A Sudanese Century Plant’s Dream

Faheem Hassan felt a powerful bond between this century plant and himself. Rooted before it, he'd stood for over an hour on the Columbus, Ohio's botanical center's paved path. Yellow-green blossoms the size of softballs soared 25 feet overhead. Their faces opened upward, worshiping the sun. He identified with the patient plant's lifecycle. To witness its rare glory burned his heart. It would die soon. Maybe his American dream would, too.

Early this morning, his cousin Okot woke him with a call from Sudan. It was not a friendly chat. His family had been missing for three weeks. No one knew why. Fear blurred his vision. Tears threatened to spill over and shame him. If he left America, he might never come back. But his family was missing. How could he not go?

His eyes dropped to the sharp tongued base of the century plant. Hidden inside this boring plant, which remained unchanged for decades, magic was swelling. In the beginning, such magic was in him, too.

Sudan used a lottery to award American work visas. The odds of winning any were one per a thousand applicants. Faheem won one. His wife and children would have to remain in the heat, poverty, and war within Sudan. They knew their separation would be for years, but both of them knew Allah had blessed them.

So, Faheem came. And like the unremarkable century plant, he was unremarkable as well. No one noticed the magic. It grew so slowly. It took five years to produce his own allegorical twenty-five foot stem. In those five years, he learned English, went to a community college, and worked in a warehouse for years. It was so expensive. Even sharing an apartment with other Sudanese men, and buying a broken-down car, he could not earn enough to bring his family to America.

Finally, in the heat of a July fourth summer evening, he and thirty-two others strode out to the pitcher’s mound during a Columbus baseball game. In unison, they pledged themselves to the United States and became naturalized citizens. Baseball fans cheered their approval. His flowers bloomed in triumph.

His vision had shifted up the stem of the magical plant to its lofty display of splendor. His citizenship was a major step forward in bringing his family here. A single tear ran down his cheek, but he didn't feel shame. It was Allah's will. Every century plant bloomed once and died when its flowers faded. Perhaps it was time for his dream to die, too.

He turned and left the botanical center. Time to get a plane ticket. Perhaps one of his roommates would buy his car? He would need to put his belongings in storage and give notice at work. Desperately, he wanted to continue his life in America. The exterior gardens around the exterior of the botanical center were so encouraging. Punching numbers into his smartphone, he called cousin, Okot. "I'm coming."