A fork in the road

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Purgatori

Courtesy: Pinterest.com/Purgatori (2018)

I can’t believe it’s been 6 months already?! Who would have thought I’d still be alive. Not just alive, but thrive at the unconventionality of what constitutes my life these days. And how fast these months have fled? It’s been messy, sometimes unplanned, the worst, ugh…perfection eludes me. There have been way more uncomfortable moments that I never knew I had the courage to take up – it seems like half of these past 6 months, I dissemble, a majority of these months I have lived outside my comfort zone. It has been  exhilarating, I must admit. And my old friend, boring, well, I don’t know when she will ever come back into fashion.

Entrepreneurship embodies everything that I never knew I wanted out of my career – to be independent, illimitable, lawless. Has it been though? If I’m honest, I have been brought back down to earth more times than I would care to admit, that comfort zone eludes me. And my favourite pose when I’m working these days is to hold my chin in one hand, waiting for that disruption to my day, because I have learnt that that is the one constant I can count on in my life now.

It is against this turmoil that a recent offer to merge, which ordinarily I would never consider, became extremely tempting. And I’m appalled that my first thought of it, was hurray, freedom. You see, jumping at this opportunity would be the ultimate betrayal of everything that I believe in. Who else would take up these ideals, and this dream? Where else would we have an all-women led firm? Well, at least one with me in it. And yet, if I rejected it, I’d pass up a potential buffer with my nemesis – clients, people, my emotional battery depleter.  How could I carry on doing this when my fantasy beckons?

And that familiar annoying voice within me reminds me of everything that I hold dear, of that road most rarely taken I have always dreamt of traversing, and what difference it has made for travellers who’ve trodden down its trails. But it will take me years to get to my boring, am I prepared to suffer that much, any longer? And what am I suffering for? Is this my purpose in this world? The pursuit of independence, financial security and, gasp, stature, eminence, vanity? Distinction in the dearth of my kind? Is this what I seek? And yet, another voice interrupts, what of those little girls I have always wanted to mentor, to whom I wish to serve as a presence, if not a model, in this field, to whom I wish to provide a comfort zone, to clear the vines on these tracks so they don’t have to. What about them?

Logic and pragmatism rules me. It reminds me to keep my goals in view- success, abbreviated, but within my range now, diminished strain, don’t I want that? It entreats me to be sensible, to keep the stars in sight, victory at the clasp of my hands, that the means matter little when the goals are attained. Isn’t that what I believe in? Winners or Losers, and no in-betweens? Behold my dilemma, a battle between the rational and the idealist in me.

It is painful to decline the offer before me, it is even more painful when fog surrounds these footpaths. But I cannot betray myself. After all is said and done, I never want to look back at a life where I know that I took the easy way out. I want it said that I took the untravelled road, those muddy unpleasant trails, and I may or may not succeed, but I perished trying my damnest to make things work out. And it won’t be a pretty story, but at least it won’t be an ordinary one. It has made all the difference in others. And I hope that I will join them in those hallowed hallways someday. And if I don’t, you know what, I gave it my best shot.

My loves, only God knows where this road leads. And if I don’t get to that promised land, I hope my mistakes shine a light for whoever is behind me to keep off those treacherous vines that doomed me. And wherever it is I get to reach, I hope I never ever think that that is all there is to this. That my toils count for nothing. It’s so easy to forget to enjoy this journey. To take a time-out and look at the bigger picture when things don’t go according to plan. And I have to write it down, growl it out every morning, beg with all my being that it stays at the cortex of my mind. That my hereafter far transcends this world, and every goal, path, dream of mine must align to this. And my journey must reflect this reality. To do good, no matter what, where, whom. That I never forget that all this is evanescent and fleeting. And the fact that I gave it my very best should be enough for me.

The least traversed path is my path, it is the path of the true traveller in this world. That this is what should be familiar to me. This is my comfort zone, the discomfort. No matter the censure of this entire world, we have to remember that a life far much bigger than this awaits us all. I hope I never forget that my loves – my Lord, please help me never to forget it. As to those forks in my road, there is no choice is there really, but to take them all.

An abiding change

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Pluralism.org

Eid Prayers at the Haram, Courtesy: Pluralism.org (2017)

Another Eid. An amazing day. Family. Friends. Laughter. Lots of food. Seeing each other again after an entire year. House hopping. Just the right combination of people to remind you to loosen up and stop taking life so seriously.

Eid for me is a time of celebration, that which follows after refrain, refrain from myself, my desires, refrain from this world. It’s a celebration of my devotion and submission to the Lord of the Worlds. And a remembrance of the spiritual motivation behind one of the major acts of worship and obedience to the Eternal Lord, Ramadhan. And my ultimate desire therein – taubah from The Responding One.

Eid for me is reciting takbeer out loud, putting on the Makkah Channel from the sunset of Eid, listening to the imams of the Haram magnifying Allah. It’s one of the few times I attend salah in congregation, the few times I love being around hoards of people. The thought that we are all there for one thing, to knock on that gate of repentance, beseeching The One to accept our fasts, to forgive us and admit us to the gardens of delight without account, is entrancing beyond belief. Praise. Joy. Relief. Hope. Happiness. This!

But I must admit that it all sounds hollow sometimes – when I remember my dearest, alone in a box beneath this world, alone but for Allah, I shudder. How could I ever forget Eid with my sire. His voice, his adhan at dawn to wake us up, his conversation. His recitation. I’d be lying if I said things have ever been the same since he left. Eid at home was all about my beloved father. His reminders to hurry up so we wouldn’t be late for salah. His conversations with wayya, hilarious. The ribbing, the critique, the wonder, the comfort. Al Jazeera always on. Ithijaahil Maaqis with Faisal Al-Qassim. It would almost always lead to one guest leaving with insults, or violence, throwing water bottles at each other. He would be transfixed, and in raptures at it all. And it would end with a call to wayya, to further analyse this analysis of the opposing viewpoints. Reading him his Friday bulletin. Correcting his grammar homework. Cutting his toe nails. Getting him warm water for wudhu. Standing behind him as he recited his favourite ayah, salah after salah :

“Establish prayer at the decline of the sun [from its meridian] until the darkness of the night and [also] the Qur’an of dawn. Indeed, the recitation of dawn is ever witnessed. And from [part of] the night, pray with it as additional [worship] for you; it is expected that your Lord will resurrect you to a praised station. And say, ‘My Lord, cause me to enter a sound entrance and to exit a sound exit and grant me from Yourself a supporting authority.’ And say, ‘Truth has come, and falsehood has departed. Indeed is falsehood, [by nature], ever bound to depart.’ And We send down of the Qur’an that which is healing and mercy for the believers, but it does not increase the wrongdoers except in loss. And when We bestow favor upon the disbeliever, he turns away and distances himself; and when evil touches him, he is ever despairing. Say, ‘Each works according to his manner, but your Lord is most knowing of who is best guided in way.’And they ask you, [O Muhammad], about the soul. Say, ‘The soul is of the affair of my Lord. And mankind have not been given of knowledge except a little.’ (Quran 17:78-85)

I would never get tired of hearing it. And it will never be the same, no matter whose beautiful voice – no one would ever do it like him. So Eid is bittersweet for me now. It’s to rejoice at the honour of having lived through this most blessed month, and to be sad at its departure. To delight at this congregation of goodness, and a reunion of our loved ones, and to despair at the departed amongst our ranks. But to hope, to anticipate and take comfort in the transience of this separation. Soon enough, my dearest, soon enough we’ll join you. In bliss, my Lord, in bliss inshaallah.

My love, how deep?

/ TheAnywayGirl / Leave a comment
Courtesy: Pinterest/Lori Yeager-Salyer (2018)

My raison d’etre is you

To serve you

You require nothing from me, for how could you, when you are The Sustainer, The Supreme Bestower?

When you are the Lord of Power, whose dominion is clear from imperfection?

I must be mad, for how hard should it be to do the good that you have ordained, to do right by you, for you, for me, for my soul?

You only ask this of me, how hard should it be to make those sunnah prayers, for my own palace in your gardens, my own, next to you?

How hard should it be to be patient?

Ya Jabbar, Ya Fattah, this far you’ve  brought me

I marvel at my fortune

When I was done and out, and hopelessly depressed

And when I was shattered and broken, you healed me

And when further griefs claimed me, you lifted me

When I doubted myself, you gave me hope

When I transgressed against my soul, you guided me out

And when I created mischief and harmed your creation, you breached these divisions so beautifully

How beautifully you honour me.

Ya Aziz, how could I think that I would ever flourish, exist for even a second of my life without you?

When you know all that my soul whispers

To think, to breathe, without you?

How could I, when you’re closer to me than my jugular vein?

What would I do without you, my love, without your hope?

And what do you think of me?

Do you love me?

I could never fathom that the answer would be nay, and if ever you considered it, please guide me back swiftly to do what you love, and keep me firm on that path that you love, with the people that you love

Keep me firm until we meet again on that most fateful day, in your house, before your throne, firm in love, hope and fear

And please, my love, please never take my soul when you’re displeased with it

I beg of you, please never take it then, for what would be my fate if my soul is dead before I’m dead?

Ya Razzaq, your provisions humble me

I’m shy at asking you sometimes, yet I know you want to be asked

For whom else would I ask?

Your creation, who hate to be asked? Who turn away from you, who sin against you?

Isn’t that a tragic peculiarity, the greatest paradox, that I would ask from them, who hate to be asked, and shy away from asking you, when you request to be asked? When you so love it? Isn’t it, Your Highness, Your Majesty?

Forgive me my Lord, I submit to you

In totality my Lord, I worship you.

My beloved, keep me with you always

And strengthen me to come closer to you through the actions that you love

And be like those women whom you’ve admitted to your gardens of bliss

Whom you praise in your Book

And how could I ever be lax in my worship of you, when I have the blueprints to success?!

How could I mistreat your creation, and then remorselessly ask of your protection?!

How could I then claim that I’m deserving of your love and mercy?!

And my Lord, how wondrous is it that I still possess the will to come back to you, to ask for pardon, only to repeat the same thing again?

How absolutely fortunate I am that your mercy transcends anything I could ever imagine!

And my worries, and prayers, my Lord, how could you ever not get tired of me?

That I worry about a future I don’t know if I’m a part of

And a past whose absolution and pardon I constantly ask of

Do I not think that you will forgive me the injustices I have perpetrated?

How hopeless would that be!

My lord, what nonsense I spout, have I ever known the purity of despair?

Even in the depths of sadness, I always knew that I had you

How could I, when I once begged for the things that I take for granted now!

When I could only imagine the life that I live now!

And that I want more? What wretched mordancy!

Help me, my Lord, help me live in the moment, forget a past that has gone, and abandon a future that I’m not guaranteed

Help me always be grateful, present, thoughtful, in your remembrance

Help me sufficiently adore you my Lord, because I fail at this

Help me sufficiently glorify you, because I founder at this.

And how fleeting my time is

Sometimes I wish that you would silence all clocks, silence all sound

Clear out this world of all your creatures, except me, to worship you in silence, without distraction

Yet isn’t this why you created me, to do this, despite all of this?

I’m anxious, the clocks keep ticking

My life, an upturned sand timer

And every moment that passes is a moment that I have lost to sufficiently praise you, a moment that brings me closer to my reckoning

And that I dread it, would that you would change my state, my Lord!

To desire it, to meet my dearest father, and my grandparents, and to see you

Would that you would turn my heart to look so forward to it!

Increase my ardour for it, would that you would help me violently want it!

Is my history a rehearsal of what I’m going through now?

My love of wealth and status?

And my desire to be independent? And independent of what, my Lord? Independent of whom?

And how could I ever wish to be independent of you my Lord, when my existence I owe you?

It seems as if everything has changed, and yet nothing has changed

I’m a sham, and my love is a sham

My beloved, I stand defeated, humbled, bowed

In exultation of your magnificence, your night, your grace, your mercy

And whatever broken, tainted, inadequate love I have to give, my Lord, you have it

And all I pray from you is that you would spare just a little bit of your love, your mercy, your grace, your kindness when you meet me

But I cannot deceive you, I’m greedy and you know that I want more than a little, I hope that you’ll spare all of your mercy, because I need it

And I hope that you’ll remember that I tried, and I pray that as I leave this most temporary abode, I leave in that state, steadfastly trying to please you, always you

In hope and fear of our reunion

Until then, I remain in awe of you

Striving to dive deeper into my love for you

Always you, my Lord, no one else but you.

Seeking His Face…

/ TheAnywayGirl / Leave a comment
Reflection-on-God_s-Creation

Courtesy: Whyislam.org (2016)

It is that time of the year, when that most noble month is almost upon us, almost at the tip of our tongues. And you hope and pray and implore The Most Compassionate to reach it, because how many of us have left us just when we thought we would be standing together – fasting during its days, repenting with utmost sincerity, and praying during its nights, crying together with overflowing iman. And sheepishly laughing when we see each other’s tears, of course never mentioning such breaks in character as we move on with our lives. And you remember that yes, some of us have left, and those lines will never be the same, and our tables will never be the same. And you remember what goodness you shared and cherish those memories, and try your damnest to recreate it with others. It’s never quite the same. But you still try, because that’s all you know, so you trudge along because you don’t believe in giving up the fight.

The people who enrich your life, that’s who they are. Who embody the essence of friendship and good companionship as I have learnt it to be. Those who hold the same beliefs and values that you do – who may hold the most extreme of opinions, and lifestyles, and interests you may never understand, but whose core value system, the foundation of friendship, is the irrefutable truth, Islam. A foundation which links us with our fathers and grandfathers, who’ve left us, and with our children and grand children, in mutual love and mercy.

And it’s scary, that someone may have that much influence over you, without being aware of it. That you may pick up their behaviours and qualities, and this would be amazing if they’re good, but what if they’re abhorrent? What if they, God forbid, pushed you away from the remembrance of The Most Holy. That would indeed be a disaster, as He reminds us in The Book. “And (remember) the Day when the wrong-doer (oppressor, polytheist etc.) will bite on his hand, he will say: ‘Oh!  Would that I had taken a path with the Messenger.  Ah!  Woe to me!  Would that I had never taken so-and-so as a friend!  He indeed led me astray from the Reminder (the Quran) after it had come to me.” (Quran 25:27)

There is this weakness inside of us, to want to be everyone’s saviour and helper and companion. To be thought of kindly by everyone we interact with. So I know I have to be careful of the temptation of The Cursed One to make the prospect of intimate relationships with the People of Desires attractive to me – to take them as my bosom friends, to love them, and to prefer them over the believers. Because they are not the party of Allah. And how much I crave to be amongst those that Allah classifies as His party! So I try my best to treat them justly, and fulfill my obligations towards them, and refrain from committing acts of aggression against them. And if I do, I can attest that this is indeed dished out across the board, believer and innovator alike, fairly and justly. As I know best, may The All-Knowing guide me. And may He soften my flawed heart, and others, to stand firm and act upon His Order in striving to do righteous deeds.

I’m sitting here in wonder at the equanimity with which I’m speaking about friendships, that most challenging and fulfilling of life’s experiences. Whose rule book and code I’m yet to decipher. I remember not so long ago, when I thought most differently of these relationships – I would complain at having to sit and listen to what I then thought, was the most mundane of matters. And I couldn’t for the life of me understand why they wouldn’t think that they were loved and respected from afar, and that they had my undying loyalty, undiminished by distance, time, situation, change. I have learnt that those small things are the big things, and I have since joined that movement, and actively discourse on the most mundane with the best of them these days.

But I have learnt to be guarded and only allow the most steadfast to occupy this mundane train. I have learnt that someone who publicly criticizes you and humiliates you is not fit to be called a friend. And no matter your disregard for the opinions of strangers, I have learnt that this is abhorrent in a human being. And your insecurities are never an excuse to treat your friends in this manner. And neither would I ever tolerate abject disrespect without justification now.  I refuse to shrug at these trivial matters anymore – you see, I have since learnt that it is these small things that matter in life. Distance clarified everything for me, alhamdullillah. And I will admit that it was devastating to discover that my value was confined to what I could provide, and as long as I had nothing to offer, I no longer held a place in someone’s life. And it was a slow and painful process to extricate myself from years of what I thought friendship should be – steadfast and loyal no matter the vagaries of life- and I was traumatized by this process. But I have learnt to respect myself first and will never tolerate this kind of behaviour again from anyone close to me inshaallah, and while it may hurt deeply to remove these people out of my life, I know I cannot simply survive another dysfunctional relationship. And I owe it to my sanity and my emotional health to extricate myself from situations detrimental to my peace of mind.

It is soul shattering to discover that your judgment, in these most intimate of spheres, may be flawed.  It goes to the core of who you are as a person.  I feel like my world has turned on its axis, and I question everything. I feel the need to question the verity of what people tell me now, I question the reactions of people around me. And I had to check myself when I recently met a kind soul, and I kept staring into her eyes, questioning whether I can trust myself to believe what I’m seeing. It’s unsustainable.

And so I realize that I needs must look deep within myself, and interrogate, what is within me that attracts this toxicity-I must admire something in these people to not see through the masks taken by them. And I discover that I must have some of it within me, to indeed admire its outward manifestation. That I must admire manipulation, and narcissism and disrespect, to so tolerate it against myself. And I have some work to do – to free myself of those vices most abhorred by the Most High, and grow to be better. Better at respect, better at appreciation of those closest to me, better at empathy, better at support.

And of course I turn to my most trusted friend, my dearest Lord, to whom I pour all of these doubts, anxieties and worries. I discover that I have been unjust to myself and others, and beseech Him to forgive me of these violations and guide me to be better.  And I enquire if I have transgressed against His boundaries, and I discover that I have. And I have been unfaithful to Him, and I have disobeyed Him. I have been everything I have ever despised in man- needy, co-dependent, moved by people’s actions. Everything that I never considered myself to be. And I pray to Him to free me from those most edifying of traits. To heal me and guide me back to the path that He loves, and ensconce me with the people that He loves. And take charge of all my affairs and guide me as He wishes best.

A relationship without the core of our Creator, in pursuit of His pleasure by reminding ourselves of our purpose in this world, I have since learnt, is founded on sawdust, and crumbles easily. As I slowly heal and attempt to get back up on that saddle of life, I’m reminded to keep this in mind in my forays in that most alien social world. To have this core, I have learnt, is to have friends in all levels of society, to remind me not just of my Lord, but of my roots. That I’m a daughter of a shepherd and a clerk’s daughter. And a scholar and a businesswoman. And we had the best of times. And life happened. And they were the worst of times. And as inherent in life’s character, it changed again. But I know that Allah could take it all away in an instant, and I observe no import for material possessions. That this means nothing. And in friendship as well, without God, it all means nothing.

To be cynical and skeptical is to allow a victory of such vices. I’m still obligated to be of service to people, and to better myself everyday. And I know I can’t do this with a foot outside the door, waiting for the first sign of disrespect or betrayal. Because I have also been disrespectful, and I have betrayed, inadvertently though it may have been. I have to learn to not only forgive these flawed humans and take them for who they are, but to also forgive myself for the mistakes I have made, and for falling short of what I hoped to achieve out of life. That I am a human being and falling short is part of my nature, and it does not mean I have failed at life. That I should still strive to do good solely for the pleasure of The Greatest, seeking His Face. He records everything, at fajr, and at asr, when I’ve had it and want to dash home and relax. That none of these sacrifices get lost, but it exhausts me sometimes. So I pray to Him – My Lord, strengthen me, always. And make your remembrance occupy my heart. Always. And keep me patiently with those who remember you in glorification, seeking Your Face. Always.

The Cushitic male 101: Navigation tips for the unsuspecting sister

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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.

May we know them, may we be them, may we raise them

/ TheAnywayGirl / Leave a comment

Representation is important. I never realized how important, until the people that I looked up to disappointed me. And then I discerned a problem in what actually was, and what should be, my role model. Representation doesn’t mean perfection because we are ultimately imperfect as human beings. Representation is seeing people who look like yourself, who adhere to your core values, as flawed as you are, but determined, driven, disciplined and daring to venture into uncharted territory, to pick themselves back up after a mistake and join back the race. It is seeing women who look like you reflected in the media that you consume, and women who bear your name being the heroines of your latest action novel. It is seeing women pioneers and businesswomen listed in the stock exchange. If you never saw this growing up, then the experience was isolating.

That is why I’m proud to throw my support behind Amani Al-khatahtbeh’s Muslim Women’s Day coming up on 27th March. Not that I believe that every day shouldn’t be Muslim Women’s day, indeed our religion reminds us of our place by the numerous stories told of inspiring women in The Final Revelation. But the current political and social world around us demands that we do this – it necessitates that we take charge of our own voices and stories, make room for ourselves at the table, take the mic and tell everyone that we aren’t going anywhere. That this is the new normal, and people should get used to it. For me at least, Muslim Women’s Day is a celebration of who I am, a reminder of how honoured I am, as well as an opportunity to remind myself of the value in living 100% as per what I believe in, without diluting any part of myself to conform to society’s expectations. And it is in this that lies a challenge. How do we ensure that we scale the highest of ladders in our contributions to society without conforming? Can we have heroines who are unapologetically believers first, and society’s change makers second? It seems almost impossible to satisfy these two beasts, in these times.

And so I look to the past to learn from our lauded women leaders- ummahatul muumineen, our own Mothers of the Believers, whose strength of character and noble qualities serve as potent examples of role models we would be honoured to emulate. We learn of Khadijah bint Khuwaylid, May Allah be pleased with her, an honourable and noble lady raised in luxury, but who went on to shatter the glass ceiling 1400 years ago in rising to become a successful and esteemed businesswoman exporting goods through the oft dangerous trade routes and primary commerce centers at that time, from Makkah to Syria and to Yemen, whose business was larger than all of the Quraysh trades combined. Whose generosity, integrity, modesty and character earned her the honour of Allah’s greeting through Angel Jibril – who was given glad tidings of having a palace made of Qasab in Paradise, wherein there will be neither noise nor toil.  One of  the greatest supporters of Islam in its earliest days, financially, morally and physically, the mother of Fatimah bint Muhammad, the Leader among the Women of Paradise, and the grandmother of Hasan and Hussain, who are to be of the foremost of the youth in paradise.

And we learn of other Mothers of the Believers – Aisha Bint Abu Bakr, Hafsa bint Umar, Maymuna bint al-Harith, Umm Habiba Ramla bint Abi Sufyan, Umm Salama Hind bint Abi Umayya- whose brilliant minds,  outstanding memory and mastery in interpretation of the teachings of the Prophet have contributed to the jurisprudence of Tafsir, Hadith, Fiqh and Shariah. We learn of their political and business acumen, and their bravery in not just the battlefield but in spreading the message of Islam. And we also learn of Maryam bint Imran, the mother of Prophet Isa, may Allah be pleased with them both, a pious and devout woman with a chapter of the Quran named after her. Whose nourishment was provided by The Sustainer, as she prostrated before him everyday in her sanctuary, and in acknowledgment of her total trust and reliance on Him told one of His prophets, “Indeed Allah provides for whom He wants, without measure.” (Quran 3:37) Who was elected and purified by The Sublime One, and raised above all women of the World (Quran 3:42).

Almadiana

Courtesy: Almadiana(1001 arabian nights)/Pinterest

And we learn of Asiyah bint Mazahim, may Allah be pleased with her, the wife of Pharaoh, a queen who raised a prophet. From whom we learn resilience and courage, in standing up to a corrupter and a tyrant, and in whose backyard she imparted spiritual and intellectual education to Prophet Musa, May Allah be pleased with him, to start a revolution. These women inspire me. From Prophet Musa’s mother who heeded the command of The Glorious One to release her baby into the Nile,  believing in His message that he will be returned to her, and that he will be honoured to be one of The Beneficient’s messengers. And to Asiyah, who convinced the King to spare this one baby of Bani Isra’il from his blood-lust. Who raised her adopted son to disregard the unparalleled wealth and luxury which surrounded him in the palace and be empathetic to the plight of those persecuted by his adopted father. Who displayed valour in the face of attempted murder and stood up against injustice. And who died with absolute conviction in her belief and love for The Magnificent One, so that even in her death she inspires us to emulate her legacy of truth, justice, faith and revolution. Whose station was elevated amongst humankind to be one of the four foremost ladies of the universe. And whose last prayer, as she was tortured to death, was immortalized by The Possessor of Majesty and Honour in The Book- “And Allah presents an example of those who believed: the wife of Pharaoh, when she said, ‘My Lord, build for me near You a house in Paradise and save me from Pharaoh and his deeds and save me from the wrongdoing people’ (Quran 66:11)” These are our outright heroines. Unshakable women. Not just distinguished in their roles as mothers and wives, but warriors in every sense of the word. This is the gold standard.

Learning about these women gives me immense hope and lays bare to me the triviality of my problems compared to our heroines of gone days.  It then becomes easier to live our lives, unafraid, to encourage each other to stand firm in doing good and leave a legacy that our children would be proud of. To strive to please The Most Sacred just as our heroines proved in pleasing Him when it mattered most. To be unapologetic strong women. We each recognize this potential  in each other – let us encourage each other, we recognize some of these women amongst ourselves – let us always know them, let us always be them, let’s raise similar women to them inshaallah.

Sources: thesalafifeminist.blogspot.com

http://www.iupui.edu/~msaiupui/wives.html

Don’t call me, please?

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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 beauty in difficult clients and partners

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Hasn’t this year started with a bang! It seems like it was just last week when I was yearning to resign from my job and open my own business. Just yesterday when I was looking for office space and furniture, and simultaneously advertising myself and services, shamelessly so. A hitherto oft disdained practice. And here I am, tying up loose ends, paying up rent and signing new contracts to establish myself.

And my clients? As difficult as human beings come. And partners who oppose my every move, and chide me for having dreams too big. Whose arguments sharpen the edges of my ideas and clarify my goals for our future. I feel challenged. I love it all. I take a deep breath every morning in wonder. How did I get this lucky? That we have businesses asking for our advice, and no one has complained. And who recommend us to colleagues and friends. About our services, no one has complained!

And besides business, I have dived head first into voracious academic readings. And to exercise, when the last I attempted it was in high school, more than 10 years ago. I feel pulled apart. And I still want it all. I once read that my deadliest sin could potentially be greed. And that terrifies me,  because it embodies my life as I know it now. I try this, I shift here, I think back, I move forward. If I’m honest, sometimes I get tired of moving. And I remember where I was last year and laugh like a lunatic. These are my problems now. That these are my problems! Alhamdulillah.

But I can’t completely live in my head. I have people to relate to now. And for as long as I can remember, I have always detested the art of making social niceties. It has invariably appeared a too inauthentic business to win me over. Smiling too, kills me. And now, not only do I do all these with aplomb, but I further absorb my clients’ energy, positive or otherwise, and offer back encouragement to revert with more issues to resolve, professional or otherwise, urgent or otherwise. I feel like a professional shrink. And I must admit that every such episode exhausts me. But I grow every single day. I learn about my profession, and the complexities of human nature every day.  I recall, with nostalgia now, a challenging and fulfilling experience I had interacting with a client. Who having expressed pleasure at the services rendered and nonchalantly directed to be billed forthwith, complained to my partner after I had directly so followed their instructions. And my instinct was to take out the business money I had used to render these services, and return the rest back to them, to shame them into recanting my alleged injustice to them. But I had to understand that that is part of human nature. To never be satisfied with everything. And you know what, I don’t fight it. I accept it all.

But it leads me to question this path, and these days, thank God, I tackle this psychology and emotions business with complete sangfroid. Am I in the right field? Am I a business woman? Or do I want to be a humanitarian? Is money my motivation , because to be honest with you, I don’t place as much value to billing than I do to the quality of service that I give to my clients. And the value addition it has facilitated in their lives. And I also realize values, inconveniently so, do not always align with a quest to accumulate wealth. And so again I ask, do I need to look at other career options? Or should I hire someone to look after my wealth, and pray for honourable clients and the easing of my partner’s mien and attitude towards my ideas. But isn’t that too easy?

Afro-Emoji-sticker-2-bellafricana-digest

Courtesy : Bukky Asehinde, bellafricana.com

I’m laughing here writing about this- these are my problems. That these are my problems! How beautifully my Lord has honoured me.

And so as I attempt to discipline my wants and needs, I fail miserably. I mean, even my duas are greedy. I must admit that I do get embarrassed sometimes, of always asking for it all from The All-Prevailing One. And when I give in to those voices and restrict the breadth of my demands, I still ask for the most untraditional of dreams. I do wonder if I have lost my mind sometimes. Is this what happiness does to someone? This manic flare of melodrama? My dearest readers, I highly recommend it.

A Kingdom of Dreams

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Dreams

Courtesy: Della McGee, dellamcgee.com (2017)

I have been advised, without enticement, that starting and succeeding at a business in these times is a provocation not for the faint-hearted. Invariably, the faint-hearted was always directed, with a look, at my person. I have forgiven them all their impertinence. Really, who is to know what meaning I give to my challenges? You see, mine have always been dreamy opportunities. Haunted, unwise, unattainable, potentially fatal, but so breathtakingly beautiful.

As I look back at what I have accomplished, and what I failed at these past months, I never imagined how profoundly grateful I would be at the mention of this year. A year whose ebbs have pushed me to attempt to succeed at something before I’m ready to, a coup my enemies would salivate over.  The loss of a job, the gain of new friends, the loss of hopes and the birth of new dreams. I remember at one point this year, my goal was to get out of bed and greet myself with love. Because I couldn’t stand myself and my life, let alone other people. And now ? I surely feel like I have discovered a new vista, that I could soar and conquer new lands. I believe I’m no one, I believe I’m someone, that can reach everyone. You see, I do think these dreams might be the death of me.

The idea of being my own boss, running my own agenda, at my own time, setting my own standards, beggars description. Of having to answer to myself, my most critical, loving, and inspiring of mistresses. Of dreams that I had long buried, whose living I would attempt now. Watered by management books I have read when I have not, yet, employees. Of inspiring stories of masters – Nietzsche and Newton and Hawking. Of foreign languages I need to master in 2018. And readings and exams I must not just pass, but excel at. Of people I have met, and business cards I have printed, when I do not yet have an address. Of people I haven’t met yet, the gaps in my dream. Of running out of my comfort zone.

Of academia goals so vivid, I already have my students’ names. Me, when I can barely remember friends’ names. And financial freedom. The sweet smell of independence. Of strong relationships when I loathe social gatherings. That I can overlook those bickerings and callings to account in light of this brevity of life, and focus on loving. I take that back. People mastery will be deferred until further notice.

And my office? I can handle a small cubicle, that’s how excited I am. Just as long as it’s a space I can call mine. And the stress, oh what beautiful stress. And deadlines that spike up my adrenaline and remind me that I’m alive. Of disappointment and failure that is part of my contract with life. And triumph. Of profit making, in my business, and non profit making, as I embark on my long held dreams of fighting injustice and being a champion of the weak in this world.  And a mini-me that I’d raise to be the most accomplished and supremely confident woman she could ever be inshaallah. A potential merger of my life and career goals. And a good akhera that would put to shame the amusements and plays of this world. I’m in raptures at the thought of it.

And one prayer. That I never forget on my finest days how desperately indebted and in need I am of my Lord, as I do on my worst days. To shower me with the courage to face my own private kingdom of dreams. A world so alien, yet so familiar.

The road less travelled

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I did it. I woke up one day and decided that I was tired of hearing myself complain about my life, and I checked out. Just like that, I was off. And that, to me, is the most significant step towards a new road, to mentally decide that life isn’t worth it if I have to wake up every morning, dreading to attend to a position that I have always wanted to have. And interact with constituents that I have always wanted to serve.

The Mara, 2017

The Mara, 2017

As I take in the beautiful sights of this vast wilderness in these dotted plains, I’m reminded that there are much bigger things to think about. Much bigger things to worry about than where my bread is buttered, as long as it is buttered alhamdulillah. Much bigger things to scream, cry and be joyous about. And much bigger roads to dream about.  I leave bittersweet, in grief for the friendships that I have made, and the bonds that I must break. And in anticipation of a joy that comes from one released of chains most strong, that of the most sublime and insidious of pessimism. Of ideas and attitudes that I was forced to confront. How I have grown in these times, between two loves, between two extremes. What profound lessons I have learnt.

Mzee Shee's home, Lamu County, Kenya (2017)

Mzee Shaa’s* home, Kenya (2017)

How could I not miss talking to the Mzee Shaas* of this world who in the most starkness of lives still reminded me to have hope in humanity? Whom, when faced with strange faces and nothing guaranteed of tomorrows, still dared to offer me, the first time he ever met me, his only meal?  You wouldn’t believe his disappointment, when I dared decline ! And as he relayed his life’s explorations, of harvests gone south and children gone left, and a chief’s camp a lair of fear, he still had hope in the future. I was severely reminded of what blessings and privilege means, in this most unequal of societies. And of the prayer in gratitude. And the faith in my Lord, The Bestower of Honours, The Rewarder of Thankfulness, The Nourisher, who has shaded me and my family from burdens I can only imagine.

To cast myself in the wilderness and embark on a path that many have taken and lost, and few have taken and triumphed, is a challenge. But the thought of it makes my heart sing. It’s not the novelty, but the immense challenge of what life seems to be asking me. So you think you can do it? And I laugh in abandon, me? You wait and see me now.

And the thought that my 3 a.ms., that most faithful hour, my bosom friend, will be spent charting this new road is exciting beyond life. Is this what addicts seek? Because I feel drugged. And inspired to give a lecture in psychology-life, not substance abuse I would start. The thought of this new road makes me feel as if I’m floating in dreams. I feel alive, and it has been rare to breathe that this year. A year that I have felt stifled, and I have shown up. And I have felt disrespected, and I have stood up. And I have felt intimidated, and I have been brave, by the grace of Allah, The Greatest Name. But I have been so so tired.

And so as I embark on this road most rarely taken, I inhale and relive the words of the late Maya Angelou :

You may write me down in history
With your bitter, twisted lies,
You may trod me in the very dirt
But still, like dust, I’ll rise.
Does my sassiness upset you?
Why are you beset with gloom?
’Cause I walk like I’ve got oil wells
Pumping in my living room.
Just like moons and like suns,
With the certainty of tides,
Just like hopes springing high,
Still I’ll rise.
Did you want to see me broken?
Bowed head and lowered eyes?
Shoulders falling down like teardrops,
Weakened by my soulful cries?
Does my haughtiness offend you?
Don’t you take it awful hard
’Cause I laugh like I’ve got gold mines
Diggin’ in my own backyard.
You may shoot me with your words,
You may cut me with your eyes,
You may kill me with your hatefulness,
But still, like air, I’ll rise.
Out of the huts of history’s shame
I rise
Up from a past that’s rooted in pain
I rise
I’m a black ocean, leaping and wide,
Welling and swelling I bear in the tide.
Leaving behind nights of terror and fear
I rise
Into a daybreak that’s wondrously clear
I rise
Bringing the gifts that my ancestors gave,
I am the dream and the hope of the slave.
I rise
I rise
I rise.
Maya Angelou, “Still I Rise” (1978)

And as I straddle the two extremes of deranged excitement and restrained expectations, I have no choice but to rely on my most faithful, constant friend. My lord, The Magnificent, The Generous, The Watchful One, The All-Comprehending One, The Satisfier of All Needs, The One and Only God. He has never disappointed me. Never.