T’fadl(i), God Whispers
Arriving back in Doha, it’s Ramadan, and it’s like Christmas. Not the way Christmas is supposed to be, but the way Christmas sometimes brings out the very worst in us. At the grocery store, the very first indication is the parking – I suppose it might be this bad from time to time, but today it felt like everyone was in the ME FIRST mode. The parking lot was congested with guys just sitting and waiting for their riders to come back, and people afraid that the parking spot they had their eye on was going to be taken by someone else. There were moments of gridlock, and impatient honking.
It’s easier for me to handle than for those who are fasting.
Inside the store, the faces are stern and their is an air of desperation. Women are looking for new ways to provide special meals (imagine, having to come up with an entire month of special meals!) and I imagine the budgets are strained right now, especially with the big Eid coming up.
We all know that we are to humble ourselves and to give way to others. We are told to do more than just give way, but to give way willingly, and with grace, with a smile. It’s something our two religions share, the emphasis on humbling oneself to serve the greater good. The meaning of the polite Arabic t’fadl (to a man) or t’fadli (to a woman), it means, literally, you are to be preferred (over/before me). It is my spiritual exercise during Ramadan, when everyone else is pushing and shoving and grabbing and taking priority, that I am relishing deferring, elaborate politeness, and giving the hand sign for patience (palm up, fingers together, thumb on middle finger, pushing upward) to those who are honking at me while I wait for someone to back out of the parking space I don’t even need.
It probably doesn’t get me any points, spiritually, to be so aggressively polite; I am enjoying it too much.
Joke for Women
A sixteen year-old boy came home with a new Chevrolet Avalanche and his
parents began to yell and scream, ‘Where did you get that truck???!!!’
He calmly told them, ‘I bought it today.’
‘With what money?’ demanded his parents. They knew what a Chevrolet
Avalanche cost.
‘Well,’ said the boy, ‘this one cost me just fifteen dollars.’ So the
parents began to yell even louder. ‘Who would sell a truck like that for
fifteen dollars?’ they said.
‘It was the lady up the street,’ said the boy. I don’t know her name –
they just moved in. She saw me ride past on my bike and asked me if I
wanted to buy a Chevrolet Avalanche for fifteen dollars.’
‘Oh my Goodness!,’ moaned the mother, ‘she must be a child abuser. Who knows
what she will do next? John, you go right up there and see what’s going
on.’ So the boy’s father walked up the street to the house where the lady
lived and found her out in the yard calmly planting petunias!
He introduced himself as the father of the boy to whom she had sold a new
Chevrolet Avalanche for fifteen dollars and demanded to know why she did it.
‘Well,’ she said, ‘this morning I got a phone call from my husband.. (I
thought he was on a business trip, but learned from a friend he had run off
to Hawaii with his mistress and really doesn’t intend to come back)
He claimed he was stranded and needed cash, and asked me to sell his new
Chevrolet Avalanche and send him the money.
So I did.’
(Are women good or what?)
Ramadan Mubarak 2009
(image from Islam101/Ramadan)
Greetings and best wishes from AdventureMan and me to all of our Muslim friends, fasting and purifying themselves during the Muslim month of Ramadan. May your fasting and your prayers bless you abundantly, and may the month build your spiritual wholeness in every good way.
Friday, during our church service, our priest asked the congregation if any of us had literature explaining why the Muslim God was not the same as the Christian God. We all looked at him in shock. Not one person raised his or her hands.
Then he smiled, a great big broad grin and said “Good! There is only one God, and our Moslem brothers and sisters worship the same one-God we do.”
His sermon was on one of the “hard teachings” of Jesus, teachings even those closest to him had trouble understanding. That there are not exceptions to the rules, that the rules apply across the board, to us all, to all creatures God created. When the Jews, the chosen ones, rejected Jesus, they had allowed a focus on the laws to take the place of the spirit of the law – that we love God, and that as a part of loving God, we serve him by loving and serving one another, regardless of divisions, of denominations or sects.
May all the blessings of the true spirit of Ramadan be yours, my brothers and sisters.
(Yes, Purg, you ARE my brother. 🙂 )
Maggie O’Farrell and The Vanishing Act of Esme Lennox
Maggie O’Farrel’s The Vanishing Act of Esme Lennox is also a book club pick, but oh, what a pick! I remember somewhere reading a review; I might never have picked this book up if I hadn’t needed to read it for the club. And oh, what I might have missed!
It’s like the scariest book ever written, scary in a Margaret Atwood kind of way, a reminder that women have not had rights for very long, and that those rights are still very fragile. When economies go bottoms-up, when unemployment begins rising, women are often the first to suffer, and women’s rights the first to go. In hard times, men will be preferred hirings, because they have families to support, laws to “protect” women are passed, especially laws which “protect” her finances, meaning gives the power of the money management to some man to do for her, or “protect” her person by requiring that some man accompany her to keep her from dangers. Protection = control. It keeps some smart, thinking women submissive to men who are in every way their inferior.
In Vanishing, Maggie O’Farrel writes of such a woman, Esme Lennox, who is a fey spirit, born in India, with the eyes of an artist. While her “good” sister Kitty obeys the rules, walks the straight and narrow path, Esme is messier. As she grows to adolescence, her eccentricity and her rebellion against the constricts of the life in turn-of-the-century Scotland chafe, she yearns for more room to breathe, intellectually, socially, as her family, her community and her society continues to pressure her to conform.
One of the key events in the book is the death of Esme’s baby brother, of typhoid fever. Abandoned, Esme sits holding her dead brother’s body for three days until her family returns (the baby-keeper also died and the other employees deserted while Esme’s family was away). Esme is devastated, but the focus is on her mother, who is wrought with guilt and isolates herself, and Esme, only a little girl, is forbidden to even say her beloved baby brother’s name. Part of what plays a huge role in this book is society, expectations, and all that is hidden and unspoken – as Esme becomes, a family secret, locked away for sixty years.
Their grandmother swept into the room ‘Kitty,’ there was an unaccustomed smile on her face, ‘stir yourself. You have a visitor.’
Kitty put down her needle. ‘Who?’
Their mother appeared behind the grandmother. ‘Kitty,’ she said ‘quickly put that away. He’s here, he’s downstairs . . . ‘
. . . .
Esme watched from the window-seat as her mother started fiddling with Kitty’s hari, tucking it behind her ears, then releasing it. . . . . Ishbel turned and, catching sight of Esme at the window, said ‘You, too. Quickly now.’
Esme took the stairs slowly. She had no desire to meet one of Kitty’s suitors. They all seemed the same to her – nervous men with over-combed hair, scrubbed hands and pressed shirts. They came and drank tea, and she and Kitty were expected to talk to them while their mother sat like an umpire in a chair across the room. The whole thing made Esme want to burst into honesty, to say, let’s forget this charade, do you want to marry her or not?
She dawdled on the landing, looking at a grim, grey-skied watercolour of the Fife coast. But her grandmother appeared in the hall below. ‘Esme!’ she hissed, and Esme clattered down the stairs.
In the drawing room, she plumped down in a chair with high arms in the corner. She wound her ankles round its polished legs and eyed the suitor. The same as ever. Perhaps a little more good-looking than some of the others. Blond hair, an arrogant forehead, fastidious cuffs. He was asking Ishbel something about the roses in a bowl on the table. Esme had to repress the urge to roll her eyes. Kitty was sitting bolt upright on the sofa, pouring tea into a cup, a blush creeping up her neck.
Esme began playing the game she often played with herself at times like this, looking over the room and working out how she might get round it without touching the floor. She could climb from the sofa to the low table and, from there, to the fender stool. Along that, and then –
She realized her mother was loooking at her, saying something.
‘What was that?” Esme said.
‘James was addressing you.’ her mother said, and the slight flare of her nostrils meant, Esme knew, that she’d better behave or there would be trouble later.
As with many inconvenient women, Esme ends up committed at a loony-bin, and sixty years later, is released into the custody of a grand-niece who never even knew Esme existed.
The thoughts, trials and escapades of three women, Esme, her sister Kitty, and Iris, the grand-niece, intertwine through out the book, and the picture is cloudy at first, blurry, shifting, fragmented The pattern becomes more and more clear as the three threads of thought are woven – ever more tightly – together.
I could not put this book down. Finding out how the picture came together became more important than checking my messages, my blog, or fixing dinner. It was compelling, and resulted in a quick and unforgettable read.
Obama and Dreams From My Father
It took me 20 days, but I finished Barack Obama’s Dreams From My Father. I didn’t read it because he is President of the United States, although that would be a good reason, but I read it because our book club is reading it, and I know how busy the next few months are going to be, so I read ahead during the slower times of summer.
And the trick to finishing it was not allowing myself to read anything else until I had finished – I had a stack of really intriguing books to urge me on. “As soon as I finish, I can read . . . ” Even with all that incentive, Obama’s book is a slog.
He is a gifted orator. He is a plodding writer. There is also a problem I find with autobiographies by anyone – we all fool ourselves, we all position ourselves in a better light, and we have no idea how transparent we are when we do so. Fellow bloggers, do you ever read anything you have written a couple years ago and squirm with embarrassment, or even delete? To be an author is a very very brave thing, when you have a book published, there is no going back, your transgressions are all right out there, and the public can be cruelly critical.
What I liked about the book is Obama-as-Third-Culture-Kid, a man of mixed identity. Most kids who have grown up moving or grown up in different countries from their own, or who have immigrated, can tell you, being an alien is no fun. Obama learns how to adapt, how to look for clues to fitting in, how to pass. It’s a common theme in Third-Culture-Kids.
My favorite part of the book was his return to Kenya, his openness to his African roots, the open-armed love with which his Kenyan half-brothers and sisters welcome him and his response. He had some truly extraordinary adventures, working out just who his father had been as a person. He was blessed to recognize the richness of his inheritance.
The book plods along, but it was worth the time. For all it’s flaws, I find I like that man, and I understand more about where he is coming from. (for grammarians, I understand more about from where the man is coming.) 🙂
Doha Hazard
I’m driving along, getting ready to get in the right turn lane, when all of a sudden ahead of me, I can see a change in grade: Roadworks. Only in my lane. Here is the hazard – I can get in the lane now, and bump along, or I can stay in my curent lane and switch later, but I don’t know how many other drivers are adopting that strategy, and if I don’t make the right turn, I have to go many blocks out of my way. I signal and get in the raw, bumpy lane.
There just isn’t any good time to do roadworks. Some of the roads have serious potholes, many of the side roads have other serious defects. They have to be fixed, but oh the mess, the inconvenience. It’s the same in Kuwait, it’s the same in Seattle. I think of the bureaucrats who have to raise the funds (at least in Kuwait and Doha, it’s not taxes!), hire the companies, make the decisions and bear the howling complaints of the inconvenienced while the necessary work takes place.
At least on this day traffic is flowing smoothly and drivers are making allowances for one another. Things could be a lot worse.
Mixed Message: Doha Dressing
With all the advisories going out, to both men and women but seemingly especially pointed at women, telling us to cover up, and be respectful of local culture and traditions, and especially not to dress disturbingly during Ramadan, I had to smile today in the mall (no not The Mall, another mall) when I saw these darling dresses in the window. OK, so we buy the dresses – who could resist? WHERE can we wear these dresses?
(They really are adorable dresses, and the Ramadan sales are already cranking up, Wooo HOOOO!)
Skimpy Clothing in Qatar
Yesterday, there was a report of two Filipina gals arrested for wearing shorts and halter tops to a local mall. This morning, we saw spaghetti straps, totally strapless tops, and very bare halter tops at brunch. When new people come to work here, are the companies giving them any guidelines? Are the women (in particular) listening?
We lived in Tunis in the early 1980’s, and an artist friend silkscreened some gorgeous t-shirts which said, in Arabic – We are not tourists, we live here. Tunis was inundated with European tourists, on vacation, wearing very little and many interested in a vacation “romance.” These tourists made it very difficult for the rest of us, who worked and lived in Tunis and respected the customs of modest dress, and who did NOT want romance or even attention. We just wanted to live our mundane little lives in peace! But who could blame the men? To them, we were all the same, Western. To them, Western equalled loose. It made life very difficult for us. (she says with gritted teeth!)
From today’s Peninsula:
‘All men and women should avoid wearing skimpy dress’
Web posted at: 7/24/2009 3:8:12
Source ::: THE PENINSULA
DOHA: As the controversy over women from some nationalities wearing revealing clothes rages, there are some citizens who believe that females from some Arab nationalities cannot be excluded from these categories.
Perhaps, they (some Arab women) wear more revealing clothes than their Western counterparts, is the view of these citizens who call for waging a campaign to create public awareness about following a dress code in the public.
Men, especially those who wear sleeveless undergarments and half pants exposing themselves while in the public, are also a target of those who believe that a strict dress code should be followed by all foreigners in the country to respect local social and religious values and traditions.
Here is what some people, including men and women, feel about the issue:
Rashid Hassan — Qatari
“The embassies of major manpower exporting countries here should take a cue from the diplomatic mission of the US, which recently released an advisory for US nationals urging them not to wear revealing clothes. The embassies should also make people from their countries here aware of local social and religious traditions and the need to respect them.”
“We must also launch an awareness campaign. And in shopping centers, particularly which families frequent, security personnel should be trained and alerted to stop such people who are wearing revealing dresses from entering the premises.
“These security personnel should be Arab nationals because only they will be able to help enforce the dress code.”
Rakesh Patel — Indian
“We have to respect local social and religious values and traditions. We have come here to work, make some savings and go back to our respective home countries. So it is binding on us that as long as we are here, we must follow the local norms and traditions and not hurt in any way the sentiments of local people.”
“Like the US embassy, the Indian embassy here should also launch an awareness campaign for Indian expatriates on the issue. The embassy of the Philippines has also recently waged a similar campaign. It’s a welcome move. I am all for respecting local values and traditions at any cost.”
Wesal Hilmi — Syrian
“I am surprised that some married women are among those who wear revealing clothes. We don’t agree with such people. They have to respect our cultural, social and religious values which are reflected in the way we dress.”
“We have been hearing that a committee (at the government) has been set up which is
Looking into the issue and it is gearing up to launch an awareness campaign. If it is true it is a welcome development.”
Ahmed Sabir — Egyptian
“Arabs and Muslims like to cling to their heritage and culture. It is unfortunate that some foreigners here do not show any respect for our social values and traditions. However, we cannot force them to wear what we would like them to, but we can launch an awareness campaign and raise the issue with them. We can convince them through these campaigns to respect our culture, religious values and traditions.”
“In Ramadan, they do show respect for our values and practices. Likewise, they should be made aware and urged to respect our traditions as regards our dressing habits and the need not to wear revealing clothes in public.”
Sherwin — Flipino
“We are here to work. We must respect local people, their social and religious values and traditions.”
Vachy — Filipina
“We must follow and encourage what our country’s embassy here is doing urging us to respect local traditions. They should enforce a law in Qatar making a strict dress code in accordance with local traditions, mandatory.”
Abdullah Hussein — Qatari
“What one wears is one’s own choice. We can’t force people to wear clothes we like. It’s a matter of individual freedom and I believe in personal freedom.”
“I agree that people should respect our social and religious values and traditions, but they should do it voluntarily. We cannot force them. We can only make them aware through campaigns. We can convince them about that and we have to be extremely polite doing that.”
What we don’t want is for the Qataris to get to the point of forming the kind of morality police they have in Saudi Arabia, armed with sticks for hitting offenders, and with arbitrary powers to sort-of arrest offenders. If we don’t monitor ourselves, that is the risk we take.
This is not our country. We do not have the right to dress as we would back home. Please, get a clue.
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