a life in the day of -

When Starvation was sexy and other woes in times of excess

2011-07-13T13:46:00.001-07:00

For all her claims of post-colonial independence, Africa's poster child is once again the gaunt toddler with skin kissing his ribs. I don't know exactly why this weeks media coverage has left me with a drought-dry feeling on my palate - it's almost, almost as if 'the wires' and big media houses have caught on to something new and starvation is sexy again. The pictures coming out of East Africa, and those from Kenya and the Dedaab refugee camp are voyeristically spectacular - tall women swathed in fabric with dust lingering in the air , against the backdrop of tattered tents - poignant in its African-ness. Perhaps less artistic and more gut-wrenching are the images of the children - sucked dry of nutrients.

Why am I spitting such venom when media coverage and a deliberate focus on the situation is sure to rake in some of the money that’s needed by relief agencies? Maybe it’s because I feel like Africa is being used - again. To give the first-world ‘a cause’ , a chance to polish our rusty consciences, for a while … until we ‘drop it like it’s hot.’

So while East Africa may trend on twitter and tumblr may be adding #Somalia to its featured tags, will the interest last long enough to affect any real change? While seriously doubting that it will, I also deeply hope that I’m wrong.

Because if we can’t invest in long term interest, in sustained, painful and protracted contribution, then our humanity lies in the balance. The situation around the Horn of Africa is ‘The Perfect Storm’ : an other worldy combination of climate’s ability to oppress, man’s ability to haunt other men and the collation of the mankind’s weakest of the weak in a concentrated area.

To outline immediate solutions would be to try and profess a cause and in my mind the situation seems so entangled, so complex , that for now urgent and unflinching relief seems like the best way forward - let’s talk about development a little later. Just some relief - a bit of reprieve … some metaphorical water for parched hearts.

Tired

2011-06-24T14:30:00.001-07:00

I want to write something about good company, settled souls, settling souls, people who have drive without vaulting ambition. A post about sanctity of true scripture and resonance of true scholars. About the piercing nature of language that makes your heart nod in recognition. I want to talk about 'home' and the concepts around it, but I'm tired and feel like I will write sentimentally because I have a tendency to 'gush'.

(to be continued... or not)

Diffusion

2011-06-22T03:20:00.000-07:00

I will hold you

contain you

diffuse you

and not let go

till our strengths

have leveled

Stick it

2011-06-08T10:52:00.000-07:00

There are very few moments in life where one can say with conviction , "you know I really didn't see that one coming", but that day God knows : I really didn't see it coming. Sometimes there's a less than supernatural premonition about which way a story will go and which angle a confession from a friend will take. Mostly, it just takes an articulation to tie the subconscious facts together. You've noticed her tardiness at work, the dark rings under her eyes, the strained conversations over the phone and you know that during your next hear-to-heart she's going to tell you about the boyfriend-turned-cheater.This was something altogether different. Even now, it seems so far from reality, so far from how the world should work.

During my stint as a Medical Officer I was sitting in my consulting room during a generous tea break. I had my own problems : I was preparing for a diploma against the backdrop of my father lying comatosed in hospital after a hi-jacking. So when a good friend came into my room looking like she was ready to offload some news, I wasn't sure that I was ready to handle it. But good friendships come with the caveat that you will be available in times of crisis. So I put my books aside and listened.

I held a clicker of a black-pen in my hand and wore a tie-die pink dress. It's strange the details that you remember so intimately when you recall hearing big news. Like how I remembered the red scarf that I wore and the CD that we were listening to when we received the call that my dad was shot. I pulled my chair back watching her sip on tea - it had to be ginger tea because the scent of fresh ginger waded to my side of the room. I had noticed her looking really run down over the past week - physically drained. I knew that she was having some domestic troubles. I also noticed that her eyes had lost some of that luster that I usually associated her with. Her eyes were tinged with ... yellow?

"Ah ginger tea, " she said ,"good for immunity"

"You have a flu?" I asked.

"The strange story gets even more interesting," she said, "I have HIV actually - from a needle-stick injury"

I measured my reaction , instantly toning down the shock and obviously modulating my tone. But those tell-tale tears building up over my bottom eyelid must have been a give away. If she noticed them, she showed no signs of letting them unsettle her. "Don't be patronizing," I told myself, "play it cool".

She went on to explain how this all happened during her pregnancy when she was an intern. Her shift was over and she could have handed over any outstanding work to the next doctor on shift. She noticed that one of her patient's intravenous lines were out, so being the thoughtful doctor that she is, instead of handing over the work, she decided to insert the line. This was a very sick patient she tells me, he had AIDS - a very advanced stage of the disease, he hadn't even moved for days. As she was inserting the needle, he moved tossing the needle into the air and then it landed puncturing her skin - I can't remember whether it was her hand or foot. But the damage was done.

Most of the doctors that I've worked with are flippant about taking antiretrovirals after an injury - we have so many near encounters with infected fluids that we would be spending a large amount of time on drugs with some serious side-effects, if we took treatment with every suspected HIV encounter. Occupational health Specialists tell us that the risks of contracting HIV from a needle-stick injury are low, with the statistics being something close to 0.03%. We also carry a measure of bravado believing that we are healers and altruism won't go rewarded with a life threatening illness. But here was a clear injury - and a very ill patient. My friend started the therapy - but she was pregnant and reacting very badly to the medication, so she stopped taking them altogether.

Later on in her pregnancy she was admitted to hospital with a strange illness.Doctors wrote it down to a vague pregnancy related illness, but she never fully recovered. Eventually a specialist encouraged her to get tested for HIV, and the results spelled out the diagnosis that she would carry with her for all her years.

She talked without scathing, hatred of her situation or self-pity but with a determination that was admirable and a conscience that was alive. The reality of it all still hits me every-so-often. It could just as easily have been any of us. I've had two needle-stick injuries in my three years of practice. I was so sick form the side-effects that I even considered stopping the treatment. My friend's story finds an echo with other similar stories lurking in doctor's tea rooms and over shared gossip in the operating theater. It terrifies us, because it brings home the reality of mortality - the concept that 'Doctor' is not infallible and that this job that brings with it (often undue) respect and good money, carries risks, big risks ... life-changing risks.

(I have received permission to mention my friend's story - anonymously)

Archives: Strike Three - Personal Perspectives (20 August 2010)

2011-06-08T06:44:00.001-07:00

We're in the midst of the second large scale Public Service strike that I can remember. Pundits say that it's the third since 1997. Things are really heating up down on the ground. I come to work, bypassing groups singing, “ my father was a garden boy, my mother was a kitchen girl, that's why I'm a socialist, I'm a socialist ...”.

The floors are dirty, a few days away from being filthy and the toilet paper is running out – fast. Dietitians say that the food stores are just enough to last over the weekend. Protesting groups are blocking patients from entering the hospital, and that's why I can write this note while sitting at work – the casualty is empty. We do see emergencies ... but don't spread the word. Protesting mobs may track us down calling us 'magundwaan' or 'rats'.

Back to 2007. It was my first year of working as an intern and the strike hit us something awful at Chris Hani Baragwanath hospital. Working in a setting with no porters, cleaners or nursing staff was frustrating. It took about fives times longer to get work done. So while there might have been a lower patient load, the work day was just as long and infinitely more frustrating. This highlights the absolute necessity of every 'link in the chain'. It pointed out the importance of the so-called-menial-worker. The work needed to go on ... and it did. The army came in and were more grand-looking than effective. When the strike finally abated, we knew that we would have to deal with a severe backlog ... and we did.

The 2009 Doctor's strike lacked the pizazz of strikes lead by more militant (and effective) unions. What we saw here were 'wealthier faces' of varying colours asking for better wages. The public were divided in opinion. So was I. We had a 'live-able' salary.

My opinion changed when I heard an ICU doctor state her case. It was a time when the strike was really gaining momentum. We were running 'essential services' alone. The question of a 'complete shut down' arose. We were debating closing ICU facilities – and perhaps letting the private sector absorb our current patients – at the state's expense.

This doctor had dedicated her life to public service. She could have been earning at least four times her salary in the private sector, but she believed in providing a service to the less fortunate. She was calling for an ICU shut-down. She said that she didn't need the extra money as hers was a supplementary income in the household. She wanted doctors to be paid more so that more doctors would remain in the public sector.

We are experiencing an exodus of skills to private hospitals and abroad. The result is a public service that is understaffed, under-skilled and collapsing. Young doctors are looking at their working hours, working conditions and salary and comparing it to their corporate counterparts. For many of these skilled professionals, the reward of being altruistic just doesn't cut it. Does the ends justify the means ? An ethical dilemma.

A huge ethical dilemma is what we are faced with. In this setting, it's definitely not fair to write deaths off as collateral damage. The results in a strike situation are more acute and evident. However, the results of nurses and specialists leaving the country en mass to seek better pay are far more chronic and debilitating – but the issue is not as sexy as a large-scale strike which grabs media attention.

So here we are , at the beginning of our third large-scale Public Service strike. Workers have expressed a commitment to engage in protracted strike action. Government is digging its heels deeper into the ground. Both sides are posturing – a familiar series of events. It all seems quite reactionary .

Policy analyst Ebrahim Khalil Hassen offers alternatives to the present methodology of negotiating .http://sacsis.org.za/site/article/535.1

In the meanwhile the poor guy who gets the bad end of it all is – the poor guy. Yet again the have-nots are at the mercy of the privileged (or somewhat privileged).

Regarding strike tactics – South Africa has a strong protest history which I believe to be a positive thing. Our apartheid legacy , though, leaves us with heavy-handed tactics like intimidating non-strikers, coercing people to join and turning violent on those seen as not completely sympathetic to the cause. Ideally and theoretically a more 'democratic' mode of engagement is needed. In reality – people are angry and on the brink of tipping over to the violent side.

The casualty staff on duty tonight are in support of the strike but have come to work – they are afraid.

Just a few minutes ago an elderly lady somehow made her way through the gates into casualty. She was short of breath. Even though we don't see adult medical patients in our casualty generally,we were ethically obliged to see her as it was an emergency. We did primary management, but she needed admission to a tertiary facility. The best that I could do was write a referral letter to our referral hospital, knowing that the gates of the Helen Joseph hospital were shut. Does the ends ever justify the means?

Archive: Selling Pipe Dreams to the Poor (14/sept/2010)

2011-06-08T06:42:00.000-07:00

As I drove in to work last night I was listening to a news report about fifty shacks burning down in an informal settlement somewhere in Johannesburg. I fleetingly wondered about who would be providing relief to these people.

Later on that evening, paramedics brought in a heavily pregnant woman. She was stable but gave a story about inhaling smoke ten hours earlier. Her shack had been burned down from the same fire in the news report.

The nursing staff gave her a rough time, accusing her of just wanting a place to sleep. I think that they may have been right - she probably came in for a warm bed and some food to nourish her pregnant body. All her documents had burned. Fire has a way of devouring paper. She had no pregnancy records and no identity papers.

I've become a bit hard and mechanical about my job, which is partly why I need to take a breather for a bit. In a moment of recently-uncharacteristic concern, I asked her, " So where will you be staying now?"

"by the pipelines," she repeated about four times before I finally understood what she was saying.

"you mean by the pipelines, on the streets? " I asked.

"Yes," she replied.

It hit me.

Like that unexpected blow to the conscience - the one that makes you almost nauseous for a few seconds.

The problem with this feeling is that it often catches you offguard - just when you think that you are least capable of feeling anything.

I gave her big instructions about getting an antenatal card from her old clinic, then sorting out her identity documents as soon as possible.

These were all just formalities for me. I could tell that I was just wasting my breath to appease my conscience as she probably wouldn't have the resources to drive around and sort out paperwork.

She would fall back into the world of the 'unknowns' - the people who are shunted between jobs, places and instability.

I looked at the T-shirt that she wore. "Vote Cope" it said.

With a sense of irony I realised that she was sporting a banner for some of the leaders who had let her down. This was a political party created out of the egos of Power Politics and it's now disintegrating for that same reason. Maybe she really supported 'Cope' or maybe she just needed the free T-shirt.

In the corridors of post-revolutionary leadership, champaign flows freely as 'crony capitalism' enshrines the spoils of war in the hands of a select few. Somebody , somewhere has failed my now-homeless-soon-to-be-living-alongside-some-pipeline patient ... and I don't think that it's God that's failed her.

I wonder where her baby will be born...

TIK AND TOOTHLESSNESS

2011-06-08T06:11:00.000-07:00

(part diary , part reflection, part searching)

TIK AND TOOTHLESSNESS

The community service year took my husband and I to Tygerberg hospital on the Cape Flats.The other side of Cape Town- the side that isn't featured on inflight magazine articles. The Cape Flats refers to that flat part of land on the side of Table Mountain opposite to the ocean. This is the anti-Longstreet, the un-Gardens, allocated to Coloureds and Indians during the apartheid days. It was everything that the Cape Town suburbs weren't: sparse , dry ,sandy and interrupted by industrial plants. Gangsterism reigned proudly, low-grade drugs were rife and teenage pregnancy was common. A suburb in the Flats , Cravenby, has the dubious honour of having the highest incidence of TB - in the the world. It was a place that could suck theadventure out of relocating to Cape Town. If it wasn't for the view of the Table Mountain that I savoured walking to work each morning, I would have sworn that we were living in a run-downsuburb back in Gauteng.The Table Mountain - a living, breathing character she was. Her temperament fluctuated like a pregnant lady. On some days she was warm and receptive as the sun reflected her in a welcoming light and on other days she was broody, melancholic and harsh as the clouds embraced her, subduing her.

To my husband and I the Tygerburg deal sounded like an all-round decent package: a family sized hospital quarters apartment for R700 a month was probably less than the rent charged for a home in the housing projects, and with an opportunity to explore white Cape Town on the weekends - we were sold on the idea.

Tygerburg hospital was at the junction of Coloured Cape Town and Afrikaner Cape Town. It was on the line of the 'Boerewors Curtain'. In Cape Town these racial demarcations seemed very distinct with a cordial but well delineated interaction between races (at most times). If I haven't mentioned Black people, it's because they were clumped together in overcrowded settlementslike Gugulethu and Khayaletsha. Coming from working in the heart of Soweto where informal settlements were a mainstay, I was surprisingly appalled and poured unfettered scorn and self-righteous piety on the concept that was the settlement of Khayaletsha : shacks were stacked on top of each other - something like a mini-version of the Brazilian favellas. The settlement extended for kilometers blocked off from the mainroad by a porous concrete fence - with just enough space to voyeuristically peek inside and just enough security to feel separated from it.

The Tygerburg Hospital building stood as a testament to apartheid's clinical (yet morally depraved) practicality. The hospital stands as two interconnected buildings which are mirror images of each other. Legend has it that during apartheid days one side was used for white patients and the other side was used for the 'others'. But those were just memories now in this post-apartheid South Africa where we are all brothers (as long as everyone knows their place).Racial tensions were more evident to me in Cape Town than in Gauteng. The Afrikaner Specialist dominated : he ( occasionally she) worked with efficiency and commanded the respect of his juniors. Most of the nursing staff were Cape Coloured and rallied around the doctors with reverence that I've never witnessed- before and since. Many of these nurses were harsh in their disrepect towards the Black staff who were often treated as incompetent and bullied. And if thereis anyone that you don't want bullying you, it is a Registered nurse.

I value working in a community different from my own. As a doctor you have the privilege of being let into that private space of an individual - physically and emotionally. Such insight into people and their condition is invaluable. The pulse that I picked up from the community around the Tygerburg hospital was a fatigued resilience. It was truly a tough life. Unemployment was rife and a survivable poverty existed. Working in paediatrics, I found that many of the mothers were young and often single. A fair amount of the babies were born to drug addicted mothers -posing the challenge of drug withdrawal for the newborn. In light of all this, births continued,young boyfriends occasionally came to support their girlfriends who had just delivered their baby and mothers loved their newborns - intensely - almost all of the time.

(more to follow - depending on time and inclination)

COMPASSION FATIGUE IN THE TIME OF HIV

2011-04-29T22:53:00.000-07:00

COMPASSION FATIGUE IN THE DAYS OF HIV

Some mornings I would go to the death register secretly hoping that a patient or two had died overnight. Are you shocked, horrified maybe? I was too when my friend who had passed through the Medicine rotation before me told me that this would happen - I didn't believe her. But here I was , coming into work early to care for some patients while holding a subconscious wish that the universe had shortened my patient list while I was asleep. I didn't secretly wish death on just any patient , it was usually the ones who came in looking as though death was already dancing with them. Like they just needed some excuse for departure. These were usually AIDS infected holding onto life's last moments being rolled in by families who I knew had the same secret hope as me.

With patient loads into the forties per intern , could you blame us for compassion fatigue? Anticipating a patient intake sometimes made me physically ill. Psychosomatic? Perhaps. A rotation of night duty every five nights then four days catching up from the last shift managing the patients from that intake then another night intake then patients come and go and more names are added onto your list than are scratched off.
It was a game of numbers, a tally of scores.
Kamlia , the other intern, would ask me something like" so how many are you sitting on?"
I'd give her my number of patients .
"I've got a lung ca and pneumonia that may be leaving, " I might have added on hopefully, trying to deflate the load of patients that I was already carrying.
She'd say something like 'shit, that's a lot - and this is before intake tomorrow'
Thanks, I knew that. With a barrage of A-type personalities, there was often a subtle ( sometimes overt ) tone of competition.

Every single patient (less) counted. The good intern was the one who worked the fastest and cleared out the most patients to free up bedspace. Beds were a big issue at Bara. That list of forty patients were usually scattered around the hospital , dispersed in a ward where a free bed was available. A morning ward round could be as much about a good cardiovascular workout around the hospital, as it was about logistics. Sometimes , only sometimes, a patient who had been sitting in the same bed for almost a week unattended, would be pointed out by the nursing staff.
'doctor, what's the instructions for this patient. There's no notes since last wednesday'
The patient was lost in the system - to the system. He had probably fallen off an overworked intern's patient list and lay scattered in some ward with every passing doctor thinking that he belonged to someone else.

If it sounds like I didn't care , I'm not sure that I could honestly tell you that I did. I worked mechanically, wanting ,so desperately wanting to care - like the doctors on TV, like I did when I was a medical student asking about a patient's family history and whether he had running water and a flushing toilet in his home, sincerely asking about every fart and bowel movement. It's just the situation we kept on telling ourselves. The sheer workload just to give each patient basic care left no time for niceties. I still wanted to be nice.

It's strange that at times when I thought that I was the most callous, the most hardened a patient being rolled in on a rickety overused stretcher would knock the compassionate breath out of me. Like that feeling of unexpectedly passing by a long lost love , only its the exact reverse. It was usually the patients with Aids who came to came to take their last breaths at the hospital. I remember an intake night when a skeleton lady in a red polka dotted dress was rolled in. Her skin clung to her bones like a tight fitting leotard. Her eyes bulged out of sockets which looked too small and her cheeks caved into the grooves of her facial bones. It wasn't an extraordinary picture but my reaction was far from normal.At least, I had a reaction. A bolt of guilt-laden pity slammed hard into my conscience. It was revelatory : I was still able to care. It passed as quickly as it arrived- that feeling. But it gave hope that there was still hope, some inkling of humanity in me to be salvaged.

AIDS was (and still is) like that creepy uncle that everybody hates but still has to tolerate. It was so much a part of all that we ever knew. We knew no pre-Aids days when wards weren't a pit stop (to heaven) for the terminally ill. Most of our patients would not really recover. I often think that this must have beaten down on us quite badly in a very slow degrading type of way without us realising it. Yes, AIDS . Our government had missed the boat you see.
At the time when HIV was gaining ground and governments internationally were putting measures in place to cope with the emerging disease, our country was going through the great transition from apartheid to democracy. We seemed to have more pressing priorities at the time. After Mandela and democracy came the aloof technocrat President Thabo Mbeki. A brilliant man by many standards, his messages didn't translate well to people on the ground. Often criticized as inaccessible, Mbeki adopted what was dubbed a 'denialist' approach to HIV. He told the aching nation that HIV did not cause AIDS. In reality, his message was not as simplistic as that - he apparently meant to say that the HIV virus exclusively does not cause AIDS, focusing on poverty as a major causative factor. He was pretty straight on the mark, but the message that reached the general public was that 'HIV does not cause AIDS' . A confusing message at a time when clarity and decisive action was needed. His administration resisted providing widespread antiretroviral medication to patients but later caved into legal pressure from the Treatment Action Campaign - a persistent and powerful NGO. President Mbeki was recalled by his party, the ANC in 2008 amidst a coup-like leadership battle.
His successor President Jacob Zuma had none of the intelligence of Mbeki but much of the charm that Mbeki was lacking. President Zuma's infamous blow to HIV/AIDS education in South Africa was pre-presidency , during a trial where he stood accused of rape. Yes, he admitted, he did have consensual sex with the unnamed lady whom he knew had HIV, but... a very big but ... he thought that he would not get HIV because he took a shower straight afterwards. AIDS activists buried their heads in their hands. It was another few steps backward at a time when HIV statistics were reaching epidemic proportions. So yes, our government definitely did miss the leadership boat when it came to tackling HIV/AIDS head on.

thumb top :)

2011-04-22T15:58:00.001-07:00

Thumb-top sized
with 'fingernails'
and fuzzy hair
moving and swallowing
weird looking human
being , been waiting a while
to feel you,
and then I won't be able to wait
to see you.
thumb-top sized cute-ness
with Juno-like 'FINGER-nails'

Borders

2011-04-22T15:06:00.001-07:00

At the junction of courage and fear
are borders that segregate the mind.
Aching poverty that didn't know how to dream,
Oppressive opulence that didn't know what to dream.
Gunmen at checkpoints stopping the fetus of dreams.
Countries that tighten and loosen their borders
like the inspiration and expiration of vile utility:
taking in when they need and tightening up when chips are down.
Borders that suffocate mobility, motility -
with pores so small that humanity's side-lined must squeeze through,
but large enough to be tossed back to the other side with ease.
Borders to exclude not to include-
Borders along which to build walls and fences,
motes and trenches.

Rise and Fall

2011-03-22T13:16:00.001-07:00

rise-and-fall

a small story friend

2011-03-17T14:09:00.000-07:00

Let me tell you about a man who never had his obituary written in a newspaper.
He spoke to each man as if the man had so much importance in the world. He won hearts without wanting to .He walked with humility, because he probably felt that he had nothing to be proud of. But striving never to hurt another man, sacrificing your needs for those of others, lending an astute ear and keen eye to the nuanced likes and dislikes of your loved ones and strangers, friend - such a man has reason to be proud (although he will never know it). This man walked a gentle walk, talked a gentle talk and held integrity above all else. Take his money, take his possessions, but please friend , don't falsely taint his name. And he died with a few shirts in his wardrobe, having crossed the sea only once, on pilgrimage. He left us comfort but so much else: a wealth of morality that would serve us good to tap into. This self-less hero, this grandfather-would-be...

BUDRUS - Movie Review

2010-10-30T13:07:00.001-07:00

Behind the political rhetoric and media distortion, is a story about a people, their right to use their land to survive and their intrinsic connection to this land. Budrus tells this story while steering away from directly conveying the political narrative.The movie is gripping in a way that appeals to fundamental human emotions of compassion, empathy and justice.

Directed by the award winning filmmaker Julia Bacha,the documentary follows Ayyed Morrar in his attempt to lead a non-violent resistance against the construction of the separation barrier through his Palestinian village of Budrus. Bacha says that a decision was taken to focus on the villagers and their story, avoiding the broader political context. This is perhaps where the authenticity of the story lies. Through interviews with villagers and footage of their protracted resistance towards the construction of the wall, a personal connection with the audience is formed. The civilian statistics become real and the actual impact of the construction of the wall is contextualised.

A focal point is 'The Olive Tree' - the Palestinian people's connection to it, the life-source that it represents and the impunity with which the Israeli Defence Force uproots these. I recalled scenes from Avatar, where the Na'vi people feel like they have lost a family member when their precious trees are uprooted. The tragedy in the Palestinian scenario, though, is that it is real, not fiction and that it is ongoing. After the olive trees have been uprooted to make way for the wall, a farmer with innocent disbelief and morbid concern tries to explain to an Israeli soldier that he does not know what to do as his trees will now die. Never before was the simple yet intense relationship between the Palestinian people and their land been conveyed to me as powerfully.

While Budrus does not promise to tell 'both sides of the story', it gives a voice to Yasmine Levy, the IDF squad commander in the border police sent to Budrus.
A spokesperson for the Israeli army Doron Spielman gives the Israeli justification for constructing the wall.The interaction between the military and civilians is poignant when viewed through live footage.

The issue of non-violent resistance was a deliberate choice by Bacha (who is also a historian). She says that her studies have shown that violent resistance movements in history had always transformed into dictatorships.

The movie had been well received by international audiences, winning numerous awards at a various film festivals. Budrus is scheduled for screening around the United states and The United Kingdom over the next few months.

Spare (the) change - a penny for my thoughts

2010-09-26T14:45:00.000-07:00

At my high school reunion a couple of weeks ago, an old classmate asked me what I planned to do. I mentioned that I wasn't sure as we were moving to Doha. "You're immigrating?"he asked.
I stopped... thought... and realised : well, I guess I am.

My boss gave a farewell pseudo-speech sometime last week. It was slightly strange hearing those words because I never felt that I was ever really a part of that space. Was it a deliberate disinvestment on my part, knowing that my future was on 'screensaver' moode and would be chnaging soon? Perhaps. I was there for nine months - it's crazy how a month turns into four turns into nine.

These farewell things are a bit of a formality. I realise that as much as I bemoan formalities, I'm suckered into creating and maintaining them out of politeness. Bah - politeness - my achilles heel. I'll take passion or courage any day, but what d I get stuck with? sterile politeness.

Then the visa comes and I need to book a ticket.

Staying in Cape Town for some months last year, I came to realise that the grass on the other side is not always as green as it seems. Change is change is change and contexts may enhance or detract from the overall experience, but the true constant and decisive factor is 'the self'. And grudgingly I admit that , yes... the universe does lie within.

It's always 'the people' and relationships that tear me apart. I know that the world is small and ever-shrinking but the thought of leaving behind rock-solid support-structures leaves me hollow. I often feel that I hold relationships in too much esteem. That perhaps my strong feelings of love aren't always reciprocated - but it doesn't really bother me much.
Don't be a baby I tell myself. Man-up ...
But 'myslef' really knows that's it's for a good reason that I'm being so clingy, so nostalgic and so sentimental - I've met and fallen in love with so many real people ofver the past years. Selfless people, spiritual people, ambitious people, intelligent people. People who have been strength when all that I could do was collapse. God knows that I have reason to feel nostalgic...

Inception

2010-09-16T14:13:00.001-07:00

A made-for-hollywood type of movie- generous mix of sci-fi, some action scenes with a dose of mind-bending.It was a winning Hollywood formula - and I fell for it.

I think that it tried a little too hard to be an 'important movie'.

Fascinating aspects included concepts raised in the plot. Time lapse during dreams is intruiging. Relating the concept of this life appearing to be 'only but a day' when seen in context of the Hereafter seems conceivable - time is a relative construct.
As with 'The Matrix trilogy', we come to question the nature of which reality is the 'true reality'. It was a mind trip for sure. However, I agree with Ned's comment that it lacked clever dialogue.

The magic element was missing - but overall, it was a piece of an afternoon well(ish) spent.

sweetness

2010-08-07T15:28:00.000-07:00

One chance at it - this thing called life

living on the brink...

2010-08-07T14:36:00.000-07:00

Ever feel like you are on the brink of thinking something important, like you have the need to get something out of your mind but you're not sure what it is? Do you find companionship in the solitude of your thoughts articulated - to yourself?

Ever feel like you're on the brink of living the life that you think that you're supposed to be living. Like a few more steps... you're almost there.

Do you ever feel content yet driven ... to somewhere else

On the brink - of now...

sync

2010-08-05T07:45:00.000-07:00

when you share your heart-ache with me, my heart aches.
I think that I will be weaker but I am alright,
my heart beats in sync with the pain that you've shared
but only for moments
while you carry your pain until Mercy cares to
lift it

Quarter Life Crisis

2010-08-03T14:59:00.000-07:00

A few jovial chats with friends (and confidants) over the past year has left us with the term 'quarter-life-crisis'(Nedism). It's sort of a joke - mostly.
Recent intense chats with friends makes me realise that this is a very real phenomonen.
We are experiencing that plateau that is often the stimulis for intense dissatisfaction with the status-quo ... of our own lives.
What our parents previously experienced at a later age, we find ourselves experiencing sometime in the late twenties(Laherism). This is defined as 'desolation of the late twenties' (Nedism).
Seriously though. We (middle-class professionals) generally have our immediate physical needs (as Maslow defines them) taken care of at an earlier age. We enter careers at a higher salary than previous generations, leaving us with more disposable income and disposable time. More time to self-actualise ... to a point of realisation and dissatisfaction.

I wiki-pedia-ed (as this is not an academic article)'mid-life crisis' and some interesting points came up:
Theoretical basis:
"Although midlife crisis has lately received more attention in popular culture than serious research, there are some theoretical constructs supporting the notion. Jungian theory holds that midlife is key to individuation, a process of self-actualization and self-awareness that contains many potential paradoxes. Although Carl Jung did not describe midlife crisis per se, the midlife integration of thinking, sensation, feeling, and intuition that he describes could, it seems, lead to confusion about one's life to date and one's goals. Later, Erik Erikson held that in life's seventh stage, middle adulthood, people struggle to find new meaning and purpose to their lives; their questioning, he believed, could lead to what we now call a midlife crisis."

"Individuals experiencing a midlife crisis have some of these feelings:
search of an undefined dream or goal
a deep sense of remorse for goals not accomplished
desire to achieve a feeling of youthfulness
need to spend more time alone or with certain peers"

'A search of an undefined dream or goal' was a point that stood out. Many people that I speak to articulate this sense.

A one-one-one with a good friend this evening hilighted the concept of a discrepency.
We theorised that while we consider ourselves spiritually aware beings who have an apparent 'balance', perhaps we are too grounded in a materialistic existence. Our souls and mind realise a higher purpose or another way, but we are 'stuck' and our souls 'want out'.Perhaps... it's a theory.

So then onto the next level - does the 'intensely spiritual path' hold the answer. Do the roads to all existential crises lead to Sufism ?
Thoughts...in progress...

2010-07-18T13:50:00.000-07:00

a visit to the the Graveyard

2010-07-18T13:30:00.000-07:00

Do you visit the qabaristaan often?
It was strange that there was a type of serenity that permeated the place. I was humbled to see so many young people visiting. I also marvelled at the anonymous souls who take the effort to keep the graves in order. The guys that maintain mosques, upkeep the JK's, organise the ghusal's and tend the graves - small kindnesses, yet ample consciousness.

after the visit, somehow the theme of
'settling accounts' came to mind
zakaah, missed salaah, outstanding fasts...
rights of others that I have not fulfilled.
But memory is a fickle foe

on greatness

2010-07-11T12:58:00.000-07:00

I think that we've come to associate greatness with recognition because so many of the people that we know are achieving that : tangible accolades in the form of public recognition or positions of influence.

To decide to resign oneself to mediocrity, to assume that you will be comfortable with day-to-day -drudgery-for-the-sake-of, is a means of writing your own obituary, if you have an inquiring spirit - that is. The process of deciding to settle for (deliberate use of the word) the very ordinary means that you have dissected out the converse and found it to be unappealing.

This one guy was mentioning to me some time back about how he felt cheated because he was told that

he/we would do something important and meaningful , and that with a sense of disillusion, he realised that this might never happen. So who do you take your frustrations out on : yourself? The guys who sold you the dream in the first place ? god forbid – your Creator?

So what is greatness then?

In the context of life, purpose and other such philosophical luxuries, I think that it's the process of ensuring that you are at every step, inching closer towards realising your potential. YOUR potential.

A very specific, exceptionally individualised definition.

To realise YOUR potential takes a measure of honesty. To understand your capacity without limiting your ability to move beyond perceived boundaries, is challenging. Ideally, with this honesty would come a measure of settled-ness, an ease and self-confidence.

Perhaps greatness is not as much a destination as it is a process.

To settle for mediocrity would imply a refutation of striving – unless of course it's mediocrity that you are striving for. Striving and beating your personal best is in keeping with Islamic philosophy -this is Ihsan. This is greatness. It may not be as perceptible the broader context, but greatness (especially of spirit) has this way of being difficult to contain – pouring on out from the microcosm onto the macrocosm.

That other type of greatness, while often thrust upon deserving men, tends to be this hollow structure. Not that the recipient is undeserving, but because society is often fickle.

honest suffering

2010-07-11T12:57:00.000-07:00

Shall I tell you what is worst than honest suffering?
It is one man's overlordship
over another

What is worst than grinding hard work?
Slogging for the excesses of the other

What can be worst than a death
in clear conscience
A life of lies and crossed fingers
behind dagger-handled backs

Who stands taller-
an honorable discomfort
or a malicious ease?

Ikhlaas

2010-07-11T12:55:00.000-07:00

Many a time that I have greatly faltered
I was looking towards others for validation

some for my best successes came
when I was looking towards attaining
something more noble than success

Some of my emptiest words were
forged by pretense
some of my sweetest sayings
sprang from sincerity

life, what is life ? (inspired a bit by MZH and Marshall Mathers)

2010-07-11T12:53:00.000-07:00

What is the present?
Could it be an the junction between past challenges/success
and future ambitions?
The moment wherein all resources (human,material and intellectual)
must exert itself towards purpose
in the interpretation that one senses most apt.
Is it that fleeting interlude that changes the future into the past?

What is worth defining oneself by?
Material possessions are tangible enough
for the smart man not to covert.
What about relationships – temprorary,
in a non-fatilistic way.
What about ones mind -
beware of the challenge that might
take thought and rationality away.
What reigns eternal are the
deeds that are stored
from the present in a realm
futuristic beyond conception.

What is life?
A purposeful mystery
synonymous with the secrets
of death

What's in a picture?

2010-07-11T12:51:00.000-07:00

in a picture is the brutality
of time's progression

the realisation of the dynamism
and arrogant stampede
of progress

in a picture are two strangers
four years ago,
now partners

in a picture is dad's
caretaking presence
so tangible

in a picture is an uncle's
ability

in a picture is the gap
of births to come

oh, to take a mental snapshot of the present
that can be reminisced upon four years later

Oh, to cherish the moment that is now

travel

2010-07-11T12:49:00.000-07:00

The notion of travel, like the flawed love of escapism,wraps around my mind like an object-less romance. To roam, for no purpose other than the indulgence of experience and the need to evade permanence. To shrug off dependency and dependents and to live as a vagabond to the mercy of life's simple pleasures - could I be so brave?
or... so cowardly ?

waiting for revelation

2010-04-25T09:47:00.000-07:00

so you've done most of what you think you've needed to do
and what you haven't done, you've read about or watched in the movies
And you're waiting for some great like ... revelation
some redemption in embossed lettering

Hoping that as you walk through the streets something
may just catch your eye, instead of everything seeming like pirated re-runs.

As you roam the bookshelf you hope to find that masterpiece that will just inspire
But all you find are rehashed ideas and stunted ideals.

And you're waiting for the great reformer or charismatic revolutionary,
the noble saint promising deliverance ... from yourself.

Everything has been overused,
music overplayed, innovation overdone,
technology overworked, labourers underpaid.

Moments are grey
Movements cliched
Quick highs
Eternal lows

fact is stranger than fiction

2010-04-10T08:23:00.001-07:00

Perhaps some classics have made it to the fiction shelves because had the philosophies of social structure been purported as factual projections and analysis, the authors might have been proclaimed heretics.

Two works 'Brave New World' (Alduos Huxley) and '1984' (George Orwell) are largely seen as prophetic, but the timelessness of their theories centers around an accurate analysis of human nature.

Orwell outlines a sense that human nature is constant and that there is a longing to return to an original form or state of consciousness. Huxley focuses more on conditioning. Each of his central characters, even though momentarily restless with the status quo, longs for that environment of comfort that comes from their respective conditioning.

The theme which was of most interest to me was the concept of 'mass control' and the instruments used to achieve this. Dumbing down of a 'higher consciousness' is achieved through controlled dissemination and promotion of base indulgence.

Both works had a strong emphasis on the sexual nature of man. An overindulgence in base desires is seen in both works as a distraction from self actualisation and the realisation of intellectual potential.
Pornography is seen as a tool of subversion.

Interestingly, music is seen in both works as a means of mindless preoccupation – the type of music being churned out in those respective societies. Meaningless rhyming sentences, repeated often enough entrenching meaningless phrases into the psyche. I wondered about the foresight of these authors and whether Orwell did in fact have a time machine that stole glimpses onto the present Billboard hits.

The mood in '1984' was a darker, more suspicious form of control – this is more honest, I believe than the superficial 'joy' described in 'Brave New World' which was a measure of entrapment too.
An analysis of present day would reveal a combination of both forms of control – the structured 'state apparatus' and the subversive indulgence in smaller distractions so as to avoid applying the mind to a higher purpose.

Are there obvious 'architects of control'? Conspiracy theories ( eg.youtube:the arrivals) would have us believe this. Or is it that when man functions outside of a paradigm of absolute values, he tends to head down a familiar pattern of destruction.

There is a sense that both authors are unraveling their personal theories and end off in a somewhat sermon-style conclusion – these are fascinating conclusions though.

Orwell's novel, true to its realistic but morbid temperament ends with the independent, thinking voice being silenced and suppressed. Although Huxley's voice of reason (in the form of the Savage) comes to a chilling end, there is some honour in this as he has tried to remain true to his ideals.

Sometimes facts are so strange that they can only be safely passed off as fiction.

guess who just rediscovered her blog?

2010-03-13T13:11:00.001-08:00

- THIS GUY!

Dead man walking

2010-03-13T12:58:00.000-08:00

you know it's there
just a-stalking every person
who's a-walking
but we'll just pretend alright?
hush ...

staccato

2010-03-12T20:59:00.000-08:00

A disjointed post to re-activate my blog brain and to stop my mind from going down a path of pure empiricism. What does writing do for me? It pushes thoughts out in a format that isn't lazy. Seeing thoughts in concrete lettering makes me scoff at the gaping holes in them.Now poetry (or my version of it) is easy. It's not meant to have structure. It can be as fleeting and tangential as I sometimes feel. Prose, prose... the nemesis ...

Current philosophical dilemma:
The elusive nature of time and life has been firmly established.Where is the balance between maximising the present and being prudent about 'securing' for the future. In a time when the present life is seen as the end in itself, securing security at every point seems to be the overwhelming pressurising thrust. This tends to make one insecure (oh great irony) and selfish in a way. Gathering enough so that you may always have enough. But is enough ever enough? Planning , building, securing ... for a later that may never come.

While 'peer pressure' was once written off as a challenge of teenagers, I wonder about the pressure to 'succeed'- to have tangible accolades as a medallion for efforts put in.
I realised that you can't run away from 'pressures', they will follow you or you will return to them. The solution, i know (with my mind, not heart) lies in creating a space around yourself. An impenetrable fortress of determination (the magnitude of that statement is enough to put me off striving for this).

If these thoughts seem staccato,then it's a perfect manifestation of me right now. I know that cohesion is a process. Patience,patience... the nemesis.

shutting out the noise

2009-04-07T07:06:00.000-07:00

when thoughts suffocate in exhaust fumes
and time can't keep up with itself
as though the hour hand is chasing the minute
hand's tail

when emotions spell
fatigue
in neon lights

and Originality is a name brand perfume
when spontaneity needs to be scheduled in

then it's time to take myself to the mountains

while this body may be pummeled
into shape
by the city and all it contains,

my heart lies buried on the river bed,
dancing in the directed current
it rides the tide of the ocean's breath
as it heaves and sighs to the shore

my heart edges on the mountain's cliff
to greet every sunrise with a prayer

and it knows that there will always be
a disconnect unless
this stubborn trunk
decides to uproot

One Dollar

2009-03-26T12:43:00.000-07:00

2009-03-21T13:24:00.000-07:00

How does art traverse the canvas and settle the soul ?

How is it that magnificent strokes evoke a yearning

to access the eternal?

i drown in serenity

i awaken to reality

Romance off the coast of Africa

2009-03-13T13:31:00.000-07:00

Whoever wrote that previous blog post about Africa lacking authenticity obviously hadn't been to Zanzibar yet.

Zanzibar was the romance and character that I was hoping to extract from Africa.

The place is authentic, unique - stuck somewhre in the 17th century, yet the faces of the people tell the story of present day Africa.

While the streets are saturated with an 'old-world' type charm , the delapidated infrastructure is very evident. Zanzibar is dependant on income from tourism and spice trade and the recent econimic slump has seen the Island take strain.

There is a palpable fusion of cultures and a background that is difficult to pin down. The Arab influence is noted and this is whispered in the architecture. I always associate those arabic arches with a great time in Islamic History without wondering about the cultural imperialism that comes along with conquests of great nations. But that's just the way of the world perhaps.

The search for authenticity

2009-03-12T13:53:00.000-07:00

Identity and culture are now fluid . Certainties erode as the world decreases. Innovation breeds convenience, but also mistrust. Globalisation is real and here - deal with it.
With greater stimulus to encapsulate identity formation, the complexities are astounding. Nothing fits into neat boxes anymore, not even filing cabinets - maybe try a flash-drive.

Communication has made distances evaporate and trade expansion has seen uniformity proliferate.

In this steamrolling of 'progress' and development, I strain to find authenticity. Humanity is loosing that 'signature identity' . Is this just the next phase in development - a diverse hegemony?

Africa's diversity should be guarded more than she has allowed her chastity to be guarded.

The Process or the destination ?

2009-03-12T11:04:00.000-07:00

I'm all workshopped out. My right brain has been jogged after slouching around for a couple of years. Space for expression is important, it's essential to 'hear' and 'be heard' , but to what end is all this jabbering?
Maybe it's a clinical approach that I've developed : symptoms, possibilities, solutions and prescriptions. I want to see tangible outcomes - in as short a time as possible . I find it almost painful engaging in a drawn out process whose goal is not clearly defined. I do see value in the 'process' , as no engagement is wasted , it has either positive or negative implications.

Workshopping is a culture with it's own jargon, methodology of operation and mode of thinking. Can strategic thinking be presented or formulated in a non-conventional format?

And when the destination is not clearly defined the route there becomes an arduous path to tread.
Is there a deficiency in the conditioning of my thinking ? do I need to be more 'abstract' or is there a space for us all in this hodge-podge of ideas?

I never thought of myself as a left-brainer . Maybe my right brain has atrophied through disuse.

MySpace...OurSpace

2009-03-10T12:24:00.000-07:00

It's sometimes only possible to value something when it is measured against its variant.
Along the lines of 'you don't know what you've got till it's gone' - albeit gone for only a weekend.

I would like to view myself as a fiercely (not in the aggressive sense but in the 'quite/very' sense) independent woman (shoutout to beyonce and the girls - throw your hands up at me). With the husband away riding the Argus this weekend, I felt a void. It wasn't a Hollywood type pining or a dysfunctional type of missing. I was missing that space ... our space. That space that allows you to speak your mind without having to give a preamble or disclaimer. That space that allows for compliments and insults to be contained within an insular capsule of acceptance - most of the time.

Now let me add that this phenomenon is not exclusive to me. A friend of mine (who would also like to view herself a a non-dependant personality) dealt with similar issues when her husband visited the middle east recently - it scared her.

It scares me too .

There is something both scary and beautiful in realising that you have grown into a space with another person. The thing about this is that it is a closed entity but it is not stifling. There is breathing space , space to grow and then to come back and enhance the core. Maybe this is what forming the 'new family' is all about.

It was reassuring to hear my husband echo these sentiments when he returned.

the wonder of younger

2009-02-15T13:16:00.000-08:00

Today the monotony of routine was punctuated with a fluttering of my heart. A 'little one' enthusiastically greeted me with the sincerest "hello dokotela'.
Children ... alhamdulillah . If ever one was looking for signs of Allah's Rahma, it is manifest in the spirit of a child. They resonate self-confidence and exude ... pure joy.

My answer to the 'nature/nurture' debate (today) would be 'nurture'. I wonder how long it takes before innocence dissipates and children start to resemble the adults around them who look as though they have been slapped around by life too many times. How long before society frames them into objects of docile servitude or warriors of belligerent aggression?

What does it take to hold on to those qualities which makes friendships seem eternal and enemies long forgotten?

I sometimes see men in privileged societies who are as carefree as children and I often see children from impoverished places who have the anger of men - they have experienced loss too profound to pen.

When a child compliments you , hold it very dear. What leaves their mouths echoes the sweetest sincerity and what reflects in their eyes is an innocence that is mortal.

We are bound together by Him

2009-02-15T12:37:00.000-08:00

In seeking the perfect marriage,
we must be our perfect selves
polishing the mirror of self-reflection
before pointing the finger of accusation

In seeking the perfect marriage
we realise : perfection is an aspiration
that 'absolutes' belong in teenage movies
and trite advice in trashy magazines

In seeking the perfect partner
we must be the perfect partner
In an aura of total tolerance
with a sweet glow of compassion

In seeking the ultimate companion
we must seek the Only One
and then join hands in reaching upward
so that we are bound by Him Alone

and in a moment of introspection
we realise that relationships are fleeting
and that some are built for this world
and that others will reign eternal

and in moments of petty discord
we realise : the Goal is greater still
and that romance is not the purpose
but a blessing from above

and in seeking the perfect moment
when coolness binds your gazes together
let these word touch your lips:
We are bound together by Him

We are bound together by Him

To Israel - with love

2009-02-06T12:16:00.000-08:00

a smell of white phosphorous touches her lips
an embrace of shrapnel reminds
of the man next door
who's done this before
and then faces the world again

himself an illegitimate product
of an adulterous union
between the guilty conscience of nations

and in the womb is brooding
a foetus of men
who will bomb for the pride of their fathers

and their names will spell
the repercussion
of crimes that went untold

and the silent and guilty
will be called to order
for it was Gaza's body they sold

and I'd also like to thank... internship

2009-01-28T11:02:00.000-08:00

Nostalgia is a flavour that can be savoured only in retrospect.

I have often (and I do mean often) bemoaned the state of my medical internship. I've often glanced enviously at my corporate counterparts, imagining the glorious salaries that they were commanding while having clean toilets to use.

Perhaps the sweetness of an experience can only be felt once the madness has passed and given way to a moment (and I do mean moment) of reflection.

Over the past few years I have met patients who didn't have the R8 that it takes to catch a taxi back from the hospital. Eight rand - that's almost a cappuccino. I have seen old ladies cry about one son being on drugs, while two sons were on ARV's. I have been moved by young, strong and able men who would do anything to have a stable job... anywhere.

I've seen how apartheid has raped the social structure that was meant to support individuals, while being exposed to a 'lost generation' , forgotten by politicians and ignored by society.

I have fortunately been allowed into that personal space surrounding a human being , and with guilt I admit that I did not always use this opportunity constructively.

I have seen certain government policies work : I am in awe of poly-clinics (a one-stop-health care-shop). I have also seen the disastrous effects of mixed health-care messages.

I have met AIDS, spat at it and have vowed to never reconcile.

I pray that the Almighty always keeps us close enough to the ground, that we may have the ability to almost-empathise with the 'poorest of the poor', and that He will open up channels for us to help alleviate their plight.

My comfort-bubble has been utterly shaken
for this I'd like to thank ... internship.

Latitudes of Platitudes

2008-12-28T02:39:00.000-08:00

From protest to protest
from march to march
our brains in our mouths
our hearts in our pockets

we will give ,
till it doesn't hurt
and shout
till it doesn't rattle

and a slumber
will be lifted
at a time inopportune

and the people shall be sorted
and the scales will be tipped
and regret shall have no virtue

for the ones who spoke
but didn't do

Inverted Reality (more from the archives)

2008-12-28T00:08:00.000-08:00

Inverted Reality

'Raise the alarms- Truth has been captured
It was taken across the boarder last night'
Alert the media-
Integrity was caught in crossfire
'Collateral damage' they said.

A freedom fighter by any other name
would smell as sweet
Colonisation dressed up in democracy
will be exposed

'Insurgents of reason are causing unrest'
'Let missiles of liberation silence them'
Defence is aggression
Aggression ... defence
War will bring peace-
It's a pre-emptive strategy

'Breaking news: Truth has
been assassinated,
dragged through the streets and spat on.
Its innards exposed
It's difficult to recognise.'

Morality is impotent
Aggression spreads its seed
Something is amiss-

a reality inverted

Palestine Memories

2008-12-27T13:16:00.000-08:00

In trying to enhance some solidarity with our brothers and sisters in Palestine, I dug up some archives, a piece from my trip in 2005.

With our hearts , with our souls, we will defend you Oh Aqsa... really ?

Today is the first day that we go to work in the villages. I realise that I've left my passport at home. Apparently the first rule of international travel is – always keep your passport and money on you(I'm a novice). I don't think that I've been this stressed out ... If they stop us at any of the checkpoints, I could have real problems.

As we pass the checkpoints .. my autonomic nervous system kicks (heart starts beating ,palms start sweating, mouth goes dry ...). Maybe on some small level I'm getting a glimpse into what the Palestinians feel like , having to move around with identity documents (like the'dompas' that we know) , being asked to produce it at the whim of some nineteen-year-old soldier. There are fundamental differences though –I have international immunity (for whatever that's worth) ,this isn't restricting my movement in my own country and I definitely don't have to do this everyday.

I'm thinking about a conversation with Ebrahim yesterday : " but freedom of movement is a basic human right, " he said in disbelief.

Disbelief ...

Hard to believe that all this is happening in our 'civilised world.'

Last night we watched a video showing how the wall surrounds certain towns almost completely.The only access in and out is through security gates manned by soldiers. Then too, you need a valid permit only issued for specific reasons.

According to the elders of the village that we are passing, the well that Prophet Yusuf AS was thrown into, is located here. So much history ... so beautiful ... so tense.

We pass Ar-Rabi military base .

there are military towers jutting out across the landscape . It's so out of place.
We're almost there.

******************
We did some painting at a school in the Tulkarem district. Sometimes I think that we do some volunteer work just to make ourselves feel better. Doest it make a real difference? probably not ... but you sure do feel great afterwards.For the group though ,it was a real bonding experience.

We're on the way back and we're passing another checkpoint. The Palestinians tell us to sing and clap just to provoke the soldiers.It's a really small act of defiance, but why not...

These checkpoints are a humiliating reminder to the Palestinians that their land is being occupied. Also a reminder that I don't have my passport.

Rationality, history... everything... shows that oppression won't last forever. The question here is – how long will it be and what will it take for it to crumble?

Tell it to the wind...

2008-11-30T12:27:00.000-08:00

Talk to me of gardens with companions pure
Sing to me through colours unpaletted onto
a canvas of a scene as vivid as a post-rainfall picture
Laugh with me through melodies melting into
unadulterated contentment

Don't tell me in your half anaesthetised state
of the father that you cannot find,
I cannot resurrect your mother
Don't ask me for more drugs
to dry up your tears and
deaden your heart

Let's revel in the contradiction of the African sunshine
lets exploit the fruits of democracy now
hold my hand while we skip salutations
to our struggle heroes under the rainbow

Don't pick at my conscience
or tell me of your reality
for I will be sure to explode
under the pressure of inactivity
how bad can a child headed house-hold really be?
Your eighteen, jump on the bandwagon of BEE,
and leave me be
Don't call me a 'kind person' because
I pretended to listen

Don't tell it to me...
tell it to the wind

It's a cruel , cruel Summer ...

2008-11-12T16:24:00.000-08:00

The topic of Refugees is an uncomfortable one. The recent Xenophobic attacks have left our nation with unexplored feelings of guilt. Any psychologist worth their salt will tell you that pent up emotions can't be too healthy.

" who is The Other?"

" why are our levels of tolerance so low?"

" are WE in any way responsible for the refugees?"

While we know that the situation in South Africa is not simply about foreigners, it seems as though we have just wished away discussion around the topic once 'Xenophobia' migrated from the headlines.

The reason that we need to have 'this discussion' is because issues around migration and refugees are sure to gain more importance but less exposure. Reasons for this include nations tightening their boundaries (under the guise of national security), civil-wars, strained resources and climate change.

The first three reasons have been explored to a large extent, but I wish to focus on the last cause for the emerging class of refugees.

The definition for "Environmental Refugees" has not yet been crystallised, but there is a call for a universal definition which would entitle this recognised group to receive aid that is allocated and allowed for refugees. One definition, developed by El-Hinnawi in 1985, sees environmental refugees as: "those people who have been forced to leave their traditional habitat, temporarily or permanently, because of a marked environmental disruption (natural and/or triggered by people) that jeopardized their existence and/or seriously affected the quality of their life [sic]. By ‘environmental disruption’ in this definition is meant any physical, chemical, and/or biological changes in the ecosystem (or resource base) that render it, temporarily or permanently unsuitable to support human life.” (El-Hinnawi quoted from UNU-EHS 2008). Analysis around classification of refugees would show that the classes are interlinked .

The factors driving environmental migration include 'poverty, failing Eco systems, vulnerability to natural hazards and gradual climate-driven environmental change'. (1) Climate change impacts on the environment in the following ways: warming and drying reduces agricultural potential by destroying clean water and fertile soil, it leads to extreme weather events (eg. floods) causing mass migration. Finally, rising sea levels permanently destroys coastal regions, again causing mass migration.

Questions then arise ," do we really need to intervene? will the environment not just regulate itself? can we take responsibility for natural phenomenon?"

An honest analysis would reveal that 'We' (the energy guzzlers of the modern world) , are a direct cause for many of these dramatic events. Conisbee and Simms (2), in the handbook 'environmental refugees - a case for recognition' state: more than any war or political upheaval, global warming stands to displace millions of people. And global warming is being driven by the fossil fuel-intensive lifestyles that the West enjoys."

It becomes a situation (in many cases) of the world's poorest communities paying for the mistakes of the wealthiest nations. This seems to be a recurring theme ... the economic crisis reflects this philosophy as well.

At the moment we find ourselves at the point of trying to define the problem , some circles are still trying to decide weather the problem of 'environmental refugees' actually exists.

Interventions at this point will be far from pro-active, but ignoring the importance of this , in my opinion , is negligent. We have seen (in South Africa) how refugees can bear the brunt of frustrations when it comes to strained resources. The situation globally is sure to worsen , are we prepared?

The experts have cited solutions that include advocacy around these issues. This is an area that is accessible to us. Blog it , read about it , talk to your book club about it. On a small scale, let us be more conscious about our carbon footprint, on a larger scale, let us put pressure on industrialised nations to pay carbon tax - big time .

An interesting and interrelated subject is that of food and water security - watch this space.

on a more Muslim note : Ponder over the attitude of the ansaar towards the muhajireen. They were accepting and truly made the effort to share their resources ...

(1) Morton et. al : Human Seurity Policy Challenges http://www.fmreview.org/FMRpdfs/FMR31/FMR31.pdf
(2) www.neweconomics.org

Will we ever trust them again?

2008-11-08T09:16:00.000-08:00

The bold face of capitalism has been irrevocably distorted.

Banks and Multinational Corporations have gained status as shrines of the modernised world. Their continued existence seemed undeniable and their foundations appeared unshakable, while they loomed over our economy with an arrogance that inspired submission.

The global Credit Crisis has altered this perception. The technicalities that lie behind this wreck are intricate but the motivating factor that underlies it is simplistic.

We have come to realise that the promise of great financial rewards allowed brokers, investors and rating agencies to overlook risk under obviously risky circumstances. Perhaps greed can anaesthetise caution.

The cliche of "building a house of cards" must have originated in anticipation of the crisis that we are in the midst of. A greater tragedy than the tenants of capitalism "collapsing like dominoes" (yet another apt cliche) , is the repercussion of this 'crunch'.

While the real consequences of the situation still needs to play itself out, it is obvious that the least fortunate are to become even less fortunate. The American tax payers will be footing the bill of the proposed bailout. Due to the legacy of Globalisation, the trickle-down effects are already being felt.

Although South Africa is relatively insulated from the crisis, we will definitely be feeling the 'pinch'. Being an emerging market, South Africa is sure to bear some brunt of the mistakes made on Wall-Street.

The most difficult aspect for me to accept is the fact that international aid organisations will be compromised. Laura MacInnis (Reuters) reports : "Washington in particular would be under severe pressure to pare its international aid spending after agreeing a $700 billion financial rescue package, said Steve Radelet, a senior fellow at the Centre for Global Development."

Organisations confirming concern about the negative impact that the crisis will have on aid, include Oxfam and the WHO.

With faith in the capitalist system at an all time low, alternate financial systems have come under the spotlight. Tanya Cariina Hsu (a political researcher and analyst), in a paper entitled, "Death of the American Empire" mentions that eight years ago, Saudi Islamic banker Dr. Nayef bin Fawaaz ibn Sha'alan gave a series of economic lectures in Gulf states ."Islamic banking", he said, "always protects the individuals' wealth while putting a cap on selfishness and greed. It has the best of capitalism - filtering out its negatives - and the best of socialism - filtering out its negatives too ... The essential difference between the Islamic economic system and the capitalist system is that in Islam wealth belongs to God - the individual being only its manager. It is a means, not a goal. In capitalism, it is the reverse: money belongs to the individual, and is a goal in and of itself. In America especially, money is worshipped like God.".

She goes on to say : "the crash of the entire global economic system is a result of America's fiscal arrogance based upon one set of rules for itself and another for the rest of the world. Its increased creative financing deluded its people into a false sense of security, and now looks like the failure of capitalism altogether."

Perhaps economists understanding the solutions offered by Islamic Finance should 'capitalise' on this opportunity to fill a void.

The real face of the financial crisis will be revealing itself gradually in the months and years ahead ...
during this time I pray for compassion and patience - for all.

Dealers in Death

2008-10-26T07:40:00.000-07:00

Dealers in death

dabbling in darkness

we are the gatekeepers of the porthole to the next world

Our clients : Dead Before Arrival

bones cling-wrapped in skin

ravaged by a retrovirus

distorting DNA

motherless

we will callously stamp their passport

for the next leg of the journey

my sisters - my mirror

2008-10-22T11:49:00.000-07:00

some women cut women down to less-than-size
whispering words wicked and worldly
sneaky and suspicious
dragging down
down

my sisters, they share and comfort and advise
and soften and heal and protect and
cushion the blows
and lift and
raise

my sisters sharpen their brains
and polish their souls
comb their words
reflect in their
actions

I look with pride in the power
they yield, their voices
crisp and confident
self-assured
firm

scholars and scientists
writers and mothers
wives and activists
in awe I stand

I salute your power
so poignant and poised
I'm humbled at your humility
so undeservedly unassuming

we stand as a unit
a fortress, a shield
a mirror
reflecting against
each other

shall i tell you ?

2008-10-15T14:33:00.000-07:00

Shall I tell you of poverty so close that it stains my clothing,
yet so far away that I can wash it off the next day?

an epic tale

2008-10-11T14:11:00.000-07:00

Hands go up in despair,
If they don't, why should I care?
Legal wranglings from here to there
An underlying tone of arrogance found.

One question : is our democracy sound?
Malema's foot six feet in his mouth,
don't dismiss him , the lad's got clout.

Zuma up on his throne unscathed,
His henchmen shouting, "hooray we're saved"
'Counter Revolutionaries' marched and fed
to the lions , or gallows,
"off with your head".

The schoolyard bullies
pushing around
Judging the Judiciary,
the media they've found.

Still on the sidelines,
the people they wait
"Promises, promises, give us a date,"
We'll give you a chance but don't disappoint,
or another King we will anoint.

With patience we'll see this drama play out,
We'll support and pray and sometimes doubt.

After every Revolution ... comes a new order

2008-10-05T11:37:00.000-07:00

A mix of Hollywood-style adrenalin output, spectacular South African performances and unashamed jibes at social consciousness

I need to rule out the negatives before getting to the meaty parts , just so that It appears as though I'm being objective. After sifting out some contrived script, an overdose of 'skop-skiet-en-donder' and a feel-good ending, Jeruslama left me thoroughly entertained and very uneasy.

Someone alien to the South African context, might find that the script was trying to pull the strings of sentimentality, but to me the issues felt Real.

Jerusalema - the promised land.
The movie gives an honest reflection on the undelivered and unspoken promises of the post-apartheid era. It highlights the sense disillusion felt by the poor and the options left to them.

Poverty- the reality of it.
Poverty translated down to characters and situations is uncomfortable and disturbing. It's not a sentimental script ... this is too real. I found myself cringing with embarrassment for not being more active in efforts to readjust the status-quo.

Crime - critics could claim that the movie glorifies crime. But who said that art was supposed to be a moral compass? Maybe sometimes it needs to be a reflection of reality . It just depends on which side of the fence you are sitting. True, the grass is greener in the suburbs.

Putting South Africa on the map -
The strength of the cast and cinematic beauty that the Johannesburg sky-line offers, makes the quality of this production world class.

It's worth a watch - if only to engage with my comments :)

Unite, Proclaim and Reclaim

2008-09-30T02:07:00.000-07:00

Sitting in on a Jummah talk last week , I reflected on how apparently disjointed the talk seemed. It was coherent within itself, as an isolated lecture. However as a message to the congregation , it would not take us forward together. It did not build on what we had learned the week before , neither was it going to shape our collective actions for the week to come.

The congregation ...

we were not that cohesive either. A sprinkling of ladies, with geographical or emotional allegiances to the masjid (i cannot account for who was on the other side of the modesty barrier).
We were not bound by a common goal or moving as a community towards a definite direction.

Although faces were familiar and greetings were exchanged, we were strangers to each other by way of ideals.

A reflection of the 'ummah' in a broad and local sense bleeds the word
F-R-A-G-M-E-N-T-A-T-I-O-N. We are dysfunctional because we are (dys)functioning independently whereas the only way for us to Be, is whole.

I might never have the depth of knowledge of the sciences as my sister who is studying Tafseer and Fiqh. I will never be able to understand economic intricacies as well as my brother working with Finance. But they might never be exposed to the desperation of the human condition that I see on a daily basis. One speciality can never outweigh the other and independently they are inward looking. Together , however, they spell Strength. Shared resources, knowledge and experiences under the canopy of Islam makes us Powerful.

Let us find our way back to each other. Let us be close enough to be able to hear each others faint cries for support.

Maybe the Jummah can become an unmissable event , instead of the shadow of itself that it currently is. A place where the collective pulse of the congregation can be palpated. Its rate and rhythm assessed and an appropriate response offered to the people by the Imam.
Thus propelling us into the week as a collective force , flanked on either side by out brothers and sisters in faith.

The time for excuses and playing the 'blame game' is long past. Let's not blame our impotence on others. Structures need to be reclaimed and fundamental institutions revisited. Ah, the masjid, that institution that has become a myth and legend in conversation circles. The place where the community descends on , plays together , prays together. Let's make it a place where the recitation of Allah's words are coupled with vibrant calls to action.

Let us set a deadline for when each masjid congregation, each a vital organ of a well functioning body, can descend on the Eid-gah in a magnificent display of our Ummah's strength.

Eid Mubarak

Friday Night Poverty

2008-09-21T05:20:00.000-07:00

The stench-of-vomit kind of poverty
Fill up on liquor as poor as the drinker
"hot stuff": cheap as street-walker home brew

Friday's right for Phuza night
racist employers are drowned down
"drive your own damn bakkie, Mr Patel"
"please drive yourself straight to hell"

Another round for the wife who left with
my neighbour

That desperate-kind-of-poverty
not the Sunday-Church-kind-of-poor
more like the poverty of Friday night
Just as long as the price is right
twenty rand extra for no protection
nothing to lose when you're so far
at the bottom.
ARV's are free
Let the grant money work,
she's a mother of three

I drink and curse and stab and smoke
You want to judge my morality?
uMama was looking after you
when she was supposed to be breastfeeding me.

I came home , washed my uniform for school
the next day
uBaba worked for your dad
for a donkey's pay.
now he's bent and broken
with no pension fund
and you throw him out,
like a used lappie.

So judge me Doctor while you stand there,
wondering what scum the ambulance dragged in.
uGogo was washing your medschool lab coat
while I was pacifying the little ones.

So let me have my Friday Night.
You think I can't smell the poverty?
I catch a whiff too.
Maybe a gust of change
will flow through , and
I could be just like you,
leaving this place
on Sanitised Saturday.

yoh!

2008-09-20T14:25:00.000-07:00

Mbeki recalled by ANC

close encouters, of a spiritual kind - perception versus reality

2008-09-18T05:20:00.000-07:00

The reality that we build around us is a result of perceptions. Perceptions are a result of stimuli, so would it be fair to conclude that a person's reality is formed by their stimuli ?

What is the real reality and what are our stimuli?

Ramadaan brings with it a twofold benefit towards gaining a clearer perception of the true reality. We attempt to shut out the negative stimuli , or for the less pious amongst us, to merely tone it down. Then there is the superimposed benefit of increased Quraan recitation.

The Quran is the framework for a true reality. While our soul shifts away from the reality of an afterlife and the finality of a day of Reckoning during the year, intensified Quraan reading during Ramadaan, brings a shift in perception.

The ephemeral nature of this world is once again highlighted . The realisation of which washes away with it the the drive to hanker after money, financial security and status. Perspective is gained. A scholar mentioned that the Quraan puts events into place, beginning at Creation and ending in the heavens after reckoning. This puts aside the materialistic inclination of instant gratification and the subtle desire for immortality. The timeline is defined and our role in it is spelled out. The Quranic framework shifts aspirations and brings the soul closer towards a meeting with its true nature.

There is a very normal decline after Ramadaan , however it is a challenge to ensure that efforts and perceptions do not fall below the previous Ramadaan's baseline.

Democracy : africa - style ?

2008-09-16T01:57:00.000-07:00

Optimism is the mood of the day.Well, yesterday anyway.There have been momentous shifts in attitude in my Motherland.

Prime Minister Morgan Tsvangirai must surely not be used to the articulate Mr Mugabe addressing him in such fair terms.President Mbeki must be unfamiliar with the sound of applause directed at him.

Forgive my Afro-over-optimism,but I see this as the inertia that is needed to steamroll positive change in Zimbabwe.

The timing of this agreement could not be more opportune for President Mbeki,who I believe has been made a scapegoat for many of South Africa's teething problems.Could his apparent success in this mediator role, help him with regaining some local and international credibility,or are his days as 'Africa's Son' numbered?

I hope that we are seeing the beginning of African solutions,by Africans,for Africans. Perhaps the concept of 'Peer Review' is not that idealistic.

The Afro-pessimist deep inside me,wonders about just how cosmetic this agreement is.Will it translate into a better life for Zimbabweans? Can an economy that is knocking at the pearly gates of heaven be resuscitated? Perhaps,as Nelson Mandela mentioned in the South African context,now the people will have the freedom to be free.It might take a while for true freedom (economic and social) to be realised.

Will Zimbabwe face the same challenge that the South African economy faced when its markets opened up and were swallowed by a free market capitalist wave in the ocean of globalisation? The vultures are ready to take flight.Then again,let's not bite the clawed hand that feeds us (be it capitalist or otherwise), and let's embrace the employment opportunities through DFI that are en route to Harare.

Maybe I should tell the Zimbabwean refugee that i spoke to last week,that God didn't forget about Zimbabwe.

This is Africa-hear her Roar.

Zapiro - Touche

2008-09-13T03:20:00.000-07:00

The Zapiro Cartoon Saga

My heart was heavy with mourning for our infant democracy. It's always sad when a child is ill , even worst when afflicted with signs of a chronic illness. The tragedy comes from seeing that his potential will not be realised. Those aspirations that every parent has for it's newborn, will be dashed.

When I hear the teacher's unions making threats that bring to question the integrity of the judiciary, promising not to oversee student examinations if their political agendas are not realised, my pulse quickens and I feel a hollowness somewhere deep down.

I understand that our people are frustrated, they want to see change fiilter down. But can the desire to reap the fruits of economic progress blind us from enshrining the tenants of democracy -

An independant judiciary ...

The right to freedom of speech ?

to sleep ... during a paediatrics call

2008-05-18T18:04:00.000-07:00

i sit awake , no choice of mine
the moans of labour not far behind
the seductive promise of sleep so deluding
i see newborns , but I'm not brooding

I'll give a leg... ok maybe a toe,
for a warm water bottle, a blanket to throw,
over my cold self, my husband nearby.
on second thought.. I'll give a thigh.

I wait to be called,
rushed into action.
perhaps an emergency ...
faecal impaction?

I'm tried...
it's late
I write such nonsense
I've got to go
(can't even find anything to rhyme with nonsense )

insanity

2008-05-18T15:16:00.001-07:00

A fitting day to start blogging - a birthday. new beginnings and all that. My birthday resolution
(i made it just now) - search for sanity (myself, my country , the world ...)

Blogging - it's interesting and exposing , a bit uncomfortable , a bit 'out there'.

The boundaries are blurred... a diary ? a blog ? a bliary ?