Eat Mubarak (updated)

And so to end, as we began, Eid Mubarak from myself and the folks at someecards.com.

Sucks that we can't agree on a date, but hey, we can't even agree on which of the 72 will make it to the finish line.

May your day be a beautiful celebration of Faith, family and food.

To note; fennel, ginger and turmeric are good remedies for indigestion.





One for the Jo'burgers:


And a special rendering for the spokesperson of the Anti-Mehndhi Collective:


The last time I was this excited about new shoes for Eid, must've been when I was around six years old. Please humour this mindless indulgence:

Recalled

My husband's handiwork. He's a big South Park fan. 

The term 'recall' makes me think of defective seatbelts or leadpainted alphabet blocks. 

We are living in interesting times.

The reluctant tagger- Proudly SA- the last i promise (maybe)

"A Proudly South African meme inspired by EXMI

Rules:

Link back to the Meme creator - Caz

Link back to the person who tagged you - this girlie here.

Give at least 5 reasons why you love SA

Let me know once you've done it."

Our country is a troubled teenager. Its soul wrestles and sweats with the burly demons of crime, poverty and corruption. It thrashes with poor service delivery, reckless political mouthpieces, unemployment, class struggle and HIV/Aids.

But it still believes; this teenager harbours hope.

And I still believe, though on some days, it gets a bit hard to. But that is the nature of Faith.

And with that, I give you 5 reasons why I love South Africa:

1. Our freedom of expression/religion. I can be Muslim, Jewish, Christian, Hindu, Taoist, Bhuddist, Wiccan, whatever. I can wear the symbols of my faith freely and there is no obstacle to my practice.
   
2. We all go on about what a beautiful country this is, because, what do you know,  it really is a beautiful country. Click here for pictures the husband took over at Chapmans Peak, Cape Town. That's just one place.
   
3. Our internet access is not censored or restricted. (But we'd really like more bandwidth please)
   
4. We managed a fairly peaceful transition into democracy back in 1994, when the world thought we'd burn each other up. And that gives me real hope for our future.
   
5. We are a nation of creatives and achievers: in the arts, technosphere and on the sports field. 
   

Your turn.

You know what I am before you know who I am.

My original concept for this was to have the words form the image of the woman wearing the scarf, a textual graphic, similar to the Islamic calligraphy where verses of the Quran are written stylistically to curve into and form shapes from nature. 

But, I am artistically-inept, any rendering would have been as elegant as a crayon left to melt in the sun.  The next best thing was to turn to photoshop and manipulate an image sourced from a google search.

The rationale: Ramadaan tends to froth up the visual Islam; the conventional markers of the Faith such as the hijab and the beard. It is a time for questions from those you work with, study with or buy fruit from. Challenge the existing perceptions, unsettle the mindsets, uncover their minds, educate.

"Be water, my friend" and current addictions

Ramadaan and fasting has me as placid and calm as an undisturbed forest pool,  and I am more inclined to do what is asked of me. 

Like Bruce Lee, my way is of water.

So while I don't usually respond to tags as a full blog post, I will do this for Fatima because not only am I roza-compliant, but she is almost-family and gave me a really awesome serving bowl as a wedding present.

My five current addictions are as follows:

1. Fennel. The seeds, the sprigs, ground up or whole. I will add it to any dish I can get away with.
   
2. Google reader. How could I have not latched on to this sooner!? Shame on me.
   
3. Twitter. I'm following some of South Africa's brightest people and some brilliant buitelanders.
   
4. Woolworths Taste Magazine
   
5. Making coffee popsicles. See here for directions. Add a bit of elachi (cardamom) for that lekker extra.
   

--note-- Killa's gone and tagged me as well. Even though I didn't get a discount on the jellies I bought from their shop, he's family too (the tentacles of the charo-connections* extend into the blogosphere)

I will not tag anyone specifically. If you care to play along, leave your list in the comments section.

*aka "haga kareh" in the guji vernac, "my granny's your grandpa's cousin", "my aunty's married to your brother-in-law's sister" and on and on until you discover you've gone and married someone whose forebearers worked in the same village rice keti as your great-great-grand-dada's.

Day 4, 5 and 6

I was born on the fifth of Ramadaan. 

A friday much like yesterday, except for the faint chill of winter that threads through June air.

I always forget my islamic calendar birthday, and had to be reminded by my mother.

Once I hit fast#3, the days become one huge amalgamated mass of light and dark, with only the numbered chapters of the Quran and the tear-away days on our Ramadaan calendar providing any sense of where I really am.

However, this is not exclusive to Ramadaan. Just a few weeks ago, I misplaced a whole day. I have no idea what I did with Tuesday, August 26. Any information you might have regarding the missing hours can be forwarded via email to me.

The quiet still shrouds me, amplifying all those ugly, scraggly bits of character I need to do away with. If only a metaphysical Verimark existed, and I could pick up a nifty flaw and fluff-remover along with some Bio-slim (as this month of abstention does nothing for a body that's stubborn and clingy). 

The community website ramadaan.co.za features a really good series by Mariam Mahomed titled Ramadan Bootcamp. A post on forgiveness pulled a string in me, and I began to think on all those whom I had stomped on and the ones who muddied me.

I believe it's a feature of only-child syndrome to want to be loved by everyone all the time (other solo brats feel free to disagree). 

For a large part of my lived life thus far, the thought of someone not falling in step with that line refused to compute. And with that, I lived selfishly, doing what I had to do to get what I want, with little cognisance of the sharp words I'd utter or the disappointments I'd cause. "I'm sorry, I didn't realise..." were frequent and familiar. I'd give you a smiley face and some story of how I'm just so caught up in myself to be aware of what I've really done. All would be forgiven, because, well, I'm me, and everybody likes me.

But it happens, that one day, someone actually is not able to stomach you, and it sickens you to your bowels, because really that's never happened before (or maybe you were just so caught up in that little monarchy in your head, that you never noticed). That experience was enough to allow for a long-overdue growth-spurt of maturity. And you begin to think on who's really forgiven you. 

It would not make any sense to go back to every single person you've wronged for all your time on earth. What would you say that wouldn't rattle with empty? "Look, I've just had an epiphany. I've been really ugly to you. I know I asked for you to forgive me, but will you really forgive me, because I'm being sincere this time around."

You can't expect people to hand out their heartfelt maafs on your demand. They have a right to withold it for as long as their soul will allow. All you can offer is your honesty and prove by your subsequent actions that you truly are regretful. 

As for those for whom you penned great epics of wrath and rage for, it's all kind of laughable really. You would not be who you are today were it not for some reptile who forced you to walk on another path. While you need not cut out your heart for canapés, know that hate makes you brittle.

I visited my family in Azaadville today; with all their quirks and crazies, they keep me grounded. Reading salaah next to my grandmother, I found it hard to suppress a smile when she made her takbeer aloud and proceeded to recite her prayers just above that of an audible whisper. She's been praying like that for so long, I don't think He minds anymore. This is the woman who raised me, more mother than grandmother, I'm blessed to have three I can call Mummy (the recent addition of sg33k's). My grandmother laments my weight gain and pushes sweets on me, all in the same breath. The ways of the old sometimes grate on the young, but in that exercise of patience, lies great reward. 

My uncle had a tumour removed from his bladder two days ago. He's caught in that horrid limbo of waiting on his results. Some of you reading this may have met him, and for others who've not; know that he is a father, a husband, a son, a brother, an uncle. At a time where our prostrations are just that little bit more extended, and we're inwardly clamouring for the Almighty's approval, remember him, and all those who are not in their best of states, in your prayers.

Jelly and Ifthaar are inextricably linked for me. Whobbling wonderfulness, I lose at least twenty years whenever I'm shlurping some.

Day 2 and 3

There is a stillness in Ramadaan; a special type of quiet that wraps around us. A stillness that renders us malleable; a warm and pliable soul, ready to receive all of Good.

Those things that rub against our grain; loaded words that bring on brain-hives and the desire to strew expletives over the offender -- for no well-reasoned argument will dumb the donkey’s bray that offends -- we find those things have no place in this soft soul.

It is from the stillness that patience is to be born, with a certain measure of tolerance and the will to let things go. Water off of a sheet of glass.

But I must acknowledge how fortunate we are to have within our midst, those who abide in domiciles built from a certain amorphous solid, and who are only too keen to hurl projectiles at those who pass by. Well-meaning missiles, of course; targeting our ill-placed sentiments into something that loosely resembles one person’s notion of what constitutes a Mu’min.

Why, you need not scar your forehead asking of The One to guide you onto the path of Truth and Light, when you’re being herded onto a trail predetermined by one who simply knows better.

And everyone knows better. Except you, of course.

My patience is not complete. It has yet to be tempered into something better than glass.

(Coffee at Sehri, keeps you Merry. Salma will agree, that rhymes somewhat)

Day One

It was hard for me to bask in a spiritual infusion today, when my brain must’ve been trying to escape through my eye sockets, for all the pain I blinked back.

Hello Caffeine Dependency, you are such a bastard.

A website I was working on had its database eaten by some e-tokoloshe.

That translated into two full days of work having to be compressed into a couple of quicksand hours in order for us not to look like inept fools should some client surf over. This excluded the two hours of downtime we experienced due to the power being cut-off because someone was having a Marie Antoinette moment down at the municipality.

It takes a strong person to not want to smash up the internet and unleash an inner Gustav on anyone within arms reach.

I am not a strong person.

I tried to smile, and I failed.

The frustration and the physical fatigue gave my aura the brown-colour wash of a party-pooper. I could see relief iron out the wrinkles on my boss’ face when I asked to leave early.

I admit the juggling is a feat and I’m trying very hard to keep work, pray and kitchen in smooth circles up in the air.

But this is only Day One. I have an entire month (and beyond) to work out my arms.

And there is something truly magic and complete about breaking your fast with someone who builds your world.