “SHE WAS YOUR DAUGHTER!” 

Waleed raised his hands and laughed “yes! But let me finish. Her mother was a Tunisian woman I'd had a brief affair with in my time in Paris. She never tried to reach me, but I was ecstatic to know of my new child. She lives in Canada now, so I packed up and went to visit her and now…” he handed his phone to us to see “there she is with me!” 

Runa and I smiled at the sweet photo of an even sweeter first meeting of father and daughter. The old man, the Lebanese Casanova, brought to tears by fatherly love. He beamed with pride and joy, took back his phone, and returned to his original topic of conversation. Why was I eating alone? Waleed had 3 wives, endless tribulations, 3 enormous heartbreaks, and he not only survived, but he also lived. He somehow found his way here, full of joy and wisdom and sharing it with me. I am often so willing to experience all that life has to offer, to take risks, to start projects, to commit to radical growth…why can't I open my heart to do the same romantically? I fear the pain. However, Waleed sat across from me, a survivor of that pain, vibrant from all the love that came from it. I have survived so much. I have survived workplace discrimination, attempted murder, the loss of nearly all my elder family members…it is not sensible for me to fear love and the potential loss of it the way I do. 

“Iman, I saw you walking down the street and I was blinded by your energy. You are overflowing with happiness and that would attract everyone. I know it attracts everyone and yes, many cannot be trusted, but you must trust yourself and your judgment. You need to know that, so that you can experience the kind of love that you give.” Waleed worked harder for me than any therapist ever had. 

Unfortunately, the conversation spiraled into a much pettier discussion about how men cannot be trusted before I could really respond to his statement, then Waleed was called away by a friend. We exchanged contact information before Runa and I left. I am now doing my best to stomach this extreme exercise of divine intervention, but I am unsettled.  Say what you want about spirituality and religion, but I believe that Allah is everywhere if you are paying attention. I've taken two things from this conversation. 

1. I use being spoiled as an excuse to distance myself from romantic love like Waleed’s first wife did. 

2. That life is unpredictable and I need to accept that and open my heart regardless. 

   
   

Though I understand that there is a direction this interaction is pushing me in, I don't quite know what I’m being pushed to. That's what we’re taught when we study abrahamic religion though, to blindly trust the process. To trust that though I don't know much, I do know that something is coming. 

I told Waleed, the old man and Lebanese Casanova that I would come back for dinner on Monday. 

Irrelevant, but I've been encouraged by the AI to include a picture here, Runa and me encountering a mammoth of a dog on our walk after meeting Waleed. Iman (left) and Runa +dog owner (right).