Sacred Spaces in Kuwait
As I was on my way home from picking up milk and vegetables, I passed another local mosque undergoing renovation. Or at least, that is my best guess; it has been gutted and partially destroyed. I am guessing it is about to be reconstructed, but I don’t know for sure. I am only guessing because I have seen it happen to other mosques since we arrived.
And it got me thinking, and I am going to ask a question, but I will tell you before I ask it, that if you asked me the same question about Christian spaces, I would have to ask an expert; it is not a question I can answer about my own culture.
Do Moslems have sacred spaces? How are they made sacred? Is there a ceremony? If you are going to destroy parts of a building on a sacred space, does it have to be de-consecrated (made no-longer-sacred) while it is undergoing renovation? If a mosque is destroyed/no longer used is there a ceremony that makes it no longer a holy spot?
I know that in my religion, churches are consecrated, made officially holy, and that there is a ceremony. I know that in some places, churches that are no longer needed are deconsecrated, not made UNholy, but made not a sacred place of worship any more, and they become restaurants, housing, etc.
In my specific branch of Christianity, which is Episcopalian, there is a service for blessing a new house, which I love, and it is called a House Blessing. The priest comes, usually at dusk, you can have friends there, you carry candles and he blesses every room in the house. When we buy and move into a new house, we always have it blessed. The priest tells me that it is really a mis-nomer, it is not the house being blessed, but those who live within in. To me, that is a distinction that hardly matters, all I know is that I feel more secure in a house that has been blessed.
And no, there is no un-blessing ceremony when we leave a house. The blessing does not create a holy space, a place of worship, a sacred place, but only blesses a humble dwelling.
No, I don’t understand exactly how this all works.
I remember travelling in Syria with an archaeology group one time, and we went to see the site of St. Simeon the Stylite. In my cynical heart, I was not wild about the visit – a saint who sat atop a huge rock for several years to show his devotion to God? When I got there, however, my heart changed – it felt like a holy place. It felt like Saint Simeon had done a holy act, demonstrating his faith so . . . faithfully. If you know Syria, you know how bitterly cold it can be in winter, and how bone-breakingly hot it can be in summer. The pure grit and devotion it took to stay atop the pillar of stone was an amazingly faithful act. It felt like a sacred place, a holy place, to me.
So my question is not just for the Moslem readers, but also for Christian readers – what makes a space holy? Does it need a ceremony to be holy? Does it need a ceremony if it will no longer be used for sacred purposes?
Jackknife
The Kuwait Times crime editor has come across a new term, and now he is using it every chance he gets. It is driving me crazy.
See if you can pick it out:
Policeman Injured
A policeman was injured after his patrol vehicle jackknifed when he lost control of the steering with the car coming to a rest upside down in the road. The officer managed to use the car’s radio to call for assistance and emergency services were quickly rushed to the scene, rushing the injured policeman to hospital.
Unless the police officer was driving a sectioned vehical; a car towing a trailer, a truck carrying a connected load – something that can be BENT, FOLDED, like a jackknife –
– then it is NOT a jackknifed vehicle. Most police vehicles are sedans. A sedan cannot jackknife.
This is the explanation from Wikipedia:
Jackknifing means the accidental folding of an articulated vehicle (i.e. one towing a trailer) such that it resembles the acute angle of a folding pocket knife. If a vehicle towing a trailer skids, the trailer can push it from behind until it spins round and faces backwards. This may be caused by equipment failure, improper braking, or adverse road conditions such as an icy road surface.
Jackknifing is not very common and usually only happens to an empty vehicle. Most truck drivers are skillful enough to correct a skid before it becomes a jackknife. It would be an exaggeration to claim that jackknifing accounts for a large number of tractor-semitrailer accidents since in many cases it is the collision that would have caused the vehicle to jackknife and not vice versa. Radio stations often report jackknifed trucks because people phone to tell them, but more often than not, the truck has not technically jackknifed; it may be stuck in the snow or damaged in a crash.
Five Under Five Tag – You’re It!
It’s a slow summer day, not a lot going on, so let’s play.
I was making the Pasta Melanzane and added some sun-dried tomatoes when the smell suddenly reached my nose and I was caught by the sweet intensity of the smell. I thought to myself “so much flavor! and at so little cost!” and it started a whole train of thought.
What gives your life pleasure and doesn’t cost much? Here are the rules – the cost of your pleasure must be under 5KD (under $20 for my USA players). See if you can think of five. If you find more than five, you can list those too, if you want – the rules here are pretty vague. so – give me five!
Here are mine:
1. The sound of my husband whistling – it means he is feeling peaceful, even happy.
2. Moments with my family when I suddenly realize how special they are, and truly treasure our time together.
3. The intense flavor of sun-dried tomatoes.
4. The sound of waves crashing onto the shore.
5. The smell of the sea, cloves, lavender, baked apples, roasting meat, a fresh pine Christmas tree,
the first rain in a dry, dusty country.
Bonus: The smell of Comfort fabric softener on laundered underwear. 🙂
The sound of my friend’s voice when I don’t expect a call from her.
AIDS and Africa
Listening to BBC yesterday, I learned that in Ghana, men forbid their wives to get HIV testing. If the wife tests positive, it makes public his own shame, carrying HIV, and they don’t want people to know they are infected. They will even resist being treated rather than confess to having HIV.
Recently a Ghanian man divorced his wife for testing positive, even denied he was infected. She states he is the only man she has ever been with. He said she is bringing shame on him, going public.
What tragedy. What folly. Life enhancing, life prolonging drug treatments are available. First, you have to acknowledge you are infected. And, of course, if the women do not get tested, the dreaded disease passes along to the babies.
The newspaper recently published an article that 129 Kuwaitis are HIV positive. I imagine the problems here are similar, that people would prefer it all be kept very private. Is that possible? Is confidentiality respected? Do couples have blood tests before getting married?
Khadra and The Swallows of Kabul
While waiting for our luggage to be offloaded, we were passing time, visiting with our greeter / expediter, asking about his family, his life in Zambia.
“How does this work, travelling with your son and your daughter-in-law?” he asked us. “Do you like her?”
Nothing on earth could disguise the delight on our faces as we both said “Yes!” We truly adore her.
When our son was only seven years old, a Christian speaker passing through said that if you have children, it is likely that their mates have also been born, so to start praying now for the unknown mate your child would choose, and we did.
When our son called us from university, and told us there was someone he wanted us to meet at graduation, and graduation was still months away, we knew, we just knew, that this might be THE ONE.
We were so delighted when we met her, we liked her immediately. What parent isn’t happy to see his/her son/daughter happy, and choosing well?
“But!” our meeter/greeter added, “how do you like her family?”
And we laughed again! We love her family! Her father is smart and very funny, and her mother is kind and practical, and we all share the same values on family and friends and living our lives. She comes from a large rowdy family that gathers when they can, and so do we.
And YOU are thinking “what does all this have to do with The Swallows of Kabul?” but I am getting there.
On the trip, we all had books for our quiet time, and I could see EnviroGirl deeply engrossed in this book. When I asked her, she said she had gotten it from her father’s wife, a woman with whom I often talk books, and that she (EnviroGirl) was trying to finish it so that she could leave it with me.
And thank goodness that she did! I couldn’t put it down!
First, you think it is written by Yasmina Khadra, but that is a pseudonym. The real author, Mohammed Moulessehoul, was Algerian army officer, and he used the pseudonym to avoid having to submit the manuscript for approval by military authorities. That got my attention right away.
The book is about Taleban era Afghanistan, and starts out with utter hopelessness, describing the deterioration in life brought about by the arbitrary imposition of religious rule, as interpreted by men who have memorized the Qur’an, but have a poor understanding of what they have memorized. Women lead a dismal, limited life, at the mercy of men who treat them as detestable if they are seen in public, even totally cloaked.
His language is beautiful, poetic and compelling, even describing despair and desolation.
We meet two couples, Atiq, a jailer, and his wife, Musarrat, who risked her own life to save his life back when he was seriously wounded and left for dead, and Mohsen, former member of a moderately successful merchant family, married to the love of his life, Zunaira, who is beautiful, educated and from a wealthy background. These men love their wives, and have a strong, genuine connection to them. Their ability to maintain that connection, and to stay connected to their own values, withers in the dry, dusty context of fundamentalist rule.
Their lives and relationships have been changing gradually, increasingly limited and undignified under the stress of Taleban rule, and the novel follows a rapid spiral of deterioration and folly. The steady decline of their lives speeds when Mohsen makes a terrible impulsive decision, has to live with the consequences, and confesses to his wife.
Atiq, too, faces dismal consequences. Even though we know he is limited, he becomes a sympathetic character. His hardness of heart covers a genuine grief that his wife is dying, and he can do nothing to stop it, nor to alleviate her pain.
We all face hard times. In our family, when someone lashes out unjustly, we often ask “is it something I have done, or am I just the nearest dog to kick?” It always gets a laugh, and it puts things back in perspective, puts us on the same side. Sometimes we can’t always vent our frustrations against those people or events creating the frustration, so we take it out on those we love – and who love us. It’s not right, it’s not fair or just, but it is very human, and once you get that out on the table, it is easier to discuss the real issue.
When Zunaira ends up in jail, Atiq’s world is shattered as if by an earthquake – the earth moves under his feet, all his understanding of life is shaken.
“As he cleans up, he cautiously lifts his eyes to the roof beam looming over the cell like a bird of evil augury, and his gaze lingers on the anemic little lightbulb, growing steadily dimmer in its ceiling socket. Screwing his courage to the sticking point, he walks back to the lone occupied cell, and there, in the very middle of the cage, the magical vision: the prisoner has removed her burqa! She’s sitting cross-legged on the floor. Her elbows are on her knees, her hands are joined under her chin. She’s praying. Atiq is thunderstruck. Never before has he seen such splendor. With her godess’s profile, her long hair spread across her back, and her enormous eyes, like horizons, the condemned woman is beautiful beyond imagination. She’s like a dawn, gathering brightness in the heart of this poisonour, squalid, fatal dungeon.
Except for his wife’s, Atiq hasn’t seen a woman’s face for many years. He’s even learned to live without such sights. For him, women are only ghosts, voiceless, charmless ghosts that pass practically unnoticed along the streets; flocks of infirm swallows – blue, yellow, often faded, several seasons behind – that make a mournful sound when they come into the proximity of men.
And all at once, a veil falls and a miracle appears. Atiq can’t get over it. A complete, solid woman? A genuine tangible woman’s face, also complete, right here in front of him? He’s been cut off from such a forbidden sight for so long that he believed it had been banished even from people’s imaginations. . . ”
Atiq has a friend, Mirza, who thrives under Taleban rule, as a soldier, and also running illegal businesses highly profitable under the current regime. He encourages Atiq to abandon his cancer-striken wife, to get rid of her and to find a fresh, young wife. He offers Atiq shady business opportunities, and tells him a wise man bends with the wind. Ignorance and chaos benefit Mirza, and he has no wish to see the good old days return.
In spite of the bleakness, the desolation, the crushing arbitrariness and inhumanity, there is hope, love, and compassion in a thin, steady stream throughout the book.
Once I started reading, I had to finish. It was a great book for the long trip back to Kuwait, one I am eager to pass along to the next avid reader.
The Zambia Adventure Begins
AdventureMan and I were watching Kite Runner, which we thought did a really great job on an amazing book, when we could hear our VOIP phone ring. I ran, because I broke the message-taking phone, and if I don’t get to this one by the fifth ring it goes to a message place online that I have trouble accessing.
It was our son, from the Atlanta airport, en route to Lusaka with his beautiful bride, just calling to let us know he is on the way.
We went back and watched the movie, but I had one of those nagging thoughts that just wouldn’t leave me alone.
As soon as the movie ended, I turned on the computer and checked our trip folder. . . hmmmm. I thought we were all meeting up in Johannisburg, but it seems like they are leaving awfully early. I check, and sure enough . . . I have totally screwed up. They are arriving in Johannisburg a day before we are! I have only made reservations for one night!
I quickly call our son back, and as he answers, I can hear someone in the background saying “I need your passport” and I quickly tell him the situation, and to my great surprise, he just laughs. “I need for you to be flexible,” I say, “I am going to try to contact the hotel and the Robin Pope Safari people to make sure you have a room when you arrive, but we won’t be there! Find a shuttle to the Taj Pamodzi and I will do everything I can to make sure you have a room waiting there!”
Again, he laughs and says they will be fine.
I can’t believe it. I’ve just told him he is going to a totally strange city and he doesn’t know the city and may or may not have a hotel room waiting and he just laughs. He is boarding the plane when we hang up, en route on a grueling Delta Airlines flight that leaves Atlanta for Dakar, Senegal en route to Johannesburg, South Africa.
When we all finally meet up in Lusaka, they tell us the whole story.
The night before they are to leave, our son gets a call from CheapTickets telling them they no longer have tickets. The flight they were on from Pensacola to Atlanta was rescheduled, and somehow, it caused all the reservations to be cancelled.
Smart guy that he is, he grabs his bride and they hustle to the airport to deal with Delta directly. A very kind and patient woman re-writes and re-issues the entire ticket, and the next day, they are on their way, but not without some very bad moments between being told their tickets are no good and finding the good Delta woman who can fix everything.
Meanwhile, I write to both the hotel and Robin Pope Safaris grovelling in mortification – it is totally MY fault that I didn’t get the dates right, not their problem, but I sure could use their help. By the next day – the day we are departing – I hear from both, telling me that a room will be waiting for them. Al hamd’allah, we breathe a sigh of relief, and hope that all the plane connections go smoothly.
RPS has a great guy, Dave, to meet us on arrival at Lusaka and to help us get our visas and to get as quickly as possible to the hotel, so we can meet up with our son and his bride.
It is such a relief. When you plan a trip like this, there are no guarantees everything will go smoothly – and it doesn’t. That’s a big part of the adventure. When son and bride got to Johannesburg, they were told they did NOT have seats on the flight to Lusaka, but at the very last minute, they were sent Business Class. We are sitting in the bar, whooping with laughter as we hear all the near misses, all the . . .hmmm. . . “adventures” that went into us all experiencing this miracle, the four of us in Lusaka together.
You know me and photos:
Lusaka International Airport
Lusaka at night
Lusaka by day
Taj Pamodzi Hotel
And you know how I like signs to capture the flavor of a place:
One little postscript – I often use Trip Advisor when planning a trip, especially chosing hotels or places to shop or sites to be sure to visit. If I had listened to Trip Advisor, I probably wouldn’t have stayed at the Taj Pamodzi; several reviewers were very negative. Our experience was just the opposite. People could not have been more friendly, more helpful. They were equally friendly and helpful to our son and his bride the 24 hours they were there without us. The front desk people were efficient and professional, the restaurant and bar service was supurb and we were very satisfied.
The Worst Thing About The Best Vacation
“This is the BEST vacation we’ve ever had,” AdventureMan said to me, and I agreed.
The only problem with the best vacation we have ever had, ever, is coming back to normality.
I might be a little slow getting up and running, my friends, as the Qatteri Cat needs a lot of snuggling, the laundry needs doing (hate to wash out the smell of the campfires), I am planning for the next trip, and even the one after that (details details details, but cars need to be reserved, hotel reservations made, doctor appointments, visits with friends and family . . ) and oh yeh, guess we might be needing some groceries!
I wasn’t planning to blog today, but when I saw all your comments, I was a goner.
Have you noticed there is more time in your day when you are not blogging?
Minister Proposes Eliminating Prostitution Entirely
From today’s Al Watan / Daily Star:
Minister vows to eradicate prostitution
KUWAIT: Interior Minister Sheikh Jaber AlـKhaled AlـSabah on Wednesday pledged to eradicate prostitution and close down any brothels in all of Kuwait”s districts. He said that the ministry will not hesitate to take legal action against any person or official who does not accomplish his role in banning such unethical behavior.
“Kuwait”s territory means a lot to us, and I am extremely concerned about the entire country, not just one district,” said AlـKhalid.
Sheikh Jaber said that the ministry intends to launch a major campaign against brothels and prostitution, in order to end such phenomena in Kuwait. ـAgencies
My comment: I commend the Minister, and I admire his resolve. I hate prostitution; I hate the fakery involved, I hate what it does to the prostitutes, their futures, and how it damages family relations.
But how do you stop prostitution? How can you eliminate the supply, when the demand continues? Instead of the pathetic prostitutes and their demented pimps, perhaps the focus should be on the customers who encourage prostitution to exist?
Japan, Seeking Trim Waists, Measures Millions
This article, from The New York Times (you can read the entire article by clicking here) gives me a big grin.
I can’t imagine American lining up because the government says we will have our waists measured, and be expected to meet a certain standard or lose weight and be penalized. Can you imagine Kuwaitis allowing the government to tell them how big their waists can be?
Japan is one of the most law-abiding nations on earth – I guess you have to be, when you have so many people occupying so little space. When you think of the Japanese, you think of politeness, courtesy. Outbreaks of rage are an anomoly.
And the government is right – obesity causes more and more expense down the road because it exacerbates other conditions. But someone’s weight is a very personal thing!
By NORIMITSU ONISHI
Published: June 13, 2008
A poster at a public health clinic in Japan reads, “Goodbye, metabo,” a word associated with being overweight. The Japanese government is mounting an ambitious weight-loss campaign.
Summoned by the city of Amagasaki one recent morning, Minoru Nogiri, 45, a flower shop owner, found himself lining up to have his waistline measured. With no visible paunch, he seemed to run little risk of being classified as overweight, or metabo, the preferred word in Japan these days.
But because the new state-prescribed limit for male waistlines is a strict 33.5 inches, he had anxiously measured himself at home a couple of days earlier. “I’m on the border,” he said.
Under a national law that came into effect two months ago, companies and local governments must now measure the waistlines of Japanese people between the ages of 40 and 74 as part of their annual checkups. That represents more than 56 million waistlines, or about 44 percent of the entire population.
Those exceeding government limits — 33.5 inches for men and 35.4 inches for women, which are identical to thresholds established in 2005 for Japan by the International Diabetes Federation as an easy guideline for identifying health risks — and having a weight-related ailment will be given dieting guidance if after three months they do not lose weight. If necessary, those people will be steered toward further re-education after six more months.
To reach its goals of shrinking the overweight population by 10 percent over the next four years and 25 percent over the next seven years, the government will impose financial penalties on companies and local governments that fail to meet specific targets. The country’s Ministry of Health argues that the campaign will keep the spread of diseases like diabetes and strokes in check.
The ministry also says that curbing widening waistlines will rein in a rapidly aging society’s ballooning health care costs, one of the most serious and politically delicate problems facing Japan today. Most Japanese are covered under public health care or through their work. Anger over a plan that would make those 75 and older pay more for health care brought a parliamentary censure motion Wednesday against Prime Minister Yasuo Fukuda, the first against a prime minister in the country’s postwar history.
Jody Shields and The Fig Eater
This is one of those books I picked up off the staff recommendations shelf at Barnes and Noble – one of the very best sources for cult classics like Wicked: The Life and Times of the Wicked Witch of the West, books that don’t get a lot of press hype but whose readership grows slowly by word-of-mouth.
The cover caught my eye. This woman is dressed modestly enough, all the important parts are covered, but look at her eyes – there is a sultriness there, and a challenge that I find intriguing. This shows signs already of being an-out-of the-ordinary book.
The book opens in the early 1900’s with a murder. We follow the investigations of the chief Inspector, and we follow the parallel investigations of his wife, a Hungarian, Erszebet, and her ally, the English Wally. It’s a mystery, and in this exquisite book, the process of solving the mystery is so much more interesting than who actually did it, or even why.
The most fascinating character in The Fig Eater is the nature of fin de siecle Vienna, it’s customs, it’s caste system, it’s manners, and the fusion of East and West. Entire meals are described, cafe’s, cakes, cooking methods. Clothing is described in loving detail, and we visit a tuburculosis sanitarium as well as an insane asylum.
We study Kriminalistics with the Inspector and his assistant, we learn the fundamentals of early photography from an three fingered photographer. We experience early Viennese medical practices.
We learn all kinds of Hungarian superstitions and beliefs, we dance at the Fasching Balls of Vienna, and we simmer with the repressed sexuality of the times. We mourn with the bereaved, we shiver in the cold winter, and we steam in the brutal heat of an extended summer.
The end is so totally unexpected that I had to go back and read it again. My bet is, that if you accept the challenge of reading this book, you will have to, too. Even after you have read it again, you will not be totally sure what has happened, and yet . . . it is a satisfying ending.
This was a wonderful read.
I will leave you with a quote:
The Inspector has always prided himself on his ability to listen, as a good Burger is confident of his business acumen. During interrogations, he can distinguish the different qualities of the witnesses silence, as if it were a tone of voice.
He had admonished Franz more than once for interrupting him. Don’t be so hasty. Slow down and listen. In the Pythagorean system, disciples would spend five years listening before they were allowed to ask a single question. That was in the 4th Century BC. Another philosopher, Philo of Alexandria, wrote about Banquets of Silence, where even the correct posture for listening was determined.
In Kriminalistic there is a text on the subject. He orders Franz to read it as part of his lesson. “To observe how the person question listens is a rule of primary importance, and if the officer observes it he will arrive at his goal more quickly than by the hours of examination.”
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