A Tribute to my friend Zaid.

Dear Friends,

Below I have copied what I posted on my Facebook as a note about Zaid.

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São Paulo, Thursday night/Friday morning, 4th/5th August 2011.


A Tribute to my friend Zaid.


I am almost crying as I write this. In fact today is the most I have cried since my grandpa died; I don’t think any of the friends I am currently with even know how much I have cried. Not through fault of their own, but because I am so bad expressing my feelings. I do not know how to gain the confidence to adequately do so. So I suppose that’s why I want to write this tribute, memorial, eulogy, to show my pain at losing such a special person.


I imagine most, but not all, of you reading will know that Zaid Khasro, one of my roommates at the United World College of the Adriatic, Italy, where I have been studying for the past year, tragically died in a car crash a few days ago, in his native Iraq. When I first found out, I was in sheer denial and disbelief. Of course, it had to be a joke, especially the joker I know Zaid to be. I am currently in Brazil, volunteering with a group of students from the college in a favela in Sao Paulo. I have been able to channel many of my thoughts into this, and when we finish for the day I am too tired to think much more. Avoiding thinking about something like this is emotionally draining. Only today (Thursday) did I first properly cry. Skyping my dad, I realised how much I wanted to be with the ones I love, to comfort me through this time. This is only natural, and I must count myself fortunate to have such a comfortable, loving, family base. How devious Facebook, Skype and all these ‘new media’ can be, making us feel so connected, but it is as if at the last minute some Beelzebub shattered the image, right before I could touch the person.


As I said, Zaid was my roommate for a whole academic year. Living up to twenty four hours a day, seven days a week, sleeping, working, messing around in the same proximity, you get to know someone pretty well. You get to see the worst, and most importantly the best, of anyone. Zaid was one of the most stubborn people I knew. Raza, Gabriele (my other two roommates, all of us being first years, and as such going through the same experience of living away from home like this, I think we had a special bond) and I would constantly berate him, in the absence of parents to do so, for various things, his sleeping hours, his study patterns... But boy did he stick to his guns. He also saw the world in a different way to me, and in fact through this I was able to change so much about the way I see the world. It is hard to put into words what I mean, but let’s say we see a field, he sees a place needing trees, I see somewhere to play football, with this poor analogy I am just trying to illustrate how different perspectives can make you think. Again, boy could he argue why that field was, and should be, covered in trees.


At the same time, Zaid had a brilliantly unique sense of humour. No matter how annoyed, or sad, or whatever, he would always succeed in making those in his, what some would consider small, yet what those same people would also consider enviously close, circle of friends laugh. He was one of the kindest and most generous people I have ever met. Within days of our arrival at the college he would refuse any of my attempts to resist his offers of hospitality. He almost did not believe that being vegetarian my whole life was a good enough reason not to have some of his food. I know that hospitality is important to many cultures, but with Zaid it was deeply rooted within his soul. Zaid was pretty much the technical whizz of the college, although sometimes reluctant as difficult demands were made of him, he would always help out at college events for the technical aspects, never wanting to disappoint. He also possessed a very special skill at obtaining many different computer programmes and software at ease, and at no cost. As I wrote on his Facebook wall, following my learning of the awful news, “Y'alreet zaid I am sure you still have Facebook wherever you are, I'm sure you'll have found a way to get past god's firewalls.” The “y’alreet” being an example of the Geordie dialect from my city of Newcastle that Zaid so loved to hear, along with my British accent, he being so used to the American variety. I regularly saw people who had had virtually real contact with Zaid previously come into our room and ask him for something for their computer. Students simply cannot afford the extortionate prices most companies charge. Not only would Zaid give them what they want, or find it if he did not already have it, he would recommend other programmes for this person whom he had never much more than said hello to. He would then proceed to install, and help the person with all their problems they might have, given the sometimes unreliable nature of software acquired in this way. I am sure each person in the college could give an example of at least two things he did that improved their life, even if they do not know it. Whether it was something direct like getting a computer programme or receiving such items as chocolate, DVDs or bedclothes (don’t ask), or even in my case receiving prayer beads and a keffiyeh from Kurdistan, to less obvious situations, such as Zaid being a key player in the technical team for all the cultural and celebratory performances we put on, or him simply always offering to help if ever he should come across anyone with a problem, he was an often hidden pillar of our community, a community which will be ever much the weaker without his support. Before his shocking death, we were at times planning my visit to his house in Erbil, Iraqi Kurdistan, and I was constantly overwhelmed, in the most positive of ways, by all the things he wanted to show me. These included an eight-day tour of the region, about which he would not hear of me wanting to pay for, even contribute towards. That can only be testimony to a wonderful family, and an immense heart of his.


In the process of writing this, I am starting to feel a little better. I know that the pain will eventually, over time, subside. But I also know that it will always linger slightly, as it should, to remind me of a true friend, a loved one even. Something my dad said to me as we Skyped earlier has struck a chord with me, that what makes us human is our ability to react in the way we do to death, and as humans death is something that unifies us all. There is nothing truer than this. I imagine some of you may have felt uncomfortable reading this, but this is my way of reacting to a death, a truly tragic, horrifying, terrible, abhorrent, god-questioning, ridiculously premature and truly unfair death. Please take a moment to remember him, if you knew him, or if you are reading this as someone who did not, please take a moment to realise how lucky you are to be with who you love, who you care about, and think about those who are no longer fortunate enough to do so. Thankyou for taking the care and time to read this. Seriously, it means a lot.


Rest in peace, Zaid,

Robin


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