Memoir on Embracing Diversity and Refuting Stereotypes

Surname 1
Student
Tutor
Course
Date
Part 1: Memoir
The evening was quite unusual. My mother could not resist from inquiring about the
affairs of the new neighbours from my father, who equally knew nothing about them. Even my
father, who I assumed had a more liberal and unbiased view on people, seemed to be amused by
my mother’s topic. Six hours ago, an African family riding in an almost-new Mercedes Benz
were seen arriving in our neighbourhood. The family comprised of four,-two parents and two
sons. Although we had seen Africans, we had never seen affluent Africans. For my ten years, I
had only seen countable Africans at construction sites. Moreover, Mohammed, my classmate,
had frequently boasted that they had a ‘sickly’ African female servant who did all the house
chores and cooked for them. My ten-year old wisdom could certainly tell that even my parents,
despite having a considerable time in their lifetimes, had never seen a stable African family. I
cannot misremember that after we supped, we spent the entire evening watching an African
movie. My father’s philosophical curiosity could not allow him from learning the ‘way’ of his
African neighbours. For me, I could not wait for morning to break. I had to introduce myself to
my new neighbours. I dared not to communicate my mind to my mother because I feared she
might not allow my liaison with the new entrants.
‘But how can an African be that rich? Did you see the Benz?’ My mother probed.

Surname 2
‘They must command some considerable wealth or power,’ my father would suggest with
his eyes still fixed on the television.
‘Power? How can they get power in Qatar? We cannot be ruled by aliens...’
‘Don’t be so negative, Yusra. They are not aliens,’ father would reply with his lips
curving a smile.
‘They even do not worship Allah. They are pagans. Did you hear how they talk? They
even do not speak Arabic.’
‘How do you know?’
My father’s fashion of terminating conversations was admirable. He ended them
philosophically, making it difficult for mother to continue with her inquisition. I could tell that
my father was as tired with her questions just as I was.
In the following morning, I hardly remember taking breakfast. I took my ball and rushed
to the playing field which was located between our home and our new neighbour’s home. There
was no one at the field in those early hours. I expected one or both the new neighbour’s children
to join me. Thirty minutes later, I was delighted to see two dark skinned boys running to the
playing ground. Apart from height, I could be accused of lying if I claim to have seen any other
common characteristic. The two were dark, darker than any other form of darkness I could
imagine. They made me forget the blackest thing I had seen in my entire life. When one of them
asked me to pass the ball in Arabic, I almost broke into laughter. His Arabic was poor, almost
pitiable. I passed the ball half-reluctantly. The boy kicked the ball to the other in an amiable
style. In the exact moment, I realized that he was a good footballer. I was also a good footballer
but his style was enviable. The other, however, did not have a good footing on the ball. I came to