Story so far...

Hey everyone that happens to stop by and read this...I have a book of sorts...a story so to speak...to tell that's been bouncing around in my head for quite a few years now. I decided I needed to start writing it down before it sent me round the bend in more ways then one. This is my first chapter of my first attempt...just want a little feed back. Its not autobiographical...but some things in it are very real to me...so maybe its considered semi autobiographical.

Anyhow, for those who care, this is not a book to teach anyone about Islam or Muslims etc...its just a story that needs releasing from my head...plain and simple.

Also I apologize for the language...but its a story about real life...and real life has colorful language...whether we like it or not. Waiting to hear from you....

*edited and new content written


BUTTERFLIES IN MOTION


It seems she had been alone most of her life. She couldn't remember a time when she had anything other than her own mind to occupy her with. Don’t get me wrong here…she spent time with other people…called them friends and all, but she didn’t feel comfortable in their presence as much as she did within the confines of her own mind. The one place she was free from all of life’s restrictions. In her mind she could be anything, go anywhere, say whatever she wanted too, and best of all BELIEVE whatever belief felt right within her. She was 37 years old when much of what she believed about herself to be true…was proven to be wrong. It was the worst and best year of her life.

The morning of the day that she met the one person that was to become the “love of her life” started out much like the hundreds or thousands that had gone before it. She woke for fajr prayer with anticipation of facing her Lord. Her first thoughts upon waking were the same as every day...wishing she had miraculously lost some weight while sleeping...and wondering if THIS day held any promise of something different then yesterday. She tried to rouse her husband but he was far too interested in whatever dreams passed within his mind to care much for prayer. He turned over while muttering he would be up in a minute…and was snoring again within seconds. She resigned herself to the fact that he would never care as much for prayer as she did. To each his own. If she had cared, at this point in her marriage, for the soul of her husband she might have been more persistent. As it was she could only quietly revel in the thought that he would burn some day for all these prayers missed. She wondered if it was a sin to take quiet delight in the thought of her husband burning in the Hell Fire. She asked God to forgive her for such thoughts…just in case.

She performed her ablutions and waited patiently for the adhan to sound, passing the time reading the Quran. She had always loved the early morning hours while she waited for prayer…the quiet and solitude sat easy with her. She felt nearest to God at this time and the Quran seemed more welcoming and easy to grasp without distractions and life getting in the way. She generally read a few pages and reflected on what they meant to her. It always surprised her how whatever ayat she was currently reading corresponded with some thought she may have had recently…or some problem she needed advice for. It was like The Book spoke to her on some level…anticipating her spiritual needs…and responding to them. Thank You God for listening to me, she thought.

Once the prayers were finished she might consider going back to bed, but the possibility that her husband might awaken and demand sex from her generally kept her from crawling back into the warmth of the covers; the days had long since passed when she felt even a glimmer of attraction to the once charming handsome man she had met years ago. So rather then risk his waking she settled on the couch and turned on the TV. Most of the time she didn’t really focus on the images on the TV. but instead dwelt on scenes that rewound themselves constantly within her own mind. Playing the “What If” game kept her constantly busy no matter what else she might be doing. It agonized her to play this game as the result was never satisfying. No amount of playing and “re-ordering” her life actually changed anything. It just caused more frustration and agony to know she could’a, would’a, should’a done things differently to avoid the life she was now in. She had no one to blame but herself…

With a quick look at the clock and a sighful resignation of her lot in life, she heaved herself up from the couch (as usual promising herself to start that diet tomorrow) and set about starting breakfast and getting the children up for school. Her children were the bright moments in her life. All her “failures” could not even come close to measuring up to her accomplishments…her children. They were her pride and the one thing that made this life she was living possible. Without them to love and care for she believes she would have given up and given in long ago. Each new step she took in her daily struggles she took for them. Each verbal abuse hurled from the bitter lips of her husband was heard and swallowed and dropped down into the pit of never ending sorrow. The depression that threatened to swallow her whole…was only kept at bay by one thought…"my children need me"....followed quickly by another..."I need them". And so, each new step was taken, each new abuse swallowed, and each tear that fell was quickly wiped away…what was the use of tears anyhow, they didn’t change a thing. She sent up a solemn prayer to God to grant her more patience…and to help with the self pity…who needed it anyway?

When the children were nearly ready to go she would go and wake her husband. Sometimes he drove them to school, other times he just wanted to make sure they were what he considered “properly equipped” for the day. Boys with their backs straight with pride, the girls with heads covered with the hijab. Pride for boys and hijab for girls were apparently the only two things to measure a Muslim with by his standards. It always quietly amused her and made her proud when her younger daughter rebelled against the hijab (she herself had often thought of just flinging it into the wind and defiantly walking in the street without it...but fear of judgment kept it firmly on her head)…and many times got out the door without it, conveniently forgetting it at the last moment. Other times she would remove it out in the street as soon as she was around the corner. She had many fashion statements to make when it came to her clothes…but the hijab was not one of them. Go girl! She wished she was as strong minded and independent as her teenage daughter. What can you do?…life was for the young. (37 was not old but in her mind...life was all but over regardless of how "young" she was)

She hated closing the door as her last child left for school. It meant that she was now alone with her husband and her dread at what this most assuredly meant was like a rock in her stomach. She could no longer stomach the idea of lying on her back and spreading her legs for his idea of sex. His touch alone sent shivers of repulsion up and down her spine. When she seen that glimmer of lust in his eyes…it was all she could do not to scream and lock herself in the bathroom…or better yet…run into the streets like a crazy woman. Instead she would once again quietly resign herself to life and come when he called. Removing her clothes and positioning her body in whatever sexual manner he demanded of her. She was like a mindless object for his dark desires. He never asked her what she wanted, what she liked or didn’t like, whether what he was doing hurt or not. Usually it did hurt, if not her body then definitely her pride, her soul. She could only lay there and pray that he finished quickly and was thankful when he did. Other times he seemed intent on a marathon of sex...and the never ceasing pounding and grunting nearly sent her off the deep end. She wondered what he hoped to achieve with the hour long sex...its not like someone was standing by keeping score or giving marks for enthusiasm and creativity. If credit was to be given for whatever reason...for sure she deserved the accolades just for her ability to endure such bodily assault again and again....and not even a tender kiss or caress to make the enduring bearable. Only bruises on her body and on her soul as a testament to the "love making" that had transpired.

Eventually he would roll off and strut to the bathroom to shower as if his ability and agility at sex was a thing to boast of. His concerns for his wife only extending to whether his breakfast was on the way or not and to maybe throw a comment back at her that she needed to lose some weight. Oh God! Where is that patience she was asking for earlier? It occurred to her many times that she could happily poison his morning coffee…if poison were at hand. The fact that she contemplated murder on an almost daily basis, if not hourly, no longer shocked her as it once did. God was forgiving for her errant thoughts. It’s not like she would ever actually kill him. (a thought best left unexplored)

As soon as he was out the door she shrugged off her resentment, her anger, her anxieties, like she might shrug off her clothing…leaving them all piled messily by the door…to be picked up and hastily donned once again as the hour drew near for his return all though at times he would sneak back home without warning, as if to catch her up to something. Catch her doing what she never knew…as he knew better than her that she had no life. Cleaning, watching TV. reading and dreaming of murder were about all that kept her busy. (that and her prayers...she could do without the rest and would give them up in a heartbeat if needed but not her prayers) If he expected to find her wrapped up in the lusty arms of a sweaty lover in their marriage bed…then he would surely have to wait a very long time. She had one male in her life that was causing her enough misery…only a fool would go looking for double the trouble. The most he might catch her doing was scrubbing the bathroom floors or hanging laundry. No whoreish behavior here…just move along.

Often times these surprise visits meant only one thing…more sex. Surely there could be no other man on the planet that spent as much time thinking about, anticipating, and participating in the act of sex as her husband. It scarcely allowed him time for other things…such as a job or getting things done that needed doing…in her opinion. (she had long since lost count of the number of jobs he had "quit" or "lost" because management didnt see eye to eye with him...or some such excuse. He hated being told what to do ...plain and simple). How could someone so consumed about sex, so engrossed with the perfection of his own dick, so demanding of her body…wanting to stick his manhood into any hole that would accommodate him regardless of the pain it caused…how could he lead a normal life…when a normal life seemed so far outside his thought process. Sex sex sex…and then food, shelter, paying bills etc. She loathed him each time he grabbed his bulge and indicated with a quick nod of his head that she was to assume the position once again. God! God! God! she realized the humans were made in Gods image…did this mean God had a penis as well since generally God was referred to as “Him”, “He” in all religious discourse? Did God walk around grabbing His bulge while contemplating in what new position He would fuck humanity? She quietly asked God to forgive her for assuming God had human qualities.

Of course these midday visits meant that she could never really relax when he was gone…since the likelihood of his showing up at anytime was possible. It seemed his only desire in life, other than to fuck her as often as the thought crossed his mind, was to catch her doing something he considered “haram”. His ideas of what was and wasn’t haram didn’t even come close to what many Muslims followed, but her life revolved around avoiding his haram as much as possible. The arguments and punishments that followed when she was caught “transgressing” just wasn’t worth it. He made her feel like such a criminal with his accusations and abuse. A quick trip to the corner store for sugar was, according to him, an opportunity to flirt and make future appointments with potential lovers. If only he knew how ridiculous he sounded. She didn’t even like the act of sex, hated to even submit herself to it, would be quite happy to go the remainder of her life without ever once again spreading her legs…or the cheeks of her ass (no amount of arguing and pointing out that anal sex was haram to him had any affect...he always claimed later that he "didnt mean to")…or opening her reluctant mouth, for another man…she laughed quietly inside when he ranted on about such things. Men are so stupid when it comes to women. God! Please make him shut up!

Often times when she realized she needed to make a trip outside for something she would first call him on the phone just to see where he was, what he was doing, to gauge how long she had before he could realistically reach home. If he indicated he was far enough away, she would quickly don her much hated hijab and duffa and quickly dash to the store and back again…looking over her shoulder the whole way. Her heart beating fast and silent prayers to God to not let him come home and catch her in the street somewhere. Of course, he sometimes played the game too…indicating he was far away but really just down the road. This little two step they did, her trying to “commit her crime” of leaving the house and his trying to catch her at it, was a daily tango they did. Sometimes she won, sometimes he did…usually he did.

For the most part she stayed inside the house. It just wasn’t worth the hour long lecture and tuition on Islam and how to be a good wife and mother when she was caught out. She had better things to do with her time then listen to his sanctimonious drivel about what entailed a “good” Muslim. She would sit there patiently waiting him out, waiting for him to tire of hearing his own voice, quietly thinking her own thoughts. (in the past she would cry, apologize and "try harder" to please him...now days she couldnt muster up the emotion necessary to cry and to try harder hadnt crossed her mind in a very long time) She often wondered if he actually believed any of the things he “taught” her…since he hardly practiced any of them himself. God…why did You create hypocrisy in humans?…why did you give us the ability to sound so pompous in the face of facts? Fact one…her husband was a horrible Muslim and a not much better man. Fact two…he apparently was completely unaware of this fact and felt it was within his rights to “teach” her in areas that he himself could use some tuition in. Yadda yadda yadda…blah blah blah…if he was going to fuck her she wished he would just do it and go…without the never ending lecture thrown in just to add insult to injury. She would sit there nodding her head…looking contrite…”learning” her lessons…all the while sending sneaky peeks at the clock wishing the time for the kids to arrive would hurry up and get here. God? Why does the time move so slow when we are caught in other peoples headlights?

On the days that he actually stayed away at work, or wherever it was he spent his time, she enjoyed the peace and quiet and spent time reading. Her passion was reading anything and everything and every opportunity to read was never passed up. It was with a quiet inner pride that she remembered her school days...graduating on the honor roll...teachers writing wonderful things in her year book...lauding her potential as a writer...praising her abilities and looking forward to her "first book".

She sighed while thinking of the promise of her youth. Where did all that fire and passion for writing disappear too? Her thirst for the written word had not diminished...but her desire to write things down had over the years. She thought about the journal she use to keep...had kept it for over 10 years. Just day to day thoughts...anecdotes about the children...and the occasional rant and lament about HIM and his tirades and unjust treatment of her. She never told anyone of his abuse of her...but it helped immensely to express her anger and anguish on to the page...the cathartic release was probably the only thing that kept her from killing herself (or him)during all those years of insufferable abuse. God forgive her for thinking thoughts of suicide (and murder). Its not like she would actually do it.

She remembered exactly why she suddenly stopped writing...in an instant the choice was made and 10 years worth of journals was angrily and hastily dumped into the dustbins outside. Years later of course she regretted that rash decision...missing her written memories almost more then friends and family she rarely saw anymore. Of course HE was the reason for her decision to stop writing. She never hid her journals...they were right there in the open for anyone to read...the only one who read them was her husband. She might wake in the night in need of the bathroom and notice her latest journal was not beside the bed on the table. When she returned it would be there. She often wondered what he did in his "office" all night...well she knew at least one thing he did...read her journals. What he hoped to find in them (for she knew without question he was hoping to "catch" her in her writing just as he caught her in the street sometimes) puzzled her as what little life she had held no mystery. She wondered if he actually thought she was stupid enough to write down the fact that she had a lover...had a hot and steamy liaison with him that day...might describe all the incredible sex they had...and then have the nerve to keep the journal beside the bed and not under lock and key (if she actually had a lock and key...nothing was locked against him in this house...all though he sure kept his office locked up tight) He pretended he didnt read it but she might sometimes play a little trick on him and insert some dubious sentence here and there...something that might sound as if she had did something but what that something was was unclear. For instance she had been out to the shops once and while returning she had noticed the neighborhood mentally retarded man sitting on the bench in front of the mosque. A second look confirmed what the first look had indicated...he was masturbating...and in full view of all the people passing by. Apparently nobody noticed...or cared enough to stop him as he continued on without disturbance. She blushed and quickly passed by...but that night she wrote in her journal..."I saw "carrot" while outside today." That was it...that was all she wrote on that subject...but a few days later her husband asked her (quite out of the blue) who Carrot was. She feigned ignorance but inside she was giggling...knowing full well why he had asked. God forgive her for making such a fool of him...but he certainly made it easy.

Eventually his determination to find fault with her writing...demanding to know what each sentence meant...what were the "hidden meanings" to this and that...did she actually plan on writing a book someday and making him look bad to his friends and family...was that her intention? Didnt she realize as a Muslim she shouldnt be wasting her time on such useless things? He never let up...and so she just quit. Without much thought or fanfare. All the journals into the garbage...and the only writing she did was now all in her head. At least he couldnt snoop in there.

In a heart beat....!....pt 2

Last night my very best friend was involved in a serious accident. Her car and Mr I Can Drive How I Want To's cars were destroyed. My heart stopped when I heard her shocked voice calling me and telling me to come RIGHT NOW!!! At least she was able to call me...I knew it wasnt as bad as my imaginative mind was trying to lead me to believe.

Imagine my shock when I arrived at the scene at the number of people who had risked life and limb it would seem, crossing the busy road etc just to get a good look see. What exactly were they there for? To offer aid, to give CPR if needed, to direct traffic to prevent further accidents...? No!! All these gawkers merely wanted was a little taste of blood...they wanted to see broken bones and broken lives strewn out across the tarmac. They wanted to see the aftermath of horrible and careless driving...but of course not learn anything from it..and go on to cause the same...or maybe worse.

The worst action of all is that the ambulance was actually stuck in traffic just down the road...it would seem not one car could bother itself enough to get out of the way and let the ambulance through. We could see it and hear it...but not receive help from it. So close and yet so far. Every car that passed by had to slow down so that all of the occupants could also get their taste of blood...before speeding off and forgetting the whole scene of carnage they had just witnessed. Nobody learns a thing here in Bahrain when it comes to driving with care. If broken bodies and broken cars doesnt wake you up...what will?

I have to give a special shout out to the Bahraini man that actually had the nerve to horn at the Firemen to get out of his way that were sweeping the street free of glass...he must have seriously felt put out that he had to wait all of 2 minutes in order for the road to be made safe for his passage.

The one thing I am very greatful for is that my friend, typical Bahraini that she is, generally does not wear her seatbelt, despite my many many lectures on its safety...for some reason last night she actually had it on...which no doubt saved her life considering the condition of her car. Thank God for small miracles. I hope she has learned the value of that seatbelt and no more lectures will be needed from me...on this subject anyhow.

Thank you to the traffic police, fire department, and the few people who stopped and gave genuine help where needed. For the rest of you gawkers and impatient drivers...I can only hope that one day you are not laying in the road needing the ambulance and inconsiderate people such as youself are not too selfish to move and let it pass...after all...its only a life needing aid...not something important like a meeting at the coffeeshop..a favorite tv show coming on...or just the desire to not be put out by other peoples misfortunes...sigh!!

Incident with a Porche and Pepsi

After 22 years living here in the Middle East...Ive sort of gotten use to the idea that everyone feels the road belongs to them. Crazy driving...parking...when it comes to cars...just make sure you buckle up. You never know whats waiting around the corner.

Well, yesterday waiting around the corner for me was a Porche conveniently parked right on the curve in the Diplomat area...Mr Porche was kind enough to put his hazard lights on...fat lot of good they did considering he was far enough around the bend to hide his little speedster right up until I was behind it. Too suddenly be faced with a ton or so of solid metal just when you least expect it...does not give your heart much time to catch up to the scene...I very nearly caused another accident while trying to avoid rear ending little Porche...can you blame me if my temper was stirred up ever so slightly?

I cant for the life of me understand this thinking that "I can damn well park my car anywhere and who cares if it causes problems for other people. My wants and needs are the important thing here." I have lost count of the number of times I have been blocked in by some driver who was too lazy to drive a little further and park properly...most of the time they dont even apologize when they come back and see your fuming face. Just a la de dah as they drive away...happy they accomplished their mission...no worries about me and mine...arggghhh!

Anyhow...my day wasnt going too well anyhow so Mr Porche was in the wrong place at the wrong time...so to speak. I showed Mr Porche my ire by having my son roll down the window and pour my newly opened bottle of Pepsi on his lovely little machine. If it would have been easier I might of had him piss on it...thats how angry and fed up I was...anyhow...I squeezed by with much caution and sped off.

Not the end of the story...keep reading.

It seems Mr Porche was witness to our little Pepsi annointing and came speeding after us through traffic...he finally caught up to us (I wasnt even aware he was risking life and limb to do so..not concerned with such crazy driving unless its around me)...and preceded to try and drag my son from the car. Luckily I had the foresight to lock the doors before hand...intuitively knowing he would try something like that. He was shouting and going on...speaking broken english and throwing some colorful words in there just to spice it all up. He looked like Kojak...but without the lollipop. I chose to ignore Mr Porche...and wondered just how long the red light was going to keep us waiting... Mr Porche was doing his little dance in the middle of the 3 lane highway and seemed little concerned with his own personal safety...wheres the cops when you need one? Im wondering...if the doors hadnt been locked...would he actually have dragged my teenage son from the car and ...what?....beat him?...over some spilled Pepsi on his car that can easily be washed off? Would our blood have so easily have washed off the road if the worst would have happened? Was his little car with some Pepsi spilled on it more offensive then us nearly crashing into his illegally and dangerously parked Porche? Was he prepared to escalate the episode just for the sake of what exactly....his pride? Well I understand that men see their vehicle as an extention of themselves...so I assume Mr Porche felt as if he himself got the Pepsi in the face....so to speak....if only!!

Anyhow, he decided the best he could do is call someone...not sure who...could be those errant cops...or maybe just the wife to bitch and moan about "crazy American ladies"...hmmm? Light turned green so off I sped...he didnt follow...but a bit further down the road he gave us a little middle finger salute...whatever....Im over it.

Im totally pissed off about this though...ok ok Im sure some of you are out there saying..."you didnt have to pour Pepsi on his lovely Porche"...which indicates to me that you feel his right to park there supercedes my right to not die in a traffic accident because of his illegally and dangerously parked car...and further...I have no right to express my irritation at his audacity to believe he owns the road and can park anywhere he damn well pleases...and people can just wait and suffer until he finishes his business?...well all I can say to that is this...

park where you want...but next time it might not be Pepsi is all Im saying.

In a heart beat....!

Yesterday...at exactly 1:52 pm...I nearly ended the lives of two little boys riding a bike in the streets in my neighborhood. I know what the time was because I looked at my watch to see exactly when my life and the lives of those children had almost been changed forever. It was so damn close I very nearly rediscovered my lunch from the shock.

I have often wondered through the years just how mothers can allow such small children free reign in the streets of Bahrain. I noticed this odd phenomenon when I first arrived on these shores 22 years ago...the astounding number of very small children that just run, from early morning until mahgreb, in the streets...without supervision of any kind. We are talking 3 and 4 year olds...I wouldnt allow my 3 and 4 year olds to be on a separate floor from me in our two floor govt house years back...much less let them play outside...I dont get this blase' approach to childcare over here that completely lacks that "OMG wheres my child?" awareness that I felt a million times every day of their young lives (and still do even though they are mostly grown). It just doesnt seem to be apparent here. (for some)

I realize that mothers love their children here no less than anywhere else in the world...Im not saying there is no love...Im saying there just doesnt seem to be concern...which is a very different thing.

I often read of children dying through "accidents" and when I read how they died the first thing Im thinking is..."where were the parents....the mom?". Those two little boys that drowned last year is case in point. They were 7 and 8 if I recall and drowned while swimming alone...the parents and the whole neighborhood was up in arms blaming sand robbers for making pits in the beach that its believed the boys fell into and drowned. I understand her anguish and loss but I want to know...why were a 7 and 8 year old allowed to swim alone in the first place? And apparently it was common practice for them to do so...so it wasnt a one off that we can excuse the mom and say she really didnt know what they were up to. I just dont get it.

I do realize that even with the closest of supervision accidents can and do happen with small children...so having said that...how can we even for a moment allow them to walk blind into the jaws of danger by opening the front door and letting them face the dangers alone....I just dont get it.

The mother of those two little boys I nearly ran over would have cried for the rest of her life if the worst had happened...and for sure she would have blamed me and maybe even cursed me for the breaking of her heart...as I would blame myself no doubt...but would she ever consider that there is some blame on her part as well? Why would she allow her 2 very small children to play in a busy street without her there watching over them...why allow them to worry about their own safety when they cant even wipe their own noses when needed?

I almost ran over and possibly killed two little boys yesterday that had no business being where they were...and yet as I drove away, heart pounding in my throat, sweat dripping from my brow, and my lunch deciding whether it was staying put or not...all I could think about was this...

This time they were lucky.

I just dont get it.

The God of Football...hear my prayers?

There are several topics that I feel a need to post about this week but they will all have to wait because this particular topic has got me burning up at the moment. Maybe Im just being sensitive and pissy but I have to say it anyhow...here goes.

I was sitting in the bank reception 2 days ago waiting for my turn while casually watching a big screen t.v....something about football but I wasnt giving it my full attention because I care nothing at all for football (or soccer as we Americans call it). Eventually though the wait for my number to be called stretched out into days if not weeks and so the t.v. eventually grabbed my attention.

It would seem that Oman beat Saudi in some cup or another and so celebrations were in full swing...there was much jumping up and down...much shouting and kissing of a trophy...and much car horn honking and flags waving...no big deal there...I for one cant really get all worked up over sporting events but I understand some people need to find their release somewhere so who am I to judge...but I did find something to tease my temper into furnace mode...not sure you will agree with me...but here goes.

All though I know nothing of the Omani football team...Im sure we can safely assume they are all Muslims..and as Muslims they were giving much praise to coaches...to fans...to parents and family etc in supporting them "all the way" etc...but they had one particular praise that was repeated over and over again that just really irked me...and made me want to scream at the t.v. right in the middle of the bank reception area...live audience and all...bear with me.

It would seem that much thanks and appreciation for having won the football championship was due to God "answering prayers"....the football game was won by hardwork...much determination...and because apparently God really cares about the outcome of sporting events...especially the ones that have Muslims participating.

Im assuming at some point these same Muslims, these Omani football players...might possibly have sent prayers out asking for God to save Palestine...hmmmm? Asked God to "destroy Israel"....or at least send the aggressors packing? You think so? Im sure we can safely assume that at some point or another while bowed in prayer one, some, or all of those football players sent some form of prayer to God concerning Palestine...Im willing to bet money on that (and Im not a betting person by nature) but it sounds like a sure thing from what I know of Arabs and their strong animosity towards all things Israel...so heres my question...

In your opinion...is it safe to assume...that the millions of prayers sent to God by Muslims asking for Palestinians to be saved and for the genocide to stop once and for all have fallen on deaf ears...but prayers sent out with hopes of scoring a hat trick or at least an overtime winner...were heard and answered and all praise is due to God...the God of football apparently as the God of humanity seems to have taken a raincheck as far as Palestine is concerned...at least it would seem so due to the complete lack of prayers being answered on that front.

Football we can count on...human lives...not so sure....hmmm?

*before anyone starts bombarding me with astagfirallahs...screw you...I care nothing for football and could careless about its results...but I do care for human beings...and to praise God because a football match was won with cries of "God answered our prayers"...seems a right hard slap in the face towards all those dying in Palestine whose prayers for salvation seem not nearly so important as whether or not a little round ball makes it between a goalpost or not...or maybe thats just me.

We never know what tomorrow might bring do we?

Sorry to any regular readers for lack of posting this past few weeks...personal drama has kept me busy for the most part other than the odd comment on other blogs etc. The adage that we never know what tomorrow has instore for us has never been truer for me then this past few weeks.

After waiting so patiently to leave this little island that has been the bane of my existence for so long...and relishing the freedoms and feelings of release that treading American soil has afforded me for the past two months...due to unforseen circumstances (all though in reality they were not that unforseen..but you always have hope that people will surprise you...they rarely change who they are do they) I find myself once again on the sandy shores of Bahrain.

Quite interesting how only a 2 month "sabbatical" has opened my eyes to even more changes that I hadnt noticed as we quite often cant see the forest for the trees...but thats another post. Suffice to say that the animal masquerading as a man that also pretended to be a father and husband...reared his ugly head against my sons from the moment I shook the dust from my heels and boarded the plane...and so I had no choice but to come and take back what he apparently thought was his right to regain simply because I was gone...I might also add that I received a certain satisfaction to hear the "look" of surprise in his face when he realized I was indeed calling from "this side of the moon"...his excuse for a sister was no less surprised when I showed up at her door with the boys to give her an earful for her little part in all this drama...to say they were left opened mouthed hardly described it...for sure they assumed I wouldnt come back simply because I was clear of this place "once and for all". Just more proof that they have no idea what being a parent means...because it matters little that I truly do not find joy in Bahrain...that I do not feel welcome or content here because the culture and I just do not play well together...I would just as soon forget I ever knew of such a place and be happy with the forgetting...unfortunately...while I cannot stand the fact that I have ties to this place through the blood that courses through my childrens body...it remains a fact that it does indeed course through them...and so I will never truly be rid of Bahrain. Also...because my boys were still here...well hell...the strings that bind can stretch pretty far indeed...but they always pull you back.

So for now...Im back on this little island in the sun...I have some serious ass to kick...and will relish the kicking since those that deserve it...pretty much brought it upon themselves...why couldnt they just leave well enough alone and forget they even knew of my boys...as they had been doing for the last 2 years with exceptional skill and acumen?

At any rate...a regular post will be up as soon as I get situated once again and get some back child support that was some how "mislaid" in the 2 months I was gone...until when these poor excused for human beings (husband and sister in law) will realize that I am not the same "greenhorn" that they always delighted in calling me? Those days are long gone and good riddance to them...but new days are here...let the show begin.

Right here and right now!! pt. 3

The journey ends with us arriving in Mecca. While everyone else was straining at the windows trying to get a look...I was barely aware that we had arrived. I seriously needed to lie down fully stretched out and could think of nothing else I wanted or needed in life but a space large enough to do so. I dont really have any memories of our arrival in Mecca...I was in the middle seat and couldnt really see anything anyhow and it held no interest for me at that moment...I just couldnt bring myself to care that I had arrived in the holiest Muslim spot on the planet...a spot I had dreamed about for years...I just wanted a soft pillow and some quiet.

When we arrived at the hotel the lobby was a madhouse of people and luggage. It turns out our rooms werent ready yet and so all the luggage was piled up in a corner and my fellow bus travelers went off to perform Umrah...I collapsed on a couch in the lobby and Im unable to tell you what went on around me for the next 2 hours. I slept the sleep of the dead...dont ask me about my modesty...its possible something showed that shouldnt have etc...I didnt have the strength to care about such formalities. I discovered later that my son had stayed behind and "kept guard" over me. I also discovered that the cousin (brother to my friend) had also stayed behind to watch over me (as he would do for the remainder of the trip...and still does to this day)...my unofficial brother. He is one of the best men I have ever had the honour of knowing.

As soon as the first room was made available...Kaleefa (unofficial brother) made sure that I was escorted to it...and I crawled into a bed fit for a queen and slept a further 4 hours. My son stayed outside the door. Eventually Kaleefa had my son wake me up and said I needed to perform Umrah before the day was over since that is what I had come for...was in a state of ihram (I believe thats the word) as well as himself and my son. So I prepared myself and Kaleefa led us from the hotel. I anticipated a long walk to the Kabaa but it turns out our hotel was practically in the shadow of the mosque...we stepped out from the hotel and the mosque was right there on the doorstep pretty much. I was pretty shocked to say the least...but had to keep moving as Kaleefa was striding ahead...barely looking back...sigh. My son was helping me along but boy was I exhausted. I was already out of breath and we hadnt even got to the actual mosque yet.

Once we entered the doors (after passing security that made sure we didnt have cameras etc) (which was funny considering so many people were taking pics with their phones) I was amazed at just how long it took to get from the door area to the actual prayer areas and the Kabaa itself. The place was packed with people and Kaleefa was holding himself back Im sure to keep an eye on us...but he was still keeping up a good pace. I barely had time to register the beauty of the mosque and the cosmopolitan atmosphere...I was concentrating on not losing sight of him and not falling down as my abaya was too long and I was too tired to lift my feet properly.

When we finally reached the main area of the mosque that had the Kabaa...I just stood there in awe. To actually be face to face with something I had only ever seen on tv was surreal. People were bumping into me...voices all over the place...birds over head...sun shining...kids crying...you name it...but none of it registered...I was in a state of awe...and wanting to enjoy it to the full. However, Kaleefa had other plans. He handed over a mobile phone to my son...gave us some instructions about how to deal with the crowd...how to perform the Umrah itself...and what to do if we lost sight of him (which was a given of course). He instructed my son not to let go of me under any circumstances...and while I know my son would try his best...I had little hope in all that throng that he would manage it. (I was amazed later that he really did keep hold of me throughout...the multitudes of people seemed to have only one intent..pull us apart)

And off we went...we flowed into the crowd of people and immediately I felt like I had been there before...I felt a sense of deja vu so strong...I stopped in my steps to take it in...but of course you cant stop while circumventing the Kabaa lest you get run over...so on we went.

I cant really tell you much about going round the Kabaa...I was concentrating too hard on not getting trampled by the crowd...I was much slower then most of them as I was plain exhausted. I sort of went into a robotic like mode...one step...one step...one step...while chanting the same words that Muslims through hundreds of years had gathered and chanted as well. I was also trying not to lose track of how many times we had went round the Kabaa...its kind of hard to keep a mental note of that...as every side of the mosque looks pretty much the same...so in a small corner of my mind I also chanted...3...3...3...or whatever circle we were on...and watched for the corner of the Kabaa that had the black stone as a marking spot. It took my son and I nearly 2 hours to do our circumventing...I found out later it took others just under and hour or so. I was tired...did I mention that?

When we finally finished Kaleefa was long gone so we made our way to Marwa and Safwa to begin our 7 trips back and forth. I spent a further hour and some shuffling back and forth between these two spots...trying to keep track and wondering when it would all be over. My son stayed with me for awhile but felt he should be jogging it like so many other men were...so he left me with promises to find me when he was done....sure...ok...whatever (2...2...2...2). The hardest part of that particular trek was that at each end, the spot where you did a Uturn of sorts and headed back the other way...the ground was cemented with little bumpy protrusions. Im assuming so that people could get a grip with the toes and climb up the incline without slipping. What it meant for me and my very swollen sore feet was agony each time I reached one end and had to traverse this spot in order to begin the journey back. (3....ouch.....3....ouch....3.....oh my feet). (later many of the women asked me why I didnt allow my son to push me in a wheelchair like many others...but I felt that as long as I could actually still walk...I would...no matter how long it took)

Finally....I was done...after what seemed to be years of shuffling, counting, agonizing and chanting...I was finished with my first Umrah. My son was nowhere to be seen so I weakly made my way to the side out of the way and waited for him to find me. Oh to get off my feet at last was heaven!!! even if it did take me 5 minutes to actually make my way down to the floor. I felt like I was 100 years old and couldnt imagine a time when I didnt feel like this. (I want my bed and I want it NOW!!!)

My son finally found me and he had Kaleefa with him. They needed to go shave their heads now as a final ritual....which meant I had to get up off the floor. With nothing to lean on to aid me...it was an ordeal all by itself. My knees were grouchy...my ankles were hollering...and my feet had gone off on vacation apparently as Im sure I couldnt feel them. I realize that men are reluctant to touch females that are not related to them in the Muslim world...so I was greatfully surprised when Kaleefa offered me a hand up, which I readily accepted. It still took me some time to gain my feet...and even then I wasnt sure I would stay upright...I was down to my last ounce of strength...and we still needed to get back to the room....OMG!!! OMG!!!! OMG!!!

I did manage to finally make it back to the room...to find my room mates on the way out. Now that Umrah was out of the way...many were excited to start on the second most popular reason for coming to Mecca...Shopping!!! I was happy that the room would be quiet so I could sleep without the constant babble of chatter in the back ground. I crawled back into my lovely sweet smelling soft bed and slept without regaining conciousness until fajr prayer. The ladies were waking me to go down to the mosque for prayers...but my legs just wouldnt hold me properly. I was wiped out. They all left and I struggled to wash and perform my prayers and crawled back into bed once again. Where I would remain for much of the next 5 days.

*to be continued