The Little Prisoner and Child Abuse
Of all the books our book club read this year, The Little Prisoner by Jane Elliott (not her real name) was the most troublesome. The first one to finish said it was boring and repetitive. The second refused to read it at all, that the content would have images that would polute her mind. Both were right, and at the same time, if we refuse to look at what troubles us, we collude with the abuser.
I hate bullying. A man who beats and plays sexual games with a child is a bully and worse – he is a betrayer of trust. Children come into the world pure, clean slates. They can create their own mischief, their own evil, but to be corrupted by an adult – that is the absolute worst sin.
Today’s Gospel reading in The Lectionary is about this very behavior – that betrayal and/or corruption of a child is a huge sin against God:
Matthew 18:1-14
18 At that time the disciples came to Jesus and asked, ‘Who is the greatest in the kingdom of heaven?’ 2 He called a child, whom he put among them, 3 and said, ‘Truly I tell you, unless you change and become like children, you will never enter the kingdom of heaven. 4 Whoever becomes humble like this child is the greatest in the kingdom of heaven. 5 Whoever welcomes one such child in my name welcomes me.
6 ‘If any of you put a stumbling-block before one of these little ones who believe in me, it would be better for you if a great millstone were fastened around your neck and you were drowned in the depth of the sea. 7 Woe to the world because of stumbling-blocks! Occasions for stumbling are bound to come, but woe to the one by whom the stumbling-block comes!
8 ‘If your hand or your foot causes you to stumble, cut it off and throw it away; it is better for you to enter life maimed or lame than to have two hands or two feet and to be thrown into the eternal fire. 9 And if your eye causes you to stumble, tear it out and throw it away; it is better for you to enter life with one eye than to have two eyes and to be thrown into the hell* of fire.
10 ‘Take care that you do not despise one of these little ones; for, I tell you, in heaven their angels continually see the face of my Father in heaven.* 12 What do you think? If a shepherd has a hundred sheep, and one of them has gone astray, does he not leave the ninety-nine on the mountains and go in search of the one that went astray? 13 And if he finds it, truly I tell you, he rejoices over it more than over the ninety-nine that never went astray. 14 So it is not the will of your* Father in heaven that one of these little ones should be lost.
The book was, in one sense, an easy read. It only took about three hours to read it. It was, as the first reader said, repetitive, but then once a bully has found a victim, the behavior does tend to be repetitive, and, as in the book, it also escalates.
The victim’s father bullied her, and he abused her sexually from the time she was four until she was seventeen. He terrorized his wife and other children, and he terrorized the neighborhood with his violence and threats of violence. To this day, the author and her family live far away, and fears her step-father finding out where she is.
I found the writer unlikeable. I wanted to feel more compassion for her than I did. I think part of my problem was that she stayed in the situation even into her teens, even into early adulthood, without seeming to rebel, without taking any steps to get herself out of the situation. She tells us straight away that she has personality defects, troubles with trust and betrayal, and that she sometimes turns to drink. A part of me knows that people who have been systematically abused over a long time can lose that ability to resist, rebel, to ask for help, but another part of me can’t understand it at all. A part of me is impatient with her weakness, I want her to stand on her feet and make her life a testament to her survival, I want her success in overcoming her childhood to be the sweetest kind of revenge. Unfortunately, life is more complicated than that, and her murky ending is probably the more realistic. Abuse leaves lasting damage.
The Little Prisoner is not an easy read in terms of content. There were times I felt she exaggerated to sell the book; to make hers just a little more interesting than the other ones out there with which her book is competing. There is a part of me that would prefer not to see, not to have those images in my mind.
We know, from all the literature, that children who are abused can grow up to be abusers. I have had friends who were abused who refused to have children at all, afraid they would perpetuate the behavior, even though they had a horror of the violence, and were gentle and peaceful people. How do we intervene, how do we break the chain of abusers begetting abusers? How do we change the behaviors? Can abusers really change?
The Little Prisoner brings up a whole host of uncomfortable questions. We can read, we can discuss – but if we choose to look the other way, aren’t we in a small way colluding with the abusers, allowing them to continue while we look the other way?
Enmegahbowh
Yesterday, one of the songs we sang was an oldie but goodie, To Be a Pilgrim, written by John Bunyan, who wrote Pilgrim’s Progress while serving a jail term for preaching without a license. We sang the old fashioned version:
Who would true valour see,
Let him come hither;
One here will constant be,
Come wind, come weather
There’s no discouragement
Shall make him once relent
His first avowed intent
To be a pilgrim.
Whoso beset him round
With dismal stories
Do but themselves confound;
His strength the more is.
No lion can him fright,
He’ll with a giant fight,
He will have a right
To be a pilgrim.
Hobgoblin nor foul fiend
Can daunt his spirit,
He knows he at the end
Shall life inherit.
Then fancies fly away,
He’ll fear not what men say,
He’ll labor night and day
To be a pilgrim.
(Actually, I may have drifted off because I don’t remember singing the part about the hobgoblins or foul fiends . . . or maybe we sang a slightly more updated version . . .)
Yesterday’s reading in The Lectionary had a great prayer, which also included the word “pilgrim:
Almighty God, thou didst lead thy pilgrim people of old with fire and cloud; grant that the ministers of thy church, following the example of blessed Enmegahbowh, may stand before thy holy people, leading them with fiery zeal and gentle humility. This we ask through Jesus, the Christ, who liveth and reigneth with thee in the unity of the Holy Spirit, one God now and forever. Amen.
And it had this wonderful story of an American Saint, Enmegahbowh – A saint from the original inhabitants of our country:
ENMEGAHBOWH
PRIEST AND MISSIONARY (12 JUNE 1902)
[James Kiefer has no bio for Enmegahbowh. Below is a biography from A Pioneer History of Becker County Minnesota by Alvin H. Wilcox (1907). Enmegabowh was the first Indian ordained in the Episcopal Church.]
In 1851, the Rev. Dr. Breck, a great missionary, whose name must be known to every reader of the “Soldier,” [“Christian Soldier”] began a mission at Leech Lake, among the Ojibwa Indians of Minnesota. This mission, from various circumstances, had only a partial success, and in the winter of 1855-56 troubles with the government agents roused the Indians to such madness that Dr. Breck was forced to leave, and the mission buildings were burned.
Two years later the Rev. Mr. Peake went to Crow Wing to establish another mission, and young Indian deacon, John Johnson, his Indian name Enmegahbowh, came to assist him. This man had beeen a catechumen under Dr. Breck, and had been baptized by him. He must have been born to some position in his tribe, as he had been set apart for a “Medicine Man” in youth, and his Indian name, Enmegahbowh, meant “The man who stands by his people,” a significant name, which in time proved to be a true one.
In 1861 Mr. Peake resigned the mission into the hands of Enmegahbowh. Crow Wing was then a settlement of very bad repute on the frontier. In 1862, the year of the Sioux outbreak, Hole-in-the-day, a leading Ojibwa chief, a bad man, full of craft and cunning, collected five hundred warriors, and prepared for a general massacre of the white people. Enmegahbowh, having prevented, by his influence, some other bands from joining these, was made a prisoner, but succeeded in escaping, and, through the midst of great perils, made his way to Fort Ripley, and by his timely information, such measures were taken that bloodshed and a more fearful massacre than that of the Sioux were prevented.
For a few years the mission work seemed at a stand still. From Canada Enmegahbowh received earnest invitations to go where comfort and hopeful work awaited him, but Bishop Whipple encouraged him, standing in the forefront for an unpopular cause and a hated people, and Enmegahbowh would prove the fitness of his name — he would not desert his people.
At last the government made new arrangements, and seven hundred Ojibwa were moved to what is called the White Earth Reservation, a tract thirty-six miles square in northern Minnesota. Of these seven hundred about one hundred and fifty were French half-breeds, or Roman Catholics. Amongst the remainder Enmegahbowh labored earnestly, the government now aiding in the work by encouraging the Indians in civilized ways. A steam sawmill was built at White Earth Lake, where Indians were taught to run the machinery, and from which lumber was furnished for building purposes. Eastern churchmen assisted the mission, and a church and parsonage were built.
At the time of the consecration of the church in August, 1872, quite a party of the clergy and laity, through the kindness of Bishop Whipple, were enabled to visit White Earth.
The consecration was on Thursday. Friday morning, the chiefs signified to the bishop their wish to meet with him in a council, which was therefore held, that afternoon, on the hillside in front of the church. It was a picturesque scene — the lovely landscape, the sunlight glancing through the tall oak trees on the bishop and Enmegahbowh, who sat in the centre, the chiefs and five or six clergymen grouped around. Behind the bishop three chairs were placed for the ladies of the party — the first time, I think, that ladies were ever admitted to an Indian council.
The chiefs spoke in turn, as they had themselves arranged, and were interpreted by Enmegahbowh. — Christian Soldier.
The Rev. John Johnson was born in Canada and died at White Earth on the 12th of June, 1902, at the age of 95 years.
God had someone in mind who was already set aside by his people to serve him, and he had the most wonderful name for a priest – The one who stands by his people. How cool is that? His heart was ready, when he heard the words, and he served mightily.
Very Strange Weather in Qatar and Kuwait
As I was writing a post, I noticed – Holy Cow! It’s 113°F / 45°C in Doha. Checking Kuwait, Holy Moly, it’s 115°F / 46°C. That is Holy Smokes Hot, that is hot hot hot, right?
Thirty seconds later, I look – and my little weatherunderground sticker says it’s “only” 106.9 °F / 41°C in Doha, and “only” 106.9°F / 41°C in Kuwait.
How amazing is that – the temperatures dropping so fast, in BOTH Kuwait and Doha, within seconds?
Transporting Pets in and out of Kuwait
Moving can be overwhelming, but the worst part can be worrying about how to get your pet in or out of the country you are going to/ leaving.
If you are coming or going to Kuwait – you are in luck. There is a wonderful woman, an animal lover and supporter of the Animal Friends League in Kuwait, who provides pet importation and exportation services, Pet Passage. She walks you through what you need in terms of paperwork, and helps you get the documents you must have to bring your pet in or take it out.
Pet Passage
petpassage@yahoo.com
Tel: +965 6697-5644
If you are calling from another country, yes, the phone number is correct; Kuwait phone numbers have one more number than most other countries.
The Kitty Ritz Pet Hotel in Kuwait
I’ve been wanting to tell you about a wonderful place we found in Kuwait, the Kitty Ritz.
(this is a photo from the KittyRitz website)
The Qatari Cat stayed at the Kitty Ritz for three weeks last December. Located on the top floor of a building in Salmiyya (and yes, it’s walk up all the way), the Kitty Ritz has separate “rooms” for each cat with a bed, cat dishes and cat litter box. You can bring your cat’s favorite blanket, favorite toy and even food, although they will provide your cat’s favorite food if it is available in Kuwait.
They have cat social play, where cats who are good with other cats can mingle and play outside the cage for a while. If you cat is not so good with other cats, he can be outside later, with no other cats.
The cost was reasonable, not cheap, but not so expensive we wouldn’t keep him there.
We weren’t really sure how The Qatari Cat would do. He is spoiled. He is an only cat. He is pampered. We weren’t sure how he would handle being around a lot of other cats, strange noises, strange smells. It’s kind of like sending your child off to kindergarten. You have to drop off, say a cheery “bye bye!” turn your back and LEAVE before you lose your courage, or worse – start crying.
One of the things we loved was that they sent us photos of The Qatari Cat. Now the truth was, The Qatari Cat was not a happy camper. In the first photo they sent us, he was in his cat “room” looking totally fuming mad, like “go away and LEAVE ME ALONE!”
In the second photo, sent a few days later, he is having a bath, and he is mad as hell. You might think this is tragic, but actually, it was hysterically funny. We knew he had survived, we hoped the people bathing him had survived, and we knew he wasn’t bored.
By the third week, there were photos of him out with the other cats. He was adjusting.
When we picked him up, he was all sweet-smelling and clean, and oh-so-happy to see us.
The Kitty Ritz has some of the happiest, healthiest looking cats I have ever seen staying in a cat hotel. It is nice and warm, the people truly like cats and are sweet with them, and it smells CLEAN. We knew they took good care of him, and we knew he had a good time. For the Qatari Cat – he might look angry, but the very worst thing is being bored and lonely. The Kitty Ritz was just the place he needed to be.
You can find them online, fill out their simple questionaire, and send it to them as an attachment via e-mail.
Peninsula Editor Responds to Qatar’s Advisory Council
From today’s Peninsula:
Advisory Council’s opinion surprising
Web posted at: 6/11/2009 6:45:39
Source ::: THE PENINSULA/ BY Khalid Abdul Rahim Al Sayed
Khalid Abdul Rahim Al Sayed
The Emir, His Highness, Sheikh Hamad bin Khalifa Al Thani, declared the media free in the country in 1995 and with the launch of Al Jazeera, we have shown the world that Qatar is a country which allows different opinions to be heard.
We were, therefore, quite surprised by the outcome of a debate in the Advisory Council on Monday, which called for stringent punishment to be given to Qatar-based journalists who write against the ruler, national security, religion and the Constitution.
First of all, all the above subjects are already protected by the Qatari Law. Second, we must remember that there is a provision in the Qatari Constitution which allows its revision at a future date by the next generation. We have a saying in Arabic which roughly translates into English as ‘one generation cannot control another’. By raising this debate, the Advisory Council has made a generalised conclusion without addressing the issue directly.
We find it strange that the Advisory Council, made up of Qatari nationals, has this kind of opinion when His Highness The Emir has given us the freedom to voice our opinion on issues freely and in a fair manner.
We are concerned as a Qatari newspaper that if these restrictions are imposed on Qatari journalists, they will be afraid to report news and events as they see them. Needless to say, the impact on foreign scribes here would be too deterring.
I am an avid reader of local newspapers. None of them has ever written anything objectionable against the four subjects referred to in the Advisory Council debate. The Advisory Council, I am afraid, has failed to address the issue of irresponsible journalism. Other nations will find it strange that a country which advocates media freedom through the establishment of Al Jazeera will condone such practice. If there is any misuse, it shouldn’t be generalised. Doing this would soil Qatar’s image in the world.
Given this backdrop, we urge the authorities concerned in Qatar to come up with a new Media Law that would protect the freedom of our journalists, especially as the old press legislation was enforced years ago, in 1979.
Khalid Abdul Rahim Al Sayed is the Editor-in-Chief of The Peninsula
Irresponsible Journalism in Qatar
This is from yesterday’s Peninsula, a Doha newspaper
Advisory panel wants curbs on irresponsible journalism
Web posted at: 6/10/2009 3:35:56
Source ::: The PENINSULA / By Mohammed Saeed
DOHA: A debate in the Advisory Council on irresponsible media on Monday has called for stringent punishment for Qatar-based journalists who write against the ruler, national security, religion and the Constitution.
A key member, Nasser Rahid Al Kaabi, taking part in the discussion, said there was the need to include TV channels, radio stations and the Internet in the laws that regulate the media in the country.
Some 24 members of the Council requested the House to debate the issue of irresponsible media.
It was pointed out during discussions that there were some journalists in the country who were misusing press freedom and dedicating their writings to undermine national interest.
The debate called for applying the laws strictly to punish erring scribes. Law Number 38 of 2005 and Law Number 8 of 1979 carried provisions to take erring journalists to task, it was pointed out.
Al Kaabi called for the laws to be amended and said the six-month prison term and minimum fine slab of QR3,000 for erring journalists prescribed be raised.
He said the jail term should be raised to a year and the fine should not be less than QR300,000. Qatar’s social and religious values must be preserved at any cost, the debate noted. THE PENINSULA
Condiments Make You Fat
Here is an article I read a couple days ago, and decided not to share with you because . . . I didn’t like what it said! It kept coming back to me, however. I still don’t like it, but I am sharing it with you because I know it is true.
I love condiments. AdventureMan and I are addicted to condiments, like Major Grey’s Mango Chutney, and Sharwood’s Bengal Hot Chutney, and sweet pickle relish, and A-1 sauce. And . . . yep, I bet I eat more because of the condiments.
The essence of this article from Real Age is that if you eat boring food, you will eat less.
Can Condiments Make You Fat?
Put down the ketchup. Set aside that pickled relish. And leave the sauces and salsas in the fridge.
New research suggests that by leaving your condiments in the cupboard, you could end up eating drastically less, overall.
Can the Condiments
In a small study of college students, dressing up fries with ketchup and brownies with a topping caused the nibblers to eat from 25 to 40 percent more of these waist-padding foods. But the theory behind the additional bites isn’t just that a few extras make food taste better. The extras actually increase the amount of time it takes for your palate to get tired of the taste of a particular food. So you end up eating more, regardless of whether you’re hungry or full. Eat this type of fat to stop hunger in its tracks.
Keep It Simple
In fact, a good strategy for curbing overeating is to minimize variety in meals. Focus on a few fresh flavors, not every side dish under the sun. YOU Docs Mehmet Oz and Michael Roizen even recommend eating the same thing for lunch every day. And try these additional appetite-busting strategies:
Keep your mind on your food. Paying attention to your food — and only your food — will help you eat less of it.
Diversify your workout.
Overindulge in fiber. Try this root vegetable that’s especially high in appetite-controlling fiber.
Here is the original, interactive article from Real Age with other tips you can also click on. Whether we like the advice or not . . . LOL!
Baking Cookies for Palestine
When I was just starting out my own life, I had an idea what kind of life I wanted, but I had no clue how to get it. When AdventureMan and I met, we had the same vision, it was so cool, so unbelievable. We married, and this amazing life has unfolded.
Not everyone is born to move. You have to be good at change. Change can be daunting. Some people are better at staying in one place, sinking deep roots, developing lifetime relationships. Some people – like AdventureMan and me – have a need for stimulation, and we get it by changing locations. We feel so blessed.
It is always painful leaving the place we have been living, pulling up roots is just plain painful. The transplantation process takes time for the organism to adjust, for new roots to develop and take hold. Sometimes, the plant fails. In our case, we have had our failures to thrive, but for the most part, every move has helped us to learn and grow in new ways. We feel truly blessed; we have the lives we were born to lead.
Arriving back in Doha, I called my good friend. We have never lost touch, with e-mail and visits we have stayed in contact, and now I am calling her so she has my new number in Doha.
“You must come Tuesday morning!” she enthused, “We are baking cookies for Palestine!”
This wonderful woman was my teacher for reading and writing Arabic, and she did a great job. I read and write about as well as a five-year-old, but I can sound out words, and can write my name. Best of all, I adored this teacher, and when she called and asked me if there was something I could teach her daughters during the long hot Doha summer, I said “yes” and a new adventure began.
One of the things that happened is that I learned I never really knew what the day might bring. Getting to know her, her daughters, and her family better, I learned now ignorant I am of how totally differently others live their lives and see the world. I was learning all the time, and most of it was from the daughters. On one occasion, the daughters called me at 6 in the morning – they are never up at six! They asked if I would take them to the hospital to see their mother, and I sleepily said “Yes, of course,” and asked what time they wanted to go.
“Now!” they replied, joyfully, for this was a birth.
My sweet daughter-in-law was visiting, with our son, and so the two of us rushed over to pick up the girls, who came loaded with carafes loaded with coffee, boxes of finjan (tiny Arabic coffee cups) and sweets, loading up the car with goods and joyful laughter. When we got to the hospital, we had a quick visit with the Mom and then – the guests started arriving.
First – the room. Our friend was in a king sized bed, surrounded by lush curtains which could be pulled. She had a marble floor and a marble private bathroom with private shower, and a small dressing room. There was a visiting area with velvet covered seating for around 16 people, and mahogany paneling everywhere. This is the poshest maternity ward I have ever seen.
Many of the guests were stopping on their way to work. “When you visit someone in the hospital,” the girls informed me, “a thousand angels pray for you, for having made this visit.” These visits are de rigueur, an absolute must. We were there an hour, a constant stream of women came and went, staying around ten minutes, each receiving a small coffee. Then, the girls told us we could go, that they would stay to take care of serving the coffee and sweets.
The entire episode, we never had one clue as to what we were doing, or what was going to happen next. I learned just to go with whatever was happening, stay quiet, watch and learn. Sometimes, I ask questions, if there is a quiet moment.
So when my friend says come bake cookies, I go. I remember when she first baked her first cookie; she called me to come. She didn’t have a mother, growing up, and there were gaps – like how to bake cookies. We spent a morning learning how to make mamool, and it took me three days to get the smell of butter out of my hands. It was so much fun.
As I entered the workroom twenty pair of eyes looked up at me. Everyone was neatly dressed in aprons and headscarves, but my friend wasn’t there! I found my friend, we exchanged greetings, and she came to workroom to get me started. I had my own apron with me, and they provided me with a headscarf; we all looked a lot alike, little baker women. As a beginner, I got to put out the dough, later put the date paste on each piece of dough, later roll the dough around the date paste and put a hole in the top.
Most of the women, vastly more experienced than I, were using little tweezer tools to crimp the dough into the fabulous tiny ridges you can see in the photo. My friend explained that one of the women’s husbands had made the special tools for making the holes in the dough, and the table for them to use packing up the cookies and wrapping them, another had provided a portable oven for baking the cookies, another donated semolina (the flour) and another the dates.
Working once a week, making these beautiful cookies, (biscuits, if you are British trained) the women have built two wells in Palestine, and are currently building a bakery. They took their grief and outrage over Al Raza and turned it into the most amazing effort for good. They feed the hungry, give water to the thirsty, they clothe the poor, they take care of families whose men are imprisoned.
“You must come back!” one woman says as I am heading out the door. “You are a good worker!”
I wouldn’t miss it for the world. 🙂
Sunrise In Doha, Green for Daggero
Daggero wrote on my Rav4 post about how GREEN Doha looked. It wasn’t Doha. I think the photo was taken in England, but the car looked just like my beloved little Rav4, so I used the photo.
But it got me thinking – my little spot in Doha IS green. And you have mentioned taking sunrise in Doha . . . my blind side of the house faces the sunrise, but this morning, I took some sunrise photos for you.
During the week, the sky in Doha is mostly white, I don’t know why. On Friday and Saturday, it was a brilliant blue. Sunrise, most days of the week, is a sort of non-event, like it’s hard to tell where the sun is!
But here are some photos of the sun through the trees in the early morning, and my little section of green in Doha.
Sunrise:
There are some treats – the dual color bougainvillea I planted five years ago is growing lushly against the garden wall. The two lemon trees are taller and lusher. Some other new plants were given to my by my departing friend from her garden, and so my garden doesn’t have that sad, barren look. When the cooler weather comes, I will plant basil. 🙂
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