Othello

This morning I was on cleaning mission # infinity. It was one of those days when I mourned the leave of our domestic worker. Usually around this time of year we aren't at home to wipe floors, scrub toilets and curse every strand of fallen hair. Julia was probably safely across the neighbouring border soaking up the sun and every moment of her well deserved, annual, Christmas break. These periods of independence are most definitely a test on our fitness levels, muscular density and cleaning skills.

While I waited without protest for the detergents- that were being used down the passage- I felt a pang of hunger and decided to make my way bare-footed and gym-clothed down the stairs. I was now obedient to my body's needs instead of wants and treated myself to a shot of vanilla drinking yogurt and a chunky jungle oat bar. But I couldn't help but wander to the closed game room door only to find a fourteen year old male creature sunken into a low, single, folded sleeper-couch playing PS3. I didn't detest cleaning a single bit but I detested the fact that my mother had to clean two bathrooms without kicking up a fuss only because "men dont do house work, it's a womans job." I found consolation in the fact that he was going to spend the remaining day on his holiday job and that all male members of my family opposed this way of though (after all there is some sense in there old school minds) except my brother who ,by the way, is a member of the 21st century who manipulates 20th century stereotypes to excuse his laziness.

So as I began my debate about how we were slogging a floor above him, I got a nonchalant "huh?" in that I -can't -open -my -mouth -coz -you -not worth -the -effort sort of brogue. At that point I realized it wasn't worth the destructive carbon dioxide emission so I decided to shut my provocative trap and chat about unimportant junk while scanning through the apps on his iPod (which fyi I'm not allowed to touch and so we ended up circumbulating the pool table with shrieks n giggles until I surrended.)

I completed Shakespeare Othello last night and couldn't help but question the rights of women in the     Century...okay there were none but the submissiveness did kill me. Don't get me wrong I find it totally romantic and honourable when woman are obedient and submissive (to an acceptable degree) but only on the grounds of an understanding, accepting, appreciative, trusting husband.

The mere fact that the title is Othello and not Desdemona was enough to display Shakespeare's anti-feminism and I've got more proof: Macbeth. Maybe, I'm getting it all wrong you might see the titles as the tragic heroes of the respective plays. I cringed at the part where the brainwashed Othello struck his innocent young bride over a rumour or doubts of her loyalty. Oh, how it must've pained the chaste woman's soul to be called common. I'm not really feminist I just stick to the rights of the Book. All over the world women are fighting for equality....with male counterparts in the workplace, freedom of movement et cetera, et cetera. But how many of us eve now the rights that we religiously deserve. Men are always well versed when there woman slip up, well versed with "it's my right to..." but how often do we use that phrase? Anyway you're probably already thick of my sanctimonious banter.

This morning I was so proud of the ever protesting Egyptians when my eyes scanned the headlines: Egyptians protest against beating of women....until I read the fine print..."Thousands rally in Cairo to denounce military's attacks”, as Hillary Clinton condemns "systematic degradation of women"." at that point I wanted to puke. Why Were women always slaves of America?... they reminded me of seals at the local aquarium marine show- if you pick up your hand so do they. I was so irritable and at the same time desperate to find Egypt a Tawakkul Karma. They follow America's clothes, opinions and political lead or if I may, political manipulation. Egypt being predominately Muslim should already know that abuse of any form without a valid reason is totally prohibited. Where were the educated of Egypt when women were being beaten? Only Hilary Clinton remembered the Islamic rights of her fellow Egyptian women that were being infringed, how thoughtful. And so they rallied through the streets of Egypt, stooges of the honourable Clinton. Women are always trying to reach the top (almost successful- Clinton) yet here's an opportunity ....stand for your rights and the rights of your fellow beings. Be your own leaders Egypt and not followers of America.

Anyway, I'm off to a road trip down one of the most scenic routes in Africa, scattered with numerous World Heritage Sites....with my books off course, The Great Gatsby and Aleph.

Ciao...

P.S. I got carpet burned with a mug on my head (if that’s possible), water poured on my freshly washed hair and jailed behind the Trelli gate of our pantry, just for speaking the truth now I know what many humanitarians and activists suffer in the path of peace and truth. Oh I forgot to tell you why-for lowering my brother’s awesomeness rate- a damaging an ego is calling for bigger trouble than WWII.

Zuma's Bastard

Eleven days after my first blogging session, I deleted my blog, took the bright-yellow and brown covered book and place it on my bookshelf in my neatly reorganised cupboard -with 25 unread pages. Earlier this year I knew who I was but around the time I started this blog I began losing my identity; or rather I realized that I didn't really have one.

This week has been quite a roller-coaster of emotions that was initiated by the reading of this "very dangerous" book. Thirty pages into the book, I began hating on Azad Essa. The giggles, admirable smiles and expectations of enjoyment evaporated into steam emanating from the pit of my stomach, escaping my through my ears, nose and corners of my pursed lips. I blurted pompous lines of debate and rhetoric questions with force, sarcasm with a stinging tone of mockery; and then I felt a pricking in my mind..."idealist?"- I didn't sound like one. So I began analysing the pages through idealist-tinted spectacles. I realized that firstly Azad is entitled to his opinion and we can't hate on people just because we differ but I decided to agree to disagree. I concluded that for the world to accept my religion we as followers of any faith firstly need to appreciate, to respect, tolerate and accept the commands of our faith before expecting others to do so. We've got to educate and empower ourselves regarding our religion so that we may avoid blasphemy and ignorance.

But this was not the reason for my rash decision of deleting my blog and failing to read another word... I despised Azad for making me see the hypocrisy and contradiction in my way and thought as a citizen of the global village.

i

Last Friday I received the results of my desperate efforts during the year 2011- I had earned my portal to a world of opportunity, however, there was a clandestine discontentment breeding in my soul. I was trying way too hard to be a somebody in a world that's far too busy to honour and recognize me.

ii

On Sunday I attended a religious gathering that commorated the completion of adolescent boys’ efforts to memorize the Qura'an and the study of its different dialects from the local Qura'an academy. Unlike Azad, I see the benefit, rewards, true blessings and gratification that this miracle of an achievement brings to a person's life. However, I do agree that to attain complete benefit from this achievement we need to understand these words and act on it to fulfil the responsibility that is due to our religion -which was the essence of the talk thereafter delivered by an orator, lecturer and cleric at the Islamic university in Johannesburg- who has never failed to inspire and motivate me to explore the depths of my religion. In my eyes his eloquence is unmatched and his speech dismissed the discontentment in my soul and extinguished my burning desire for recognition. The instant I got home I deleted my blog and pledged to dedicate my former five years out of school to the study of my religion.

iii

On Tuesday I attended this awesome youth convention which was spear-headed by 3 young, university-going women. "Youth for Youth" afforded us a day of delectable fun, accommodating spirituality, on-trend fashion, inspiring speech, persuasive chants, invigorating poetry, satirical drama and solutions to ceaseless teenage dilemmas- all within an epic setting. My two favorite segments on the agenda were: "The Sorting Hat" and "Who am I?" - which were both delivered by charismatic, passionate, influential women who were the cause of my quickening pulse, teeming inspiration and electrifying rejuvenation.

"The Sorting Hat" was a variation of that starring in Harry Potter. No, it didn't speak, it was just a simple black fedora, but who would've thought this would've lead to a spectrum of solutions to our orthodox, age-old teenage complexities and predicaments. However, due to the solutions being far from orthodox and thankfully not clichéd, we relished them. Hell, didn't I learn a lot about myself and was most definitely comforted to see and hear the many girls in my community who shared the burden of threats and weaknesses that I've been battling to combat.

And last but not least the intrapersonal battle that waged mercilessly in my mind for the past few months: western ideology versus religion. There she stood ex-head girl of high school, unaware of her saviour-like presentation, and posed the question: Who am I?

The answer should come with spontaneity, shouldn't it? But it didn't! But now I know; I'm not forced, indoctrinated, embarrassed, stifled or oppressed into proclaiming these words... but with a soul of love, admiration and pride - WHO AM I? -  "I am a Muslim; and a Muslim Woman." This answer incited discussion of Islamophobia and Azad Essa predictably barged I into my thoughts....I remembered his incident at the Dubai International Airport and enough of my own experiences to share because not only do I sport the hijab (the head scarf) but I do the niqab (the veil). And no, I was not forced neither am I oppressed but rather I love to remain a beautiful enigma safe from            “deflected dust and pervy male stares" (quoted from Zuma's Bastard). And men haven’t really changed over the last 500 years (well, that’s just the pervy ones). In fact, they've become more daring, if not more hard-core since all billboards are screaming abuse of advertising tactics, to play with consumers emotions: woman are constantly dieting , chasing after the shadow of the airbrushed, size 2 and men... Well, I don't need to elaborate much, except that no auto dealer sells you a car with a woman.

Note: Not all men a consumerism dummies and not all women are trying to make pigs fly!

iv

Now you're probably thinking that I'm just a passionate debater, defending my religion and taking the idealistic outlook nowhere but Azad Essa helped me see my hypocrisy.

Most of us theists comfort ourselves by selecting a few religious rituals to fulfil yet we are unwittingly racist, prejudiced, anti-Semitic, anti-Christ and others Islamophobic. Yet, if we take a moment to flip through the annals of our religious history we'd realize that all of our religious models or prophets loved and tolerated members of other faiths. We are fooling ourselves and branding our nonsensical habits under the banner of religion and at the same time blaming the wrongdoings of others on their religion.

v

Yesterday, something made complete this book and only after, did I realize my opinions on the various matters with which I begged to differ. I completed the book with a huge smile on my face and was pushed close to tears by nostalgia that was ignited by the imagery created of the beautiful Kashmir that I was blessed to visit last year... Switzerland of the East!

I didn't perceive this book to be THAT good and neither do I think that Azad intended to get my mind reeling into overdrive , but I guess that's what an awesome book does and even though I didn't agree with some opinions ...it helped me find my own. I now totally agree with Dylan Muhlenberg it is a "very dangerous book" especially if you don't know who you are and what you stand for.

vi

Azad Essa knows his identity. He “is a young South African going places" with a " fancy education, torn jeans and funky All Stars..." He is a journalist, columnist and lecturer.

"He doesn’t drink but he's not scared of a pub; he's Muslim but he has a sense of humour; he's young but he's savvy and politically aware. And he's got opinions worth listening to. "

And I know my identity. I'm a young South African going places with a more-fancier and less-fancier education; a black thobe, and draped in hijab and niqab and not oppressed. I'm a student, thiest and idealist. I have crazy ambitions but I'm not scared to achieve them; I'm Muslim but I'm not apologetic; I'm young, I'm spirited and politically aware. And I’ve got a religion worth delving into.

Teenage idealist...

N.B.  I'm so psyched out because I scored double membership points at the bookstore for my next read: Aleph by Paulo Coelho. Also currently reading Othello - by the castle in the city of invention- William Shakespeare.

Idealist?

Like most optimistic adolescents I've started planning my future...university, course, career path ,,all of it!
But unlike most "I have a dream that my four children will one day live in a nation where they will not be judged by the color of their skin but by the content of their character. I have a dream today." okay... I lie! No intention of mockery- the man was a legend. But I do have a dream..."I have a dream that I will one day live in a world of peace, love, generosity, hope, unity and tolerance.In a world in which charity will have become unnecessary. I have a dream today."
So now you probably agree that I am an idealist and your probably muttering some sarcastic wishes of good luck for me- yeah,thanks I need it!

I know it sounds like a humongous task but I'm planning to go about it in a non-idealistic way.Well before I even get to the start line in need to know the truth. I often wonder if what the media feeds us is actually propaganda and a whole lot of hogwash combined, or is it different?Is it the truth? How do we get to the truth?Here's how I got the answer.

About 5 months ago we were debating the death of Usama bin Laden...did he even exist? When was he really killed? Was he living in Pakistan or the White House?...There was a draft of betrayal that blew through the light white voile over our classroom window. We reached a point of silence and I knew every bodies minds were reeling, trying to find a path to the hidden treasure-the truth. The scratching sound of chalk against the green board stopped and teacher turned around giving the go ahead to the intelligent, well-informed intellectual sitting in the last row.even before she spoke we all agreed... She just has a way of making sense. Her response was "reading!" Read everything, read widely because the truth lies in literature.

So here starts my adventure of empowering my self through literature and I've decided to begin with a book that will teach me how to question and how to respond to the media. (and so I've heard).Written by a journalist..."Zuma's Bastard Encounters with Desktop Terrorist". I've been eyeing the yellow-covered book for sometime at our local bookstore and I'm so thankful that it was hidden in the last, bottom-most shelf; safe from being sold out.

Until I'm done...
Teenage Idealist