Congratulations to all of the blogs out there who were nominated for a Brass Crescent Award. Some of the blogs nominated I already read regularly; others I visit from time to time. Others I do not read at all, but just might start. I have so much free time on my hands that reading blogs and/or blogging does not already fill. Ha!
I've only been a blogger for a year. I was not getting my hopes up, yet secretly was. I don't care how old one gets; recognition and a pat on the back for what is hopefully decently insightful writing is something any writer or writer wannabe wants.
They READ me, they really READ me! (Sally Field...ring a bell?)
Perhaps I could be nominated for a Crescent Roll Award? A doughy consolation prize?
Seriously, though, in all of this awardish momentum, I would like to send a giant Shout Out to my good friend and neighbor Um Omar, who just finished the first draft of her novel during NaNoWriMo. May Allah bless her in her journey as a writer and help her to grow and find words that give light.
Now go vote on the best of the Islamic Blogosphere!
Friday, November 30, 2007
Thursday, November 29, 2007
Things I Learned in Episcopal Day School
A Handy (I still use it) Poem
Thirty days hath September,
April, June, and November
All the rest have thirty-one,
Except February, alone, which has
Four and Twenty-Four
Till Leap Year gives it one day more.
________________________________________
A Mealtime Prayer
Lord, our God,
You love life
You feed the birds of Heaven
You clothe the lilies of the fields
We praise and thank you for all of your blessings
and for the food we are about to receive
We pray that no one shall be left without nourishment and care
Amen
________________________________________
A Song Sung by a Guitar-playing Nun
The Lord said to Noah,
"There's gonna be a flood-y, flood-y"
The Lord said to Noah,
"There's gonna be a flood-y, flood-y, so
Get those children
OUT OF THE MUDD-Y MUDD-Y!"
Children of the Lord.
Thirty days hath September,
April, June, and November
All the rest have thirty-one,
Except February, alone, which has
Four and Twenty-Four
Till Leap Year gives it one day more.
________________________________________
A Mealtime Prayer
Lord, our God,
You love life
You feed the birds of Heaven
You clothe the lilies of the fields
We praise and thank you for all of your blessings
and for the food we are about to receive
We pray that no one shall be left without nourishment and care
Amen
________________________________________
A Song Sung by a Guitar-playing Nun
The Lord said to Noah,
"There's gonna be a flood-y, flood-y"
The Lord said to Noah,
"There's gonna be a flood-y, flood-y, so
Get those children
OUT OF THE MUDD-Y MUDD-Y!"
Children of the Lord.
Tuesday, November 27, 2007
Dictator Princess asks me...
DP
1. As a fellow southerner, I have this theory on how non-Muslim southerners deal with Islam that goes a little like this: Because in the more remote places in the south people don't see a lot of culture mixing, people go along with whatever crap Bushie says on tv, but when they see us in person, we're treated as more of an oddity rather than a terrorist out to blow up the country. On the whole, how has it been going "back home" to visit?
UmmFarouq
I converted to Islam in 1994 and started covering my hair and wearing long dresses/jilbabs/abayas (basically I’d have worn draperies—we were just trying to get our hands on any long clothing we could find back then) in 1995. On the whole, I must say that Birmingham, Alabama and its citizens were really accepting of me. I agree with you about Bush or Right-wingers or Fox News or any of those scaries that seem to drive public opinion in the South. However, I think Birmingham is unique because it attracts an international community with the UAB Medical Center, and also has a large Christian Lebanese community dating from the turn of the century, as well as about 4,000 known Muslims. I felt safer in my Muslim skin in Birmingham than I did visiting Los Angeles or Central Florida.
This past summer was my first visit in four years. I wanted to do back flips, the people were so absolutely nice to me and my children wherever we went. I mean from pumping gas at the gas station to ordering Chinese food, we got the genuine smiles and southern hospitality. No one pissed me off or said anything off color to me on any single outing in the five weeks I was there---something I can never claim here in Jordan. My home is in Amman, but my heart is largely still in Alabama.
DP
2. You, Umm Abdurrahman and Safiya get to share this question because I want to hear all three points of view. What do you know now that you wish you had known before you converted? I am not talking about "big bad Islam", I mean like what do you know now that could have made the journey easier?
UmmFarouq
I wish I could have breathed more. I mean, just taken in some long and much-needed breaths to help me pace myself. I was too intense in many ways and I took on unnecessary stress, which is something I still grapple with.
Don’t go around trying to debate with folks, Muslim or non-Muslim, when you are such a newbie and are fueled by passion instead of knowledge. Proselytizing can backfire and can burn big bridges, especially between long-time friends and family members. I think if ‘doing things over’ were a possibility, I might have kept my voice a little quieter and tried to concentrate on more personal growth and introspection. I think that often we take the enjoin the good and forbid the evil responsibility to a place where it doesn't belong, because we ourselves are in such dire need of repair, but we're worried about someone wearing the wrong clothes or whatever trivialities we hone in on. Fix thyself.
I also felt like a ragdoll or puppet sometimes among the sisters, who would try to convince me this group was ‘deviant’ or those folks were ‘not on the haqq’ and all that jazz. I should have done that fingers-in-ears move and hummed my own little diddy to tune them all out. But I was young and impressionable. Alhamdulillah I recovered and smartened up but obviously some sisters do not.
DP
3. You have a unique parenting style macha Allah. In a lot of Arab and North African cultures there is this whole "it takes a village" thing for parenting which can be good because lots of adults around, but it can also be bad because people always wanna tell the white girl how to raise her kids. How do you impose yourself as a parent, especially in Jordan?
UmmFarouq
Alhamdulillah, because my husband and I see eye to eye when it comes to raising our lot, things run quite smoothly with our extended families. Yes, my kids are subjected to some things I don’t agree with, but only in small doses, and not on a regular basis. Basically the extended family knows that my children don’t get what they want just because they want it, and my husband and I expect respect from his relatives as well as our children.
A common parenting philosophy here is to treat the boys like princes/kings and teach no accountability, but to keep the girls on a tight leash and raise them for marriage material only. Well, Homey don’t play ‘dat, and we make this clear. We are equal opportunity parents.
No one can really argue with us, because mashaAllah, we always receive compliments on our children’s behavior. So whatever we’re doing, so far, seems to be working.
If I had to live with extended family, however, I think the challenges would be far more harrowing. May Allah reward those sisters who have to tread those waters.
DP
4. You had an old post that made me laugh about asking people if they are pregnant. If one is not pregnant, what is the best response to this question? The "no I'm just fat, *slaps knee*" doesn't always get the point across in Europe and I need new lines.
UmmFarouq
“No, I’m just storing a vat of balloon animals under my sweater so I can entertain you on this long train commute. Do you like poodles?”
“It’s my undeveloped twin I carry around; wanna see?”
“I don’t know anything about being pregnant, I’m just transporting heroin.”
“No, I’m not pregnant, but is that a beard you’re growing, Auntie?”
DP
5. UZ often mentions how people try to get her to speak Arabic in Jordan just to hear her talk. Do you get that? I never get it in Algeria because people just assume that Kabyle is too deep and complex of a language for an outsider (little do they know how much I really know). What are people's reactions to you speaking Arabic?
UmmFarouq
Alhamdulillah because of my mother-in-law’s patience with me over the years and my love of languages, I can hold my own in Arabic. My accent, however, seems to make folks (esp. taxi drivers) assume I’m from E. Europe or am from the Sharkas community here (large Jordanian community of people who left the Caucasus region of Russia before the turn of the century). Occasionally someone will spot me as an American or Briton because I wear sneakers with my jilbabs—a tell-tale sign I’m a Westerner. Hey, I have a bad back.
1. As a fellow southerner, I have this theory on how non-Muslim southerners deal with Islam that goes a little like this: Because in the more remote places in the south people don't see a lot of culture mixing, people go along with whatever crap Bushie says on tv, but when they see us in person, we're treated as more of an oddity rather than a terrorist out to blow up the country. On the whole, how has it been going "back home" to visit?
UmmFarouq
I converted to Islam in 1994 and started covering my hair and wearing long dresses/jilbabs/abayas (basically I’d have worn draperies—we were just trying to get our hands on any long clothing we could find back then) in 1995. On the whole, I must say that Birmingham, Alabama and its citizens were really accepting of me. I agree with you about Bush or Right-wingers or Fox News or any of those scaries that seem to drive public opinion in the South. However, I think Birmingham is unique because it attracts an international community with the UAB Medical Center, and also has a large Christian Lebanese community dating from the turn of the century, as well as about 4,000 known Muslims. I felt safer in my Muslim skin in Birmingham than I did visiting Los Angeles or Central Florida.
This past summer was my first visit in four years. I wanted to do back flips, the people were so absolutely nice to me and my children wherever we went. I mean from pumping gas at the gas station to ordering Chinese food, we got the genuine smiles and southern hospitality. No one pissed me off or said anything off color to me on any single outing in the five weeks I was there---something I can never claim here in Jordan. My home is in Amman, but my heart is largely still in Alabama.
DP
2. You, Umm Abdurrahman and Safiya get to share this question because I want to hear all three points of view. What do you know now that you wish you had known before you converted? I am not talking about "big bad Islam", I mean like what do you know now that could have made the journey easier?
UmmFarouq
I wish I could have breathed more. I mean, just taken in some long and much-needed breaths to help me pace myself. I was too intense in many ways and I took on unnecessary stress, which is something I still grapple with.
Don’t go around trying to debate with folks, Muslim or non-Muslim, when you are such a newbie and are fueled by passion instead of knowledge. Proselytizing can backfire and can burn big bridges, especially between long-time friends and family members. I think if ‘doing things over’ were a possibility, I might have kept my voice a little quieter and tried to concentrate on more personal growth and introspection. I think that often we take the enjoin the good and forbid the evil responsibility to a place where it doesn't belong, because we ourselves are in such dire need of repair, but we're worried about someone wearing the wrong clothes or whatever trivialities we hone in on. Fix thyself.
I also felt like a ragdoll or puppet sometimes among the sisters, who would try to convince me this group was ‘deviant’ or those folks were ‘not on the haqq’ and all that jazz. I should have done that fingers-in-ears move and hummed my own little diddy to tune them all out. But I was young and impressionable. Alhamdulillah I recovered and smartened up but obviously some sisters do not.
DP
3. You have a unique parenting style macha Allah. In a lot of Arab and North African cultures there is this whole "it takes a village" thing for parenting which can be good because lots of adults around, but it can also be bad because people always wanna tell the white girl how to raise her kids. How do you impose yourself as a parent, especially in Jordan?
UmmFarouq
Alhamdulillah, because my husband and I see eye to eye when it comes to raising our lot, things run quite smoothly with our extended families. Yes, my kids are subjected to some things I don’t agree with, but only in small doses, and not on a regular basis. Basically the extended family knows that my children don’t get what they want just because they want it, and my husband and I expect respect from his relatives as well as our children.
A common parenting philosophy here is to treat the boys like princes/kings and teach no accountability, but to keep the girls on a tight leash and raise them for marriage material only. Well, Homey don’t play ‘dat, and we make this clear. We are equal opportunity parents.
No one can really argue with us, because mashaAllah, we always receive compliments on our children’s behavior. So whatever we’re doing, so far, seems to be working.
If I had to live with extended family, however, I think the challenges would be far more harrowing. May Allah reward those sisters who have to tread those waters.
DP
4. You had an old post that made me laugh about asking people if they are pregnant. If one is not pregnant, what is the best response to this question? The "no I'm just fat, *slaps knee*" doesn't always get the point across in Europe and I need new lines.
UmmFarouq
“No, I’m just storing a vat of balloon animals under my sweater so I can entertain you on this long train commute. Do you like poodles?”
“It’s my undeveloped twin I carry around; wanna see?”
“I don’t know anything about being pregnant, I’m just transporting heroin.”
“No, I’m not pregnant, but is that a beard you’re growing, Auntie?”
DP
5. UZ often mentions how people try to get her to speak Arabic in Jordan just to hear her talk. Do you get that? I never get it in Algeria because people just assume that Kabyle is too deep and complex of a language for an outsider (little do they know how much I really know). What are people's reactions to you speaking Arabic?
UmmFarouq
Alhamdulillah because of my mother-in-law’s patience with me over the years and my love of languages, I can hold my own in Arabic. My accent, however, seems to make folks (esp. taxi drivers) assume I’m from E. Europe or am from the Sharkas community here (large Jordanian community of people who left the Caucasus region of Russia before the turn of the century). Occasionally someone will spot me as an American or Briton because I wear sneakers with my jilbabs—a tell-tale sign I’m a Westerner. Hey, I have a bad back.
Monday, November 26, 2007
Lost Days
I have officially failed NaBloPoMo. That's ok; I am accepting my defeat while also blaming it on some nasty bacteria.
Friday morning I woke up with a stinging headache, the kind that makes your scalp ache when you touch your hair. I took aspirin and went on with my day, thinking it would pass.
By 6 p.m. that evening, however, I was sitting at my my mother-in-law's with chills that struck through to my bones. I had to put my hands over my face to keep my jaw from rattling.
On Saturday I was so feverish that I felt as if I was in and out of consciousness. My big kids were putting cloths on my face and bringing me water. My husband washed 5 or 6 loads of laundry and my brother-in-law came by and took my kids to the supermarket. I was oblivious to all of this, trembling under three furry Jordanian winter blankets.
Yesterday my neighbor and friend came to check on me. I had not been to the bathroom or looked in the mirror. I told my son to bring me a mirror and a flashlight so I could look at my throat. I nearly passed out when I looked inside. It was ravaged, like a butcher had cut it up, swollen, and full of, yes, pus. My neck was poofing out on both sides. My fever had left me also oblivious to my infected throat.
She quickly got me in her car and off to the ER 24-hour clinic. I was put on IV antibiotics and given an injection, and an oral antibiotic. I was taken back at 11 p.m. by my husband for another round of IV and injection.
Today I feel like a human again. Alhamdulillah, alhamdulillah, alhamdulillah.
This streptococcus is dangerous stuff. A little boiled ginger or some chamomile tea wasn't going to do the trick this time. Today is a day I am truly thankful for medical advancements.
Friday morning I woke up with a stinging headache, the kind that makes your scalp ache when you touch your hair. I took aspirin and went on with my day, thinking it would pass.
By 6 p.m. that evening, however, I was sitting at my my mother-in-law's with chills that struck through to my bones. I had to put my hands over my face to keep my jaw from rattling.
On Saturday I was so feverish that I felt as if I was in and out of consciousness. My big kids were putting cloths on my face and bringing me water. My husband washed 5 or 6 loads of laundry and my brother-in-law came by and took my kids to the supermarket. I was oblivious to all of this, trembling under three furry Jordanian winter blankets.
Yesterday my neighbor and friend came to check on me. I had not been to the bathroom or looked in the mirror. I told my son to bring me a mirror and a flashlight so I could look at my throat. I nearly passed out when I looked inside. It was ravaged, like a butcher had cut it up, swollen, and full of, yes, pus. My neck was poofing out on both sides. My fever had left me also oblivious to my infected throat.
She quickly got me in her car and off to the ER 24-hour clinic. I was put on IV antibiotics and given an injection, and an oral antibiotic. I was taken back at 11 p.m. by my husband for another round of IV and injection.
Today I feel like a human again. Alhamdulillah, alhamdulillah, alhamdulillah.
This streptococcus is dangerous stuff. A little boiled ginger or some chamomile tea wasn't going to do the trick this time. Today is a day I am truly thankful for medical advancements.
Thursday, November 22, 2007
Respuestas and Idioms
Dictator Princess posted some interview questions I need to answer. Have a look-see. Answering these will require that I put my thinking cap on and use my noodle.
Didn't your elementary school teachers used to tell you to "put on your thinking caps?" These kinds of phrases just don't translate. Saying, "Use your noodles, students," would have kids here totally perplexed. Instructing students to do both might have them running for their hats in search of good pasta.
Once I told one of my students that she made an "A" on an exam by the skin of her teeth. She did not understand me. She gave me that confused puppy dog head slant. "Huh?"
My 11th grade English teacher once told us the story of how popular John Steinbeck was in Japan. His favorite novel among the Japanese? The Angry Raisin. Figure it out.
Didn't your elementary school teachers used to tell you to "put on your thinking caps?" These kinds of phrases just don't translate. Saying, "Use your noodles, students," would have kids here totally perplexed. Instructing students to do both might have them running for their hats in search of good pasta.
Once I told one of my students that she made an "A" on an exam by the skin of her teeth. She did not understand me. She gave me that confused puppy dog head slant. "Huh?"
My 11th grade English teacher once told us the story of how popular John Steinbeck was in Japan. His favorite novel among the Japanese? The Angry Raisin. Figure it out.
Wednesday, November 21, 2007
What April Can Be...
These shots were taken last April near Marj al-Hammam, where we went horseback riding. Fields of green like these are what the rains can bring, and Allah willing they will keep coming. Rain, beautiful rain. We'll even take the hail that pelted us on our faces today. Any precipitation will do."Seest thou not that God sends down rain from the sky, and leads it through springs in the earth? Then He causes to grow, therewith, produce of various colours: then it withers; thou wilt see it grow yellow; then He makes it dry up and crumble away. Truly, in this, is a Message of remembrance to Men of understanding." 39:21
Time to Pull the Wool Over our Eyes
Yesterday was a day of vacation because of the elections in Jordan. While I did have plans to get out of town a bit, we ended up staying indoors all day. The sky turned gray around noon and the wind started blowing fiercely--so we ordered some pizza and got down all of the winter clothes. Yee haw. In America, the large walk-in closets enabled me to keep the winter stuff on one side of the closet and the summer stuff on the other. I never did the bi-annual "changing of the seasons" clothes-a-thon until I moved here, where we do not have walk-in closets or enough storage space to hold a toothpick.
So my lovely husband hauled down all of the suitcases from the tops of the khazayyen and I began my winter digging ritual. Count on having some dust inhaled during this process. MashaAllah, the kids have grown since last winter, and it really showed in the sleeves. They were grabbing and trying on long-forgotten garments because this year summer lasted from May until November 19. The good old seven-month summer. I'm not kidding.
I have one daughter who somehow has missed the hand-me-down boat. She is five, almost six, but can wear the clothes her older sister wore when she was in 3rd grade. She's a tall one, mashaAllah. She has no clothes. Perhaps I gave things away and do not remember--it's happened before. She was noticeably miffed when everyone, by the end of my venture, had a 'new' pile of clothes sitting before them, except her.
I hate shopping for clothes in Jordan. Have I mentioned that before?
I have a large black bag full of baby clothes to give away. I have held on to them for sentimental reasons but it's time to do the deed and let someone get some use out of them. I kept very few items and was proud of myself for letting go.
So my lovely husband hauled down all of the suitcases from the tops of the khazayyen and I began my winter digging ritual. Count on having some dust inhaled during this process. MashaAllah, the kids have grown since last winter, and it really showed in the sleeves. They were grabbing and trying on long-forgotten garments because this year summer lasted from May until November 19. The good old seven-month summer. I'm not kidding.
I have one daughter who somehow has missed the hand-me-down boat. She is five, almost six, but can wear the clothes her older sister wore when she was in 3rd grade. She's a tall one, mashaAllah. She has no clothes. Perhaps I gave things away and do not remember--it's happened before. She was noticeably miffed when everyone, by the end of my venture, had a 'new' pile of clothes sitting before them, except her.
I hate shopping for clothes in Jordan. Have I mentioned that before?
I have a large black bag full of baby clothes to give away. I have held on to them for sentimental reasons but it's time to do the deed and let someone get some use out of them. I kept very few items and was proud of myself for letting go.
Monday, November 19, 2007
Ay! Me Achin' Belly!
We live right behind my kids' school, but I still drive them every morning because I am afraid of the crazed bus drivers who fly around our street corner as if they're on the Autobahn. They all display that warning "Caution, School Bus" on the back of the bus, but to me it seems that anything outside of the bus on the sidewalk or the streets is fair game. Driving my kids to school gives me a chance to check out all the kiddies walking or getting off of the buses in the morning.
Morning time in our family, as in every family, can get a little hairy. Everyone must wash, dress, eat, and get out the door within a reasonable amount of time. This morning, it was 20 minutes. It all depends on when yours truly can stumble out of bed. My caffeine addiction does whip my butt.
However, I make sure everyone has something in his stomach before heading out the door. Even if it is as little as a glass of milk or a banana, they must start their day with some fuel. This is my family policy, and my husband and I enforce it together.
What kills me is to see the multitudes of children on the sidewalks outside of school, at 7:20 a.m., stuffing their faces with bags of chips. Where are their parents? Where is the fruit or the milk? The culture of snack foods here in Amman is even worse than what I ever witnessed living in America. Chips here are mostly made with the cheapest oils (I'm talking about the shillin' variety); I've come to recognize that the kids here feel it is a birthright to have ishi zaky (something delicious) on a daily basis, sometimes more than once a day. I will be the first to admit that I will snack on some junk food now and then, but I never as a child ate chips daily. Our after school snacks were apples smeared with peanut butter or some cheese and crackers--not two bags of Lay's.
My kids come home and tell me stories of what they see their peers eating at school. Kids will bring two bags of chips, two juices, nary a sandwich, and then go to the canteen and buy some licorice (fake kind, red filled w/ white sugar cream) or donuts. My kindergartner's principal finally declared that the five year-olds may only bring something sweet or salty such as cookies or chips once during a week. They are trying to turn these kids' eating habits around, but it takes more than kindergarten teachers to accomplish this task.
This is a country where an entire crate full of beautiful cucumbers can be purchased for less than $3. Carrots are sweet and delicious. I even love to munch on the romaine lettuce, which is in season and plentiful. Oatmeal is now available on every supermarket shelf, even in the local ducanehs. We have the tools to change our kids' habits before they are fighting Type 2 diabetes here in Jordan the way they are in Saudi Arabia and the Gulf countries.
Ditch the chips; save the kids.
Read here about Chef Jamie Oliver of Naked Chef fame and his attempt to put nutrition into the foods served in Britain's schools.
Morning time in our family, as in every family, can get a little hairy. Everyone must wash, dress, eat, and get out the door within a reasonable amount of time. This morning, it was 20 minutes. It all depends on when yours truly can stumble out of bed. My caffeine addiction does whip my butt.
However, I make sure everyone has something in his stomach before heading out the door. Even if it is as little as a glass of milk or a banana, they must start their day with some fuel. This is my family policy, and my husband and I enforce it together.
What kills me is to see the multitudes of children on the sidewalks outside of school, at 7:20 a.m., stuffing their faces with bags of chips. Where are their parents? Where is the fruit or the milk? The culture of snack foods here in Amman is even worse than what I ever witnessed living in America. Chips here are mostly made with the cheapest oils (I'm talking about the shillin' variety); I've come to recognize that the kids here feel it is a birthright to have ishi zaky (something delicious) on a daily basis, sometimes more than once a day. I will be the first to admit that I will snack on some junk food now and then, but I never as a child ate chips daily. Our after school snacks were apples smeared with peanut butter or some cheese and crackers--not two bags of Lay's.
My kids come home and tell me stories of what they see their peers eating at school. Kids will bring two bags of chips, two juices, nary a sandwich, and then go to the canteen and buy some licorice (fake kind, red filled w/ white sugar cream) or donuts. My kindergartner's principal finally declared that the five year-olds may only bring something sweet or salty such as cookies or chips once during a week. They are trying to turn these kids' eating habits around, but it takes more than kindergarten teachers to accomplish this task.
This is a country where an entire crate full of beautiful cucumbers can be purchased for less than $3. Carrots are sweet and delicious. I even love to munch on the romaine lettuce, which is in season and plentiful. Oatmeal is now available on every supermarket shelf, even in the local ducanehs. We have the tools to change our kids' habits before they are fighting Type 2 diabetes here in Jordan the way they are in Saudi Arabia and the Gulf countries.
Ditch the chips; save the kids.
Read here about Chef Jamie Oliver of Naked Chef fame and his attempt to put nutrition into the foods served in Britain's schools.
Sunday, November 18, 2007
Ay Me Achin' 'Ead
This post may or may not appeal to any non-Muslim readers I have, so if you feel you want to skip on by, my feelings will remain in tact.
I didn't want to read these things, but I did. I admit it. I am a glutton for punishment, unable to resist a hot topic every now and again. As a result, I now have a headache I just tried to kill with two aspirin and a few swigs of CocaCola. Oh, and a small cup of Nescafe.
Umar Lee talks about white Muslim converts: real or faux?
Bin Gregory retorts and brings up great points about White Muslims, esp. men.
UmmZaid writes about observations I've made time and time again. The question is, why? Why do I keep making these observations? Namely, this one about white Muslim female converts:
"And I want to say that despite all of the jokes and denigration people direct at White sisters (esp. those who came to Islam after marriage), some of the most heartbroken, saddest people I have ever met are White sisters in a cross-cultural marriage. They’re just trying to get through this life with some taqwa, and what they get from all sides is a whole lotta nothin’."
I read those two sentences over and over. Instantly, a dozen or more images of sisters I have known in my thirteen years of being a Muslim flashed through my mind. Sad, sad sisters, sisters who wanted to know what was intrinsically wrong with them, why they were so unhappy, why they were misunderstood, unaccepted, or marginalized, either within their communities, their own homes, or both. I saw, in my mind's eye, women who used to be mentors to myself and dozens of other new Muslimahs, who if I saw on the street today, I would not know or recognize. I saw sisters who have left their religion, not after one year or three years, but after fifteen or more years of learning their deen and raising their children in it. I saw sisters who convinced themselves that if they had only been prettier or thinner or learned to cook all of the complicated Arabic dishes just like his Mama or what if he had not been so hard to please, or whatever other ridiculous 'what ifs' that can finish these statements. All of these women were or are in cross-cultural marriages, and came into these marriages for the long haul. Happily ever after.
Some of them, like myself, married their husbands with no real religious identity. Others made drastic changes, from Catholicism to Islam, Southern Baptist to Islam, etc. Some sisters I know studied the deen for years and years before accepting Islam as their faith. But I must say, I know no one, and I mean no one, who was ever coerced into accepting Islam as her religion. On the contrary, many of us embraced Islam and our husbands said, "Hey, she's serious about this, I'd better fly right." And then came the children.
I honestly do not understand why when or how we sisters accepted Islam is of any bearing on what we make of our choices. Taking shahadah is the first step in a lifelong task of seeking knowledge. We have thousands of choices to make on this trip, and consequences for each one made.
Why is it, then, that when the troubles might start to brew in our marriages, or with our health, or within our extended families (in-laws!) that we make the wrong choices? We may choose to give too much of ourselves, leaving no room for spiritual growth or for even time enough in our days for sitting down to read three pages of a text. Or we may turn inwards, squelching our once vibrant personalities, trading our creativity for the mundane--in essence, erasing ourselves. We may become so full of resentment towards our situations or others that we begin to accept the labels we are given. We don't deserve the good that comes our way, fun = guilt, personal time is not ours anymore. If we lose too much of ourselves, we may look for a scapegoat. Guess what is often first to be blamed?
It's that Islam.
Falling into a sinkhole is not our religion's fault. Get out of it. Stop being sad. All believers will one day be tested. Our tests may come in many shapes and forms; when the rough times rain down on us, and they will, do we turn our face away from our Lord?
We can get through this life with taqwa. And if all we get back in this life is a whole lot of nothing, so be it. Persevere.
I didn't want to read these things, but I did. I admit it. I am a glutton for punishment, unable to resist a hot topic every now and again. As a result, I now have a headache I just tried to kill with two aspirin and a few swigs of CocaCola. Oh, and a small cup of Nescafe.
Umar Lee talks about white Muslim converts: real or faux?
Bin Gregory retorts and brings up great points about White Muslims, esp. men.
UmmZaid writes about observations I've made time and time again. The question is, why? Why do I keep making these observations? Namely, this one about white Muslim female converts:
"And I want to say that despite all of the jokes and denigration people direct at White sisters (esp. those who came to Islam after marriage), some of the most heartbroken, saddest people I have ever met are White sisters in a cross-cultural marriage. They’re just trying to get through this life with some taqwa, and what they get from all sides is a whole lotta nothin’."
I read those two sentences over and over. Instantly, a dozen or more images of sisters I have known in my thirteen years of being a Muslim flashed through my mind. Sad, sad sisters, sisters who wanted to know what was intrinsically wrong with them, why they were so unhappy, why they were misunderstood, unaccepted, or marginalized, either within their communities, their own homes, or both. I saw, in my mind's eye, women who used to be mentors to myself and dozens of other new Muslimahs, who if I saw on the street today, I would not know or recognize. I saw sisters who have left their religion, not after one year or three years, but after fifteen or more years of learning their deen and raising their children in it. I saw sisters who convinced themselves that if they had only been prettier or thinner or learned to cook all of the complicated Arabic dishes just like his Mama or what if he had not been so hard to please, or whatever other ridiculous 'what ifs' that can finish these statements. All of these women were or are in cross-cultural marriages, and came into these marriages for the long haul. Happily ever after.
Some of them, like myself, married their husbands with no real religious identity. Others made drastic changes, from Catholicism to Islam, Southern Baptist to Islam, etc. Some sisters I know studied the deen for years and years before accepting Islam as their faith. But I must say, I know no one, and I mean no one, who was ever coerced into accepting Islam as her religion. On the contrary, many of us embraced Islam and our husbands said, "Hey, she's serious about this, I'd better fly right." And then came the children.
I honestly do not understand why when or how we sisters accepted Islam is of any bearing on what we make of our choices. Taking shahadah is the first step in a lifelong task of seeking knowledge. We have thousands of choices to make on this trip, and consequences for each one made.
Why is it, then, that when the troubles might start to brew in our marriages, or with our health, or within our extended families (in-laws!) that we make the wrong choices? We may choose to give too much of ourselves, leaving no room for spiritual growth or for even time enough in our days for sitting down to read three pages of a text. Or we may turn inwards, squelching our once vibrant personalities, trading our creativity for the mundane--in essence, erasing ourselves. We may become so full of resentment towards our situations or others that we begin to accept the labels we are given. We don't deserve the good that comes our way, fun = guilt, personal time is not ours anymore. If we lose too much of ourselves, we may look for a scapegoat. Guess what is often first to be blamed?
It's that Islam.
Falling into a sinkhole is not our religion's fault. Get out of it. Stop being sad. All believers will one day be tested. Our tests may come in many shapes and forms; when the rough times rain down on us, and they will, do we turn our face away from our Lord?
We can get through this life with taqwa. And if all we get back in this life is a whole lot of nothing, so be it. Persevere.
Comment-Tarry-O
It has come to my attention that some of the comments that you guys post do not get through.
I do moderate my comments, but have only rejected a comment maybe once or twice, and not in the last six months.
If you do not see your comments showing up, I sincerely apologize. I am not singling out yours for rejection; I just don't do that.
If you have problems with your comments not being posted, please send me a personal email. You can reach me at sulsalamjen (at) yahoo (dot) com.
I do moderate my comments, but have only rejected a comment maybe once or twice, and not in the last six months.
If you do not see your comments showing up, I sincerely apologize. I am not singling out yours for rejection; I just don't do that.
If you have problems with your comments not being posted, please send me a personal email. You can reach me at sulsalamjen (at) yahoo (dot) com.
Saturday, November 17, 2007
Countdown
The countdown begins: Just two days left until the Jordanian Parliamentary elections take place. Schools will be closed. I imagine we'll go on a picnic and get out of the city. I imagine.
I must admit, I will miss seeing the Dr. Phil and Jimmy Carter look-alike candidates' posters all over town.
The last time I remember these elections, I believe it was in 2002 (I could be mistaken, but I do know that some sort of elections took place that year). My neighbors from upstairs came down to ask if they could borrow my Jordanian I.D.
"What for?" I asked the giggly youngster and her older sister.
"So we can use your national identity number to vote!" they said.
"Uhm, no, sorry, that will not be possible," I told them.
These were the same neighbors who would randomly knock on my door from time to time, asking to 'borrow' my then 18-month old daughter, because they were bored. Whatever happened to borrowing a cup of sugar?
Anyway, back to the elections. I am super apathetic. I am still reeling over the cost of flour and the costs of just about everything known to man that needs to be bought to care for a family skyrocketing to out-of-reach prices. Something can be done about this. Something must be done about it, or this place is a powder keg on the verge of an ugly eruption. Maybe the people will tolerate it for a year. Maybe more. But something has got to give at some point.
We should of stocked up on gold when it was going for 5.50 JD / gram. Today it hit 16 JD / gram. Ya Salam.
I must admit, I will miss seeing the Dr. Phil and Jimmy Carter look-alike candidates' posters all over town.
The last time I remember these elections, I believe it was in 2002 (I could be mistaken, but I do know that some sort of elections took place that year). My neighbors from upstairs came down to ask if they could borrow my Jordanian I.D.
"What for?" I asked the giggly youngster and her older sister.
"So we can use your national identity number to vote!" they said.
"Uhm, no, sorry, that will not be possible," I told them.
These were the same neighbors who would randomly knock on my door from time to time, asking to 'borrow' my then 18-month old daughter, because they were bored. Whatever happened to borrowing a cup of sugar?
Anyway, back to the elections. I am super apathetic. I am still reeling over the cost of flour and the costs of just about everything known to man that needs to be bought to care for a family skyrocketing to out-of-reach prices. Something can be done about this. Something must be done about it, or this place is a powder keg on the verge of an ugly eruption. Maybe the people will tolerate it for a year. Maybe more. But something has got to give at some point.
We should of stocked up on gold when it was going for 5.50 JD / gram. Today it hit 16 JD / gram. Ya Salam.
Friday, November 16, 2007
Cool and the Gang
Or Kool and the Gang.
Or Kewl n da Gang.
Any way you spell it, we had some laughs this evening on our Ladies' Night Out featuring Izzy Mo. It was Umm Abdurrahman and daughter, self and daughter, Umm Zaid, Umm Ibrahim, Sr. Labinsky, and Sr. Izdihar, unleashed and uncensored. (There was nothing really to censor, except my daughter uttering the word 'tapeworm' at the dinner table. Bleeeeep.)
We talked, laughed, got serious for a moment or two, and laughed some more. The highlight of the meal was, perhaps, when the manager and the waiter came over with the best intentions and asked Sr. Labinsky to cut her steak and show them the doneness of the meat. That's a first in all of my dining history, for restaurant staff to actually ask to see the patron cut the meat and check for its satisfactory doneness.
It was all good. Every last potato skin and burger bite. (Although, I couldn't finish mine, so Farouq happily ate it when I got home.)
Bennigan's of Amman was empty for a Friday night, since the Abdoun crowd doesn't find it fashionable to dine till around 10 pm. We old timers (ok, UmmZaid, I'm speaking for myself) have to be home before 10 or we'll turn into giant...squash. Hey, squash is a pumpkin's cousin.
The funniest thing of all tonight, I must say, was all of us packing into Umm Abdurrahman's Hyundai, a five-seater. But for Jordan, we were kind of par for the course: three in the front of the car, and five ladies in the back. Yes, five. Alhamdulillah we didn't have far to drive, and the load of cops we passed didn't flag us down. Moving violations, indeed.
Or Kewl n da Gang.
Any way you spell it, we had some laughs this evening on our Ladies' Night Out featuring Izzy Mo. It was Umm Abdurrahman and daughter, self and daughter, Umm Zaid, Umm Ibrahim, Sr. Labinsky, and Sr. Izdihar, unleashed and uncensored. (There was nothing really to censor, except my daughter uttering the word 'tapeworm' at the dinner table. Bleeeeep.)
We talked, laughed, got serious for a moment or two, and laughed some more. The highlight of the meal was, perhaps, when the manager and the waiter came over with the best intentions and asked Sr. Labinsky to cut her steak and show them the doneness of the meat. That's a first in all of my dining history, for restaurant staff to actually ask to see the patron cut the meat and check for its satisfactory doneness.
It was all good. Every last potato skin and burger bite. (Although, I couldn't finish mine, so Farouq happily ate it when I got home.)
Bennigan's of Amman was empty for a Friday night, since the Abdoun crowd doesn't find it fashionable to dine till around 10 pm. We old timers (ok, UmmZaid, I'm speaking for myself) have to be home before 10 or we'll turn into giant...squash. Hey, squash is a pumpkin's cousin.
The funniest thing of all tonight, I must say, was all of us packing into Umm Abdurrahman's Hyundai, a five-seater. But for Jordan, we were kind of par for the course: three in the front of the car, and five ladies in the back. Yes, five. Alhamdulillah we didn't have far to drive, and the load of cops we passed didn't flag us down. Moving violations, indeed.
Thursday, November 15, 2007
Leaves are falling all around...
...time I was on my way.
But still, I'm much obliged
For such a pleasant stay.
Still, it's time for me to go
That autumn moon lights my way.
But now I smell the rain
And with it pain
And it's heading my way.
Oh, sometimes I grow so tired.
And I know one thing that I wanna do
Ramble on.
Now's the time, the time is now
Sing my song
Going round the world, gonna find you girl
On my way...
It just felt like a Led Zeppelin moment. My kids and husband and I were just in the kitchen after eating a late dinner. My husband cracked up at me, as I literally had 'egg on my face.' Somehow some egg yolk was resting atop the bridge of my nose, right under my glasses, and I had no idea. I like to wear my food sometimes.
It's been a playful kind of night, the kind where the kids and husband and I just keep cracking up. And the fall air is blowing through the window; the grapevine is dropping yellowed golden leaves all over outside, and I can hear them scraping and swishing around in the breeze.
And I'm rambling on...
But still, I'm much obliged
For such a pleasant stay.
Still, it's time for me to go
That autumn moon lights my way.
But now I smell the rain
And with it pain
And it's heading my way.
Oh, sometimes I grow so tired.
And I know one thing that I wanna do
Ramble on.
Now's the time, the time is now
Sing my song
Going round the world, gonna find you girl
On my way...
It just felt like a Led Zeppelin moment. My kids and husband and I were just in the kitchen after eating a late dinner. My husband cracked up at me, as I literally had 'egg on my face.' Somehow some egg yolk was resting atop the bridge of my nose, right under my glasses, and I had no idea. I like to wear my food sometimes.
It's been a playful kind of night, the kind where the kids and husband and I just keep cracking up. And the fall air is blowing through the window; the grapevine is dropping yellowed golden leaves all over outside, and I can hear them scraping and swishing around in the breeze.
And I'm rambling on...
Wednesday, November 14, 2007
A Mom's Cordial Request
Dearest Children,
I love you all so much.
But please, if you feel the need to throw up, consider the following:
1. Try to already be in or near the bathroom when the feeling overtakes you. Stomach acid, I've found, can penetrate marble floors, leaving them with the "splattered" look, long after they've been cleaned.
2. Don't drink a 1/2 gallon of chocolate milk just hours before needing to vomit. Sour milk is bad enough, but milk + Nesquik + digestive juices = most unpleasantness.
3. If Mom or Dad put a bucket near your bed and line your carpet with plastic just in case you feel the need to regurgitate during the night, TRY to at least aim your spillage in the bucket or on the plastic. How it makes it across the room to your sleeping sibling is beyond our comprehension.
4. Try, just try to not plan your illnesses on the same days that your parents want to take a trip or have very special out of town guests coming to visit.
5. Mama will always be there to hold you up, put a cold or warm cloth on your head, and give you 7-Up.
Vomit: It's an undeniable part of life's experiences.
I love you all so much.
But please, if you feel the need to throw up, consider the following:
1. Try to already be in or near the bathroom when the feeling overtakes you. Stomach acid, I've found, can penetrate marble floors, leaving them with the "splattered" look, long after they've been cleaned.
2. Don't drink a 1/2 gallon of chocolate milk just hours before needing to vomit. Sour milk is bad enough, but milk + Nesquik + digestive juices = most unpleasantness.
3. If Mom or Dad put a bucket near your bed and line your carpet with plastic just in case you feel the need to regurgitate during the night, TRY to at least aim your spillage in the bucket or on the plastic. How it makes it across the room to your sleeping sibling is beyond our comprehension.
4. Try, just try to not plan your illnesses on the same days that your parents want to take a trip or have very special out of town guests coming to visit.
5. Mama will always be there to hold you up, put a cold or warm cloth on your head, and give you 7-Up.
Vomit: It's an undeniable part of life's experiences.
Tuesday, November 13, 2007
Are you...
pregnant?
"Oh, you're pregnant?"
"When are you due?"
"Wow, how many months along are you?"
These are questions I learned to NEVER ask any woman, unless I know for certain that she is indeed expecting a bundle of joy.
I was twenty one years old and working at this bakery. Every morning I loaded up trays with delicious German and European goodies. This one lady used to be knocking at the door at 6:30 a.m., before we actually opened. She always looked desperate and exhausted, and she had a large round belly. I just figured that looking desperate, exhausted, and fat must mean that she was pregnant.
Then, one morning as I put her three chocolate hazelnut croissants in a bag and waited on her cappuccino to finish frothing, I did it. The taboo question.
"So, when are you due?" I asked, innocently.
I felt as if tiny little poison darts shot from her eyes and into my face, because the mere reaction on her face made my face blush with red hot embarrassment. I knew, instantly, I had made a faux pas.
She gruffly replied, "I am NOT pregnant, OK?"
Ok, then, here's your coffee and three croissants stuffed with enough gunk to give you a coronary, and have a nice day, I thought.
Oh, ignorant youth! (I'm speaking to my former self) You think the flat stomachs and flawless skin is going to last forever? Mwaa haaa haa haaaaa, they are not. Don't go around picking on older, tired looking folks because they wear tent dresses and look as if they haven't slept in decades. Don't chide them if they wear comfortable shoes because Payless was having a two-for-one sale back in 1995 and those particular shoes are the ones that are good and 'broken in.'
Don't ask ladies if they are pregnant. Let them offer the information. If they don't, remain silent. If you see someone downing two Big Macs and a shake in her car, conclude that she's just having a bad day, ok? Don't assume she's eating for two. We all know what assumption does. It makes tiny poison darts hit you in the face.
Oh, and my dear Arab sisters, this rule of thumb especially applies to you.
"Oh, you're pregnant?"
"When are you due?"
"Wow, how many months along are you?"
These are questions I learned to NEVER ask any woman, unless I know for certain that she is indeed expecting a bundle of joy.
I was twenty one years old and working at this bakery. Every morning I loaded up trays with delicious German and European goodies. This one lady used to be knocking at the door at 6:30 a.m., before we actually opened. She always looked desperate and exhausted, and she had a large round belly. I just figured that looking desperate, exhausted, and fat must mean that she was pregnant.
Then, one morning as I put her three chocolate hazelnut croissants in a bag and waited on her cappuccino to finish frothing, I did it. The taboo question.
"So, when are you due?" I asked, innocently.
I felt as if tiny little poison darts shot from her eyes and into my face, because the mere reaction on her face made my face blush with red hot embarrassment. I knew, instantly, I had made a faux pas.
She gruffly replied, "I am NOT pregnant, OK?"
Ok, then, here's your coffee and three croissants stuffed with enough gunk to give you a coronary, and have a nice day, I thought.
Oh, ignorant youth! (I'm speaking to my former self) You think the flat stomachs and flawless skin is going to last forever? Mwaa haaa haa haaaaa, they are not. Don't go around picking on older, tired looking folks because they wear tent dresses and look as if they haven't slept in decades. Don't chide them if they wear comfortable shoes because Payless was having a two-for-one sale back in 1995 and those particular shoes are the ones that are good and 'broken in.'
Don't ask ladies if they are pregnant. Let them offer the information. If they don't, remain silent. If you see someone downing two Big Macs and a shake in her car, conclude that she's just having a bad day, ok? Don't assume she's eating for two. We all know what assumption does. It makes tiny poison darts hit you in the face.
Oh, and my dear Arab sisters, this rule of thumb especially applies to you.
Monday, November 12, 2007
Fab Guest
Super cool blogger Izzy Mo is coming to Amman today, inshaAllah.
Hurray! I can't wait to meet her and hopefully show her some of our fair city.
I love guests!
In other news, I finally switched to the FireFox browser. I am liking it so far, except that whenever I try to read anything in Arabic, it all looks like little tiny balloons. Would I remedy this by also downloading FireFox in Arabic? Help.
Hurray! I can't wait to meet her and hopefully show her some of our fair city.
I love guests!
In other news, I finally switched to the FireFox browser. I am liking it so far, except that whenever I try to read anything in Arabic, it all looks like little tiny balloons. Would I remedy this by also downloading FireFox in Arabic? Help.
Sunday, November 11, 2007
The Burning Bush, or, How I Lost My Cool (again)
Yesterday was an insanity-provoking kind of day.
My dear friend from AL and her lovely kids joined my family and spent time with us. That part was great. More great conversation, lunch, laughter. I couldn't ask for more.
What wasn't great was the barrage of interruptions I had from outside. Men kept knocking on the door, from the early hours of the a.m. First it was the plumber, then the plumber again, then someone wanting stuff from my husband, then the plumber. After the plumber left for the third time, (he was doing work on a pump outside, not inside, thankfully), I heard a loud drilling noise coming from the apartment two floors above. I peeked my head outside and looked up, just in time for a sizeable chunk of cement to fall just centimeters from where I was standing.
"Shu hadha?!" I exclaimed, looking up. What's this?
The well mannered worker gave me a smirk as his torso hung half way out of the window. "Be patient, hajjeh" he said to me.
Hmmm. Be patient? You are going to drop chunks of cement down into my garden without telling me, and I should just 'be patient?'
"InshaAllah," I told him, while wondering who was going to clean up the mess I knew was about to rain down on us. I closed the door.
Several minutes later my friend arrived with her kids. They had to duck falling debris as they came in. No neighbor showed up at my door to inform me that they would clean up the mess being made or to apologize for the inconvenience. Nothing.
A few minutes later I was talking to my friend and looking out the window. She said a few sentences that I completely did not hear, because I was too busy watching my rosemary bushes emit plumes of smoke. My rosemary bushes were smoking! Knowing it was probably some ember from whatever they were working on upstairs, I ran outside to investigate. The two workers, Tweedle rude and Tweedle ruder, had thrown their still burning cigarettes down into my garden.
"That is enough!" I shouted.
Then I went into my broken Arabic angry harangue. Uh oh.
Ya Allah! Ya Allah! Yimkin mat keb seegharrah al zariya tabbati?! Ayn al adab? Ayn al adab? Shu malkom? Anjad, wayn al adab?"
To which Tweedle #1 replied, "Mish mishkallah ya Hajjeh."
To which angry American replied, "La'! Fee mishkallah! Hadha bayti!"
Seconds later the doorbell rang. It was the neighbor's son. He was begging our forgiveness. He is a nice boy. I told him it was not he or his mother's fault, that it was their rude workers, and I was sorry for losing my temper. Or was I? I am still not sure, because I felt quite invigorated afterwards.
My friend looked at me with semi-shock when I came back inside. I could tell she was wondering if I usually went off on people like that. I don't. But the longer I live here, the easier it becomes to do so, sadly.
Translation of my outburst:
Oh God! Oh God! Might you not throw your cigarette on my garden? Where are your manners? Where are your manners? What is wrong with you? Where are your manners? Truly, where are your manners?
His reply: No problem, lady. (old lady, really, or a lady who has made Hajj, which I haven't)
My reply: No, there is a problem! This is my house!
At least I did not call him any of those friendly animal names. My tongue just doesn't resort to using those. Yet.
Last night in the solace of the cool breezes, I swept up all of the cement shards and debris.
My dear friend from AL and her lovely kids joined my family and spent time with us. That part was great. More great conversation, lunch, laughter. I couldn't ask for more.
What wasn't great was the barrage of interruptions I had from outside. Men kept knocking on the door, from the early hours of the a.m. First it was the plumber, then the plumber again, then someone wanting stuff from my husband, then the plumber. After the plumber left for the third time, (he was doing work on a pump outside, not inside, thankfully), I heard a loud drilling noise coming from the apartment two floors above. I peeked my head outside and looked up, just in time for a sizeable chunk of cement to fall just centimeters from where I was standing.
"Shu hadha?!" I exclaimed, looking up. What's this?
The well mannered worker gave me a smirk as his torso hung half way out of the window. "Be patient, hajjeh" he said to me.
Hmmm. Be patient? You are going to drop chunks of cement down into my garden without telling me, and I should just 'be patient?'
"InshaAllah," I told him, while wondering who was going to clean up the mess I knew was about to rain down on us. I closed the door.
Several minutes later my friend arrived with her kids. They had to duck falling debris as they came in. No neighbor showed up at my door to inform me that they would clean up the mess being made or to apologize for the inconvenience. Nothing.
A few minutes later I was talking to my friend and looking out the window. She said a few sentences that I completely did not hear, because I was too busy watching my rosemary bushes emit plumes of smoke. My rosemary bushes were smoking! Knowing it was probably some ember from whatever they were working on upstairs, I ran outside to investigate. The two workers, Tweedle rude and Tweedle ruder, had thrown their still burning cigarettes down into my garden.
"That is enough!" I shouted.
Then I went into my broken Arabic angry harangue. Uh oh.
Ya Allah! Ya Allah! Yimkin mat keb seegharrah al zariya tabbati?! Ayn al adab? Ayn al adab? Shu malkom? Anjad, wayn al adab?"
To which Tweedle #1 replied, "Mish mishkallah ya Hajjeh."
To which angry American replied, "La'! Fee mishkallah! Hadha bayti!"
Seconds later the doorbell rang. It was the neighbor's son. He was begging our forgiveness. He is a nice boy. I told him it was not he or his mother's fault, that it was their rude workers, and I was sorry for losing my temper. Or was I? I am still not sure, because I felt quite invigorated afterwards.
My friend looked at me with semi-shock when I came back inside. I could tell she was wondering if I usually went off on people like that. I don't. But the longer I live here, the easier it becomes to do so, sadly.
Translation of my outburst:
Oh God! Oh God! Might you not throw your cigarette on my garden? Where are your manners? Where are your manners? What is wrong with you? Where are your manners? Truly, where are your manners?
His reply: No problem, lady. (old lady, really, or a lady who has made Hajj, which I haven't)
My reply: No, there is a problem! This is my house!
At least I did not call him any of those friendly animal names. My tongue just doesn't resort to using those. Yet.
Last night in the solace of the cool breezes, I swept up all of the cement shards and debris.
Saturday, November 10, 2007
Here is one of the friendlier reviews of the new film, Lions for Lambs, starring Merryl Streep, Tom Cruise, and Robert Redford.
This one got a B-, and that is generous, compared to the other reviews I read. The user reviews on Yahoo were simply atrocious.
Has anyone seen it?
How about The Kingdom?
Rendition?
I need some recommendations, folks.
This one got a B-, and that is generous, compared to the other reviews I read. The user reviews on Yahoo were simply atrocious.
Has anyone seen it?
How about The Kingdom?
Rendition?
I need some recommendations, folks.
Friday, November 09, 2007
Shared TV Memories
I know many of you are "anti-TV," and so am I, in principle.
But can we deny (at least most of us) that some TV shows we watched in our formative years had lasting impressions on us? If you were born after 1980, this post does not apply to you, unless you've been exposed to the re-runs on TV Land.
So my husband and I were sitting around tonight talking about TV shows we grew up with, and I had to admit that although we grew up worlds apart, we watched the same stuff. (Except I didn't grow up watching four-hour Egyptian slapstick plays recorded, albeit poorly, for television, but that's a different post.)
My dear husband was a fan of Dukhan al Banadaq. So was I, although it wasn't my favorite. It was a guy's show, and, well, you know, I'm a gal.
My favorite was a tear-jerker, heartwarming girlish type of feel-good family show. Can you guess what it was? That's right! I adored Bayt as-Sagheer, and I still do. In fact, I watched it this summer in the US when I was recovering from jet lag, bright-eyed and bushy-tailed at 5 a.m. Buck-toothed what's her face can still make me cry any old time.
In the 1980s a bunch of idiotic shows came along, like The A Team and Greatest American Hero. I pity the fool who thought they were quality programming. Within this genre of shows was one that really stood out from the rest, and whose star was not a man, but a machine. Yes, folks, it was none other than As-Sayyarah Ajeebeh, a show whose creators could not have foreseen they had set the mold for quality shows to come, like Pimp My Ride. Nor could they have imagined that their hunky star would one day be slopping up a hamburger, bare-chested and drunk on a hotel room carpet, dripping lettuce and special sauce all over creation.
My husband also grew up watching Hawaii Five-0, Kojak, Starsky and Hutch, and Magnum P.I., but they don't have funny translations.
The ties that bind!
But can we deny (at least most of us) that some TV shows we watched in our formative years had lasting impressions on us? If you were born after 1980, this post does not apply to you, unless you've been exposed to the re-runs on TV Land.
So my husband and I were sitting around tonight talking about TV shows we grew up with, and I had to admit that although we grew up worlds apart, we watched the same stuff. (Except I didn't grow up watching four-hour Egyptian slapstick plays recorded, albeit poorly, for television, but that's a different post.)
My dear husband was a fan of Dukhan al Banadaq. So was I, although it wasn't my favorite. It was a guy's show, and, well, you know, I'm a gal.
My favorite was a tear-jerker, heartwarming girlish type of feel-good family show. Can you guess what it was? That's right! I adored Bayt as-Sagheer, and I still do. In fact, I watched it this summer in the US when I was recovering from jet lag, bright-eyed and bushy-tailed at 5 a.m. Buck-toothed what's her face can still make me cry any old time.
In the 1980s a bunch of idiotic shows came along, like The A Team and Greatest American Hero. I pity the fool who thought they were quality programming. Within this genre of shows was one that really stood out from the rest, and whose star was not a man, but a machine. Yes, folks, it was none other than As-Sayyarah Ajeebeh, a show whose creators could not have foreseen they had set the mold for quality shows to come, like Pimp My Ride. Nor could they have imagined that their hunky star would one day be slopping up a hamburger, bare-chested and drunk on a hotel room carpet, dripping lettuce and special sauce all over creation.
My husband also grew up watching Hawaii Five-0, Kojak, Starsky and Hutch, and Magnum P.I., but they don't have funny translations.
The ties that bind!
Thursday, November 08, 2007
Bon Apetit
Read here: The 10 Best Foods you Aren't Eating
I know I can get all of these items here in Jordan, easily, with the exception of:
1. Purslane--have I seen this weed in my garden? Has anyone every tried it? Jordan has lots of "weeds" that I enjoy eating, mainly khobezeh, whose English equivalent I do not know, and hawerneh, also whose English equivalent is a mystery to me. All I know is that they taste really good.
2. Goji berries--I've never heard of them. But I'm pretty sure that Whole Foods in Birmingham would carry them. Ah, Whole Foods. I could spend my entire pay check in that supermarket, if I had a pay check.
Sahtain wa A'afiya, or, "To your health twice, and good health!" (Sounds kind of redundant in English, now doesn't it?)
Now get to munching on some cabbage!
I know I can get all of these items here in Jordan, easily, with the exception of:
1. Purslane--have I seen this weed in my garden? Has anyone every tried it? Jordan has lots of "weeds" that I enjoy eating, mainly khobezeh, whose English equivalent I do not know, and hawerneh, also whose English equivalent is a mystery to me. All I know is that they taste really good.
2. Goji berries--I've never heard of them. But I'm pretty sure that Whole Foods in Birmingham would carry them. Ah, Whole Foods. I could spend my entire pay check in that supermarket, if I had a pay check.
Sahtain wa A'afiya, or, "To your health twice, and good health!" (Sounds kind of redundant in English, now doesn't it?)
Now get to munching on some cabbage!
Wednesday, November 07, 2007
Meme, YouYou, ReadRead
Here is a book meme, and for the life of me, I cannot remember where I got it, because I was on the NaBloPoMo Randomizer and I got caught up in all of its frivolity.
If you'd like to participate in this particular meme, just copy it and . . .
- Bold the books you’ve read.
- Italicize books you have started but couldn’t finish.
- Add an asterisk* to those you have read more than once.
- Underline those on your To Be Read list.
Jonathan Strange & Mr. Norrell
Crime and Punishment
Catch-22
One Hundred Years of Solitude*
Wuthering Heights
The Silmarillion
Life of Pi: A Novel
The Name of the Rose
Don Quixote
Moby Dick
Ulysses
Madame Bovary*
The Odyssey
Pride and Prejudice
Jane Eyre
A Tale of Two Cities
The Brothers Karamazov
Guns, Germs, and Steel: the Fates of Human Societies
War and Peace
Vanity Fair
The Time Traveler’s Wife
The Iliad
Emma
The Blind Assassin
The Kite Runner
Mrs. Dalloway
Great Expectations*
American Gods
A Heartbreaking Work of Staggering Genius
Atlas Shrugged
Reading Lolita in Tehran
Memoirs of a Geisha
Middlesex
Quicksilver
Wicked: The Life and Times of the Wicked Witch of the West
The Canterbury Tales
The Historian
A Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man
Love in the Time of Cholera
Brave New World
The Fountainhead
Foucault’s Pendulum
Middlemarch
Frankenstein
The Count of Monte Cristo
Dracula
A Clockwork Orange
Anansi Boys
The Once and Future King
The Grapes of Wrath
The Poisonwood Bible
1984
Angels & Demons
The Inferno
The Satanic Verses
Sense and Sensibility
The Picture of Dorian Gray
Mansfield Park
One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest
To the Lighthouse
Tess of the D’Urbervilles
Oliver Twist
Gulliver’s Travels
Les Misérables
The Corrections
The Amazing Adventures of Kavalier and Clay
The Curious Incident of the Dog in the Night-Time
Dune
The Prince
The Sound and the Fury
Angela’s Ashes
The God of Small Things
A People’s History of the United States: 1492-Present
Cryptonomicon
Neverwhere
A Confederacy of Dunces
A Short History of Nearly Everything
Dubliners
The Unbearable Lightness of Being
Beloved
Slaughterhouse-Five
The Scarlet Letter
Eats, Shoots & Leaves
The Mists of Avalon
Oryx and Crake
Collapse: How Societies Choose to Fail or Succeed
Cloud Atlas
The Confusion
Lolita
Persuasion
Northanger Abbey
The Catcher in the Rye
On the Road
The Hunchback of Notre Dame
Freakonomics
Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance
The Aeneid
Watership Down
Gravity’s Rainbow
The Hobbit
In Cold Blood
White Teeth
Treasure Island
David Copperfield
The Three Musketeers
Anyone wanting to send some paperbacks my way will not be denied.
Cloudy Day, Prospects Better
I had kind of a rude awakening yesterday both at the doctor's office and in my own little head. I have talked about this for the past three years and everyone who knows me is probably sick to death of hearing me describe how I'm going to take charge of my life and be fit and healthy, once and for all! I think last year I had set for myself on this blog a 40-lb weight loss goal that was to be reached by last June or July. Last July I was in the US eating way too much drive-in food. What is it that goes wrong, over and over again, prohibiting me from doing what I know I need to do? The answer to that is complicated, but believe me, my spiritual soundness and my health and well-being go hand in hand.
We women are so prone to downward spirals, more so than men are. The thing is, once you say "F" it to whatever goals you have set for yourself, throwing in the towel, giving in, giving up--it is more comfortable to stay in that screwed up state than it is to work at whatever your goal was in the first place.
Maybe you are one who doesn't communicate with your spouse enough, because it is easier to stay glued to a computer screen. Maybe you are someone full of resentment towards this gal for something she did 10 years ago, or this guy for how he wronged you, or this parent for how he raised (or failed to raise) you, and you cannot let go of it, no matter how hard you try. Maybe you are 'x' number of lbs overweight and always feel like dog poo, but you know that everyone loves you and you look at yourself in the mirror, saying, "big is beautiful," although you hate your reflection. Maybe you have control issues, and you nag and pick at everyone around you, when you yourself are really the one out of control. Maybe, just maybe, you have a God-fearing and pious type of persona you show to everyone in your circle of friends, and they all admire you and praise you, but behind closed doors you are regularly ashamed of yourself. Maybe you eat your troubles away, or drink them away, or pill-pop them away, and blame others for your sorry state. It is so easy to blame and shame in order to boost yourself up. But believe me, that boost is fleeting and false, and you will really be sliding down another rung of the self-esteem ladder.
We women are so prone to downward spirals, more so than men are. The thing is, once you say "F" it to whatever goals you have set for yourself, throwing in the towel, giving in, giving up--it is more comfortable to stay in that screwed up state than it is to work at whatever your goal was in the first place.
Maybe you are one who doesn't communicate with your spouse enough, because it is easier to stay glued to a computer screen. Maybe you are someone full of resentment towards this gal for something she did 10 years ago, or this guy for how he wronged you, or this parent for how he raised (or failed to raise) you, and you cannot let go of it, no matter how hard you try. Maybe you are 'x' number of lbs overweight and always feel like dog poo, but you know that everyone loves you and you look at yourself in the mirror, saying, "big is beautiful," although you hate your reflection. Maybe you have control issues, and you nag and pick at everyone around you, when you yourself are really the one out of control. Maybe, just maybe, you have a God-fearing and pious type of persona you show to everyone in your circle of friends, and they all admire you and praise you, but behind closed doors you are regularly ashamed of yourself. Maybe you eat your troubles away, or drink them away, or pill-pop them away, and blame others for your sorry state. It is so easy to blame and shame in order to boost yourself up. But believe me, that boost is fleeting and false, and you will really be sliding down another rung of the self-esteem ladder.
In my realm, I tend to blame some of the cultural backwardness I live with in Jordan for my woes. Yet I am a thinking gal, and I know that messed up cultural practices of those around me do not really affect my life. They only do if I allow them to. S0-and-so's tendency to backbite does not make me eat a piece of cake before bed. Mom-in-law's picking on the way I do this or that does not make me yell at my kids out of control-inspired anger. The two are completely unrelated. Yes, pressures here are different from in the US, and unless you've walked a mile in my shoes, buddy, you won't understand what I mean.
Anyhow, today I woke up to a windy and cloudy day, and that makes me happy. I'm tired of the heat, this Indian summer we've been having in November. I'm tired of the dry and the dust, and ready for the rain and the cold. I am ready to turn over that proverbial new leaf and really make a go at the changes I need to make in myself, wholeheartedly, by the will of God.
Tuesday, November 06, 2007
The Blues
I am older that Angelina Jolie, but younger than Cindy Crawford.
Jennifer Garner and I were born the same year; she is just three months my elder. (Bam! Pow! Ka-poooey!)
Goldie Hawn could be my grandmother.
I am not an old Arab lady, although in the Middle Ages, I might have qualified as way past my prime.
I do not have osteoporosis or diabetes, realities for which I am truly thankful.
I do not have to chop wood or carry water.
But I do not feel like my age, or my self. I feel like an alien has come and taken over my being, adding kilos of weight I am burdened to carry around, and sweeping waves of profound sadness through my existence, whose origin I cannot identify.
I feel haggardly and old, I feel tired and even ugly.
Did I sign up for this when I said, "I can't wait to get older?"
Jennifer Garner and I were born the same year; she is just three months my elder. (Bam! Pow! Ka-poooey!)
Goldie Hawn could be my grandmother.
I am not an old Arab lady, although in the Middle Ages, I might have qualified as way past my prime.
I do not have osteoporosis or diabetes, realities for which I am truly thankful.
I do not have to chop wood or carry water.
But I do not feel like my age, or my self. I feel like an alien has come and taken over my being, adding kilos of weight I am burdened to carry around, and sweeping waves of profound sadness through my existence, whose origin I cannot identify.
I feel haggardly and old, I feel tired and even ugly.
Did I sign up for this when I said, "I can't wait to get older?"
The Good MD
I found a doctor today who really sat and listened to me.
She did not give me a diagnosis before I sat down in the chair.
She was understanding and receptive.
I received no prescriptions from her, because she wants to run a gamut of tests before deciding on our next steps.
Good doctors are hard to find here.
She did not give me a diagnosis before I sat down in the chair.
She was understanding and receptive.
I received no prescriptions from her, because she wants to run a gamut of tests before deciding on our next steps.
Good doctors are hard to find here.
Monday, November 05, 2007
Flour Power
Bread, in Jordan, is the staple of life. We Americans do not understand a diet so dependent on bread, not so much for nutritional value, but rather whose purpose is to make a body full. The poorer communities here in Jordan boasting families who see meat once or twice a year on their plates depend on bread and other starches (beans, hommos, falafel) to have the energy they need to, well, live.
I remember once popping a big hunk of Arabic cheese into my mouth in front of my mother-in-law. "What are you doing," she asked me, "eating cheese by itself without bread?"
"I love cheese," I told her.
"Cheese eaten without bread can give you worms!" she replied.
This is what they used to tell the kids back in her childhood days, so that they would get 'full' from the bread. Bread is satisfying. Bread fills the belly. Bread in the stomach keeps kids from crying because they are hungry.
As of yesterday here in Jordan, bread will have a hefty price tag. The normal flat bread (pita) will continue to have the same price, roughly .30 JD per kilo. All other breads and sweets and anything made from flour that will no longer be subsidized by the government will face a huge increase.
My children always take a sandwich to school made with khubbez hammam, which is like a small sub roll. I have always taken for granted its affordability: .20 JD per kilo, or about 1.5 qirsh a loaf. Yesterday's un-subsidizing of the flour now makes one kilo of the khubbez hammam cost .60 qirsh, or over one half of a Jordanian dinar! This is now a luxury item for myself and millions of parents giving their children sandwiches for school each day. What about the programs in the government schools in place that are trying to feed kids who normally would have nothing to eat during the school hours? Tkiyet Um Ali is one of the programs that battles hunger in Jordan; are the prices per piece of bread going to raise for these kinds of organizations as well?
This whole trickle-down plan which is aimed at curbing overconsumption of flour is indeed going to curb it, and hungry people are going to pay the price.
The bakery near my house already was charging 1/2 JD for one donut. What will that increase to, over 1 JD per sweet? My friend Um Abdurrahman's bakery increased each cake slice by 1 whole JD yesterday, making each slice cost 2.25 JD. I can by a whole chicken for that amount of money. Every restaurant in the kingdom serving hamburger buns or the khubbez hammam or any other kind of bread besides the plain flat bread is going to have to increase its prices.
When is there going to be an end in sight?
I remember once popping a big hunk of Arabic cheese into my mouth in front of my mother-in-law. "What are you doing," she asked me, "eating cheese by itself without bread?"
"I love cheese," I told her.
"Cheese eaten without bread can give you worms!" she replied.
This is what they used to tell the kids back in her childhood days, so that they would get 'full' from the bread. Bread is satisfying. Bread fills the belly. Bread in the stomach keeps kids from crying because they are hungry.
As of yesterday here in Jordan, bread will have a hefty price tag. The normal flat bread (pita) will continue to have the same price, roughly .30 JD per kilo. All other breads and sweets and anything made from flour that will no longer be subsidized by the government will face a huge increase.
My children always take a sandwich to school made with khubbez hammam, which is like a small sub roll. I have always taken for granted its affordability: .20 JD per kilo, or about 1.5 qirsh a loaf. Yesterday's un-subsidizing of the flour now makes one kilo of the khubbez hammam cost .60 qirsh, or over one half of a Jordanian dinar! This is now a luxury item for myself and millions of parents giving their children sandwiches for school each day. What about the programs in the government schools in place that are trying to feed kids who normally would have nothing to eat during the school hours? Tkiyet Um Ali is one of the programs that battles hunger in Jordan; are the prices per piece of bread going to raise for these kinds of organizations as well?
This whole trickle-down plan which is aimed at curbing overconsumption of flour is indeed going to curb it, and hungry people are going to pay the price.
The bakery near my house already was charging 1/2 JD for one donut. What will that increase to, over 1 JD per sweet? My friend Um Abdurrahman's bakery increased each cake slice by 1 whole JD yesterday, making each slice cost 2.25 JD. I can by a whole chicken for that amount of money. Every restaurant in the kingdom serving hamburger buns or the khubbez hammam or any other kind of bread besides the plain flat bread is going to have to increase its prices.
When is there going to be an end in sight?
Sunday, November 04, 2007
Funky Dream
The night before last I had a dream about Dave, an American in Jordan. I do not know Dave personally, although I read his blog and tend to agree with him on many issues with life here in the Hashemite Kingdom.
Dave (in my dream) had invited a bunch of Jordan bloggers to his house, which was in Um Uthaina. (all part of the dream--i have no idea where Dave lives) He and his wife were opening a new store out of their home that sold hair accessories, like barrettes and ribbons and costume jewelry. It was like Claire's, but in their home. Fellow blogger and pal Umm Zaid was there, and so was MommaBean. We all just walked around Dave's wife's store while our kids played outside in a gigantic yard with a trampoline and someone (a shadowy unidentified blogger, perhaps) cooked chicken on a grill.
Could it have been that second turkey sandwich with monterey jack cheese I ate before bed? Or was it my subconscious letting me know that I'd really like to have some sort of blogger shindig here in Amman? It's hard to tell.
Dave (in my dream) had invited a bunch of Jordan bloggers to his house, which was in Um Uthaina. (all part of the dream--i have no idea where Dave lives) He and his wife were opening a new store out of their home that sold hair accessories, like barrettes and ribbons and costume jewelry. It was like Claire's, but in their home. Fellow blogger and pal Umm Zaid was there, and so was MommaBean. We all just walked around Dave's wife's store while our kids played outside in a gigantic yard with a trampoline and someone (a shadowy unidentified blogger, perhaps) cooked chicken on a grill.
Could it have been that second turkey sandwich with monterey jack cheese I ate before bed? Or was it my subconscious letting me know that I'd really like to have some sort of blogger shindig here in Amman? It's hard to tell.
Full House
Yesterday my dear friend from AL who is visiting here in Jordan came to my house and brought her two children. Then my other dear friend from AL (who lives here) came and brought macaroni and cheese, a dessert, her coffee maker, and three of her four children. I made 2 baked chickens, cornbread dressing, mashed potatoes and gravy, and threw in some carrots so we would not have a complete starch overdose--a veggie for good measure. Oh, and brownies.
We ate and laughed and talked and visited and just did some long overdue catching up.
Later, my mother-in-law came by with her granddaughter and great granddaughter so she could see friend #1, whom she knows from visiting us in AL. She loves friend #1 in a special way, because friend #1 used to come keep her company at our home in the states when I was off trying to go to grad school. They did not know one another's language, but they communicated beautifully.
It was a full house.
That being said, I did compose a blog post in my head yesterday, but could not actually sit down at the computer and leave all of those wonderful visitors alone. Excuses, excuses.
We ate and laughed and talked and visited and just did some long overdue catching up.
Later, my mother-in-law came by with her granddaughter and great granddaughter so she could see friend #1, whom she knows from visiting us in AL. She loves friend #1 in a special way, because friend #1 used to come keep her company at our home in the states when I was off trying to go to grad school. They did not know one another's language, but they communicated beautifully.
It was a full house.
That being said, I did compose a blog post in my head yesterday, but could not actually sit down at the computer and leave all of those wonderful visitors alone. Excuses, excuses.
Friday, November 02, 2007
I just can't jive with my Arab elders
I just can't jive with my Arab elders on some issues, because I cannot get past the lunacy of what they spout as truth in their observations. Some things just defy reason. I have learned to smile and nod and let things float in my ears (and out), and agree for the sake of keeping peace. But some things...I can't get past them. Why don't I vent a bit right here and now?
1. Boys are better (of more human value) than girls. Baaaah!
If I hear another old (older than 50 is old) Arab lady frown or make a face when she hears that so-and-so delivered a baby girl, or call the mother of this new baby girl miskeenah, I think I might hurl. Girls are great. Girls grow up to be the mothers of men. Girls are patient and loving and giving. Girls have not historically been, nor are they now, warmongers. I love girls.
2. Have another baby so you can give your son a brother.
My son is going to be 11. What is he going to do with an infant? How is this going to bring him any joy? Not to mention, I am worn out. My leg is covered in varicose veins, my ankles look like they've been victimized by mafia thugs; I have a bulging disc on my left side and sciatica, making it impossible for me to even get up out of a chair sometimes without yelping in pain. I really need to have another baby. I need to bring a boy into the world, give my son a brother, indeed...I'll put in my order r
1. Boys are better (of more human value) than girls. Baaaah!
If I hear another old (older than 50 is old) Arab lady frown or make a face when she hears that so-and-so delivered a baby girl, or call the mother of this new baby girl miskeenah, I think I might hurl. Girls are great. Girls grow up to be the mothers of men. Girls are patient and loving and giving. Girls have not historically been, nor are they now, warmongers. I love girls.
2. Have another baby so you can give your son a brother.
My son is going to be 11. What is he going to do with an infant? How is this going to bring him any joy? Not to mention, I am worn out. My leg is covered in varicose veins, my ankles look like they've been victimized by mafia thugs; I have a bulging disc on my left side and sciatica, making it impossible for me to even get up out of a chair sometimes without yelping in pain. I really need to have another baby. I need to bring a boy into the world, give my son a brother, indeed...I'll put in my order r