Southern Muslimah

One more second of procrastination won't hurt

noreply@blogger.com (UmmFarouq) — Mon, 09 Nov 2009 12:13:00 +0000

I almost forgot--voting is supposed to begin today.
Buena suerte, friends.

Brass monkey, that funky monkey (come on, I know you know that song)

Wruh Wroh, Wraggy!

noreply@blogger.com (UmmFarouq) — Sun, 08 Nov 2009 18:34:00 +0000

Just a quick nanowrimo update.

The writing is slow-going.

So far I've remained on target two days only. Two days straight (a.k.a. "the weekend") I wrote nothing. Laundry and dust won.

Today I finally reached around 11,000 words, or 20 A-4 sized, 12 font typed pages.

Then I made a mistake, and went back and read everything, thus allowing that little voice of self-doubt to creep in. Self-doubt is still taking up shop in my head.

After reading and
1. being pleasantly surprised by some of the things I had written but already forgotten, and
2. criticizing about 80% of what I'd read,
I prepared snacks. Too many snacks, and I ate them all, and washed them down with a tall cold one. (Dr. Pepper)

Vowing off updating until the final stretch, around November 28th, I bid you goodnight.

Getting Wready to Wrumble

noreply@blogger.com (UmmFarouq) — Fri, 30 Oct 2009 06:41:00 +0000

I'm not sure how much posting I will do during the coming month.

November is National Novel Writing Month, and I've decided to sign on. Hop aboard the word train. Take the wrist-aching plunge.

I may pop in now again just to let you know how I'm doing.

Thanks for your support.

Jigs

noreply@blogger.com (UmmFarouq) — Mon, 26 Oct 2009 13:32:00 +0000

I'm stealing from my own comments and making them a post on their own. That's allowed, isn't it?

My good pal and neighbor asked me, "Which dance, of which people?" to which I replied:

Ay, there's the rub! It would take too long to name all of "my people," but I think I can name some dances I've been known to do on occasion, representing them.

1. Funky Chicken
2. Pee-Wee Herman a la "Tequila"
3. The Hustle (for my big sis)
4. Ed Grimley--perhaps my best
5. Cherokee Stomp Dance
6. Break Dancing, but no floor stuff, too old
7. Mexican Hat Dance
8. Homewood High School JV Cheerleaders' "You Spin Me" Summer Camp routine (a success!)
9. Sad, sad, super feebly sad attempts to dance at Arab weddings
10. "Hurrah for Homewood" routine, which I've taught my daughter
11. Did I mention sad, sad attempts to be a bellydancer? Ah, yes.
12. The Chicken Dance (Oktoberfest style, not to be confused with #1)
13. Hokey-Pokey
14. Feeble (again) attempts to copy Bollywoodish dance at end of "Slumdog Millionaire"
15. Some imitations of John Travolta in S.N.F.
16. Step-ball-change I learned in the 6th grade
17. Various routines (Eye of the Tiger?) created with long-time dear friend who now lives in N. Cali
18. Salt-n'-Pepa imitations (Girl, I'm old)
19. The Smurf
20. (Is twenty enough?) Living room waltz-in-socks

What's on your dance card?

A Bit o' Newness

noreply@blogger.com (UmmFarouq) — Sun, 25 Oct 2009 11:57:00 +0000

Today is a new day. Crisp breezes are blowing through my windows. I'm feeling Fall-ish. I thought I might liven up the place a bit with some new colors.

Won't you join me in celebrating this change of season?

Blanca, de lejos

noreply@blogger.com (UmmFarouq) — Sat, 24 Oct 2009 09:36:00 +0000

Blanca,
Durmiendo en mi cama, yo te vi
en mis sueños
Ricardo y tú
llegaron a mi vecinidad
muy felices por haber viajado
de una distancia larga.

Estaba cocinando pollo
y arroz
y verduras, un almuerzo
tremendo
para mis visitantes
queridos.

Que nos veamos.

My Mind as a Five-Star, Five-Subject Notebook

noreply@blogger.com (UmmFarouq) — Fri, 23 Oct 2009 09:36:00 +0000

Do any of you go back and read the things you've written, not understanding how you accomplished such writing, how you could have pulled it off when you had so much going on, or why your mind cannot work like that all the time? Do you ever have those moments of self-questioning that go something like, "Why am I wasting so much time linking YouTube videos from the 70s when I should be seriously working at my craft?" Then again, what exactly is my craft?

Are we losing our language? Could our wrists and fingers today endure the note taking of yesteryear, when we used to fill up one of those puppies pictured above? Does anyone make outlines anymore or know how to write an abstract?

Do you sometimes hear your children say things that are so clever and original and you say to yourself, "Run, now, and fetch that pen! Write that down! Record it or it will be forever lost in the realm of great-and-clever-words-that-have-been-spoken-and-forgotten," but instead, you stand at the counter eating another square of homemade gingerbread? (or two squares) Then you forget why you were standing in the kitchen in the first place--was it to see if the last few drops of lemon-scented Ajax have already been spilled into the kids' toilet, even though it was just cleaned 3 hours prior, but it is the most poorly designed toilet because it seems to catch any speck of ick and seal it onto its surface like glue? You know, that brown streak. We all hate it.

Do you find yourself reading books you know you could have written? Or at least contributed to? Do you ever pick up any 'acclaimed' piece of writing and have no idea what all the hubbub is about? (Sometimes sentences must end in prepositions, there is no other way around it.)

Do you ever imagine your life as a Trumanshowesque documentary that is so utterly captivating that it must be recorded? If you do, then I assure you, you will think twice about picking your nose while driving...remember, everyone is watching.

Are we that interesting? Do our stories really matter? Should we all be mapping it out, scribbling it down, preserving the important stuff? Will our kids bother to try to preserve it? Will we succeed in making them want to? Do all of these personal vignettes we put out there count for anything more than self-absorption? Will the humor and sincerity of my generation be lost on the youth, who seemingly grow more cynical (and shallow) by the day?

Can I be a writer?

It's Brass Crescent Time Again!

noreply@blogger.com (UmmFarouq) — Tue, 20 Oct 2009 11:35:00 +0000

It's time to vote for the Brass Crescent Awards again, which are in their sixth glorious year. Last year this blog received Honorable Mention for Best MidEast Blog. I was humbled and surprised. I've admittedly been off my blogging game for some time; it's been quite a year. Nonetheless, go out there and see what we Muslim bloggers have to offer. I'm wagering there is some good new stuff. I'm sort of an old fogie and stick to my usuals: From Clay, Baraka, Black Iris, Dictator Princess, Kinzi, MommaBean. I'm too lazy to link these all up, but you can find them on the blogroll.

I suppose I'll continue to write about Jordan and life here as long as I live here. I suppose.

I see there is a category for "Best Defunct Blog" or something like that--you know, the folks we miss seeing. Yes, yes, I miss Umm Zaid too. Maybe if we all vote for her "blog" that does not exist, we'll will her back into our laptops. You never know.

From Brass Crescent:

"What are the Brass Crescent Awards? They are named for the Story of the City of Brass in the Thousand and One Nights. Today, the Islamsphere is forging a new synthesis of Islam and modernity, and is the intellectual heir to the traditions of philosophy and learning that was once the hallmark of Islamic civilization - a heritage scarcely recognizable today in the Islamic world after a century's ravages of colonialism, tyrants, and religious fundamentalism. We believe that Islam transcends history, and we are forging history anew for tomorrow's Islam. These awards are a means to honor ourselves and celebrate our nascent community, and promote its growth."

Go vote, people.

Catching the Red Eye

noreply@blogger.com (UmmFarouq) — Sun, 18 Oct 2009 05:24:00 +0000

What's worse than a bad case of conjunctivitis?

Double conjunctivitis!

Two bloodshot eyes walk into a bar. The first one...

Another Reading Recommendation

noreply@blogger.com (UmmFarouq) — Sat, 17 Oct 2009 08:28:00 +0000

This book has me running to open it every spare moment I have, of which there are few. Many thanks to Um Abdullah for lending it to me; it has created quite a stir in my brain and heart.

The author of The Selected Works of T.S. Spivet is only twenty-nine years old. A remarkable and interactive website can give you a glimpse into this young author's talent, as well as a synopsis of the story. To those with short attention spans, no inclination to flip books sideways to read margins, or no interest in cartography, you might want to find something else to read.

Some reviews:

The New York Times

Powell's Books

The Times online

An Interview with Reif Larsen, author

How'd He Get So Funky?

noreply@blogger.com (UmmFarouq) — Mon, 12 Oct 2009 18:12:00 +0000

On a lighter note (lighter than revolutionary politics), my daughter has a presentation on King Tutankhamun this week at school. Watching her research, read books, and take notes has inspired me to post the following. An oldie but goodie. Enjoy.

Book Recommendation: In the Country of Men

noreply@blogger.com (UmmFarouq) — Mon, 12 Oct 2009 11:16:00 +0000

I just finished reading (literally, a few moments ago) In the Country of Men, by Hisham Matar. It was on my daughter's summer reading list and one of the many hardback books we bought for $2 or less. My particular copy came from half.com via the Queens Library, Jamaica, NY.

I've had quite a bit of catching up to do in the "reading great literature" department these last few years. It has been a fun and enlightening adventure so far. In the Country of Men is one of those books that provokes a sense of escape while causing the reader to empathize, shudder, weep.

I was 7 in 1979; the main character, Suleiman, is 9. I knew nothing as a seven year old of Muammar Qaddafi or Libya's violent revolution. Suleiman knows all too well the price he and his loved ones must pay for his father's contempt for al-Fateh--The Guide--and the father's role as a counter-revolutionary. Suleiman's relationship with his father is tangibly strained; his relationship with his mother is painful, dysfunctional. Some of the emotions Suleiman expresses regarding his mother and her illness truly broke my heart. Anyone who, as a child, dealt with the yearning to "fix" a broken, addicted parent will quickly understand why.

So, in a nutshell, I recommend this book. I'm not so sure I would have handed it to my fourteen year old without some trepidation, because the descriptions of Qaddafi's thugs' interrogations and even assassinations of "traitors," being broadcast live on television, are difficult for even the toughest of readers. Graphic details aside, this book is a treasure of a story that deals with loyalty, betrayal, and a battle between innocence lost, innocence mourned, and eventually hope renewed.

It will also make you want to visit Libya. Really.

My Absence(s)

noreply@blogger.com (UmmFarouq) — Sat, 10 Oct 2009 06:16:00 +0000

Hello there! With my blog stats at their lowest, I figured I might as well scribble something down today. I've been in an Autumn fog, reading the same blogs I always do but not feeling up to writing. I walk around most days composing posts in my head but never sit down. And that's OK. So,

I have two friends on mini-vacations to the US this week. Hello friends! I hope you are having a wonderful time in the short time you've been allotted on these trips. A mini-trip to the US is better than no trip, I say. Enjoy whatever it is you love most about the states. For me, it's freezing cold grocery stores and smiling faces.
On Tuesday Amman received a deluge-ish rainstorm and could not handle it. My flat was flooded via our garage (which is above us) with all of the filth, oil, water, grime, dust, soot, weeds, and small pebbles that make residence on our street. It was a comedy of errors, for sure. Did anyone ever see that E.R. episode where Dr. Ross saves a boy whose been swept away in a flash flood? It was kind of like that, only no one was drowning. I was desperately trying to find the cover that had blocked my drain and was up to my shoulders bent over in water in my garage. Thankfully, two harises saw (or heard, help! help!) me, and came to assist. In their good intentions, they tried to close a flap to my bathroom window's fan, but instead pushed my bathroom window completely inward and allowed the 3 + feet of water to go rushing into my home. The rest is a blur. No, it really isn't a blur, I remember exactly what happened, but am choosing to keep those details to myself. It's just all too painful. *Cough cough*
I pray for the Egyptian national Muhammad Imam and his children who perished in this flash flood on Tuesday. I pray for his surviving wife and child. It makes my ordeal seem like nothing at all. I will say that the streets of this city are the most ill-equipped to handle any sort of rain, much less a deluge that falls within a matter of hours. Someone must do something about these drainage problems. And for God's sake, harvest that rain water for something useful.
This week I realized just how old my mother-in-law is. I realized how her memory is beginning to fail her, and how I must write down more of her stories before they are lost forever. She is frail and scared, and I've realized how much of my time is focused on myself, my packed schedule, my "me time" activities that fill my calendar while the kids are at school. And I think about her, and how much she's given everyone, and how little she truly asks for. Dropping by once a week to see her (other than the required Friday) will not kill me.
This month I've made some failed attempts to be a "bridge-builder." Not only have these attempts failed, but also have they more or less blown up in my face. I've received several "word lashings" from the party(ies) I've tried to reach out to. Mean stuff. This, while painful, has allowed me to see a few things. First of all, not every one wants peace. Secondly, not only does every one not want peace, but also may need to inflict suffering, to wield power, or to just be cruel. Thirdly, the infliction of suffering is thought (by said inflicter) to be his sought cure, but even when he gets what he seeks, he will still feel soulfully destitute. And only God may help him. Apathy on my part, therefore, is not necessarily a negative thing.
This week I've wondered why I'm never on Rainbow Street eating ice cream at the same time these famous people are. The pair made an appearance at Lickety Licious ice cream shop on the First Circle. Brad ordered krokan. Did you know that krokan is my favorite flavor? Krokan ice cream, krokan cakes--I love them! Who can't love crushed up caramel chips? I used to live a few blocks behind SOS Children's Village, too. And my neighbor around the corner went to high school in Missouri with Mr. Pitt. Her sister even dated him briefly. Yes, I'm so connected. We musn't forget, however, that what happens in Fight Club stays in Fight Club.
I received great and exciting news about my dear cousin, only child of my sweet precious aunt who passed away last March. She's coming to Amman in December to spend a few days with us before joining a tour group in Palestine. She will be here for Christmas, and I know that my beautiful Christian friends will help me host her. I am absolutely beyond excited about her visit.

Folks, that's about all I can muster this fine Saturday morning. Hope you all have a great, flood-free, insightful, peaceful, movie-star viewing, family-visiting week.

Mixed Bag

noreply@blogger.com (UmmFarouq) — Sat, 03 Oct 2009 04:47:00 +0000

Today two of my four have Saturday school, making up for an extra day they were given off towards the end of Ramadan, giving them an additional Eid vacation day. Saturdays have a feel to them, and it is strange sending them off with backpacks and lunches in tote. I know many people here are quite used to Saturday school, with many schools having Friday off, Saturday school, then Sunday off again. I'm not sure I could get used to that schedule, although I never thought I'd be accustomed to having the work-school week begin on Sunday. That one took two years to figure out.

My eyes, since yesterday, have been burning. My husband said the haze yesterday around 2 in the afternoon was hot and oppressive. The air at my mother-in-law's in Jabal Amman was dry and there was no evening wind. This morning I feel it's the same way. What is this, khamaseen in October? I'm hoping the rain makes its way here soon.

Validating our Moaning, Groaning

noreply@blogger.com (UmmFarouq) — Tue, 29 Sep 2009 19:59:00 +0000

(our complaints, really)

Over at MommaBean's, there is a lively discussion surrounding a post she made about a not-so-satisfactory trip to a coffee shop, Cups & Kilo's, over on the First Circle. MommaBean's complaints were valid and normal, especially in a country where there are usually too many employees standing around doing a lot of nothing in too many food/beverage establishments to count. (Have you ever seen how many workers are standing behind the McDonald's counter at the malls' food courts?)

But that is not the focus of her post, nor is it the focus of mine. She is basically stating that the principles of management governing customer service in Jordan are lacking to the point where many of us who can spend a little money every now and again are reluctant to do so, because we assume beforehand that we will be shortchanged in the service department, and often, in the quality department.

Case in point:
We love Asian food. We love, love, love Asian food. I can make several dishes, and do, but sometimes a person just wants to be served in a nice atmosphere and not be responsible for clean-up. Eh-hem.

My husband *reluctantly* acquiesced to take us to NoodAsia in Abdoun last spring, where I had eaten once before with a friend. I was all Japanese-ishly set on sushi, so I ordered several plates for all of us to share. It was excellent! The sushi chef invited my kids to come over and watch him make it, and gave them crab sticks while they waited. He showed them how he rolled certain rolls and how the wasabi was plopped down on the plate. We were greeted (on the sushi side) with smiles and welcoming gestures of hospitality. Both the sushi chef and his sous chef were ex-pats. (read: Filipino)

My husband and a few of our brood ordered Chinese dishes as well. The waiter (not an ex-pat)was, sadly, very neglectful of our table. He did not explain the dishes well. The food arrived much to our dissatisfaction--I felt as if we were being served portions that were 'leftover' or cast aside. The sesame chicken was fried to a dryness like I've never seen, with no visible chicken. It was just crust. And no sauce. The vegetables were cut into giant chunks that were almost impossible to fit into one's mouth. It was just all too much. And the price tag? Our total bill reached 80 + JD. For lunch.

I'm still feeling guilty about that NoodAsia meal, purchased with money that could have bought groceries to prepare lovely homemade meals six times over. The problem is, people keep forking out huge troughs of money for sub-par food and sub-par services all over this city. Shall I even begin to speak about the overpriced/under serviced hotels in the city? I could (and have) stayed in 4-star hotels in the U.S. for a fraction of the cost people pay here. I once (without first looking at the menu) ordered four hot chocolates for my kids in Costa Coffee and it was 16 JD. I nearly fainted at the counter. Sixteen dinars? I do not understand.

I'm not through with this topic! But I must hit the hay.

Anyone else want to share horrible service experiences? Conversely, anyone want to share a surprisingly positive service story?

Nur al Qasas

noreply@blogger.com (UmmFarouq) — Sat, 26 Sep 2009 08:33:00 +0000

My friend, Umm Ibrahim, a storyteller, has a new website where you can listen to excerpts from her acclaimed CD's. I met dear Umm Ibrahim when we worked together several years ago teaching English. She is an artist and a dear soul. Check out her website, and order her lovely CD's for your children. A consummate storyteller and gift giver, she is.

Nur al Qasas

Greetings this Eid ul Fitr

noreply@blogger.com (UmmFarouq) — Sun, 20 Sep 2009 06:09:00 +0000

Taqabal-Allah minna wa minkom.

Eid Mubarak.

Kul A'am wa entom bi'khair.

Eid Sa'eed.

Kul Senneh wa entom salmeen.

Happy Eid, everyone!

Medina

noreply@blogger.com (UmmFarouq) — Fri, 18 Sep 2009 09:51:00 +0000

Go here to see why Medina in Ramadan is my favorite time and place on Earth. If I could just bottle that feeling and have it year-round.

A Poem on Saturday

noreply@blogger.com (UmmFarouq) — Fri, 18 Sep 2009 09:31:00 +0000

(to be read aloud)

If

If freckles were lovely, and day was night,
And measles were nice and a lie warn't a lie,
Life would be delight,--
But things couldn't go right
For in such a sad plight
I wouldn't be I.

If earth was heaven and now was hence,
And past was present, and false was true,
There might be some sense
But I'd be in suspense
For on such a pretense
You wouldn't be you.

If fear was plucky, and globes were square,
And dirt was cleanly and tears were glee
Things would seem fair,--
Yet they'd all despair,
For if here was there
We wouldn't be we.

e.e. cummings

Contemplating Eid: Patience, Job, and K.M.

noreply@blogger.com (UmmFarouq) — Wed, 16 Sep 2009 20:22:00 +0000

As the dawn of my 15th Eid ul-Fitr draws near, I have a lot on my mind. Retrospectively speaking, the month of Ramadan has flown by, as it does each year, as all months seem to do these days. My chiefest complaint about myself this month is that I surely lost my temper more than I should have, mainly with my children, and from them, mainly with the youngest ones. My test in life, I most assuredly feel, is directed towards my patience, or lack thereof. It's a constant battle, and one that I most often lose. I am thankful to recognize that I am impatient. I stink in the patience department. Truly. Ask my kids.

I know other people who seem to have mastered the art of patience. Remember that saying, "He/She has the patience of Job?" You know Job, from the Qu'ran, Bible, and Torah? Job is one of the most beloved prophets who walked the earth, and is the epitome of a patient man. Someone might read his story and view it with disbelief, or think it hyperbolic. I think that is one of the issues some folks have with stories within various religious traditions; are they to be taken literally or figuratively--are they exaggerated, as with fables, to drive home a point? Well, that question's answer is up to the believer, or searcher, to be determined. For anyone who does not know about Job, or Ayyub in Arabic, here's some background:

The Prophet Ayyub Displays Patience:
The Prophet Ayyub (peace be upon him) was a pattern of humility and faith in Allah. He was very patient. He suffered from a number of calamities but did not utter a single word of complaint. One day his big farm was attacked by the thieves. They killed many of his servants and carried away forcibly all his cattle. The Prophet Ayyub (peace be upon him) did not feel sorry at this loss and thanked Allah. After some time the roof of the house fell down and many members of his family were crushed. The Prophet Ayyub (peace be upon him) was much shocked but he held fast to his faith in Allah. He neither shed a tear nor heaved a sigh. He prostrated before the Almighty. He remarked that possessions and children were the gifts from Allah. If He had taken His things, it was useless to lament over their loss.

After a few years Prophet Ayyub (peace be upon him) suffered from skin disease. His parts of body were covered with loathsome sores. He had many ugly looking ulcers on his face and hands. The sores were full of worms. It is narrated that he picked up those worms which fell from his abscess and praised Allah for creating them. Above all, his false friends attributed his calamities to his sins. They ridiculed and looked down upon him. All the persons deserted him with the exception of his faithful wife, Rahima. She also grew tired of him in the long run and prayed for his death. She cursed her husband for retaining integrity in Allah. When Prophet Ayyub (peace be upon him) was in an extremely pathetic condition he prayed:
"Truly adversity has afflicted me and You are Most Merciful of all who show mercy." (21: 83)
Allah accepted his prayer. The Holy Qur'an affirms:
"Then We heard his prayer and removed that adversity from which he suffered, and We gave him his household and the like thereof along with them, a mercy from Our store and remembrance for the worshippers." (21: 84)

The Prophet Ayyub Recovers and Prospers: Allah turned to him with mercy. He was commanded to strike the earth with his foot. He complied with the order and water from the spring gushed forth. He took a bath with the water and got cured from his evil disease. After this he was restored to prosperity. The Prophet Ayyub (peace be upon him) knelt and prayed expressing a deep sense of gratitude to Allah. He never forgot His favors, mercy and love.
The Prophet Ayyub (peace be upon him) was one of the celebrated Prophets. His example illustrates: that those who remain patient under the stress · of all circumstances, art never deprived of high rewards. The Holy Qur'an affirms:
"And surely we try you with something of fear and hunger, and loss of wealth and crops, but give glad-tidings to the steadfast, who when a misfortune befalls them, say lo! we are Allah's (possession of Allah) and to Him shall we surely return. · Such are they on whom are blessings from their Lord, and mercy. Such are the rightly-guided." (2: 155-157)

Now, whether or not you want to believe what the Qu'ran states about Ayyub, or the Bible, or the Torah, that is completely up to you. I am just seeking to drive home a point about someone I know in this day and age, someone who is very dear to my heart and to my family, someone who has suffered tremendously, and someone whose story might--just might--help me to finally get my failing patience in check.

It's my friend K.M. Some of you know her. K.M. is most likely the smartest person I know; she is a mathematical genius who took her university by storm and solved equations her professors could not. She used to close her eyes and prove theorems in her head before she slept at night. K.M. is a light in my life and in my heart. I've now known her for fourteen years, and she's the best person I know. K.M.'s been through some Job-like tests in the past five years, and she's still standing. She has not abandoned her faith or her family; she has not given up on these difficult, difficult challenges she is facing. She has not stopped.

Several years ago, K.M.'s house caught on fire and was nearly completely destroyed. She and her husband were both burned, while her husband (who saved his wife from being burned severely in a very heroic manner) suffered 3rd degree burns and had to undergo a series of painful surgeries and even more painful recovery. She did not lose her sense of humor or her positive outlook through the entire ordeal. To her, the house was "just stuff." She and her husband were patient; they persevered, the house was re-done, and things were looking up.

When K.M. and her husband found out they were expecting their first child, they were ecstatic. They had tried to have a child for years, but she always knew that lamenting over getting pregnant would not result in pregnancy. K.M. had a difficult pregnancy and her firstborn arrived with some physical complications. She and her husband took it in stride, however, and that child is the sweetest, most precious little guy I know. Not two years later, K.M. discovered she was expecting baby number two, and was warned that there could be grave health problems associated with the fetus. Alhamdulillah, the baby was born healthy and lovely, but not without her mother having been scared and worried during the pregnancy. Again, K.M.'s attitude was stellar during the whole ordeal. Always thinking positively, always thanking her Lord.

Last Fall I received news that K.M. had been diagnosed with a rare, relatively 'new' form of breast cancer known as Inflammatory Breast Cancer, or IBC. (I urge all of you ladies to read about this disease, its signs, and its treatment.) K.M., along with the rest of her family and circle of friends were shocked by this news, since this cancer begins at stage IIIB or stage IV, unlike other breast cancers that can be detected at pre-stage I. K.M. began treatment immediately, and let me tell you what kind of hero she was! Let me tell you! She not only continued to take care of her two small kids, but also kept teaching second graders full time. She worked and worked and in between, went to the hospital for treatment that would put most of us flat on the ground. She lost her head hair, nose hair, eyebrows, eyelashes--you name it. Her taste buds were nearly destroyed, her skin on her lips blackened, her right arm swelled to the size of a giant balloon. After months of chemotherapy, she had a complete mastectomy which removed most of her chest wall. She became concave, with an incision that did not want to heal, that continued to become infected because of the high dosages of radiation she had to begin almost immediately after her surgery.

Did she call me up and complain? Once? Did she write herself off of the list of survivors? Oh, no, she did not. She was the doctors' best patient, doing everything they told her. She was positive. She would fight, and fight, and fight. And those who had known her for so many years, who had taken advantage of her kindness and generosity, well, some ran and hid and could not face her. I assume it was their shame that kept them away. And that small circle of friends who remained--you know who you are--you are all she needed, all along, anyway.

Alhamdulillah, Alhamdulillah, Alhamdulillah.

Tonight, if it's Laylatul Qadr, or if it is just any night in which you prostrate your head to the ground, ask Allah to heal this sister. Do it. Because this sister, who has not completely recovered from the trial she was given last Fall, from this horrid, rapidly spreading, rare breast cancer, now has brain tumors. Yes, the doctors just discovered tumors on her brain, in various regions, and have started an aggressive round of whole-brain radiation to kill those insidious cancer cells. This sister is still teaching a class full of second graders how to add and subtract double digits, how to read their surahs properly, how to raise their hands in the classroom. She is still taking care of her home and her family. She is still wondering what her survival chances will be after battling (and winning!) the breast cancer fight, and now she's on the battlefield against tumors in her brain.

Oh Allah! Heal this sister and return her to strong physical health. Give her the strength to keep standing through these tests; give her the insight to know that she is loved. So loved! Oh Allah, heal this beautiful person, this gift of a mother, a friend, a wife, a leader of youth, a teacher to so many. Oh Allah! Heal this sister, this person who has been my voice of reason for so many years, when times were dark in my life and she was the one who could always shake me out of it, simply by being frank and positive. Oh Allah! Heal my dear friend, heal this one whose children need her, whose husband needs her, whose parents need her, whose friends need her. Heal her. Ameen.

Anyone find Rumpelstiltskin?

noreply@blogger.com (UmmFarouq) — Sat, 12 Sep 2009 08:20:00 +0000

This summer the kids and I ventured into quite a few educationally-based toy stores and craft stores. We were often met at the door by a display of personalized water bottles for kids to take to school. We would make a joke out of looking for their names on the mugs, starting with the "A"'s and moving all the way to "H." Of course we never found any of their names--not even mine, which was the most popular name (or so I'm told) for girls from 1971 - 1973, mostly due to the popularity of the movie Love Story. You know what love means, don't ya? I guess moms don't fancy naming their daughters after Ali McGraw anymore, because I never found my terribly common name, once.

My two smaller girls wanted these water bottles because they seemed sturdy and were awfully cute. I told them they couldn't because it would be silly to walk around with cups displaying names that weren't theirs.

I guess the joke is on me. I've seen these mugs/bottles all over Amman this month, and last week I saw a gaggle of kiddies at my daughters' school carrying them. Perhaps their moms did not care they were giving their kids an "Alyssa" or "Aaron" water bottle. For the boys, perhaps a "Jared" or "Hunter" thirst quencher?

I think this would be a good business for an enterprising young mind: make personalized water bottles in Arabic for school kids. Can't you just hear the Ahmeds and Muhammads duking it out in the school yard over whose bottle is whose?

From the Moment I Could Talk, I Was Ordered to Listen

noreply@blogger.com (UmmFarouq) — Tue, 08 Sep 2009 12:34:00 +0000

Masjid Kiddies

noreply@blogger.com (UmmFarouq) — Mon, 07 Sep 2009 10:23:00 +0000

Kinzi asked me what I think about children being in the masjid, especially during the taraweeh prayers. I think that if the child is old enough to pray, and is responsible in his prayer, (i.e., can stand still without fidgeting too much, or talking, or especially laughing), the masjid is the foremost training ground for teaching good adab. I mean, it has to start somewhere, and learning the etiquette of the masjid is something I felt was second nature to teach to my kids when I lived in the states. From the time my oldest was one year old, she could sit by my side for a few minutes while I prayed, and would even begin to mimic my movements. The masjid was our second home; my husband worked there, I worked in the school adjacent, and my kids knew what to do and what not to do.

Here it's a different story. We cannot expect our children to know how to behave in a house of worship when we do not take them with us except during the most crucial time of the year for making extra prayers, when the rows are packed to their fullest and the temptation is just too great to misbehave. In the US our masjid had a babysitting room for those mothers who wished to leave their toddlers or small kids for an hour in order to have some concentration in their prayers. While it did not always run smoothly, the babysitting was at least an opportunity for the women. I cannot understand why a woman would take her 2 year old to the masjid and expect him to sit through 20 rakats of prayer and recitation without causing some sort of disturbance. Multiply this by 20 or 30 other kids, some of whom are plenty old enough to know how to behave but do not, and the noise level in the masjid can reach some ridiculous levels, not to mention ruin the concentration of those who have come sincerely to worship.

So, Kinzi, et al, my message is this: Teach the kids how to act, enforce it, expect it, and most likely they'll comply. If these ladies know their kids are disruptive, they should surely stay home and wait till after the kids' bedtime, so they can have that peaceful quiet reflection they are seeking in the masjid, but within the walls of their homes. How many years have I had to sacrifice this...and still do? And Allah knows our intentions.

I quite like my living room.

Yo, Britons!

noreply@blogger.com (UmmFarouq) — Wed, 02 Sep 2009 19:41:00 +0000

This is a special shout-out to those UK brothers and sisters who have donated to the 2009 Food Box Project. You know who you are; more importantly, Allah knows who you are. Money is tight 'round the world these days, but it is also abundant in many pockets and banks. Food is scarce 'round the world these days, but it is also overeaten and tossed in too many pockets of society. Amman is a dichotomy; lavish iftars are held where the idea of even feeling those pangs of hunger for 12 measly hours is quickly squelched by loads and loads and loads of food and drink.

Then there are those children, all over the city, on those jabals where many do not venture, or in those mukhayyems that are only remembered once a year, at best, by those who have more than they can ever use. These are the kids whose iftars consist of 'addas soup and bread, sometimes a salad, for thirty consecutive days. And then after Ramadan, their dinners will be the same. All year.

So come on, local people, share the love. Share the wealth. And you UK folks...well, you have a special place in my heart, and in my du'as.

I am Excitement

noreply@blogger.com (UmmFarouq) — Sun, 30 Aug 2009 04:45:00 +0000

Which is kind of like "I am Legend," only no Will Smith, no zombies. On the other hand, perhaps we are indeed a family of zombies. We're not walking around with outstretched arms moaning, but we're dancing to the tune of, "Up, down, up, down, sleep deprived, spin around!" most days. This is part of the Ramadan exhaustion, but also because it's back-to-school week for all four kiddies.

Yesterday I took my oldest gal to her new school. Without getting too specific, I think it's going to take me a long time to wipe the grin off of my face. I see long-term goals that are not unreachable. Part of my vision for Jordanian education is for the lines of socio-economic divisions to become blurred, and eventually disappear. For the sense of entitlement that so many of Jordan's youth have--or is it a small percentage of in-your-face upper crust?--an entitlement that is undeserved, unearned. In my little educational book, one must actually do something in order to be entitled to a reward, even something as trivial as a pat on the back. The recognition of family name over integrity, of bankroll over know-how, is an antiquated system that is keeping many of this country's deserving young minds in the undeserving ranks of society. Hard work. Hard work. Hard work. I think we're on to something.

Have I mentioned that this summer has been unusually long? We began ours on June 14, ending it on August 30. Not bad at all, making it over the two month mark. I suppose I'll have to break down and buy a few juice boxes to put in their new lunch boxes now that the kids are school-bound. I read on some one's blog the other day that their house was a juice-free zone. I like that, except that we all love 100% orange juice. I don't think the kids can give that up. We also like to make lemonade the Filipino way, which is to put the juice of one lemon, then cut up the actual lemon rind, seeds and all, into quarters, add water and sugar, blend with a bit of ice, then strain off the thick stuff. If you've never had fresh lemonade blended with the rind, you're missing out. Nah, I think we're juice folks to some degree.

Exciting times in this household, yes indeed. New schools, old schools revisited, long summer memories, fasting and surviving in the summer, and a new appreciation for juiced fruits. Hold me back; I just might burst. I hope all of you have a great week.