The Middle Ten Days

As your WAY too wide awake parent shakes you up for Sehri and you try to Zombie walk yourself to the kitchen without walking into a wall, desperately trying to keep your eyes closed for as long as possible so as to maintain every last ounce of sleep, you realise that ten days have already gone by. A third of the way through. Not quite halfway, but not quite at the start either. No mans land- you get the drift.  As you hear Hafiz Wadi talking about how many children kept their half fasts this week, you vaguely recollect fragments of Suhoors gone by. Making enemies with the toilet, best friends with Vita Thion, somehow everyones a dietician who knows exactly what food will give you enough energy to last you till Witr so that you don't go down by mistake in Ruku when the Imam gives the trick Takbeer (it happens to the best of us, just look straight and walk it off). Ten down brothers, but the next ten are generally the hardest.

Somehow, people tend to forget that the month consists of thirty days, not just the opening five when your wife chases you out the house and the odd nights during the final third. These middle few are sort of a natural filtration system wherein you seperate the men from the boys. The guy who made eye contact with you as your hands crossed over tearing a giant toiletroll may not be there tomorrow, the kids who formed their alliances on the first night suddenly find themselves short of numbers. This is when the sheepish looks form on faces after Esha salaah, when sneaking out the back with your head down becomes an art. The saffs are short enough for teenagers to find where their fathers are standing before the first ruku, but not long enough for them to leave the mosque between rakaats. This is when iftaar starts to get a little bit longer, when the leftover savouries come out and trips to Caminettos frequent because the ladies are tired of cooking for you. Enter the long lines and impatient tut tutting of uncles wanting to get home before azaan. Enter angry phone calls because their food is cold and the cheese is dry. Sabr is short, Miswaaks thrown away, only the strong survive without a pre azaan headache.

Even the ever present Malawi brothers find these days hard. Look outside, see how many plants need watering or how green your pool is looking. Chicken fillets arent cleaned properly, cheese is grated half heartedly and the glare of the Muazzin is enough to stop many a war. Those 8 minutes suddenly become a haven for the famished, when rations equivalent to the harvest of many a famined country are single handedly devoured by brothers driven to breaking point by hunger. Pie Crumbs and Samoosa Crust adorn many a beard whilst milk moustaches decorate many a visage. The collateral is vast- many a mosque carpet runs with the stains of spilled milkshake, yet the loud satisfied Haleem burps during Salaah are enough to indicate that come the end of the day, all is well.

Back To Basics

SO, im very well aware of the tremendous lag between my last post and this one...Some may blame laziness, some inconsistency, I like to think of it as premature writers block. Premature because I decided I have nothing to write before I actually tried writing it.

In all seriousness, however, I find it difficult to restrict blogposts to a specific genre, rather the one previously selected by me. Whilst I am aware that my last few posts were of a rare, amazing calibre, I prefer to broaden my horizons and experiment with different styles of writing rather than limit myself trying to always be funny... As a result, I have decided that my future blogging exploits shall now be dedicated towards experimentation with creative writing until such time I am able to maintain a certain level of humour and wit as demonstrated in my previous posts...

In all honesty, Im not sure how many people are gonna end up reading this, or how many for that matter even care, I just felt like putting my reasoning out there...
Peace

If Malawis had Twitter

As I watch my domestic worker stare at me trying to manouver out of the driveway, I wonder to myself "what on earth could he be thinking?" It made me wonder how things would look from his perspective. Imagine if he had a Twitter account and was as frequent as we are? Heres how I think an average day would look:

6:00am: Shoutout to my homeboys @Bilaal @itsThaMuazzin; what a night! wonder if the musalli found his shoes? #blameitonthelaaities

7:00am: @Thombi have you seen my broom?

7:02am: @Thombi not yours. the shitty straw broom. Nvm, i'll use the house one instead.

7:05: Its a driveway, it's meant to get dirty!!! rate i'll just hide these leaves behind the potplant...

7:30: Yusuf across the road giving me dirty looks coz I didnt return his ladder #getoverit

8:00: Sweeping the inside. With the outside broom. I'm such a rebel.

8:30: Boss is still asleep. Rate I'll start vacuuming outside his room now.

8:35: Grumpy old man. See how well I wash your dishes tonight #Muahahahaha

9:00: That awkward moment when your wiping down the kitchen counter and the sweet cupboard opens in your face. #bluedoritos #afteriftaarsnack

9:15: Missus asks me to grate the cheese and chop the vegetables. Must remember to wash hands this time.

9:17: Clean the chickens? Want me to cook supper too?

9:45: @Rahman @Rafik if only these women knew where their ilaachi goes #lmao

10:00: Switched off bathroom light while missus was inside. Need to lay low for a while.

11:00: Hellooooo? Is anybody home?

11:03: @Thombi enjoy the ironing hahahahahahahahaha

11:30: Ahhh. Caught a nap in bosses bed. Feel refreshed now #downpillows(y)

11:45: Ahhh again. That'll teach your for making me wash your bathrooms.

11:46: Almost forgot to flush. That was a close one.

12:00: Lunch time. Wonder what's in the fridge?

12:15: Tired of effing finding chicken in the ice cream tubs. Wtf with these people.

12:30: Just remembered I'm fasting. Need to save my appetite for the masjid chows.

12:45: Nice pair of sunglasses. Need a new Twitpic anyway.

12:46: @Thombi Come downstairs. Need you to take a picture of me.

13:00: Shit. Womans home. Act busy act busy.

13:15: Guess I'll clean the garage. LOLJKZ. #youcantseeme

13:30: This is boring. Should probably send please call me to girlfriend.

14:00: Where the shit is my feather duster? @Thombi stop hiding my stuff!!!

14:30: Fetching chicken fillets from downstairs. Should pass a good ten minutes.

14:40: Sent back down because I brought up Mince instead #gullibleemployers

15:00: Why won't this day end???

15:30: Forgot to do the washing. Shit. Best make sharp.

16:00: Swear this kids briefs look like a getaway car #skidmarks. #wtf

16:05: Light load of clothes today. Might as well throw my overalls in too.

16:07: @Thombi no I will not throw yours in as well

16:08: @Thombi go ahead and tell them. I know where the Panados have been going.

16:10: @Thombi that's what I thought #uzokshaya

16:30: Half an hour left. Must take time closing curtains

16:35: WTF where did that gecko come from? Will leave it inside #surpriseinyourroom

17:00: Freedom she is bliss. If I walk fast I can reach the mosque bench before the other Malawians

17:10: HAHAHA #topofthefoodchain

17:21: Almost time to break fast. Stop trying to hide your pies uncle. I've got my eyes on you.

17:23: Samoosas? Send them send them #notcomingback

19:30: Epic nap. Now for Taraweeh @ItsTheMuazzin where did you say they keep the ice cream?

21:30: Sorry uncles. No dessert for you #Paddlepopfordays

23:30: Wonder how my family is? I'll send them a please call me before I call it a night.

23:35: "Please call ALLGUD." Nice to know. Bedtime @Thombi I can hear whats in your room. Keep it down woman.

23:37 @Thombi thats not you? Jeez thats loud. Must be the kajoor. #bedtime

If Muslims were Superheroes

Recently we've seen a huge influx of superhero movies, ranging from the well known (Batman) to the previously not so famous (Green Lantern). Here's my take on what the universe would be like if Muslims decided to try their hands at being caped crusaders.

The Kaaro Knight- Although previously discussed in detail, no list would be complete without this famous crusader. Clad in black jubbahs, these men prowl the back saffs, praying on the not so innocent mischief makers with a swift vengeance. They truly believe that the rakkats are longest just before the witr. Whilst their identity remains a mystery, their presence is nontheless felt by all. Hated by many, feared by more, they're the hero every mosque needs, not the one it wants.

The Ridwaan: Narcissistic, these infidels are driven by an internal desire to both create unparalleled mischief and prove their superior intelligence to both the Kaaro Knights and the more supreme authority figure- the strict father. Whilst their influence is definitely felt, they're notoriously hard to catch. Many a hiding has been dealt out as tried and tested methods have failed, yet these kids have through many years of experimentation perfected the art of deception. Be it an audible cough or an extra loud takbeer every few rakaats to let their father think they're in the mosque, the missing topees of many a musalleeh are testament to their never ending mischief and deception.

Master Yodaseen: The old, wizened musalleeh in the first saff. Clad in his white semi see through kurta pants and brown jubbah with a high pitched wheeze to match and old, sturdy miswaak for support, these brothers are nontheless full of wisdom and advice for aspiring Knights. Frail as they may seem, come time for action and their joints are solid as ever. Strong within them, the Imaan is.

Raees Al Ghunain: Master and Commander of the League of Shahadah, this man is one to be feared. He believes in swift, merciless punishment and shall use his wooden stick  on all who stand in his way. Together with his fellow Knights, they operate from the shadows, pulling ears and giving phone calls to fathers with an unstoppable ferocity.

The Incredible Hassad: Don't make me Mutakallim, you won't like me when I'm Mutakallim. By day an ordinary, passive and calm brother, these are the men driven mad by power. Give them imtihan, Istimah or gash duty and their Dawah stretches to eternity. From extra long bhayaans to passionate duas, once these men are placed in a position of authority, they take it upon themselves to single handedly visit every mans doorstep during supper time, usually emptying their tea supplies in the process.

Tahir: Once living a life of arrogance and shirk, this was the brother chased out of his home by his father, a great muazzin. Set to roam the land in search of a way to redeem himself, he stumbled across the power of faith and now sets upon far and distant lands delivering his speeches in a barely audible accent. Armed with his mighty Hammer length beard, definite effort and sacrifice is his motto- when he speaks after Maghrib, everyone listens.

Arbee Deenyath: The famous double edged sword. These are the uncles who pretend to befriend the boys at the back of the mosque, laughing, joking and playing whilst mentally making a note to speak to Moulana after Witr. Potentially the most dangerous of all, they choose to spend their ramadaan evenings not engaging in the Taraweeh, but monitoring and finding out who the trouble makers are in order to blackmail them later on.

Captain Ashaduallah: Previously weak of faith, this man strove for nothing other than to spread goodwill. However, he was told that his imaan was not enough. However, an injection of Hidayat changed that forever, he now fearlessly leads the congregation in prayer. Be it under the ramp at cricket matches or in a shopping mall jamaat khanna- this is the man who's in charge.

Lex Luthor- This is not nerely one man, but many an entity. Devoid of facial hair, he is the man who sets to make Muslim school childrens lives hell by forcing them to shave their beards. He's also managed to stumble upon our Kryptonite- who will marry my child? Seemingly unimportant to those uninvolved, he alone realises the true potential of expulsion. He unshamedly uses his resources that are codes of conducts and blatantly ignores trivialities such as constitutional rights. Bastard.

And of course, if Superman was Muslim- he'd be Hashim Amla (<---inspired by MJ Khan)

These are but a few examples of if Muslims were Superheroes- feel free to add any other suggestions.
Peace.

The First Day of Fasting

Day one of Ramadan is always crucial- it sets the tone for the rest of the month. Basically, you more or less get an idea of what to expect other than terrible breath and an unparallelled to the second awareness of maghrib time.

Essentially, Ramadan starts from the first Taraweeh. Like the month itself, the first night is essential. You can tell just by who's at the back of the mosque exactly how your evenings will go. Of course, the natural filtration that is "the middle ten days" effectively removes those 8 rakaaters, but the uncles who devote their lives to shouting the children who run in the back row are always there from first to last. You also get the "toe ticklers" and "sandal hiders", the guy with the hoody sleeping in the back corner, the devoted BBM boys, the one youngster who tries to read but makes eye contact when you look at him and the guys with the mini atr bottle in their top pocket so that their father doesn't smell cigarettes in the car. And of course, you get the grumpy man. The one who's main focus during Taraweeh is pulling ears and calling teenagers Haraami's. Normally clad in a black Jubbah with a snow white beard to rival even Sarumans, these stealthy old men are never seen except for thirty days of Ramadan. Ever silent, ever watchful, they come as quickly as they go. Some call them guardians, others jinnats. All we know is they're not the hero every mosque wants, but the one it needs.

First Sehri and early morning breakfasts. These are generally uneventful, with no leftover savouries from the night before you're resigned to eating as much normal food as possible. Many a nation has been fed on smaller rations than the ordinary Sehri portion- one would think you were stocking up for winter. However, better safe than sorry, you think as you stuff down yet another banana. And as you snuggle into bed and prepare for the weird after Sehri dreams, you think to yourself "I'v got this".

Come Zuhr time, and you most definitely do NOT got this. You find yourself thinking about the Butter Chicken in the fridge, and last week Friday when you were too full to help finish the Adega Prawns. All the while you're constantly aware of the fact that every time you open your mouth the Ozone hole gets bigger, you try using a Miswaak but you just end up with little hairs stuck in your mouth that you don't know whether you're allowed to swallow or not, so you quietly spit them out when you think nobodies looking. You find yourself playing the waiting game- deliberately not looking at the clock so that when you eventually do, you realise how close you are to Iftaar. The seconds tick by, time seems to stand still, you look at the clock and realise its been 15 minutes. You find yourself lost, you don't know whether that email your cousin just sent you will make your fast Makrooh or not. You switch on the radio and quickly adjust the station before you hear the Shaitani Lady Gaga. However, you promptly turn it back off when you realise your only alternative is Radio Al Ansaar. Make Sabr, you say to yourself, it'll all be alright.

Maghrib time and you firmly grasp your savoury filled tupperware with both hands. The hungry brother next to you is eyeing your cheese samoosas whilst you try to ignore the rumble in your stomach. By now your restricted to speaking in one syllable words as the smell of your breath is enough to level the entire row of Musallis, but as you count the seconds down and put that first Kajoor in your mouth, you realise it was all worth it. You might have accidentally opened the fridge to get a snack or rushed out before sunnats to light up a cigarette, but you survived. Bring on day two...

My take on Shit- Week One

Ok, so im well aware that my amazing comedic introduction didn't quite tie in with my more recent emokid posts- whatever. We all have our emo days, that was how I handled mine. Moving onnnn.
Here goes my take on the first week back at college

Specialisation time, finally I see the people I'm to spend the next two and a bit years with. Unfortunately, this means breaking up the Council of Elders, ie. my previous group of people. No worries, however, this group of infidels will have to suffice.
On to our first brief (that took long didn't it?)- Stand up Comedy. Yay. Every Muslim parents dream, their son telling jokes in front of a group of scantily clad strangers. Fortunately, my rents were cool with the whole Material vibe- Great Success!
Half an hour into the bliss of Copy, the door opens and I die a bit inside. My days just got a whole lot worse. I give it two days before I lose my shit (see what I did there?). Within 30 seconds, the bane of my existance is describing how she fed bucks with her mouth. If only she'd fed a lion with her head. Anyway, claws back in, moving on...
As I watch Brendan describe how he plans to enslave us, I wonder how he has so much of energy. Maybe its those tiny portions of food?
On the whole, copy doesn't look bad. In fact, give me a shotgun with just one bullet and it'll be perfect.

Creative is back (yay :O) and we have yet another brief which I don't understand. I just pray that this semesters class isn't full of Dali's who make me look as talented as a lump of tuna, and that for once Alexa doesn't seem to hate my work. She still owes me a chocolate.
Brand Strat Lundi is once again talking about Brands- I'll get the notes from the server the week before exams, and to my utter despair we've lost Steve.
Maybe our new lecturer will also be a hairy ass bike riding alpha male?
Yeah, cough....

Digital Media with Luc. My life is complete. At least it was until half an hour into the lesson, when in the midst of me wondering what on earth this lecturer is on, the door opens and I mentally kill myself. Again. Dot dot dot. This child of satan in my lectures is gonna make me a murderer.

Copy Tuts on Thursday!!!! The most retarded group of people ever assembled? Possible. I'll be extremely surprised if I don't puncture a lung laughing.
However, even the bliss of a day without a certain someone was screwed up by that same person sticking their head into my class before making one of the dumbest statements ever uttered by a human in the history of mankind. I literally drive my head into a wall- you had to be there.

Friday yeah, and Brand Strat was ummm. amazing? yeah...
 As of tomorrow, fasting starts. So I'd like to end this post with a request for patience and understanding, should you fail to comply I shall stab you in the eye ( prays to god that someone*** fails to comply) Remember, we can't eat, drink or brush our teeth. I WILL be grumpy. That is all.
So ends my take on week one
Peace

Happiness Is...

Ok, so I'm quite aware that my last few posts have been fairly dark and emo- not really my style and I sincerely apologise. They were simply a few items I'd written during some difficult times which really made life more bearable, and I felt that I couldn't have a blog and not share those few items which truly helped me realise the power of words. Anyway, from now on I'll try my best to keep posts as lighthearted as possible. Peace.

Its so much easier to write about pain, about hurt, darkness and suffering
Its so much simpler to vent and describe every second of internal torment
Truth is, however, not every day is a dark one.
I've learned that things are only as bleak as you let them be
You'll only cry for someone if you convince yourself they're worth your tears, only be hurt by someone if you allow them to hurt you
I've learned that happiness is a state of mind, as is sorrow and anger and depression.
Why not control your emotions instead of letting them control you?
Open your window, feel the cool breeze, smell the fresh and and realise that life has way more to offer than darkness and perpetual shadow.
Every night has an equally bright day, so why bask in depression when you can savour true bliss?
For everyone who makes you cry is someone willing to comfort you, for everyone pushing you away is someone waiting with open arms. How you feel, how you live is all essentially down to you
Happiness is simply a state of mind
The best part is, you decide exactly how it affects you

The Power of Words

Words are my fix
The pen and ink are what I obsess over
They give me me the satisfaction I so badly crave
They give me that release, that escape I previously desired
With every stroke, every movement of my hand the pain decreases
Difference is, I'm not killing myself
Difference is, I'm getting stronger
The words are my friends
They embrace me, surround me, take me in their arms and protect me
So small yet so powerful, they're always there for me
No bullshit, no excuses
They can stand as an eternal tribute
They can mend the wounds, give me company through the sleepless nights
The flow of the ink cleanses me like a divine stream
It washes away the pain, the dirt inside me
Let them forever tell my story
Let them forever be by my side
Because when all is said and done, the words will still stand
And should the day come when they can no longer help me, they'll always be there to save somebody else

The Sound of Silence

The sound of silence is deafening
It's painful, unexpected
You don't dream that it can sting as much
You're deluded, easily fooled
Misled by lies, fake smiles and crossed fingers
Swept up in a wave of false euphoria and infatuation
Convinced you're right, adamant that you're happy
Ignorance truly is bliss
But when the dust settles and all is quiet, you open your eyes to the harsh reality- you're all alone.
Despite the impressions, the assumptions, you're all alone.
Despite the bonds, the sacrifices and selflessness required to maintain them, you're alone.
Despite everything you're naive mind believes, reality eventually sets in- you're alone.
Only once the good times are over do you wake up
Its a slap in the face, but a neccessary one
Because despite the bliss of ignorance, theres a find line between that and pure stupidity
And until the silence screams at you, you're too ignorant to realise how stupid you really are.

Alleys

There must be thousands of alleyways in this city
Dark alleys everywhere
In so many of them people have fought, cut each other down and placed punches and kicks to bodies that have already fallen
But what about the alleys in a person?
In a human?
In a boy?
How many times have i beat myself up?
How many times have I lain in one of those alleys, betwen building that shiver and houses that slouch, head down, doing nothing?
Tonight, however, I run through those alleys
Past wounded bodies, down grimly lit stairways, until I'm finally there
I feel it
I know it
I see myself lying there at the bottom of the deepest, darkest ally
A slight breeze wades across the floor
It whispers past the rubbish, picks up and moves along
Get up, I tell myself
Get up.
Slowly, eventually, I do.
I make myself realise that it's ok to be me, and desire reaches through me once again
I realise that there's nobody else in these alleyways to be me down or help me up
There's just me
I'm all alone

The Graveyard

Theres a graveyard in my mind and I can see my own grave, on a blue skied day with cotton white clouds and an angry, glaring sun
People pass by that grave
They speak to each other, turn and wilt under the heat of the horizon and the reality of death
I can see the fear in their eyes, feel it churning in their hearts as they build fences around what they say and believe together with what they tell the people around them
As I write, I hope to stay in this vision long enough to see a shadow emerge over my grave
No flowers, no tears
No spoken words
Just a person, remembering

The Edges of Words

I sit at the waters edge, this time writing only in my mind
I stare at my reflection and think of the edges of words, the disloyalty of life and the heartbreak I've felt
I think of the hands of friends and the howl of dogs throughout the night
There are so many moments to remember that sometimes I wonder if we're even people at all
Maybe moments are what we are?
A collection of weakness, of strength, of happiness and sadness
Of everything
I see different people every day and wonder where they've been, what the moments of their lives have done to them
If they're anything like mine, those moments have only held them up in order to shoot them down again
Sometimes i wonder how I survive
Other times, however, I stand on the roof of my very existence, arms stretched out, begging for more.
Thats when the stories find me
They find me more and more
They're made up of hunger and desire, trying to fit in, be loved and accepted
The problem is, they don't even know where to begin
We'll see i guess....

Calling

Sometimes you go to the wrong place but the right way comes and finds you
It might make you trip over it or bump into it, or it might approach you when a day is ripped apart by night and ask you to take its hand, to hold it and forget this wrong place, this illusion wherein you stand.
I think of the mess in my mind, the mess of life, and remember someone who walked through it all to stand beside me and help sort through the chaos
She made the days and nights worthwhile and the mornings worth walking up to, yet she left as suddenly as she came, sending the walls crashing down again, stronger than ever
I remember those brick walls
There are some moments when you can only stand and stare, watching the world forget you as you remove yourself from it- when you overcome its problems and cease to exist as the person you were before
It may call your name but you're already gone
You hear nothing. You see nothing.
You've gone somewhere else, you've left to find a different definition of yourself in a place wherein nothing else can touch you, nothing else can swing in on your thoughts
Its just yourself, flat against the charcoal sky for the briefest of moments
Then all of a sudden you're flat on the earth again, and once again the world doesn't recognise you.
You're name is what it always was, you look and sound like you always did, but you're not the same
So when that city begins to call your name again, it's voice only manages to scrape the edges.

Deep Breaths

My breath is made of smoke
It crouches down the moment it leaves my mouth
It drops, holds on for a moment and is finally swallowed by the air
I stand in the darkness, in perpetual shadow
My eyes feel like they glow
My body tenses, warns me, calls out to me and I prepare
I prepare to step out
To rip the shadows from the ground, to hoist the darkness, the emptiness and lonliness from the air
I look down at my hands and feet
Deep Breaths
Breathe Depths
Solemnly, I nod to myself
Take a step
Ignore the warnings
Not so far away, theres one last struggle
One last fight
I know that if I conquer it I'll be happy
I'll be free.
As I walk out and prepare to face it, i realise exactly what it is
Its fear.

Words

Let these words be footsteps, for I have a long way to travel...
Let them walk the dirty streets, line the sidewalks and make their way across the crying grass
Let them stand and breathe and smoke and pant in the cold winter evenings, and when I'm tired and have fallen down, let them buckle to their feet and arc around me, ever watchful, ever vigilant.
I want my words to be actions
Give them flesh and bones, I say to myself, give them eyes filled with hunger and desire, so that I may continue writing and they may fight with my throughout the sleepless nights...

The Second Amendment

Here goes take two...
As i stare at a blank template and wonder what i could possibly write, i laugh at the irony of the situation. Always with an opinion, always with a million different thoughts running through my mind (SERIOUSLY- life is so much more fun in my head) yet writing on demand completely blanks me out. Is this natural human conditioning, or am i hopelessly flawed? Whichever it is, it literally just took me four lines to say that i in fact have nothing to say. Literary Genius or Expert Waffler? You decide.

Opening Statement

So... this is my first post? Guess i better make this shit worth reading then.
A bit about me... im not the nerd or the jock, not the super athlete or the friend you say your going out with because your parents think he's a good influence. If anything, I'm the guy in the back of the room calling the nerd names and confusing the jocks with multi syllable words, or the one feeding the super swimmer laxatives before a big race. Im also probably the guy your parents use when threatening you (Do you wanna be like Suhail Dinat????). Don't get me wrong, I'm not an evil potential psycho killer who hates the world around him (die infidels!!!). I just feel life is too short to take anything seriously. Love me or Hate me, I'm balls to the wall batshit insane and love every minute of it, so what people think sure as shit won't change me. Welcome to the craziest, most unpredictable blog ever produced by a retarded literary genius. So get reading and enjoy!!!!!