Well folks…

I have deserted this place for a few days, and though plenty has been happening, still there is nothing interesting to write about. The school is closed and so is university – isn’t it amazing when both your work and studies end on the same day! I have been doing nothing much except for sleeping, eating and some more sleeping. I feel fresh but slightly lethargic too, probably due to excessive sleep. the more i sleep, the more i need to sleep.

I love my sleep and nothing can come between me and her. But my sleep has been disrupted last night, as I took a trip to Sheffield, The City of Steel, to drop some guests arriving from Norway. Most of the flights were delayed and after having been waiting for them for hours at Stanstead Airport drove them all the way to Sheffield – some 120+ miles away. The fog was so thick that you could hardly see a mere 50 feet in front of you. Visibility was limited and this was confirmed by the multiple blockages on the motorway due to several accidents involving lorries and smaller cars.
Its better to be safe than sorry! The journey that would have taken me about 2 – 2.5 hours on a normal day took me 4.5 hours and to make it even worse I had to come back on the same night.
To make up for this lost sleep I have slept to my fill today, until my sides swelled. I said I love my sleep, didn’t I and anything lost must be regained in multiple quantities!

p.s I will be going back to Sheffield tomorrow and funny enough to attend a wedding on sunday. Even more bizarre is that I am supposed to be the Bestman at the wedding. Wish me luck – too many eyes!

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Celebrating Fatherhood – The event

Celebrating Fatherhood

The Reception:

Enormous chandeliers luminously lit the hall as you walked in through the double doors into some lavishly arranged sets of round tables and chairs. The outstretched red carpet beneath your feet, matched by the red seats gave the hall a feel of cosiness and a friendly welcome to the arriving guests. A beautiful hall I thought and having arrived early, patiently awaited the arrival of the esteemed guests – fathers, mothers, children and soon-to-be fathers as well!

By 18:30, when the event was ready to start, I looked around to see that only ONE father had arrived. What a disappointment! It is something we do not know, isn’t it – time management that is. To us Somalis, it seems that time is something of no relevance – means absolutely nothing! The starting of the event was then delayed for a while, but when it began, the crowd received it uproariously.

The Stage:

Speaking in front of an audience regardless of their number is always frightening. There is something about the stage that intimidates a person; so much, that at times they consider hiding somewhere behind the stage and not come out. Despite forcing myself to fabricate boldness and confidence by putting on a lively and energetic personality, yet my heart violently thudded in my ribcage with every foot I advanced towards the podium. My breath, too, came in heavy pants, which I forcefully retained in my lungs. But then everybody has an inclination or a tendency to act in a certain way under pressure – the way that is natural to him or her. To stay calm and composed and in your natural manner whilst on stage is a very challenging task, which I could not do. I doubt there was anything coherent from the all the things I said on the stage, but it doesn’t matter now, for that was Yesterday!

The audience:

The event’s main target audience, as you would guess from its title, were the Somali Fathers. Yet, for some strange reason it seems like we advertised either to the wrong audience or the fathers decided not to turn up. From the thousands of fathers in London, very few turned up. But I guess we sort of expected that to happen, keeping in mind the nature of Somalis. The event was meant to highlight the father figures in our community, yet only a handful turned up to reoresent their respectful domain.

The Bloggers:

I would like to extend my warm greetings and a Big Thank you to the Bloggers who managed to make it to the event. I hope you all enjoyed it, though some of you came rather late, further validating the Somali’s authentic seal to the term “lateness” Lol. I am just kidding; I know you came straight from work, so thank you.

I am also particularly pleased to have met you guys, Advocate, Firely, FOC, a Sista’s Corner and Firdos. I can now put a face to each Blog!

Last but not least, Thank you, Mr A of SOL, a special guest all the way from Down Under!

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The Wave of Crime

The pavement was spattered with blood. Carefully, I took a few steps further and more blood painted the pavement and fresh drops of blood leaked out a trail. I looked in the direction of the trail and there stood a young boy not older than 17, clutching his arm firmly. A jacket was wrapped around his arm and the white Tee-shirt he wore had become crimson red with blood. He wasn’t moaning, shouting or anything, but looked stood with a solemn face. I approached him, as he stood with two other friends, intending to find out what happened and offer any help I could. I was driving, and thought that they might at least need a lift to the hospital as sometimes Ambulances can be late too.

He looked Somali. “maxaa ku helay? (What happened?)” I said.
“Somali maha, Somali Maha” (I am not Somali, I am not Somali) he replied.
Then he spoke to his friend in another language and I gathered he was Eritrean.

He bled profusely, so I offered them a lift to the hospital before it gets worse. On the way he opened up a bit and told me what happened.

“This country is fucked up man,” he said, shaking his head. “Some idiot just stabbed me for no reason. I don’t even fucking know him”

“Don’t even know him? You mean he just lashed out at you and stabbed you” I said

“He’s a handicap man. A fucking handicap, what do you expect from a fucking Nigerian?” he replied

“How do you know he’s Nigerian?” I asked, upon which he said that he knew the guy and but not much. Just saw him around and had no “beef” with him at all, hence calling him a “handicap”.

My point is that carrying Knives has now become so common on the streets of London that the youth feel vulnerable without one. I say this because I witnessed the frustration and anger from the teenager. He felt disappointed that this had happened to him. For some reason a knife is seen as a symbol of respect on the streets, since most of them do not have the wherewithal to buy guns, which I believe they would have if they did. And the government can do nothing to stop this – Nothing. It is my firm belief, though, that these youths feel let down by the government itself and crime is for them simply a means of rebellion.

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There is more to people than meets the eye

The double-doors slid wide open as I approached them, welcoming me into the cool and pleasant atmosphere of the large store. I was in an excited mood, pushing my trolley and the list of things to buy had merely been fetched by my brain, when I notice that the security guards made themselves clearly visible, brandishing their dull grey uniform. I take notice of them, and advance towards the drinks isle. It’s a regular occurrence. Soon enough they follow me, as if they were my entourage. There are two of them. One follows me a few paces behind, on the pretence of re-arranging the stock, while the other quickly dashes to the other end of the aisle.

By their constant gazes and facial expressions, they simply emanated suspicion. I collected my drinks and proceeded down the large middle isle, towards the bakery section, and to my surprise a security guard was there too, wiping the glass on the display box. The irony of the whole incident is that both the security guards are Black and followed me throughout my journey inside the store.

I thought they’d picked on me without any reasonable doubt and made my shopping experience a disaster with their strict surveillance, but amidst the annoyance and provocation, I gathered that there was, obviously, a method in their madness, for they simply followed orders – Perhaps they were indoctrinated to believe that “every Black man is a suspect, and should rightly be ragarded so” But to what point were they following orders, for I was neither dressed as a common shoplifter nor as a thug. Doesn’t society yet understand that not every black person is the same?

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Google Translate

Amazing, someone actually bothered to translate my blog and read it in their language (i believe it is Chinese). Thank You whoever you are, for stopping by.

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A Letter from heaven

“As you got up this morning, I watched you, and hoped you would talk to me, even if it was just a few words, asking my opinion or thanking me for something good that happened in your life yesterday. But I noticed you were too busy, trying to find the right outfit to wear. When you ran around the house getting ready, I knew there would be a few minutes for you to stop and say hello, but you were too busy. At one point you had to wait, fifteen minutes with nothing to do except sit in a chair. Then I saw you spring to your feet. I thought you wanted to talk to me, but you ran to the phone and called a friend to get the latest gossip instead.

I watched patiently all day long. With all your activities I guess you were too busy to say anything to me. I noticed that before lunch you looked around, may be you felt embarrassed to talk to me, that is why you didn’t bow your head. You glanced three or four times over and you noticed some of your friends talking to me briefly before they ate, but you didn’t. That’s okay. There is still more time left, and I hope that you will talk to me yet. You went home and it seemed as if you had lots of things to do. After a few of them were done, you turned on the TV. I don’t know if you like TV or not, just about anything goes there and you spend lot of time each day in front of it not thinking about anything, just enjoying the show. I waited patiently again as you watched the TV and ate your meal, but again you didn’t talk to me.

Bedtime I guess you felt too tired. After you said good night to your family you popped into bed and fell asleep in no time. That’s okay because you may not realize that I am always there for you. I’ve got patience, more than you will ever know. I even want to teach you how to be patient with others as well. I love you so much that I wait everyday for a nod, prayer or thought or a thankful part of your heart. It is hard to have a one-sided conversation. Well, you are getting up once again. And once again I will wait, with nothing but love for you. Hoping that today you will give me some time. Have a nice day!

Your friend,
ALLAH

Why do people send such blasphemous things! When did Allah say this and to whom or is this a new Holy Book that we are not aware of?

And then they ask you to “forward it to all your contacts, if you fear Allah”. Or even worse, “If you forward this, something good will happen to you in three days. If you don’t forward it, bad luck for 9 years, guaranteed!” Strange, that they can see into the future!

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Indecent Exposure

“Oi, he’s buff innit!” she exclaimed to her friend, upon which they all giggled. The three girls (probably skiving from school) were just on the threshold of a new era – the alluring era of adolescence! Two of them wore jeans and that I took no notice of, but the third provoked me entirely. As if she hasn’t oppressed us already with her loud mouth and obnoxiousness, what she probably thought an admirable fashion sense was far worse. Thankfully a dull brown Yankees jumper spared us from her gluttonous belly, but the tracksuit bottom she wore didn’t. It hung very low, provocatively displaying a coarse undergarment that merely stopped her ass from falling out. And there she walked, strutted around I should say, with an intention of flamboyance – pride more like! What a disgusting creature, born to disgust. People like that should be publicly flogged for their indecency..

 
Shouldn’t it be against the conventional standards of morality and decency to display half of one’s ass in public?  That depraved soul ruined my day!

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Delight in Disorder

Paint anything you like! That was the instruction given to the class after handing them each a cardboard, a colour palette and a paintbrush. About 40 minutes later and the entire room was chaotic – newspapers that were meant to protect the tables from the messy paint were all higgledy-piggledy on the floor, books were smeared with an assortment of colours, paintbrushes frantically thudded on the cardboard in a slapdash attempt to originate fresh, juvenile ideas, children had their faces and hands smeared with paint squirted it all over their clothes, and overall the room was given an overcoat of tender tones of yellow, red and green.

But the beauty of it all was that despite all the doodling, the mess and anarchy, pleasant yet subtle colours materialized; creative ideas of different strengths and different depictions were embodied in the simple and unadorned drawings. Beautiful portrayals of serene sandy beaches and palm trees, of houses and cars, or people and soothing waterfalls were on display. And one cannot but admire such work of art by the most creative individuals whose minds haven’t yet been tainted. And like Herrick such disorders “Do more bewitch me, than when art is too precise in every part”

Only one thing worried me though. Whilst other children were busy creating beautiful things, the Somali children created mayhem. One kid used black paper and glue and drew a pitch-black forest – That’s it! Nothing else. The symbolism of which i did not understand. What really worried me though was the kid who drew a CSI crime scene, with a deceased person’s body on the floor marked by a chalk outline. A splatter of red paint on the man marked his blood and it also spread to the walls behind him and the area beside which he lay. I wondered Why? but never really got to ask him.

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Through the eye’s of a child

                                  

An 8-year old child that came to school on his own a few days got a severe scolding from his mother. At the school gates the next morning, his mother stopped me as I walked in and told me about the situation.
 “I shouted at him yesterday so he wouldn’t talk to the teachers, so can you please talk to him and work with him today” she asked me. And indeed he wouls be willing to work with me – being Somali that is.

I replied in the affirmative and reassured her that I will have a word with him later on. During playtime he wasn’t allowed to go out because of his coming to school alone at 7 in the morning, so I stayed with him in class and kept him occupied (otherwise he would have spent the morning sitting in front of the headmaster’s room) I thought I should do something constructive with the time and asked him what he likes doing.

“I like drawing. Can we draw pictures” he said. So I got a few plain sheets and we started. A while later I lectured him on what he did and the importance of listening to one’s mother – I am not sure he got everything I said but i kept rambling on with profound sense of passion. Then I said “I know what, how about we make a card for your mother” he agreed and came up with the beautiful card above. 

The funny thing is, while making the card with him, I for some reason had my mother in mind and made the card solely for “her”. The recipient of the card might have been the mother of the boy, but the intent and the thought was with my mother! It felt as if I was creating something special and creative for my mother by decorating that card. Unfortunately she is in Miyi!

The next day i asked him whether he did what i told him to and what he did with the card and he replied “my mother put it on her wall”. That delighted me! my mother too had seen the card and hung it from the canopy of her tiny hut!

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Get Involved…

 

You too can make a difference today! If that seems too much, you can atleast support World Aids Day by wearing a ribbon, if not  areal one then atleast a  virtual ribbon.  And if you are very courageous to do so, you can share you story to inspire or strengthen others and offer some words of advice.

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The dead age of Chivalry

She towered over me with an earnest look in her eyes, as I sat in the crowded 380 bus from Thamesmead. From time to time, she’d hurl a quick glance my way, hold it for a few seconds, and then retreat. Shifting her weight from one leg and now to the other and pushing the golden strands of hair that clustered around her delicate face, she’d once again give me another fleeting look. She looked out of place – as if she did not belong to that part of the society where commuting on crowded, steamed and stench-ridden buses was a daily ritual. She was very elegant too – a willowy woman of the refined class she seemed and acted like it was her first time on buses (probably her car broke down). She had a face that glistened like early morning dew and a delicate yet pungent fragrance that wafted through the bus, easing the mists of suffocation with its sweet scent.

I interpreted her quick glances and restlessness as an attempt to persuade me to vacate my seat for her, but I didn’t. I would have done though, had she been fragile and old but she was only in her late 30s or early 40s. Was I wrong?

Though I was brought up in a country where a man never sits whilst a woman, or a girl for that matter, is standing, and where vacating your seat for any woman, young or old is obligatory and a prerequisite for good manners, yet I didn’t. I wanted to, but did not and I don’t know why! is it due to to-day’s time and age? There was a time even here in England when men possessed gentlemanly manners! But that era is long gone and the chivalrous Englishman has departed, insolence filling his void!

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Just six things!

I have been tagged by Angel Eyes  a very long time ago to list six weird things about myself! (yes, she considers me weird and i am gonig to prove it to her)

But to be honest I don’t exactly know what things to write here or what sorts of character traits constitute to weirdness in me. Things you consider “weird” might be very ordinary for me whereas things you would consider very ordinary might sound very bizarre to me. There are hundreds of things I could list, but take a peek at the modest few:

1 – Not a single soul actually “knows” me personally entirely – I hate getting attached to people and have this constant need to keep my relations always at an arm’s length, never letting them get to know who I really I am. i don’t “feel” as though i can be attached to anyone, its pathetic!

2 – I love being on my own at most times and would be infuriated if people disturb my meditative mood. That’s why I visit the Thames riverbank most times and watch the world go by. I know, I Think a lot!

3 – I strive to make things as minimalist as I could – I never take anything seriously unless it is really worthy of taking it so.

4 – I have several personalities – too many to mention – and often utilise whichever best suits the situation.

5 – It would take a lot of strain to make me angry – I am the calmest person I know and often think thoroughly of the consequences of any actions I take. In fact I can’t even remember being very angry for a very long time.

6 – Last but not least – Yes! I eat everything with a banana – I even made a soup out of banana and potatoes once when there was nothing else to cook in the house! It was delicious I must admit.

I hope that satisfies you Angel! and trust me there are a lot more to mention. As for tagging other people, almost all the active bloggers have been tagged!

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Social gatherings – a bore!

I think have become very boring lately. With work and studies taking up most of my time my social life has dwindled, and my circle of friends died out except fro the very loyal Three whom i’ve lived with for years. I no longer find any special pleasure in idle conversations and social gatherings that bear no fruit and loathe the idea of meeting new people. Meeting a new person is like moving to a new house; everything is scenic and delightful for the first few weeks and the unfamiliar gleam and beauty attract your eye but after that, everything becomes so mundane and ordinary – so uninspiring and unattractive. You strive to preserve everything in its pristine condition for a few weeks, that’s until everything falls apart and gradually descending into mediocrity, melting into your mind as commonplace, then you would want to move to a new house again!

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Spare the Rod Spoil the Child

I remember being beaten black and blue and humiliated in front of visitors or passer-by’s. At time’s I’d wished the ground beneath my feet would swallow me instead of having to put up with such extreme forms of punishment, and at times I thought it better to be beaten senseless so it ends at once rather than having to endure a humiliating scolding whose scars would last a lifetime.

Somali parents, though adroit at many things, are not very skilful when it comes to disciplining their children, then they wonder why their children are violent and behave in shameful ways. Good behaviour stems from good relationships and good role models, doesn’t it?

A child learns everything there is learn from his home – if he is shouted at at home, he would shout at others, if he is constantly being beaten, he would lose self-confidence and become hostile, if he is respected, he learns to respect others, if complimented, he learns to praise others, and so on. Yet with regards to behaviour we teach our children so little and expect so much from them. You’re more likely to achieve compliance by respecting the child and listening to his needs, instead of shouting at him. It is also important to remember that the tonalities of your speech and your behaviour all have a direct bearing on the actions of a child later on in life.

Children should be taught to have an inner voice – some of us call it conscious – so that they can police themselves instead of us having to punish them repeatedly for mistakes they would repeat. They need to be taught the consequences of making good choices and bad choices – cause and effect but with wisdom and tolerance! If you punish them they would only avoid what they are being punished for because they know you are going to punish them, not because they think it is wrong. Also our brains do not work on negative commands. If I were to tell you “do NOT think about an Orange” you probably would have thought about it long before I finished saying it. How we behave as adults towards our children is going to influence how they behave towards others!

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The Bone Breaker

Taking it a bit too far eh! Still, If anyone hasn’t watched Tony Jaa’s films i recommend them!

p.s Sorry folks, this stupid clip won’t work and i am not a Techie…

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Eavesdropping…

Do other people’s conversations absorb you at times or is it just me? There’s something about the conversations other people, usually commuters, have on the phone that make you want to listen to the other side of the story. I always am intrigued by what the person on the other side is saying, especially when am sitting close to the person on the phone, for their conversation lures me. On my way to work this morning a pretty young girl, about 19 I’d say, sat facing me at the large back seat in the lower deck of the bus. She was playing with her large ear hoops and the piercing on her nose when her phone rang.
“Took me for a fucking prick again didn’t ya?” she greeted the caller
A few seconds passed and I wondered what the conversation was about
“No, you told me you woz gonna call me between 10 and 11, and I waited all night for you. I didn’t even ‘ave propa sleep, so don’t gimme that bullshit” she shouted
I assume at this point the other person must have apologised or something
“No you’re not sorry, how can you be when you fucking stood me up you prick”
“I called you from the phonebox and told you to call me back, you didn’t even bovver calling back did ya, coz you was wiv your boys innit”
“You went to sleep? What wivin 2 minutes?”
“you’re a prick”
A long silence ensued, and I think he started relating a long-winded tale, which she somehow believed for she stopped shouting at him. A few more words and he had her on a leash and she was heard saying “I love you” in a very low voice.

Or at times, a couple would be sitting behind and i could hear the woman engaged in a long conversation with the man about each other’s day and life. Usually their conversations are about one another and are not as intruiging but something caught my attention:

“Do you think I am beautiful?”

“Of course you are darling, you’re beautiful”

Then she was silent. That was it. At that point i asked myself whether women needed re-assurance everytime with regards to their beauty. Do they need to be told that they are beautiful every once in a while?

Conversations such as this one are a daily occurance and shorten the journey tremendously. Thanks to them i guess!

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No Coloured Need Apply!

 Imagine seeing that sign (above) on the doors of shops and recruitment agencies today!

These days most young black youths are enticed by the life of luxury, women, and self-indulgence – a life marked by trivialities and an intellectual cul-de-sac where they try to imitate the lives of the gangster rappers who accentuate a life of folly and short-lived fun. Being black has become synonymous with crime, drugs, poverty, idiocy and anything that constitutes an illegal act. Why is it so?

Maybe it is because they don’t really value the sacrifices their forefather made in order for them to be here and be treated like humans. Maybe they need to be reminded of the days when their forefather were picked, like merchandise, from their countries and sold into slavery, the days when they were labelled “heathens” and it was considered a badge of elitism for anyone in the possession of a fine black slave – the darker the slave the better as it contrasts the whiteness of the owner! Or the days when upon escaping, they lived in abject poverty and were the finder’s keepers! In order to go forward and succeed in life, one must have the intelligence with which to look backwards from time to time and rediscover his roots, history and the price paid by his people for him to be where he is today. They are very rich in terms of opportunities, yet they waste it! What a Pity!

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All Eyes to me…

Glances are the heavy artillery of flirt. Everything can be conveyed in one look, but that look cannot be quoted word for word”

I read this quote from a book and I think it was translated from Ovid, The Art of Love, though am not too sure. but this quote strikes true in all cases.

The eyes of a person have a certain power over us – power that cannot neither be assessed nor controlled. They are magnetic and have the capability of pulling whomever they lay upon into their vast realm. When you look at someone in the eyes, for those very few seconds that you seem to be starring them directly in the pupil, a whole lot of things are expressed and multitude emotions conveyed – fear, fury, passion, confusion, admiration, bewilderment etc and all this without uttering a single word! That moment of eye contact, though you might be very far away from the person, bring them closer to you physically!

Several times it happened to me that I’d be walking down the street and taking a stroll at the park near me, as I usually do, and my eyes wander about in all directions without rhyme or reason, until, like a magnet, a pair of eyes pull me and for a few seconds protrude deeper into me. For these few seconds our eyes are interlocked, uniform and in harmony – both sets of eyes studying the other, prying into them. Then the beautiful woman whose eyes made mine her captive would pass by me, and as she does so, I can still feel her eyes starring at me from the corner, gently pleading with my eyes to have a last peek.
After a few paces, I’d suddenly, on an impulse and probably out of curiosity, look back to find that she too, is doing the same, again our eyes are interlocked for a few more seconds as if this happened by mere co-incidence. Then we’d both retreat feelings as though we both caught one another red-handed in an illegal act of voyeurism. Its as if the eyes are pulling me back for one, just one last glance!

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Need help love?

 

As if awaiting an impending disaster, the beautiful brunette briskly walked  behind me. And, of course, it wasn’t before long when she caught up with me, strolling down the promenade, my bag around my shoulder, completely immersed in Oscar Wilde’s luxuriant book – The Picture of Dorian Gray. I looked at her, and at once her clear hazel eyes fixated themselves generously onto mine. I quickly retreated, feeling as though I was marching into an unfamiliar territory that belonged to someone else.

 She was pushing a pram, where a baby lay watching his/her surroundings with profound enthusiasm.  The brunette looked at me, uncommonly, from time to time, as if wanting to ask for something. But she seemed too elegant for someone who would implore a young black man of something, I thought and kept walking. She seemed a bit hesitant, as she walked beside me, perhaps cognizant of some inexplicable implications. I felt as though she wanted to talk to me, yet she restrained herself, and though she tried to be as undemonstrative of her emotions as she could be, her unnaturalness gave her away instantaneously. And I, just like any other hot-blooded male would have interpreted these fleeting moments of eye contacts as an open invitation to bond with the beauty, but let me bring to light the location, and perhaps things might be a little clearer. 

We both walked side by side on the bridge in the above image, waiting for a vessel to transport us to the other side of the river
Thames. When the vessel pulls in, there is a flight of stairs to descend in order to get to the lower passenger deck. The vessel was pulling in when this happened, and I being the only other person there besides her and her baby, took her uneasiness and fleeting looks as a way of communicating instructions and insinuating her objective without really “wanting” to ask me for help.  She wanted to ask me to help her with carrying the baby buggy down the stairs, but she felt uneasy in doing so!

When the vessel, James Newman as it was called, pulled in, we both approached the stairs, on which occasion she crouched to pick up the whole buggy and lift it down the stairs, fumbling. Was she out of her mind risking a fall down 15 steps? Or was she too proud?  

Regardless, I sensed she wasn’t willing to ask for any help and gladly offered it myself, being the good-natured person that i am. ;) “Need help with that?” I asked

“Oh Yes, yes, please”, she answered, quite relieved that I asked. I was slightly startled by her reply – very eager she was.

I held the front of the buggy and as soon as I lifted it and started descending the stairs, the baby’s magnetic eyes gripped me and I smiled contentedly to which the baby replied with a piercing laugh and an infectious smile. It was a very beautiful baby indeed and that served as my reward. Babies have a natural tendency and charm to attract and captivate anyone with whom they came in contact.

When, on the other side of the river, I helped her ascend another flight of stairs, again out of own accord, she smiled and said “Thank you, than you very much” inaccurate even in articulation. 

I still didn’t understand why a simple act of asking for help proved so difficult. Wouldn’t I be justified in accusing her of xenophobia?

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Perception is Everything

Perception is how we see the world around us. It’s the image we have of everything around us. Suppose you are sitting in a crowded train early in the morning on your way to work in the city or in a bus, and you look around you, you observe the commuters or passengers and from their attitudes, style, dress sense, mannerism deduce certain information to form an opinion about them. The opinions you ascertain might be far from the truth and in most cases are, but unless and until you know them personally you cannot know what “is” the truth or what they “really” are like. With the information you learn from the people around you, you unconsciously filter it and approve or disapprove of it, depending on what you consider good or bad.

At times I feel like, or I sense, that I am being judged simply because I fit into previously held preconceptions of some people. People have the tendency to stereotype, and they do this too involuntarily because of previous experiences or because of what the society wants them to believe.

I certainly believe in my abilities as a person and my contribution to this society is vital, therefore, I am saying this without having to sound like someone who suffers from some sort of inferiority complex that, usually Black people are ‘expected’ to behave and act in certain ways, dress in a particular way – specially the youth – so when a case goes to court and the defendant is black, it is most likely that all evidence will lean heavily towards the defendant and ‘some’ of the Jury members would have formed their verdicts even before the case begins! Why? Because there are staunch in their beliefs and preconceived notions and nothing would change them, hence, the laws of equality and racial discrimination become nothing but fictional.

Personally, I dress in formal clothes for five days of the week, as my line of work demands, but on Saturdays and Sundays I dress in a more casual manner, wearing anything that my hand grabs. So I go out to the nearest grocery stores or supermarkets, wearing a tracksuit bottom and a hooded jumper depending on the weather. As soon as I jump on the bus, the passengers become wary of me, distancing themselves away from me and starring at me as if I have just killed someone! At the grocery store, a silky-haired Indian woman stands behind the counter, her long piercing eyes delving deeper into my soul, scrutinizing my every move, every inch, like a predator waiting for the right moment to strike. Bear in mind, before coming into the shop, I had taken my hood off, I am inclined to. For her, every Black man is a suspect and cannot be trusted.

Perception, too, is something that cannot be so easily changed, for a person to change his/her view of the world must take considerable strain and strength!

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The Veil…

Common sense is not so common after all, if Shahid Malik, the Muslim MP for Dewsbury, said that the ruling (suspending Aisha Azmi after refusing to take off her veil on religious grounds) was a “victory for common sense”

Azmi, is now suspended on full pay but has been awarded a meagre £1000 for “injury to her feelings”. Now lets, speaking hypothetically, assume that a Homosexual teacher was suspended from the same school. What do you think the consequences of such action would be? Would the school even dare to do that? I am sure it wouldn’t be hard to discern that the school would be slapped with a damning indictment of discrimination, homophobia, and a ordered to forke out a hefty sum!

Several tactless and badly informed minister have also now joined tha hate-the-veil bandwagon and making themselves idiotic spectacles for the Veil isn’t something that words and hate would force the chaste women to take off!

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Baby Adoption

So Madonna has adopted a Malawian Baby despite the Malawian government prohibiting international adoption.  The baby arrived here in London yesterday. Now these so-called celebrities even think that buying babies from developing countries is OK! how appaling! and the parents of such children are a disgrace to parenthood. If you can’t look after your baby because you are too poor, then stop breeding like rodents., or even give it to some of your relatives to look after it for you.

 As for Madonna and her likes, can’t they, instead of taking a baby with dissimilar lifestyles and cultures and a world alien to them, support them in their own country by providing money and other needs of the child?

 Or better, since you got the money, why not adopt the whole family? it would be just spare change wouldn’t it?

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Lets Talk

 There is no forgiving poor conversationalists. At least a person should have the ability to realise when he/she are blabbering out of control and talking load of bollocks. You often find people who, at first sight, intrigue and hypnotize you with their charm or good looks, but upon probing deeper into them you’ll soon discover that there is nothing more to them than a pretty face!

  I met one such a girl whose conversation skills, contrary to her spellbinding beauty, were minimal. She was rather garrulous and I dreaded her phone calls and trying to be as polite as I can constantly made up excuses to avoid her. Our conversations, if I can call them that, were monotonous, or at least that’s how I felt, though she would hang up the phone every time feeling like she had the best conversation in her life. And why shouldn’t she feel so, having been talking hours on end by her self about her problems, friends (male and female) to which I resort to with the usual “hmm”, “yeah”, “is it?”, “I see” remarks, plainly making it clear that I am not interested in what her friends were up to the last weekend or how she feels about them and somehow maybe get through to her head and slap her back to reality and remind her how boring she is.

 I wish there was a way of making her aware of her actions without wounding her vanity, since she comes across as a tad unsure of herself, and coming across as a bigot!

 

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Self welcome…

Finally I have decided to join WordPress. With this being my first post, I am still in the process of familiarizing myself with its features. I have, using help, managed to successfully import posts from one of my previous blog (instead of giving them new dates and making them seem recent). But unfortunately some of the images cannot be seen as you can see from the ones below. If anyone knows how to mend this, please let me know.

Also if anyone can tell me how to import posts from this blog then i would be grateful.

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Marriage…

On Saturday, the 16^th, my most treasured friend has uttered the words “Qabbaltu Nikaaxan…” after the Sheikh and departed from the “impoverished existence” of our likes. A companion for so long through life’s turbulent waves and solitary subsistence, he now is in the preliminary stages of the ever-gratifying epoch of wedlock. May Allah safeguard them from the teething troubles of marriage and bestow them with righteous offsprings! Ameen!

And indeed marriage is a wonderful thing and sustaining a pleasurable, long-term marriage takes effort – the simple unification of two souls is elevated to pinnacles of delight and happiness and is then gently wrapped in a lofty status. But instead of rallying towards these exalted moments of commitment and matrimony, people usually squander splendid opportunities when they become apparent before them. They do so in the false pretence that perhaps someone ‘better’ lies around somewhere.

“I’m just waiting for the right one” declares a female acquaintance of mine as soon as the subject pops up. Not surprising though, since the majority of women’s remarks are probably no different to that of my acquaintance’ on the question of marriage – without realising that the so-called ‘right’ one is nothing but a figment of one’s imagination!

Marriage has certainly been on my mind for a while, and now at 23 it has assuredly secured its precedence over many a thing. Though my earnest wishes are to return to the picturesque terrains of Sanaag and bask my sore eyes in the expanse of its scenery – and perhaps visit past scenes of delight, I need to work on investing something I can take along with me. ‘We live in a time laden with conventions, prejudices and mistakes of all sorts’ as Rilke once said, so it has to be but a stroke of fortune finding a woman worth marrying!

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