Bahrain: Humanity lost among sectarian divide.

On Facebook, a pic of a man on fire was displayed with the caption that he was a Shiia that caught himself alight while setting some tires on fire. The comments under it were a litany of disgusting and very telling opinions about how Sunnis and Shiia see each other during these days of blood shed. Most of the comments were along the lines of  he deserved what he got for being a protester/terrorist despite the fact that he was dying a most horrible death. My reply was this:

This man may have been "the enemy" or a Shiia before he set himself on fire and thus might possibly warrant every mean spirited comment left here, but the moment he set himself on fire is the moment all of that hatred should have been dropped and the humanity of this man allowed to shine through. At the end of the day Sunnis and Shiia must see each other as first human beings, then Arabs, then Bahrainis, and lastly (if you must) as Sunni and Shiia before any thought of peace can come to Bahrain. If a man on fire dying a horrible death cannot let you drop the hatred even for a moment and have a second of empathy for him then where is the future of Bahrain headed? Not towards peace that is for sure because each side sees the other as less than human...even during the last moments of an agonizing death. There is no peace to be had in that depth of hatred. 

The Best Part of Working in a Convenience Store is...

the never ending array of interesting conversations that I have with customers.

Along with my wonderful conversation I had with Charlie in my previous post...Ive had so many funny, exciting, and just plain eye opening conversations with customers....both regular and those that are just passing through. I try and keep some paper nearby just so I can write down some witty sayings or interesting observations but invariably forget it at work and it gets thrown away. I will try harder to keep track of them as they are definitely worthy of a book some day..LOL.

A recent conversation I had with one of my regular elderly customers had me laughing and joking but also made me stop and think about how we tend to judge someone quickly based only on looks...without knowing a single thing about what makes them tick.

Take Oliver for instance....

Oliver looks to be in his 70's, almost always wear a white t-shirt with a pair of denim bib overalls (which reminds me a great deal of my grandfather) and has a quaint air about him that is very gentlemanly and proper. He has a wonderful smile as well with just a touch of an accent that is very northern. He is a joy to converse with when time permits...and a few nights ago time permitted..our conversation when something like this.

Now when I first had a chance to have a proper conversation with him we delved into such things as philosophy, the death penalty, world events etc...and he has wonderful points of view...varied and not what you would expect...or at least not what I expected. So when our recent conversation took a twist...I was both surprised...and not...by his thoughts on the subject.

We started talking about "trying something new" in order to keep things and life interesting. The mundane and ordinary just made life boring and not worth the effort...so says Oliver...and a lot of other people I'm sure. So, when he asked me what was I willing to try that was new and different from my "norm"...I seriously tried to shock him with this..."well, Oliver, I was thinking of giving the gay lifestyle a try"....and waited for the condemnation. The older generation tend to not "swing that way" for the most part...another assumption that was about to be shattered.

Oliver got very thoughtful for a minute then looked at me straight in the eye and said something that I will remember years from now when so many other things about working at that store will be forgotten. He said..."when it comes to love we surely can't choose whom we love...so who are we to judge when people find love whether we agree with it or not?" While I took that wonderful statement in he hit me with another one...

He told me that he had served in the military and that while he had never "swung that way" (loved that he used that phrase) he said there was this one soldier that always "took his breath away" whenever he saw him. The faraway look in his eye and the softening of his voice told me that he was experiencing that "breathless state" once again...no doubt many decades later.

I was amazed by the passionate tone of his voice and by the fact that I had misjudged him obviously...assuming something about his beliefs and what he accepted as "life" and what was an "abomination" according to some. How refreshing to have my assumptions shattered.

He left me with a parting thought...he told me since we can't choose whom we love...when love chooses us we should grab it with both hands...cause it is so hard to find. I was in a fantastic mood for the rest of the night despite my sore feet and unending line of secret alcoholics clamoring for more.

The next night I was off but my co-worker told me he came in again and asked about me. Apparently the conversation had left a mark on him too...he asked my co-worker if I was busy "trying something new yet"...LOL...she said give me some time...knowing me it wouldn't be long. (she was joking ...I think)

Then again...he came in last night and we discussed how kids these days need a good beating as they are so "pansy assed" and "coddled" from the assumption that "every ones a winner"....he suggested the "switch make a comeback" as a form of punishment. Something his own father used on him and see how well he turned out...LOL. While I don't agree with physically punishing children (I myself was an abused child) it was interesting to hear his thoughts.

Anyhow, I was chatting with a "chat buddy" back in Jan and I told her that this was my year to be an Instigator...to shake it up...get people agitated...cause mayhem and destruction if possible just to prove my one point...YOU MAY THINK YOU KNOW ME BUT YOU DON'T KNOW ME...I might be 41 but I've still got a few surprises left in me...so you never know Oliver, I just might take you up on your challenge...to try something new...

And here I was thinking college was about as much as I could handle just now...LOL. Stay tuned people for the results of my "try something new" challenge.

Enough With the Rules...Whatever Happened to Just Having Fun?

Last night I was in Seef Mall with my daughter. For anyone that doesnt know we recently had yet another mall added to our already impressive collection (all within a short distance from each other mind you) called City Center. Since this new state of the art mall opened up Seef Mall has really seen a decline in numbers. How do I know this...well simply because you can actually find a place to park your car pretty much anytime you go there now (except the weekend as Seef has the cinema and City Centers still hasnt opened theirs).





When you wander around inside its almost like a ghost town at times...City Center has definitely put a dent in Seef Malls business...so the bosses at Seef have apparently knocked their heads together and came up with a crowd puller...or at least what they thought would pull the crowds.



A Cash Grabbing Booth

Now in theory this would seem to be a good idea for getting the crowds away from City Center and back to Seef...who doesnt like a chance at free money? However, I found the crowd (such as it was) less then enthusiastic considering Bd2000 ($5000 more or less) was up for grabs (at least thats how it was promoted).

Anyhow, first off I have to point out that it was quite clearly false advertising. Supposedly there is Bd2000 in that booth...but our largest denomination of the dinar is a Bd20...and it takes quite alot of those to make Bd2000...and looking into the booth you were lucky to see maybe 10 or so...with a few Bd10 notes scattered around as well...and some Bd5's just for good measure. The majority by far of notes were Bd1 and half Bd (5oo fils) notes....and anyone with a modicum of counting skills could very clearly see there wasnt even close to Bd2000 worth of those in that booth.

Secondly, they had so many fricken rules about what you can NOT do while in the booth.
1. dont move your feet
2. dont grab for money stuck to the sides
3. use only one hand
4. dont stick money in your shirt or pockets
5. dont jump up or bend down

Oh yeah, and you have 20 seconds to grab as much as you can...one handed...not jumping or bending or using your clothes etc...just standing there and reaching out into the air to grab what you can...fun fun fun!!!

Last but not least...you have to be present when and if they call your name...no shows are disqualified. So one guy who had run off to the bathroom (we are told) lost his chance cause they werent willing to wait 5 min...oh well...you snooze you lose...or something else...lol. The ticket holder was a huge tumbling machine that had several thousand tickets in it...there were only about 50 people gathered around at show time. Im thinking it wasnt advertised well enough so that people understood the rules or something...anyhow...

The first one drawn was Bahraini lady...problems right off the bat. She was wearing hijab and duffa. Now Ive never been in a wind booth but I hear its... well...pretty windy...lol....and the air is being blown from below upwards...are you following me here...chances are neither her abaya or hijab will take kindly to such rude wind.

So she looked around hopefully...maybe wishing the Presenter would just let her go into the booth sans wind and grab what she liked for 20 secs...you think...or maybe she was thinking she wished one of her brothers or sons was with her (if she had any)...but nothing. Eventually the Presenter had a light bulb moment and asked for a volunteer to come forward and grab for the lady. She looked around somewhat embarrassed as if he was asking for someone to model underwear she planned on buying...no takers at first but eventually a British teen volunteered and everyone was happy.

My only problem with volunteering for such a project is that things can get ugly if the volunteerer (?) inadvertently breaks a rule and gets disqualified (and very likely considering how many there were)...and if they dont do a very good job grabbing...someones feelings might be hurt and a little resentment felt...understand me?...but British teen volunteered and Bahraini lady happily accepted.

She was given a run down of all the rules and stepped tenderly into the booth on top of a pile of money. It was at this point we learned that only 20 secs were given to supposedly grab Bd2000 dinars...yeah right...anyhow.

I took pics of this with my phone cam but unfortunately I cant find the wire to hook it to my computer so you have to visualize from the pic up there.

Air was turned on...money went flying (although she was standing on quite alot of it and nobody advised her to move her feet to set it free into the playing field) and she started grabbing. 20 secs flies by in..well...20 secs. Its like no time at all. Started and finished before you can really get excited about anything.

It was all over and she stepped out for the count up. A grand total of Bd21. Free money and all but the crowd was obviously not impressed. Hey...its not as easy as it looks judging by her efforts...anyhow. Bahraini lady was smiling and offered the British girl Bd5 for her efforts. Fun fun fun!!!

Next was a grown man (not sure his nationality...anyhow) and he went through the whole thing and came away with Bd32. People were expecting more from him judging by the reactions...but what can you do...its wind and its paper and its rules rules rules. I noticed he actually dropped quite a bit of money in there as it would fly from his hand while transferring from the grabbing hand...maybe thats why they dont allow pockets etc...might actually get some money that way.

All in all it wasnt nearly as exciting as Ive seen on tv etc. The crowd tried to be supportive but with only around 50 or so...it was lackluster at best. The rules were unfair and unneeded...just how much money can be grabbed in 20 secs even without those rules? Seef promoters had a good idea but didnt really do enough with it in my opinion.

If your trying to draw a crowd...let them have fun for goodness sake...enough with the rules already. Life already has enough of them for us....20 secs in a booth full of money sans rules...now thats a crowd puller.

Can You Tell Me Whats Wrong With You?

For a few years in the 90's we lived out in Hamad Town. This is a govt housing complex that just seems to go on and on without end. There are 22 sections of housing, or neighborhood type settings, and we lived in the 19th section. We were among the first families in that particular area...and only second family on my street...we did not own a car at that time nor have a phone...and neither did our Syrian neighbors. It was a sort of new found freedom for me as I could actually go outside and enjoy the sunshine etc...something I couldnt do in my MIL's house because of its design etc. I could take a chair and sit out in front of my house as very few cars even drove by. It had a sort of desolate and isolated feeling to it and because we didnt have a car...very very far from anywhere...it was during this period of time that I discovered I was allergic to ant bites...particularly the solid little (not so little) black ones that could be found everywhere. Picture this...

For most of my life (up til the time of this event) I had been a pretty healthy person. Never found myself in the hospital for anything more serious then delivering my babies. Oh I had a case of food poisoning now and then just like most everyone else...but nothing that ever left me feeling as if my very life was hanging in the balance. The interesting thing about discovering I was allergic to ant bites...was that I had been bitten by them many times before in the years I lived in Bahrain without nothing more then a red swollen bump and some mild pain to show for my suffering. All that changed one afternoon while I was taking a nap on a cushion on the floor.

I woke up feeling a sharp pain on my leg and when I investigated the source I
discovered some large swellings like in this picture...and a black ant smooshed
against my skin. Within just a few moments of waking I started experiencing one

of the worst sensations I have ever known....an
extremely intense and horrible itching feeling all over my body...it felt as if a million and one little creepy crawlies were under my skin and having a party of sorts. It was absolutely horrendous and there are hardly adequate words to describe the intense desire to actually scratch open your skin and get the "buggers" out.

Every part of my skin was alive with that crawly itchy feeling and it was then I realized those couple of small swellings had spread throughout my entire body. I had welts from top to bottom...which made it impossible to scratch as everything was tender to the touch. Having no idea exactly what was going on I shouted to my husband who came to see what I was fussing about.

He took one look at my face and nearly passed out. I didnt realize it but of course my face was busy swelling up too. He pulled me up and dragged me over to a wall mirror and the beast that was reflected back at me was the stuff that nightmares are made of. My eyes were swollen, my lips looked like I had botoxed the hell out of them and my entire face was just a mish mash of lumps and bumps...it was then I realized my tongue was swelling up to...along with my throat.

At this point Im fairly sure not more than 3 or 4 minutes had passed from the time I woke up from the sting...to when I was standing in front of the mirror...and yet I looked like something that belonged in a freak show....but none of that worried me half as much as the fact that I was finding it harder and harder to breath properly....my throat was closing up.

My husband went in search of a car (no neighbors remember and no phone) while I put some clothes on as best I could. By the time he came back having found a rare car passing through our neighborhood...my breath was literally whistling through my very small windpipe. It was here that I felt the stirrings of potential death looming over me...we all need to breath to live right...and my ability to breath was being seriously threatened...and we were far from anywhere...far from the nearest hospital. I was freaking out big time.

On the way to the hospital I was alternating between trying to concentrate on breathing...and not scratching myself to death. Everywhere on me was on fire and I wanted to tear my clothes off...and then my skin!!! By this time my tongue had swollen so much I actually could not close my mouth around it nor swallow very well. I had tears streaming down my swollen eyes that were nearly closed completely and even my hearing was affected so I assume inside my ears had swollen as well. It took around 20 min to reach the hosp and by this time I couldnt walk due to the swollen state of my feet...so my husband ran to find a wheelchair.

Once he had me inside he left me with a nurse while he dashed off to sign me in and get my paperwork. Up till this point in my life I had never seen anyone suffering from an allergic reaction other than the comedic routines you might see on tv that make fun of the face swellings etc...none of those had ever shown the really dangerous side of allergic reactions...the potential fatal aspect of it due to anaphylatic shock (the result of your body fighting against the allergen by flooding the body with histamine..which results in the extreme swelling of all soft tissues etc)...for many people, from the onset of the allergen entering the body to the inability to breath etc it can take mere moments and if immediate medical attention is not sought and an adrenalin and anti histamine injection given to reduce the swelling and other symptoms...the reaction can be fatal. Up to this point in my very short life as an allergy patient suffering from anaphylatic shock...I assumed the nurse standing before me would immediately understand what had happened, what was happening, and what needed doing about it...instead she looked at me with one of the most curious and puzzled looks Ive ever seen on a human face before and said...

"can you tell me whats wrong with you?"

Uh what? Isnt that your job...Im just the helpless victim here who cant answer you even if I wanted too because my tongue has swollen so much there is no room for adequate speech. My hands flying up to my face indicating my inability to speak did not apparently register properly with her as she asked me the same question several times. Ditto with the hangs clasped around my throat indicating I couldnt breath propely....nothing.

Now I dont want to make light of this situation (all though now I can almost laugh about it...almost) but it really just seemed like something out of an In Living Color episode. Something Jim Carey would have been doing some crazy skit over...you know...nearly dying patient...crazy mixed up doctor (nurse) and hilarity had by all...except nobody was laughing...least of all me.

My husband thankfully showed up at this time and gave the nurse her much sought after answer then asked her if she was sure she was a nurse? Again with the confused look on her face...ok whatever...just wheel me to the REAL medical expert so I can get some actual medical aid for Gods sake!!

Thankfully the doctor took one look at me and immediately ordered the anti histamine and adrenalin shots and an IV etc and I spent the next 2 hours under observation to make sure my airway didnt close completely and all was fine. It didnt and I was so I went home. All though all the swelling had pretty much gone down by this time the bitten area on my leg was extremely tender and painful and would remain so for about a week.

I had never been so scared in my life as I was that day. Not being able to draw a breath has got to be one of the most frightening experiences for anyone to go through and I wouldnt want anyone to find out the truth of that statement. I immediately went and researched all I could about allergic reactions and what I could do if it happened again.

One of the best lines of defense against allergic reactions is to have one of these Epi-pens. Immediately upon realization that you have been bitten you can self
inject (or have someone else do it if you cant) and it gives you a dose of adrenalin which will help fight against the massive swelling etc. until you can get to the hospital. I went to the doctor in order

to be prescribed one and discovered they dont have them in Bahrain. Considering how fast someone could die from anaphylatic shock....and the odds that there must be lots of people in Bahrain that are allergic to something...I was surprised and rather angry that this life saving medical aid wasnt made available here. I did find out it was available in Saudi but had no way to get it personally (husband wasnt the sort to go out of his way to save my life...going to Saudi was out of his way).

This meant of course that every time I have been bitten in Bahrain by one of those black ants I have had to suffer varying degrees of an allergic reaction. Sometimes its fairly mild...with maybe just intense itching etc..or other times just some mild swelling (Ive gotten pretty good at determining just how strong or mild a reaction will be as my body lets me know literally withing 20 to 30 seconds whether or not I need to seriously hustle to the nearest hospital) but at least 4 times I have had to be rushed to the hospital with full blown anaphylatic shock in progress and count myself lucky that I made it in time..each time.

This last visit to the states I actually remembered to go see a local doc and he prescribed me the Epi Pen...two of them actually since its not available here...but Ive only got one as they are expensive and I couldnt afford both at the time...but I count myself lucky to have that one...it could be the difference between life and death for me...now all I have to do is wonder if I will have the nerve to jab my thigh with it when and if the time comes...Im thinking not!!! Ouch!

*side note* after that first harrowing encounter with anaphylatic shock...I went home exhausted and scared out of my mind praying that I never had to go through that again...as fate would have it (oh you fickle fate)...the VERY NEXT DAY I was back in the hospital having been bitten on the arm while sitting on the couch. At least that time the nurse I saw took immediate action and I was able to avoid the comedic routine...sigh.

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.

Another man's junk...?

There is a radio program every morning in which people can call in and advertise things they have for sale..or things they are looking for but cant find etc. It's called the Trading Post and has been a long standing tradition with wide spread appeal. You just never know what your going to hear on that program...everything from vehicles for sale to guns or horses etc...and one infamous program in which a lady was in urgent need of some 'sex toys"...she was adamant that they be "used" sex toys as she couldnt afford new ones...can anyone say 'eeeewwww"?

Anyhow...we've gotten on that program twice in the past week for personal reasons...one was to advertise and see if there were any places for rent available as we are having no luck finding a place...everything is for sale...nothing much for rent. The second reason was to ask for free items for my mother as her house burned down and she lost everything...and we cant really afford to replace those things at this time. Now here's my beef...

I realize that most people will give something to someone they know is in need for purely good reasons...we donate items all the time whether it be money...clothing...or just our time...to lend a hand up to someone that could use one. Maybe even sometimes that thing you donate has some wear and tear...used clothing...an old tv etc...but theres still some life and its still usable and the person receiving is thankful and grateful for the offering....and everything is good.

But why donate things that have really no value...like shoes with holes in them...or a broken tv...or a torn up and stained mattress etc? It would seem that some people have taken the opportunity to unload some junk...and junk is what it is(the messages left on our phone about items that people want to donate just boggles the mind...not to mention the things that have actually been left for her in her yard)...onto my mother without a second thought as to how she will feel receiving all this "crap"...somethings should just go straight to the dump...and if your just too damn lazy to take it there yourself than call someone up to haul it away...but stop unloading on her. Her emotions are all over the place now and she doesnt need to feel responsible to get rid of other peoples trash...she is still cleaning up her own burned up life...she doesnt need to clean up someone else's too...sheesh!

Anyhow...there have been quite a few good people that have helped her in the kindest of ways so that all the lousy people that have "contributed" can be safely ignored as "exceptions" to the normal human condition to truly help those that need it. Most people are still good...thank God.