Author: TheAnywayGirl

Life on the seesaw

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Seesaw

Credit: diabetessa.org.za (2019)

When I started this blog, I had a very different idea of the direction it would take. It was going to be very cushitic, very chic, very now, very me, or so I thought. And my definition of all of these things was distinctly African, very black, very woke…very me, ahem. And when I really got into it, it became very conservative, very tawakkal, very surrenderish, … is that me? I’d constantly question myself. And yet here I am with one more post, errr noticeably similar to my previous posts, one could say. A deep dive into those touchy feely uncomfortable things. Urrgghhh. You know, I have never considered myself to be soul searchy.  And always looked askance at any stranger who tried to get too deep with me. I’ve always thought that that stuff is meant to be private. So I don’t understand why I’m obsessed with blasting these things out into the world wide web. Life truly is an oxymoron.

The thing is, I can’t promise that every subsequent post wouldn’t be a stir fry of an overthinking mess. Or weird. Or my favourite, soul searchy – that’s the thing. I’m realising that it’s the filter to my life. My marking scheme, so to speak. No matter the vibrations of life, it’s always – I’m okay if my Lord is okay with that. And I’m in pieces if He’s displeased, no matter how very okay it all looks like from the outside. And it’s funny that I’m writing this down, because I’m sat here feeling absolutely urgghhh after closing an equivocal deal for a good client. It’s especially hard when it concerns people you genuinely like. Because you want to do everything in your power to see them succeed in life. But surely not at the cost of the pleasure of The Sublime. For what then would be my definition of success?

A reprieve. It’s been cancelled, I’m informed, as I write this. You simply can’t script life subhanallah. I’m humbled with gratitude. Don’t get me wrong, I’m disappointed for my client, but I don’t want to be a part of that train. My Lord, put it all in rice. Ahem. I’ve probably said this several times, and have gotten some recoil regarding its authenticity and relationship with adverse mental health. Life honestly has no meaning for me, without His grace, and His hope, and His promise. Seeing unjust people live amazing lives, and the kindest people struggle in life – none of it makes sense to me without the lens of religion. The fact that this is literally a test. That we must account for everything. Resources, relationships, time, all of it. And a true life beckons. It’s the one thing that keeps me going, the fact that His promise is certain. Because I’m weak and I flounder, and I sometimes exceed my limits. And I hate myself. And I sometimes inordinately love myself. And I’m inconstant, but what I know for sure is that He isn’t. It really is the only thing that gives me hope. That no matter what I perceive, I know my Lord has got it figured out for me.  That I only have to worry that I’ve put in my call, because He will be there to lift my chin up, keep me sane and alive. It’s the last thing I want sometimes. But we’re here, and I’m grateful, my Lord.

I’ll be the first to admit that I fall on the other side of the seesaw. When I think of the blessings in my life, between you and me, I don’t deserve it. No matter what I tell myself, I’m worthy, anything your therapist and Michelle Obama would say, I honest to God do not deserve anything I have. And it’s a lot. I think back and wonder sometimes..my Lord, you know me, the real me, and still…this? What do you give the people that you love? To the people who worship you without measure? And this is coming from an innate competitor. No matter how hard I try, I fail and fall countless times. But my Lord, you know I can’t stand accounts. Literally and figuratively. So keep me amongst those you won’t take to account, I beg of you.

I’ve never really got the answer to a recurrent question. How is it no matter how strong I consider our bond, nothing about it seems enough? There isn’t any satisfied aspect when it comes to this side of my life. It translates to an insatiable thirst for me. It’s always no no, no matter how much I take my fill, there’s always more, more prayer, more fasting, more charity, more goodness that I’ve still got to do. It’s incredible. I’m constantly in the space of…help me, move me, rectify me. It’s always my Lord this, my Lord that, when I’m lax in my obligations towards Him. I’m always, I want more, oh I need this, I want more. The need to get closer and closer to Him. The need to surrender and place all my trust, my hopes and my dreams there. To abandon my mind, my soul, my heart and body to His cause. Because he’s the Causer of causes, Disposer of all affairs, The Expediter and The Delayer, The Subtle One, The Supreme Giver. 

There are no answers to the fact that I’d be up in the clouds at 8 a.m and in the pitts by 8 p.m. None of course other than the ones You provide. For better tomorrows, there’s no one else to turn to but you my Lord. And until we meet again, always make it so.  

Life’s Kitchen

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D Reilly Lets not go there

Credit: D.Reilly,  The New Yorker (2017) art.com

Rush Through The Office, Just Browse The News

Hurry We’ll Miss The Bus.

The Early Bird Gets To Wait, The Later Ones To Stand,

Check To See If Listed, Complain Or Defend.

Sprinting Up And Down The Corridors,

Peeking And Visiting Each Room.

So Many Matters At Once,

‘Please Hold Brief’ Echoes To The Door.

Dragging Scores Of Files,

Then The Greatest Rivals Friends,

Chatting, Gossiping And Negotiating,

Planning For The Day, And Plotting.

Enter And Bow,

Packed, Cramped And Compact, Half On Bench Would Do.

If Only The Victim Knew He Was Loved,

Layabouts To Witness The Accused Sorted.

Other Times Much Peace And Quiet,

Yet Anxiety At Dangerous Levels.

People Summoned, Called And Reminded,

A World Without Mobiles Undeniably Dreaded.

Cushions, Stenographers, Microphones,

The Shopping List Grows Longer,

A Degree In Graphology,

Money, Money, Money!

Jotting Down Furiously,

Thinking, Asking, Cornering.

Witnesses Anxious And Trembling,

Doctors And Policemen Alike, Stuttering And Stumbling.

But Atop The Pyramid Rests Another, Not Magistrate Or Lawyer,

Summoning, Negotiating, Pleading, Pushing.

Digesting Endless Excuses, Filing And Stamping,

To Cope With Defendants And Registries, We Need The Clerks!

Smile Through The Worst, Remember Your Manners,

Even When Told Off ‘Most Obliged Your Honour’.

All Rise One More Bow,

The Best Is Yet To Follow.

The Head Does Have A Body,

A Secret All That While.

Interesting, Amusing, Quite Like A Strategy Game,

A Day In Court Is Never The Same.

Guest post: Ruhina Javed (Life’s kitchen, 2018) 

The Surrender Experiment

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Surrender

Credit: Zolan Milic, Getty Images (2017)

Lol. You know I was rolling my eyes when I started reading about this.  Surrender? What is surrender? Surrender for what? Surrender for what reason? What is surrender? Right, so besides Eartha Kitt’s voice booming in my head, I did honestly try to get into the spirit of things. You see, self help books and I are like African dictators and corruption. We’re inseparable. So there we were, gritting our teeth reading about it all, but I just couldn’t get into it. There is no retreating nor surrendering of that nature that goes on in my life. We fight tooth and nail against every single thingamabob that seeks to disrupt our lives. However powerless we may seem to be. There is a distinctive difference, I thought, between surrender and patience. To be patient means to grit my teeth when you’re telling me nonsense. Cut it short and walk away afterwards.  And to surrender means to react to your nonsense. To take the time to go down to your level of rubbish and debate semantics of…the magnitude of your crapola. Really. We must think about that one again!

There could not be a more perfect candidate for this surrendering business, I thought. No one has ever not complained that my duas are too detailed. No honey. We don’t leave anything to chance. Chance? What is chance? Okay okay, I’ll try to stop. We most certainly are not a fly by the seat of your pants type of girl. And do not even try to equate that level of balderdash to recreation. I promise you, nothing of that sort will endear you to us. But the contrast to that is self sufficiency. And here’s the thing. I’m not. No one is. It goes against the principle of this world. And the laws that bind us together. We need each other, just as much as we despise each other. And this is coming from an innate people hater. I meet people, and think oh God, you too I have to deal with? People who prefer to communicate and work through skype and email are my favourite kind of people in the world. And texters are my conscripted soldiers. My soul’s companions. Not soul mates, mark you. I don’t believe in the idea. Not when everything is meant to test your patience in this world, and when everlasting joy lies in another lifetime. But conscripted soldiers? As a parameter, it checks me every time I find myself inclined towards someone known to entertain evil. No way am I allowing you into my life, however magnetic you are, not when I’ve got cracks in mine and still have to sort out my own energy.

You know how you feel when people tell you something you’re vehemently opposed to, however accurate? Something like, you’ve reached the end of your tether, honey, please take a breath and relax. And you’re not superwoman, you know? But I am, I growl. But you’re not says that voice firmly resident in your head. And you growl again for the heck of it but concede? Chuck that voice. I’m here to tell you that that voice is a completely different person from you. Well not me really, but Michael Singer’s Untethered Soul which truly is a journey in self awareness and lays the foundation for the surrender experiment. The title says it all really. How to surrender and thrive in the vicissitudes of life, that is the overriding message. So here’s the thing. It’s easy to lay back, accept and thrive in the flow of life, I mean theoretically. Reasonably, the idea that you’d just let things happen without diving in to help it along or resist it all is alien to me. And quite frankly to the way we’re built.

And it’s remarkable that I’m so opposed to the book when its premise is similar to the submission required of me as a believer. Surrender, solitude and meditation are the hallmarks of classic monotheism. To be aware of the greater being. And the purpose to life. But that awareness isn’t passive. It’s raining cats and dogs, and I’m looking out, trying to relax and thrive in the harshness of thunder. There was a particular crackle to the last boom, and we’re shaken. Surely there must be a tempering to the flow demanded by Singer. One must strive, and one must also be patient and observe. Suffice it to say that the surrender experiment and I are having some trouble getting along.

I’m a human being, and I’ve long accepted that I’m unable to take the world by myself. I need people, my Lord help me never to. Rah! You know I’d be fighting this to my last breath. When you’re a lone ranger in these streets, you’re obsessed with beating the competition. Don’t ask me who or what the competition is, I’m still trying to figure it out. But that is my biggest fear – to fail in life. I remember telling someone this once, and they asked me what would happen if I did, and I….didn’t have an answer. I’d feel bad. I wouldn’t be able to live with myself, I thought. But what catastrophe would be occasioned by this failure? Will I die? Will I be damned to eternal hell? Will I collapse? I’d probably puke my guts out in blood but…I will get over it.

I was recently overwhelmed professionally. As usual, I had bitten off more than I could chew, and was trying to pull all nighters to get to par with the commitments I had made. And I remember waking up one night and thinking…I don’t have the heart for this anymore. I’m no longer 21. And the following night, I was attempting to read for an exam, and again… I couldn’t understand a thing about what it was I was reading. And, I’m still like of course I’ll do this paper and hack it. And a peer is telling me to back out and avoid starting 2020 this way. And I was trying to think – what would Michael Singer do? And for the life of me, I couldn’t apply his advice to my practical life. Surrender to what? Surrender for what reason? I tried.

I attended a meeting recently and one participant felt compelled to personally attack me. The appalling quality to my English and some such nonsense. Self esteem issues, you know the drill. And I remember looking back with dagger eyes, and was one statement away from blasting it (hahaha) and taking it through a crash course in professionalism. And you know, humane behaviour. It belittles you as a leader to behave disrespectfully in front of your peers. And sis had a draft of an email ready to send and blast (it) in front of its peers. And thank God I did not. The art of knowing is knowing what to ignore. I read this, and there just isn’t anymore to be said is there? Reacting to people and their idiotic behaviour is not in my list of challenges. Nor my league of achievements. This aspect to surrender I can take. It’s the rest that I can’t seem to swallow.

Surpassing my goals. And failing. That’s what pushes me. And haunts me. A sort of score card or scarlet letter on the extent of my abilities. I once did french language exams, and had one paper left to get my diplome but had to go back to uni, and for the life of me, I’ve never forgotten that missed niveau quatre exam. It goes back to my definition of honour and hypocrisy. To fail to honour my commitments, especially those that I make to myself, is a sign of hypocrisy in myself, isn’t it? Is this surrender? Sigh. Does it ever get uncomplicated?

There are certain aspects to my submission that are unquestionable. The foundation of my being is to surrender to The Supreme. For whom else would I submit to? And whose other decrees are worth submitting to anyway? The definition of surrender in my life is so far removed from any western or indeed eastern ideal of spirituality. It’s almost too simple, I find. I submit to my Lord and my Lord only. Readily and most willingly. Every dawn, and every dusk. And every noon, and afternoon. And before the witching hour. In solitude and in company. And I would never hesitate to do so. Even when I’m prostrate with exhaustion. Whatever the complaints of my flesh, my will and spirit is ever ready. What do I get in return, you ask? Peace.

This is my surrender experiment. And everything else is play. Boom.

How NOT to kill a difficult client

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angry-customer-300x209

Credit: Retailmavens.com (2012)

Pack your kindness, child. Patience doesn’t cut it here. You know, rule exceptions and all that. You can’t out pretend them, and you can’t out cun them. Any whiff of insincerity can be smelled from a mile away. So don’t even try. There’s a special breed of species that tramples over any purported lens of objectivity demanded of a professional. They’re the perfect blend of your worst monster. Impatient, intimidating, loquacious, demanding, indecisive. The last. Just urggghhhh. They breathe fire wherever they go. No one’s safe, apart from the finance department of tender institutions, and their investors. Hallmark traits? An inflated sense of self and worth. They put the O in Overconfident. The C in Conceited. And the D in Delusional. 

The kind of people you can’t help but daydream of bashing with those dumbbells they have in gyms. Those pink, equally heavy, ones that they reserve for their female clientele. Who are seemingly unable to communicate clearly when their deadlines are, and always call you with breathless urgency that surely no Maasai moran chased by a lion could ever attempt to emulate. There’s always this fine whisk of impending doom sprinkled with a healthy dose of unrealistic optimism that you’d drop everything to serve them. Surely, an hour after they requested for your help, intricate and complex brief aside, is more than enough? Say what other clients? Of course, your office only runs by their business. Miraculously so. Never mind that your bills are too high. And they’ve run through several of your colleagues before they settled on you. Come on, of course they are not the problem.

You know them. They think they’re entitled to your nights and all your weekends. And disappear when it comes to payment. Who always have huge dreams of taking over the world, that surely you must want to hear? And elaborate plans of overcoming all their haters. Don’t even get me started on their status updates. Never, and I repeat, never make the mistake of clicking on any of them. The last thing they need is the motivation of any right thinking member of society. All this is certainly not helped by the fact that they haven’t got a thread of control to their anger. What thread? What control? What anger? It’s a riveting sight. When they are weirdly moved to deny the very things they embody. And their tongues, razor sharp, and quick to accuse, and abuse. They give village grandmothers competition on wagging fingers. To whom it’s all directed, wasted performance it may be? Their absent haters, and business partners who crossed them over. Emphasis mine.

There are people beyond affect heuristic philosophies. Who transcend reflective listening. Whom no zen mind nor amount of uninterrupted venting could ever get rid of the proverbial chip on their shoulder. Who defy every single psychology book you’ve come across. They’re not skeptical of your services, they’re just plain difficult. Sis, how you deal with this cancer of unpleasantness is to put down your club first. Throw that hidden sock dagger too, I saw it. Sigh, we don’t use family heirlooms to commit crimes. The oh so innocent pin in your hijab? Pass it over, sis. Breath deeply through your nose, and… give them the best service you’re capable of. The best advice. Yes, it’s tres painful but you took them on, and you’ve got to deliver your part. Don’t worry, you’re doing it for you babe, not them. Because no matter who is standing in front of you, whether Mzee Shee, Netanyahu, Malala. You never joke around with your work, ever. Let them hate you because of your bills. But let work be the one area they could never open their big mouths at. Okay I take back Netanyahu. Rule exceptions et al.

It’s all too easy to put them in their place, but what’s the point really. I literally cannot summon the energy to give you a scolding. Do go off, you’re the one bit of entertainment in my day. And please don’t try to praise me, or use big adjectives to refer to me. It’s always laid on just a bit more thickly, you know. So unrefined. Darling, please credit me with a bit of intelligence. Of course I’m good at my job, I work hard and pray hard about it. Even that emotional intelligence you’re always harping about. Don’t I try to laugh at your investors’ jokes, however stale? I’m sorry I couldn’t crack a smile at the misogynistic one though, I hope you understand. And no, no amount of eye balling me from across the room will change my facial expression. Even if the millions for your super duper project are threatened. See what I mean, all entertainment.

My fighting days are behind me. How can I fight someone who harms himself far more than he could any of the rest of us? Yes, I’ll sleep less hours doing your work, but I’ll still sleep peacefully. My bridge burning days are long gone. Yup. That I reserve for hypocrites, and friends who have the audacity to betray me.

Ahem, be that as it may, we’re your regular climate change placard carrying, peace preaching queens. And we never ever chase away difficult clients. So uncouth. We just give them the regular ol’ excuse – we’re busy. And no, I’m not fibbing you. You see, we really are busy living unproblematic lives. And we don’t need your negative energy and parsimonious self to disrupt it in any way. Peace.

And still…

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Al-Haram

Al-Haram, Giza (2019)

Seeking. Flawed. We’re still that one grain of sand in a windy desert, however strong we may appear to be. God, we wish! I say that, because just a few weeks ago, it was looking very different coming off of a high of MMA. And we were all about the celebration of a champion. Still undefeated. Undisputed. A lesson in bravery. You know, the lion of Dagestan. And it was turning out to be this seemingly annual Khabib appreciation quarter of the internet. And don’t get me wrong, we do appreciate the guy. But I don’t ever want to be a vessel of opposition to the decrees of my Lord, however contrasting my personal inclinations. And I was struggling with this. Because on the one hand, I’d be the first to stay up and shout myself hoarse at every take down and tussle, braying for blood. And on the other, I’m cognizant of my faith’s ceiling and the implications of my endorsement. I mean, I should be the first to check myself, and others, and turn away. You know, be better. And it looks pretty straightforward on paper. There are so many things I’ve given up for the pleasure of The One. What is one more, I think? And it really is an oxymoron, because however violent my gestures or dreams, I personally abhor violence. And I can’t stand it of others. So it’s crazy that I’m struggling to get off this show. Urggghhhh!

September is of course my darling of a father’s month. Not that everyday isn’t his day. I recently spoke to someone I believed was more learned than I am, and they initially encouraged me to visit his grounds. And of course I went wild about the thought of it for a couple of hours, imagining all of my Saturdays at his abode. And it’s scary to me, that it’s that easy to get swayed by opinions that fit in with your desired wishes. Of course I’d researched and read all about it, and sadly, but patiently stayed away. I’m not hysterical. I wouldn’t say the explanation applies to me. And in the same token, I know of several men whose emotional expressiveness rivals Oprah’s. But the idea that I’d be quick to jump at an opinion that conforms to what I want is scary.  Because it’s what’s been warned of these times. The lifting of knowledge. And the proliferation of charlatans.

One of my dad’s best friends recently passed away. His other best friend wouldn’t step foot in town. And one of his other friends, has been unwell for a while. Visiting him in hospital was bittersweet because it of course reminded me so much of my dad’s last days. But that’s not why I’m raising this. It seems to be the season. Which is something he’d regularly bring up. That his friends had left. And almost insidiously so. And his family had passed. And he was trying to find meaning in being among the last of his generation. And I remember being perplexed by all of this- because of course I’d selfishly want my dad to stay forever.

I was recently speaking to my mum, and probing her plans for this next phase of her life. When a majority of it she’d spent with my dad. And I’d throw strong hints of doing this course, and learning this language or opening up this business. And she’d be adamant about it being her season. Nothing but worship. And her desire to congeal herself to the Quran. And wake up every night, and fast regularly. And I was listening to this incredulously. Like yeah yeah, we could do all that mum. But we could also do this business. And you’d be occupied. And you’d still memorize the Quran. But she wouldn’t hear any of it.

And now of course I could kick myself, as the clarity of her reasoning hits home. And I’m stupefied at the sheer folly in my logic. That to occupy myself is to run after dunya, which is a distraction. And yet here we have my Lord encouraging us to run towards Him, pledging to sort out all our affairs for us. And to refrain from occupying ourselves with the mirage of this life, when there’s something way more permanent. And I’m honestly gobsmacked by the simplicity of such reasoning. It’s the fact that we’re literally promised, you guys. Leave all this, strive for goodness, and I guarantee you peace. A vow. And we’re still no no, let me do both. But there is no both. It’s one or the other. Which fills me with tremendous hope and happiness at its possible attainment. And sadness that my life is far from this reality.

Two friends recently called to ask me what I’m up to, and it was a chiding really, for failing to mention all of the things I’m up to and their consternation that they’d had to hear from others. And at first I was bothered at the fact that they were bothered. Because I never call anyone up to ask them what they’re up to in their personal lives, or business or career, or just about any matter that doesn’t concern me. But when I sat down, I thought to myself. But this is what brought us together. We cultivated our friendships based on worldly goals, not akhera or our well being so of course you’d only catch up on worldly goals. Which I find sad. Because I’m not about that life, and if I ever were my Lord, please guide me back to my pledge to you.

It honestly doesn’t sound like 3 years, when my Saturday is still so fresh, and our hands still so warm, my kisses still so well received, and my love runneth over. I’m really not gassing you (or myself) when I say that I genuinely don’t believe in the idea of separation between my beloved, and all of my lost loved ones. It feels like one of those temporary trips and here I am counting the days to our reunion. But how can I really? When their absence is a chilling reminder of my pending presence in our other life. Which is far more peaceful, and more than we could ever imagine. Imagine that.

So here we are, still accepting, patient, thankful, still subservient my Lord. For our meetings before you, with the highest of honours, I beg of you my Lord. Ever obedient. Eternally hopeful. Still waiting. Still. For you, my Lord. Always for you.

1441 A.H.

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Crescent Moon of 1 Muharram 1441 AH Credit: blog.al-habib.info (2019)

It’s heeeeerrrreeeee! New year, new resolutions, and all that jazz. Okay, settle done dudettes, this blog does not stand for any celebrations, innovations, revolutions, yup. We’re those middle ground conservatives that everyone loves to hate. Traditional to the coint. Bone. But coint is my current favourite word. Bear with us. So yeah people. I’m not about any of the Sudais bashing, Saudi opposing, Hamas supporting bandwagon that just about everyone I know seems to be on. Or a blind supporter of the so called arab spring. And this is coming from a self confessed rebel who’s long supported just about any sort of revolutionary movement around me. In class. At home. At work. Public transport. Russia. My rebelliousness crumbles like wet sugar before The Most High, and everything He stands for. Ignorance is a killer, y’all. That is not to say that I condone any injustice whatever my aversion to the critique of my leaders. And however abhorrent the individuals supposedly are. Le sigh. There’s something to be said about this beautiful patience that we’re enjoined to exercise. Nothing about it is easy.

So it’s also my birthday month, and I was tempted to post something insightful to mark my day but I realized I was making too big of a deal of one day, however significant. I was also exhausted after a long day’s work of serving guests. Cushitic women exist on a whole other plane y’all. Men? Bah! they can’t ever complain that the coffee is too rich, or the food is too salty.  The women though – I could write a whole novel about them and their ways. 50 years’ worth of cooking and home making seems to give one the dictatorial rights to order you around and demand, because there are no polite requests really, whatever they wish of you. So there I was running around like a headless chicken fulfilling every edict, and cutting this, and peeling that, cleaning this and picking massive wads of popcorn off the floor that someone deliberately threw…because! Significant day, significant year but I could barely keep my eyes open at the end of the day.

But thank God that happened, because 1441 AH was just right around the corner,and boy, haven’t we got a lot to say about that. Big big plans, as usual, ahem. But come now, surely none with the level of excitement we have for this one. None with that, I assure you. Taasua and ashura.  A trip around my favourite places. A reunion with my Lord, because I don’t give two figs if I go broke, for sure, when it beckons. Not that I would ever want to turn away from its call anyway. Pssshh. New skills acquisition, and a re-connection with my passion. Knowledge gathering, the real knowledge y’all. My Lord, please make it all happen for me.

An acquaintance recently called me to ask me to help them, and in the same vein could not resist abusing me. And I was hanging up in disbelief. You want me to help you, but you see nothing wrong with insulting me, and attempting to put me down. Or probing for private information that you can clearly tell I’m not willing to share. And you know, I would normally just leave one speaking midway, hang up every subsequent call or respond in the same tone. But this is the year of letting everything slide off of me. Michelle Obama’s we go high philosophy. It’s not easy, this patience thing. But you gotta try it, because the Exalted has promised us the world, the hereafter and everything we desire if we tried it. It costs everything. Nothing less than everything.

The idea of speaking to people I can’t stand and ordinarily would never entertain is new to me. I had another acquaintance recently call me to relay that a friend was speaking about me. An acquaintance. Reporting a friend. Let that sink in. Of course I find all this to be trés outlandish because I’m the very last person who’s interested in any of society’s social parameters of popularity and success. I genuinely don’t care about you, and your life and business. I don’t know what possible advantage you’d ever obtain from updating yourself of my affairs. If I knew it, I could perhaps attempt to understand it. But there isn’t, you see. You’re not anyone special. And I’m nothing special. You won’t die if you focused on yourself. Really. Our lives are inordinately full, what possible pleasure would one ever derive in butting their heads, tongues and malice in other people’s affairs. This life. And this promised patience – so beautiful, and powerful, and dense, and unbreakable. Unimaginably difficult and immensely rewarding. Like most good things in life.

So 1441 A.H. is my year of patience. Forbearance and self-restraint and fortitude and composure and all that jazz. Here we go again y’all, around the mulberry bush, serene, ready to slay some more dragons this year, ahem human beings. No murder of course. You know what I mean? And some more fears. And challenges. We’re ready to slay them all.

So without further ado, ladies, and ladies, welcome to 1441 A.H.

Anatomy of a cold cushitic woman

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Hijabi photo

Credit: Pinterest (Grace Elizabeth),  2019

Forbidding, unfeeling, austere. I’ve heard these and their less sophisticated synonyms, at various points in my life.  More regularly than I’d care to admit. Heartless, one once called me. Really people really? Now that I must dispute. A slow pulse I may have, but it works perfectly fine for the activities that I’m inclined towards. And no, I’m not unemotional either. I just prefer not to idolize my feelings. People misunderstand me in this way. Empathizing, many times painfully, and vicariously through random strangers,  comes way too easily than I’m comfortable with. And I hate it when I get there, because it’s a faucet I can’t turn off. So aloof we go.

When I think of myself, the very last thing that comes to mind is glaciers. I think of fire, good fire, the one that lights up our homes, and gives us warmth and makes me good tea. That fire. Sun fire, sahara hot, beating down the remotest of coldness in my life. And I think of glittering lights for my eyes. Not anger glitters people, have you ever heard of the word “passion”? Look it up. And my manly walk and robotic movements, I prefer to call focused efforts to propel my motion forward, always forward people, always forward. And my provocations, defiance, and bluster really? Bluster? Come on, even my haters know this is unmitigated bravado which I’m quick to back up with precedent, data, evidence, figures. Ahem, bear with us. I’m into hyping myself up these days.

You see people, there is no ice here, it’s tempered passion. Unabridged amazonianhood. I once read a novel about a lost tribe of women who lived in the Amazon. Tall statuesque warrior women. The image has always stuck with me. Dare I say that that is how I view myself? So it wasn’t exactly the most ideal of foundations, at least not one receptive to the maze of  jungian and myers-brigg theories that has had the internet ablaze for a while. It was indeed with much surprise that I found myself almost gleefully diving down a rabbit hole of discovery into this part fact, part myth cult that constitutes personality archetypes in modern times. I cannot tell you the amount of blogs, because of course blogs, I’ve scrolled through waiting to catch someone in a barefaced lie. You mean you actually understand a little bit about me. Nooooo. No one is allowed to know me better than I know myself. And I’m torn between resentment that someone has got a number on us and excitement that someone has got a number on us.

To clear all doubts and prevent triggered dudettes coming after me for this seemingly misleading title, there will be no biology lessons to be had today. But we’ll have dissections, of our lives yes, because those are the only dissections we do now. Ever. I mean always, of course. Friends, frenemies ,welcome to our corner of the World. We know you, we recognize you, even those master procrastinators who crunch 3 months’ work into 2 sleepless nights, we are together in eternal guilt and never ending lists and tasks. Having said that, I don’t believe anyone could ever tell me what my house is, not even I can. But we can agree on my neighbourhood. It’s all cold outside. And smouldering inside. 

Hall mark traits? Some of my most creative of thoughts are my morbid musings, it would have been beautiful I assure you, the ingenuity-we’d give everyone ideas, we’d make headlines. Ahem, but we’re alive, and there’s beauty in life people. It is enough to know that I am here for a season. And it is enough to know that I’m competing with each one of you in striving to do good for The Exalted. And I’ll be damned if I let my enemies get the better of me in this regard. Ahem, that is not to say that our primary motivation is competition, we love serving people, even those ones we can’t stand, there’s satisfaction  in this I have come to learn. Indeed, to know that we are better than you after all, what more reward does one need. I kid, I kid!

I have a thing for authority, I like goading it. Pulling its tail. Testing its mettle, I don’t know what it is that makes me rebel against any sort of perceived authority. And I hate that, because there’s wisdom to be learnt from people who came before you. But we’re working on it. My supposed stare or resting bitch face cannot be helped. Sometimes I’ve got a deer in headlights expression you see, and my mind is in Jupiter. It means nothing really. Half of the time, we’re not looking at you…or listening either.

I love my company. I’m sitting here writing this with my whole family asleep and those are the best of times. Me, my laptop, my Lord. I don’t know why people are terrified of being alone, when they constitute some of our most exciting and inspiring of times. Just fill it up with things that you love and you’re good. Oooor , leave it empty and stare at the wall, and just go through galaxies and black holes, and beyond. That beyond is my sweet spot, my watering hole when I need a break.

The thing about being cold and cushitic is that it’s the complete antithesis of what’s expected of a cushitic woman. Being garrulous and chirpy and accommodating and bubbly, and meek, and well mannered, and demure and, everything I’m not. The idea that there’s this normal nature and personality expected of cushitic girls I have always thought completely bizarre.  You grow up thinking you’re abnormal, and yet there’s everything to be gained in being reserved, and quietly fervent, and atypical. A filter for people who aren’t anything close to your crew.  I consider myself to be a starry eyed cynic. Because I still believe in the beauty of  goodness in the face of evil, but have the right amount of skepticism to know that it’s rare to get it in this very selfish, cruel, unjust world.  An intense, somewhat masculine personality playing a feminine role, that’s us people.

It goes without saying that I don’t abide by rules just because I’m supposed to. And I may be methodical in the way that I approach life but I’m not super organized. I gotta have something off in my wardrobe or desk, or I’ll go crazy. I still know where everything is, but I can’t stand the straight and narrow, at least not for things I don’t find particularly important. And no, I don’t know it all. I’m always up to pick your brain. I’m always up to change my mind. Convince me. And please do throw a few compliments here and there. Of my work. Coz that’s the only kind we accept. I know darling, not all women want what you think we want. But there’s a fine balance, mind. Come on, every week is overkill. One or two per year should do it. Yeeeeees, we have got a bit of shallow in us. Or more than a bit. Kind of like most human beings (shhh don’t tell anyone that.)

We’re here, we’re better than you, nastier, cooler than you. We are the modern version of the cold cushitic woman. And we make no apologies for it.

The highest good

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everest

Everest (2010). Credit: Vivian Henderson, gwcaia.com 

Cicero. Seneca. Epictetus. Bezos. Musk. Gates. Me. Ahem. What’s the difference between us all really but a few thousand years and a few billion dollars? You’ve got to gas yourself up sometimes.

300 B.C. 2019 A.D. It’s not all bad, you see. History. Philosophy. The Art of Acquiescence. The love of fate. Ancient religion, to all the agnostics and atheists in the house. Okay, I can’t resist poking at you. I have never met a more prepared lot in my life. I don’t know what it is about me that always drives them to spontaneously rave, with chapter and verse, and so admirably presented, at the absurdness of our lives. We’d be talking about the most random of things – the chicken in my sandwich is stale, and off they go- you know what else is stale? Religion! I mean, relax you guys. So you went through some tough times in your life and no miraculous help was forthcoming? Guess what, we all did? It’s supposed to build your character. And what’s this about drawing a line between not believing in something and not knowing whether there’s something worth believing in. And then there’s people who combine the two for good measure. Agnostic atheism. Whaaaaat? I can’t stand people who sit on the fence. And it’s the thing to do these days- Aah, I’m not saying that climate change doesn’t exist but it goes both ways. So do you believe it or not, man? Urggh! Anyways, philosophers, billionaires and stoicism. I like!

It looks a little bit like this. I was speaking to a good friend who’d recently called to ask about some guy who was interested in marrying her. This guy and I? Oil and water. We’re biased. I’d be the very last person to advise her. So off I went to ask my miss goody two shoes of a friend- you know those people in your life who never have anything bad to say about anyone? Envy them to bits! But then this girl was also like mais non mademoiselle! Tu es folle! He’s like chlamydia-you stay far away from it! Err, she didn’t exactly say that, but when I think of the grossest of the gross in the world, I think of chlamydia.

My uni had us go through a mandatory HIV/AIDS course in first year to possibly traumatize us from having sexual relations? I genuinely don’t know what the purpose was, it was always Sodom and Gomorrah back in the residence halls. But one thing that stuck with me since then? Chlamydia. And gonorrhea. When I think back to the worst of the worst, chlamydia comes to mind. Rolls of my tongue easier. So this guy, bad like chlamydia! The first time I met him, I mean the very first time I met the guy, he interrupted, admittedly a monologue of my dad’s achievements and his scholarly pursuits, to ponder on how he managed to take care of his many children on a teacher’s salary. This is what I always say. Don’t ask people questions whose answers you’re not prepared to listen to. My dad? Monologue. My cat? Monologue. My work? One word. Please don’t interrupt people? Especially if you’ve got nothing good to say? And how dare you confuse scholars with teachers?! Ahem.

Fast forward to 2019, and my friend tells me she’s actually considering this specimen for life. It’s all I needed – permission to lay my good opinion at her door. Err, none? Have you ever met people about whom you have very little good to share? I tried, Lord knows I did! It was all chlamydia but I valiantly fought to translate my violent opposition into something more acceptable. I would have previously raved to my heart’s content, and swam in guilt afterwards. These days, I track back on the vitriol and distill my thoughts to focus on virtue over vice. Not exactly what people are expecting to hear but they don’t sleep in my bed at night. You know, something that balances my responsibility to tell the truth regarding someone’s marriageable prospects and a gossip sesh that I can sleep with.

So I thought, phew I’m done with that nasty business. Only for my girl to call me the next day and relay that chlamydia had interesting ideas regarding marriage. To be specific, he thought highly of a “secret nikah” a.k.a prostitution patched up with a marriage certificate, and would she mind considering it? I can’t even speak about it here, it needs its own post. I had had it! Chlamydia graduated to gonorrhea, and I couldn’t stand to hear a minute’s more of that conversation. Which was sad, because she needed to vent. But I was slipping to the point of no return. My fingers still itch to call him up and tell him exactly what I think of him. And men of his ilk. Familiar territory. It’s what I have always done. And still crave to do. Not to say that he will not get the cut sublime the very next time I meet him. That is the barest he deserves from me. And that I introduced my friend to an ogre. Urrghh! But stoicism, you guys. Cool beans.

Forbearance. Fortitude. Phlegm. You know you’ve got it bad when such words excite the hell out of you! Those are the worst. The rest are all feel good. Long-sufferingness. Restraint. Temperance. Okay okay, I was kidding. That aside though, Ryan Holiday’s Daily Stoic is a must read! Trust me, you start with the likes of Marcus Aurelius (kill me) and then you get to the meatier parts and you’re like, hang on? Are you telling me what I think you’re telling me? You mean, I can hack the ultimate computer? My own mind?

Since my introduction in uni, the stoic philosophy has always stood out as one of the most fascinating ideologies in history. Still fascinating, because it needs oodles of strength of mind, which I lack. You know what drives me? The unattainable. But it’s more than that. It’s accepting that you have no control over most aspects of your life, and that a change in attitude to look for the virtue that you should be learning in the adversity currently before you, goes a long way.  It’s a more sophisticated approach to live and let live. Because it teaches you to not only accept what has happened, but to enjoy it all, whatever it is! Really. At its simplest, it’s the acknowledgment of the unpredictability of the world and the encouragement to be steadfast, to be in control of our emotions and reflexive senses. Reflexive senses FBI and Mossad style? That was my hook!

I’m obsessed with the idea of cultivating an excellent mental state. And stoicism is all about it, you guys. The acceptance that you can control very few things in your life to eliminate the unhappiness resulting from thinking that you can control things that, in fact, you can’t. We can’t control what’s happening around us, what people around us say or do. We can’t even control our own bodies that get sick and damaged and fail us. But we can control how we think about them. Which leads me to the second thread. That it’s not necessarily those people or actions or things that upset us, but how we think about them. That everything we think-whether happy, sad, fearful, mad- is a product of the judgments that we make. That things in themselves are value neutral, for what might be devastating to us might be welcomed by others. That it’s those value judgments that generate our emotional reactions. It’s the ultimate paradox, as Epictetus points out- that while we may have almost no control over anything, we also have the ability, through our change in attitude, to see the virtue in everything around us and have potentially complete control over our happiness.

Whatever gas I’d be smoking in those pages, I need some more of it. Because hunteys, I be chilling these days! A client would call me with 3 different instructions to their work, and I’d most probably have gone off handle on them. Not anymore, I actually do it with a smile. No really, a proper genuine smile. Someone else trying to slow down my roll? Again, cool beans. I’m like, you do you honey. Carry on wasting your time by being spiteful towards others. I mean, you’ll still get back exactly what you give. Now I know, I know, you’re all wondering about Trump. And Netanyahu.

There are no sad endings for those who trust in Allah. I read this somewhere and it stuck with me. There are no sad endings, you guys, if you believe in the philosophy of justice as ordained by the laws of nature, the laws of our Creator. The “you pay for everything you do here, and beyond,” even when you see horrible people living the life. Forget about them. They’re going to hell. Err, I kid of course. Not really? Honestly, just try your best to do good and be good. You will never attain the perfection of actions and ethos required of you for a full twenty-four hours. But you can try. And that’s all that is asked of you. That you get up after every fall and keep trying. Have you ever seen the ending of good people? To die for!

Enough about this venting to people business, I’m done people. Besides the unimaginable guilt, you somehow always end up looking like the bad guy. Haven’t asked for my opinion? Cool beans, man. You can do whatever and say whatever about me. That’s on you. Just don’t be unjust in front of me, and for God’s sake, don’t kill people either! Anything and everything else, I’m mute. Do you boo boo.

It’s not easy. But nobody said it would be. Whatever nonsense that goes on around me these days, I swallow my words and turn to my Lord. Which better listener is there anyway?

The Visit

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makkah image

Makkatul Mukarramah (2019)

Dreams do come true. In the most unexpected of times, and in the most unlikeliest of situations. There you are minding your own business, as you do, deep in the daily grind, when out of nowhere, a checkbox of a gift falls on your lap. And it’s amazing that a gift more closely associated in plenty would be made available to you in attendant scarcity. But perhaps it’s better that way so you could better appreciate it.  Starting a business wiped me out financially. And however I have managed to stay afloat, however long, however gracefully, only my Lord knows best its particulars. However I have managed to stay positive, and not just hang on but thrive really in this abyss of despair synonymous with unconnected entrepreneurs trying to bootstrap their way to unalloyed success, really, that you have to ask Him. And so never did I think that in the drift of this no man’s land, as I like to call it, I would get to fulfill one of my lifelong dreams.

It really is true, the more one is in need of Allah, the harder they will fight to ensure they get closer and closer to him. I have been way more financially solvent that I am now yet never did it once cross my mind to visit my Lord’s house and His Prophet’s mosque. It’s strange beyond belief really, that when Allah blesses you immeasurably, when you should have more to thank for, the farther you are from his remembrance. Wealth is a test, and so is poverty.  There is something between those two, that hasn’t got a name. That’s where I consider myself to be. On a brink. Not destitute, but not dishing it out like it grows on trees anymore. Not impoverished, but not entirely comfortable at my situation. It’s extraordinary to me that I’d wake up one morning, throw my hands up, acknowledge my assets, and find them sufficiently enough to take off without a care in the world of any tomorrows. And I’m ashamed that I find that amazing, because that is exactly the attitude that we should adopt as travelers in this world.

Well, the shame train doesn’t stop there- I’m embarrassed to state that it did still take much prodding from my loved ones to push me to go. Not until I heard that it’s not everyone’s destiny to go really- if there ever was a fire to get me off my behind, it is to hear the words “no”, never”  and “impossible”. Suddenly, I had a wealth of funds and to my Lord I fled.

There is no feeling to describe one’s sight of the Holy House of The Merciful.  It’s wave upon wave of regret of having waited this long to visit it; layers upon layers of remorse; and depths upon depths of awe. To submit to His absolute Grace, and Majesty, to join flocks of people who’ve attended solely for His pleasure- no words are sufficient to describe this feeling. It’s a sense of recognition of who you are in that wheel-you are nothing special, in that there are way more dutiful servants than you, and yet you are everything special because there is an indescribable bond you get from circumambulating His House, from praying behind it, from standing firm with others- in way more challenging situations than you are- in praising Him. To announce my presence to my Lord, it has never made any more sense to me than it did then. Running between those two hills , fervently asking for His grace and remorse- I’d constantly have to remind myself that I wasn’t dreaming.

Sudais and Shuraim, no sweeter voices. I don’t know what mode I’d be on. I’d be on my knees, unable to stand up for Qiyamal lail, but adamant in remaining at that spot. You’re sleep deprived, and yet you don’t feel tired.  You’re exhausted from your fasting and travels, but you still rush to make it inside.  It’s addictive beyond belief.

And a final adieu, walking in circles around His House, praising Him. There was no word sweeter to me than to shout, softly, at the greatness of my Lord who had beyond belief brought me there, when surely it was the farthest thing from my plans, and who had allowed me an opportunity to join His merciful servants , to glorify Him and to ask for His admittance into His oceans of forgiveness and gardens of bliss.

So I thought if I never get to anything else meaningful in my life, I’m okay with this. Alas, I hadn’t yet experienced the city of the Prophet SAW, Madinatul Munawwarah, and the Prophet’s mosque.  Peace upon peace. Just bliss, I mean even the water tastes better. And the people, subhanallah, beyond kind and amazing. I had random strangers in the masjid all wanting to hear my life story. And you don’t want to shock people into silence so you give them a politically correct summary of it, until they start telling you theirs and you feel ashamed. The bare truth was the currency here, I quickly learnt.

And raudatu sharifa, a garden of paradise between the Mimbar of the Prophet SAW and his old house(now his grave, and that of Abu Bakr and Umar RA), within the mosque – yet another tiny piece of peace I cannot describe. I fancy myself to be eloquent, but no modicum of reserve remained upon my sujud in those blissful carpets. And if that were not enough, an opportunity to visit Masjid Quba, on a Saturday in keeping with the full tradition of the Prophet SAW, another umrah. My heart was full.

If I robbed myself broke to go every year, whatever it is I robbed myself off, it is worth it. I can’t believe I’m saying this now,  years too late, but I get the hoopla you guys. Why my Dad would not rest until he left for it every year. Why people take off a whole month to spend it in those sacred precincts – because I met countless people who told me they’d taken a month off their lives to spend it here. How could I dare compete in goodness, when a few days off seemed a lifetime to me? And how could I dare say I have a relationship with my Lord when He lends His hand to help me out every single day of my life, and yet a single visit to His house I seemingly struggle to make? There aren’t any excuses, not for you either my darlings. If you haven’t and you can, it’s an experience that you cannot afford missing. Fly away to those hallowed halls, I promise you bliss. As for me my Lord, please bind these memories in me, and guide me back to your beloved House sooner than I can blink. Year upon year my Lord. Please make it easy for me.

The marathon continues…

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Asmara Massawa Road, Massawa, Eritrea

Asmara Massawa Road, Eritrea. Credit: Eric Lafforgue, flickr.com (2013)

It’s not very often that we get to have the hero that we deserve. Certainly not from our ghettos. It’s not very often that the black community comes together to acknowledge the contributions made by one of its dissenting free thinkers- beyond each other’s origins, cities, clans, cliques, covens. There’s always been something we’d have to point our fingers to. Who knew that one tragic death would be a healing for so many of these divisions between us? That even in the wake of so many numbing tragedies around us, there are still some things that we hold sacred. Disbelief, that someone could dare kill a community unifier. Incredulity, that someone could dare hate a beacon of light and positivity amongst us. Anger, that a brother could at the turn of a conversation snuff the life of a comrade at will, as if he had anything to do with its making! With hardly any opposition around. That we value our lives more than our loved ones’. That we would run from each other at the sight of danger, that we would hide and comfortably watch as our nearest and dearest takes it again and again and again. That we wouldn’t dare risk our lives for each other.

It’s so easy to criticize and think you’d be better behind the comfort of your keyboard –  of course I will, I assure myself, surely I wouldn’t be able to hide as I watch a man getting killed before me? That my value is as much as the value of my brother’s and my bravery or cowardice is as much as my brother’s. That I am the sum of the energy I give and receive. And so whatever good, whatever evil, whatever bravery, whatever treachery, I must be prepared to get in turn. But you don’t really know, you see, if you haven’t been tested.

It’s so rare that the arc of morality would bend towards justice these days, so I understand why there’s been this satisfying sense of finally, the right response! That yes, this outpouring of grief and support following the tragic passing of Hussle is justified. That we acknowledge that very few of us would make it out of an underprivileged hometown and go back to lift our peers. And not just lift them, but entrench ourselves in those societies. That it’s honourable and worth celebrating, knowing very well what awaits whoever goes back. It is human nature to be envious of our betters. We hate them, but we want to be them. We envy them, and yet we show up at their’s. We wish them failure, hoping their failure would be our success. How distorted our positions!

And however belated our discoveries, we must surely find them all unquestionably inspiring. That he went back home, and stayed months, to learn about his roots; that he’d opened stores around the streets that once brought so much pain; that he’d hired constituents who would struggle to be employed otherwise. It’s the epitome of what we aspire to be. Protectors, defenders, up lifters of our communities. I’m glad that we’re making a big deal out of this, for once! He is us. He’s the brave that we seek when we want to revisit our difficult childhoods; he’s the relentlessly curious when we wish to fill the gaps of our heritage; the moral bootstrapper – visible, present, accessible, to remind us that we can do better. That we can all make it out. That his success does not preclude your success. And there’s cosmic joy resulting from service to humanity, however envious, however ungrateful.

To die upon what we believe in, it’s not guaranteed, you see. Tamping down feuds; bringing brothers together; helping felons integrate into society; employing the under-served in our communities; fundraising for diverse causes, with nary a thought as to race, religion, colour, ethnicity. To die upon your principles, upon the straight path, upon The Embodiment of Truth, steadfast, so honestly, so bravely, in your very last moments, it’s the ultimate dream you know. It’s my ultimate dream.

And whatever your personal views of his value to society, there are lessons to be learnt for all of us. To be intolerant to injustices around us. That our lives are infinitely more valuable than any worldly possessions we hold dear, certainly not buildings however distinguished! And that our resources must attest to this. That our lives are equally valuable, whether an affluent celebrity from LA, or an impoverished Christian from Sri Lanka. That to cling to your path, no matter what, is admirable. Sticking to your craft for ages, believing that your big break is just around the corner, ploughing along, year in year out. That there are infinite rewards to this, if we but exercised patience. The best of ourselves or nothing, as a friend recently once told me.

Life is invariably a difficult exam and you can’t look to model your own to others around you, everyone’s got a different question to answer, you see. It’s a marathon, constituting different legs, and different journeys in our paths to greatness. That greatness lives amongst us everyday. And within us all, if we chose to access it. And that if we created an environment that inspires us daily, there can be no cage to our dreams. These were his lessons. To be the best or nothing, my darlings. Nothing but love. Much respect. The marathon continues.