tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-37963739553786660972024-02-08T01:10:58.533+01:00MOVE IT OR LOSE ITtangier, kashmir, buffalo, nyc, amman.s.alihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07886798188491798433noreply@blogger.comBlogger144125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3796373955378666097.post-39049085804748388412015-01-18T22:05:00.001+00:002015-01-18T22:06:18.199+00:00Kid Logic<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Nose-free art for the children</td></tr>
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As I fold strips of colored construction paper accordion-style to make expandable legs for "huggy hearts" (later renamed "heart monkeys"), I start to eye the two-dimensional eyeballs I had cut out for the kids. I flash back to this morning's wooly sheep Eid craft and the reminder from my colleague to be sure that the kids cover the entire body with cottonballs, except for the place where the eye would go. A few minutes later she peeked her head into the classroom and said actually, make sure they cover the entire body with cottonballs, especially the place where the eye would go.<br />
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I spend a lot of time thinking about the Hanafi fiqh rulings regarding pictures and drawings because I produce a fair amount of "arts and crafts." I have a tendency to spend from my food budget on "fun supplies" in percentages disproportionate to what is appropriate for real life.<br />
Like most things, crafts are not against my religion. But we do have limitations as to what we are allowed to try to creatively reproduce. I believe that restrictions yield more creative solutions to challenging everyday problems like "what craft should I make?" <br />
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The most basic principle to keep in mind as a Godfearing crafter is that it is impermissible to try to recreate that which only Allah can create, particularly anything with a soul. <br />
Here I will quote directly from sources because something about jurisprudential writing has a calming effect on the heart. Sometimes the repetition makes it read like poetry. The writer seems sure that he knows the right thing to do in any situation. He is armed with the knowledge to make good decisions, and imparting this knowledge to you- yes, you! in a clear and meaningful way. He might make you feel like you are definitely going to do the right thing, now that you know the rules. <br />
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">From SeekersGuidance, complete with sources for the superseeker:<br /><br />"What is strongly impermissible is to draw the entire human body with all its details, or the face and neck with all its details (except when necessary for immediate educational purposes and the like).<br /><br />As for drawing an outline of the human body, without detailed features, or drawing the details of a particular part (such as the heart), this is permitted, and this is not disliked if for a reasonable purpose (such as education).<br /><br />It is mentioned in Imam `Ala al-Din al-Haskafi’s al-Durr al-Mukhtar that, among the types of pictures that are not prohibited to have are those that are:<br />“(Small) such that the details of their limbs are not apparent to someone who looks down at them standing while they are on the ground, as Halabi mentioned, (or with their head or face cut off) or with an organ effaced out that the body cannot live without, (or of an inanimate object).”<br /><br />Ibn Abidin clarified in his supercommentary, Radd al-Muhtar:<br />“(His saying “with their head cut off”) That is, whether it did not have a head in the first place, or it had one and it was effaced.” [Radd al-Muhtar` ala al-Durr al-Mukhtar, Babma yufsidal-salatwama yukrahufiha]<br />And Allah knows best."<br /><br />(Sheikh Faraz Rabbani)</span><br />
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There are many amazing things to be learned here. First of all, "supercommentary" is a word. <br />
Also, while these rules may seem straight-forward to the casual reader, each situation both requires and allows for interpretation. So there is both responsibility and opportunity. Risky business. Even when it comes to craft-time with the "fun aunt."<br />
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Is fun craft time considered a "reasonable purpose?" Are bug crafts educational? How reasonable is the need for a gingerbread cookie in one's belly? Are eyeballs details?<br />
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Luckily, the "people" that the kids draw aren't quite the shape of an actual human body- more like a cross between a person and a star- and so we call them "little guys" and don't really worry about it any further. But the third point is the one that most intrigues and concerns me, and has led to several discussions with my doctor friends about what parts of the body various animate objects cannot live without. The first thing I learned is that doctors know very little about dinosaurs. But they do have pretty sound opinions on the topic of survival in general. <br />
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Given my fondness for dinosaur crafts, I was hoping we could all agree that dinos cannot live without eyes. No such luck. It was concluded that it would probably wander around for a while before it died of starvation or was eaten. This "wandering around" period is what can make or break a dinosaur craft. I couldn't convince the kids that it would be extra special to make a headless dinosaur. And even without a head, my sources say, it probably would not die right away. But we were mid-craft and I had to make a reasoned judgment. Make a call or call it off. So I sought validation in the second point listed, the one about the details. We did cut out the dinosaur body, but left the rest of it vague. Of course, even that decision breeds new questions.<br />
Are claws considered details? Are little curvy lines sticking out of a blob considered claws? <br />
My nephew added wings to his, of his own volition, because according to him, he did not want to too closely try to copy Allah's creation. Kid logic. <br />
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It is our responsibility to understand the severity of the offense of trying to recreate or depict something that only Allah can create, specifically animate objects. It is widely taught and accepted that "drawings of people are haram," and this is to put it simply. Maybe it is because "the fiqh of art" is supposed to be one of those simple things in life. But this could be an open door to labeling things as haram that are not actually haram. Tricky territory when you are teaching little kids, because they hold on to those beliefs until they have something more exhaustive to replace or refine them. And I can't guarantee that. I'm the "fun aunt."<br />
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Of course, as with any rulings related to anything, the appropriate action to take in the aforementioned dilemmas will depend on one's madhab, or school of thought. I am Hanafi and do not know the rulings according to the other madhabs, but my first obligation is to learn my own, and not without a sense of urgency. In due time, inshallah I can examine the governing rulings for the Shafi' kid in my class who gasps every time I draw a smiley face. Unfortunately, there is a lot that I still don't know about Islamic law, even on non-craft related issues.<br />
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Here's what I do know. <br />
It's weird to draw a person without a head. But it's not as weird to draw a person without some of the other main body parts. Or to draw just parts of those parts. Or draw the person on the edge so only half of them is showing. But what seems to be the default is to eliminate eyes or the face in full. <br />
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Here's another thing I know from growing up in a family that followed this ruling. <br />
Eyes with big black Xs over them are creepy. So are dolls with eyeballs ripped out. Almost better not to have the doll.<br />
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In choosing which part of the crafted human body to eliminate, I turn to my sister, a baby expert. More specifically, an expert on baby survival. I asked about the no eyes versus no mouth thing. <br />
<span style="font-size: x-small;">"you could live if you had a tube in your nose and access to pureed food put through the tube and also could live breathing through the one open nostril ? but questionable how long you could live like that. you can't survive without a mouth and nose obviously you cant breathe." </span><br />
None of this is obvious to me, actually. The human being is a resilient and miraculous creation of Allah. We can survive under even the most unfavorable circumstances. Even if for a moment. The conclusion we made at this juncture has been significant for all members of the family- our beloved, mouthless Hello Kitty gets the go-ahead. Shukr Alhamdullilah.<br />
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I could be wrong- I often am. It is possible that although I am reading the legal texts, through some process that takes place in the depths of gray matter, I may in practice be applying kid logic. Inshallah Allah will make things clear, because I work with other people's children and I'm not here to cause trouble. At least I hope I'm not. My greatest enemy at this point is my own ignorance. He's tough and unruly and wakes up in the night and goes searching for the fruits of my labor just so he can eat them. He shows up unannounced and makes a mess of everything he touches. He's an uncouth little monster and keeps getting fatter, with rolls in his belly, no ears, no eyes, big mouth, no heart.<br />
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s.alihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07886798188491798433noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3796373955378666097.post-87962017939322706662014-11-21T22:18:00.001+00:002014-11-26T21:31:27.645+00:00Alexandria<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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People would ask me why I was so obsessed with Tangier and I would get this look on my face like I'd been spooked and whisper, "I don't know."<br />
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They say we were all created from the earth of different parts of the world and that same place is where we will eventually be buried. This must mean we have a special connection to this unnamed place, where it tugs at the hem of the skirt anytime we think about it or when we see it for the first time as the train pulls up. And we can hate it, just like we can hate ourselves.<br />
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I can only assume I was made from some little mound of dirt in a tiny corner of that wretched little town. It keeps calling me back but hasn't had a chance to kill me yet. If I am buried here some day by some curious circumstance, that's how we'll know for sure. And then I'll say it from my grave, in my spooky voice, "I called it!"<br />
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But I'm hoping it's not that. <br />
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Alexandria is just like Tangier. Not in the tugging-at-heart way, but in the sleepy, falling apart by the seaside and bursting at the seams sort of way. Like Cairo, Alex (as I now endearingly refer to her) is decidedly creepy. Everything is so old, there must be jinn around every bend. So much of the city looks like a dilapidated circus, peppered with old men sitting on the curb with just his feet sticking out from behind a clump of multicolored balloons. <br />
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On the ride into the city, I saw a faraway wonder, palace-shaped and decorated with silver sparkling lights. I assumed that it must be the Bibliothequa Alexandria or some other celebrated relic of the Hellenistic age- a broken-off piece of a face carved out of marble where a museum had been built, to celebrate the former glory it once symbolized. As we sped towards it at a steady speed of 120 mph down the Alexandria Desert Highway, I began to decipher its features as being those of an old castle or fortress. But then closer, the circus-like quality of the town began to manifest and I resolved it must be an amusement park. It looked more like the other structures along the coast, speckled with primary colors and flickering lights, which I had also decided were amusement parks. It wasn't until a few more minutes of the cars speeding and near death experiences that we drove clear alongside it, and I must have made a sound or a face or both because the driver stared at me sidelong as I found myself staring at nothing more than a factory. Fat cylindrical tubes connected vats to smokestacks with a winding staircase around its perimeter, suggesting there might be a little man up there, overseeing all of this, and plotting something. Parts of it seemed to be alive. It mostly reminded me of Batman's lair. Did Batman have a lair? Actually, from a distance the whole city looks like Gotham. From on the ground, scattered collections of ruins strung up with lights.<br />
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s.alihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07886798188491798433noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3796373955378666097.post-36992801885409159152014-09-22T21:00:00.002+01:002014-11-08T19:37:24.074+00:00Sinking Ship<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"><br />During my short stay in that magical land where I am an arts & crafts teacher and I love my job and everything will be fine, I successfully led several girls and unmarried women of a marriageable age into a deep love affair with silk ribbon embroidery. I feel like I am helping to sprinkle the neighborhood with beauty, with a few innocent homes as collateral damage along the way, soon to be decorated with uninspired ribbon knots embroidered into random cloth-covered publicly displayed items. Not everyone has the dexterity required for needlework, but ours was mostly an issue of lack of experience, which made my job easy because then I could just say "ok now you try!" and then they poke themselves with the needle and they will have learned something new. A few of them kept accidentally sewing their projects to themselves, but that was the worst of it. No poked-out eyes, Alhamdullilah, and only one disheartened spirit.<br /><br />In Tangier we would call her a shakhseeya qawiyya. In America, a free spirit. There was one giving me some trouble at the visa office yesterday and her sympathetic colleague jokingly referred to her as a "hard girl."<br /><br />I have been unsuccessfully tutoring the former in English using a children's book about the Titanic. I do not especially enjoy teaching this book because I am never quite sure if I am meant to be teaching a moral to the story. We can speculate, but really we don't know anything about why the Titanic sank from a retribution standpoint, and so I would rather leave that interpretation of events alone.<br /><br /><br />The book is not meant for beginners, but I was confident that I could explain the difficult parts to her in Jordanian Arabic. I learned too late that the Arabic terminology I was using to explain the sequence of events was somewhat archaic and specific to the Quranic story of Noah's Ark, and not all ships and voyages. She has convinced herself that she cannot learn English and I spend most of my time with her in a state of mime, searching for signs of life behind a blank stare from eyes lost in a sea of issues with authority. She adopted a similarly hopeless stance on her capacity for ribbon embroidery after the first failed attempt at a rose. I tried to convince her, also through mime, that if you get enough twisted ribbon knots all gathered in one small space there is bound to be a flower out there somewhere that looks like that, at some point in its life cycle, or postmortem. She rolled her eyes, but couldn't deny it. We worked on it over the four weeks and eventually, she came to me with a perfectly shaped red-ribbon rose that she had completed.<br /><br />"It looks beautiful!" I exclaimed.<br /><br />She rolled her eyes and in Arabic, replied, "it looks like a sinking ship."<br /><br />I vote this a <span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">m</span>ini forward-moving motion, even though I <span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">had to report her to the principal for rolling her eyes.</span><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /></span></div>
s.alihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07886798188491798433noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3796373955378666097.post-38076225486914241942014-08-27T20:52:00.001+01:002014-11-08T05:29:53.332+00:00Seeker's Guidance<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;">I have a balcony that overlooks the city and at night I can peek out from the in-between spaces in the curtain lace and see the stars- crazy amounts of them. There is a constellation in the shape of a question mark that is always flickering a little bit extra, like it is made up of stars that a great wind or breath is teasing with the possibility of being extinguished.</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse; color: #222222;"></span></span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;">I remember "buying a star" at the grocery store decades ago, and wondering how I would ever find out which one was mine. Now I am sure it must be part of that little guy looming over me like a heavy shrug, calling "?..." </span></span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;">And I reply with another, bigger shrug.</span></span><br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhN-Sevn1zSmcERRpxvok5CJ8WhH4dsh7ck_-Q0u9t9FEvz5IfvqFD5TgL3x-OuMyY1gyF8Ztlbx8_Un0_PSxyc7XmgoMpKYQaU11kInbyj51wSZZIgRfEu6Ln0hs37WX-Fx3iME-dHoV5R/s1600/SeekersGuidanceQuestions.png" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhN-Sevn1zSmcERRpxvok5CJ8WhH4dsh7ck_-Q0u9t9FEvz5IfvqFD5TgL3x-OuMyY1gyF8Ztlbx8_Un0_PSxyc7XmgoMpKYQaU11kInbyj51wSZZIgRfEu6Ln0hs37WX-Fx3iME-dHoV5R/s1600/SeekersGuidanceQuestions.png" height="178" width="320" /></span></span></a><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;">Or that twisted face that inspires other people to make the i'm-going-to-punch-you if-you-don't-stop-making-that-stupid-face face.</span></span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;">Mostly it just reminds me that I don't know very much about anything. And how so much of the time, when I think it's one thing, it's actually the other thing. And how many times I've been left with a sinking feeling and wishing I had done the other thing.</span></span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;">I can even see it out my window right now- now that I'm living on a roof with a balcony where I can see things more clearly, and not back in Buffalo where people can buy stars at the grocery store. </span></span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;">I'm pretty sure it was a fundraiser for cancer research. It was part of the candy isle.</span></span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;">And so what if I'm just answering one question with another question. At least we're taking the time to ask questions and inshallah getting somewhere. </span></span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;">Somewhere in the vicinity of deciding to embroider a constellation onto my black winter sweater. And somewhere beneath all those countless little lamps in the sky, we are being constantly reminded of the countless blessings of Allah.</span></span></div>
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...devil on the loose again.</div>
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Anyone who knows me or the reality of life knows that I'm not referring to the cake. But to the actual devil. He's out of his chains after a blessed month during which I often had to face the fact that at least a few of the dumb ideas I have are really just my own.<br />
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And while it's definitely not the devil's food, I'm starting to feel like Banana Nut cake is not on my team. So I felt it was best to keep it trapped in a jar and put a ribbon on it which immediately suggests "not for you."<br />
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s.alihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07886798188491798433noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3796373955378666097.post-49531637949552562482014-06-30T02:05:00.001+00:002014-11-08T06:21:20.648+00:00and per se and ...<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiD9DXpUMmBeNxbyqvpmm6y1H95jxFpVNpiIN-kuI28sNFmZl6echNhaTHHk6-Jxc09mq1c_KuHWV6F2aR9oR05cUG9gpls9TwCm_zMKBfrXPAgksezdDEyhj3KjwNFcUdCgLmtkF28pm9q/s1600/treeproject1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiD9DXpUMmBeNxbyqvpmm6y1H95jxFpVNpiIN-kuI28sNFmZl6echNhaTHHk6-Jxc09mq1c_KuHWV6F2aR9oR05cUG9gpls9TwCm_zMKBfrXPAgksezdDEyhj3KjwNFcUdCgLmtkF28pm9q/s1600/treeproject1.jpg" height="240" width="320" /></a>Dreams come true all the time. I spent three weeks with the official job title "Arts & Crafts Teacher." Ampersand included. My mission was to develop crafts suitable for four to five-year olds with Islamic themes using recyclable household materials. "Islamic themes" was loosely interpreted, as we did end up doing several bug projects. But Allah created bugs. And that's what we call Islamic pre-school art. The possibilities are endless.<br />
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Growing up, I too created a portfolio of art with Islamic themes, my best work emerging at the age of nine- a painting of Hell. I entered it into a school-wide contest challenging students to reflect on the theme "Anything Can Happen." When I asked my nephew if his drawing of big black scribbles on black paper was Jahannam, he said "Of course not, it's a tsunami- see the little guy?"<br />
I did see the little guy, flying through the air.<br />
"He's not a bad guy. He's a good guy."<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgV7-ahLD6SgQT8zcvWTxLaPLdllVGg5HyEhwnmOzSX73u7f0OJnn1E6DYGuTk1S_0qBmTwMce-4-sNriVpaYoJMicC9j5cmyCYQy7jE87Tmd0PUhWL9e-JNAnC6p-lqakR_nQTzoKMzJnA/s1600/stamps.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgV7-ahLD6SgQT8zcvWTxLaPLdllVGg5HyEhwnmOzSX73u7f0OJnn1E6DYGuTk1S_0qBmTwMce-4-sNriVpaYoJMicC9j5cmyCYQy7jE87Tmd0PUhWL9e-JNAnC6p-lqakR_nQTzoKMzJnA/s1600/stamps.JPG" height="320" width="240" /></a>Alhamdullilah, double-win for Team Make Sure the Kids Don't Take After Khala. They don't draw pictures of Hell for fun, plus they understand that even good guys can get caught in a tsunami.<br />
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I hope to make this Ramadan more than just a basic fight for survival. We pray Taraweh (Ramadan night prayer) on the roof in the breeze. We can see the whole city from up there although of course no one is looking. But I know it's there and sneak peeks as we go through the Salah, two by two up to 20. A bunch of the kids that were in the crafts program come to the prayer and squeeze their little bodies into the back row. I don't watch to see if they make it through all 20 but when I was their age I definitely used to try, and would make a list in my head of all the things I could think about while I was praying that would keep me from falling asleep standing. I'm not sure what these guys think about except for when they see me standing next to them and get a look of wonder on their face and can't stop staring to see if it's really me. She does things other than crafts? What?<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh2craznXtDRbUwjRy5MEDpOoN3QhEJKkZ5Hh3E3lNbZNjeq4nszGcFLtQtcApFClNQ92bFVWWfbBbWKFei8XZef2ScOR9c-0Whl2grBrvMVBrI0bjcWr0zGEHAioiI70CinRA9SsGySLiV/s1600/treeproj-leaves.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh2craznXtDRbUwjRy5MEDpOoN3QhEJKkZ5Hh3E3lNbZNjeq4nszGcFLtQtcApFClNQ92bFVWWfbBbWKFei8XZef2ScOR9c-0Whl2grBrvMVBrI0bjcWr0zGEHAioiI70CinRA9SsGySLiV/s1600/treeproj-leaves.jpg" height="240" width="320" /></a>The best part, by far, of seeing kids at Tarweh is during the last raka of Witr when we delay bowing down and instead remain standing to recite the dua qunoot before going into ruku. Kids tend to forget this. It's late, they're tired. So down they go, waiting for the Imam to say Allahuakbar and it just doesn't come. And so they wait, and wait, and then eventually a few little heads start to peek around and try to figure out what's going on. But most of them don't even notice and just maintain great patience and understanding that everything is going great.<br />
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And that's what I miss. But aside from not being a child anymore, things actually are going great because Allah has given me a job where I have to at least partially think and act like one. But there's a time and place for it, and this month is about moving forward and not backward. And apparently, according to the schedule, for me to learn how to macrame. And then to learn how to teach kids how to macrame.</div>
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Ramadan Kareem.<br />
As the guy who put together the youtube Tafsir lectures I listen to would say: "Plz Keep me in UR duazz and PRAY I get all Az & A+z on my examzz."<br />
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s.alihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07886798188491798433noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3796373955378666097.post-50022381914686259112014-05-19T17:55:00.002+01:002014-11-08T19:33:53.521+00:00Machapichu<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhQ2O7W0NiMtDqtZbkydZRcXKrhxC2aXBOF-5oU_NpcvBJ4Ct6CPXoWoQNVAUKU7Q9Nf-p2Nanb5dlE3vcTZZEjMET1wRdOL3FFsqH7gDa9He-m-62q9pUx-WI54n1b53edxSRsiajgI2jd/s1600/IMG_6727.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhQ2O7W0NiMtDqtZbkydZRcXKrhxC2aXBOF-5oU_NpcvBJ4Ct6CPXoWoQNVAUKU7Q9Nf-p2Nanb5dlE3vcTZZEjMET1wRdOL3FFsqH7gDa9He-m-62q9pUx-WI54n1b53edxSRsiajgI2jd/s1600/IMG_6727.JPG" height="320" width="240" /></a><span class="Apple-style-span" style="clear: right; float: right; font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: black; font-family: Times;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: black; font-family: Times;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">A woman stopped me in the street to ask if she could write an article about me and my community. I told her that it would be inappropriate, and suggested she write some short fiction instead. Plus, I'm a "writer." I write about myself all the time.<br /><br />I spent years convincing Americans that I am fascinating. It's ME. I am the intriguing thing. I do not even need to be doing anything special. I'm a phenomenon. With one boot in one boat and the other boot in the other boat, I stand there, wobbly and casually, talking about boats. Playing it cool<span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">,</span><br /><span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">o</span>verhearing conversations about the young ethnic Muslim who unsuccessfully tries to straddle a world of religious devotion and one of secular charms. This discussion takes up about half a page. Then they illustrate it with a drawing of a prayer mat that looks like a dollar bill.<br /><br />I was trained to believe that this is something worth writing about. I have tried to convince myself otherwise but I can't seem to shake it. The subject is brought up and I smile bigger than before and then proudly nudge the guy beside me and say, "Hey, look. That's my kid." But it is mostly a sham<span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">, because what happen<span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">s to a lot of us</span> is that the juggling act fails and we make concessions. </span>There <span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">is nothing really all that fascinating about someone dropping one ball and picking up anot<span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">her. </span></span>And every so often scrambling around trying to scoop up <span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">lost</span> balls.<br /><br />Living in a heavily Westernized Arab city, there are no longer two worlds, just one big boat<span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"> full of wobbly Muslims.</span><span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"> </span>I am finding that even over here in my little corner of the world, there are constantly choices to be made that are not so much the difference between right and wrong (<span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">A</span>lhamdullilah, those are becoming easier to spot, and will inshallah continue to do so) but the choice between caution and "taking it easy." These are the tricky ones. They are not as flashy as the ones that came before, and require more care, sincerity and presence of heart. It takes work for the seemingly fuzzy things to come into focus as clear cut. Then a<span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">fter work, </span>they <span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">go</span> change into their party clothes and come out wearing all black and white. Not even so muc<span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">h as a shimmer from a sequin to leav<span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">e</span> me wondering,<span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"> <i>wait, what color is that, actually? </i>Or thinking,<i> that would look even better in gr<span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">a</span>y<span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">. </span></i><span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">But it takes work, knowledge, mindfulness and obedience. <span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">These are blessings that can only come from Allah, and I hop<span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">e <span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">and pray <span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">that I can fill my little life<span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">boat with them all, just in case this ship sinks.</span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span><br /><br />Like most things, I can best illustrate the situation using crafts.<br /><br />"What's the rule for playdoh?"<br /><br />"NO MIXING!" the<span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"> kids</span> yell in unison as they mush the yellow and green into a tube shape, smash it, then cheer, "Machapichu!"</span></span></span></div>
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I was explaining to the kids that we capitalize the names of dieties and religious texts because they are holy. </div>
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<i>Holy.</i></div>
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It set off sparks.</div>
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A little hand shot up, and one of the nine-year-olds insisted that she would not be capitalizing the names of other people's gods, her face resolute and unswerving. "Because they aren't holy. They aren't real. They aren't anything."</div>
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"Ok," I murmured, swerving, and wondered if I could just let this slide. "But they are names though. I mean, they are capitalized because they are names. Of things. Even if they aren't real."</div>
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She thought about it for a few seconds then resolutely replied "But it's Kufr. So actually we can only capitalize the name of Allah."</div>
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This seemed like a good time for slide-letting. I'll just think of it as developing her critical thinking skills.</div>
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Later in the lesson, the little hand shot up again. She took offense to the sentence, "The Muslim girl wearing hijab distinctly stood out in the crowd of people at church." It wasn't a great sentence, but it got its point across. </div>
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"But the sentence is wrong," she explained, "because a Muslim girl would never be in a church."</div>
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I tried to explain that since it was physically possible though, hypothetically, for this to happen, the sentence was in fact grammatically correct. But she was sticking to her guns. She gave a look of disapproval to the girl sitting behind her who had thought of the sentence, and who immediately recanted and tried to come up with another way to use the word "distinctly."</div>
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I still can't tell if it is a fail or a win for me as a teacher, but I'm leaning towards win.<br />
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Lesson learned: <span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;">Faith trumps grammar.</span><br />
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Meanwhile, I am failing at trying to teach a little Arab kid how to speak English. She starting from scratch and still answers me in squeaks and other meaningful "cultural noises." I am slightly concerned that half of what I point to, she calls "family" -<br />
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but it's better than a squeak. </div>
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And as I struggle to get her to speak, I am comforted by the thought that floating in the overall-failing are mini forward-moving motions accompanied by colorful stationary in a large ziplock bag labelled "incentives."</div>
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s.alihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07886798188491798433noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3796373955378666097.post-17972236074787194242014-01-01T20:58:00.002+00:002014-12-05T21:12:04.376+00:00Good Company<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgM3qKD2VhdsDF4RbJGKUbiL9fez0H0IJ1pMoSfXHNHqseP6tVL4-lQ_6bdPnOh2iCsM7QTZFdn9OQvkgjdskiBB2AMnLcCFwmwMk80nT0Zsh0XmmCvgPMSEFDfErVclrkJyMBCpWs5thD3/s1600/POLfingerprint.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgM3qKD2VhdsDF4RbJGKUbiL9fez0H0IJ1pMoSfXHNHqseP6tVL4-lQ_6bdPnOh2iCsM7QTZFdn9OQvkgjdskiBB2AMnLcCFwmwMk80nT0Zsh0XmmCvgPMSEFDfErVclrkJyMBCpWs5thD3/s1600/POLfingerprint.jpg" height="320" width="307" /></a><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">There are 22 kinds of doubts which one can have while praying. Out of these, <span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">seven</span> doubts are those which invalidate the prayers, and <span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">six</span> are those which should be ignored. And the remaining <span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">nine</span> doubts are valid doubts.</span></span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">Sometimes waswasa overtakes us. It is what its name sounds like. Little whispers trying to trick you. They say <span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">not to let them, <span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">or t</span></span>hey</span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">will bury you. Don't do too much, and don't do too little. Just do the right thing. You know what that is, don't you?</span></span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">They say the remedy for waswasa is good company.</span></span><br />
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Hey you- will you be my neighbor?</span></span><br />
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s.alihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07886798188491798433noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3796373955378666097.post-32434843751208427712013-12-30T21:16:00.000+00:002013-12-30T21:16:21.783+00:00Sharia Rainbow<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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Getting out into the city was the first good idea I’ve had
in a long time. </div>
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I’ve stopped carrying around my camera in an effort to give
up photography, but today I saw so many beautiful inanimate objects that I wish
I had captured. Signage, mostly.</div>
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I did not find the charming little junk store or the shoes I
was searching for- not even at the cute old niqabi’s shop, which once provided
me with so many ridiculous heels that I invested in before I realized where I
was living. I gave them away soon after and can’t help but wonder if I will be
punished for facilitating some other woman wearing them. </div>
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I tried to buy a belt from the old woman for good measure
but couldn’t find change, and so she just gave it to me.</div>
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Yes, that’s how we do it in Jordan. </div>
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Free belts, cheap bread and strangers who pick me up from
the side of the road and drive me places when it’s raining.</div>
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Today was perfect for venturing out of the neighborhood, and
inshallah will be a good day to sit on the roof balcony and remember how I used
to say that this is what I always wanted.</div>
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s.alihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07886798188491798433noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3796373955378666097.post-41827877339842287492013-11-07T04:00:00.003+00:002014-12-05T21:25:35.205+00:00The Big Questions II<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Helvetica;">I am reading a short story about the Titanic
with my third grade boys. There is a moral being conveyed, but unlike the
carefree days gone by of former years we don't get to say<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>"and the moral of the story
is..." in unison and a sing-song voice. Third grade is serious stuff. The
messages are subtle.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica; mso-bidi-font-family: Helvetica;">As with our last book, Pompeii: Buried Alive,
the story teaches us that catastrophe strikes when people turn their back on
God, or forget about Him. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica; mso-bidi-font-family: Helvetica;">My six-year old nephew is determined to read
all the books that I'm reading with the older boys because even if they are too
scary to play with in the dirt patch, at least he'll know that he's just as
smart as they are. After he read Titanic, I explained to my nephew that the
people who had built the Titanic claimed that "Even God Himself cannot
sink this ship." Here, I opened my eyes as wide as possible to convey the
gravity of such a declaration.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica; mso-bidi-font-family: Helvetica;">He thought about it for a minute, as he usually
does before deciding to believe something I tell him.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica; mso-bidi-font-family: Helvetica;">Then he asked, "Were the people on the
Titanic Muslim?"<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica; mso-bidi-font-family: Helvetica;">I answered truthfully that I did not know, but
probably not.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica; mso-bidi-font-family: Helvetica;">"So then if they said that even God can't
sink the ship, they weren't talking about Allah, right? Because they don't
think Allah is God."<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica; mso-bidi-font-family: Helvetica;">I agreed.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica; mso-bidi-font-family: Helvetica;">"So then they weren't actually saying
anything wrong because whoever they think God is probably couldn't sink the
ship. Like if their God was a rock, or just a regular person." Then he
laughed to himself. "Because that would be really silly, right?"<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica; mso-bidi-font-family: Helvetica;">Aside from my obvious conclusion that this kid
is awesome, what is amazing to me is that he always insists on finding a way to
defend the people of the past with unshakeable confidence that no matter what
happened, there was always a chance that maybe, just maybe, some of them became
Muslim before they died. Particularly in stories where it is not clearly stated
whether or not the characters rejected the message of Islam (most stories). He
even goes so far as to say <i>probably</i>. "If they weren't bad people,
then they probably became Muslim before they died," he often concludes.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica; mso-bidi-font-family: Helvetica;">As the resident Khala, this puts me in
situations where I have to wonder, should I just agree with him, to encourage
him to have confidence in his own intellect, or should I say what I think the
average American non-Muslim's reaction to this would be. Something like you
shouldn't think that someone has to be Muslim just because they are good- there
are good "Christmas-people" too. Or should I prepare him for the
harsh realization that there are many non-Muslims that are also good people,
and they won't ever become Muslim. That doesn’t mean they won’t go to heaven,
but it does mean that they will be held accountable for rejecting it because
they were blessed enough to have the gift of a Muslim in their lives who taught
them about Islam- <i>and hey guess what- that person is you!</i><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjnOJKBpvBU31fKEII0fa4-1pZtZA09Hqh922uryBdz1bL0S8C87FRYM-6fZUzj6tLDiDPl1A7r9Una98L7hE3HfTthBz4oQZd4IDP4ks739LsM190FH9CvVn6PlzU5469-I2hTHtS28wOv/s1600/POLmountainprints.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjnOJKBpvBU31fKEII0fa4-1pZtZA09Hqh922uryBdz1bL0S8C87FRYM-6fZUzj6tLDiDPl1A7r9Una98L7hE3HfTthBz4oQZd4IDP4ks739LsM190FH9CvVn6PlzU5469-I2hTHtS28wOv/s1600/POLmountainprints.jpg" height="400" width="384" /></a></div>
<span style="font-family: Helvetica; mso-bidi-font-family: Helvetica;">It's one of those points of aqida that troubled
me as a kid but was eventually sanded over by faith in the justice of Allah. Still,
it took a while. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica; mso-bidi-font-family: Helvetica;">I would about all those kids I was friends with
who knew nothing about Islam except that "Shefa is one." My sense of
personal guilt was fully formed into its own creature by the ripe age of six
(she has pigtails) and she wondered- will they remember me on the Day of Judgment?
When they finally learn that Islam was the truth and then they're thinking <i>what?!
but the only thing I know about Islam is that weird stuff that fat girl used to
tell me at recess. And now it's too late... <o:p></o:p></i></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica; mso-bidi-font-family: Helvetica;">And then I would feel really awful about any
recent friendships I had forged. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica; mso-bidi-font-family: Helvetica;">Then I would picture some sort of moat with
people drowning in it. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica; mso-bidi-font-family: Helvetica;">This imagery may have been a result of too many
hours spent playing <i>King's Quest, </i>or is from something some adult told
me once and I believed them without the same sense of caution that keeps my own
nephew's aqida bubble wrapped and safe from the little jabs of adults who
irresponsibly try to explain important stuff to formative minds without any
prep work. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica; mso-bidi-font-family: Helvetica;">But this little guy is a thinker, and he’s
catching on that I don’t always know how to answer his questions, as I more and
more frequently resort to an old standard for self-respecting Khala's across
the world – <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<i><span style="font-family: Helvetica; mso-bidi-font-family: Helvetica;">Go ask your baba.<o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica; mso-bidi-font-family: Helvetica;">Because I refuse to be responsible for any kid to be terrified of
the afterlife because he is plagued by a vision of some sort of sci-fi moat
where all his friends are drowning. And it's getting trickier, now that the
kids are getting older. Old enough to remember what I'm saying and to wonder
about it later.</span></div>
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s.alihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07886798188491798433noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3796373955378666097.post-1781928528151633332013-10-15T22:53:00.004+01:002013-10-15T22:54:32.636+01:00The Big Questions<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<span lang="">Every once in a while I think of something that I really want to teach my nephew- some sort of life lesson or amazing fact. Usually it leads to him thinking deeply about it for a moment and then asking follow up questions, none of which I know the answer to, making my knowledge of the world less and less credible in his eyes. So I have learned to deliver the information confidently and as if I have read a whole book about it. And sometimes I have - like the infamous "Armenian Genocide" incident of 2006. I was enrolled in the Politics of Naming, one of the few courses I will actually remember, and really into that week's reading. Also, I thought it would be funny to hear a four year-old say "Armenian Genocide." And so he did. And then he wouldn't stop talking about it. And then he started drawing pictures of what he thought it looked like- black clouds mostly.<br />
<br />
But I did learn something from it!<br />
<br />
Each time I deliver one of these impromptu lessons, especially the scienc-y ones, I end with, "that makes sense, right?" to get out of the way any lingering confusion that could later be translated into drawings. The question encourages him to agree with me and accept the gift of useless knowledge I am trying to impart.</span><br />
<span lang="">And sometimes I really do need to ask myself if I am using the right terminology for a four year-old, or making it more complicated than it has to be. The thing about little kids is that their brains are like sponges. They can, and will, quote you at a later date.<br />
</span><span lang=""><br />
Up until last year we mostly talked about outer space, but once he turned six he became much more concerned with his Aqida, and he asks me all of the questions he has about Allah, the prophets and comparative religion. The younger one also asks about the "Christmas people," but the older one will sit thoughtfully for a while and then ask an impossible question that is poking holes through his story; the one where everything is right with the world, and everything is black and white.<br />
<br />
I hate that I will be the one to have to break it to him.<br />
There is a lot that we have to take on faith, without intellectually understanding it. <br />
But providence was rooting for him when he was born into a Sufi family. Inshallah, he will be taught the appropriate vocabulary to articulate the black and white, and then he will teach it to his own children some day, without the least bit of uncertainty and using all the right words.</span><br />
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s.alihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07886798188491798433noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3796373955378666097.post-26250338195583243552013-10-11T07:18:00.001+01:002013-10-11T07:24:04.164+01:00Hello, out there!<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<span lang="">At the end of each prayer, we turn our head one time to the right and one time to the left to say our salaams. They say: "this is not exclusive to those who are actually present: it encompasses everyone on one's right side [when giving salaams to the right, and everyone on one's left side when giving salaams to the left], even if far, all the way to the furthest point of the world."<br />
<br />
<em>Hello, out there!</em><br />
They say that it’s okay to cut out just one hand waving because it is only one small part of the body and cannot sustain life on its own. </span><br />
<span lang=""><br />
So there is a paper chain of different colored hands taped on the walls of my classroom. They are stuck there by way of a tack in the middle of two of the hands. <br />
There are big ones and little ones and brown ones. They are all saying salaams to every one of each thing on their right side, and salams to each thing and everyone on their left side.<br />
<span lang=""><br />
They say we’re all connected, like a paper chain of male and female figures holding hands strung up as a decoration crossing continents. <br />
The whole world is having a party. <br />
The women are wearing dresses. Nobody has eyes.</span></span><br />
<i><br />
Are we connected? Are you thinking about me? <br />
<br />
Oh, it’s you again! Asalaamalaikum.<br />
<br />
Yes, it's me. Oh- yikes. Sorry-<br />
I can't shake hands with you. But woah, look! - you know what I just noticed? Your pants are connected to your boots. And your pants are connected to your shirt. Are you the janitor here? Are you here to clean up my mess?<br />
</i><br /></div>
s.alihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07886798188491798433noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3796373955378666097.post-23412248672016880212013-09-18T04:35:00.001+01:002013-09-18T04:40:32.661+01:00BIRD HEAD<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<span style="color: #262626; font-family: Arial, sans-serif; line-height: 24pt;">According to Al-Tuhfa, it is unlawful to wear clothes that have
pictures of animals, even if the picture is of an imaginary creature, such as
horses with wings. The condition for the unlawfulness is that the pictures
include what the creature cannot live without, such as the top half of the
body. However, if the picture is of some part of the body that does not
normally support life, such as the picture of a head, a head and chest with no abdomen,
a hand, a foot or the lower part of the body, then it is not unlawful to wear.
This is according to the relied upon position of the great scholar Ibn Hajar,
in disagreement with the great scholar Al-Ramli.</span></div>
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<span style="color: #262626; line-height: 24pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;">So I</span></span><span style="color: #262626; font-family: Arial, sans-serif; line-height: 24pt;">I’ve been trying to figure out how to dismantle all the heads from the bodies of my
bird things. As the years go by I seem to have less of them. Soon stuff like
this won’t be a problem.</span></div>
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<span style="color: #262626; font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; mso-bidi-font-family: Georgia; mso-bidi-font-size: 16.0pt;">We are back in Amman and still in a temporary space while they
finish the new apartment. It is across a dirt path from the school where I
teach and the shop where I buy my vegetables and milk. The masjid will be under
construction for the next couple of years, across the street diagonally
backwards, if you are facing the Qibla. From my bedroom on the roof I can see
the whole city, or what I imagine to be all of it. It’s all there somewhere,
just some of it blurry. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: #262626; font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; mso-bidi-font-family: Georgia; mso-bidi-font-size: 16.0pt;">My nephew likes to stop by and watch the progress as things start to neatly fall into place to resemble a future home. Hinsists that he wants to marry a construction worker,
because “they’re so important.” My sister reminded him that he has to marry a
girl, and so he’s changed his tune to “No, I meant I want to BE a construction
worker when I grow up.”</span><br />
<span style="color: #262626; font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; mso-bidi-font-family: Georgia; mso-bidi-font-size: 16.0pt;">Then the younger one said, "I want to be a doctor like mama."</span><br />
<span style="color: #262626; font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; mso-bidi-font-family: Georgia; mso-bidi-font-size: 16.0pt;">Then the littlest one chimed in, "I want to be a tissue." Then he poked me.</span><br />
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<span style="color: #262626; font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; mso-bidi-font-family: Georgia; mso-bidi-font-size: 16.0pt;">I’m not teaching math this year and so I’m officially
just an English teacher, now that I’m grown up. I usually tell my Kindergarten class that they aren't allowed to draw animals, but yesterday during art time I told them it's okay to draw just the heads. The children did not respond well to this unfamiliar position on the matter. Hands shot up to tell me what baba says. Then looking back into the horrified eyes of little six-year olds, I recanted. <i>No bird heads allowed</i>, I said. <i>But you know what I love more than anything in the world? ... SHIPS! Let's all draw ships!</i></span></div>
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<span style="color: #262626; font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; mso-bidi-font-family: Georgia; mso-bidi-font-size: 16.0pt;">So we did. World order was restored, and they are slowly starting to trust me again...</span></div>
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s.alihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07886798188491798433noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3796373955378666097.post-73154527626387102742013-06-05T05:20:00.004+01:002013-10-11T07:24:35.488+01:00Locals<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjfQDEUI06IWERqDMzKsENH61u3zmlbLskIEXvfOREWplwttCkMKG8yT6kWx-DEVMbjyZeDrKM8A-i4_vrGDOV_gHyC9uJlrJHqV0gRkEDh5cVCRBPajK4UP3IKazRQMb3mRYPV9RcLdAJh/s1600/DSCN1114.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjfQDEUI06IWERqDMzKsENH61u3zmlbLskIEXvfOREWplwttCkMKG8yT6kWx-DEVMbjyZeDrKM8A-i4_vrGDOV_gHyC9uJlrJHqV0gRkEDh5cVCRBPajK4UP3IKazRQMb3mRYPV9RcLdAJh/s320/DSCN1114.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh0HIKQOhkO6skHYrdspvKPOt9doCQJfRdNo8-2fMOmwCNF2oO5fM0rJXCt-wKHDQLTt5S-zJ3L_YgiQFIGLctrI7YILdoP2prwN-msFLHjPFplCNFqDAn1T_FL46ZcZcMeXnOvD9pteAKE/s1600/DSCN1137.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh0HIKQOhkO6skHYrdspvKPOt9doCQJfRdNo8-2fMOmwCNF2oO5fM0rJXCt-wKHDQLTt5S-zJ3L_YgiQFIGLctrI7YILdoP2prwN-msFLHjPFplCNFqDAn1T_FL46ZcZcMeXnOvD9pteAKE/s320/DSCN1137.JPG" width="320" /></a>I visited the local tailor and he gave me a present even though I told him his rate was too expensive for me and that my abaya cost me less than he was charging to shorten it. He didn't believe me but did decide to become friends and asked if I had seen much of Amman and then offered to "take me anywhere I want to go." I declined but did get permission to take photos of the walls of his shop, now with one less framed verse of the Quran tacked up in the spaces between pictures of him when he was a young man.</div>
s.alihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07886798188491798433noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3796373955378666097.post-78109563972534476822013-05-09T23:05:00.002+01:002013-06-05T05:24:26.005+01:00Smuggling<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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The first time I came to Jordan I was twelve and wearing my brother's old wide leg jeans and long sleeved Nirvana t-shirts- of my own volition.</div>
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We kept coming back through here by bus so as to get to the other surrounding countries one by one, and each time we passed back through we would stop at "Mat3am Alia" for dinner. I couldn't believe that there was a restaurant named after my sister, just like I couldn't believe they were charging us for water.</div>
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The waiter for our table had a crush on my sister and kept us entertained with his advances throughout dinner. I wondered why this random waiter was so obsessed with her and decided it must have been because he thought his workplace was named after her. He brought her extra helpings of colorful, glistening vegetables and eyed her from the corner where he was huddled with the other waiters.<br />
As we were leaving to board the bus he casually whispered, "I love you." My mother laughed but I was completely traumatized. </div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiEtU23koB2Q0wXDcPMJlX_4jmDegR9QQew93kOYtR_DABKxP3lo054Hl48JtGA_TSzblPYEaW4ZEoVNomZh0HJnHKZrXKtM2qgNKx2l7Ki5tsL77OfbEGINqR1azMi0HyQTpESe5l0IE_T/s1600/DSCN1788.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiEtU23koB2Q0wXDcPMJlX_4jmDegR9QQew93kOYtR_DABKxP3lo054Hl48JtGA_TSzblPYEaW4ZEoVNomZh0HJnHKZrXKtM2qgNKx2l7Ki5tsL77OfbEGINqR1azMi0HyQTpESe5l0IE_T/s320/DSCN1788.JPG" width="320" /></a>After a couple of healthy years of living in the Middle East and being proposed to in-passing by a few cafe waiters myself, I think I get it now. It's all part of the social contract. Nothing comes without a price. Travel to a faraway land, eat the shiny food- get propositioned by the cafe waiters. It's the social order.<br />
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And always a potential last resort to keep in your back pocket in case it becomes increasingly clear that you will have to marry a man whose first language is not English so you don't have to feel bad when he doesn't laugh at your jokes.<br />
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Another reason to make sure your abaya has pockets- along with concealing masbahas, pretzels, and other general types of smuggling.</div>
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s.alihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07886798188491798433noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3796373955378666097.post-16523670129721622802013-04-27T15:47:00.002+00:002013-10-11T07:25:01.178+01:00Snickerdoodle<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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I'm back to my baking self.</div>
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I'm going to try to bake myself into a cooking self. Or bake a new self and keep the old one just in case life, in a general way, doesn't work out for me.</div>
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But first, I'm tinkering with egg/dairy/nut free recipes for my nephew, who has been plagued with all the allergies in the family. We often put effort into making him think he is eating the same thing as his brother and sister, strategically giving them tall, opaque cups so he can't see what's inside, or preparing foods that are the same shade of orange. Today, while his siblings were dipping warm chocolate chip cookies in fresh milk, he sat with them, pretty sure he was eating the same thing but still somewhat suspicious, taking bites of barley bread dipped in water. </div>
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I was searching for a vegan snickerdoodle recipe in the hopes of cutting down on some of my trickery, and found the recipe collection of a girl who named her website something like the verbal equivalent of her haircut. As her picture loads alongside the list of various forms of deliciousness that go into a snickerdoodle, we find her wearing an apron and with big black framed glasses.</div>
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Well, yeah, Su. Of course that's what you look like. </div>
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Then my niece beside me asked, </div>
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-Shifu Khala- is that your picture? Why is your picture on there?"</div>
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Get off my case, kid! Can't you see I'm a new woman?!</div>
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-That's not me. Why would there be a picture of me on the internet?</div>
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Note to baking self- for real this time, get all pictures of former self off the internet. </div>
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Or at least run them through the photo editor "hardened woman" filter, then "soften edges," then "softer."</div>
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s.alihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07886798188491798433noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3796373955378666097.post-25709434860581233492013-04-22T17:34:00.002+00:002013-04-22T17:40:31.251+00:00Shopping<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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In my fifth (and Ya Allah hopefully my final!) trip to the tile store where I get to be a little black cloud shooting videos of different shades of wood, an Arab woman approached me. She immediately spoke English because she probably heard me narrating the descriptions of textures and colors of the wood into the camera.<br />
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She got right to the point.</div>
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<i>Excuse me, do you have a sister here in Jordan?</i></div>
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Since I do, in fact, have a sister in Jordan I assumed she must know her and started to describe her.<br />
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But then she kept going.</div>
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<i>Is she married? </i><br />
<i>Do you have any unmarried sisters? </i><br />
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Since I do, in fact, have an unmarried sister, I started to describe her too.<br />
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<i>Does she look like you?</i><br />
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A curious thing to say to a girl who is 96% shrouded in layers of black. </div>
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But this woman was not interested in me, but a girl who resembled the 4% of me that was showing. As if to say-<i> almost, but not quite</i>. I don't wear a ring, but she assumed I was a claimed woman. Maybe my eyes "look married." Or maybe she wanted a girl whose hands looked only kind of like mine.</div>
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Although I recognized this as an opportunity for adventure and ridiculous conversation, I shut her down with a simple no because she spoke perfect English (YAWN). I know not every encounter has to be an Arabic lesson, but I need to focus on finding situations where I can practice saying the important things:</div>
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<i>How much are the apples?</i><br />
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<i>My ____ is broken and I don't know how to fix it.</i><br />
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<i>Do you have this in black?</i></div>
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s.alihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07886798188491798433noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3796373955378666097.post-77126183681562715242013-03-23T20:13:00.000+00:002014-11-01T18:33:48.278+00:00From the Backseat<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<br />Halfway to Marj al Hammam, the taxi driver with the cigarette dangling out of his mouth suddenly got friendly and was asking me all kinds of things that I didn't understand and so I did my usual thing and answered yes and said "inshallah" and "alhamdullilah" at random intervals. It took a few minutes before I figured out that he was actually on the phone, wearing a headset, probably talking to his wife or his kid, judging from the occasional "baba! what's wrong with you!"</div>
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I think this is a thing. The mother of the kids I tutor calls her husband every half hour so he can yell at the kids for refusing to do their reading. The older one has taken to saying he "just want to die" when I show up to teach them.</div>
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So this guy was probably also yelling at his kid. I think he assumed I was talking to myself. Safe assumption- how can I resist? After so many years of doing it on the nyc subway with my Arabic flashcards in my lap as if to say- <i>don't worry- I'm just studying. </i>Although, the occasional passenger would get even more concerned with my presence once they saw what I was studying. </div>
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<br />The taxi drivers are my only communication with ordinary people in Amman, and they get really happy when I answer the usual question "are you a new Muslim or were you Muslim 'from the start.'" The driver on the way home from Marj al Hamman nodded his head in approval and said "Subhanallah." And then I said "Subhanallah." And then he asked if I was married and I ignored him and continued trying to casually eat a banana under my niqab. In Morocco I would have said "shame on you!" but I'm not sure if that's a thing here.</div>
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The route across the city is so beautiful and I have plans to ask the next driver to drop me off near that spot where there are randomly a bunch of camels, plus some nearby sheep. It would be too expensive to have the driver wait around, but I have faith that some woman will feel bad for me and pick me up like they do when it's raining, and like the drivers in Morocco do for the elderly. I can't resist the camels. I can hear them calling to me.<br />
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"C'mon! Take our picture! You know you want to. Look how random we are!"</div>
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Or maybe it's an echo from some other corner of the city. But I'll probably give in anyway.<br />
I know me. Even if the city hasn't met me yet.</div>
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s.alihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07886798188491798433noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3796373955378666097.post-83981619937805963912013-02-04T16:41:00.000+00:002013-04-06T16:45:29.243+00:00The Voiced and the Voiceless<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS";">I saw a little girl
and an older girl throwing pebbles at each other from adjacent balconies. It
didn't look like it was happening in jest or merriment- they really wanted to
hit each other. The little girl was winning and the older one was getting
frustrated. She couldn't have been more than twenty, but was definitely old
enough to know not to throw stones at helpless children.But I didn't judge her
for it because that little girl looked like a real terror, and on her side it
appeared to be a hate crime against the foreigner. Plus, that other girl was
wearing the best boots.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS";">Okay, it was me.
That little monster needed to learn that just because the other person is
bigger doesn't mean they will be the bigger person.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS";">After she threw her
final fistful I yelled "I'm going to tell your mother!" but later I
saw her mother, and she was terrifying.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhFJw1pqTozEdF5E4mtHD2LiYanfpG0kbAfQ5goPfSi8eG39gUSdLJ2Tx9AujIk_Impg7jkUYJgSyR7DX2CByYG19N0dUka03og-jgSiUsUJ8keWzvV3iHAUyj8nPHEou-FtYAWQVuqS2w5/s1600/cafewallMOsmall.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="307" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhFJw1pqTozEdF5E4mtHD2LiYanfpG0kbAfQ5goPfSi8eG39gUSdLJ2Tx9AujIk_Impg7jkUYJgSyR7DX2CByYG19N0dUka03og-jgSiUsUJ8keWzvV3iHAUyj8nPHEou-FtYAWQVuqS2w5/s400/cafewallMOsmall.jpg" width="400" /></a><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS";">I've been saving up
my Arabic for the elderly couples at Cafe Paris that like to talk politics because I
tell them I'm Jordanian. But I know better than to talk to strangers and so
more often, I keep my thoughts to myself and see if I can translate
it into Arabic in my head. Knowing that I can do it is enough of a comfort for
me, like a warm blanket of guttural and emphatic cross-woven threads. Mint
green ones. The voiced and the voiceless, holding hands.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS";">If I can't come up
with the whole translation I take the advice of my Arabic teachers for
"whenever you are not sure about (obscure grammatical rule or vocabulary
word) - ask someone who speaks Arabic." So every couple of minutes I ask
whoever is sitting next to me, how would I say (monster, tornado, etc.) in
derija? and reserve all cases of casual conversation for when I get to use the
fun words that deserve practicing out loud, namely "I'm confused / I was
confused," where the K, guttural Kh and hard Q all combine side by side
into one magical mess of sounds. And if I put it in the future tense I get to
add a "gh." It's a party in my mouth, like bastilla and plum tagine-
my celebratory dinner for my second last night in Tangier.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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s.alihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07886798188491798433noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3796373955378666097.post-68757063441369000492013-01-30T21:00:00.002+00:002014-11-01T18:41:41.943+00:00You had me at Smehli Ukhtee<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhA3LjZIRffa37K-a6w3ZtkY0Enib_ThwISFpmPgpvq2YcQtX2sPGXAVfh8u2VFDscQwtcQemQWEYdnSxI1o5MdkPoCoox449v8o2LS1AvE4cAVzTaZpgzpds9bv5BALGILdDZWFIimpWI5/s1600/IMG_0045-3.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhA3LjZIRffa37K-a6w3ZtkY0Enib_ThwISFpmPgpvq2YcQtX2sPGXAVfh8u2VFDscQwtcQemQWEYdnSxI1o5MdkPoCoox449v8o2LS1AvE4cAVzTaZpgzpds9bv5BALGILdDZWFIimpWI5/s1600/IMG_0045-3.JPG" height="320" width="240" /></a> <span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS';">I met an enchantress today. A real siren. She gave me directions
when I lost my way home from the tailor after I promised him I knew how to get
back home. The neighborhood boys tried to help me and I tried to shoo them
away, and then the seas parted and there she was. She looked like Tinkerbell.
Her hijab was up in a bun and tied in the back the way the local girls do but
something about it made her look dangerous. The crowd of boys clearly had
respect for her. When she smiled she had four silver fillings on the right
side. Or maybe they were teeth. Both possibilities seem unlikely for a Moroccan
girl from the medina, so it could have been something else. Maybe she ate
glitter.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS"; mso-bidi-font-family: Helvetica;">Whatever it was, it was magical. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS"; mso-bidi-font-family: Helvetica;">I can't stop thinking about her and wishing I had asked if I could
take her picture. I think about going back to find her tomorrow but I know I
won't, and that is how I know I am not a photographer at heart. Not really. I
saw her, you didn't - finders keepers.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS"; mso-bidi-font-family: Helvetica;">I have not used any of the instant film I went to great lengths (and
several fake-crying incidents at customs) to bring without passing through a
security scanner.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiMcURhvDVxpZGBHQzoxxLRC0cVUUGRWnB0ClX1P9nBWwp4tJz6YUShKevSRs084BgktzRE07WbtIKYPTCZv4d95g2wHIBsjNOnZuXJubgO1vtT0DiRu7j-sM1RezATMGnxOsutXMjKqBc8/s1600/IMG_0192.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiMcURhvDVxpZGBHQzoxxLRC0cVUUGRWnB0ClX1P9nBWwp4tJz6YUShKevSRs084BgktzRE07WbtIKYPTCZv4d95g2wHIBsjNOnZuXJubgO1vtT0DiRu7j-sM1RezATMGnxOsutXMjKqBc8/s1600/IMG_0192.JPG" height="240" width="320" /></a><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS"; mso-bidi-font-family: Helvetica;">It's not that I am no longer enchanted by Tangier, but that
I have already taken all of the pictures, and now it is just the same pictures with a
different camera.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS"; mso-bidi-font-family: Helvetica;">I believe Allah inspired me with this sentiment as a blessing. The Islamic permissibility of photographs of people is disputed territory, and I am better
off safe than sorry.</span><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS";"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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s.alihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07886798188491798433noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3796373955378666097.post-5645107818781971952013-01-27T22:19:00.000+00:002014-07-06T05:46:48.953+00:00Miskeena<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">I keep mistaking
strangers for my few remaining friends in Tangier and it keeps me feeling safe
on the street. I realized that the reason I can never get a realistic
perspective on modern-day Tangier is because I have only only befriended crazy
people. People off their meds or damaged by years of drug use, or just senile. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"><br /></span></span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">I complained to my
favorite pizza man about still being single. He just got married five months
ago and told me I "missed my chance." He reminded me that he asked me
years ago and I denied remembering.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj1VuwkzQxQZQI-pbiwbElDrYXAFarGLNTFLU_Shv7JGiJfDkhgBYI7VqCG73nx6EwXw-2lGpI0pz_sPXGFBGx6r5taW9WQgi4qKPdhTGGUzKkocQiOVEPf0qCkfeSZjisM4dpHm44MWp8V/s1600/DSCN0941.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj1VuwkzQxQZQI-pbiwbElDrYXAFarGLNTFLU_Shv7JGiJfDkhgBYI7VqCG73nx6EwXw-2lGpI0pz_sPXGFBGx6r5taW9WQgi4qKPdhTGGUzKkocQiOVEPf0qCkfeSZjisM4dpHm44MWp8V/s400/DSCN0941.JPG" height="400" width="382" /></a><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">In my broken
derija/fus'ha: "It must have been a long time ago, when I still had my
beauty. Now, there is no man in the world that wants to marry me. Poor
girl."<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">Another boy chimed
in: "Any man would want to marry you. Anyone. Ask anyone."<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"><br /></span></span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">It was
inappropriate and heartwarming. I took my pizza and fled to the sanctuary that
is Cafe Paris. Where no one bothers me and the waiters seem genuinely relieved
that I am still alive. I successfully got all of them to call me Hajja Shifa. I
announce it to anyone who remembers me because it's the best thing I've ever
done, and like to follow it up with "I have a new heart!" in
desperation.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"><br /></span></span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">I suspect this may
have been the driving force behind "Tangier: Case Closed." To claim
that I have a new heart and I don't need the old one, wherever she is, lying in
a gutter somewhere. Probably in Beni Mekada.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"> Incidentally, I
also learned a new way to spell my name.</span></span><o:p></o:p></div>
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s.alihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07886798188491798433noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3796373955378666097.post-38062095320723248742013-01-22T22:34:00.001+00:002014-11-01T18:44:41.274+00:00She's at it again<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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Back to the land of <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">wakha,
shkoon, khssni</i>, and <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">bzzef</i>! Those
words that lie in concrete in my brain, sharing bunks with all of my fossilized
errors. Maybe I can bring them back to life so I can kill them. And then
fossilize them dead. </div>
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<br /></div>
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In Amman there are no old guys sitting on haystacks looking
out into the distance. On the train through Morocco heading north, there are
tons of them. It’s useless to keep score. Morocco will always win. For “Tangier
Take 5: Case Closed” I’m throwing projects out the window, and all I intend to
do is sit and stare at the sea and try to understand the conversations
happening around me. </div>
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<br /></div>
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O, how the tables have turned! </div>
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<br /></div>
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I once yearned for a space where no one knew me or knew my
last name and where I could sit and write about the funny things around me like
chickens wandering around cemeteries and cats climbing ladders. </div>
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<br /></div>
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But it is a new era and I should just be thankful that I am
not “lost in a gutter somewhere” as my mother so lovingly puts it. But Mom, I find some of my best things in gutters!<br />
Scribbled notes.<br />
Little baggies.<br />
Doll heads.<br />
<br /></div>
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I didn’t expect the hijab to make such a marked difference
in my public presence but it is truly a whole new world out there. I have not been
harassed at all with one exception, and even his delivery was so sincere it was
more like he felt bad for me. In fact, most strangers have been overly nice to
me and I suspect it is because they think I am a Syrian refugee. Sometimes they ask me if
I am and I don’t deny it.</div>
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<br /></div>
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And Tangier is taking good care of me. </div>
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Swaddled in 30 Dirham wool pajamas, I wake up to pancakes every morning, which I buy from the shop before the sunset prayer each night and put them
in my purse for safe keeping.</div>
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s.alihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07886798188491798433noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3796373955378666097.post-50160807704728769642013-01-07T03:52:00.001+00:002013-04-06T16:48:09.194+00:00Stories<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I'm mostly by-the-book, except for those in between times when I forget to bring my book, or the book ends. Then it's my job as a teacher to figure out a way to make the complexities of the world a little easier to understand, all on my own and often using the gift of mime. Because honestly, sometimes I have no idea if the kids actually understand English or are just pretending and following along with the lesson by looking at the pictures.</span></span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Reminiscent of that time I tried to teach my third grade African-American students the meaning of "prejudice" (did not go well), today I got to teach about slavery. The reading lesson in Ahmed's book was about Harriet Tubman. It took a while for him to understand what I meant by "people who worked all day but got no money and just a tiny bit of food and if they didn't listen- bam!" (It's really easy to mime "beating," which was one of his vocabulary words.) </span></span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">He asked the usual questions- </span></span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">1."How come they didn't escape?" Then he reenacted three scenes from Home Alone to show what the slaves should have done to trick their masters.</span></span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">2. "How come people thought black people were different from white people? Allah just made them that way!" A few minutes later he looked at me in horror and asked "Am I black?"</span></span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">3. "Why do we pay our servant? She has black skin. I'm going to tell my mom to stop paying her..."</span></span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi8IghqZh2eAIv4p0syc3bUibY6ic2L7a6AsOZbcQOxmsEIXVlGHZzgIG9woyX-z3gkKT9GsFkpSyH7Q6xvNzDLpWB3rVf7gevNEHbY8ALD26dTU8Xe06A6I0eBmDy4F7x1mBgjEnx0bVR0/s1600/shifukhalayusuf.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi8IghqZh2eAIv4p0syc3bUibY6ic2L7a6AsOZbcQOxmsEIXVlGHZzgIG9woyX-z3gkKT9GsFkpSyH7Q6xvNzDLpWB3rVf7gevNEHbY8ALD26dTU8Xe06A6I0eBmDy4F7x1mBgjEnx0bVR0/s400/shifukhalayusuf.jpg" width="400" /></span></span></a><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">That last one was his idea of a joke to lighten the mood. I think he could tell that I was trying to teach him something "important" because I looked so uncomfortable. It is just so strange to teach kids about the very concepts of racism and prejudice through a historically rooted context as "truth", y3anni, "this happened" - even while these ideas would never occur to them on their own.</span></span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Ahmed got really sad that Harriet's husband John didn't want to go North with her and cheered himself up by making up his own tune and dance to "Go Down, Moses." I am worried he might try to teach it to the housemaid.</span></span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">When I asked him to retell the story, he looked at the pictures and as kids will, tried to conjure something up that could resemble a narrative. In the last illustration, Harriet was basking in the sunlight with her arms up in triumph. </span></span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">"So, at the end, she lived in the North, alone, without John, and no kids. But she was making money, so it was okay..."</span></span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I asked if she was happy. "Yes, of course, look at her." He then began to more closely inspect the spots on her face where her skin was glistening from the sunlight, tracing them with his finger. His eyes grew wide and he looked as if he had cracked an impossible code. </span></span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">"Oh my God! At the end then she became white!"</span></span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">It's times like this that I wonder how much it affects my students to be getting my version of things, filled with hope that somewhere in the pile of my American English, facial expressions, miming, illustrations and stifled laughter, they are gleaning some gems of truth and isn't-that-amazing's and that's-just-the-way-it-is's. Because sometimes the pictures work against me.</span></span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">For today, I successfully stopped a kid from thinking that the slaves of the American South went North so they could become white. I've done my job.</span></span></div>
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s.alihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07886798188491798433noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3796373955378666097.post-59280403585677042472012-12-22T20:15:00.001+00:002013-02-04T19:36:28.410+00:00Neighborhood<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiibh0YgiHA5gJG2zIPr0E2Ln2uM3q_aHpH7v9JuvDex7ag9ljZzzdIbDTSmqTLFCiKEbNBEp3Fi48dEGxcnCRLmES0lVOM0IDgpenYnI0bFTq1QzLX_I5kHUrV5QxwihZrMc0oI48yHDG8/s1600/hudahillview.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiibh0YgiHA5gJG2zIPr0E2Ln2uM3q_aHpH7v9JuvDex7ag9ljZzzdIbDTSmqTLFCiKEbNBEp3Fi48dEGxcnCRLmES0lVOM0IDgpenYnI0bFTq1QzLX_I5kHUrV5QxwihZrMc0oI48yHDG8/s400/hudahillview.JPG" width="400" /></span></span></a></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">It's hard to fall off the map.</span></span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Especially for a girl who loves maps.</span></span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Traces them, embroiders them, doesn't scoff at others who claim to love maps. Saves them, mounts them, frames them. But then, everyone frames maps. </span></span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I can't help but want to be part of things.</span></span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhvjSXlo25hH5y7tErERWMU8tm2hPzEla6Xiu41YT4U8lqeyq24ba-OJSgO47EkQ-gqSswrOk6DGlGk0lGSCQYeBcBEtzYQsSlg2uhXp7N4d-zrEVh1a_7LPPnoth0ZoCFJTyY5__zQfftM/s1600/toiletview.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"></span></span></a><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">And I can't get over this obsession with wanting to befriend bedouins. They are my neighbors and I think we could be friends. At night I hear their footsteps as they rummage through the trash bins for thrown-away things of value. There are so many broken tiles in the trash and on the side of the road. We could make mosaics together and mount them on the walls of their little huts.</span></span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Today I found a toilet on the side of the road. It led to an opening in the tiny hill so you can peek through at the rolling hills and houses across the valley. A fertile place to make fertile friendships. But I fear my bedouin befriending days are over. We don't speak the same language and I'm not as approachable as usual when I am veiled. But I like to think I have a warm glow that says "I'm smiling at you from under here."</span></span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Global warming feels like a big hug from the universe and the infamous Jordan winter has yet to set in. The lines on the map are begging to be embroidered into the patterned cloth that I bought from the flea market but instead I spend my time drawing number bond worksheets and baking pumpkin cakes. A fertile place for a simple plan. </span></span></div>
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s.alihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07886798188491798433noreply@blogger.com0