Tuesday, February 28, 2006
Wednesday, February 15, 2006
It had just started rained. The floor, already damp and wet, reflected the nimbus clouds looming on the horizon as we sought protection from the rain under a bus stop shelter. Several people crowded the bus shelter, leaving inadequate room for any more. The clock had just struck twenty minutes past the hour of five, and by this time many workers were leaving their monotonous work places and heading for their home.
Rarely do the buses take this long to come, what has happened today? These damn buses! I was thinking to myself when a strong sensational scent, swimming with the wind currents, raided my nostrils. My mind, which was once indolent of its surroundings after a dreary day at work, was now immediately invigorated, awaken by the pleasant smell of the intruding forces; my muscles which were fatigued by the strenuous work, have now revived from spasm; my feet became more lively, my eyes more vigilant. A familiar current of electricity ran through my veins; there’s something about that scent that makes it seem a lot familiar. Where have I encountered it before? My mind started wandering as the familiar scent grew stronger and stronger, hysterically titillating the tips of my nostrils, passing the scent from one nostril and now to the other in a playful manner. My eyes frantically searched for the direction this piquant yet delightful aroma was coming from; searching to and fro, hither and thither, unconscious neither of the eccentric behaviour I am displaying inadvertently nor of the weird looks I’m receiving from the perplexed onlookers.
Why am I soaking wet? My subconscious mind subtly asks, as the conscious mind is reluctantly yet effectively overpowered by invincible and transparent invaders, not even aware that I am now standing in open air – dripping wet as the rain pours down on me. The conscious mind, drifted away by the registration of a sudden gush of cold into the system, was now once again repossessed as a gentle breeze wafted the familiar scent down the bridges and alleys then into the open air. My nostrils were now accosted by the familiar scent, excitedly caressing them. But this time coming from an Easterly direction, the scent was a lot concentrated and intense. Voluntarily, my nostrils followed the direction the scent seemed to permeate from, was it cologne? No – it was something a lot stronger; it was something unfathomable, something overpowering – it’s sweet smell, rarity and supreme qualities quite akin to the Frankincense I used gather back home. I walked over to the second shelter, still intrigued by the scent like a dog sniffing out a trail. Buses came and went, people boarded and dismounted, even the shelters which were once jam-packed are now vacant.
Minutes just rolled by, yet that scent seemed to hypnotize me, enthralling me in a way too wonderful for words, in a way no other scent has. I inhaled and exhaled, making sure my lungs are filled with the fragrant smell. Subconsciously I wondered what time it was and where I ought to be, but that feeling was trivialized when the conscious mind was subdued by the intruding scent and, out the corner of my eye, I spot a young woman walking down the road. Her manoeuvres were of regal grace; she ambled gracefully, carrying along with her the scent that seemed to send my mind packing. She didn’t seem to notice that it was even raining; in fact she wasn’t bothered by it for she didn’t have any jacket either! The closer she got, the more her scent dismantled my senses. She walked round oblivious of anyone or anything that moves and contentedly sat at the corner of the long red seat at the bus shelter; now she started fiddling about with her hair, removing the protruding strands of hair from her damp forehead. Was anyone else not aware of this? Am I the only one stirred by this angel? Have I lost my judgement? I was lost in contemplation, unaware of the old lady behind me repeating “Are you alright sir?” when she didn’t get response a couple of time she decided to talk louder “Sir, Are you alright there?” which immediately commanded my attention. I look around; a huge throng had gathered behind me as I stood there facing the shelter’s large plastic shield, standing on the large red seat. What was I actually doing and how did I end up here?
I spent nearly 15 minutes trying to gather my wits, trying to think why I have lost my judgement. What was it that commandeered my consciousness? Have I lost my sanity? No I haven’t – I was merely hallucinating. It was but a figment of my imagination - my mind’s eye having been enticed by a distinctive scent that knotted my consciousness in a complex network of fanciful images and, of course, the rather attractive young woman that smiled beguilingly at me. Finally with a shake of the head I laughed at myself, the onlookers started laughing too unable to believe the events that have were just unfolding right in front of their eyes. The rain had now stopped, and all thoughts seemed to have evaporated into thin air as I boarded the bus an hour and nine minutes after I initially came to the bus shelter – it was now twenty nine minutes past the hour of six. What a consuming element the scent is – you have to keep all your wits about you!
Monday, February 13, 2006
Somalis are people of very unique a nature. Very Distinct people indeed. We somehow find it very easy to assimilate into any culture that we come across – we are easily absorbed by their customs - be they good or bad. Case in point, Valentine's Day!
Valentine’s Day doesn’t have any special meaning for me, neither celebrated it nor do I intend to, but was brought to my attention by a female friend of mine, Farxiya (Pseudonym), who was asking me for gift ideas, after becoming tired of the regular perfumes and cards I guess! I was taken aback by her audacity. If I had asked her what Valentine’s Day was, she probably wouldn’t be able to tell.
Despite the murky history of the origin of Valentine’s Day, yet it is celebrated by millions, if not billions of people across the globe. What surprises me the most though, is the celebrations held across the Muslim lands, Specially UAE and its neighbouring countries. Has anyone seen the amount of red roses and gift packs that fill up the entire shopping malls?
Wednesday, February 08, 2006
The iranian daily Hamshahri said its contest was designed to test the boundaries of Free Speech - the reason many European Newspapers have given for publishing the cartoons of the prophet. Each of the 12 winners will have their cartoons published and receive two Gold coins (worth about £80 each) as a prize.
The move was denounced by the conference o f European Rabbis. Joseph Sitruk, the Chief Rabbi of France, said:
The Iranian regime has plummeted to new depths if it regards the death of 6million Jews as a matter for humour
Now its fully understood that Two Wrongs Don't Make A Right, but its only fair to ask, do they then regard the caricatures of the holy Prophet as a matter of humour?
In other News:
Thousands of copies of a student newspaper had to be recalled after it reprinted one of the caricatures of the Holy Prophet. The editor of Gair Rhydd - which means Free Word in Welsh - was suspended from the Students' Union at cardiff University and three other student Journalists are being investigated. All copies of the newspaper were withdrwan from distribution points.
Monday, February 06, 2006
Where do I call home?
Where can I walk with pride?
With my head really up high
With no guards by my either side
Rest under a tree and look to the sky
Where can I live permanently?
Where can I leave a mark?
Without having to transfer frequently
And comfortably inhabit and work
Where can I sleep soundly in my hut?
Knowing that am safe and secure
Without having to be vigilant and alert
And awake with my heart guiltless and pure
Where can I watch my kids grow?
Watch 'em as they play on the streets
Without fear of attack and brawl
And congregate loved ones for perfect feats
Where can I cruise around freely?
Without being asked my tribe
And intentionally robbed greedily
Or imprisoned and enslaved for bribe
Where can I live individually?
Without having to carry a gun
Live the rest of my life peacefully
And ultimately quieten down and have fun
Where do i belong?
My homestead, my kingdome?
Where I craved for so long
Where I must really call home
Saturday, February 04, 2006
Police keep watch as thousands of Bangladeshi Muslims take to the streets in Dhaka.
Palestinians show their anger at the cartoons by walking over a Danish flag in front of a mosque.
A Jordanian Muslim holds up the Koran in the capital Amman.
Palestinian protesters burn a French flag during a demonstration.
Pakistanis burn Danish, Norwegian and French flags during a rally in Lahore.
Muslims in Indonesia tear up the Danish flag.
Supporters of Pakistan's Islamic alliance Mutahidda Majlis-e-Amal chant slogans during a rally in Karachi.
Trembling with dejection and fear
Sheets covered wholly by the tears i shed
Haunted by the ache and angst like a nightmare
Frowning with an unendurable agony
I pass the crowd with great stealth
Dragging my feet with melancholy
Would this rather jeopardize my health?
Tormented by my dire and distressing predicament
Faintly i contemplate as my enitre body deteriorates
Even though i show no signs of peculiar abasement
Reluctantly i succumb to an overdose of barbiturates
Imperceptibly and solitary i frequently whimper
And with my so-called friends i often clown
Hitherto all my social activities my state did hinder
But owing to my pride, i never let them see me frown
Frowning is a sign of weakness and despair
Coz i do see light at the end of the tunnel
A distant beam of luminosity, sunlight's glare
An intense glow flowing through the aired panel
My life is filled with misery and woe
Yet at it with amazement i stare and stare
Sometimes i can't endure it anymore
But who seems to care?
Wednesday, February 01, 2006
I thought endlessly and reflected upon this throughout the journey to the graveyard. On reaching the graveyard, the dismal faces of the surrounding friends and family members further nurtured an entirely melancholy atmosphere. As he’s laid into the grave, I say my final prayers for him and I, asking Allah for forgiveness and everyone proceeds to collect their spades to bury the deceased! May Allah forgive him and make him the one of the inhabitants of His Eternal Paradise.
Amazing how death is just around the corner, watching your every move, surreptitiously taking every step that you take and finally when your card is called snatches the living soul out of you. Death knows no age!
Verily, Every Soul shall Taste death!