Ok, forgive, but are you being forgiven?

I think I’ve figured something out.

You know, every once in a while, you seem to step on a person’s toes without knowing it. You really didn’t do anything wrong, they just came and placed their foot under yours at the last moment and it would be really easy to blame them for getting themselves hurt. When a person gets mad at you for something that’s not your fault, it takes a lot to forgive them when they blame the incident on you. But there is a lot of benefit in forgiving them. Likewise, what I figured out is that it also is a very loving gesture to ask them to forgive you, even when you didn’t do anything wrong. I’ll tell you why.

Carrying around anger is a really bad habit to get into. It affects a person’s mental and physical health. Anyone who watches Oprah knows that, right? So, we all struggle to forgive those who trespass against us. But how many of us ask others to forgive us, even when we haven’t done anything wrong that we know of. If you love a person, whether it be because they are related to you, or you’ve shared good times with them, or just because they are your fellow human, you don’t want that person to go through pain. Sincerely asking them to forgive you makes it that much easier for them to release the anger they are feeling towards you, whether its misplaced anger or not, it doesn’t matter.

I can’t take full credit for this light bulb moment. It was a friend who said to me the other night that it’s good to be forgiving but are you being forgiven?

Bird Flu, Cool Doors and Misunderstandings

Well I think most people know by now that the Bird Flu has reached Egypt. I guess we found out about a week ago. A few days after the news hit, my son was sitting next to me on the bed and all of a sudden blurted out: “Bird flu! Bird flu! What’s all this talk about Bird Flu?? Who cares that the bird flew anyway?” Yah, I just raised my eyebrow to that one, too. I found the kids the next day playing with a long ostrich feather extracted from my feather duster, throwing it at each other and yelling “you’ve got the bird flu, you’ve got the bird flu”… it’s become the newest version of Cooties. Cooties 4.0

We have a brand new stove as well this week, thanks to the renovations we managed to get done while Mahmoud was here this year. The sticker on the front of our oven reads “Cool Door System”, describing the fact that when the oven is lit, the outside of the oven door stays cool. My daughter was reading this phrase the other night as I washed dishes and then asked me “so, I don’t get it… what’s so cool about that door?”

My friend and I took our kids to the park today, seeing as the weather was so unseasonably beautiful. Her son, Mo, promptly took off his shoes when we reached the sandy playground area and we lost track of where he had left them. We sent the three older children to go on a mission to search for Mo’s Shoes. My son jumped up alongside his sister, ready to be at my service, and then asked “but what are moshooes?”

Children have amazing imaginations and such sweet innocence. They don’t even know how much they don’t know. Their minds automatically fill in the blanks and give them their own way of understanding the language or experience set before them. Creativity is part of what makes us human. Unfortunately it can also backfire. All of us experience the world through our own personally fashioned filter, based on our attitudes that we choose to adopt. Some of us see the world through those proverbial rose colored glasses, and we give each other the benefit of the doubt without it even occurring to us that they might have ill-intent. On the other hand, there truly are people who choose to view the world through a dusky shadowy lens. Any comment and every remark is somehow a personal attack against them. Why? Why does this happen to people? Is it an extreme form of self-consciousness or insecurity? And how do you deal with it? What can you do to help a person through that? How much responsibility do we have to reassure those around us that we are indeed innocent and have kind intentions? These are rhetorical questions I suppose. It is really hard to love someone when the things you say are twisted by a foreign mind to mean something you didn‘t intend or ever think. Forgiveness after an incident is a wonderful ability but there is always going to be the fear of being bitten again. It hurts when someone treats you as though you are mean, when you aren’t. Note to self: Believe in the good intentions of all those around you.

God give me the ability to see the innocence in all people, of all ages, at all times. Spare me from the illness of a soured mind and fill me with lightness and love for the rest of my days here. Ameen.

February 19, 2006

One of my favorite places in Cairo is this new development named Azhar Park. Mahmoud and I took the kids there last Friday. We arrived around 3:30pm, while there were still a lot of families there enjoying the early Spring weather, but I wouldn’t have called it crowded. The park itself is quite large and rivals other botanical gardens in its beauty and landscaping. It’s a quiet green refuge in the center of the largest city in Africa.
We spent about an hour sitting near the large children’s play area waiting for Aliaa and Tariq to exhaust themselves. Periodical infusions of ice cream and popcorn made the wait longer (tip to parents- don’t refuel when you are hoping for them to run out of gas!) The weather was just perfect for me in my woolen cape; there were beautifully sunny skies and cool Northern breezes. A perfect park day.
As we sat on a bench in the playground, I watched some children climbing up a curved ramp by holding onto a knotted rope. It’s a very normal children’s playground activity and they all seemed to love the challenge and rise to the occasion, conquering the hill, elevating themselves up onto the raised platform, returning to ground level via a nearby slide. After a while the ramp area quieted down and I saw a girl in a plaid jumper of about 9 years old, slowly walk up to the start of the ramp, and attempt to mount it. She would get about half way up and then start to slide down again. Her struggling caught my attention and when I started to watch her more intensely, I noticed she had Down’s Syndrome. I watched her stand still half way up the ramp, frozen by fear and indecision. She would slide one foot up, and the other would slide down. She’d so carefully slide one hand up the rope and then not be able to get leverage to pull herself up in her slippery shoes. She so patiently kept trying to climb up the ramp, but just could not figure it out and after watching other children go up the ramp around her, I realized I was crying.
I wanted so much to get up and go to her side to help her, but I was frozen as well by my own fear and indecision. Would she understand my Arabic? She was physically larger than my own children, hence I wondered if I would be able to push her up the ramp, or if that was even the right thing to do. I thought to encourage my husband to get up and hold her hand to help her up, but again, same concerns- is this something she needed to do on her own? Would helping her out make her even more conscious of her inabilities? (I guess this is proof that I think about things too much.)
My prayers were answered by a tall adolescent girl who came up and called Ayah by her name and stood along the side of the ramp and encouraged her with a smiling face and kind words that I couldn’t make out from where I sat. After about 10 more minutes, Ayah gave up and walked around the structure to a set of steps leading up to the platform where a group of other children all welcomed her. I realized Ayah must be part of a group on an outing together- I imagined they were from an orphanage or special needs school. One other child wore a hearing aid and there was a younger girl with Down’s Syndrome as well.
I always cry when I consider mental disability for too long. I don’t know why it bothers me so much than other challenges that God throws at us. I guess it pains me to think that the rest of us take our abilities for granted. We all think a million thoughts a day; we’re faced with dilemmas and we solve them; we calculate, estimate and ponder all day long. But for people with limited mental capabilities, our world must seem so complex and baffling. Every new situation is a puzzle for them. How frustrating to live in a world that is designed for “other” people. And the pain of the cruelty of those others who ridicule people who are different. I found comfort in something. I saw the mercy that is present here in Egypt. I saw the mercy of her peers, who all treated her with love and accepted her and didn’t make any big deal out of her differences.

With a Slight Chance of Twingle

My husband has a custom (it’s more than just a habit) of trying to finish everything at the dinner table before he gets up out of his seat. Once he gets up from the table, his stomach magically seals off and there is only room left for a post-dinner tea. That’s one thing I like about him. He hates to see good food, or well, any food, go to waste. However, our children eat quite a bit slower than he does (I think it’s due to the fact that they chew their food first) so by the time he’s finished everything in front of him, there is always still food left across the table. The inevitable question is asked: “Are you finished with that?” (a.k.a. code word for, “are you going to be scream or cry if I start eating off your plate now?”) Last week we were eating our supper and Daddy asked neighboring Aliaa that infamous question with which she replied, “No, I’m still nibbling.”

“Nibbling?” he said, puzzled.

“Yah. Nibbling”

Apparently my husband has never heard us use that word before and asked for the translation and definition. He asked his daughter how could she know that word, and she looked incredulously back and forth between her father and I with a look that read: “Well obviously not from you… so it must have been her.”

The acquisition of language is really an amazing thing. So is the creation of new words that seem to take on the life of what the speaker is trying to convey.

It’s been really rainy in Cairo the last two days. I guess that means Spring has sprung. The frigid nights are fading away and warm breezes (a.k.a. the Khamseen or sand winds) are in the air. Mahmoud ran into the bedroom the other day to announce to me “It’s twingling!” and to hurry up and come see. I wasn’t quite sure what twingling could be, but I thought it must be worth taking a look so I headed off towards the reception with him. Sure enough, there was a very light rain falling, what we Americans would basically call mist. Ahhhh… I got it. Twingling means “drizzling/ tinkling/ sparkling/ twinkling” all at the same time. I considered for a moment if my husband was taking English lessons from our 6 year old son with no front teeth. But actually I think the creation of this new word is accredited to his fluency.

Time keeps on tickin'

Something strange happened last night. My husband was in bed before I was. Now, that is something that doesn’t happen everyday. Admittedly, I went to bed a little later than usual, but he was in bed much earlier than normal. Of course the one night I had things I wanted to read before turning off the lights, is the one night he wants to sleep at 10pm. Oh, the compromises we married folk make!

A couple of us English speaking Muslim women here in town get together on Sunday mornings for something called a halaqa. That is basically an Islamic study circle, kind of comparable to Bible Study classes for Christians. Our Sunday halaqa is based on a series of books called the Islamic Creed Series by a contemporary muslim author named Umar al Ashqar. We all try to keep up with the assigned reading each week, and then when we meet on Sundays, we discuss what we’ve read, with a different sister leading the discussion each time. The assigned reading for today was about the attributes of God (Allaah), and, like the good student I am, I put off the assigned reading until 10:00pm last night when Mahmoud wanted to turn the lights off. I ignored his pleas and quickly reviewed the Quranic verses that I’m memorizing, and then got down to the text for the next morning’s get together. Something I came across really spoke to me. It is a du’aa (or prayer) that the Prophet Mohammed himself used to say. It goes:

Oh Allaah! By Your knowledge of the Unseen and Your Power over Your creation, keep me alive so long as You know that living is good for me, and cause me to die when You know that death is good for me.
I ask You to make me fear You in secret and in public.
I ask You to make me speak the truth and be fair when angry and when content.
I ask You to make me be economical in poverty and in richness.
I ask You for a life of ease that never ends.
I ask You for joy that never ceases.
I ask You for contentment after You have issued Your decree.
I ask You for tranquility after death.
I ask You for the joy of looking upon Your Face.
I ask You to make me long to meet You without undergoing painful sickness or misguiding fitnah (trials). O Allaah! Adorn us with the beauty of faith and make us guides to others who are also guided.

I feel that this prayer sums up everything that I want, too. I think I’ll copy it onto a pretty piece of scrap booking paper and hang it up on a wall somewhere around here to reflect on.

It’s so easy to get caught up in the trivial issues of this world and this life. Decorating ourselves and our homes, cooking and eating to our heart’s content, visiting and laughing and creating happy memories with friends. Finding ways to “pass the time”. I can’t imagine how much I’d slide off course if I didn’t have daily and weekly reminders to re-evaluate what direction I’m going in. Thank God for my friends, and my opportunities, my books and my ability to read them, my ideal Quraan teacher, Sara and my computer. So often we take basic things for granted.

Tariq just did something funny at dinner. The little kindergartener told us he already knows math- 1+1=2. I told him, “Yay Tariq! You’re so smart.” His older sister decided to quiz him and asked him “then what’s 2+2?”. Tariq holds up three fingers on one hand, two on the other and we watched his lips moving and then announced “4!” Yes, four. How you add 2 fingers plus 3 fingers and get 4, I don’t want to know, but at least he came to the right conclusion in the end. Tariq gave us a lesson that sometimes don’t add up the way you think they will.

Time is like that, for example.

Last Friday was the BIG football match in Egypt. It was the finals of the Africa Cup, Egypt vs. The Ivory Coast. Every self-respecting Egyptian male and most of the females, too, *HAD* to watch the match. (Think Super Bowl level “must-see” event.) Mahmoud, the kids, and I headed over to Uncle Mossad’s apartment after the Friday prayer, and were treated to a special occasion dinner with the family of fried brain, cow feet (yes feet- they’re pretty gelatinous and tasteless but supposedly a delicacy), home made bombaar (lamb intestines stuffed with seasoned rice) and Fattah (dried bread and rice covered in meat broth, topped with spicy tomato sauce). I stuck with the Fattah mostly. Then it was time for the match to start, so Mahmoud and his uncle left to go watch the event downtown with the whole family et al. at their shops downtown and I looked forward to watching something good on satellite TV, what with the men gone and all. But what did cousin Saara and Auntie Mother-Of-Essam turn on- the match as well. Oh well, I thought. I’ll give it a try, how bad can soccer be- isn’t at least half the world’s population crazy about it? Well… It was really uneventful. The match ended up going into overtime due to lack of goals scored. It was tied, 0-0. Finally they went into a kick off or whatever you call it (I am not a sports fan), and finally Egypt won, which I was predicting all along because if you ask me, Ivory Coast was just getting by on their blatant fouls and aggressive defensive. Their goal-kicking skills needed some serious help all along.

The funny thing about it all was that every time I looked up at the clock, despite my disinterest in the programming, it was an hour later. The time just seems to be flying by so fast. It seems there is nothing I can do to slow it down. Whether I am busy doing something useful, or just sitting watching a meaningless football match, the time just zooms by. My husband is here on a 6 week trip, and it’s already 75% over. How did that happen? I feel like he’s only just gotten here. How is my daughter almost 10 years old already? When did that happen? Oh my god, she’ll be getting married before I know it. Then next week I’ll be a grandma. I feel like there is something funky going on with the math of time lately. A two hour match plus a one hour dinner equals 8 hours spent over in the family house in Imbaba. One hour online, plus one hour cooking in the kitchen equals the whole day flown by. And before you know it, it’s already 8:45pm and Mahmoud’ll be coming home soon, wanting to go to bed early again, and I haven’t even washed the dinner dishes yet. Let me add my own amendment to the Prophet’s prayer above…

Oh Allah I ask you to bless the 24 hours You give me in a day, and allow me get more accomplished in the short time I have on this Earth.

Just Ruthie

Well I’ve been away for a few days. Last Wednesday everything fell into place and gave us the opportunity to get out of the city - and when we have that opportunity, we grab it and run with it. Mahmoud’s uncle was driving up to his beach front apartment in Alexandria for a few days, and offered to take us with him. At the same time, I had an offer to go visit my friend who lives about halfway between Cairo and Alexandria on a desert farm. So I had a choice to make. Hanging out with my good friend in her big 4 bedroom house on her own acre of land, our kids playing happily together with the sheep, rabbits, cats, and dogs OR visiting inlaws up in cold rainy Alexandria, being stuck in a tiny two bedroom apartment with at least 4 of Mahmoud’s adult relatives, and no kids for my kids to play with and most likely too cold to play in the sand and turf. The choice, of course, was quite simple to make.

Mahmoud’s uncle was nice enough to drop me and the kids off and then drive off with my husband, who was promising to pick me up “next year”; that would be his “sense of humour” kicking in. I hadn’t been out to visit Aisha in almost 9 months so a lot had changed on her ever-developing acre of land. First of all, she got some turf laid down (only way to manage grass out there in the desert)- and she got some ANIMALS! Which of course is right up my alley and I gladly followed her around as she gave her charges their pre-sunset meal, while filling me in on her accumulated experiences as a real rancher. She has got quite the menagerie out there. It consists of a flock of about 12 sheep, 2 geese (which I agree are quite annoying, why on Earth would anyone keep any more than two?), a couple ducks, quite a few turkeys of all ages and sizes, the Tom being QUITE large, a little flock of about half a dozen chickens with their rooster, and about 10 chicks that aren’t quite old enough yet to be mixed in with their parents. She also has quite a few happy friendly rabbits that her son is breeding for sale to the butcher. Then there are the two Persian cats- Checkers (she is calico with a checkerboard orange and black face) and Gizmo (he’s white and I wonder if he was named after the Gremlin, although he‘s a handsome cat anyway). And two sweet guard dogs whose bark is much worse than their bite. And they have chameleons somewhere- but we didn’t see them this time, I guess they hibernate in the winter (or else they’ve gotten carried away by some birds). Now all she needs is a camel and then she'll have to put up iron on her windows to prevent me from moving in with her.

Our kids all ran off and played together- though they are all different ages, except for Aisha‘s twins, they don’t mind. Aisha’s kids are the closest thing my kids have to American cousins here. Except that it’s even better- Aisha’s kids speak half- English, half- Arabic, too, and actually understand all the weird things my kids come up with to say.

And Aisha and I … well, we just ate. And talked. Then ate and talked some more. Then started again from the former and moved on to the latter. That’s what friends are for, right? Aisha is the kind of friend that you can just talk to. A comment here on the blog from my sister had been on my mind and I wanted Aisha’s opinion on it. She hasn’t known me very long (only 3 years or something) but she knows me quite well, all that eating and talking leads to that. So I asked Aisha if she feels that I am simple or not. It took her a few seconds to come up with an answer but in the end, I guess I agree with her perspective.

You know, we never see ourselves clearly, and we take for granted the things that make us different from other people because we live with ourselves 24 hours a day all our lives and our personal eccentricities become our normalities. This is why it’s so important to have relationships, because knowing others, and letting others know you, is the only way to really know yourself.

So… what did Aisha say? She said she thinks I’m not really simple. That I think about things a lot more than most people. In fact, I guess she mentioned that I analyze things too much. You know, after thinking about that for a few days now- I suppose she’s right. (That’s supposed to be funny, it’s ok to laugh.) Yes, I do spend a lot of time thinking and analyzing and I guess I do read deeper into words and experiences than most people do. I’ve become really adept at it, and do it pretty much immediately without even realizing it. Sometimes it leads me to trouble. And sometimes I confuse myself by just going around and around in circles on issues that should be plain and clear. I have the tendency to see both sides of arguments and that duality can really drive a person insane on issues where justice or “rightness” is not always clear. I know this analyzing mind must be a positive attribute somehow, I just have to figure out how to apply it.

Oh boy, here’s a good opportunity to say something I have been dying to announce to the general public for the last 15 years. Despite what you might imagine about me, I got a 700 on my math SATs. Yah, that one shocked me, too, when I got the results. I knew I had some kind of math gene but is it really that pronounced? (I am the one who did not do math homework for almost the entire second half of high school, in a lame attempt to deny my nerdiness. I still need to work on embracing that.) A few years ago I remember having the realization… what if I had actually APPLIED myself in high school or college. WOW. Oh well, they say half the world’s genius is lost to being born female. Tragic, tragic. My English score was only 530... that explains my ability to shop exceeding my ability to write.

I recently looked up “simple” in more than one dictionary. It doesn’t just refer to a simple way of thinking. It can also mean the unadorned- kind- of- simple. As in the Puritans. Actually, if you saw me in the street here, you’d most likely think I was the unadorned- kind- of- simple. And I do go through longer and longer phases of trying to be more ascetic. But then I battle with my love of the finer things in life like… Coach and velvet, chaise lounges and silk bedspreads. Window treatments and leather interiors. Baubles and marble floors. Whenever I try to deny that part of me, it backlashes with a vengeance. In fact, shopping always works out so well for me, I kind of feel like it’s God’s plan for me to have nice things. Errr, is that sacrilegious?

So, no matter what connotation you use, maybe “simple” isn’t a good word to describe me, whether tongue in cheek or in earnest. I don’t know myself well enough yet to come up with an accurate word to describe me. I guess I’m just Ruthie. Just Ruthie.