Death Becomes Her

She used to sit in the office next to mine. I heard her laugh and talk and breathe.

One day she passed away. Her office is now empty and there are only the soothing sounds of the Quran coming from there.

I want to talk about what I learned.
I learned to say thank you, every time.
I learned to ask about people, how they are, what they need, what they want and hope for.
I learned to always say hello to everyone and smile first.
I learned to say the good things immediately; there may never be a later.
God’s love, tolerance and endless mercy were confirmed to me.

She rests in peace.

The Kids

Finally I have something to write about.

After talking about doing it for so long, I finally did some volunteer work with street children yesterday. As I was driving home last night I asked myself why I hadn’t been doing this my whole life. I could’ve been volunteering for the last ten years if I had really wanted to. But it occurred to me that I am probably of more use to them now than I ever would’ve been before.

Because now I am more tolerant, more patient, I have my own child, so I know what it is they need instinctively.

I am less idealistic, more practical and more in touch with reality, so I know what can be achieved and what cannot.

I am more willing to give, and less expectant. I am more aware of how the world works, so I can be of more use to them maybe through my work, maybe through just being there, who knows what will come?

It is very early days. I don’t even know if I will see any of those same kids again, but I hope I will. I hope they will come to recognize me, and know me as a friend.

Where do I start?
I was nervous, anxious. I was worried on our way to them in the ambulance equipped with doctor and social worker, hearing horror stories, wondering how they would react to me - another complete stranger trying to interfere in their lives.

We parked the van and they came running, all smiles and handshakes and high fives, and questions and energy.

Bareeza, he’s about 15 but he looks smaller. He can recite his ABCs, constantly wanting to play games, and constantly needs attention and physical contact.

Ramadan, barefoot, hasn’t been in school since the 2nd grade, and cleans cars for a living as do many of the others.

Hend, girl of around 15, harder and stronger than any man I’ve seen, yet really self conscious about her missing front tooth; she has a lovely face.

Asma’a, tiny little girl, who says she’s 12 but somehow I don’t believe her – showed me the proper way to say goodbye with her own special handshake. Bundle of energy.

Mohamed is 17, carries a little pink comb and tells a story of how he ran away from his town amid extremely violent clashes. Painted a picture in my mind of a village on fire, and then began to sing in a melodic voice. He is barely literate. He dreams of spending Ramadan with his parents and tells me how his dad only beats him if he doesn’t stick up for himself.

These are just a few of the kids I met yesterday. I wonder now how I can be of help to them. What can I learn or do to make things easier? Because really and truly, that’s probably the only impact I can make, I can’t take anything they’ve experienced away, I can only make it easier to take.

I know as a child sometimes you just need guidance, you need hope, you need someone to tell you everything is possible, that you are worth something; that life is there for the taking.

These kids just need to feel like they are still human beings with a chance of a satisfactory life. Promising them a good life maybe overly optimistic.

Now on Twitter

http://twitter.com/dailyantics

Where are you from?

I have a question for you, you the person reading my blog.

I am really intrigued to see that people from really cool places like mauritius, peru and croatia are visiting this blog, but nobody ever leaves a comment.

So just this once, leave a comment answering the question: where are you from?

“Jazz is my Jihad”

I used to be a writer.

Back in London, as an aspiring journalist who basically had no idea what I was doing, I arranged my first interview for a website which no longer exists. I was their art & culture correspondent, and now that I look back, Gilad Atzmon (an Israeli jazz musician) was an interesting choice considering I was writing for Arabia Online.

I have no idea now how I found out about him, but his pro-Palestinian views and my love for jazz music may have had something to do with it. I went to meet him at one of his performances at a jazz club in central London and found a man of great talent, and great power. An Israeli, who was once in the army, who woke up one day, looked around him and decided that Israel was no longer a place he could call home. I went to see him perform several times after that, and each time I was struck by the energy that rushes off of this musician in tsunami waves whilst he performs.

What was said during the interview was controversial to say the least, and although I edited out as much as I could, it still never got published.

The reason Gilad comes to mind now is of course the atrocities that are currently happening in Gaza as I write this, and on which I have failed to find the energy to comment on in this blog -not because I don’t care about the people who are losing their lives needlessly, but because I am truly sick of politics, violence and bloodshed - particularly in the Middle East.

I am sick of both sides of this bullshit feud, and to say I wish they would just live in peace sounds childish and naive to say the least.

I stopped watching the news long ago, but there is no escaping what is happening in Gaza. The fact that I have a child of my own, who I would want to protect from a simple breeze (like they say in Egypt) doesn’t make it any easier. I can’t even begin to imagine what parents are going through at this very moment, wondering whether their children will make it through this horror, and whether they themselves will survive to take care of them, and I don’t want to.

I want to tell you a true story.

Once upon a time, there was a pro-Palestinian demonstrator, just like the millions who are marching through cities all over the world today. To say she hated Israelis is to put it lightly.
She was also a girl looking for her father, just like the thousands who are searching for a lost parent all over the world today, and she found him. With him she found two brothers she never knew she had - and they were raised as orthodox Jews. They had both volunteered in the Israeli army and navy, only a week each, but still. They had lived on kibbutzes and celebrated Hanukkah, and eaten kosher. They were supposed to be her idea of a sworn enemy, yet the first time she laid eyes on them she fell in love.

That’s what life does to you, when you think you are better, or have more rights, or are special in some way. It smashes your well formulated opinions, beliefs and judgments in to the nearest wall.

And you become more human for it; more worth the life you have been given.

Watch Gilad perform here.
Visit his website here.
Watch Jazz is my Jihad here.