Washington has recently been adorned by the vivid colours of Sakura trees which cover the National Mall at the heart of the capital and the Thomas Jefferson memorial has turned into white ball, covered by cherry blossom.

The story of this cherry blossom started in 1912 when the mayor of Tokyo granted his American friends more than 3,000 sakura trees as a token of peace.
The flowers of those trees fall at the feet of the statue of Jefferson, the third American president about whom President Kennedy said in a meeting with elite Nobel laureates: “you are the best people that have entered the White House since President Jefferson dined in it.”
Americans love enjoying nature. As soon as the sun spreads its golden rays on their capital, they rush into preparing banquets in parks and balconies. They enjoy all the seasons, even the cold winter. They create occasions to celebrate family, food and nature.
Americans accept you as you are, discuss your beliefs and respect your opinion and your right to express it. I have always been surprised by this people's ability to give you place among them without forcing you to renounce your beliefs, identity or culture.
I have often meditated on the view of a Sikh with his distinguished turban sitting beside the American, dying his head blue, with his family on the grass of the park enjoying and devouring the barbecue. Whereas, an Arab family sit in a far corner with their veiled women trying to eat without stirring the appetite of anyone.
I wonder why some Arabs insist on isolating themselves inside the society in which they live and do not accept it. How can they overlook the great public libraries, the many free museums, the universities which grant different scholarships that open unlimited prospects for you?
How can they ignore the civilization that was built by the hands of immigrants, who found in this vast country a nation? How can they forget all this and get immersed in asking for Fatwas on whether to work in public institutions, buy food from American shops or mingle with Americans, whilst competing in wearing long beards and long veils.
I remember a veiled Moroccan woman, basking in the sun in a public park with her family, who shouted at her sons, playing with their American peers, not to throw the ball forcefully. Wearing a shy smile on my face, I headed towards her and asked her whether she was Moroccan because she was wearing a Moroccan Jellaba. She said she was. We exchanged some words before I said “let your children play with their peers in the park and don't worry about them.” Then, she answered angrily “how come you want my children to play with the unbelievers' children.”

Fadoua Massat