To arrive at the Bank Street beach in Harwich Port, one must pass through its small windblown parking lot, a trip made dozens of times in my youthful race to the water’s edge. It was a rather unremarkable trek, until all these years later when, on a recent visit, I spotted something new in one corner of the lot: a food truck.
On its front was a colorful decal with the name, ``Uncle Jou-Jou’’ and the cartoon figure of a bearded man seated against a slice of paradise. It is owned and operated by sister Miriam Massaad, who is 27, and her brother, Charbel, 24. The two grew up in Harwich Port only because their parents, Lina and Mikhael, both Maronite Christians, took the giant step in 2001 of exiting Lebanon. They feared their homeland had become too dangerous for those of their faith.
After a few years in Salem, New Hampshire, the Massaads, who are US citizens today, made their way to Cape Cod. Miriam graduated from Monomoy High and is now working on a master’s degree in biomedical engineering at Johns Hopkins. She comes home on weekends to work the food truck. Charbel, with a degree from Wentworth, works remotely at home as an electrical and mechanical engineer when he’s not making sandwiches and whipping up frosty watermelon refreshers.
Their parents, whose principal business is catering, make the food themselves – from the warm and spicy shawarma to the falafel and hummus. Only in its second season, the truck is one of a dozen licensed this year by the town of Harwich. And the hours, well, they’re exactly what you might expect from a family so committed to putting in the work: 8 am to 8 pm seven days a week.
The Massaads say they are grateful for the welcome they received in this country. They felt respected from the start. Charbel, their son, said there was no bullying in school, no epithets or expressions of hate we expect in today’s polarized atmosphere. They return the good will by sharing their Mediterranean cuisine with the teachers, neighbors and friends who made this new life possible. First responders and lifeguards get discounts, Charbel said, and for a teacher who’s been super-supportive, they made a home delivery, free of charge.
The food truck’s name, Uncle Jou-Jou, is the nickname of their uncle George. Now 59, he was like a second father to Charbel and Miriam. Even though the man became paralyzed after a fall at age eighteen and now gets around in a wheelchair, he always took good care of them when they returned to Lebanon for summer visits while their parents stayed here to keep their business going.
Nine years ago, Uncle Jou-Jou moved in with the family in Harwich. I asked Charbel’s mother, Lina, about the raging debate over immigration and her thoughts about the Trump administration’s crackdown. ``No politic,’’ she said in her thick accent, waving her hand as if to say she was not interested in talking about the subject. And then a smile came over her face as she talked about how the couple’s decision to land here on Cape Cod made her family safe.
I visit the Bank Street beach now and again to wade through the memories of my younger self when my brothers and I stampeded down its boardwalk for a day in the surf. The Massaads’ food truck has forever altered those visits. And that should be true for every beachgoer. Put aside the sound and fury of today’s prickly back and forth over who gets into this country and how, and learn a bit about the Bank Street food truck and the family behind it.
They both serve as pretty good reminders of our promise to the world.
