American Exceptionalism and “South Africa is the rape capital of the world”.

This morning, I was posting comments on a friend’s Facebook status, when suddenly every single argument I had against the objectification of women in American society were distilled down to three “rebuttals” by a so-called friend:

1. Even women in Muslim countries are objectified
2. You live in South Africa, the rape capital of the world, so don’t pretend to be ignorant
3. You are blinded to reality and have become more and more anti-American

Ah, yes. American Exceptionalism. How could I forget that the U.S. is a shining beacon of democracy, liberty, and freedom of all individuals? Oh yeah except it isn’t. Anyway, here are my responses to these three comments:

Even women in Muslim countries are objectified

Right, except we weren’t talking about Muslim countries. We were talking about the United States and the social issues therein. The entire article was discussing an issue happening right now in the U.S. So why would you even mention Muslim countries? Did I mention them? No. Did I make any sort of a statement about my religion at all? No. So why even bring it up?

You live in South Africa, the rape capital of the world, so don’t pretend to be ignorant

Here comes the arrogance again. Because I’ve lived in South Africa for 10 months, I’m now an expert on social issues here? Look, I live in a suburb. I don’t travel outside of my neighbourhood often. I interact with my husband’s family and a woman’s forum at the local mosque, and also with other parents at my daughter’s school. That is literally it.

I don’t have anywhere near enough understanding to explain to you or anyone else how to go about buying a used car in South Africa or how to choose one bank over another. My knowledge here is very limited and it will probably take me years to even get to a good outsider’s understanding of what is going on.

And yet you want me to stop and address the insanely high levels of rape in South Africa in a comment thread that is discussing objectification of young girls in America? That demand is absolutely, totally, and completely absurd, and it probably originates from the ubiquitous propaganda in America to “prove” what a great country America is.

So the levels of rape in the U.S. aren’t as high as South Africa? Whoop-dee-freaking-doo. Here, let me pin a medal on your chest that reads Thank God for Mississippi. Yep, thank God for South Africa. We don’t have to even worry about the rape of women here in America because women in South Africa have it worse.

This kind of thinking gets people nowhere. You don’t go and examine how your society is doing by comparing apples to oranges. Why don’t you instead compare your levels of rape to other “first world” countries, like Japan, France, Switzerland, Germany, Norway, New Zealand, and so forth? In fact, while you’re at it why don’t you compare maternity leave, women’s pay, mortality rates of infants and women, pollution, food waste, socialised medicine, and other markers of “civilised nations” in this post-post-modern world.

You are blinded to reality and have become more and more anti-American

This right here is why it was relatively easy for me to leave the country of my birth and start life somewhere else. There is absolutely nothing wrong with taking a critical look at your society and pointing out the issues therein. In fact, there is something completely wrong with sticking your head in the sand like a big ol’ ostrich and ignoring issues while you rant and rave about how “America is the best place to live on this planet” and other such nonsense. Yet every single time I point out the parts that needed improving, my loyalty is questioned and quite often my religion is invoked as the source of my “anti-American mentality” (as it was today).

Pointing out the truth about the issues being faced in American society is not “anti-American”. In fact, speaking out about wrongs is one of the dang freedoms we’re supposed to have according to the first amendment which guarantees us freedom of speech. It’s our duty as citizens to point out when things are going wrong, or at least that’s what I was brought up believing.

The reality of living in America today is that you are expected to be quiet about the real social problems and instead get on your computer and rant about Republicans vs. Democrats, or why Sanjaya made a mockery of American Idol, or any other expression of discontent with the Bread and Circus Corporate Machine and not with the government or society at large. I refuse to buy into such a shallow way of life so therefore I am “anti-American”. Fine, so be it.

Look, every nation on this planet has pros and cons for living there. Sure, some nations have way more cons than pros, but you can’t only point out the cons of the other and the pros of your own nation and declare that you’ve got it the best! That’s just asinine. And while I’m not going to say America is a demon or the worst nation that ever existed or blame modernity for everything, I’m also not going to be silent and pretend that America is the huge saviour the entire world needs, or blame everything on Liberals or Republicans or the price of the Dow Jones Industrial Average. And I’m certainly not going to censor what I have to say so that you can go to sleep at night with your illusions of patriotic superiority intact.

Some thoughts I had while fasting

Today I fasted for the first time in about five months.

And I realised that I forgot all the little joys and agonies of fasting.

The constant desires to eat that I usually quell with little tidbits of this and that, drinking water as if it’s nothing to even consider, feeling bored with the food that’s available around me, being constantly bombarded by advertisements for food… all of these things I experience on a daily basis and yet I don’t even notice them anymore.

I was slicing cucumber for supper with my potato peeler so the slices would be wafer thin, and as I was doing so I savoured the fragrance and moisture that filled the air with each slice. It was so seductive, tempting me. When I cut the tomatoes I could taste them in my mouth, despite the fact that they remained on the cutting board.

Later, I went to a grocery store and felt claustrophobic/overwhelmed by all the different foods that literally surrounded me to the point of confusion. I wondered if this was the height of the human experience – being surrounded by foods and pseudo-foods every single day, being able to fulfil every single craving that comes our way with just a swipe of the ol’ debit card, trading 1′s and 0′s for juice and ramen noodles.

The number of chocolate bars at the checkout alone was such a dizzying conundrum that I couldn’t even begin to try to pick one to take home with me, so I left them all there.

Beyond all of this, all of these “modern” issues that my “barbaric” religion still somehow manages to address and contain, the only emotion I feel right now is absolute awe for the One who provides all these foods to me, and the absolute ingratitude I display towards His blessings every single day.

My bad hijab habit

One of the biggest issues I have faced since getting married last year has been overcoming my laziness in regards to how I dress. Yes, I fell into the “I wear hijab now so I will be a complete slob when it comes to what I wear” trap, and I don’t think I’m alone in this regard.

While Muslimahs aren’t supposed to go around flaunting our adornments in public, I took that to the extreme of never adorning myself in private (aside from a couple of ladies functions here and there).

Of course that doesn’t mean I stopped taking care of myself hygiene-wise. I took showers and cleaned my nails and brushed and flossed my teeth, alhamdulillah. Sadly, I never even thought about this except in passing, which I think was a shock for my husband.

After a while, I started putting more effort into how I look when he’s at home. It’s almost like I became a teenager again in some ways, which is really weird a second time around. I started wearing makeup sometimes and *gasp* I even bought a curling iron and some product for my hair.

But the difference between the grown-up me learning to take care of herself and the teenage me who learned to take care of herself is the motivation. The teenage me styled her hair and wore certain clothes to get others to accept me. The grown-up, married me? She’s doing this not for anyone else’s approval but because it makes her feel more confident.

Part of that support comes from my husband, who encourages me to dress up for me and not so much for him. He likes me to adorn myself not so much because it gives him a better view, but because it gives me a better frame of mind and it makes me more confident. And who doesn’t want a more confident spouse?

gold coral and charcoal by amlisa

Miu Miu knee length pencil skirt
miumiu.com

Necklace
woolworths.co.za

Covergirl
target.com

Last month, I bought the gold top in the center of this (very amateur) polyvore collage from one of my favourite stores here in South Africa – Mr. Price. I wear it right now with my smoky topaz earrings and Shukr charcoal denim maxi skirt (which seems to be out of stock or discontinued, hence the Miu Miu skirt), but as I was putting this collage together I realised that coral tones would go great with this outfit. Which means I need to order from Mr. Price again (and go by Woolies next week to grab that necklace inshaa Allah).

If you’re worried that this blog will become polyvore dominated, don’t stress. These kinds of posts will be sporadic, as I am not the kind of woman to spend hours each day labouring over the latest fashions and planning such outfits. I also know that I am not a trendsetter, nor do I want to be. I just wanted to share this one aspect of me and my life in South Africa without posting photos of myself without being covered.

(Oh and please, if you think something else would go better with this outfit let me know….)

DIY cutlery drawer divider – and a lesson learned

When many people think about Muslim men, the first thought that crosses their minds is “oppressor”.

In my life there is one oppressor currently. Me. Yes, like that rock song from the 90′s, I really am my own worst enemy. I tell myself that I can’t do things and limit what I do in order to avoid failure. It’s a major issue of mine.

It might come as a shock to those of you who only see Muslim men on the news that it is my husband who quite frequently urges me to stop holding myself back and to embrace life. That’s exactly what happened this morning.

You see, there’s no Container Store here in Joburg. You can’t just measure your cutlery drawer, go online or to the store, pick up the dividers/containers that fit said drawer, and be done.

It’s a lot more difficult for merchants to separate people from their money here, which is both a blessing and a curse. Instead of sitting helpless, however, my husband and I devised a plan for him to build dividers made from wood and I would cover them with a durable fabric. Now keep in mind that neither of us have ever done this before…

He upheld his end of the bargain months ago. Yet I’ve postponed covering these things with fabric because, well, I’m afraid of failing and looking like an idiot. That’s not good, though, because without failure I won’t learn or move out of my comfort zone. Yes I know, it’s just a cutlery divider. It’s not a big deal in the scheme of life in most situations. The cutlery divider, however, is merely a symptom of me holding my own self back, so it is a big deal.

Anyway, after breakfast this morning we talked about the dividers. I must have gone through my usual spiel of “but I’ll fail” and he helped me to see the bigger picture of how I constantly hold myself back with this attitude. It’s true. I know that some people would see my blog on Tumblr and say “but you’re not a failure”, to which I’d explain that I never thought it would become what it is today, and the only reason it’s succeeded is because of Allah ta’ala.

The point of this is I spent a good couple of hours this morning doing something despite the fears nagging away in my head.

I started with the cutlery holder my husband made:

Boy, that looks intimidating!

I spent a lot of my time as a child watching my mother cut out patterns and sew clothing, and that’s how I approached this. I took newspaper and cut a “pattern” as best I could for the different pieces I would need. Let me tell you, I learned a lot doing this.

The first thing I learned was that it matters which side of the pattern touches the wood and which side faces away, as the first piece I cut was a mirror image of what I needed. I was upset about this at first but then I realised I had a mirror image for the piece in the danged thing anyway, so no big deal.

I then took out the Contact Adhesive and applied it. Now, for those of you who don’t know, Contact Adhesive is like rubber cement on steroids. It’s literally like playing with really thick snot.

Not that I’ve ever played with snot before….

This stuff is crazy thick, and alhamdulillah that I put newspaper down because despite its high viscosity it oozed everywhere. The challenge with the adhesive was two fold:

1. To spread it thin enough so that the fabric would adhere nicely and
2. To not get high from all the fumes it emitted

I used a piece of scrap cardboard cut into a rectangle to apply it, in case you’re wondering, although next time I might use a putty scraper.

Since the adhesive has to set for 15 minutes before affixing the fabric to it, I would spread the glue and then cut the fabric from my pattern. Now this was nowhere near an exact science, so I would wind up gluing and then cutting fabric and then pressing the fabric into place and then having to trim the edges down so that they’d be flush.

The first piece of fabric I glued on I had to rip off, as it wasn’t cut right (yes so it wasn’t quite a mirror image, shame). But that’s OK because the more I cut and glued, the more I learned.

Eventually I reached this point

It should be pretty obvious to the DIY aficionado that my technique would never make it to either Martha Stewart or Lifehacker, at least not from this attempt. But that’s OK with me, alhamdulillah. I was feeling quite giddy at this point that I had actually managed to glue fabric down without it looking totally wrong (or maybe I was feeling giddy from the fumes despite having all the windows open in the room).

Regardless, I finished. This is what the final result looks like:

Not too shabby. I’m pretty pleased with the overall look, and honestly even though it was time intensive it wasn’t expensive. And I’d do it again, especially now that I have some experience.

So there you go. Most of the time, the only thing stopping me from succeeding is myself, which is just sad, and yet empowering now that I am starting to see that my fears are often worse than reality.

Maybe I should listen to my husband more often….

Rachel Maddow’s blog featured my photo!

Sounds unbelievable, right? Oh but wait, let’s start at the very beginning. A very good place to start….

Back when I was living in the good ol’ US of A, the whole honey badger meme was extremely popular. And I think I was at the Houston Zoo with my friends Amanda and Anwar when Anwar loaded up the video and made us watch it.

It was hilarious, almost as funny as when I saw the owls and said “Ulloo!” to Amanda’s husband. (I know that’s extremely juvenile but I couldn’t help but take advantage of the situation to call a Desi an Ulloo.) And it was certainly more funny than when the Carousel Police refused to let Amanda and I ride side-saddle on the horses. (Lesson learned: always wear pants underneath your abaya/skirt, just in case there’s a merry-go-round.)

So anyway, fast forward to yesterday. I posted a photo of my husband’s honey on Facebook so I could tag Amanda and we could get a few LOL’s out of it:

The thing is, I forgot that Amanda is a huge social media guru. So when I woke up this morning, Amanda had posted this link. Apparently, Maddow is in on the honey badger meme as well, and when Amanda had tweeted a link of the picture to Maddow’s twitter account, they featured it!

I’m totally freaking out. Maddow’s blog posted MY photo? Eeeee-yo. Alhamdulillah. I’m like, basking in ten seconds of Facebook/Tumblr fame.

OK, back to ordinary life now.

Learn South African English: Burka

In South Africa (among Muslims at least) the word “burka” does not refer to the usually blue face-grill covering worn in Afghanistan. In fact, it doesn’t even refer to a face covering at all.

image copyright Orrling

Instead, the term burka is used to describe a certain style of hijab referred to in other parts of the world as either a one-piece al Amira or a khimaar. It’s a simple style of hijab that is simply pulled over the head and voila – the wearer is ready to go.

The diversity of chip (crisp) flavours here never fails to astound me…