Is anything ever going to change?

http://www.gulf-daily-news.com/NewsDetails.aspx?storyid=378559

Once again I open the GDN to read an unbelievable story about sexual abuse and the leniency the Bahrain Courts have when punishing perpetrators. A 15 year old and his uncle beat, raped, and filmed themselves while doing it because the man was engaged in a relationship with the 15 year olds mother. His words were, she was having a relationship “behind his back”. Since when do mothers need their children’s permission to have relationships? She is divorced and free, right? Ok let us make the poor excuse that this is an Arab country and so the mother needs her son’s permission to have a relationship (this is still Bahrain and not Saudi, right?), why did those two feel that a beating and rape while filming it was the correct course of action to take in order to bring this relationship to an end? The son claims it was his right to “honor beat” the man. Honor beat? Once again, what country is this? Since when did using the word “honor” become an acceptable excuse for beating and raping someone anywhere in the world but specifically Bahrain? I have lived here over 22 years and have never heard that word used as justification in court before. Is a new trend in extremism coming to Bahrain? Do residents here now have to fear that at any moment an attack will ensue based on “honor”? Not only that but your day in court will be little more than another assault against you as the judge will view your beating and rape as merely an inconvenience to you because the defendant had to restore his family honor one way or another?  In all the years I have lived in Bahrain one of the constants that has never changed are the atrociously low sentences  (or slap on the wrists if you will) that child molesters and rapists earn for doing the most despicable thing one can do to another, much less a child. Not only did these men confess to what they did in court, it is obvious that they are dangerous men who use extreme measures to deal with their issues. What excuse will the courts give them when they show up once again having done something similar to some other victim (maybe the mother next time, in defense of honor) because human beings generally show you who they are but we often ignore it and assume the best in them.  If I were someone considering coming to Bahrain for work or travel and I read the local newspapers as a way to gauge what sort of country Bahrain was, imagine my thoughts when reading that expats might not be able to drive for much longer, that car accidents due to extremely poor and aggressive driving are a daily occurrence, that if your nationality is not the “right” one you may be treated as less than either physically, financially, or humanely, that animals are often abused and considered disposable, that beaches are garbage dump sites, that elected officials in this country spend copious amounts of time doing nothing more than coming up with ways to waste both time and money,  and that, worst of all, sexual crime is not a big deal and treated lightly by the Bahrain Court system. The Bahrain government has spent a lot of money and effort in convincing the rest of the world that everything is fine here in order to get tourists and business back on board after events over the past couple of years and yet for anyone that has even the smallest interest in coming to Bahrain, all that effort is wasted with just a few minutes spent reading a local newspaper. All the money in the world and the best P.R. firm cannot undo that kind of damage.  

Potentially Exciting News...

Since my return to Bahrain I have been looking for avenues in which to use my writing in ways that will both interest me and possibly pay me as well. I've been looking for jobs in that area but so far haven't been successful; however, last night a whole new potential direction was opened up to me. 

Bahrain has a writer's club of which I only recently discovered. It is actually called, Bahrain Writers' Circle, and we all met last night during the first meeting of this new year. They have been a club for a few years now and a speech by one of the leaders gave a run down of all that they have done and hope to do again this year. Among other things, they have an agreement with Bahrain's Ministry of Culture to present the works of local writers' during Bahrain's many cultural venues held through out the year. This particular man expertise is poetry and he explained how they do poetry readings at the national forts scattered around Bahrain. Apparently he teaches the readers to read with real emotion and flair in order to engage the listener. He detailed how all the poetry is gathered and published in a book and presented to the Ministry of Culture. He also said that he truly hopes that at least one person in that meeting will make something of their writing using all that this club has to offer in way of support and opportunity. Apparently several of the longer term members have done some amazing things they credit the club with and others are equally as hopeful in that endeavor. It sounds exciting to me even though I have never really been much into poetry. I might give it a try simply for the experience factor. 

I met a young lady that wrote and published her own book here in Bahrain and she started with just 500 copies and they flew off the shelves so she is on her second print already. The book is the first fiction novel written by an English writer and published in Bahrain while also being based in Bahrain. Arabs are not big on publishing English books so most would be writers must look outside the gulf to find someone to publish their book. She used a local publishing firm and basically they printed the manuscript out as is, meaning, no proof reading, or editing other than what she did herself. She wrote in on Microsoft Word so it printed out quite badly, yet nobody at the press bothered to inform her of that until all 500 copies were printed. Apparently that didn't stop the buyers though as she sold most of the copies the first day it was released.  She acknowledges that basing it in Bahrain let her write freely because it is what she knows and buyers can connect with that as they live here and recognize every place she writes about. Of course that speaks to my personal experience as well so will definitely keep that in mind. I am impressed with her that she just decided to write a book, wrote it, sat on it for a number of years, then decided to just print it and see what happens. Good things happen to those that get off their ass and do it obviously. 

This club might be just what I've been looking for as far as getting my own dreams of publishing a book off the ground. I liked the people I met, the goals of the club as well as the many accomplishments they have already enjoyed considering they are just a small group of people that really like to write and present it to the public. I also liked the enthusiasm of the that one leader in particular, David Hollywood. He is from Ireland and so very gung ho about making every writer in that room famous somehow. Was hard not to be fired up by his energy levels alone. 

One very interesting thing was that I knew nobody in that room when I entered it but apparently my name preceded me (I joined the Facebook group a few weeks beforehand) as some of them knew who I was based on my writing to the paper etc.. That was quite something and made me feel rather proud. Always does when that happens. 

I do like the potential this group has to offer me in terms of getting some sort of foothold in the writing field and, of course, finding ways to entertain myself with a great group of people doesn't hurt either. I shall update as things progress. 

Bring Adam Jones Home/A Foreign Mother's Fight for Her Half British Half Qatari Son

 http://gulf-daily-news.com/NewsDetails.aspx?storyid=362138

Adam Jones was tricked out of the custody of his British mother 4 years ago after her ex husband, a Qatari national, died in a motorcycle accident. Her husband's family invited her to bring Adam over under the pretense of a family get together, something she had willingly done before, so suspected nothing was different this time. They asked her to sign a document pertaining to his inheritance from his father's estate but in fact it was her signing over her custody of her son to the family. She has been fighting four long years in the Qatar courts to get Adam back with only two visits per week with him. So far not much has been done for her and I find this whole drama heart breaking and quite personal as it is something foreign mother's to Arab nationals must live under the threat of constantly. Our children and rights and access to them is what binds us to these marriages or to the countries long after we might other wise be gone. This is the letter I wrote today in regards to Adam and his mother's plight. 


In response to the plight of Adam Jones whose mother was tricked into giving up custody of him to his Qatari family, it boggles my mind that the word "allegedly" was used when describing what her ex husband's family did in order to gain custody of her son. Despite the fact that nobody should ever sign a document that they do not understand, especially when it is in a foreign language (a practice that is forced on many non Arabic readers here in the  gulf), I must wonder at the Sharia Court in Qatar that still considers that document as valid and legal. Once she stated in court that she was under duress to sign it and that she was misinformed as to its contents then the court was obliged to throw it out or at the very least to investigate the reasons behind the accusations and whether they were true or not. To uphold that document for four long years and keep Adam from his mother, who clearly did not want to release custody of him, is a telling indication of just how Sharia Courts in the Middle East view foreign mother's rights as being nonexistent and not worth the trouble to implement them. Personal experience and hearing the stories of so many other foreign mother's of Bahraini, Saudi, Qatari and other G.C.C. country's children is proof positive that Adam's mother will most likely not find the justice she is so desperately looking for. If it were going to come one would have to assume that the concerned authorities (if they really are concerned) would not let 4 years pass by without finding a resolution. Four years that neither Adam nor his mother will ever get back. I am wondering if anyone in Qatar has bothered to ask young Adam whether he prefers his father's money and family who have connived and tricked his mother into separating him from her or to relinquish his right to that money (since that is most likely what they are really after) in order to sleep once again in his own bed with his own family around him? Chances are they will never ask him nor care for his response if they do and yet they must also be blind to the fact that he will not be a minor forever and eventually when he comes of age he will be free to go where and with whom he pleases. Time will tell whether his father's Qatari family really do have his best interest at heart or whether they will let him leave when he is of age and not bother to keep in touch after that. It is my experience and those of other women that once the native father (or his family) loses (either custody, children come of age, want nothing to do with him etc.) then neither he nor his family are interested in what becomes of those children they once so ardently fought for. As much as I hope that Adam's mother does get her hearts desire and Adam is returned to her sooner rather than later, I am convinced that only time and Adam's age will be the telling clue as to that family's true intentions with him and I truly hope that all the lies and disinformation that Adam is most assuredly being fed do not take their toll on his young mind and convince him that his mother willingly surrendered him to those people for the young are so easily mislead from the truth with false smiles, fake hugs, and confidently spoken words with god interspersed throughout.

Stay strong, young Adam. From one mother who nearly lost her children to the unjust actions of the Sharia Court here in Bahrain to another suffering the same fate in Qatar, I can honestly tell you that your mother is fighting for your life with every muscle and breath in her body. That is what mothers do.

Lee Ann Fleetwood

The value of a child.

A Bahraini man publicly declared that he would be willing to sacrifice his children for peace in Bahrain. He was called a hero by many when it was posted on Facebook by supporters of peace in Bahrain. I was the only one who took exception to his declaration and said so. Here is what I said. Comments?

I am a follower of the Defend Bahrain page on Facebook and recently a particular Shiia man's name was mentioned as being "a hero" because he stated that he would be willing to sacrifice his 5 children for peace in Bahrain (for the record he was denouncing those in Bahrain that are causing chaos). Dozens of comments lauded this man as a not only a hero but a shining example of what a citizen of this country should strive to be like. As a parent myself I was absolutely horrified by his statement and by those that verbally back slapped and high fived him. I'm sure they would have carried him on their shoulders as well if possible. As parents we are given one task the moment we realize we are now parents and that is to protect our children from harm. There is no piece of land on this planet that comes close to being worth the blood that flows through any one of my children's bodies. We are meant to protect them with OUR lives...not sacrifice them on the alter of stupidity, ignorance, and pride. What is the point of bringing peace to Bahrain if we have thrown our children to the wolves in the process as we are meant to want peace for THEM, not for ourselves. We are leaving this land for them and for those that come after them. Not for ourselves as we will be long gone eventually. To say you are willing to sacrifice your children for a piece of land means you are not only an unfit parent, but neither deserving of nor striving for that peace you so loudly claim you want because a home that has lost all its children to war can never be a peaceful home....and a home that has lost all its children due to a parents neglect, pride and misplaced priorities is hell on earth. How can peace come from that? A true hero is a man that lays down his weapons, be they real or imagined, physical or verbal, while standing in front of his children and declaring, no more fighting...I want peace..and I am willing to sacrifice my pride, my ego, and my life for that goal, as long as they are safe. If everyone of those on that page who called him a hero were willing to sacrifice their own children as well, Bahrain would become a barren wasteland for what is peace without the sound of children playing and laughing. It is an empty meaningless peace.

Jimmy Carter...a voice of reason

In my search for some information on another topic I came across this by Jimmy Carter regarding men using religious speak to subjugate and oppress women...then declare that God orders it to be so. Its an interesting read and I advise others to give it a look.


"This view that women are somehow inferior to men is not restricted to one religion or belief. It is widespread. Women are prevented from playing a full and equal role in many faiths."


He speaks from a Christian perspective but of course you can insert any religion, including Islam, into the space and have the same result.


"Nor, tragically, does its influence stop at the walls of the church, mosque, synagogue or temple. This discrimination, unjustifiably attributed to a Higher Authority, has provided a reason or excuse for the deprivation of women's equal rights across the world for centuries. The male interpretations of religious texts and the way they interact with, and reinforce, traditional practices justify some of the most pervasive, persistent, flagrant and damaging examples of human rights abuses."


http://www.guardian.co.uk/commentisfree/2009/jul/12/jimmy-carter-womens-rights-equality


In case anyone hasnt figured it out yet...I havent a clue how to make a link...tried tried and tried again...no luck. I apologize for my ineptitude in all things bloggy.

Be Careful Washing Your Delicates!!!

For anyone that has ever visited the Middle East...or maybe just a predominately Muslim country....you will probably have seen bathrooms with these water hoses for washing up after. Most homes have them and quite a few commercial businesses etc will have them as well. They are a common enough commodity and used quite regularly by the native populations (not sure about the visitors etc).

Now one thing some people might not be aware of when using one of these thing is that the temperatures outside can decidedly affect the temps of the water you are about to wash your nether regions with...and that you have about 4 or 5 seconds of rather lukewarm liquid...before you are possibly scalded with some suddenly very hot water pointed directly at your most precious bits. It can be an extreme eye opener (not to mention scream inducer)..and peeing or anything else you were planning to do later in the day can be a very sensitive matter indeed.

One way around this is to not have your water tank on top of your house or building where the sun is busy boiling it all day long...easy if you own your home...not so easy if you rent etc.

Another option is to keep some tepid water handy in the bathroom just for such moments...nice if you dont have animals or small children that dont come along and spill it or play in it (or drink from it)...sigh!! If you place it up out of the way your likely to forget to bring it down BEFORE sitting down to take care of business...and then your left maneuvering yourself after the fact to get it while not...*ahem* ...dripping or something on your clothing. (dont laugh...it happens)

Anyhow, Summer is now fully upon us here in Bahrain...temps are in the high 35 to 37 degrees Celsius already...so that means the water is right up there in the too hot to handle during midday (no showers and dish washing for you wimps) (yes..that would be me) and seriously too hot for your nether regions to take without some serious repercussions.

Believe me...take my word on this...its not something you want to try out for yourself. Nuff said.

*I dont know why my paragraphs wont stay put. They are here when I type it out but disappear once its posted. Very frustraing. Grrr!!!

Do I Have Your Royal Word on That?

Imagine my surprise early last week when I received a call from someone, while pretty damn famous and well known here in Bahrain, is not someone that generally calls me. How she, or should I say her office, got my mobile number remains a mystery...but considering who she is Im sure thats not much of a problem...anyways...

Now heres the thing...her office called ME...me. Apparently it came to their attention that I could use some help in my life at the moment as a single mom of 5 kids (important that they are Bahraini kids I might add) dealing with a crappy hand at the moment...remember...THEY called ME. Just so Im clear on that.

Now the lady on the phone was very nice...taking some information from me...asking about our situation etc. No problem. The generosity of strangers has saved me more than once recently....so the phone call itself didnt surprise me but the person calling did (or who she represented any how)...defintely did.

I was still getting over my shock at discovering who was calling me when she signed off with a promise to "help me" and would "get back to me shortly".

Now heres my question. I will not name names here so this is a general sort of question...but when it comes to "get back to me shortly" does that mean different things to different people? How short is shortly?

One week later and I havent heard back from this office. Now ordinarily I would take these sort of phone calls and offers of help with a grain of salt because, believe me, Ive received offers of help, jobs, money...whatever with seemingly the utmost of sincerity...only to discover later it didnt mean as much to them as it meant to me. You would have to be someone desperately needing something to understand that feeling of powerlessness at obtaining that "thing" you need...regardless of what it is. Invariably those offers, while received by me with abundant hope and thankfulness, ended up dwindling away like so much dust. Which resulted in the person offering the help to suddenly be unavailable to my calls and avoiding me when they seen me coming...ok...whatever. Im not going to hang it over someones head if they 'CANT help me...but I surely do wish people wouldnt make the offer if they have no intention of following through....

Hope dashed is worse then no hope at all sometimes...believe me...I know.

Anyhow, back to this office...now I understand that this ladies office is definitely in a position to help me. Its not a question of money or ability on their side...a simple phonecall or recommendation on my behalf and...walah!! ...people would be falling all over themselves to jump and do as commanded...it really would have to be that easy. Some people just have that certain sense of "royalty" about them...if you know what I mean.

Sooooo....Im sort of wondering why a week has gone by and no word back. I might sound greedy and impatient to some out there reading this...and I suppose considering who the office represents I cant help but get a few stars in my eyes about the possibilities (Ive heard in the past the sort of "help" offered by just such offices)...but really...THEY CALLED ME...so its not like I wrote a letter begging for help or used some wasta to get a special favour on my behalf. I wouldnt even know how to go about doing that...seriously. I just cant imagine it would take a whole week for something to be done...whatever that something was. Im just saying...not even a phone call back to let me know "its being worked on" or something....sigh!

Anyhow, I expect this sort of thing from "ordinary" people as they say...because sometimes people offer help with the best of intentions and then realize later they really cant follow through. Ok...I understand. I wont hold it against you if I feel it was a genuine offer on your part...just a little ambitious. Those people that offer with NO intention of following through...well hell...why even bother yourself? I wish you would just keep your promises to yourself...my children and I dont need that sort of wishful thinking in our lives at this point...

but those that CALL ME and offer to help me...and are obviously in a position to do so with no obstacles...then dont bother to get back to me...seriously...WHY? What did you get out of it...or hope to accomplish with that phonecall? Just wondering.

Now, I realize its only been a week...not a whole lot of time passed to warrant my irritation I suppose...but hey...when a stroke of a pen, a phone call, or a "royal" request is made...by certain people in society...it cant take more than...say.... 5 mins...half a day...a whole day??? to get it done...can it?

For myself, seriously, Im use to people and how they can be...dont get me started...but I made the mistake of mentioning the phonecall to my kids...wish I hadnt...nuff said on that.

Like I said...does "get back to you shortly" mean different things to different people?

I shall ponder whether I should practice more patience...or just chalk it up to "shit happens" and be done with it...what do ya think people?

My Boy, My Hero!!! pt 2

So...where was I?



Oh yes, Boo had finally gotten the door open and my two Yemeni neighbors came bustling in looking around to see where I was (and I do believe checking out the cleanliness of my house...they were sticklers for being neat). They found me lying on the floor in obvious pain and distress. My clothes were soaked...the floor was covered in vomit and I was in agony curled up in a ball.



Now, Ive never required emergency hospital treatment in the states so I cant say with authority exactly what the procedure entails...in Bahrain (or at least in my house and on the way to the hosp on that particular day) it consisted of a series of events that nearly led to my potential death.



So there I was laying on the floor...very very happy to see my "rescuers" and quite ready to be rescued...however...they had a few things they felt needed doing before they could cart me off to the hosp apparently.



Let me first say that while my understanding of Arabic is fairly decent for the most part...when it comes to Yemeni Arabic they might as well be speaking Swahili...I havent a clue...which means the lack of communication this particular day added a great deal of stress to an all ready stressful situation.



First of all, they took one look at my house clothes and decided they just wouldnt do for an emergency trip to the hosp. So much for the...get her in the car as fast as you can cause obviously she needs hosp treatment ASAP!!!...oh no...I needed a makeover first before they were satisfied to get me moving out the door.



So try and picture this comedy of errors that preceded my being saved at the proverbial last minute by, for once in my case, a flurry of attentive doctors.



First the two ladies tried wrestling me into an abaya. I was at that time wearing an abaya that was pulled over the head...so they attempted to get my abaya on (which can be a bit of a struggle at the best of times) by fair means or foul...but Im by no means a light weight. Ive got some jiggle that needs to be dealt with and its a chore all by itself when Im completely concious and have all my abilities at my control...mix that excess poundage with legs of jelly and a half comatose mental state...plus two rather diminutive sized women ...and ...well...you can imagine what sort of tragic dance ensued.



About an eon later when they finally had me all properly abayed I felt a sense of relief that cannot be measured...finally we were ready to get out the door. Yalla! Im ready...lets go.



They were not done yet. They felt I still needed a little something something before I was ready. I might add that I was still wracked with pain...still vomiting now and then...still sweating sweat the size of rain drops...and still pretty much out of it...so they did what must have seemed like the most natural thing to do under these emergency conditions...they now attempted to put my hijab on. (I still wore one then as well...and this incident was one of the deciding factors that eventually led me to remove it...among others).



So...for any woman that has ever worn the hijab you will know that it can be a bit tricky when YOU are the one putting it on...arranging it...and maybe even pinning it....so for someone else to put it on you (while your practically comatose I might add) Im sure is something has to be seen to be appreciated for its slapstick comedy appeal.



Now considering I was the victim to all this fashion policing....and a very sick and very pitiful one at that...I cant say for sure just how long these ladies took to get my hijab on in a satisfactory manner that was pleasing to them. (they were niqabis themselves so were quite happy to try and introduce me to the joys of not being able to see where Im going at that particular moment)...I feebly attempted to let them know that I was more than happy to forego the "modesty "of hijab...just this once...in order to facilitate my speedy arrival at the health center....but they didnt understand...or chose not to...so Im thinking it must have been a week at least before my hijab was in place (more or less) and we were finally headed out the door. Me sandwiched between these two women that turned out to be surprisingly strong for their size. (they had to be to get me to the car...sigh...now wheres that gym membership form)



So fiiiiinally we were in the car of one of their husbands...me slouching in the back seat vaguely aware that Boo was in there with me...wondering if I was actually going to die on this particular day considering the pain was unrelenting and growing by the minute...and that I had Lucille Ball and her sidekick in complete control of my immediate future.



I dont know how they drive in Yemen...but from my experience having my very own Yemeni driver that day I would hazard a guess and say they drive extremely sloooooowly. No need to worry I didnt observe certain safety precautions...I might die from whatever alien was currently trying to vacate my chest...but I would not die from my failure to wear my seatbelt...small blessings and all that.



Hindsight tells me I started feeling the first stirrings of pain around 9:30 am...about 45 minutes had passed before I attempted to call husband...when we arrived at the health center it was nearly noon as I heard the adhan playing and the health center is only 5 minutes from my house....soooooo...it took those ladies approximately an hour...maybe a little more...to dress me "appropriately" before deciding I was good to go.



So...we arrived at the health center. Yay!! You would think that was a good thing for someone like me...you know...seriously sick and all.



Think again.

*to be continued

My Boy, My Hero!!! pt 1

This is my boy...my baby. He's 11 now but in this pic he's about 3. His name is Jibreel...or Boo for short. When he was 3 years old he saved my life. Picture this...

For about a year prior to the day he saved my life I had been back and forth to the doctors with severe chest pains. We are talking mammoth gargantuan kill me now chest pains!! Everytime I went to the hospital they would "diagnose" me with acid reflux and prescribe maalox and pain medication...and send me home.

It got to the point that I could barely take a bite of anything before that impending feeling of a freight train of agony coming on that would signal that I was in for anything from 15 minutes to 2 hours of serious killer pain...and there wasnt anything I could do about it. I was drinking gallons of maalox...downing pain pills like an addict...sometimes it worked and kept most of the pain at bay but usually I was left curled up in a fetal position, rocking myself and trying to meditate until it passed. It got to the point where I was reluctant to leave the house fearing I would have an attack while outside and would be helpless to stop it. Numerous trips to the doctors describing my symptoms etc only resulted in more of the same...maalox and pain medication with recommendations to cut down on spicy foods...yeah...I'll do that.

I didnt have the internet back then so google wasnt available to help out and the library was a joke...I had nothing to use to figure out what my problem was (obviously the doctors were not helpful). I was afraid to eat anything but just a few select foods...and I was almost housebound (even more than my asshat husband forced me to be).

It all came to a head one day in which I almost died....but first a little more back story.

My 3 year old son had recently discovered that he could act like Houdini and escape out the front door the moment I turned my back...so I would carefully lock the door as soon as everyone was off to work or school each morning. Then he discovered how to operate the key so I had to hang the key over the door out of his reach. Soon he discovered how to knock the key down...so I was forced to hide the key (when I wasnt wearing something with pockets). I could always see him searching diligently in the shoes and on the tables etc looking for the key every morning. I actually had to change locations on several occasions because he managed to sniff it out...the little bloodhound. On the day in question I had hung the key in my bedroom behind the door on a nail. (careful not to let him see me put it there...he was quite a sneak)

So I was busy cleaning house, he was running around playing...then I felt that familiar ache starting to build. I quickly downed some pain pills to catch it before it caught hold...and chugged some maalox (I didnt even bother to measure out a dose...just swallowed it down)...and hoped for the best...but expected the usual.

I got a hell of a lot more than the usual.

Before long I was sitting crosslegged on the couch rocking back and forth doing my best to meditate and ignore the pain. Things were quite different this time though...I was sweating bullets...it was pouring down my body like rain and I was burning up...on fire!!! Not only did my chest feel like it was burning from internal acid...it felt like some kind of alien was trying to fight its way out of my chest.

It was the absolute worst pain I had ever endured.

I eventually realized that it wasnt going to pass this time and decided it was time to call the husband. I stood up to go to the phone and immediately collapsed on the floor. I tried to get up again but felt like I was paralyzed...I could barely move my arms enough to push myself up. I tried dragging myself across the floor but I felt like a limp rag...no strength at all. I laid on the floor in agony wandering what the hell to do. Not only couldnt I move...I had a 3 year old running around that could get into some kind of danger...and I was helpless to protect him.

Boo came over to me at this point all concerned that something was wrong with me. He even tried pulling on me I guess in his little attempts to get me up...Mommy on the floor crying and helpless was not part of his usual routine. It was then that I thought of telling him to bring me the phone. (no mobiles back then). He eagerly ran for the phone and carefully carried it across the floor to me...unfortunately the wire wasnt long enough to reach me and try as I might I could not move myself across the floor. The pain was enormous and debilitating.

Now remember my son was 3 and up to this point I had already started teaching him numbers etc but it wasnt something we had been doing for long...so I wasnt real sure how much he knew...but I took the chance that he knew them well enough to hit the numbers when I called them out to him. (funny enough I didnt even consider calling 999 because ambulance service in this country is a joke...as I would be reminded yet again before too long).

Between my moans and tears I called out my husbands work number to Boo...one digit at a time and watched as he hit the telephone key pad. In the back of my mind I was surprised to see he knew to remove the handset and place it to his ear even though I hadnt told him. I realize children play "phone" all the time...but this was serious and he seemed to be taking it seriously. (maybe wishful thinking on my side?)

When I had called out the last number and he had hit it...I waited a few moments giving it a chance to ring before shouting out to my husband that I was sick and needed help. I had no idea if it was even my husband on the other end of the line...or even if anyone was there...but I shouted all the same. I had no choice.

It was then that I started vomiting and my muscles were wracked with pain. My gut felt like it was being torn apart by lions and I was positive I was literally going to come apart from the pain. I had no idea if anyone was coming...if he had heard or even answered the phone...and I was helpless on the floor.

At some point I realized someone was banging on the front door. Obviously I couldnt get to the door and by this time I had no strength to even shout out to whomever it was. Boo was at the door trying to open it and I could hear voices on the other side...they were female voices and then I recognized them as my Yemini neighbors from upstairs. (I would find out later that Boo actually did hit the right numbers and my husband heard me shouting...he was far away and so called the neighbors to come down and check on me while he headed home).

By this time Boo was running around searching all the usual places for the door key and I was trying to get his attention to tell him where the key was in hopes that he would understand and get it. I finally managed to call him over and told him where it was...he needed some further guidance and encouragement but he eventually managed to get that door key by dragging some things across my bedroom floor and knocking it down.

Then he ran for the door and finally got it open.

*to be continued

The rest of the story will explain what happened to me and what was wrong with me after that front door was opened...but up to this point is important to me because if he hadnt understood numbers well enough to dial one...and hadnt been smart enough to figure out how to get the key down by himself...those ladies wouldnt have gotten in as soon as they did....and things might have turned out much different. Stay tuned.

Step Back....Im on a Rant!!!

Yesterday I was standing talking with my friend when some ladies came up to her and offered her their salams and chatted for about 5 minutes before departing. During that 5 minutes they did not acknowledge me standing there...barely threw a glance in my direction. Its not the first time this has happened to me...read on.

You know, dear readers, in my 23 plus years living here in the gulf Ive witnessed and been effected by many an Arab/Muslim tradition/culture/Islamic experience that has left me either happy, unmoved, or totally pissed off and wanting to vent like crazy. Ive been in arguments, debates, lost friends, gained new ones, learned much and wish to learn more...all in the quest to gain more knowledge about these people and their culture...and this religion. (not always two distinct entities mind you).

This particular post is just going to touch on one area in which an issue has been festering much too long. Ive tolerated this for 23 years and I dare say Ive damn near had it. Basic manners people...thats all it takes...basic manners.

Manners are taught to us from the time we are old enough to learn to say please and thank you. Manners are instilled in us so that we can learn to be sociable creatures that can get along in this jungle we call civilization. Most cultures out there, Im assuming, take great stock in manners...we pride ourselves in presenting a well mannered persona to those we know...and even those we dont know but may come into contact with for just a few minutes. Those few minutes can make the difference between leaving that "stranger" with good thoughts about you, your culture, your religion, your parents, your character....whatever...people pretty much make a snap judgement about you in just a few seconds/minutes of being in your presence...so make it count (if it matters to you).

My rant right now is about saying hello...or in this instance...saying salam or salam aleikum when you are faced with another person. We are taught at a very young age that when you approach someone to engage in conversation...or even just passing but want to acknowledge them...you call out "hello" or "salam aleikum". Muslim/Arabs are particularly sensitive about this issue...Greeting family, friends and strangers alike with proper salams is something you learn from the cradle. If you leave the house for an hour and come back...salams are given. If your walking from your house to the car and you see your neighbor, salams are called out. If your standing in the store aisle waiting your turn to check out and you see someone you know...salams are shared...even if the person in front of you is a stranger and happens to look at you, possibly to get your attention that the cart needs moving ...whatever, a quick salam is given and then the problem stated. If you enter a room full of people and neglect to say salam...or in some cases...go from one person to another extending personal salams to each one...you might be considered rude...and it will be remembered.

In other words...proper greetings are given a lot of seriousness and thought in this country/culture/religion. Hadith from the Prophet mention time and again to return salams with similar or even better ones...not to mention just minding our manners and showing respect etc. The Quran is full of information on how to act with proper manners etc...its not like Muslims dont know...do they?

So I seriously dont understand my fellow Muslim sisters (Im speaking directly to sisters here as I dont generally have a problem with men in this regard)...why is it you find it so hard to not only acknowledge my presence when Im standing right in front of you...but even if you do SEE me you quite often dont bother yourselves to extend salams to me?

Now, my friend gives me every excuse in the book as to why these Muslims are being so rude to me...many of them are her friends...sometimes her family...she doesnt want them to look bad in my eyes...but this has been happening to me for 23 years...20 of those while wearing hijab...so I dont understand what excuse there is. Muslims give Muslims salams...simple. Muslims should, in the very least, convey a smile or similar welcoming greeting to a person standing right in front of them...even if the arent Muslim...its called courtesy...manners.

She will tell me that they are shy cause they dont know English...well...hmmm? Last I heard salam aleikum was Arabic not English. Im not asking them to discuss the origins of life with me...just a simple salam to acknowledge they actually see me. I might even accept a simple smile to at least break tension...but no..nothing.

Now let me remind you dear readers that this is not a one or two times thing...this has been happening for over 20 years.

Ive been sitting with women at a table and other women will come....give salams...and not even eye contact with me...I will be in a room full of women...someone enters...extends salams...goes around the room for personal greetings...but for me...nothing. Its happened so many times that I cant assume its nothing but personal...but what have I done to deserve it? I dont know.

People DONT see me!!! Im starting to wonder if Im invisible...seriously.

It happens to be one of the hardest to bear experiences I have had living here...being made to feel invisible...like I dont belong...arent worth being acknowledged.

Like I dont count in their eyes...so why should they bother to greet me.

So my friend tells me...I should be the one to greet them if they dont greet me first. I should be the one to smile and show manners since they apparently arent going to. Ok fine...I can do that...not a big deal...but its rather hard to smile and be friendly with people that just rebuffed you for whatever reason....it comes off fake...not to mention humiliates me that Im forced to make them acknowledge me when clearly they did not want too. She doesnt understand how I feel since she has never stood in my shoes.

Anyhow, Im sick of it. Had enough. I told myself the next time someone deliberately refused to SEE me...to offer salams etc while I was right there in front of them...I would make sure they knew just how rude they were being.

I was with my friend yesterday...and 3 ladies came up to her for a project of some sort. They gave kissy kissy salams Arab style...Im right there...they know Im with her...they interrupted us to greet her...so why no greeting for me too? I dont expect the familiarity of kissy kissy salams Arab style...but still...Hello? Something?

So I loudly told my friend..."I thought Muslims learned to say salam from a young age...where are these ladies manners? How rude of them they didnt give me salams."

She tried to smile and cover up my talk while apparently hoping they didnt understand English enough to know how RUDE I was being...go figure.

Anyhow, anyone out there have this problem...invisibility among Muslims (in my case Muslim women generally)? It doesnt happen ALL the time to me...but enough times to really cause me grief and deeply hurt feelings towards these so called Muslims. I cant find any acceptable excuse for not extending a basic salam to someone...ignore the language barriers...whatever...I can say hello in 7 different languages even if I cant speak anything else in that language. Its an ice breaker to greet someone with a hello...its a sociable concept to acknowledge their presence and include them in your talk when you walk up and face them with one or two others. This is shunning pure and simple...and I dont understand the reason for it.

Before anyone makes the excuse....maybe they dont know your a Muslim. My answer...whats that got to do with anything? Seriously. Dont even use that weak argument with me. Are we to believe a basic salam...or even an English hello...cannot be spoken to a nonMuslim if that is the case? Are Muslims so miserly with their salams and who they give them too? Is it too much of a language barrier to utter "hello" to someone...or even just smile at them if you dont know the language or feel shy?

Seriously people...what the hell is it? Is it me? Am I wearing a sign that says "hostile combatant" on it or something? What?

Im 40 years old. Ive spent 23 years of my life being made to feel invisible for some reason by assumingly ordinary basically good people. I dont know why.

What does it take to be SEEN over here?

Follow This Blog

As promised this is the new blog created by my 15 year old daughter(just had her bday not too long ago). Im highlighting it just so she can get some traffic in the beginning...and then hopefully it will go from there.

I told her to write what she pleased and dont feel censored just because I can read it...freedom in writing should be automatic and is very cathartic. Her first post is amazing and powerful and Im blown away all ready.

Please readers, if you have the time, visit my daughters blog. I promise you will read some awesome words...all though I cant vouch for the spelling (even with spellcheck...she is somewhat lazy in that regard...lol).

Enjoy

http://www.gothicangel94.blogspot.com/

Back in Your Birdcage Little Bird!!

Hey little girl

I know you were free

You tasted how sweet living your life can be

Without judgement and fingers pointing out your "shame"

In daring to be different and ignoring the blame

That girls are for cages and being free is for boys

That boys are meant to live and girls are just toys

Back in your cage sweet daughter of mine

The neighbors are pointing and their lips are as bitter wine

They cant believe a girl has gone "bad" in such a short time

They blame the West, the freedom...but most of all the Mother...me

How dare I let you be

Girls are not meant to be free

Back in the cage little girl

And throw away the key

The Things I Dont Know Could Get Me a Job...but

I am job searching.

I am searching for a job. High and low the searching goes on. Dont get me wrong...I know where the jobs are...they arent lost or anything...Im just having a heck of a time securing one that will give me some measure of financial security and a night not fraught with anxious disturbed sleep over unpaid bills and shoes not bought for the kids etc. Being a single unemployed mom has some serious side effects...sigh. (all though I wouldnt change my divorced status for anything)

Anyhow, I would have to guess that the one thing really holding me back from securing my Dream Job...or even my Anything Will Do Job...is the fact that I have very little work history compared to my age. Im 40.

Whew! I said it...and Im still conscious.

To be clear...I havent lived my whole life without being employed...I have had a few jobs over the years...started out with the military straight out of high school...but that was way back...way waaaay back...hardly seems to make a difference now....or should I say it doesnt really impress potential bosses here.

Ive worked in retail..fast food...short stint in a private school (I didnt last long cause I found out I wasnt allowed to smack the children...even the ones that deserved it...sigh!) and my longest job was with Nass Construction as the Document Controller. That was a complicated (for me at least in the beginning) job that required a lot of fast on the job learning on my part...but learn the job I did. Unfortunately I was hired to be a secretary...was later rather forced into the position of D.C. as our regular went on holiday...and just kept on doing it even when he came back....but...the company did not acknowledge the fact that I had been doing the D.C.s job for over a year...had nothing to do with being a secretary anymore...but I was not designated as D.C. and not given a D.C. salary....and so when I put on my resume that I worked for Nass...I have to put secretary and not D.C.(while secretary is a worthy and valuable position...D.C. just has more responsibilities and work). The name itself even sounds more professional and a tad higher up on the career ladder in my opinion (sorry to all the secretaries out there).

Anyhow, so my problem really in my search for a job is that Im doing it with a resume that leaves a lot to be desired. Its kind of hard to explain that I was married half my life to a man that believed women shouldnt work. Its not that I didnt want to work or wasnt capable of it...I just wasnt allowed that opportunity. This means that I have no certificates (other than military ones that are ancient)...no real work history other than just this past few years...hardly enough to fill a page and a half of a properly spaced resume formatted material...and my age itself doesnt lend me a hand in acquiring a position as many businesses want "young and fresh" and "trainable"...it seems 35 is the cut off age for apparent ability and intelligence over here for even an average type job.

My one real "skill" turns up as just a "hobby" on my resume' since I, all though I enjoy it immensely and can turn a mean phrase now and then...Ive never made money from it or had a job dealing with it...so I really cant list it in a more powerful way then just plain hobby...can I? I like to write...I maintain a blog...I be good at it...ugh!

Im an intelligent woman (graduated on the honor roll back in the day when my brain was at full capacity...lol)...capable of learning with maybe just one or two demonstrations (sometimes three if it involves something mechanical) and I have learned a lot of skills over my 40 year life span that doesnt exactly translate to resume material...if you know what I mean. And yet I feel absolutely stupid when applying for a job. I feel unqualified and unimpressive even when the position is nothing more scholarly then answering phones and greeting people. (no offense to people that do that). Im guessing my long history of self esteem issues are not helping me at all in this respect...anyhow....

Now heres the funny thing in all this pathetic posting...Ive been receiving lots of advice from people who know Im desperately searching for a job. I get newspaper clippings with ads in them...I get phone calls letting me know of something that "just opened up" and I get emails for job site search links to help me along...I also get lots of illegal advice on how to secure a job....such as...

1. buy a certificate off the net...nobody ever checks
2. lists skills you dont have to make yourself look better
3. lists jobs you never had...to make yourself look more employable...nobody ever checks

etc etc blah blah blah

Now beside the fact that I would never do anything illegal to get employed...just asking for trouble far as I can see....I have a real problem listing skills I supposedly have that I really have no clue about. Picture this.

I list on my resume that among many of my accomplishments...Im a demon at fly fishing. I get the job and one day my Fly Fishing crazy boss (wouldnt you know it)invites me to come along and join him for some fly fishing fun. Oh joy!! So either I spend some frenzied moments (or days or weeks etc) brushing up on my supposed fly fishing skills...or I show the boss the ass that I am by not having a clue about something I professed to be proficient at. Of course fly fishing is not really the skill Im thinking of when searching for an office type job etc...but Im sure you get the point.

Why declare that you are capable of performing some task...can operate some form of software...or even that you have knowledge of how to use whatever it is that company uses (example: machinery etc)? Why put yourself in a potential position to shame and embarrass yourself and give the boss and those around you to see you for the lying ass that you are? You might not get fired but you sure wont be getting any promotions or recommendations from that job anytime soon Im thinking.

So while everyone is telling me to "beef" up my pitiful resume if Im "serious" about getting a job...Im sitting here thinking...do I want a job bad enough to lie for it? And what will the possible consequences of that be for me (even if the lie is never discovered how will I feel about myself having taken that step?)

On the other hand...the only jobs Im potentially capable of getting are very low paid jobs that will not even come close to supporting my children and I...even while living a very meagre existence. And while I cant exactly be choosy here...having a low paid job is better than a no paid job...when I walk into an interview the interviewer seems to immediately sum me up based on what, I dont know...but Im starting to assume it boils down to one thing...Im American. That seems to be the sole focus of discussion for most of them. Soooo Im either overqualified (how exactly?) or the job is culturally more suited to a man or foreigner (example: Hindi or Filipina etc)

So the combination of nearly a lifelong unemployment history...no certificates etc...no obvious way to demonstrate my capabilities and intellect...and a work culture that is extremely fixed in its ways...Im having a heck of a time finding even an adequate nonscholarly type job.

Ive been back in Bahrain since Jan and Im depending on friends to support me and my kids and pay my bills etc until I can manage on my own. My ex is refusing to pay child support and we are going rounds in the court (another worthy post) and so money coming in is nil.I cant even take this "time off" to gain some sort of certificate etc as I have no money for any type of class or course to earn a genuine credential. Its a vicious circle...argh!!!

I want to pull some hair out and run over people...in my frustration.

Wouldnt it be nice if you could walk into an interview and be able to demonstrate who YOU really are and what your capable of doing...despite what your resume says or doesnt say...wouldnt it?

Has there ever been a boss who just felt there was something about you worth taking a chance on...or giving a chance too (I know...it only happens in the movies).

If only?

Its disheartening and a daily reminder of a life spent living (such as it was) while desires and goals went unrealized. 40 is not old...but its certainly not young anymore...wheres my chance? Wheres my open door of opportunity?

5 children are depending on me...and so far...Ive got nothing.

I wish I didnt know now...what I didnt know then

2 years 4 months and 13 days ago I thought my husband (now ex) of 20 years was just a miserable controlling jerk that lived off of my constant sorrow and depression. I knew his level of hypocrisy was seemingly immeasurable and unknown...he constantly surprised me on a daily basis as to what new low he could sink too....but I preferred to desperately believe there was a point into which he couldnt go any lower. In other words...I gave him the benefit of the doubt...even when my heart was crushed...even when my mind was in turmoil...even when my soul was bereft and on the verge of hopelessness ...I continued to have hope that eventually he would bottom out and the only way to go was up. All the fool me for assuming that every human being on the planet has some redeeming qualities...its just a little harder to see in some people than others.

Now heres the strange thing...the part that doesnt add up, at least in my mind. The two personalities that lived within one body. There was the controlling abusive hypocritical Muslim wannabe on one hand and the often funny hard working (when he chose to work) get us whatever we wanted, take care of us when we were sick good with the kids father/husband on the other.

Oh yeah, then there was the pedophile rapist...so I guess that makes 3 personalities in one body. The first 2 I lived with on a daily basis...never knew from moment to moment which one was going to make a showing and either let me relax for 5 minutes...or get me all worked up frustrated and angry again. The third personality...well...I never knew it existed. Didnt have a clue. I have retraced 20 years of marriage. I have gone over memories with a fine tooth comb...looked for hints, clues, flashing neon signs...anything that would make this soul crushing guilt Ive been feeling since my daughter whispered those two little words 2 years 4 months and 13 days ago....alleviate it in some small way....but...nothing.

Hindsight is 20/20 as they say. We look back and smack our foreheads and berate ourselves for what we didnt see then but is so goddamn obvious now...our ability to remain blind while surrounded by facts...but as they say...sometimes you have to step back to see the big picture. So I step back...again and again...every time I close my eyes I step back...and I search, I probe, I rehash and re account every little detail of this marriage from the time my first child...my first born...my first daughter was brought into this world. I search desperately looking for the exact moment in time when that man, my husband, her father, made the horrific and disgusting decision to take from his daughter what he had no right to take. I tear apart every moment of interaction between them looking for that sign...that little clue that all was not right between them. I listen to my daughters voices (I have two daughters and yes...both were victims) and try and hear cries for help...I try and pick out phrases and clues that were calling me...trying to get me to open my eyes and SEE....to open my ears and HEAR...but apparently I was so self involved with my own miseries that I couldnt hear my childrens silent pleas for rescue...and for that the guilt rages on. I was firmly convinced that he was a jerk as a husband...but a fairly decent father..the thought that he could possibly sink so low as to do what most animals in the animal kingdom dont even engage in was something that never even snuck in the backdoor of my mind...I guess you had to be there...sigh.

People who hear of such things (barely able to utter the word incest much less acknowledge it in this part of the world) always ask two things...what was I doing when this was happening....and why didnt the girls say something sooner. So in one fell swoop blame is placed on us...I wasnt being a good mother and they were accomplices rather than victims in this heinous crime. Its enough that I blame myself...I dont need all and sundry to chime in too...but the fact that my daughters are meant to share the blame for and seen as co conspirators in this crime against them has to be viewed as raping them all over again. They are being violated over and over again...their bodies gone over with a probing tongues...every minute part of their behavior scrutinized and picked apart...from what they wore to how they spoke when in the company of their father. It matters little that they were toddlers when he started his "special relationship" (his words, not mine) with them and that by the time they were old enough to "know better" his behavior had become "normal"...the sort of thing that daddies that "really love their daughters in a special way" do to show it. In other words, it was as "natural" a daddy behavior as say...taking them to the doctor when their sick...or buying them new shoes etc when they need them...it was his way of "loving" them and being a "good" daddy.

Only a victim of incest, of pedophilia can know the depths of the psychological reconstruction that goes on from day one...the total mind altering choreography that turns a normal daddy/daughter relationship into something dark and secretive...nobody knows the constant guilt and tennis game that goes on in a childs mind...he is my daddy...I love him....he is my daddy...I wish he would die. I know....Ive been there.

Sometimes I lay there and try and blank my mind...try and erase these disgusting heinous "videos" that replay over and over again from my memories...I try and "go back" to a time when I didnt know how truly low he could go....just an asshole...but believing there were hidden redeeming qualities in there somewhere....but I cant...once we know or learn something...we cant unlearn it.

I learned my husband of 20 years was a incestuous pedophile...and that you can never go back and wish that "you didnt know now what you didnt know then."

Of course...if I didnt know...if I had never found out...my children would no doubt still be suffering from it...so should I focus on the silver lining or what?

Story so far...

Hey everyone that happens to stop by and read this...I have a book of sorts...a story so to speak...to tell that's been bouncing around in my head for quite a few years now. I decided I needed to start writing it down before it sent me round the bend in more ways then one. This is my first chapter of my first attempt...just want a little feed back. Its not autobiographical...but some things in it are very real to me...so maybe its considered semi autobiographical.

Anyhow, for those who care, this is not a book to teach anyone about Islam or Muslims etc...its just a story that needs releasing from my head...plain and simple.

Also I apologize for the language...but its a story about real life...and real life has colorful language...whether we like it or not. Waiting to hear from you....

*edited and new content written


BUTTERFLIES IN MOTION


It seems she had been alone most of her life. She couldn't remember a time when she had anything other than her own mind to occupy her with. Don’t get me wrong here…she spent time with other people…called them friends and all, but she didn’t feel comfortable in their presence as much as she did within the confines of her own mind. The one place she was free from all of life’s restrictions. In her mind she could be anything, go anywhere, say whatever she wanted too, and best of all BELIEVE whatever belief felt right within her. She was 37 years old when much of what she believed about herself to be true…was proven to be wrong. It was the worst and best year of her life.

The morning of the day that she met the one person that was to become the “love of her life” started out much like the hundreds or thousands that had gone before it. She woke for fajr prayer with anticipation of facing her Lord. Her first thoughts upon waking were the same as every day...wishing she had miraculously lost some weight while sleeping...and wondering if THIS day held any promise of something different then yesterday. She tried to rouse her husband but he was far too interested in whatever dreams passed within his mind to care much for prayer. He turned over while muttering he would be up in a minute…and was snoring again within seconds. She resigned herself to the fact that he would never care as much for prayer as she did. To each his own. If she had cared, at this point in her marriage, for the soul of her husband she might have been more persistent. As it was she could only quietly revel in the thought that he would burn some day for all these prayers missed. She wondered if it was a sin to take quiet delight in the thought of her husband burning in the Hell Fire. She asked God to forgive her for such thoughts…just in case.

She performed her ablutions and waited patiently for the adhan to sound, passing the time reading the Quran. She had always loved the early morning hours while she waited for prayer…the quiet and solitude sat easy with her. She felt nearest to God at this time and the Quran seemed more welcoming and easy to grasp without distractions and life getting in the way. She generally read a few pages and reflected on what they meant to her. It always surprised her how whatever ayat she was currently reading corresponded with some thought she may have had recently…or some problem she needed advice for. It was like The Book spoke to her on some level…anticipating her spiritual needs…and responding to them. Thank You God for listening to me, she thought.

Once the prayers were finished she might consider going back to bed, but the possibility that her husband might awaken and demand sex from her generally kept her from crawling back into the warmth of the covers; the days had long since passed when she felt even a glimmer of attraction to the once charming handsome man she had met years ago. So rather then risk his waking she settled on the couch and turned on the TV. Most of the time she didn’t really focus on the images on the TV. but instead dwelt on scenes that rewound themselves constantly within her own mind. Playing the “What If” game kept her constantly busy no matter what else she might be doing. It agonized her to play this game as the result was never satisfying. No amount of playing and “re-ordering” her life actually changed anything. It just caused more frustration and agony to know she could’a, would’a, should’a done things differently to avoid the life she was now in. She had no one to blame but herself…

With a quick look at the clock and a sighful resignation of her lot in life, she heaved herself up from the couch (as usual promising herself to start that diet tomorrow) and set about starting breakfast and getting the children up for school. Her children were the bright moments in her life. All her “failures” could not even come close to measuring up to her accomplishments…her children. They were her pride and the one thing that made this life she was living possible. Without them to love and care for she believes she would have given up and given in long ago. Each new step she took in her daily struggles she took for them. Each verbal abuse hurled from the bitter lips of her husband was heard and swallowed and dropped down into the pit of never ending sorrow. The depression that threatened to swallow her whole…was only kept at bay by one thought…"my children need me"....followed quickly by another..."I need them". And so, each new step was taken, each new abuse swallowed, and each tear that fell was quickly wiped away…what was the use of tears anyhow, they didn’t change a thing. She sent up a solemn prayer to God to grant her more patience…and to help with the self pity…who needed it anyway?

When the children were nearly ready to go she would go and wake her husband. Sometimes he drove them to school, other times he just wanted to make sure they were what he considered “properly equipped” for the day. Boys with their backs straight with pride, the girls with heads covered with the hijab. Pride for boys and hijab for girls were apparently the only two things to measure a Muslim with by his standards. It always quietly amused her and made her proud when her younger daughter rebelled against the hijab (she herself had often thought of just flinging it into the wind and defiantly walking in the street without it...but fear of judgment kept it firmly on her head)…and many times got out the door without it, conveniently forgetting it at the last moment. Other times she would remove it out in the street as soon as she was around the corner. She had many fashion statements to make when it came to her clothes…but the hijab was not one of them. Go girl! She wished she was as strong minded and independent as her teenage daughter. What can you do?…life was for the young. (37 was not old but in her mind...life was all but over regardless of how "young" she was)

She hated closing the door as her last child left for school. It meant that she was now alone with her husband and her dread at what this most assuredly meant was like a rock in her stomach. She could no longer stomach the idea of lying on her back and spreading her legs for his idea of sex. His touch alone sent shivers of repulsion up and down her spine. When she seen that glimmer of lust in his eyes…it was all she could do not to scream and lock herself in the bathroom…or better yet…run into the streets like a crazy woman. Instead she would once again quietly resign herself to life and come when he called. Removing her clothes and positioning her body in whatever sexual manner he demanded of her. She was like a mindless object for his dark desires. He never asked her what she wanted, what she liked or didn’t like, whether what he was doing hurt or not. Usually it did hurt, if not her body then definitely her pride, her soul. She could only lay there and pray that he finished quickly and was thankful when he did. Other times he seemed intent on a marathon of sex...and the never ceasing pounding and grunting nearly sent her off the deep end. She wondered what he hoped to achieve with the hour long sex...its not like someone was standing by keeping score or giving marks for enthusiasm and creativity. If credit was to be given for whatever reason...for sure she deserved the accolades just for her ability to endure such bodily assault again and again....and not even a tender kiss or caress to make the enduring bearable. Only bruises on her body and on her soul as a testament to the "love making" that had transpired.

Eventually he would roll off and strut to the bathroom to shower as if his ability and agility at sex was a thing to boast of. His concerns for his wife only extending to whether his breakfast was on the way or not and to maybe throw a comment back at her that she needed to lose some weight. Oh God! Where is that patience she was asking for earlier? It occurred to her many times that she could happily poison his morning coffee…if poison were at hand. The fact that she contemplated murder on an almost daily basis, if not hourly, no longer shocked her as it once did. God was forgiving for her errant thoughts. It’s not like she would ever actually kill him. (a thought best left unexplored)

As soon as he was out the door she shrugged off her resentment, her anger, her anxieties, like she might shrug off her clothing…leaving them all piled messily by the door…to be picked up and hastily donned once again as the hour drew near for his return all though at times he would sneak back home without warning, as if to catch her up to something. Catch her doing what she never knew…as he knew better than her that she had no life. Cleaning, watching TV. reading and dreaming of murder were about all that kept her busy. (that and her prayers...she could do without the rest and would give them up in a heartbeat if needed but not her prayers) If he expected to find her wrapped up in the lusty arms of a sweaty lover in their marriage bed…then he would surely have to wait a very long time. She had one male in her life that was causing her enough misery…only a fool would go looking for double the trouble. The most he might catch her doing was scrubbing the bathroom floors or hanging laundry. No whoreish behavior here…just move along.

Often times these surprise visits meant only one thing…more sex. Surely there could be no other man on the planet that spent as much time thinking about, anticipating, and participating in the act of sex as her husband. It scarcely allowed him time for other things…such as a job or getting things done that needed doing…in her opinion. (she had long since lost count of the number of jobs he had "quit" or "lost" because management didnt see eye to eye with him...or some such excuse. He hated being told what to do ...plain and simple). How could someone so consumed about sex, so engrossed with the perfection of his own dick, so demanding of her body…wanting to stick his manhood into any hole that would accommodate him regardless of the pain it caused…how could he lead a normal life…when a normal life seemed so far outside his thought process. Sex sex sex…and then food, shelter, paying bills etc. She loathed him each time he grabbed his bulge and indicated with a quick nod of his head that she was to assume the position once again. God! God! God! she realized the humans were made in Gods image…did this mean God had a penis as well since generally God was referred to as “Him”, “He” in all religious discourse? Did God walk around grabbing His bulge while contemplating in what new position He would fuck humanity? She quietly asked God to forgive her for assuming God had human qualities.

Of course these midday visits meant that she could never really relax when he was gone…since the likelihood of his showing up at anytime was possible. It seemed his only desire in life, other than to fuck her as often as the thought crossed his mind, was to catch her doing something he considered “haram”. His ideas of what was and wasn’t haram didn’t even come close to what many Muslims followed, but her life revolved around avoiding his haram as much as possible. The arguments and punishments that followed when she was caught “transgressing” just wasn’t worth it. He made her feel like such a criminal with his accusations and abuse. A quick trip to the corner store for sugar was, according to him, an opportunity to flirt and make future appointments with potential lovers. If only he knew how ridiculous he sounded. She didn’t even like the act of sex, hated to even submit herself to it, would be quite happy to go the remainder of her life without ever once again spreading her legs…or the cheeks of her ass (no amount of arguing and pointing out that anal sex was haram to him had any affect...he always claimed later that he "didnt mean to")…or opening her reluctant mouth, for another man…she laughed quietly inside when he ranted on about such things. Men are so stupid when it comes to women. God! Please make him shut up!

Often times when she realized she needed to make a trip outside for something she would first call him on the phone just to see where he was, what he was doing, to gauge how long she had before he could realistically reach home. If he indicated he was far enough away, she would quickly don her much hated hijab and duffa and quickly dash to the store and back again…looking over her shoulder the whole way. Her heart beating fast and silent prayers to God to not let him come home and catch her in the street somewhere. Of course, he sometimes played the game too…indicating he was far away but really just down the road. This little two step they did, her trying to “commit her crime” of leaving the house and his trying to catch her at it, was a daily tango they did. Sometimes she won, sometimes he did…usually he did.

For the most part she stayed inside the house. It just wasn’t worth the hour long lecture and tuition on Islam and how to be a good wife and mother when she was caught out. She had better things to do with her time then listen to his sanctimonious drivel about what entailed a “good” Muslim. She would sit there patiently waiting him out, waiting for him to tire of hearing his own voice, quietly thinking her own thoughts. (in the past she would cry, apologize and "try harder" to please him...now days she couldnt muster up the emotion necessary to cry and to try harder hadnt crossed her mind in a very long time) She often wondered if he actually believed any of the things he “taught” her…since he hardly practiced any of them himself. God…why did You create hypocrisy in humans?…why did you give us the ability to sound so pompous in the face of facts? Fact one…her husband was a horrible Muslim and a not much better man. Fact two…he apparently was completely unaware of this fact and felt it was within his rights to “teach” her in areas that he himself could use some tuition in. Yadda yadda yadda…blah blah blah…if he was going to fuck her she wished he would just do it and go…without the never ending lecture thrown in just to add insult to injury. She would sit there nodding her head…looking contrite…”learning” her lessons…all the while sending sneaky peeks at the clock wishing the time for the kids to arrive would hurry up and get here. God? Why does the time move so slow when we are caught in other peoples headlights?

On the days that he actually stayed away at work, or wherever it was he spent his time, she enjoyed the peace and quiet and spent time reading. Her passion was reading anything and everything and every opportunity to read was never passed up. It was with a quiet inner pride that she remembered her school days...graduating on the honor roll...teachers writing wonderful things in her year book...lauding her potential as a writer...praising her abilities and looking forward to her "first book".

She sighed while thinking of the promise of her youth. Where did all that fire and passion for writing disappear too? Her thirst for the written word had not diminished...but her desire to write things down had over the years. She thought about the journal she use to keep...had kept it for over 10 years. Just day to day thoughts...anecdotes about the children...and the occasional rant and lament about HIM and his tirades and unjust treatment of her. She never told anyone of his abuse of her...but it helped immensely to express her anger and anguish on to the page...the cathartic release was probably the only thing that kept her from killing herself (or him)during all those years of insufferable abuse. God forgive her for thinking thoughts of suicide (and murder). Its not like she would actually do it.

She remembered exactly why she suddenly stopped writing...in an instant the choice was made and 10 years worth of journals was angrily and hastily dumped into the dustbins outside. Years later of course she regretted that rash decision...missing her written memories almost more then friends and family she rarely saw anymore. Of course HE was the reason for her decision to stop writing. She never hid her journals...they were right there in the open for anyone to read...the only one who read them was her husband. She might wake in the night in need of the bathroom and notice her latest journal was not beside the bed on the table. When she returned it would be there. She often wondered what he did in his "office" all night...well she knew at least one thing he did...read her journals. What he hoped to find in them (for she knew without question he was hoping to "catch" her in her writing just as he caught her in the street sometimes) puzzled her as what little life she had held no mystery. She wondered if he actually thought she was stupid enough to write down the fact that she had a lover...had a hot and steamy liaison with him that day...might describe all the incredible sex they had...and then have the nerve to keep the journal beside the bed and not under lock and key (if she actually had a lock and key...nothing was locked against him in this house...all though he sure kept his office locked up tight) He pretended he didnt read it but she might sometimes play a little trick on him and insert some dubious sentence here and there...something that might sound as if she had did something but what that something was was unclear. For instance she had been out to the shops once and while returning she had noticed the neighborhood mentally retarded man sitting on the bench in front of the mosque. A second look confirmed what the first look had indicated...he was masturbating...and in full view of all the people passing by. Apparently nobody noticed...or cared enough to stop him as he continued on without disturbance. She blushed and quickly passed by...but that night she wrote in her journal..."I saw "carrot" while outside today." That was it...that was all she wrote on that subject...but a few days later her husband asked her (quite out of the blue) who Carrot was. She feigned ignorance but inside she was giggling...knowing full well why he had asked. God forgive her for making such a fool of him...but he certainly made it easy.

Eventually his determination to find fault with her writing...demanding to know what each sentence meant...what were the "hidden meanings" to this and that...did she actually plan on writing a book someday and making him look bad to his friends and family...was that her intention? Didnt she realize as a Muslim she shouldnt be wasting her time on such useless things? He never let up...and so she just quit. Without much thought or fanfare. All the journals into the garbage...and the only writing she did was now all in her head. At least he couldnt snoop in there.