Clean Clothes

BY TOMORROW MORNING I shall have an entire set of clean dry clothes. The present ones I have on smell like they've been through a well seasoned sandwich toaster. I put a load of smalls through the sink with three doses of lemon washing up liquid. It's on the radiator as we speak. The other stuff was there anyhow; I just didn't know.

I get money tomorrow. I need to buy a charger and a chip to phone my Dad free of charge. I lost the old chip when I wasn't even on drugs (I remember that bit clearly; neither was I drunk but I spilled water on my phone and went so mental trying to dry it out that the SIM lept out and installed itself between a pane of glass and my seat on the bus. The pane of glass is there because the bus is British and they want to cause more serious injuries in the event of a crash. Well why else would glass be on a bus; not on a window?)

And I have to buy socks. Dark ones without heels and toes busted through.

I just spoke to my Dad and his side of the family. That worked better than antipsychotics. But I've taken the antipsychos again to be a good boy in time for Dr NutNut on Thursday. I need to look all responsible. I stopped taking them because I had side-effects that were drastically horrible. Something like a drowsy brain-fog where lights glared into my head making me want to lie in a darkened room (yet not sleepy-drowsy so you just suffer it out till the pill wears off). So I canned the pills and was so high (on "life", not any drug) by the time I had confirmation that I should take the entire dose at once, as in week one that I took no antipsychotics. Then I got tired but was still on a high. Then the high just wore off, just under a week ago, on Monday afternoon. And ever since then I've been pissed off. I'd rather say pissed off then depressed. I hate the word depression. I never know when I do or don't have it except afterwards (when I usually did have it) somehow some sort of denial confuses me. Henceforth I shall attempt not to be confused.

I'm not taking heroin because heroin stops me being high (might as well be frank). I'm dreading going to the doctor because the doctor will also want to stop me being high. Last time I really started going high on antipsychotics I felt really weird, so maybe I'd better get used to feeling weird (I got used to being weird long ago, I just didn't feel it).

I cured my depression with drink. It antidepressed me enough to pick the phone up for social reasons and to get clothes washed. I think my doctor should prescribe cherry flavour 4.7% ABV cyder for medicinal reasons (joke).

Meet the Fockers has been on at least four times today. They keep talking about something called a Jimmy Changa. What the hell is that? I thought it was a cocktail but it gives Bernie Focker (Dustin Hoffman) most terrible wind. Roz Focker (Barbra Streisand) said so by accident on their answerphone message.

And now I'm vanishing into the night like a tired moth that's just taken 2x2mgs of chemical cosh. Sleep well. Or GET OUT OF BED (if you're in Australia).


Illustrated: Indonesian owl moth

For my mother

...You know me well, you know sometimes I just don't feel like talking just because I am strange like that but I want you to know something, even in my silent days I think about you and every day I see a little bit more of you in me...I miss taking you out on a Saturday, I miss you finding amusement in the weekly jokes column,  I miss you sitting in my room in the evenings telling me things,  I miss your cooking too and I miss sitting in your beautiful garden which is a captured essence of your beauty. 





Coming back to your qualities in me, as I get older, I see them more clearly in me with the best being courage & patience of heart. You are a braving women delivering only eloquence in what you do - I thank you for this wonderful genetic transferral, it’s made me stronger. 





Yesterday I bought new sandals and they were slippery and I as I rubbed them over tar, I realised that's you – and yes they all fine now and like the ‘monkey’ I am, I walked out of the shop wearing them with the old ones in the box…something’s never change… You know when I was choosing a greeting card – I was thinking about how we used to swop the plain envelopes for colour ones and I did it again yesterday and it made me smile! 





There's nothing more special that living our cherished memories day by day! Tt keeps me close to you.





I love you mama:)

Just...

Are you a slow starter when it comes to the new year? I am very much one and it might be because I tend to mentally whine down at the end of the year and starting over again in the new year is sluggishly unwanted. Its also time for some hopes for the new beginning but  I dont make resolutions as they just don't work for me so I just live each day for itself and leave my hopes with Allah. 

Ben10 (my eldest nephew) started grade 1 today and yesterday in conversation with him, I said, "my baby, you going to look all smart in uniform, hey?", to which he replied, "I going to send you a picture but you going to get soo fwighten" *chuckles* Indeed I will because I cannot believe my baby boy who some years ago was prematurely born and soooo little, is now a big boy with great aspirations of becoming a science professor, inshallah! 

BluePearl (c) - Khalifa Stadium, Doha, Qatar

Dear Mama celebrated her birthday over the weekend - I love my moms birthday because I get to tell her something special about her and ofcourse extend my eternal gratitude for giving birth to me. Same weekend, saw the kick off to the Asian football cup here in Doha - the kick off show hosted at the Khalifa Stadium was just amazing.  Qatar's famous fireworks displayed filled the evening skies with glamour and gitz.

Thats all from me for now...hugs and love

I am back

So i am back in Qatar but admittedly miss my family alot - it was so great to spend time with each member of my family specifically my mom, my brothers and their kids! I love them so much! I am glad I got to see my mom - she is a remarkable role model - I can never thank her enough for being a great supportive parent to my brothers and I. It is because of her that there is a sense of perfection when it comes to family and Islam. She holds us all together:)



Princess Arial (my eldest niece) hosted a tea party at her house but was so busy playing that she forgot she had guests and left mom and dad to do the entertaining. Afterwards when asked what happened to the tea hostess during the tea party, she replied " I didn't have any tea cups" *lol*. As for Spiderman (younger nephew), there are not enough of synonyms for naughtiness to describe him. Ben10 (my eldest nephew) who has already decided he is going to be a science professor who will make a dinosaur is busy investigating his love for photography currently...he left me with these photos, which I think to be amongst the best of his collection *chuckles* Are they not cute?





And oh, between visiting the nursery (which is looking beautiful by the way), driving around, doing shopping, having lots of lunches out, visiting my younger brothers new place,  I also have managed to catch up on animated movies roll too (with the little ones) - we watched Alice in Wonderland, UP, Dispicable Me, Open Season 3 and short scenes from Maters tales (with Lightning McQueen). 

BluePearl (c) - Ben10 Photography

BluePearl (c) - Ben10 Photography

My train-wreck life trundles on and on ...

I NEVER KNOW WHAT TO SAY when I feel the way I do today.

On the one hand, scores of people read this blog, some barely know me. I assume they will think I'm being a dramaqueen. Or writing "performance diary" ~ more about posture and pose than anything I'm actually feeling.

On the other hand, this site is the nearest thing I have to a diary. It's for that reason that I won't post personal pictures. You know me far better as Gledwood the hamster than you ever could know of my "real" image. If I posted up my face I'd be too self-conscious to reveal even half the stuff I actually do. So you're better off with Hamsters and Double UO Globe logos than my face, trust me.

Let me tell you my reality.

During the deepest pits of the drought I did three weeks on pretty much methadone alone. I continued trying to use, getting almost nothing for my money on four particular days in a row, and so over this time, and the subsequent week, when I did give up scoring and spent my money on books and socks instead, I was taking fewer opiates than at any point since the late 1990s. Yet I felt empty inside, and miserable. Barely showered. Late at night when I was tired, I chatter of crack-voices came back to my head, even though I have barely touched crack in two years.

I pray that God, who understands my mind and motives won't condemn me for not coping. Because I am barely coping at all. I haven't done any washing up except single plates, spoons, mugs, in months. My clothes desperately need laundering. They stink, as do I. I wish I could care enough to bother, but I can't be bothered. My floor is a melange of dirty teeshirts, odd socks and jeans that won't button tangled with empty pizza boxes, newspapers, carrier bags, intermingled with sacks of rubbish where the urge to tidy up has seized me, but not for long enough to make any meaningful inroads into the chaos.

My drinking got so bad last week that I was having blackouts again. I lost half a gram of gear ~ in my own house! ~ I hold out no hope ever of finding it. I was so out of it the other night I actually flushed a £20 note down the toilet.

I need glasses for reading. In some troubled corner of this fleapit they lay safe and undisturbed. But though I can barely see without them, I can't trouble myself enough to bother looking for them.

The thought of suicide haunts me every single day. Knowing that people come here in desperation to find out the latest on the Great Heroin Drought 2010 and that although I hate the Mean Green, I am at least lucky enough to be scripted methadone. Entirely at the mercy of street dealers, some have spent £100s on stuff that has little else in common with low grade Middle Eastern heroin except that it is brown. As those in the thick of this drought will know, the strength of even the best heroin has fallen to a tiny fraction of what it was some months ago. Some street gear is so bad that long-term addicts have been testing heroin-negative. A fantastic achievement, if only it could last longer than present circumstances dictate.

Last week especially people were becoming increasingly frantic and desperate. I tried to do what I could, which wasn't that much. But I did try.

Of the two gears I have been buying, one looks cloudy, like orange juice with black bits floating on top. The black bits can easily be fished out. The remaining " orange juice" contains a little B and a lot of benzos and possibly some other types of downers, too.

The effect is the same every time. The miniscule drop of B I feel instantaneously. A big part of heroin's addictive potential lies in how it almost instantaneously crosses the blood-brain barrier, creating what journalists like to call a "rush". Cocaine also crosses this blood-brain barrier very quickly, hence the super-compressed two-minute "flash" experienced when a large amount of crack is piped.

Not all drugs have such rapid effects. Good example: a cannabis bong. The paranoid schizophrenia and alzheimers that cannabis smokers call a "high" keeps climbing and climbing for a good five-ten minutes, a trickle more than a rush. Heroin and crack by contrast smash into the system like a tidal wave.

Yesterday I found some better gear that looked at first glance like crushed up paracetamol. It sparkles because it appears pre-cut with vitamin C. This stuff cooks up the colour of dilute whiskey, has about three times as much heroin as the "orange juice", but ALSO contains so many sedatives that although I started trying to post around one pm, I kept waking up having to delete screensful of ZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZzzzs.

Like an evil cannabis-bong, this mysterious sedative creeps up slowly. So I didn't even know I'd inadvertently taken it till 20 minutes later when I suddenly felt heavy-limbed and buzz-eyed and dropped off so sleep till half past five.

I think I've caught up on several days' lost sleep. I even have a crazy scheme where I'll stick to methadone 100% yet again. Because if at first you don't succeed, as the saying goes ...












PS If you want lots of confessions, methadone and Suboxone (formerly heroin) and the most luridly intimate accounts of the author's "booty calls"; Anna Grace I Hate My Face, I Hate This Place and I'm Strung Out Again from Wisconsin (nr Chicago) cannot be bettered: I particularly like the blue wig shot.

It's a number thing

∆ 1.57 billion muslims in the world, making up 23% of the world population

∆ 158 days to 2011 ∆ 114 Surahs in the Quran ∆ 99 beautiful names of Allah ∆ 65 posts on my blog (66 including this one) ∆ 54 days to my eldest nephew (Ben10's) Birthday and my youngest brothers wedding. ∆ 33 x 3 beads on the mesbah (muslim prayer beads) ∆ 16 days to Ramadaan ∆ 15 gorgeous muslimahs following my blog - excluding all the silent ones. ∆ 13 amazing people that make Blue pearl's life a beauty (my mama, my papa, my 3 brothers, 2 sister in laws, 1 future sister in law (inshallah), 2 nephews, 2 nieces and Mae). ∆ 7 the most loved number in islam mainly because of 7 heavens...Mae's favourite number too. ∆  6 days - Allah created the heavens and the earth in Six Days (Verse 7:54). ∆ 5 pillars of islam (Shahada, Sawn, Hajj, Zakaat, Salaat) ∆ 5 daily salaat (Fajr, Zuhr, Asr, Mag7rib, Esha) = 1825 opportunities in a year. ∆ 5 gorgeous friends (Navaz/Nawi, Tanya, Candice, Jenni, Zareena). ∆ 4.5 days to weekend *chuckles*. ∆ 3 is often the number of times a muslim repeats an action such as in wudhu. ∆ 2 beautiful hands to help yourself, others & to give thanks to Allah (salaat) and blog:) ∆ ...and only 1 heart, 1 life & 1 amazing perfect Creator, Allah without whom, nothing is possible.

...Make the best of it

Keeping Mum

A KINDLY GANG-MEMBER from Da Local Baby Gangsta Crew let me have some drugs on tick today. I paid half and owe half. I only had money to spare because all plans for today fell through, leaving me at a loose end, exceedingly "peeved", to put it mildly and in need, so I thought, of a chemical emollient. (Not an exfoliant, that gets off hair. An emollient. That soothes.)

O man the effort I put into today. All for nothing!

I was supposed to see my Mum. I got up, crystal clear. Cleaned myself up as best I could, physically speaking. But to be frank I just looked like a heroin addict on a daytrip.

I had checked train times and prices etc etc etc. I had the option of going in and out of London or taking a long couple of bus rides across town. The bus rides seemed cheaper and got me to a station further up the right line.

So I took this bus. Got to station. All was silent. The ticket machine utterly refused to take my £5 note. Not that it was bulimically constantly regurgitating the thing. I think this machine was anorexic. Its mouth refused even to open.

By the way I know someone who used to work on the Eating Disorders Helpline in Norwich who said that without exception bulimics verbally spewed and spewed, while anorexics were barely willing to open their mouths and thus said barely anything at all... Isn't that fascinating...

So anyway this ticket machine refused my money, which hardly bothered me. I chucked 10p in the Permit to Travel machine. This meant I was covered if an evil ticket inspector chose to pounce on me like a barn owl on an unsuspecting harvest mouse... as frequently happens on London suburban trains. If he queried whether or not the machine was in fact working, I would just tell them to check CCTV. Britain does not have the oft-stated 4 million cameras (surely it's many more than that now as that figure's a decade old) for nothing. For once I might use one to my advantage. I do not trust ticket inspectors after having the most almighty altercation with two on a platform having been told my ticket, which I'd checked in advance was good for it, was invalid on my chosen route. Something, incidentally, which tended not to happen before rail privatization. The worst ever move by the Tory party, in that particular line of activity. I got my money back and a grovelling apology. I always do. Or did. When I could be bothered with such things.

Anyway long story short, I got to the interchange station to find it surprisingly quiet. I hadn't taken the train, I'd walked because it was so near the other one (but wrong for the bus). I thought I'd let the train take the strain. In the end my feet did. And this station was empty with almost unreadable electronic notices saying something I could not understand. It transpired the entire line was down, and if I did want to see my Mum I'd have to take two trains in the wrong direction, with no guarantee how long they might take.

Full of misery and fury I phoned her and said this is impossible. So we had to leave it for another day. Such a shame as Branzy my step-Dad wouldn't have been there earwigging in every word. In other words we might have done something else except discuss 25 topics I don't care about, skating merrily over life's surfaces, yet barely scratching them.

I went directly to the nearest cyder-selling shop and got two White Stars. Well I wasn't gonna need this money for train fares any more. Poured them into Lucozade bottles to spare myself disgusted glances. Jumped on bus. It was well over an hour till I got home, and then I phoned that heroin dealer who "kindly" ~ if you wanna call it that ~ provided that lump for half price.

If I don't cough up tomorrow I get a bullet through my brainbox!

Anyway all this just goes to show, I'm stone cold sober and it still goes mammaries up. Oh what a day ...



Illustrated: selection of ultra-modern British trains. Especially the top one.
Very top pic: HM the Queen mysteriously riding public train (no wonder she looks glum)...

My bery first blog award

                      

Amira, consider yourself hugged for this wonderful award. I love it. 

So part of this award means I have to tell you where I see myself in ten years and pass it on to ten others...

Well, Alhumdulillah, all I can say that whatever Allah pleases for me is good enough for me. Before I carry let me just say how fortunate I am to have the most beautiful people in my life, i.e. my family, Mae, Nawi, Tanya, Candice, Jenni, some of my current work friends and ofcourse you guys, my blogger pals.

1. I want my family to be well and with me (if I am still alive) Inshallah

To be just as family orientated and close as they are today, taking care of other and content with whatever little they have.

May Allah make it possible for my parents and brothers who have not completed their hajj, yet, to do so, Inshallah.

2. Mae is an extension of my family who holds the fondest place in my heart.

I want to see all the good dua I make for Mae, materialise and I want to be there to see my dear one happy, achieving everything I hoped for.

I want you to smile, worry less, forget your thoughts, be happy get everything you want in life and be confident always, as you are right now.

3. To complete my hajj, Inshallah.

4. To make as many people smile/happy as I can, Inshallah.

5. To help as many people (and the two cats:) ) as I can, Inshallah.

6. To spend time with orphan'ed children, Inshallah.

7. To always be a good servant to Allah and be loved by Him, Inshallah.

8. To be content with everything I have, appreciating my moments with Mae and the family, Inshallah

9. Ten years from now when I go down memory lane of the last ten years, I should find the same non-greedy, patient, happy person and I hope to see my family and Mae get the things I asked for them - Inshallah.

I am passing on this award to the following 11 people with this award (only because I love odd numbers), in no specific order:

1. Crafty Muslimah (love the haiku's and middle eastern memoir posts)

2. Amber (Sisters who blog - cause I think you doing such an amazing job)

3. Zaufishan (Muslimness - great articles, keep it up)

4. Khadeeja (Girl Talk 786 - love your real world thinking posts, especially "Special you")

5. Jaz (Born Confused - love your honesty)

6. Mustika Sari Sayuti ("As You Grew Older" was really a good post)

7. Amatullaah (Veiled in Hayat - so loved the post "The Beauty of Mornings")

8. Xo Xo (Xo Xo..Sweet Success! You never takes comments and I just love your daily thankfuls)

9. Jennifer Khan (Hoping for Paradise - good religious content)

10. Hopeful (Staircase to Jannah - I think your blog is cute)

11. Frutiful Fusion (With Saudi Accent- love your posts)





Well done on great blogs - hugs & kisses

They are beautiful

Animals - their innocent eyes, their beautiful skin, their skill and fir makes me appreciate Allah's fashioning of his creations, in them and me alike. Its a wonder how much we are at Allah's mercy as some of them were given to us as a means of survival (food) and others for admiration. 

Some of them grow up just to become our food - no one knows the meaning of this better than I do, being the daughter of a previous butcher. Watching carcasses of lamb, sheep and bull being delivered to the shop, seeing them hanging in my fathers cool-room and being sold on the scale.





With that past, it also brought the opportunity to examine some of these animals close up -I have played with woolly fat cuddly sheep and seen a bull being stunt and slaughtered. Allah-u-akbar, they are such strong animals. When I was about 13, I remember getting cut on my finger from a Baracuda's teeth - sadly he was the catch of the day and my dad bought him for dinner. Little younger than 13, dad brought home live lobsters - my gosh what a morning that was, I still remember it like it was yesterday, they were crawling all over mum's table, feeling the environment with tentacles long as grass. I was so excited! Around the same age, I also got to ride horses - what a pleasure that was, something I miss dearly and wonder if I can still do anymore.





Just last week, Mae took Cookie, a white Cockatoo out of her cage and put her onto my hand. Its amazing how she feels your nervousness - getting her more comfortable on my leg, I was left amazed by her affection. Mae's love for animals is so heart-warming - I can sit all day looking at Mae's beautiful cylindrical aquarium filled with live rock, breath-taking corals and fish. Makes you wonder how great Allah is to create such beautiful things - each coral and fish so unique, in different colours and shapes. Subhan-Allah





My parents always made it a point to take us to zoo's, animal farms, crocodile farms, game drives and the like to familiar ourselves with animals. My love for them grew with each day and growing up under my mothers hand, who homed stray cats, a few dogs, chickens and a rooster, I watched her hand out a heartfelt meal to them, daily - a trait which has grown on me too.  Till this day, my mother gets bird seed for all the wild birds that visit her garden. She will always feed them in the morning and then stand in kitchen, sipping her tea and watching them through the window while they come in dozens, chanting and eating their breakfast -  she loves watching them, showing me her favourites and sometimes new different onces never seen before.





These days when I get home, I get greeted by two stray cats at my building (one black and another is the common grey ones), stretching themselves out against the lobby door - it makes me think of those days gone past, it also makes me think how innocent these animals are and how dependent some of them are on us, to help them. It makes me sad to see animals neglected and frustrating for me not being able to understand them. 





These cats sit at the door, as I enter making Salaam for them, they purr at me (sometimes) leaving me wondering what they want or think. The weather is blazing hot so its almost ten times worse for them being outside all day. I have got them milk and have asked the kind security guard to feed them daily but I am not sure if this suffices. I was thinking of getting them some cat food today - I hope this will make them a little happier.





I really appreciate the beauty of animals - how different they are in features and tact and I thank my parents for instilling this in me. My mum is nurturing her grand-children now into loving animals - an important, not to be neglected quality to be instilled in these kids who carry on our future generations...After all my mum needs someone to help feeding her birds each morning. 

Have a beautiful week

Inevitable tears

Today as I played with my latest widget, Google Street view adding a view of my house back home I realised just how much I miss home. Just looking at the porch and the pool where we spend many happy moments with kids running all over the place, it made me miss my family, my home and the comforts of "taken for granted" love. 

Mama, I miss you especially more than anyone else - Kissing me off every morning and making me breakfast even though I insist I will pick up something at Woolies. I miss coming home each day, as I drive in and still parking the car, you already outside waiting for me, while you try hard to watch your soapies, I tell you endlessly about my day. 







After finally getting the message, I walk of to my room where my Ben10 (my eldest nephew), takes a seat on my comfy red sofa and talks to me...we have a good laugh while he questions me about his latest discovery. "Lali, why do rhino's have horns?" (lol)  and I admittedly try hard to answer these questions but sometimes even I am not sure what to say (his questions get more complicated the more you tell him) - giving him his treat for the day is normally a success. I normally get him smarties or astros (I get all the blue ones if he is happy with me otherwise nothing). 





Every week, I have to arrive at home with his National geographic magazine and after happily examining it (for about an hour), he comes back to have a discussion with me post reading him every single article in that magazine including the advertisments. Sometimes, I am reading all this while trying to finish up work and he gets frustrated because I am not paying attention.





Ben10's mum, used to be my campus friend, who later married my elder brother - she will always come and show me her latest purchase or sometimes just buys something because I like it.



Over the years I have watched our dining table that seats 8 become smaller with the now 13 members. Its funny how our original places at the table have been shuffled around and soon to change again with no.14 entering the family as a new daughter-in-law shortly. I am sure my seat will be more than comfy for her, until I return for visits:) Ps: I am normally seated to mum's left, with Ben10's mum to my left. (Princess Arial will almost always end up on my lap).





I miss sitting down to dinner with everyone around the table while cracking up over our sillies of the day. Its never about whats on the table or the weather - the fact that every one of us is there, smiling & laughing, is all that matters.



I miss Thursday, our family Quran evening where everyone sits down in the prayer room. Mind you, the last time I was at home (in May), Ben10, now 6, was busy thanking Allah for noodles in his dua (quiet loud) - he got everybody laughing (while they were busy praying).



Enter our little mr, Spiderman, I like to call him Turkey cause he is cute and pumpkinish - his main interest revolves around driving cars. Spiderman loves making sajdah on his little musalla with his dad. What a sweetheart, always smiling and when he is busy driving his toy car, he has no time for Princess Arial, his sister who keeps telling him shooh when everyone is praying.



I miss going home for Jumu'ah on Friday and making my Thuhr Salaat with my mother, enjoying lunch with her before going back to work for the afternoon. Last Friday, when I spoke to my mum, she told me, these days all the boys and dad come home for lunch after Jum'uah salaat - she sweetly said, "I miss you here".



I miss taking my Ben10 dvd shopping - our regular weekend trip to Look and Listen always meant he and I both walked out of that shop smiling. ( I cannot express what a monster I have bred in Ben10 who now boasts the biggest kid dvd collection - he has every animated movie released since "Find nemo" as well as documentaries relating to animals).



I miss my dad taking me with him on errands - his way of spending quality time with me. I miss my brothers, the elder one always stopping at my room every day after work to see how I am. I miss my second's brother crazy take on life always telling me about his latest investment business case.  I miss my younger brothers company, playing PSP challenges while sitting in our own rooms. I miss my niece, Princess Arial...my cute pumpkin who always has an excuse why she needs to camp with me over night. 





I love my family - my mother raised us up with so much love that every time I am with them (having been away for a while) I realise what a beautiful treasure she gave us.



She is my wonder woman - may Allah bless her innocent beautiful heart, Inshallah.

My story - where it all started (part 1)

Over the weekend, while sitting on my couch, in a beautiful city called Doha (located in Qatar) some 3363 nautical miles away from home (Johannesburg, South Africa), I recalled some incidents of my life that brought me to this point in my life. This thought, actually started a week ago when a friend played a song that I bought myself – a song I used to play often in my car when I arrived in Qatar, 2 years ago. I never knew my friend back then neither did I know the real meaning of the song, (an Arabic song, “MeshA’aref atghayar”), but I knew it was a sad song and it was so fitting at the time, as I had just arrived in Qatar, alone without my family and little emotional of my life. My thoughts left unattended that day found its way back to me over the weekend. 





In an effort to uncover them, I have decided to write it on my blog exactly the way it is in my head – I’ll be sharing my life, the sad and the good, then I’ll bring you back to Qatar where I will tell you more about this amazing place that brought peace to my soul.

Being a South African and pushing against the politics of a western nation as a Muslim left me often feeling cheated. I was a 4th generation Muslim female growing up in a country that had a turbulent history in terms of race and freedom and as if that was not hard enough, I often felt life dealt me an odd set of cards because of life as a young person.

My story seemed to have begun with my mother becoming a revert to Islam - it seemed like the most treacherous sin ever, even bigger than killing someone perhaps that she reverted to Islam - how dare a revert from the Indian community seek solace in the circle of the Muslim community? As strange as it sounds, that was the reaction my mother endured for most of her Muslim life. The tiring burdening cultural differences of the country seemed lesser of a issue as my mother’s quest to be accepted seemed to have been a self induced war because of her love for my father.

My mother married my dad (a Muslim) and embraced Islam for him but that reason soon became a misery that passed on to us, her children - we were never really "Muslim" according to people. I remember the day when I was about 5, my mother dressed me up in a red short sleeved t-shirt and a knee length pants but was told by the Muslim elders, that it was not permissible. So instead of opting for summer fashion, I lived winter all my life. While they were correct, what was not, was imposing that behaviour on a 5 year old whose mother was just letting her be a child. What became a norm to me was seen as bizarre to others but nonetheless my mother was destined not to be shot down so easily. It was like a boxing match and in my mother’s corner; there were a few people, good people, who assisted with her reversion into Islam and while I don’t know all of them, I do make dua, they will be amply rewarded for the good they bestowed upon my mother and indirectly us, her children.[Inshallah].

Instead of giving up, she enforced a reverse approach in an effort almost to prove a point. I remember the days when my family was conveniently not invited to weddings or sitting alone with my mother through some Eids while my dad and brothers went to pray or opened shop as a means of passing-time.

Our parents tried their hardest in the midst of their own battles to give us a good life; money was little but so well spent and appreciated. Sundays was our pleasure day, a trip to “Games”, the store to get our weekly share of chocolates and other smallies that made our weekend glow. I loved going for drives in the car, often stopping at the side fruit grocer to pick the fruit of the season or those really cool stick bubble gums that came with the world flag series stickers. Those were the days when stamps were cool and lime milkshake was the treat of the week. My brothers were darlings (I had no sisters) so I was typically the tomboy – either hiding out in our secret valley (a bush that seemed to shelter some shade and privacy from the rest of the world) or building tents – it always fell over though. We had some chickens and cats too – my eldest brother was tasked with taking care of the rooster and chickens while the cats seemed to have found a home with us. I wonder what happened to those chickens…the rooster used to be my eldest brothers friend. We used to race to the door, when we knew the milk was delivered. Clover Milk - yummy, in glass and creamy as ever. In front of our house, we had a piece of open land, my mother and brother homed some corn, herbs, wrinkled lemon, guava, mango and avocado trees…Somewhere in there too was the home of the chickens and at the back of the “garden”, was a tree filled with black berries. The sky used to be the prettiest blue with the clouds, all low hung and as bouncy and cuddly as they come.

I love the taste of fresh lemons and often ate them off the tree.

When we young, we used to take many trips to the South coast, two places of note are, “Port Shepstone and “Margate” – it was resort city, ideal break away with horse riding, windy palm breezes, sandy shores, picnic time, shell hunting, boat rides and games… it was mini paradise.

My eldest brother, often now perceived as “stubborn” is actually a sweetheart but filled with a heart of emotion possibly even greater than mines as he leads with 4 years gap over me. Now he often laughs when his son, says something to him, and while we all try to spoil the little guy like there is no tomorrow,in lieu of our past, we are trying equally hard to make sure that as the head of the next generation (in our family), he has strong values and is a true Muslim. Filtering the western out from him is more difficult than our times though, considering he gives us a run for our money – he never quits on a hearty debate especially when it’s a question of animals or dvd’s! My little politician (and national geographic fan) and I often used to sit in my bed on Sunday afternoons watching movies, while he would engross me in discussions over whales (pronounced way hools) and sharks. They were apparently the best he’d known until now that is – its dragons right now, namely one in particular, “Toothless”.

My often dubbed “twin” is second brother who is younger than me by a year, we spent a lot of time being naughty and getting big brother into trouble because of our naughtiness. None the less we did all put in building the Saturday afternoon lunch tent, even if it was a failure from the start :D. Mind you now he has 3 little gremlins of his own and his boy, the only one, is the naughtiest fellow, even more so that his self pro-claimed princess sisters. Strangely enough his first and second are a year apart too:)

7 years on, came the youngest, a great disappointment for me at first as I was expecting a sister and got another brother *pfft*…all in all he turned out to be cute pumpkin of a baby whom we loved and fought to carry. In a few months, he borders on new territory, as he gets ready to tie the knot, Inshallah. So that leaves me officially as the only unmarried one – my mother prefers to call me the only baby in the house *how cute*.

My dad, a very reserved person, often till this day, does not talk much. He is retired now, enjoying life and works just to fill his time. Back when were young, he spent tiring days in the business to see us through school and university with the help of my mother, they accomplished well-appreciated life together

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Sickness...

MY MUM IS ILL. I think it is serious. I can't go too far into it as she doesn't know I'm posting and it's not fair.
I am very unhappy. I don't want her to die.

STOP PRESS: IT IS CANCER (CONFIRMED) ~ RE-EMERGENCE FROM A FEW YEARS AGO.
I POSTED THAT TODAY (SAT). BUT THE POST ISN'T ABOUT THAT BECAUSE I WOULD RATHER THINK ABOUT GERMAN SOAP OPERA THAN CANCER %;-/...