The Cushitic Life

But sometimes your light attracts moths, and your warmth attracts parasites

/ TheAnywayGirl / Leave a comment
Misophonia

Courtesy: IndeedIAm, megpoulindeed.com (2014) Title courtesy: Warsan Shire

People are generally annoying. They’re annoying in the morning when they pipe up and distract you from your plans to save the world, they’re annoying when they munch their food loudly –Urgghh , I usually want to crawl into a hole when I hear this sound! – they’re annoying when they breathe.

Make me understand why someone’s sole agenda in this world would appear to be the intentional distraction and encroachment into other people’s lives?! Have you ever met such people? Needy, nosy, helplessly manipulative, who unfailingly and consistently violate your time and privacy with their suffocating demeanor? People who do not understand the concept of personal boundaries, who demand and unflinchingly abuse the borrowed personal effects of others, and once called to account for such dishonourable behaviour, prevaricate by attempting to shame the owners for valuing items over people? People who have no understanding of the concept of amana, and casually endeavour to get out of remedying the breach of such trusts by, again, tediously attempting to chasten their owners for supposedly pursuing materialism in a temporary world? Would you believe such people exist in this day and age, when a majority have been exposed to education and civilization, which you would then think, justifiably engineered an emancipation to their conduct?

Well, my dearest readers, I can reliably inform you that they’re alive. And their behaviour, most assuredly, never ceases to surprise me everyday. Why would someone need to smack their lips when eating, why do they have to breathe loudly? Why is it so hard to eat silently? Why? Would you choke to death if you failed to slurp your soup? And if you walked into a hush room where its inhabitants obviously desire tranquility to better concentrate, without clicking your heels? Do people not understand the concept of silence and solitude?

I deserve a trophy for the number of times I have prevented myself from flying into a rage at these needless distractions. So needless because they’re not simply just distractions, oh how I wish it were that simple, but they’re symptomatic of society’s degradation of all we know of proper deportment currently, symptomatic of a general disrespect of personal boundaries, symptomatic of a clear devaluation of some of our most cherished traits in humanity and all that we understand of progressive civilization, symptomatic of a seemingly contagious disease of lunacy, chaos and noise prevalent in current times!

My dearest readers, their audacity knows no restrictions. Would you believe that they would still further request for use of your items after they have misplaced or damaged property that you once gave them? And their disbelief at your gall to deny them access to this property is astounding. I mean, words cannot describe their apparent incredulity that you would say nay – it is a thing of beauty really. Have you ever met people who know your drawers and phone better than you do? Whom, when shown a message see nothing wrong with scrolling up to previous messages, to decipher the “jist of the conversation”. Who seemingly lack understanding of the concept of privacy and consent? And who decline to order for food, and once yours arrives see nothing wrong in diving in, and sipping your drinks before you, when they had most clearly stated they did not wish to eat? And who call you, and attempt to speak, when they are evidently in the midst of doing a private chore such as, say, the world saving undertaking of brushing their teeth? I mean, are you foaming at the mouth at such impudence? Because I absolutely, elaborately, am!

Why is it so hard for people to respect personal property placed in their care, when they so humbly petitioned for it? If you cannot, I beg you, please don’t solicit for it, I assure you, you can survive perfectly without it, it is an item after all. And please refrain from constantly initiating conversation and interrupting my solitude and peace, when I’m trying so hard to concentrate on one of my endeavours? If you have to, and I’m in the zone, please text me such a warning?  Please order your own food, and if you can’t, please inform me so I may order it for you. I don’t mind, honestly. Please respect people’s personal boundaries. And for God’s sake, please never call someone, I urge you never to call when you are partaking of your meal. We wouldn’t want to compete with the absolute glory, beauty and sensory delight associated with such an endeavour. Please try not to lose other people’s items, don’t misuse other people’s items. Please don’t break other people’s items, certainly not those that are evidently sentimental to them. If this happens, it is totally allright as we’re very much cognizant and understanding of your general clumsiness, ineptitude and irresponsibility. Just fess up, and you know what you could do to make it up to us? Replace them with something of similar functionality, you wouldn’t replace our attachment to the said lost items but I assure you, we would appreciate the gesture. And you would be in our good books. There’s benefits to this, trust me.

And I beg you, please don’t read my messages when I haven’t given you permission to do so, not even the one right next to the one I showed you that you simply couldn’t avoid reading. I promise you, if there was anything interesting there you’d be the first to know. And please don’t attempt to psycho-analyse me for your amusement, which I consider an attack really, for behaviours you deem “weird“. Weird is subjective, and if I needed a shrink, you’re currently unqualified for it. Please give me notice before you spring strangers upon me and expect me to entertain them – I need time to psyche myself up for such experiences. And can we not discuss my personal life in public? In front of acquaintances? Kindly? Or bring up other people’s business unless they directly affect mine? I assure you, I can temper my curiosity if you can. Please don’t bring up your problems for the idiotic purpose of venting or “airing them out.” They’re perfectly fine without the air. And guess what, they’re still problems without solutions. And please don’t attempt to reprimand me for bringing this up to your attention, certainly not in public, I promise you, unless I’m having an absolutely fantastic day *kicks body bag over the hill* , ahem, which so rarely happens, I will not let this slide, and my comebacks are almost guaranteed to cause irrevocable permanent personal damage.

Thankfully, I’m usually very tolerant and forgiving of people’s shortcomings, and I force myself to take in such shenanigans from time to time to build my mind stamina.  Not all the time, mind. And these annoyances don’t generally last long however forbidding my expression, and I will not hold a grudge against you unless you screwed up BIG TIME, consistently and dissolutely, in which case I will erase you from my life, but oh no! you will not be let off that easy as I will formally add you to my black book wherein you will take your place amongst my list of enemies whom I deliberately annoy in regular intervals, for my amusement- welcome to eternal condemnation.

Yes of course, people are more valuable than items. Sometimes. Certainly not when their lives are hardly in danger, which is 99% of the time. And yes, personal boundaries have to be balanced with the need to closely socialize and live with each other. This does not have to be 99% of the time – I have heard of nobody that perished of solitude and silence. Practice it sometimes, it may surprise you. And honey, the next time you think that something is an uphill battle, I beg you, please don’t go to war. What can I say, it happens to be my thing.

With all due respect,

LD.

The Cushitic male 101: Navigation tips for the unsuspecting sister

/ TheAnywayGirl / Leave a comment
Courtesy: Muslimvillage.com (2018)

Courtesy: Muslimvillage.com (2018)

It sometimes happens that a man is handsomer at twenty-nine than he was ten years before, and generally speaking, if there has been neither catastrophe nor ill health, it is a prime time in life at which scarcely any charm is lost. Eligibility in manner and form is so widely published by society matrons, that one would be excused to mistake a pauper for a king. As with all man-made rules however, non-conformists abound. It has been my observation that Cushitic men are one such exception to this rule. I have distinguished, in my interactions with these characters, that vanity plays a huge role in a majority of their lives-vanity of person and of situation. And I have been dismayed to see excellent women of superior character, whose judgment and conduct, if they might be pardoned for the momentary infatuation of falling for such men, never required indulgence afterwards. I consider it my duty to profile some of these identities to the enlightenment of the unwitting Cushitic sister seeking to navigate this jungle. Dearest, a number are wolves masquerading as cats – tread carefully.

First off the blocks is what we call, in respectable circles, the metrosexual Cushitic man, a.k.a instagram boy, a.k.a resident popinjay.

His favourite joint: Trendy coffee house

Favourite outfit: Violent pink tailored jacket, indigo suspenders, lilac Steve Urkel glasses and Arthur George socks.

Self proclaimed beard gang, ahem, which may or may not have been drawn on.  Hangs in a pack, which has a Queen Bee- that one rich kid that they all envy, but cannot afford to ostracize if they value their place in society. Sisters, do not attempt to converse unattended, I repeat, do not try to separate from the pack.  He will do anything for money, a scarce commodity, to sustain his extravagant lifestyle. Possesses the latest gadgets sent by his aunt from Minnesota, is an unashamed selfie king and a profligate social media poster. Follow at your peril as your timeline will never forgive you for it. Has a hair regimen that rivals a Texan beauty queen’s-teased, gelled and sprayed to oblivion. Is frequently found at wedding parking lots- alas he did not come to check out the women, but to show off his latest toys to pack members. His vanity table rivals Kim Kardashian’s. And he knows skin care better than you ever could. Milk this advice accordingly.

Favourite phrase: You were born an original, don’t die as a copy. Ironic much?

Marriage prospects: Needs years of reconditioning to stop pack mentality thinking. Unless you suffer from perpetual acne sister, keep off.

Self proclaimed social media qawwam

Favourite joint: Social media

Favourite outfit: Tightly fitted polo shirt and designer jeans

Has one name for all females-sister. Religious in posting religious quotes-WhatsApp, Twitter, Facebook, Instagram, you name it, he has multiple accounts on all of them-his brash public persona and his private, equally psychotic, one. His profile picture is one of him gazing into the distance in a thoughtful manner, carefully posing his flexed biceps, as he ponders on the said religious quotes. His social media regularly reminds his dear sisters to protect their modesty and cautions against the dangers of interacting with the opposite gender, whilst frequenting the social media feeds of the said sisters. Constantly states that he’s a protector of women but checks you out when you’re not looking, and if married, will make creepy comments when his wife is not there. Will be quick to point out when a sister hasn’t done hijab properly, and share this advice on video, in his tightly fitted polo shirt of course. Does not appreciate women who challenge him or who objectively critique his behavior- will tweet bomb you with fury and brutality, right after his earlier tweet preaching about grace, dignity and wisdom. Actions will never match his words.

Favourite phrase: I’m an alpha male with gheerah. Right, that’s why he likes every girl’s photo on social media.

Marriage prospects: If you value modesty in men, keep off.

The true qawwam

Favourite joint: Your local mosque

Favourite outfit: White thob and trousers that do not dare touch his ankles

Has unshakable values and principles, and will not hesitate to call out an injustice whether that person is a relative, friend or stranger on the street. Will conduct himself with honour and dignity in accordance with the sunnah, not the dictates of his ego. Will exemplify the sunnah in his behaviour and lower his gaze when you’re around. Has genuine protective gheerah for all women, not just his daughters, sisters or wife. He is amongst the unsung heroes of our society – those who prostrate in humility and strength, whose hearts break in silence in fear of The Magnificent One and who work tirelessly in the pursuit of His pleasure. He is blessed with emotional intelligence and is always respectful of the women around him.  Totally dreamy voice if he leads taraweeh prayers. May or may not take care of you according to the standards you’re used to, but do not lose heart sister – he will recite Quran for you every day, teach you regularly about your deen and will constantly remind you of your akhera. May also contribute to kids coming out spitting yaseen. Between you and me, this is more than an adequate trade off. Lots of legendary stories online. A truly endangered species. Alas, this gem is rarely seen out in the open, and only spotted in select places in Saudi Arabia and other areas where knowledge is to be gained.

Favourite phrase: Alhamdulillah. Indeed, Alhamdulillah for you king.

Marriage prospects: Totally approve, alas, already married at 18. Inquire after second, third or fourth slots.

Commitment phobic serial dater

Favourite joint: Local miraa base

Favourite outfit: Shirt, jeans and open shoes Monday-Sunday

A law unto himself. Loves all women, but if he had to choose, he would settle for Arab or Swahili. Don’t worry though, he looooves everything Cushitic, or so he thinks. May smoke  shisha and/or chew miraa, and is better acquainted with his friends’ birthdays than your second name. Forever proposing to you and always wants to go out with you. Has elaborate plans for your wedding day. Sadly, he is unable to follow through, as he has his cousin, that his family has lined up for him. Yup, and the first wife will never find out about his second wife on the other side of the country. Will seriously waste your time. Have never met his family? Never will. Will hear of his wedding via social media, when you had asked all your friends to help you plan yours. Yup, that brutal. But he’s always the first to check out your WhatsApp status and your Instagram stories, and comment on your new photos on Facebook. Really. Is supposedly unable to control himself at the sight of new stock…ahem, women he has previously not met. Makes a terrible husband, but an amazing dad.

Favourite phrase: Sweetheart, who is this? Apparently, all women are sweethearts, except his long-suffering wife.

Marriage prospects: No matter what he says, he is always married. Cut your losses and abort mission.

Your modern polygamous man

Favourite joint: Board room

Favourite outfit: Yellow or blue thob with a formal coat and a kufi cap

Thinks all a woman requires is money, and thus sees no need to ask after his wife’s mental or emotional welfare after an evident bout of crying. Does not compliment his wife and will unashamedly boast to his cousins about it. Comes home at 10 pm and leaves home at 6 am. Wife and kids are understandably terrified of him as they only see his cheerless face at the end of the day, pardon me, every fourth day. Always mediating between his wives-the one in Uganda, the two in Kenya and the latest addition in London whom they all recently found out about. Seems like the best of men outside but shell of a man inside. Drives the latest Land Cruiser and pays all his house bills but will never give you enough to be independent. Emotionally stunted as he sees nothing wrong with flirting with his second wife on call in front of his first wife. Emotionally abuses and blackmails his wife with divorce as he knows she has no other source of income. Happens to be in love with his ex wife, but they couldn’t have kids and that’s a deal breaker in this culture. Adoption anyone? Only tells his family he loves them when he’s going on a trip – he needs to leave a good last impression in case he doesn’t come back, ya know. Ego radar? Off the scale. Puncture at your own peril.

Favourite phrase: Where’s your niqab? Dare to be seen outside without it and you will soon learn that the man has a middle name, and it’s not gentle.

Marriage prospects: If this is your cup of tea, slots are currently filled, wait for a divorce.

Gold digger

Favourite joint: Golf course, and other high end networking places

Favourite outfit: Button down shirt, Chino pants and designer sneakers

Has one goal in life, marry a wealthy woman. His image and everything he does is aimed at satisfying this lifelong goal, after which he will comfortably retire. Will do everything to ensure he gets a slice of your family’s money. Targets shy, insecure women or very strong high powered women. You’ll soon find yourself paying for his school fees, which studies he’ll keep flunking. And a car which he uses to give his other unemployed friends rides around town. May take you out of town where he will blackmail your family with your current state of abode to get more cash out of them. Only needs one child from you, his meal ticket, and will use him to keep you in line. If you left, you can only marry without his knowledge as he’s prone to scatter your plans to move on without him.

Favourite phrase: Where’s my card? Sisters, do not hand it over, send M-Pesa, if you must.

Marriage prospects: Spot him and take to your heels, nothing but trouble.

Educated but ignorant man

Favourite joint: His sister’s or mother’s house

Favourite outfit: Smart casual

Everything adds up on paper-graduated top of his class, has a Masters degree, has work experience abroad, but cannot quite explain what it is he does. Likely studied in a majority Cushitic school. Is chauvinistic to a fault, and advocates for the stoning of non-cushites – education was truly wasted on him. Always has that one abhorrent friend, whom he protests he’s not very close to, but you later learn that before you came on the scene, and voiced your disapproving opinion, they were the best of friends. All his friends happen to be divorcés. Will insult you and in turn compliment your friends in front of you – will forever treat you horribly. His wife thought she married an enlightened man only to discover a loser who thinks we’re still in the 13th Century and your sole purpose in this world is to serve him and reproduce. He will never support you in these endeavours as he considers them beneath him to do so. Ironically though, he needs you to work and support him because things have changed and “people should support each other”. There’s something very sinister and calculated about him, and it’s not his money, which you’ve never seen. Or his Toyota Vitz, in which he manages to squeeze his 6-foot frame into.

Favourite phrase: The world does not revolve around you, baby girl. But it revolves around him.

Marriage prospects: Unless you want to be part of a warped experiment, non-scientific, run.

The consummate businessman

Favourite joint: Mosque parking lot where he cuts his deals

Favourite outfit: Jisty thob

Will be found thick in the mix of big deals-large developments and high net worth tenders. Has a few marriages under his belt. Usually has a profile picture or status cautioning people on the religious consequences of betraying each other in business. Blissfully unaware that he’s the problem – it’s to be admired, really. Has a sob story of what his partners have done to him and what he’s been through with his crazy ex-wife. Sisters, if you hear of such a story, track down that ex and find out her version. You will be shocked to discover from her neighbours that he used to beat her senseless. May swear to you that he’s still single at 40, when he has a whole family ensconced in another city. A known pathological liar.

Favourite phrase: I will call you back at 7 p.m. this evening. Don’t hold your breath, baby girl, his word is not worth the cheapest tissue paper.

Marriage prospects: Unless you wish to train in defensive boxing, keep off.

Non-toxic-masculinity man

Favourite joint: Downtown, at his businesses

Favourite outfit: Anything goes, from suit to casual jeans- is comfortable with everything

Born and raised in the ghetto. Shares similar values. Works hard and constantly builds himself slowly, stall after stall, building after building. Heart of gold, and always pays up front if you conduct business with him. It’s a paradox that he works in downtown where toxic Cushitic masculinity reigns, because that is the last thing he is. Is unable to identify with most men as he’s emotionally mature and sensitive to the needs of women. Truly loves and understands women. Calls his wife babe, lucky woman. And her friends, Princesses. Is a running joke among other respectable and “right thinking” Cushitic members due to his effeminate mannerisms. They have no idea. He’s the real deal.

Favourite phrase: What is wrong with men? It’s funny you ask.

Marriage prospects: This is not the time to act like a swooning debutante, grab him and drag him to the Kadhi before another sister does- he’s a total babe.

Mama’s boy

Favourite joint: Mama’s home

Favourite outfit: Whatever mama likes

Tells his mama everything, even about that one time you called him obtuse. Consequently, she hates your guts. Still lives at home or a stone throw’s away from mama. Loves to be gassed up, don’t worry, mama and aunties will provide the gassing. Genuinely believes his own fairytale stories.  Asks mama’s opinion on everything, including the colour of his socks. Can barely operate a gas cooker to boil water. Will call his mum before he calls you, to get her opinion on the throw pillows you sent him to buy.

Favourite phrase: Mama used to do this for me. Good thing I’m not mama then.

Marriage prospects: If you’re comfortable with being forgotten from time to time, or all the time really, may marry. Focus on your children.

The Abroad Gang

Favourite joint: Estate gate, to better see all the women coming in

Favourite outfit: Too small shirt, jeans and sandals

The accent. You will not even take a breath before you’re regaled of the 2 weeks he spent in London, Minneapolis or Stockholm. Was deported by his parents for bad behaviour. Hails from a huge polygamous family. Mothers in different continents sort of thing. The 12th son in a family of 24. You never know what’s his and what’s not. Sleeps in different houses every night. Forever doing errands to keep up, and passes by your house to have a rushed drink at the local coffee shop – the price to pay for driving the second born’s car.

Favourite phrase: I’ll be there in a minute. Take your time with those eyebrows sister, he meant an hour.

Marriage prospects: Unless you want to live in the SQ of his cousin’s uptown mansion, but an SQ nonetheless, run, nothing will ever be his.

Bipolar Cushite

Favourite joint: Saudi airlines flight to Makkah

Favourite outfit: White thob

Lives by his own rules, ones you’ve never heard of. Has the confidence of a Mapogo lion and the obliviousness of an African dictator in the face of corruption. Will deal in interest and steal your office imprest money to go for yearly hajj and umrah. Is not open to opinions regarding the morality of such practices, question him at the risk of your life. Is always inviting you to his “second wife’s” wedding. You later find out that they usually last for a month until they understand the true nature of the monster they married, and run off. Adores people in positions of power or prestige, and is obsessed with money. And your best friend, whom he thinks you’re deliberately keeping him away from. A veritable bully and a certified madman. Belongs to an asylum. Interact with caution. Always nod yes, and always state you’re married. Has trouble accepting no means no.

Favourite phrase: Where’s your best friend? Somewhere very far away from you, thank God.

Marriage prospects: Zero. Call an asylum, someone escaped.

Buyer beware, the closeted narcissist

Favourite joint: Work, or coffee shop

Favourite outfit: Either extremely unkempt -it’s a look he’s going for- or the tightest suit

Frequently found in employment, usually professional services. Universally loved as he’s either very charming or a perpetual victim who elicits sympathy from the general public. Prone to be called maskin, which he laps up, but secretly thinks he’s God’s gift to women. Has a social calendar that rivals Prince William’s. Probably cries a lot in the shower or at night, as he laments about you in his journal. Will be absolutely amazing givers to their friends and families one week, as he self-aggrandizes through martyrdom, then will be completely unreachable the following week. His wife gave birth to their second baby during one such episode. Unhealthy people pleasers, as he derives authenticity and validation from people’s opinions of him. May or may not have gone through a traumatic experience in childhood, may or may not have had an abusive parent – there is always an obscure reference to a traumatic childhood. Consequently, he has a rewired brain that does not quite reason like yours. It’s not his fault really that he is selfish, will only act at his convenience, lacks empathy and is prone to manipulation. Will attempt to charm your mind off – you may start believing that he is the first normal cushitic man you’ve interacted with, until you realize behind the façade of  his easygoing demeanour and wide smile is a broken man with insecurities the size of China.

Will found out about your weaknesses and exploit them. Partial to the name honey? Boom, you will never again be known as Hafsa. Hate your feet? Boom-they look like an elephant’s and when he wants something from you, they’re an angel’s.  May pass muster as upright Cushitic men in the community but do not fall for this, it’s a charade. When you call, he’s always busy. But he has time to tweet. Attempt to ignore his phone call, and his true face comes out. His stalking and intelligence gathering skills rival the Mossad’s – he will access your messages from your service provider and print them out to look for imagined cheating patterns. Very good at apologizing, fake apologies I mean. Rarely has meaningful long term relationships with people, he has supplies. Loves to portray himself as being chased by women and would name drop other sisters’ names in a bid to impress their potential victim. Specifically bothered by strong women because he’s averse to such levels of confidence and self awareness. Will gaslight, and make you start believing that you’re the one who’s crazy. He’s a soul sucker – sisters, you do not need that kind of energy in your life because if you stick around and accept that nonsense, you’ll end up being one of his true victims. Once you see through this ruse and call him out on it, he will act unfazed, but do not be fooled, he’s secretly plotting your downfall. Millions of dollars need to be spent before he can be rehabilitated back into normal society. 

Favourite phrase: Hahahaha, not to worry. Be very worried, run and don’t look back. Sisters, unless you’re a certified psychiatrist, leave him to the professionals. You have no business hanging around here.

Marriage prospects: Consider only after seeing receipt evidence of serious therapy.

Honourable mention :

Nigerian/West African men, who somehow always find us

Favourite joint: Where money exchanges hands

Favourite outfit: designer everything

Usually heavily built, and walks majestically – a tiger comes to mind. Testosterone on crack – will greet you whilst touching your shoulders, never mind that you told him you don’t shake hands. Calls every Muslim female hajjia, never mind you told him that you’ve never been to hajj. Thinks you’re the most beautiful creature that ever graced the planet, and is obsessed with you- states that he’s willing to learn your language and makes you believe that if he could, he would miraculously transform himself to be a Cushite. Severely loaded, but has questionable origins. Makes it rain all day every day, but you heard of a sister who went there and came back with a rearranged face. Since then, you laugh rather nervously at his jokes, remind yourself why you still keep contact and for once, keep your opinions to yourself.

Favourite phrase: My angel. Until you say no, then you’re the devo.

Marriage prospects: Approach with caution-unless you like the spotlight, both good and bad, keep off. Once married, move to Iceland, as you’re likely to lead a lonely life, what with the community ostracizing you.

I would be remiss in my duty if I did not relay the key lessons I have learnt in the retelling of these stories. There were tears, the crazy laughing kind, at their recollection. But there were also a few revelations, and a recurring one, was to listen to what your loved ones, who know you so well, are telling you about the particular specimen you’re dealing with. Spotted at the club? he really was, no matter what he tells you. Hasn’t got a dime in his account? ignore his stolen Mercedes, the man is bankrupt. And to always have a list of non-negotiables no matter whom, where, when-honesty tempered by compassion, reliability and an unflinching ability to face whatever life throws at one-a trooper really, and responsibility to admit one’s mistakes and work every day to be a better human being. Someone with a strong moral compass of the world around us, and compatible goals for your dunya and akhera – this is what it takes to be successful in both worlds. Above all, I have learnt that time is the biggest revelation, and a core advice I received was to wait, wait, wait, and you will see, what you need to see. And pray, always.

My dearest sisters, you know yourselves, I’m sorry for the experiences, thank you for the stories, always in my duas.

Love,

LD.

Don’t call me, please?

/ TheAnywayGirl / Leave a comment

The dreaded ring. I couldn’t stand it. So I switched to vibrate only. And I couldn’t stand that either. So I removed all sound, and I missed many calls. Most of them business. And we couldn’t have that. So I went back to putting my ringer on. Sigh.

I am extremely embarrassed to say that I’m terrified of my phone. A gadget. And I feel immense guilt when my first instinct upon hearing my phone ring is to silence it, and debate whether I have the strength to answer it then, or call back later. If it’s a client, the answer is always yes, so I take a few deep breaths and put my game face, and voice, on. But afterwards, I feel drained.

I have always detested making phone calls, and would rather text or email if I could get away with it.  I know this is not normal behaviour and I’m trying to work on it – I haven’t made as much progress as I would like though. So I went and researched about it, and found a community which shares this problem. It’s extremely comforting. Telephonobia, that’s its name, and it’s common amongst those with social anxiety disorder (SAD). Really, someone came up with that acronym. Symptoms include severe anxiety, shortness of breath, or a racing heart. I check all three. It’s officially a thing-having to fight the instinct to hurl your phone across the room and hide from a phone call. And treatment includes therapy or medication. In Africa, we do neither. How I deal with this is to religiously reward myself every time I ignored this instinct, acted like an adult, was brave, and answered it.

So I thought that my only problem was that I was incapable of answering phone calls. Was I misguided! I have no explanation for this other than to say that my physiology changed when I graduated. Someone texted me, and the familiar urge to throw my phone across the room arose. I was heartbroken. See I loved texts – I grew up texting, I didn’t have money to call, so I would use my phone credit to buy messages and would text everyone who’d contacted me. I knew how to summarize every word to fit an entire conversation in one text. Texts did not demand, did not insist. I was, or so I thought, a text person.

Introvert photo

Courtesy: Brandon Chung, introvertspring.com (2017)

So I had to be an email person. But then I joined the job market, and I encountered proper emails, not forwards with funny jokes, but ones that requested you to complete assignments before a defined, and often looming, deadline. Whilst I had the luxury of responding to these when I felt like, respond I had to do. And some had “Urgent”, or worse still, had the subject written in all caps. And I finally had to face the truth. It simply wasn’t a text, email or phone call problem. Rather, it was what it represented. I’m just not a people person. Which is unacceptable now,  as I have a business to run. And I don’t have the time, or money, for cognitive restructuring or exposure training, suggested treatment options – I simply bite the bullet, and faithfully reward myself afterwards.

There is a methodology to how I approach my phone these days. My trusted notebook is always at hand to jot down key points when I have trouble concentrating, or feel especially nauseous at a long winded reply or explanation. And I give myself a quick pep talk and allow it to ring at least three times before picking up. And when I get a text, I quickly reply to it and log off. Throw my phone across the room – very satisfying – and then retrieve it, log back on, whoop with joy when there’s no reply to my text, and if there is, quickly reply to the replied text, and repeat step 1. It is a constant battle, this engaging and disengaging, and connecting and disconnecting, but there is a methodology to it and that goes a long way to calm me down.

Now of course there are exceptions to this. My family and intimate friends invariably know I can’t abide chit-chat and call when they have news to share with me. And there is no SAD anything attached to these calls, texts or emails when I see their names come up on screen. I do spend hours ruminating on ideas with them, may Allah preserve and reward them abundantly, in this world and the next. As for the rest, I acknowledge that this is a problem, a 21st Century problem, but an evident problem nonetheless which I’m working on. And it may take a while, as my long held dreams of secluding myself in the mountains of Afghanistan painfully fade away. In the meantime, don’t call me, please?

The Kingdom of Alternative Facts

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It is a truth universally acknowledged  that a one-wived Cushitic man of moderate means is in need of swift divestment. So well fixed is it in the minds of others, no matter his views, that his monies are considered the rightful property of every Bushy*, Trumpy* and Blaire*.  We will call this land, the Kingdom of Alternative Facts. Let’s start with Trumpy*, a hitherto wilting wallflower, who one day decided that her current job wasn’t cutting it anymore and brazenly withdrew into her employer’s bedroom, opened his suitcase and stole his savings. The manner of this break-in is to be admired- she casually waylaid a key that everyone previously thought was lost and which served as the means to this break-in and entering business. And it is thus my dearest readers, that the story begins with a bang. From then on, how to put this delicately, it was as we say it in Kiswahili, a life of kiguu na njia (by foot) and game of pata potea (find and lose) with the cops. And my hopes of a good story came to a screeching halt. My disappointment at Trumpy’s simple dash from the house upon obtaining these monies knows no bounds.  Surely not in this century. And most surely not after Edward Snowden’s revelations. In this day and age, one would be forgiven if they chose to shower with their clothes on as we slowly discover that we have no place to hide anymore. Back to Trumpy*, her plot ended most unsatisfyingly when she put her phone on, with a different number, as if it mattered, and she was tracked to her hiding spot. She graciously volunteered to show the cops where she had buried these monies. It was in her backyard, sigh.

On to Blaire*, an agent extraordinaire acting for some Italians who have chosen to invest in this wonderful country. She decided not to return the deposit of an apartment. And then …shudder, it ends there people. I’m angry. I’m disheartened at such blatant disrespect for plot! I mean, sure we might have thrown our morals to the dogs, but not our creativity too! What were all those compositions that we laboured in primary and high school for?! So yes, it was more of a ‘I have taken it and what are you gonna do about it’ kind of story. She also invited us to go to court. Sigh, defiance and prison, I have been most reliably informed, do not go well together.

And then we have Bushy*, a secretary par excellence, who today chose to charge my mother for a doctor’s appointment that she should not have been charged for, because mum was alone and speaks Kiswahili and for some reason she could not understand my mum’s Kiswahili? She also, after my irate phone call, dared to wonder why my mum chose not to ‘simply’ explain to her that she was not supposed to. She made a point of speaking perfect Kiswahili in my phone call. Sigh, what is wrong with people and bad plot? I’m devastated at such blatant disregard for art. Where is Kanye when we need him?  As the Garre are fond of saying, if you choose to eat a pig, pick the fattest one please. No, fatter will just not do. Please, for art’s sake?

And after I have lamented at the inadequacy of these stories, I turn around and ask, what happened to this world? It seemed like I woke up one day and discovered that the set of rules and code of conduct that humanity has for centuries held aloft as a beacon of our goodness was overturned and a completely different species took over. When did it become okay for us to blatantly steal from each other? And I don’t even mean strangers, these are people that you break bread with or regularly do business with or those whom you’ve entrusted your children with. No seriously, what happened? What is wrong with us? We admire liars and thieves and envy their lifestyles. We grab property that we have not worked for. When did this become normal? What is wrong with us that this became the norm? Why do we reward the unjust and revere the sweetly-tounged murderers? Why do we elect the worst of our societies and then complain when they lie and steal from us? Perhaps, it is time to look within ourselves. We are the problem. We have lost the moral authority to judge and complain because we lost the plot twist a long time ago.

we-shall-overcome

Courtesy:Lindsey/Pinterest

Martin Luther King Jr once quipped, injustice anywhere is a threat to justice everywhere. I don’t know about you, but the chicken have come to roost in my household. And you know why? Because I stood by and helplessly watched when Bashar Al-Assad and Netanyahu killed innocent women and children in my world. And I kept quiet when my brothers and sisters were collectively punished for the sins of a warped few. And I stood by and resignedly watched when a relative talked derogatively regarding a fellow human being. And I stood silent when a woman’s place and value was questioned in this world. And are still forced to go through FGM. And whose opinions were regularly bypassed for a man’s. I stood by and watched them do this, until they came for me and there was no one left to stand up for me. So now I know better than to stand by and watch when the unjust comes for my neighbour. Inshaallah, I will be ready to fight it with my hands, and with my tongue, and with my heart. Why? Because, my neighbour is me.

Nothing like home my dears, there’s nothing like home

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It is often said that one must travel in order to grow. That all those new experiences, challenges and insights to a different way of life matures you like nothing else does. Now if like me, the most fun times of your life are spent in bed huddled with a good book and a blanket, tea and popcorn, preferably by the window on a rainy day, the farthest thing from one’s mind is leaving such a spot. Again if like me, you thought you could cheat your way into this growing through the breath-taking novels that we sometimes immerse ourselves in, you could be given a pass. And again if like me, you need an entire paragraph to state that you’re a severe introvert, join the club.

rainy day

Courtesy: Pinterest (rainydays, 2016)

Oh…what memories…err if I ever had a bed right next to that window that is. Nevertheless, you get the picture. Home for me embodied those scenes and I would pass at any invitations that involved travelling, people, noise, smiling(shudder!), people and…yes people. That was before I got the opportunity to travel for school. Whilst everyone (minus the haters) was excited for me, the only excitement I looked forward to was living on my own in a room that would be solely my own and having to account myself and my time to no one for an entire year, thoughts that any Cushitic girl from a large family can relate to. So off I went with plans to spend uninterrupted time holed up in my own room for a year, oh what fun! And I did. While friends and colleagues spent their time travelling around and exploring new places, I explored mine on the benches of cafes with a mug of hot chocolate at hand, and the comfort of my bed, discovering new literature.

Sadly, the world doesn’t quite work like that and I had responsibilities to meet, relatives to see, classes to attend, readings to make…and my reluctant journey began. I met amazing souls who were some of the kindest and most generous I had encountered, and I met bigots who insulted me and wished me away. I went to places where people would trail after me to compliment me on my beauty and style and I had those who derided and pitied my existence as a black woman and a visibly Muslim woman. I met some who marvelled at my wit and intelligence and those who would not give me a minute upon sight or upon hearing of my origins. I met those who stared at me in wonder and those who stared in hate. I discovered that a step outside my room automatically qualified me as a polarising figure in society and an expert in all matters Islam.  I lived. In a world so unfamiliar to me. I loved my solitude and the independence and freedom it afforded me but I would count the days…I would constantly count the days I had left to return to these beloved shores. I do not think that I could ever long for home and pine for what is familiar to me more than I did in that year.

But therein lay my lessons. I had once spent four years in a boarding school, a common experience back home so I never thought a year was anything to blink at. But what I have learnt in that year! You see my dears, I understood what is meant by this travelling and growing business. They didn’t mean places, well it was nice to look at sights inaccessible back home, but it is in the meeting of all these unfamiliar people that lies the growing which inevitably changes your perspective on life. I was tested on what it meant to stick to one’s principles and how much it takes out of you. I learnt that I was stubborn and that I was proud of my culture and religion in a sea of faces that were the farthest things from it. In an ocean of difference, I rejoiced at my indifference of my difference. I exulted at my visibility as a servant of Allah in the face of indignities and snide barbs thrown at me. And I appreciated my cushiticness as a daughter, sister and friend in all that I was taught on kindness, overabundant generosity, and reciprocity. I rejoiced at my hayaa, encouraged by my Creator, not the hayaa propagated as a putdown by misogynists, but that which humbles one to appreciate the blessings given by The Supremely Exalted, and that which embarrasses one from actions and words displeasing to the sight of The Most High, in the face of intense provocation. And none of this my novels could ever teach me.

I must admit that it is nice to never have blackouts and to know that the train will be on time (a blessing and curse if you know what I mean) and that the roads have no potholes and the zebra crossing lines are regular and visible. But none of this can ever compensate for the amazing life that I live as a black Muslim Cushitic woman in Africa. It just so happens that I needed to travel in order to appreciate this, oh well.

Back story to this blog…

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Starting this blog was a typical Cushitic experience-what do you need it for? (Memories) So why don’t you write a journal instead? (Umm, you read my one and only journal and told EVERYONE about its contents which was a tad embarrassing and traumatised me from ever getting another!) Why do you have to say that you’re a Cushite? (Because I’m very proud to be one, speaking of, why don’t we talk about this enough?) It’s your turn to go to the kitchen, mummy and aboba are calling, xyz also needs to be done and you’re busy thinking about blogs? (Yes, I can serve them and still write a blog post…ahem, a few eternities later…) Well, I guess you can do your thing if you want to BUT if you hit it big we definitely have a stake. (rolls eyes, it’s not that kind of a blog)

So what about the Anyway Girl? An ode to my grandmother, for whom I’m named. She would only speak our mother tongue to me and I’d be in Pluto every 3rd sentence. I would still get the jist of our conversations, but my grandmother was a perfectionist and would correct every 2nd sentence. What was I to do but valiantly pick up savage corrections from an ongoing conversation with a brave “Anyway”. Alas, the special status bestowed on me, being the only grandchild bearing her name, was replaced with an extraordinary one – “the anyway girl.” From then on, I was only referred to directly or indirectly, in my presence or absence, for as long as my grandmother was around or involved in conversation about me as “the anyway girl.” Honestly, I deserved the name. The fact that I got away with anywaying my very traditional grandmother, who only sought to improve me, with no consequence whatsoever, is astounding. That was grandma. Spoke not a word of English but quickly latched on to my English response to beat me at my own game. Every singular phone call and visit since then cemented my identity, with relish, as the anyway girl. I have come leaps & bounds and can carry on a fluent conversation with the best of them now. And sadly, while she isn’t here to see this and remind everyone else of how far I’ve come – I am honoured to carry on her legacy, with pleasure, the anyway girl.

You will have to forgive me for the abrupt but periodic photos of endless large bodies of water in this blog. I can’t help myself. They take me to a place subsumed with solitude and reflection, resplendent with a stunning beauty only nature satisfies, you know like that of the longest river in Kenya, the Tana, whose waters feed into another beauty, the Indian Ocean. Or as I like to call it all, meditation central.

Tana river

Courtesy: fatheroflions.org (George Adamson, 2016)

And what have Cushitic girls got to do with it? So Cushite, from the root Kush, does not refer to any drug nor is it a misspelling of the son of Ham. The Kush empire is actually an amazing ancient kingdom that arose on the conflux of the Blue Nile, White Nile and River Atbara and which spread to encompass the territories of the modern day states of Sudan and Egypt. It was founded by King Kashta, also known as the Kushite (from whom we got our name) and in its heyday ruled over the Nile Valley; oversaw the construction of the pyramids (yup!); standardized iron trading with the Greeks vide the Red Sea; and, introduced a meroitic script whose accompanying language has not been entirely deciphered by historians to date (now why am I not surprised?).

The Kingdom of Kush

Courtesy: blackhistorymonth.org.uk, 2016

Ultimately, rebellion within the empire weakened it and made it easy pickings for its rivals to conquer which led to its dissolution by the turn of the seventh century AD. (Sigh, and with it, the evaporation of any remote claims to royalty.)

So this blog is not about geography or history (fascinating subjects nonetheless), or if it is, it’s only in the context of where I come from, where I’d love to go to (Bora Bora for anyone who cares) and where I’d love to live (beside an endless large body of water of course!), but it’s also about how my culture, an integral part of my life, influences how I live and my view of this world. A reminder that no matter how extremely Cushitic I think my life is, there is someone else, for sure, with a more extreme version of my story, which is always a relief! I have met no ordinary Cushitic girls. I say this sincerely. Some have entertained me, others have frustrated me and the rest left me clutching my imaginary pearls in shock. All have undoubtedly been memorable. But it’s not just about Cushitic culture, this is also about my faith, Islam, another constant in my life. And my skin colour thatIonlydiscoveredwhenIwentabroad, Ahem. And my love of cats. Yes, really.

So by now you must be confused on what exactly this is about. Welcome to my ship, a hodgepodge of messy, unstable, Cushite and all the ways I try to keep us afloat. An inquiry into this imperfect but unique reality synonymous with a modern day Cushitic daughter of the historic Kush empire. Ahem. So ladies and ladies, Ahoy! Join us aboard!