A Day in the Hijab of Shama

New URL

2011-12-24T06:47:00.000-05:00

due to the fact that my BlackBerry cant access my blog here i have moved house over to Tumblr.com
new url is ADayInTheHijabOfShama.Tumblr.com please visit soon.

Bed Buggers

2011-07-26T06:51:00.001-04:00

I’d just finished cleaning up from dinnertime activities. This consisted of two spilled cups of milk, a trail of noodles from the kitchen to the bathroom (potty emergency during dinner), and spaghetti sauce hand prints on the light fixture from my 8yr old son scaring his little sisters in the dark while I was tending to the child with the potty emergency. My eldest daughter volunteered to clean the dishes. She’s only 5, so I would be recleaning them shortly after. Bless her heart for even trying.

We were eating late because after a long trying morning with my girls at the free clinic, I was in no mood to be conscious for several hours. So after my “sunnah nap” plus a bit more, I awoke, prayed, hurriedly straightened up the normal scatterings that occur when Mommy is asleep and began dinner preparations when I realised I’d forgotten to buy the tomato sauce for the spaghetti.

After waiting an hour for my son to bring me a simple can of tomato sauce from the market (a ten minute task at best), I scolded him for taking my change and going to the sweets shop where he refused to leave until he ate all evidence of his transgression. I like to have dinner ready right after Asr prayer so that my son’s who come home from classes at that time can eat before going back for evening classes. I don’t like for us to eat late at night. Now that plan was ruined as the boys were on their way out the door to evening classes as the first splinter of pasta hit the pot of boiling water.

I thought I had slept off the rage from my morning trials at the clinic, but now I could feel a tickle of grumpiness coming back. “Must push through,” I told myself. The girls helped with the sauce by fighting over who got to add which ingredients to the pot. My middle girl said that I needed to put more garlic in the sauce and my eldest girl argued that “No, it just needs a little more salt and oregano.” Masha’Allah, my girls will become great cooks one day, insha Allah. My youngest, age 2 simply wanted to taste each ingredient before we added it. I found out that strangely, she likes the taste of thyme. I’d give her some to shake into the sauce and she kept shaking it into her mouth. Masha’Allah she will become a great taste tester one day, insha Allah.

Bedtime came shortly after clean-up. The girls were in their pajamas and tucked snugly into their tents (my kids like to sleep in tents) by the time I came into the bedroom. “Mommy read us a story!” the 5 yr old said. Alright, I got a book off the shelf and waited for silence so that I could begin the story. But of course, silence is subject to several different interpretations in our home. So at the turn of each page someone yelled out, “I didn’t see the picture!” And in the middle of every other sentence, a child cried that she’d been hit or pushed by one of her sisters.

This continued for 6 or 7 pages (just how long is this book?) before I was ready to give up and say goodnight. I threatened to stop reading if they couldn’t be quiet. Of course they agreed in vain to comply. I was getting annoyed and could think of nothing but a hot cup of tea in a room full of slumbering girls. “Shush!” I tell them. Not because I can’t take anymore of their fussing ( I probably could’ve taken a few more minutes before loosing my mind) but because I think I heard a noise in the other room.

Our home is located on a quiet cul-de-sac. Our house is situated far back on a plot of land so that we are hardly visible (and barely audible) from the street. It’s nice for privacy but not so nice if something goes bump in the night. There are too many dark and empty places surrounding us for someone with bad intentions to hide.

The girls are now bickering about who sleeps where in the tent. “Be quiet,” I whisper angrily. They see the urgency on my face and quiet for a moment. I stare at the door and the darkness beneath it, waiting to hear that sound, the tap I thought I’d heard a moment ago. “Clink!” coming from the kitchen. Kayso, I’m pretty sure I locked the door in the kitchen but not so sure about locking the metal gate. I was preoccupied with complaining to my son about following my directions instead of his own agenda. Am I imagining this? Maybe it’s nothing. I’m always jumpy here at night. Like I said, we are a bit too far out of sight for my comfort. No one would even know if we were back here being burglarised, or murdered!

The noise level in the room rises again just as I think I hear the clinking noise again. Darn it! “Could you shut up PLEASE?’ I breathe at the girls with flames of frustration and anxiety nearly singeing their eyebrows. “But Mommy, she is sooo annoying,” 5 yr old says about 4 yr old. “Annoying? You want to know what is sooo annoying,” my voice rising with each syllable. “What’s ANNOYING is that I’ve asked you several times to be quiet and you refuse.” I take a breath but my temper has been ignited. “…annoying is the fact that I keep hearing a noise from the kitchen and I think someone has broken into our house….annoying is that I’m trying to figure out if there is a killer on the other side of this door (slapping several times on the door) waiting to murder us, but you people won’t be quiet long enough for me to save your lives!!!” The girls are now staring at me frightfully. I’m not sure if the fear is for unknown on the other side of the door or for the ranting lunatic inside with them. I continue, “I only hope there is someone in our house because at this point, I want a reason to hurt something. Give me a reason to spill some blood tonight! Let me be justified in severing the limbs of a stranger in my house! I can taste the metallic copper of his blood on my lips already!...” I’m shouting now and I decide I am not imagining this and there actually is someone in the kitchen. I grab the only weapon I can find in the girls’ bedroom, a heater that has been on for half an hour. I will burn the face off of some unfortunate idiot who has chosen to break into a mad woman’s house. I hear the kitchen door gently close. Just how many are in there? Oh well, I have to protect my babies so they can live another day to drive me insane. “La Ilaha Il Allah!” I rip the bedroom door open and charge the kitchen, the orange glow of the heater leading the way like a sword. I reach the kitchen. There is no one there. But just as I suspected, there had been. The metal gate is now wide open. I know I at least shut it earlier. I grab a knife from the drawer and clear the rest of the house… Nobody. Back in the kitchen, I lock the doors. Keeping the lights off, I glare out the window to see if I can catch a glimpse of my intruder. I see nothing but darkness.

The urgency of the situation is subsiding and now my hands are shaking from the fear I should have felt earlier if I wasn’t so angry. As I turn to go back and comfort the girls, I notice a piece of paper on the kitchen sink. Something is written on it in scratchy block letters. I reluctantly reach for it (as if the paper can do more damage than blindly charging a room to attack an intruder with a space heater). The burglar’s note reads: “Azaadville Free Clinic has Mental Health Counselling daily.” …Whatever.

A Visit to the Clinic: Prelude to Bed Buggers

2011-07-19T04:17:00.000-04:00

It’s 9 am and we, my 3 girls and I are walking in the crisp morning air to Azaadville’s free clinic. My 5 yr old (the hypochondriac) says it hurts when she pees so I’m guessing a UTI (urinary tract infection). When she told me this, I immediately began to recount how much (or how little) water I’d given her to drink recently. Maybe I should’ve given her more; we don’t drink soft drinks so that couldn’t be the guilty party. Whatever the case, I couldn’t think of a home remedy for this so here we are.

As I enter the bldg, there’s a great big sign on the door of the clinic, “We are closed due to bad weather.” Yet, the door is cracked open just a tad so I decide the sign must have been left on the door since last Wednesday, when the weather was a bit nippier than most days. The idea of things closing for this weather reminds me of Maryland and the precausionary “snow days,” when schools shut down behind the “threat” of a snowstorm approaching.

Upon entering, yep I was right, they’re open and FULL of sick folk. LHWLQIB (la hawla wa la quwatta illah Billah)! We are going to be here all day. As the comedian Kat Williams said: I got s*** to DO later (sorry for this brief digression). There are no signs instructing one on how the clinic protocol works; no sign in sheet at the counter. So I approach the counter and wait…and wait…and—Oh here she is. “My daughter is feeling pain when”—I’m cut off. “What is her name?” Etc…

Kayso, the receptionist hands me the file she has just filled with my daughter’s information and says nothing more. I ask, “So how does this work, will her name be called…?” “Have a seat and fdlfkjdfkjlal…” This is what I heard from her. Mind you that here in South Africa, English is not the primary language of the majority. And I don’t want to trouble this busy woman anymore with my obviously silly questions. So we sit. There are 2 seats open in the second row and we squeeze ourselves into them. Waiting indefinitely, I begin to absorb my surroundings. There are posters about HIV councelling, HIV prevention and a Condoman Condom dispenser on the wall near the entrance. The few other posters are scattered about with examples of a balanced meal for diabetics (sponsored by Equal Sugar Substitute) and illustrations explaining how to wash your hands properly in order to prevent the spread of disease (brought to you by Dettol). Right now I just wish my girls were wearing a nikab like me because the child next to us is coughing something awful in our direction and a face mask would at least put me a bit more at ease. Just then I spot the poster explaining the symptoms of Tuberculosis…great.

Okay the lady in the front row just got up and moved to a chair in the hallway. I didn’t hear anyone call out a name. Hmmmm. Everyone in the front row of chairs has just stood up and shifted one seat to the right. Ohhhhh, I get it. It’s a seat rotation line. Wow, who would’ve thunk it? I’m a bit slow on the uptake sometimes but as I realise what the game is, I stand to shift but my girls are oblivious. So their delay causes an enthusiastic sicky to jump from behind my row and take my spot. Alright, no problem, I know how to handle this. I won’t make a scene or even get annoyed. Its all good. I put my 2yr old off my lap. On your marks! The row rotation goes left from my row. I don’t move. People begin to go around me like I’m just retarded, excuse me, mentally challenged. Get set! I stare at a poster on birth control (too late for that, I’m already the old lady who lives in a shoe). Five minutes pass. The row continues to shift until “Sicky the line cutter” is in the first seat before the hallway. The hallway seat opens up—GO! I leap from the right and plop my behind in the hallway chair with a loud “clunk.” I have left my girls sitting in the second row still trying to figure out what to do. I motion to them to come. They didn’t need me to tell them twice, the 2yr old is back on my lap and Mr. Ambitious Sicky is stuck on stupid.

It has been at least 2 hours now and we still are sitting in these seats; what the flagnog? There is no apparent order to this system. A nurse emerges and asks which of my children is sick I tell her the 5yr old and she turns to the coughing baby and mom 2 seats behind us and calls them into her examining room. Okay, she must only do babies. Keeping my sabr (patience) in check I dismiss this. But hold up! Now she’s calling in “auntie” who’s 4 seats behind me! I know I don’t speak the language so maybe they have some arrangement that I don’t understand. I look to the person in the front of the line and she’s not upset so I guess I should just sit on it, and sit and sit and sit.

The girls are now whiny, fussy and wiggly. It’s becoming unbearable. One is pulling my nikab down everytime she presses her head against my chin. The middle child is sulking because her older sister hasn’t left her any room to sit on the chair they are supposed to be sharing. And “Miss reason we are even here” is now hungry and is begging me for food as if she saw me pack a picnic basket or something. Are they KIDDING ME? I tell my kids that I’m going to beat them if they don’t chill. But I say it in Yoruba so that nobody but my kids understands me. I’m starting to feel like I need a time out and if I don’t get one soon others will suffer.

Finally, we are in the receiving seat. The door opens and the last patient exits. No one calls us in but the door is left open and the women sitting next to me is tapping the heck outta me to get me to go in. Alright already. C’mon girls. We go in. there’s a man (doctor, nurse, dunno) sitting at the desk writing what looks to be his memoirs by the depth of concentration he’s putting into it. He doesn’t acknowledge our presence. I sit my daughter in the patient seat in front of him. He still doesn’t budge. “Give him your papers sweety,” I tell her. She places her papers just as I knew she would, right on top of his writing. Good girl. Oh look, he can see us! No greetings, nothing. Just, “what’s hurting her?” I explain, suspected bladder infection, painful urination, blah blah blah. He tells me to go to the room next door to give a urine sample and after they’ve tested it, come back to him and give him the results. I reaffirm exactly what he said, go to the room next door, pointing in the direction. He confirms. Ooookaaay.

The nurse is no longer in the room. Her car keys are on her desk so she cant be far, right? The medicine closet is left wide open for any sticky fingers to pillage through. So we wait, again. We wait so long that eventually the tapping lady who was next after me has also entered the room and is now waiting. She abruptly leaves after several minutes and returns with a cup looking more like a cocktail glass rather than the urine sample cup that it obviously is, since she has already filled it. “Where did you get that,” I ask. She looks at me confused. Now I get why she was tapping me. She doesn’t speak English. I guess I’ll get no help from her.

Finally the nurse returns to the room. Again, there is no acknowledgment of our presence. Can we say void of bedside manners here??? She walks over to the lady holding the urine and dips a pee strip into her cup. See, I should’ve had a cup of pee to poke in her face too. Because I don’t, she’s ignoring us. The tapper leaves the room and the nurse glances our way. I explain that we’ve been sent to give a urine sample. She tells me to go to the toilet and bring the sample back to her. Where is the toilet? “Go down the hall and turn right and then turn left and then go straight and then go through the doors and turn left.” Off we go.

The hallway is narrow with people seated on both sides facing each other. We clumsily make our way through, leaving a minimal amount of casualties (smashed toes). Ahh the toilet! We have arrived. I was beginning to think she sent me on a wild goose chase, hoping I’d give up and leave. But wait, where are the urine sample cups? Ugggghhhh! “Stay here girls,” I say. I treck back to ask the cup question. I’m extremely annoyed now. I do nothing to try and hide this annoyance as I get to her door and it’s closed. I knock sharply. There is no answer. This is RIDICULOUS. I open the door. She shouts with her back to the door “Can I get some privacy!” “Can I get a cup to piss in,” I shout right back. She turns to me with a look of disgust, just as an older matronly nurse approaches the scene. She kindly explains that there is a bucket on the right, just before entering the toilets, where I can retrieve a cup. I should rinse it first and then collect the urine and bring it to her. THANK YOU. I have met someone who can give clear instructions.

Back at the toilets I see said bucket on the right. It’s filled with a clear liquid and about 8 of those cocktail glasses/urine collection cups. Eew, do I just stick my hand in this liquid and grab one? By this time, I’m less patient than I am squeamish. So I suck it up and dip my left hand into the bucket and grab. Rushing over to the sink to rinse the cup and my hand, I turn on the faucet and the water pressure is so high that water shoot 5 feet out of the sink. Good, maybe that crappy nurse will slip trip and fall in it. Ok, that wasn’t nice, I know. Astagfirallah (Allah forgive me). See, I really need that time out.

Urine has been collected, and we are walking back to the nurse. Seeing the cup of pee in my hand, the hallway sitters move their feet just a bit more out of my way. They surely don’t want to be the cause of my tripping and showering them with pee this morning. I stand guard outside her office while she finishes with a patient. She immediately approaches and dips the test strip in the urine and writes her “findings” as she calls it, on our papers. Now I’m to take the pee back to the toilet to dump it. I am trusted to rinse out the cup and replace it into the same bucket filled with clear liquid. I’m even more grossed out by the thought of how many people failed to clean out the urine before tossing the cup back into the bucket. Just how much disease IS floating in this bucket? I wash my hands with the vigor, and detail of a surgeon about to go into the operating room.

Oh it’s not over yet. We still have to go back to the original guy to show him our results. Of course, there are even more people in the clinic now and they all are looking at us like we are trying to cut them in line to see the doctor. I don’t care what they think. It’s been 3 hours now and as soon as his door opens and the patient walks out, I’m in there. Uncle in the chair next to the door will just have to deal with it. I can tell he’s edging his behind on his chair for maximum leverage in order to beat me into this office. Oh it’s like that, Uncle? No problem, let’s go. I’m beginning to hear the whistling theme of The Good, The Bad and The Ugly, right before the gun battle. Did I just hear spurs? No, that’s someone’s keys. Focus, I tell myself. the door opens with a squeak. The patient hobbles out and just my luck, she blocks my entry. Uncle springs up and practically falls into the room. But the doctor tells him to step aside so he can read my results. Ha-Ha! I’m taking back all of the mean things I said about the doctor and also all of the mean things I thought but didn’t say (for the lack of descent synonyms for such profanity).

We’re outside the clinic now. My daughter is holding a plastic bottle of Paracetomal in one hand and liquid Multivitamins in the other. Apparently she has no bladder infection. Alhamdulillah. My “after the clinic” plans will need to be postponed because now the adhan for Zhur salah (midday prayer) is being called. We’re going home to pray and get food ready for the boys who will be coming home on lunch break from class after the salah. I’m too worn out for anymore public interaction anyway. Once I get the food prepared, I’m taking a nap; my well deserved time out.

WELCOME HOME

2011-07-11T08:52:00.002-04:00

7/9/2011

Ishataktulaka jiddan ya Habibi!!!!!! Ok just had to get that outta my system. It has been 10 days in our new home, Alhamdulillah. Today my 8yr old played cricket for the first time with the neighbourhood kids. He was nervous about going out to play. He’s shy whether he wants to admit it or not. So it took some convincing (physically shoving him out the door) before he reluctantly went out. And of course they welcomed him right away and that was that. Now I can’t get him to come back inside even to eat.

Our new home is just the right size and on a circle, so there is no car traffic constantly going past. It’s still far enough from the commercial centre for me to get a decent cardio workout when going for groceries or internet café. Speaking of internet cafes, I must get my own internet established soon. It costs R10 per half hour at the café which is not bad (if I wasn’t so dependent on the web) but these guys want to charge me for every download onto my OWN usb drive. You see, I download educational videos and a select group of cartoons for my kids from YouTube. This pay as you download thing is just not clicking for me.

All I need is a functional Blackberry and I can pay R59 a month for unlimited internet and then tether it to my laptop. But noooooo it couldn’t be just be that easy. My dear Mommy sent me a Blackberry all the way from the US. She spent tons time tracking the joker from seller and then even more tons of money via FedEx and then I too spent a grip on this end (taxes) to get the device. I was so overjoyed and anxious to get connected to my loved ones again and then…………nothing. It won’t pick up a signal! After 11 calls yes count them ELEVEN calls to Vodacom customer service (that’s the service provider here) and reconfiguring the entire phone with 11 different customer service reps who all answer calls with, “how can I make you smile?”)…..they could not make me smile.

7/11/11: I miss my hubby. I miss my daily talks with my Mommy. I miss my 6 to 7 calls a day to and from Angelique. I miss fiqh class at PGMA. I miss downloading Islamic lectures off the internet. I miss changing my fb status as soon as something witty comes to mind. I miss the view from my balcony. I miss free wi-fi. I miss Pizza Roma. I miss making an appointment with my Dr. just so we can shoot the breeze. I miss emailing all my friends on a regular. I miss summer weather. I miss non-fat yogurt. I miss Costco. I miss the ladybugs that used to fly into my window. I miss having my own bathroom (with a toilet; we now have a flat pan). I miss my microwave. I miss instant meals. I miss a washing machine. I miss having the feeling back into my freezing limbs. I miss central heating. I miss my van. I miss everybody and everything.

House Hunt on High Alert

2011-07-11T08:51:00.002-04:00

5/31/2011

We’ve been here a month and 2 days now. I’m feeling lonely, old, worn out, displaced and frustrated. All of these feelings are making me more aggressive. This is good in a sense that it is making me get out more and hunt for what I want /need (apartment, school for Yusra, classes for me, etc.). On the other hand these feelings are also making me quick tempered with the kids (go figure). I just wish I had a friendly adult to converse with daily. A good girlfriend chat is the remedy. But no internet, no chat. Did I mention I’m oh so lonely? I need to begin working on my books (3 unfinished novels; pathetic). Insha Allah, tonight.

June 2, 2011

Good bad news: our host needs his flat back ASAP. This means we MUST move soon, insha Allah. Yay!

On another subject, here are some differences I’ve noticed in Azaadville South Africa;

In America, Muslims incorporate Arabic phrases into English conversation (i.e. “how are u Akhee?). but here in Azaadville, the incorporated tongue is Urdu. I’m no longer “Sr. Shama.” I’m Aapa Shama. Instead of praying the salah, its namaaz. Whenever anyone wants me to repeat something its “chee” or “jee” (I’m not quite sure which, I’ve heard both). People seem to be with the understanding that a Muslim woman’s voice should not be heard even to salaam (unless necessary, like in the shops). Oh, food costs about the same as in America. Shoes and clothes are just a smidge cheaper. Big appliances are way cheaper, refrigerators, stoves, etc. Rent is WAY cheaper. $500 (R3100) will get you a 3 bedroom home (not flat). But electronics such as mobile phones, gaming devices and TVs cost more. The small grocery stores here in town are too expensive though. I saw in the paper, stores about 10 minutes drive away, the prices are about R4 cheaper on each item I buy. Yet I have no way of getting there. Basically if you have no car here in Azaadville, you are trapped in Azaadville.

6/3/11

Differences continued: they drive on the left side of the road here. On a phone, where we are prompted to press the pound key, in S. Africa the prompt says press the hash key. It took me a few guesses to figure out that the hash key IS the pound key. There are no stop lights here in Azaadville; only stop signs which are loosely recognized as pause signs.

6/12/2011

I’ve been in South Africa for exactly 45 days. What has been accomplished?

• Boys are in school, Alhamdulillah.

• Met some very nice Muslimahs, Maasha’Allah.

• I can calculate the difference between Fahrenheit and Celsius much faster than before.

• For the first time I’ve used Garam Masala in a meal and it tasted great!

• The girls and I are getting much more exercise with our brisk walks to and from the commercial centre to buy groceries and go to the internet café (although now that brisk walk sometimes includes a stop at the bakery which sort of defeats the purpose of the brisk walk).

• We were invited to dinner at my 8yr old’s teacher’s home. His wife was very nice, Maasha’Allah, and she had small children as well. I don’t get to meet many Muslimahs with children here because I’m living in a community of mainly students in their late teens to mid twenties. So it was refreshing to find potential playmates for my kids. They are tiring of each other’s company.

• I’ve been incorporating much more Arabic in my homeschooling curriculum for the girls. My 5yr old cannot attend school here until she is 7; even though she can read now and is eager to learn. So I’ve up’d the ante on our home school.

• We are still in housing limbo (staying at a friend’s home). This is my most immediate goal. I cannot feel at home until I actually have a home. May Allah keep me patient, ameen.

All In a Days Work

2011-07-11T08:47:00.002-04:00

5/26/11: This morning I awoke at 4am to the unpleasant experience of my 2yr old vomiting last night’s dinner in my face and all over my blankets. The contents? Well, in the pitch-black of night it was your typical slimy vomity chunky grossness. The smell is yeasty and sour. But as I rushed to turn on the light it was revealed to be rice. Rice, rice and more rice. It was everywhere. I spent the next hour picking up the ex-contents of my daughter’s stomach by hand (fore there is no vacuum and wet rice does not sweep from carpet well). Okay, morning obstacle hurdled and successfully defeated, right? Wrong, this was just the beginning. As I have just bathed said “vomiter” and have put her snugly in bed, my oldest daughter awakes. She’s has just urinated on herself (and my bed). So, it’s off to the gallows once again; this time with pee-soaked blankets, pillow, pajamas and child.

Second bath in the hour of 4am and I am back into my warm room. But no rest for Mommy just yet. The second wave of stomach heaves are arising from the 2yr old. “Oh no! Not all over another bed and carpet!,” I quickly snatch her from under covers to the tile floored hallway where we are just in the knick of time to witness the second coming of rice. Needless to say, but will say it for authenticity purposes, I wanted to cry right then and there. I wanted to fall onto the floor to kick and scream, flailing my arms about like a helpless child in the throws of an anger induced, seizure-like tantrum. Its 4 IN THE MORNING. No vomiting at 4 in the morning! It’s in a rulebook somewhere. Its gotta be. This is just so unfair. Did I mention that I’m in PMDD mode? Where are my meds????

Vomit / Pee laundry is washing (thank You Allah for giving our host a washing machine), said offenders are back in beds, the boys have been awakened to go to pre-fajr class at the Madrassah and I’m freezing (it’s the end of May, winter in South Africa right now). All of the evidence of my sorted morning activities have been cleaned and sanitized. I now can sit and relax. I am free to read Qur’an and remember Allah. I can separate myself from the chores this morning has already brought on and gaze over to my three sleeping girls; so innocent and unaware of the world that doesn’t revolve around them. I can breathe in their dreams and feelings of security and contentedness. They know I’m there waiting for the next “catastrophe” with ready arms. I may fuss and moan but they know it will be short lived and dismissible. Their unconditional love emanates from their pores as their little chests rise and fall. My unconditional love swells back at them.

All is right in the world again. I’m going back to bed.

PART II

It’s 9 am and the second phase has struck; diarrhea. 2yr old unleashed an explosive load on the kitchen floor right in the middle of breakfast. Did I mention this is also day 2 of official potty training (so no diapers)? I think we can chalk this day up for a FAIL.

The rest of the morning went as follows:

“Mommy, she did it again!”

“I’m in the bathroom; keep her in the same spot and I’ll be right there!”

I rush in to find the toddler standing in a puddle of liquid feces and a guiltily pained look on her sad face. This scene repeated itself at varying degrees and locations all day.

PART III

I’m fuming because I had loaded all the soiled clothes, rugs etc, into the washing machine. I delayed washing until the last pair of potty training panties was soiled. Our host comes by (when the house is in its messiest condition, just great) and Masha’Allah he brings us some lamb. At this time, I’m starting to feel ill from either just handling all the nastiness of the day or possibly getting the cooties that my 2yr old has. So I lay in the room while the boys talk to the brother. Papi got the lucky task of informing our host that the freezer has stopped freezing and all of its contents are now melting and smelling ripe.

After he has gone, I notice that I hear the washer working. I find that he has taken out all of the soiled, disgusting items, placed them into a laundry basket and replaced them with his own clothes and they are now happily spinning in suds taunting me. Now, I realize that this is not my home; the brother is going out of his way, above and beyond what most would do to let us stay here. So, why should I be upset that he has chosen to make his clothes a priority in the wash? I don’t know. It just feels like an invasion when he’s here. I have to get completely dressed and covered and I’m constantly (and anxiously) taking mental note of what is out of place or filthy when he arrives. This is why I need to be in my own home. I’m on edge when the kids play for fear they will pull down a curtain or tear a hole in a sofa cushion. So, after I talk myself back to humility, I let this issue go and I go bake some bread.

The bread dough is rising in the a warm, dry place; the washing machine has finished its last spin cycle and I’m on my way to hang his clothes on the line to dry. Just as I approach the hallway between the bedrooms I hear a trickling of water up above. There is water dripping from the ceiling!!!!!!! Oh no! Oh no! What to do; who do I call? Go turn off the main water valve! WHERE THE HECK IS THAT? I don’t know. I go to the washer and shut off the water valve behind it. That doesn’t stop the leak. I run frantically around the flat looking for anything resembling water valves and attempt to turn them all off. Nothing doing, the leak increases; the puddle grows. I hear the adhan, that means the boys will be praying Asr and then come home. I can get Papi to find our host afterwards. Meanwhile, I begin to mop. I mop like a woman on a mission. I grab towels from everyone’s suitcases and build barriers at the bedroom doors. The hallway is tiled but the rooms are carpeted. I don’t want the water to reach the carpet. I continue to mop.

The adhan was some time ago. The salah should be over by now. Where are the boys? Where is my help? I’ve made the girls all go to the living room. The ceiling is beginning to buckle under the pressure of the amount of water obviously leaking. I don’t want the girls to be trapped in a room if the ceiling caves and water begins rushing down. Just then I remember the boys were planning to go to the commercial center after Asr. I originally was going to go and let them stay with the girls but with the 2yr sick and my own health deteriorating I decided against it. But this means they won’t be home till Maghrib. That’s practically in 2 hours!!!! So I mop. I continue to mop. The amount of leakage spots has increased to 5 and I have only 3 buckets. An inch of water is now building up in the hallway. My makeshift towel dam is beginning to fail. I feel like a woman uselessly trying to mop up the damage from the levy breakage during Hurricane Katrina with a sponge. This is not working. Water is now drifting into the kitchen. I throw down my mop, put on my hijab and head over to the neighbors. “Sooooo, (after salaams) who do you call when your flat is flooding?” I ask. She stammers for a moment and I explain the situation. She tries to call my host on her phone (which I would’ve done myself except there are no more minutes on my pay as u go phone); doesn’t matter anyways because his phone goes straight to voicemail. She promises to continue to try to call him. I thank her and run back to my awaiting tsunami.

I’ve been mopping for 2 hours now and it looks worse. My socks are soaked. Yes, in all the uproar I forgot to take them off. My back and shoulders are hurting. The Maghrib adhan has just been called. The boys should be here by now. I go next door again and my neighbor says her husband is at the Masjid and will find the brother after the salah, insha Allah. Whew, that’s what I needed to hear. That gives me the hope and reserve to go back and mop some more. Just as I do, the boys arrive and learn of my fun filled afternoon at the water park. They too go to the Masjid and will search for the brother after salah, insha Allah. “Mommy, she’s dookied all over the floor!”

Ya Allah!!!!

As I press on with my tasks at hand, I go into a sort of daze, or automatic pilot mode. My hands are getting splinters from the old mop I’m using and somehow without realizing it, I’ve twisted my ankle during one of several “near slipping” incidences and its aching something bad. Then I realize (what I already know but often fail to recognize) that Allah is Most Merciful. This may sound strange considering the circumstances. But, had my 2yr old not vomited in my face at 4 am I might not have gotten up for fajr prayer on time. And the diarrhea, well, I can’t think of anything for that, but as for the laundry; had the brother not put his clothes in the washer, it would’ve been my load of laundry that made this waterworks begin and I’d be feeling somehow responsible. And even more of a blessing is the fact that I had originally intended to leave Zayd with the girls and go to the internet café at the very same time that this water disaster began; how would he have handled that? So even though this is a trial I can see the “silver lining” in the clouds. I’m grateful for this as well.

Adjusting

2011-07-11T08:46:00.000-04:00

12 May 2011:

It must be my 2 week crazy period (yes, I’m unstable half of each month; I feel it adds an air of adventure to the room). Don’t believe my family would agree with me. I feel like a Rage switch has been turned on and everyone is in danger of my wrath. This morning I took the kids on a walk thru town and did the tourist thing by taking pix and videos of the neighborhood as we walked; daring anyone to try and rob me. See that’s how I know it must be my 2 week crazy because I was welcoming a confrontation (one I most probably would lose). On another note I got some cool shots of the pretty houses in my hood. The kids got some good sunshine and exercise and I found a great shop for girl’s abayas and khimars for all.

Still no prospects on finding a place of our own. But we are as comfortable as we can be in the brother’s home. Zayd was not allowed to attend the Madrassah. They say he’s too young for the Madrassah. You have to be 12 years old and he’s 8. But for his age he’s very focused, Masha’Allah. They know he has already memorized 9juz. So how can he be too young for Hifzh School? So they are deciding his fate and will let us know. But why is it taking sooooo long to decide his fate when they had a meeting over a week ago? O Allah give me patience. O Allah give me patience. O Allah give me patience.

I need to find some Islamic programs for myself. My morale is getting low just cooking and cleaning and making sure everyone else is good. I’m neglecting my own needs. My needs list has already shortened and been edited since we’ve been here and yet I still don’t get any ME time.

To stay positive, I lay at night fantasizing about moving into our own home and decorating it and getting into a routine and making friends and communicating w/ family on a regular basis. Then I make dua’.

Dua’ answered, he’s been accepted into the Madrassah, Alhamdulillah.

Shama in South Africa...Journal entries

2011-07-11T08:44:00.000-04:00

4/29/2011: Well we are here Alhamdulillah. 12 hours to Dubai and 7 ½ to Joburg. The travel was brutal because we moved house. So we had 13 check-in bags weighing at maximum capacity and 6 carry-ons. Now add 3 small girls to the mix and 4 pillow pets, 6 “personal items” to also carry on. My entire body hurts as if I’ve been in a car wreck. But, we have made it to our destination safely. I want to write more but after driving all night to NYC to catch our flight at JFK, and then barely sleeping on the flights, this Mama is ready to crash on her pillow.

5/1/2011: Today I changed all my settings to South African time and currencies on the laptop. Might as well dig in to my new homeland. I’m going stir crazy in this flat with the kids. This is the first time I’ve been responsible for all 5 of my children under the same roof. And I’m doing it alone. So I’m a “single mom” during our time here and so far it sucks. I miss Habibi. I miss my family. I miss internet. I miss facebook. I hate that I can’t communicate with the world at the touch of my fingers to the keys. How did one communicate b4 www? I can’t remember. Courier pigeons, Smoke signals? I need to get settled into my own flat so that I can set up a home for us. I know it has only been 2 days. But you try living out of 22 pieces of luggage with 5 kids.

The weather is similar to the Bay Area. Its winter here I think, or maybe fall. But I know it’s opposite to the US. No humidity so I'm cool with it. Joburg was well lit up as we drove past it from the airport. It was after Maghrib by then. It was about a 50 minute drive to Azaadville.

5/2/11: Kayso, later yesterday evening, two sisters from the bldg came to greet me. One was from an island off of Madagascar (I’d never heard of it and felt stupid, thought I knew my geography) and the other was from FREMONT, CA. Go figure. Jihad had seen a man earlier in the day that he recognized from the Lowery Masjid in Fremont. He also attends Darul Uloom. This was his wife who visited. Young, very friendly, I used her blackberry to go on FB for a second and announce our arrival in S.A. $10 a month gets me unlimited everything on a blackberry phone. Only problem is the buying the phone costs the same here as it does in the US, roughly $300. So…..we’ll see. I’m juiced because I was able to charge my computer. Now I can type my journal and listen to my book. My boys are really really nervous about school tomorrow. One is worried he’s forgotten everything. But it doesn’t matter. He can learn it again insha Allah, and even better because he’s older and knows the importance and reasons for learning Quran. I pray he is successful and remains on this path. The other one is scared that he won’t make any friends. He’s afraid everyone will dislike him. Insha Allah, Allah will ease his worries when he gets there. G’nite

5/5/11: Today was extra brightened by the prospect of seeing a flat we might move to. But my bubble was burst when it didn’t work out. BOOOOOOOOO. I appreciate the brother letting us live in his flat. It’s clean, comfy and convenient for the boys and school. I just really want to get settled into my own and stop living out of suitcases. MashAllah.

I’m using an MTN pay as you go phone and it is a joke. I spend R10 and get 12 minutes on a call. The highlight of today was we found the internet café. R10 there will get you 30 minutes on the web. Much better deal.

Ok, let’s talk South Africa. The weather is cool to cold right now; winter. There are "nikabis" everywhere so I don’t feel like I stand out at all. I’m a bit lonely just because all the women students that live in Madrassah homes (like us) are so young, 20 or so. I’m old enough to be Mum and I’m not a student. For the first time, I was called “Auntie” by a grown man! The boys have made friends at the Madrassah, Alhamdulillah. They were invited to dinner tonight by the students to welcome them to the Madrassah. It warmed my heart to see both my boys dressed and heading to the Madrassah together, laughing and chatting. I prayed Zayd would get a chance to know Papi as a cool big brother. They’ve spent so much time apart I was worried they’d never be as close as me and my sibs.

The homes near us are all unique and well kept with landscaped yards and very shiny, decorative garage doors. The commercial center is walking distance and just far enough to get my blood pumping and maybe drop a few lbs. Oh, I should say kg now. Ha-ha. The cars drive on the opposite side of the car and opposite side of the road. Don’t think I’ll ever get used to that. I keep looking for a phantom driver on the left side of the car. The groceries here cost the same if not more than in the US. That sucks because I have 5 hungry kids. They’re bored so they want to eat more now than ever. The area is predominantly Indian, but from here so they just call themselves South African; unlike in the US where everyone is defined by family origin first i.e. African American, German American etc., not simply American. But there are Muslims from all over the world in the Madrassah. I like to close my eyes and pretend we’ve been transported back to the time of the Prophet (s) sometimes when the Adhan calls from the Madrassah and all I hear are footsteps from every direction heading to salah. Even the market closes for salah.

Destination South Africa: The Flight

2011-05-18T04:18:00.000-04:00

I'm sitting in an Internet cafe in Azaadville, South Africa. Exactly 3 weeks ago my kids and i moved for my boys to attend school here. I spent 1 month packing all of our "necessary, i just cant live without" belongings. We had 6 travellers and i intended to take full advantage of the luggage check-in quota. I got the lucky opportunity to drive the 4hour drive to JFK to catch our flight (cheaper than paying for another 6 tickets from BWI to JFK). So with 12 check-in bags, 6 carry-ons and 6 "personal carry-ons" we boarded the plane completely fatigued. We spent the 2 hours prior to the flight repacking in order for them to meet the wight requirements. \i was sooooo exhausted \i diapered my 2 year old, my 3 year old and even my 5 year old!!!! There would be NO pee pee emergencies once Mommy settled into her seat....

I Couldn't Have Said It Better Myself

2011-04-02T09:06:00.001-04:00

So I'm reading this book, and the author is describing how she feels when she puts her kid to bed at night. She so eloquently and accurately painted the scene that repeats for me each night that I just had to share:

"...I turned the light out as I always do and closed the door . I felt the usual sweeping relief all through my body. I don't think i can explain to anybody how important it is to me to be able to close that door. And I punched the air in triumph as I often do...I don't mean to do it. But my arm moves before my brain has time to stop it. I feel as if I've escaped from prison. All my dread disappears. Even the certainty that it will return tomorrow can't stifle my joy. When [the kids] go to bed, my life and my home are my own again. And I can be myself, free, doing whatever I want to do without fear, thinking about whatever I want to think about for a few precious hours..."

~The Wrong Mother
by Sophie Hannah

For Fear of Saying Something Displeasing

2011-03-26T12:03:00.000-04:00

An elderly Arab lady was sitting alone at the trunk of a tree and Abdullah bin Mubarak also happened to pass that way. Seeing this lady in distress, he spoke to her. The discussion is recorded as follows:

Abdullah bin Mubarak: Asalamu alaykum wa Rahmatullah.

The lady: The word from a merciful Lord is peace [Ya Sin 36/58]. She meant that the reply of salaam is from Allah, Most High, Himself. She said further: Those whom Allah sendeth astray, there is no guide for them. [Araaf 7/186]. She meant that she had lost her way.

Abdullah bin Mubarak: Where are you coming from?

The lady: Glorified be He who carried His servant by night from the Masjid al-Haraam (inviolable place of worship) to Masjid al-Aqsa (Far distant place of worship) [Israa 17/1].

Abdullah bin Mubarak: How long have you been in this place?

The lady: For three nights [Maryam 19/10].

Abdullah bin Mubarak: What arrangements are made for your food?

The lady: And who (Allah) feedeth me and watereth me [Shu'ara 26/79]. She meant that her food was provided to her by Allah.

Abdullah bin Mubarak: Is there any water for wudhu?

The lady: And if ye find not water, then go to high clean soil and (make tayamum) rub your faces and hands (therewith). [Nisaa 4/43]. She meant that she made tayamum because there was no water.

Abdullah bin Mubarak: Here is some food, partake of it.

The lady: Strictly observe the fast till nightfall [Baqarah 2/187]. She indicated that she was fasting.

Abdullah bin Mubarak: This is not the month of Ramadan.

The lady: And he who does good of his own accord (for him) lo! Allah is responsive, aware [Baqarah 2/158]. Meaning that she had observed an optional (nafl) fast.

Abdullah bin Mubarak: It is permitted to break the fast when on a journey.

The lady: And that ye fast is better for you, if you did but know. [Baqarah 2/184].

Abdullah bin Mubarak: Speak in the manner that I speak.

The lady: He (man) uttereth no word but there is with him an observer ready [Qaf 50/18]. She meant that since every word of a person is observed and recorded, she took precaution by speaking only in the words of the Quran.

Abdullah bin Mubarak: Which clan do you belong to?

The lady: Follow not that whereof thou hast no knowledge, lo! The hearing and the sight and heart of each of these it will be asked [Israa 17/36]. She meant that he should not inquire about that which he had no knowledge.

Abdullah bin Mubarak: Forgive me. I have certainly made a mistake.

The lady: Have no fear this day. May Allah forgive you [Yusuf 12/92].

Abdullah bin Mubarak: Would you like to travel on my camel and meet your caravan?

The lady: And whatsoever good ye do, Allah knoweth it [Baqarah 2/197]. Meaning that if he if he did this good deed, Allah would recompense him for it.

Abdullah bin Mubarak: Well, then you may mount it. Saying this he made the camel sit down on the ground.

The lady: Tell the believing men to lower their gaze. [Nur 24/30].

Ibn Mubarak understood, turned, and looked away. While she was mounting, the camel jerked, and her clothes got tangled in the saddle and she proclaimed: Whatever of misfortune striketh you, it is what your hands have earned. [Shura 42/30]. In other words, she was calling Abdullah bin Mubarak’s attention towards this mishap.

Abdullah bin Mubarak understood and he tied the legs of the camel and he straightened the straps of the saddle. She praised him for his understanding by saying: And we made Sulayman to understand [Anbiya 21/79].
When the journey was about to begin, the lady recited the ayat, which are read when undertaking a journey, Glorified be He who hath subdued these unto us, and we were not capable (of subduing them). And lo, unto our Lord we are returning. [Zukhruf 43/13].

Abdullah bin Mubarak held the bridle of the camel. He began to hum the Huddi, a famous Arabic song for travelling, and he started walking quickly alongside the camel.

The lady: Be modest in thy bearing and subdue thy voice [Luqman 31/19].

Abdullah bin Mubarak understood, so he began walking slower, and he lowered his voice.
The lady: Recite of the Quran that which is easy for you [Muzzamil 73/20]. She meant that instead of humming the Huddi, he should recite the Quran.

Abdullah bin Mubarak began reciting the Quran. The lady became very pleased and said: but none remember (accept advice) except men of understanding [Baqarah 2/269].

After reciting the Quran for a while, Abdullah bin Mubarak asked, O Aunt, have have you a husband (meaning is he alive)?

The lady: O you who believe, ask not of things, which if they were made known unto you, would trouble you [Ma'idah 5/101]. Meaning, he had most likely passed away.

At last, they caught up to the caravan.

Abdullah bin Mubarak: Do you have any son or relative in this caravan that has connection with you?

The lady: Wealth and children are an ornament of life of the world [Kahf 18/46]. She meant that her sons were with this caravan and they had provisions with them.

Abdullah bin Mubarak: What work are your sons doing for the caravan?

The lady: And landmarks, and by the star they find a way [Nahl 16/16]. She meant that her sons were guides for the caravan.

Abdullah bin Mubarak: Can you tell me their names?

The lady: Allah chose Ibrahim as a friend [Nisaa 4/125]. And Allah spoke directly unto Musa [Nisaa 4/165]. O Yahya! Hold fast the Scripture [Maryam 19/12]. By reciting these ayat, the lady had informed him that her sons were named Yahya, Ibrahim, and Musa.

Abdullah bin Mubarak called out these names in the caravan and immediately three young people came walking quickly over to them.

The lady: (addressing her children) Now send one of you with this your silver coin unto the city. And let him see what food is purest there and bring you a supply thereof [Kahf 18/19]. In other words, she instructed them to feed bin Mubarak.

When the food was brought, she told Abdullah bin Mubarak: Eat and drink at ease for that which ye sent on before you in the past days. [Haqqah 69/24], and with this ayah she recited another ayah to convey her gratefulness to him for his good conduct and courtesy. The ayah was: Is the reward of goodness anything other than goodness? [Rahman 55/60]. And their conversation ended on this ayah.

The lady’s son informed Abdullah bin Mubarak that his mother has been speaking in this manner, using only the ayat of the Quran in her speech, for the last 40 years.

Terrorist drives car full of explosives to a Mosque

2011-03-17T13:02:00.000-04:00

The Wisdom of Babes

2011-03-12T09:30:00.000-05:00

My family and I have some deep philosophical conversations in my home. We ponder the Creator and His creations. We analyze moral codes and conducts. We discuss the powers and deceptions of love and life. There are even occasional political debates and resolutions. Then there are those times when all intellect leaves the room and mutterings of gibberish laden fools reign free to spread their doctrine. These are some of those mutterings:

1. " Mommy, I can't sleep in my sleeping bag anymore."
     "Why, is it dirty? Are you too hot in it?  Is there a hole in it that allows a tiny gremlin inside to nibble at
     your toenails while you sleep?"
     "No, it's too blue."
2.  (Angrily)"She keeps looking at me!"
     "So close your eyes and you won't see her seeing you."
     "But then I can't breathe."
3. [This one is courtesy of my niece]
     Daddy: what mascot would you pick for your school?
     Child: a bloody castle.
     Hmmmmmmmm.....
4. "Can I have some cereal?"
     "Sure, let me take out the milk."
     "No, I don't want milk. I want to eat it dry."
     [ten minutes later] "Can I have some milk?"
     "I just offered you milk in you cereal and you said you didn't want any."
     "That was because it's harder to play marbles with my Kix when they're wet."
5. [watching the child bouncing and writhing in her seat] "Hanan, do you have to go to the bathroom?"
     "No, thank you."
     "Yes you do, you're practically wiggling out of your clothes."
     "No, thank you."
     "I'm not offering you a cookie, I'm telling you to go PEE."
     "Can i have a cookie if i go pee?"
     "Whew, yeah, sure kid, after you go pee you can have a cookie."
     "Mommy, my pants are wet, can i have my cookie now?"
     "NO THANK YOU"

Hate Comes to Orange County

2011-03-06T20:24:00.002-05:00

THEY ARE NO MORE CIVILISED THAN THE MURDEROUS PILGRIMS.
THEY ARE NO MORE COMPASSIONATE THAN THE PLANTATION / SLAVE OWNERS.
THEY ARE NO MORE MORALISTIC THAN THE LYNCH MOBS OF THE CIVIL RIGHTS ERA.
THEY ARE A BLOOD THIRSTY, GANG MENTALITY, GROUP OF COWARDS.
MAY ALLAH PROTECT THE MUSLIMS BECAUSE THIS OVERT DISPLAY OF HATE HAS ONLY JUST BEGUN.

IMAGINE YOUR CHILD HAVING TO WALK PAST THIS CROWD. JUST PLAIN EVIL.

ShamaMama Domesticated

2011-03-03T18:29:00.001-05:00

"Mommy...Mommy...MOMMY""--What?!" I shout back still half asleep, enjoying the warmth of my husband's passionate embrace on our wedding night. The dream fades into a darkening cloud that smells of...of...urine? --"MOM-MY!" "Okay okay I'm up, I'm awake. Wadda-u-want-kid?" "Hanan peed the bed again." "UGHHHHHH!" And thus, begins my day.

I search for the only light in the pitch black of the room. It's gentile glow resonates from the alarm clock on my husband's night stand. It tauntingly says that I have been plucked from a glorious dream 15 minutes premature of my plans to wake and pray Tahajjud. I oh-so need every minute of this rare commodity called sleep. But I can forget about it now. By the time I change Hanan's bedding, shower her and get her tucked back in, half of my tahajjud time will be gone and I'll be pressed to pray fajr soon after. It is just too early in the morning to be imposing such a time management dilemma on my feeble brain.

I successfully manage 4 rakat of Tahajjud, make witr prayer and promptly pray my sunnah before fajr prayer. OKAY, I'm on a roll. I can really appreciate a quiet fajr salah where none of my children are standing in front of me proclaiming to be victims of famine, nor is anyone lifting my abaya to expose my rear end while I'm in sajdah. Yep, all is well on the Mommy front. Thikr? Check! Read Qur'an? Check--Nope, here comes the 2 year old, grumpy face and saggy diaper in tow. Hmmmm.

Next on the agenda is, yes folks that's right, check my Facebook account. I know, I know, pathetic. Yeah well....I, I got nothin. Any-hooooo, so I prepare my son's lunch (the lunch I would've made last night but instead I fell asleep while reading The Muslim Link Newspaper and awoke to find the Masjid Listings superimposed on my right cheek.)

To call my son a picky eater would be an obscene understatement. After several years of lunches returned home each day and notes from his teachers claiming that he was hungry and didn't have a lunch (he hides it from the teachers and make me look like an evil mother from Hell who starves her kids all day) I've finally discovered that he likes bologna sandwiches / Lettuce / No mayo. He's been eating them for 2 weeks straight and we're still on track, Alhamdulillah.

As I take my morning tea with toast and laptop, my girls ages 3 and 4 saunter out of the bedroom with droopy eyelids, bed heads and sour breath. They faintly give me salaams and kiss my face. They inquire about the breakfast plans for today. In turn, I pull out our morning homeschooling lesson. In order to facilitate maximum cooperation from my kids, I find that holding the prospect of a meal over their heads goes a long way.

We review the Arabic lesson from yesterday. It's full of phrases for 'In the morning...' في الصباح, such as: 'I woke up from sleep' استيقظت من النوم, I washed my face' غسلت وجهي and 'I brush my teeth' أنا فرشاة أسناني. Yet the only phrase my 4 year old can recall and say with the utmost clarity is, "I am very very hungry and I want to eat" أنا جائع جدا جدا وأريد أن آكل

Fine, school's over for the day. Eat your cereal. I quit. Hmm, I wonder if I got any "likes" on my Facebook status yet.

By 10 a.m., my girls are in front of their computer and are independently learning to read on Starfall.com (who needs Mom when we have Starfall right?). I'm on my third cup of tea and I'm analysing the caloric count of white bread as opposed to wheat. And no, I'm not bored out of my mind, I actually find my obsessive activities comforting. I'm interrupted (as usual) by a phone call from the concierge of my apartment building. I like to use the word 'concierge'. It sounds as if I'm living on the Upper East Side of Manhattan or something. I'm not. Really, the concierge (tee hee never gets old) of my building is a security guard behind a desk in the lobby. But hey I'm all for adding glorified titles to our jobs descriptions. In fact I'm not just a stay-at-home-Mom, I'm a Residential Order Facilitator and Educational Curriculum Implementer, or even a Dietary Planning Consultant...Okay, let me reel it back in. I'm getting sidetracked from my daily activities report. Focus Shama, focus. So, like I was saying, dude calls me and says, "Mrs Thomas, I'm afraid there has been a little mishap in our package receiving room." "Uh huh," I reply. Sometimes I can be so gosh darn articulate. I'm getting a anxious twinge in the pit of my stomach. "Several boxes, including yours was damaged when a shelf collapsed. The contents of your package were ejected (yes he did say ejected). I was able to gather all the items back into the box. Just to be sure, let me check the invoice." "No that won't be-" he begins reading from the invoice and rummaging through my box to ensure that my order is in tact. "One pair of Fishnet Thigh Highs in black; three pair of Big Girl Sheer Thigh Highs 2 black and 1 red; three Natural Wire Demi Bras in black, red, and nude; one Stunning Floral Tapestry Strapless Corset in red; one Asian Tapestry Strapless Corset Set And G-String in Purple; three Plus Size Lace Garter belts; a 2 liter bottle of Oriental Body Slide Erotic Massage Gel; a Pleasure Bondage Set--Oh wait the contents of that box were also ejected, hang on while I gather them--" "THAT'S ENOUGH," I interject once the paralyzing mortification has worn off of my tongue. Darn it! I knew I should've had that package mailed to my PO Box. I tell him I'm coming down to get my stuff. I make dua for Allah to give me patience and strength for this next endeavor.

I'd give my left kidney to have someone pretend to be me right now to face that sadistic, glorified security guard. I pull on my abaya over my pajamas, throw on whatever khimaar is closest and then I look for my 'face.' That's my pet name for my nikab. Alright got on my head gear and I'm out the door.

The concierge is frozen in his skin when I present myself a Mrs. Thomas of the 'S&M Goodie Box, Mrs. Thomas.' Somehow on the way down in the elevator, my intense embarrassment morphs into proud indignation. That's right Ladies, if you're gonna buy it, you better OWN it. He hands over the badly beaten box and can't help himself from being too familiar (they never can). "You're allowed to wear that stuff," he asks. "Son, (we are not equals, I'm older and less tolerable of stupidity), I have five kids. You don't honestly think I grew them on a tree in my back yard do you?" I turn and leave without waiting for a response. "I apologise for the inconvenience!" he calls out. Right.

The rest of the day sails by with little deviation from the norm. Before lunch, the girls fight over who was sitting in the chair first (there are 3 other identical chairs available). My 4 year old cries when she adamantly proclaims I've given her sister 1/10000 of an ounce more juice than her. I react, maybe a little over the top by drinking down her entire cup of juice and tell her to shut up. Lunch is noisy, argumentative, messy and downright painful. Same ole same old. We pray Thur in peace and I pray Asr in the mist of a sibling war. Dolls fly by my face as I'm determined to focus on my prayer and not let the chaos of my surroundings become a fitnah for me (my positive affirmation). I'm doing good until my youngest daughter, also my heaviest daughter attempts to stand on my heals while I'm in sajdah. Pain shoots through my calves all the way to my toes. That's it!!! From now on I'm locking these kids in a closet when I'm praying! Alright let me just clarify that the last statement was said under duress and was not meant to be taken literally. I would never lock my darling little angels in a closet (fingers crossed behind my back, shhhh).

The tantalizing aroma of Beef Stroganoff wafts through the entire apartment and down the hallway. I'm always extra proud of my successful meals because I know they will be smelled by every tenant on the 10th floor. It's when I burn my rice that I open all of the windows and balcony doors (even during a blizzard) to prevent announcing to my neighbors that while I was preoccupied with 'serial liking' all of my sister's pictures on Facebook, I was inadvertently putting the entire 18 story building at risk of becoming a towering inferno.

I'm washing up for salah when I hear my 4 year old talking to someone. I look and she's on my phone. Apparently my husband has called while I was in the bathroom. She tells him, "Daddy, Mommy cussed at me. She said the 'S' word." "Shut up," I retort. "See Daddy, she just said it again." Kids, whatryagonnado?

Maghrib and Isha prayers prayed, CHECK! Kiddies in bed asleep, CHECK CHECK! It's time to dig into my new purchases. I'm flush with excitement waiting for Habibi to come home from a long day at work. My phone's text message alert sounds and shakes me from my fantasy. "My car broke dwn on the Bltwy. Pls come pk me up@ gas station off exit 34. Luv u." PSHhhhhhhhh! Are you kidding me? Kids are asleep, my make-up is done, I'm dressed for...just sayin, I wasn't planning to leave the house this evening. Oh well, Qadr Allah. At least he's alright and not too far away. I must remember to count my numerous blessings.

I grab my trusty tarp-sized abaya and my no nonsense, down to the thighs khimaar. I put on my 'face' to cover the painted face underneath. After dragging each of my sleeping children out of bed and burying them in parkas, rain boots and hats, we embark on the journey to rescue our beloved castaway, Habibi and return safely to headquarters in record speed. We've exited the elevator into the lobby. All of my kids are whimpering and begging for me to return them to their warm beds. I'd love to oblige them but it'd be just my misfortune that if i left them even for the short time it will take to retrieve my husband, the whole building would collapse to the ground from the jolt of a 9.0 earthquake, leaving me to bare the agonising guilt for the rest of my days which would be spent in a jail cell. So, I ignore their pleading and we continue towards the lobby exit. A group of college guys pass us and one of them (there's always at least one) says, "Dude! What do you think she has under that burqa?" "Another burqa," replied his lumpy-headed friend. They break out into a flurry of laughter not unlike the sound of hyenas. Just then the consierge replies smugly, "If you guys only knew." I'm so done with this day.

Glossary of Arabic terms used:

1. Tahajjud: A Sunnah prayer made late-night (pre-dawn).

2. Fajr: Dawn, Early morning prayer

3. Rakat: One unit of the Islalmic prayer. Each daily prayer is made up of a different number of rakat, ex; Fajr is 2 rakat, Thur is 4 rakat.

4. Witr: A Sunnah night prayer with an odd number of rakat.

5. Sunnah: Ahadeeth (sayings and rulings of the Prophet Muhammad, peace be upon him) and the ways of Mohammad,( peace and blessings be upon him). Muslims try to follow the Sunnah in every aspect of life.

6. Salah: Prayers. There are five daily obligatory prayers.

7. Abaya: Cloak, An overgarment; usually black in color and loose fitting; worn by many Muslim women

8. Sajdah: Prostration. The act of prostration, particularly in the Salah

9. Alhamdulillah: Praise be to God

10. Salaam: A greeting of Peace

11. Dua; Personal prayer, Supplication

12. Allah: The only entity worthy of worship;The Creator of the Heavens and the Earth. Allah, is not the equivalent of the English word, God, because Allah is a name and not a title ,where on the other hand the Arabic word, Ilah ( deity, a god; including gods worshiped by polytheists), would be the appropriate word for the English word God

13. Khimaar: Head scarf worn by Mulsim women

14. Nikab: A face veil worn by Muslim women

15. Thur: The second obligatory prayer of the day, Early afternoon prayer

16 'Asr: 'Asr is the late afternoon Prayer, the third compulsory Prayer of the day

17. Fitnah: Trial, Tribulation

18. Maghrib: Sunset. The fourth obligatory Prayer of the day

19. Isha: Night; The fifth obligatory prayer of the day

20. Habibi: A term of endearment; meaning my sweetheart

21. Qadr Allah: Allah's decree

Finding peace in this world by Imam Anwar Al-Awlaki, أنور العولقي

2011-02-26T09:58:00.000-05:00

"My Head in the Clouds" Photos by Shama OomJihad

2011-02-20T08:42:00.003-05:00

"Turbulence"

"Sun Chaser"

"Post-Fajr Scenery"

"Psychedelic Autumn Leaves"

:An Eerie Asr"

" Laying On My Right Side Till Fajr"

"Cotton Candy"

fb village idiots

2011-02-13T19:51:00.000-05:00

Was reading various statuses and comments on fb and suddenly realized that there are so many villages missing their idiots.

Just remember: what you say will NEVER go away. It's out there in cyberspace for generations to come and google your every word.

Introduction to It's Only Temporary, by Shama OomJihad

2011-01-11T07:18:00.001-05:00

If you could return to a specific moment in your life and start over from there, when would it be? Would you go back to your high school sweetheart and ask her to marry you and live happily ever after? Would you return to the man who was kind and intelligent but not so attractive and give his personality a chance to win over your heart? Maybe you would revisit now deceased relatives or friends and tell them how much they impacted your life (or cuss them out for dying before paying back the money they owed you). Or possibly you would take revenge on the fourth grade bully who tormented you and shattered your self-esteem beyond repair. I know exactly where I’d start over. I’d return to my earliest memory of life.

I’m in my crib. The bars are cold to the touch, slippery. I pull myself up to stand erect against them. There’s a faint aroma of Patchouli oil in the air, mixed with the smell of something edible. My legs are a bit like rubber under me yet I manage to swing one of them across the top of my barred cage. Pulling up and heaving myself atop the wall, I am then airborne. The room is spinning. My cheeks are flushed with the thrill that I would one day relate to riding a roller coaster, a high-speed chase, a near escape from death. Adrenaline is pumping so hard that I barely notice that I’ve landed on a mutated rainbow of clouds. They’re pillows, all strategically placed below my bed. They’ve broken my fall and are now hugging and praising me for a job well done. I’m free! “Now go forth and explore your world,” they tell me. As I’ve made up my mind to do just that, my Mother enters the room. She’s speaking a language I don’t yet understand but in a sing-song tone that defines her love for me. She gently picks me up from my safe haven of pillows and places me back into my crib. I experience my first feelings of anger, maybe even rage. I’m definitely frustrated. All my work and efforts have been erased with one quick, loving swoop of my Mother’s arms. I’m back at the starting gate peering through the slabs at what could have been.

Yeah, that’s exactly where I’d return if I had the choice. Only, this time instead of resigning myself to waiting for someone to retrieve me from my cell, I’d escape again. No more complacency for me. Yes, I’d return to that moment of frustration, that whirlwind of emotion. And this time I’d bring fight with me. This time there would be no giving up, no giving in. In fact, after I’ve landed on my mark, I’ll roll under the bed out of sight just to shake it up a bit. I think I’ll give everyone a taste of what’s to come with my new and improved outlook on life

This is the moment at which I’d choose to return carrying strength, fortitude and resolve on my shoulders. This would be my re-start on life. Yeah, this is my “do over” moment. I’d begin again from here with purpose and rewrite history…my story.

Countless Blessings

2011-01-09T06:20:00.000-05:00

There are times when I feel numb to all that is good in my life and I'm like an exposed nerve to all else. May Allah protect me from being ungrateful of His countless blessings.

First Ten Days of Dhul Hijjah: Days of Virtue And Righteous Deeds

2010-11-06T14:34:00.000-04:00

Allaah swears an oath by them, and swearing an oath by something is indicative of its importance and great benefit. Allaah says (interpretation of the meaning): "By the dawn; by the 10 nights" [al-Fajr 89:1-2]. Ibn Abbaas, Ibn al-Zubayr, Mujaahid and others of the earlier and later generations said that this refers to the first ten days of Dhul-Hijjah. Ibn Katheer said: "This is the correct opinion." [Tafseer Ibn Katheer, 8/413]

Praise be to Allaah Who has created Time and has made some times better than others, some months and days and nights better than others, when rewards are multiplied many times, as a mercy towards His slaves. This encourages them to do more righteous deeds and makes them more eager to worship Him, so that the Muslim renews his efforts to gain a greater share of reward, prepare himself for death and supply himself in readiness for the Day of Judgement.

This season of worship brings many benefits, such as the opportunity to correct ones faults and make up for any shortcomings or anything that one might have missed. Every one of these special occasions involves some kind of worship through which the slaves may draw closer to Allaah, and some kind of blessing though which Allaah bestows His favour and mercy upon whomsoever He will. The happy person is the one who makes the most of these special months, days and hours and draws nearer to his Lord during these times through acts of worship; he will most likely be touched by the blessing of Allaah and will feel the joy of knowing that he is safe from the flames of Hell. [Ibn Rajab, al-Lataaif, p.8]

Ibn 'Abbas reports that the Messenger of Allaah (sallallaahu 'alaihi wa sallam) said, "No good deeds done on other days are superior to those done on these days [meaning the ten days of Dhul-Hijjah]." The companions asked, "O Messenger of Allaah, not even jihad in the way of Allaah?" He said, "Not even jihad, except for the man who puts his life and wealth in danger [for Allaah's sake] and returns with neither of them." [This is related by the group except Muslim and an-Nasa'i]

Fasting Day of Arafat

Abu Qatadah reported that the Messenger of Allaah (sallallaahu 'alaihi wa sallam) said, "Fasting on the day of 'Arafah is an expiation for two years, the year preceding it and the year following it. Fasting the day of 'Ashurah is an expiation for the year preceding it." [This is related by "the group," except for al-Bukhari and at-Tirmidhi]

By JIMAS

I Know More Than You

2010-10-26T11:36:00.001-04:00

My 7 yr old son is a Hifzh School student (Qur'an Memorization). He has long surpassed my level of memorization, Masha'Allah. He sometimes likes to rub this fact in my face as to insinuate that he is more knowledgeable.

Son: Mommy, I'm memorizing Surah Ar-Rahman.

Me: Masha'Allah this is great.

Son: I've got the first 20 ayat (verses) memorised already.

Me: Good for you! Keep up the good work.

Son: Uh huh, I bet I know more of this surah than you do.

Me: (O here we go again) Hmm, I dunno. I've been reading it enough to have quite a bit of it imprinted on     the brain.

Son: Oh yeah? (In a disbelieving smirk) How many ayat do you know?

Me: Well, off hand I know the first 3 ayat plus 31 others, so that's 34 ayat altogether.

Son: (Snorting in disbelief) Ha! 34 ayat? I don't believe you. Go ahead n recite um.

Me: Ok:
               (A udhu billahi minash shaitanir rajeem. Bismillah ir Rahman ir Raheem)
               Ar Rahmaaaan
               Alamal qur'an
               Khalaqal insaaaan...
        I also know: Fabi ayyi alaaaa i rabikuma tukathibaaaan

Son: But that's only 4 ayat. You only know 4 ayat!!!! I knew it! I know more than you!

Me: Well actually that last ayat is repeated 31 times throughout the surah so that makes 34 ayat that I know.

Son: (pausing to ponder this and then flatly says)...You cheated.

9 Year Stretch...Marks

2010-09-22T11:33:00.001-04:00

Well Dear, by the Mercy of Allah, we've made it 9 WHOLE YEARS. Together we've experienced love and loss and love again. We've struggled through the monotony of day to day trials. We've welcomed 4 beautiful children into our lives, baring your dimpled chin and stubborn disposition and curiously peering through my eyes and speaking with my often too sharp tongue. Our waistlines grew in solidarity during each pregnancy. And i graciously ignored my jealousy when you lost your "baby bump" before i did. We've comforted each other thru illnesses and encouraged one another with iman. We've learned that when you say "fried egg" you mean "scrambled egg." It's SCRAMBLED- ahem...We've ascertained that when I'm silent for any length of time, its because I'm angry. We've come to the conclusion that you argue to be funny (which you are not) whereas i argue to make a point. We've fought and made up more times than i can count via text message. Yes, we've occasionally allowed Shaitan to distract us from our goals and we've welcomed Allah's guidance to lead us back on track.

I've overlooked your shortcomings and you've forgiven my faults. I've learned to appreciate your cryptic complements and ignore your direct criticisms. Just as you've grown to accept my constant need for affection and avoid me during my monthly bouts of psychosis. I'm grateful that we can still smile when we see each other (even if it's forced). Thank you for never once telling me my butt looks big or mentioning how i look as if i've lost a fight with a wild animal when i wake in the morning. Thank you for kissing me even when my breath is on hum. Thanks for keeping the car full of gas and leaving money in the secret compartment that you thought I didn't know about. Thanks for knowing that you're imperfect and not expecting perfection from me. Thanks for being the kind of Daddy that the kids are excited to see each day. Thanks for being the kind of Husband that I'm excited to see each day. Ya Habibi, you awaken my heart and inspire my deen.

We've both made adjustments and compromises in order to build this life together. And allthough we love and respect each other, I'm humbled to know that we couldn't have made it one single day without the help of Allah. We put Allah first in our lives and that is what unites us, saves us, guides us and preserves us. I love you Habibi. I love you fisabilillah.

Brazen Burqa Series: A Medley

2010-09-17T17:49:00.002-04:00

In order to fully appreciate this little medley you must read it to the tune of Frere Jacques: "Brazen Burqa, Brazen Burqa, all around, over town, some-body call PoPo, what's un-der there we don't know, take it off, i need a croissant. Brazen Burqa, Brazen Burqa, your face don't show, so you must go, do like all the rest of us, flaunt what God has given us, like a Ho, like a Ho.

This is my silly way of laughing at things that anger me. I'm ranting about my distaste for the new law past in France to ban Muslim Women from walking the streets dressed like ME.

Brazen Burqa Series: The Day After

2010-09-16T09:37:00.000-04:00

Yesterday France passed its ban on Islam -- i mean, its ban on the burqa. For those who still are in the dark as to what the heck a burqa is, its simple piece of material that covers the face of a woman, worn by Muslim women all over the globe. Now this simple piece of cloth that covers the face is ANYTHING but simple in principle. It is an essential part of a Muslim woman's outer garment (what she wears in public). For some, it is considered obligatory to wear, and for some it is considered not obligatory but still better if worn than not worn. All would agree that it is worn for the obedience and pleasure of our Creator, Allah. For a Muslim woman who embraces the burqa, it is a symbol of piety, shyness, feminine empowerment, beauty, self-preservation and respect and compliance to her Lord's request. This simple piece of cloth is for France, a symbol of Islamic defiance to assimilate, i.e. "When in Rome..." Anti-Islamic propagators are torn between making it a symbol of persecution of women and a symbol of a National Security Threat. They waver between fained empathy for us "poor oppressed Muslim women" who supposedly are being forced to hide our faces behind these crepe "iron curtains" and hostility towards us for not complying with the dress code dictated by amoralistic gangs on fashion runways.

Well folks, I'm here ta tell ya, I'm wearing my BURQA to please nobody but my Lord and Creator, ALLAH. Just as NO MAN could have made me wear this, NO MAN can make me take it off. If you don't like it, then do what i do when i see a woman's tits spilling over her top or the crack of a man's a** as his pants fail to fit properly, BITE IT AND LOOK AWAY.
Thanks to this personal attack on my wardrobe I've become to some, a BRAZEN BURQA B**** as i defend my stance to all who'll listen. I've also become inspired to start and promote the BRAZEN BURQA SERIES on my blog.

In closing I'd like to give a shot out to the World Media and all the Quran burners who by propagating such nonsense have enticed the curiosity of thousands to seek out their own copies of the Quran in order to read what the controversy is all about. If only 1 of them sees the truth from this and becomes Muslim, the Haters have done a far better job than many of us Muslims in spreading the Word of Allah. Way ta go Dudes!