Islamic Relief's Book Day 2011

Dear Islamic Relief South Africa

Thanks again for the opportunity to be a part of the IR Book Day. I am passionate about reading and loved the opportunity to witness the great efforts that IRSA is making to engage a love for reading with young learners especially in an organisation such as Osizweni place of help, where it seems that primary care givers are not parents necessarily and resources are stretched. Your aid and support to such courses as a team, highlight the methods taught to us as in the prophetic model.

I can only commend you and your team for the immense inspiration that I received by being present there. Bright faces filled with expectation are nothing less than looking at the glory of a clear blue sky. I feel glad that the work that is being done will fulfill these expectations and ignite the love for both reading and storytelling in children. Children have a natural capacity to dream, to wish and to fantasize. If reading helps to stretch their fresh imaginations to new limits, and then also if we are able to encourage them to write and tell their stories, I believe that we will give birth to a whole new generation of writers, storytellers from the colourful blend of cultures that we have in SA. And the idea is also to write and orate these stories from different languages other than just English.

The way I see it, IRSA's Book Day efforts have struck a match, and that spark that has been fired up in the kids hearts and minds is exactly what we need to give rise to a whole generation of new thinkers and dreamers!

With appreciation,
SH

Beautiful things; precious moments...

I've been back in Durban almost a fortnight, counting the beauty, the days of good and wondrous encounters, the love of life and the blessing of being around my maternal grandmother. I bask in the sunlight of her spirit. Sitting in her presence is a quenching for my soul. I drink on, satiated.

And then I drink more of her loveliness.

There's a varied peace in this...

I measure my life in milestones. Not timelines, but in connectivity with loved ones, proximity to them. Haji'ani Ma, my maternal grandmother, is my measure for all these things.

I have noted various stages along her life path. A strong and resolute woman, but also a fragile and lovely being. She brought up her two daughters after being widowed at the age of 39. And I was born before her 50th birthday; to her eldest daughter, her first grandchild.

The cream over her milk, as she likes to say of us grandchildren.

She will be 82 this week.

Holding her delicate body in my arms, feels like I'm hugging a dream.

I already know that a part of her is looking onward to higher places.

And a part of her remains here, with us. Counting our successes, sharing our smiles. A haze of the fantastical forever lingers. Reality beeps to the beat of our hearts. Mortality of the body overshadows immortality of spirit, being, a lifetime of dreams realised, hopes dashed, joys shared, loss made visible.

Instead of counting the days, I want to celebrate the precious moments. One at a time.

10 or so things I may impart to spawn that might be born someday

1. Read. Starting with The Tales of Peter Rabbit, of course! It will kickstart your imagination.

2. Travel. Because the world is filled with fresh oyster and it's a large percentage of water (dnt want to quote just any ol' stat so this will have to do). And water quenches many Thirsts, of course! ;)

3. Paint. Crayons on walls if you must! Draw. Sketch. Create!

4. Be. Exactly who you are! And precisely who you want to be. Even if that changes every day :)

5. Sing. Because a free voice is a free soul. Even if it's a tune to the rememberance of your Creator.

6. Believe! There is a Higher Power and each living being will construe of such in their own way. There is no other way.

7. Love. Deeply. There is NO other way.

8. Smile. It's one way to share good energy with all around you. And its the least you can do for the wonders that surround us.

9. Breathe. Everything else is a bonus! :)

10. Imagine. The possibilities are endless as the grains of sand on all the beaches of the world.

11. Visit Aunty Kay. She's cool. Really! :)

12. And I think I shan't be the one to teach them how to count to ten. Or how to colour in. Because, as you can see, I rarely stay in between the lines. Sigh.

13. Sigh. Really, because sighs of life are a form of prayer (ibaadat).

I TAG WHOEVER READS THIS AND WANTS TO GIVE IT A GO. OH? AZRA? DD? SAALS? CRIMSON? LADY H? MJ? SEHER? KILLA? DL? NIKKI? SAF? ANYBLOGGIES AND BLOGGERS :)

Touch...

The sense of touch is difficult to write about. Some things have a distinct taste about them, smell pungent or sweet or anything in between and look a certain way. Sounds can evoke emotions and cause anxiety; each of the senses can be a tool of seduction or terror. My recent interviews with a woman who spent some time in prison brought many memories out of the simple sounds of a dripping tap, the clamber of keys and the wardens footsteps.

Touch is all of these and more. It is also a new word on my nieces lips.

"Touch" she said with curiosity, when she wanted to stroke the sheep in the backyard yesterday. "Touch" she said in earnest, when she wanted to kiss my aunt's baby. "Touch" she repeated with glee just now when she sat on my lap in front of my pc because we were looking at stock images of birdiiiieeeessss :)

And with the essence of touch, we managed to groom her from whole palms treating the keyboard like the drums of a rockstar to her using one or two delicately poised fingertips on the touchpad, just after I aligned the cursor arrow on the 'next' button. She waited with her hands in the air; watched my fingers intently, and then touched the touchpad ever so lightly until the next piccie loaded.
"Hi Birdie!" she squealed each time. Giggles punctuated the delight in her voice.
And then on to the next one again.
Ooooh, I said. This one's so pretty!
"So, pwettyyyy," she giggled.
Hmm. Next up, an owl.
"WhooOooo!" she said; her eyes widening with the drama of the large eyed bird.
And then to accent her distaste:
"Tata, Whooo!" she signaled both to the imposing bird and to me.
Lol. Moving on :P

Of course, the sounds in the kitchen have distracted her and so she's tottered off in that direction. Which gives me some time to write again ;) But I miss her antics, so instead of getting back to the manuscript, I am writing a tribute to her...
And to the things that she teaches me. She's a wise little one, that. She reminds me of her mother...

When we were growing up, Dilshaad was the voice of reason to my acts of daring. She was the nurturing, caring epitome of sisterhood. And she continues to be this warm and loving soul. I guess that people touch our lives in various ways, reminding us of that innate ability that we have to heal each other with compassion. It is that same compassionate nature that we are able to dig up in the most adverse situations that remind us of an energy of humanity that extends beyond the warring and destruction around the world.

We need to be reminded.

We need to touch and be touched; to feel the tingling of our senses when we are reminded of our power to do great things. To feel the rush of energy that makes us want to be a better person and then some. To be inspired because someone believes in us; because we believe in them. And because we believe in us.

It takes a touch. A word. A care. It takes sharing. And forgiving. And loving the human in us in spite of, and because of everything that we do and are. I am touched everyday by the sheer wonder of it all.

My heart is filled and emptied and filled again.

My soul is full.

Regarding Children

A recent post at SG's Chronicles got me thinking.. about people's attitude towards and regarding children. I have a niece. She's just six months old, and everyday is a day of delight for her. A day of wonder, filled with new discovery. A few weeks ago, my dad held her up against the glass wall of an aquarium in a hotel we visited, and her eyes opened wide with shiny delight. Her glee was obvious, and most inspiring for me! I guess she's a novelty. Its the first time after some twenty three years that theres a baby in the house. And she's not all that cooey baby. She's a miniature adult. A tiny package of human being with opinions and expressions and a sense of what she will and will not eat! I remember when she was just three weeks old and my mom had to feed her a syrupy multi-vitamin called Vydalin, I think.. Baby would clamp her mouth and eyes tightly shut having pre-empted after some days, the time of the 'tortuous' regiment(I still wonder about the aweful smell and taste of that thing!) She has moods and joys to share at will. She's a whole university for us, in fact, and I think that for the first time, I really might be learning this thing called Life. But then, I also wonder often about women who abort their babies. I am a pro-lifer, and that's as pro-choice as it gets! Choose Life! And yet more about women who abandon their babies. A social worker once told me that she would often visit the hospitals and find that the count of abandoned babies were as high as two hundred (Corrie, Jhb). In fact, she adopted her son there, and relayed her first sighting of him when at three months of age, he would sooth himself with a thumb in his mouth, roll over on his tummy and use his other hand to pat himself (on his head) to sleep!

But then I also remembered my late cousin Reezana. She married at an early age to a man who abused her physically and mentally. They had a little girl. Within a short few years of the little girls birth, she was able to get a divorce. He wanted nothing to do with his daughter. She got married again to a wonderful man named Hassan. Little girl called him daddy, and I remember she was about four and she said to him, 'can I call you daddy? cos my daddy doesnt love me'.. he was wonderful to them, both mother and daughter. About two years later the three of them (and I think the nanny too) were killed in a car crash. Freak accident claimed their lives while returning from a visit to her parents. Heres the freaky coincidence: A passerby from a nearby town was called to help at the scene of the accident. My cousin and her husband were killed on impact. The little girl died in the arms of this helper. The helper, was her biological dad.

It would seem that life has its share of wheels of cause and effect. Opportunities for redemption, and some for pure damnation. We choose our paths; just not carefully enough. Reading SG's post, I thought of Khalil Gibran's treatise on children:

"Your children are not your children. They are the sons and daughters of Life's longing for itself. They come through you but not from you. And though they are with you they belong not to you.."

Google Khalil Gibran's the Prophet. Its a more than worthy read!

Here's to the infinite wisdom of lifes little flowers!

With love and magic
kimyaShafinaaz

Mommies and Babies

I chatted to another writer recently.. and she said to me.. that her writings are far too personal and she cant let it out there.. and i remembered my own thoughts on Daughters and how i stressed about puttin stuff out there.. and thoughts of a dear and published friend who had similar thoughts two years ago before her book was released and again recently when another female writer friends stuff was due to be released (in fact its been released this week!) and they all had these mixed feelings.. anxieties and what not. Like little mommies. Letting the babies out into the big bad world. Allowing the crawling child to run on ahead and make strides.. watching as these babies fall and scrape their knees only to jump back on their feet again and keep moving.. running with absolute glee and much delight! such is life and as we've heard before: work (writing) is love made visible and love is proven in the letting go :)

"rambling thoughts on being a mommy to the written product"