TITLE: PASSIONS & ROOTS AUTHOR: RALPH (Rafik Baladi) ABSTRACT: “Rafi” was born in Port Said, Egypt in 1951, of Greek Orthodox origin. He holds a BA in Mass Communication with minor in Modern Drama and English Literature. He took part in major plays by Tchekov, Pirandello, Ibsen, Gorki and Shakespeare. He plays classic piano and studied and music theory, and performed major concerts from J.S. Bach, Mozart, Beethoven, Chopin and Rahmaninof. ARTICLE:

Six months later,

I joined a telecommunication service team (Call-Net) as a telephone sales representative. I sold nothing for the first six months. Then, in August of 1989, the company's president, Mr. Mike Kedar, a Jewish gentleman, the first to trust in me since my immigration from Egypt, invited all the team to supper and drinks at the Le Grand Hotel in Montreal. After a few drinks, I said some jokes, genuinely. He was flipping. I was in ecstasy, yet I almost asked him to forgive me if I was too nervous at the office and failed to sell.

Instead, he told me, “… Rafik, [my real name is Rafik, my new name, Ralph], I loved your jokes, buddy. That's what you need to do on the phone. Don't be ridiculous, but just be yourself.” “You have been waiting for a long time.” I said. “I will wait again buddy. You can do it. It'll come”, said good old Mike.

I had had so much strain lately, that when he uttered those words, my eyes turned cloudy. I think, he noticed it. I hope he knew I meant to say thank you.

I slept like a king that night. Next day, I went to work again, tried hard but in vain. I had set myself some procedure to qualify prospects and decided to tape my voice at home so as to evaluate my performance on the phone. On the way back home,

struggling between

despair and the hope that Mike had pumped into me two days earlier, I changed connections at the Atwater subway station so as to ride the Saint Laurent Subway line.

I was determined to tape that wretched voice of mine. To my right, standing in the subway connection, I noticed the long escalators, going up to no end. There was a nice respectable elderly lady, say seventy, who was half way on the escalators, holding elegantly, the stair rails, heading upwards to the main exit of the subway station. Then, two male teenagers, seemingly irresponsible or uncaring, went running up the electric stairs like frogs, walking past the woman, indifferently, heading towards the huge glass doors at the main exit. The lady arrived to the end of the stairs, and, to my utter dismay, the long-haired kids rushed to grab the huge doors ahead of her not even looking at her. Then, the blow! One of them looked back, smiled and bowed to her. The other held the door open to have her pass through. She caressed the left elbow of the lad standing by the door and nodded to the other, just like I did to dad twenty-five years earlier at the fruit store, in Cairo. My eyes clouded again. I forgot to tape my voice that night and slept in ecstasy.

Next day, I went to work and bombarded the phone. I made my first sale that very day. Next week, I made three more sales. I asked my team members if we could do “Happy Hour”. We did. I had so much fun. I loved it.

By November, that year, I was the most productive of the twelve sales people.

In December, I did the same. And, at another party thrown by Mike Kedar, he handed me a fat commission cheque, just before Christmas. Then, I grabbed his elbow, and muttered “Thank you”. I wanted to say, “…the worst was over. I was finally Canadian, by passion, Egyptian by roots. I could react and interact, just like the rest.”

This article was originally published in Cross Cultures Magazine in Volume 10 - Issue 1 - 2004. Unauthorized copying, distribution or other usage without express written permission of the publisher is prohibited.