Saturday, February 07, 2004
Wednesday 4/2
I woke up early, 7:30 in the morning. The kids are asleep and the apartment is quiet. The whole building is quiet, I looked out the window. The street outside is emmmmmmpty. So I had a cup of tea and I put on heavy winter clothing and decided to go outside for a walk. The corner store had just opened its door, I bought two local newspapers from them. I continued to walk. The streets are empty and the houses are closed. Not even one taxi car in the horizons. I thought to myself, this must be due to the eid holidays, life will return to these streets at the end of the holidays. I used to live here in 1985, then we moved to a different house before we moved back to Baghdad. As I walked down the street, I felt that there were secrets and memories being exchanged between myself and this street. I walked by a villa, I used to be friends with the people that used to live there. Their kids were very rowdy. They would climb up the electrical poles like monkeys and hit the little cats with cruelty. Their mother was very elegant and wouldn’t pay too much attention to her kids. She lived in her own private world. She was beautiful, blond, blue eyes. I used to love her even though I thought that there was something naïve and careless about her. Maybe she was a bit dump. I don’t know, I haven’t diagnosed her till now. But she was nice and didn’t bother anybody. I don’t think she was the kind that would envy other people. She wasn’t capable of that. These are other types of people that are capable of that. Her husband worked in the stock market, or something like that. He bought the house after making a profitable business deal. Then I found out that he had to sell the house when he lost money in a different business deal. It has been years since I passed this house, I felt sad about what happened to this family after they moved to an apartment in a far away neighborhood. There had to be a sin in their lives that they paid for later on. Besides the house, there is an empty piece of land that is empty still. The kids used to play there on their bikes. In the summer the water melon seller comes and builds a shack to sell water melons. The Shack becomes busy with all the people buying water melons. Does this still happen in the summer? I can remember this scene from the past, We used to live in this house, here, in the house of Abu Hassan. They lived on the ground floor and we lived on the first floor. And this is the balcony. I used to sit there sad. I was pregnant in the last months with Majid. I used to feel great home sickness, I felt that I needed my mother, my sister to be with me during the birth. The war in Iarq prevented them coming to Amman. The travel laws were strict and strongly enforced. I used to watch my neighbor in the building across the streets, she was pregnant too. She gave birth before me. Her mother came to stay with her. One day her mother was standing on the balcony hanging washed baby clothes. I started crying, I was jealous? Maybe sadness. At that moment I realized how dear my mother is to me. My neighbors mother, Um Hassan, was a good natured woman, she would always say: “don’t be sad, in the absence of your family we are your family here”. I would smile and thank her. But my sadness and homesickness would increase. I now wonder how I endured those cruel years? To be away from home is hell. Even though I had my own family, a job, a good income and a compassionate servant, it didn’t compensate me. I would miss the Tigris river. I remember the poem of Al Jawahiri (O! good Tigris…I become separated from you hatefully every once in a while). Amman has no flowing water source. There is no water that people can stare at and contemplate. It makes people happy, staring at a river. They feel a certain familiarity with a water body. As I walked by the house, I wanted to knock of the door. The door of Um Hassan, but then I hesitated. It is early in the morning. I can imagine them opening the door, rubbing their eyes and me standing there like a fool explaining. I am Um Raed, your neighbor from 500 year ago. They would say who is this retard. So I cancelled the idea.
[translator notes: In Arabic culture it is customary to call a person by the name of their eldest son, Um Raed mean mother of Raed. Abu Hassan mean father of Hassan …etc
Translation provided by www.ihath.com]
I woke up early, 7:30 in the morning. The kids are asleep and the apartment is quiet. The whole building is quiet, I looked out the window. The street outside is emmmmmmpty. So I had a cup of tea and I put on heavy winter clothing and decided to go outside for a walk. The corner store had just opened its door, I bought two local newspapers from them. I continued to walk. The streets are empty and the houses are closed. Not even one taxi car in the horizons. I thought to myself, this must be due to the eid holidays, life will return to these streets at the end of the holidays. I used to live here in 1985, then we moved to a different house before we moved back to Baghdad. As I walked down the street, I felt that there were secrets and memories being exchanged between myself and this street. I walked by a villa, I used to be friends with the people that used to live there. Their kids were very rowdy. They would climb up the electrical poles like monkeys and hit the little cats with cruelty. Their mother was very elegant and wouldn’t pay too much attention to her kids. She lived in her own private world. She was beautiful, blond, blue eyes. I used to love her even though I thought that there was something naïve and careless about her. Maybe she was a bit dump. I don’t know, I haven’t diagnosed her till now. But she was nice and didn’t bother anybody. I don’t think she was the kind that would envy other people. She wasn’t capable of that. These are other types of people that are capable of that. Her husband worked in the stock market, or something like that. He bought the house after making a profitable business deal. Then I found out that he had to sell the house when he lost money in a different business deal. It has been years since I passed this house, I felt sad about what happened to this family after they moved to an apartment in a far away neighborhood. There had to be a sin in their lives that they paid for later on. Besides the house, there is an empty piece of land that is empty still. The kids used to play there on their bikes. In the summer the water melon seller comes and builds a shack to sell water melons. The Shack becomes busy with all the people buying water melons. Does this still happen in the summer? I can remember this scene from the past, We used to live in this house, here, in the house of Abu Hassan. They lived on the ground floor and we lived on the first floor. And this is the balcony. I used to sit there sad. I was pregnant in the last months with Majid. I used to feel great home sickness, I felt that I needed my mother, my sister to be with me during the birth. The war in Iarq prevented them coming to Amman. The travel laws were strict and strongly enforced. I used to watch my neighbor in the building across the streets, she was pregnant too. She gave birth before me. Her mother came to stay with her. One day her mother was standing on the balcony hanging washed baby clothes. I started crying, I was jealous? Maybe sadness. At that moment I realized how dear my mother is to me. My neighbors mother, Um Hassan, was a good natured woman, she would always say: “don’t be sad, in the absence of your family we are your family here”. I would smile and thank her. But my sadness and homesickness would increase. I now wonder how I endured those cruel years? To be away from home is hell. Even though I had my own family, a job, a good income and a compassionate servant, it didn’t compensate me. I would miss the Tigris river. I remember the poem of Al Jawahiri (O! good Tigris…I become separated from you hatefully every once in a while). Amman has no flowing water source. There is no water that people can stare at and contemplate. It makes people happy, staring at a river. They feel a certain familiarity with a water body. As I walked by the house, I wanted to knock of the door. The door of Um Hassan, but then I hesitated. It is early in the morning. I can imagine them opening the door, rubbing their eyes and me standing there like a fool explaining. I am Um Raed, your neighbor from 500 year ago. They would say who is this retard. So I cancelled the idea.
[translator notes: In Arabic culture it is customary to call a person by the name of their eldest son, Um Raed mean mother of Raed. Abu Hassan mean father of Hassan …etc
Translation provided by www.ihath.com]
# posted by Faiza Al-Araji @ 11:07 am 
Friday, February 06, 2004
مرحبا
ما زلت أنتظر ترجمة المقالة 4/2
من رفربند أو الين ..
وها أنا أنتظر متبرعة أخرى لترجمة ما أنزلته اليوم
أحب أن يكون الطاقم كله نسائي
لماذا؟
لأننا , نحن النساء لنا لغة سرية مشتركة,نحب أن نتعامل من خلالها
لا أريد أن يغضب القراء أو المتطوعين من الرجال
فهذا لا يقلل من احترامي وتقديري لهم
فائزة
ما زلت أنتظر ترجمة المقالة 4/2
من رفربند أو الين ..
وها أنا أنتظر متبرعة أخرى لترجمة ما أنزلته اليوم
أحب أن يكون الطاقم كله نسائي
لماذا؟
لأننا , نحن النساء لنا لغة سرية مشتركة,نحب أن نتعامل من خلالها
لا أريد أن يغضب القراء أو المتطوعين من الرجال
فهذا لا يقلل من احترامي وتقديري لهم
فائزة
# posted by Faiza Al-Araji @ 4:28 pm
الجمعة 6/2
ما زلت في عمان... خالد وماجد رجعوا الى بغداد لمتابعة بعض الأمور الدراسية..الدوام لم يبدأ بعد.
رائد بقي معي..اليوم عيد ميلاده ..سنعمل له حفلة صغيرة في بيت خالته...وتحيط به بنات خالته الصغيرات المشاكسات اللواتي يقضين النهار في الصراخ والمجادلات بينهن ...وأنا ورائد نفتح أفواهنا دهشة من هذا الجيل الجديد ..وربما رائد يخاف أن يتورط معهن في حوار...فيهجمن عليه ليأكلنه..
رائد سيبلغ السادسة والعشرين من عمره...أتمنى له العمر الطويل المليء بالعمل المفيد لنفسه ولغيره..
أتذكر نفسي عندما كنت في عمره ..كنت متزوجة وعندي رائد وعلى وشك أن يأتي خالد..وكنت أعمل ...وأنهمك مع زوجي في شؤون تخص العائلة وتفاصيل حياتها....يعني لم أكن أعيش مرحلة قلق الشباب ..كانت مرحلة قلق من نوع آخر ..أقل أذى من قلق هذه المرحلة..كيف أكون وماذا سأكون؟
وبمناسبة عيد ميلاد رائد ..فأنا سأتلقى السؤال المحرج ..إذن كم عمرك الآن ؟..وابتسم وأخفي إنزعاجي .
لماذا ننزعج من هذا السؤال ؟
لأن الآخرين ينتقدون أي تصرف لا يعجبهم ..وسيقولون ..لماذا تفعلين هذا الشيء ؟...كم عمرك؟
وطبعا أنا لا أقصد الحماقات فهي مرفوضة في أي عمر كان ..ولكني أقصد الطموحات ..كل الطموحات التي تم تأجيلها من أجل ألأولاد والعائلة والظروف وأنت شابة صغيرة السن ...بعد أن يكبر الأولاد تشعري أنك تحررت من عبأ ثقيل , آن الأوان حتى ترتاحي وتري حياتك وما فاتك منها ..فتطلع معزوفة العمر ...ماذا تريدين ..فات الأوان ..أنت في الأربعين أو تجاوزت حدوده بسنوات....مخلوقات غبية محبطة !
****
خرجت للتسوق , اشتريت لرائد هدية عيد ميلاده وكعكة فراولة مع الكريمة..تبدو لذيذة..ونادت علي البائعة لتعرض العطور بأسعار مخفضة..قلت لها سأعطيك فرصة للشرح لكن لا مزاج عندي لشراء عطر جديد..عندي عطور كثيرة ولا أحب المغامرة بنوع جديد يجعلني أعطس طوال الوقت,, وقفت تشرح عن كل عطر , وكيف سيجعلك في أجواء تختلف عن الآخر ...كل واحد له مقدمة وأفكار عنه..في البداية استسخفت الموضوع لكني أصغيت لها وتخيلت نفسي أشرح للزبائن عن أهمية وجود جهاز تصفية أو تعقيم للماء في المنزل...هذه البنت تبذل مجهودا لاقناعي ...حييت فيها الجهد والروح المثابرة لكسب الزبون واقناعه فقررت أن أشتري !
والآن أتساءل مع نفسي هل هذا ما يحدث معي حقا في المحل ؟ هل أبيع لأن الزبائن يشفقون علي ؟ هذه كارثة !
المهم ...اشتريت عطرا برائحة الفواكه ...وهو لطيف ويستعمل في كل الأوقات والفصول ...
بعد عودتي للبيت وجدت رائد عنده ضيف , عرفني عليه , وهو أمريكي يعمل في الصحافة المعارضة للحرب على العراق . وهو في عمان منذ يومين ويريد الذهاب الى بغداد للكتابة عن بعض الشركات الأمريكية وحقيقة عملها في العراق . وهو لا يعرف الكلام بالعربي ومعه فلوس ويخشى أن يتعرض للسرقة..
اتفق معه رائد أن يأخذ جزءا من فلوسه هنا ثم نسلمها له في بغداد ,ثم حجز له مع مجموعة ركاب عراقيين في سيارة واحدة وهذا أفضل من السفر لوحده...سيسافر في المساء ,أما الآن فهو سيتناول الغداء معنا..عند الجيران
حيث نحن مدعوين منذ الأمس .
*****
أفكر دائما حين أجد أجنبيا ...ربما يخاف منا , ويظن أننا سنغدر به أو نؤذيه . لكننا نشفق عليه ونهتم به ونحيطه بالرعاية حتى يعود لأهله. وعندما يتأذى واحد من الأجانب الذين نعرفهم من خلال المنظمات ,يركض الجميع ويسانده , ليس لأننا عملاء لأمريكا , لكنه موضوع انساني , وهذا الشخص لا ذنب له فيما يحصل . تماما مثلنا لا ذنب لنا ...
استلمت سؤالا من مجموعة فتيات يكتبن تقريرا عن الحرب في العراق..كيف تنظرون لعوائل الأمريكيين المتورطين في الحرب عندكم ؟ أنا أنظر اليهم انهم ضحايا مثلنا يدفعون ثمن فاتورة لحساب مستثمرين يكسبون الكثير..ونحن الخاسرون ..نحن الشعوب .
لا أنظر للموضوع كما يقول بن لادن ..قاعدة الحكومات شعوب تؤيد الحروب والظلم , فلذلك يتجه بالعنف والقتل نحو القاعدة ...يعني الشعوب . وأنا أراها رؤيا غبية عدوانية لا واقعية .
فحرب فيتنام مثلا توقفت بسبب ضغط الشعب القاعدة على الحكومات ...وكذلك نأمل أن يحدث لوقف الحرب ضد العراق ...يعني سبيلنا ومساعدنا هو الشعب الأمريكي نفسه وهو ليس عدونا الذي يستحق ضربه وقتله.
لكن حتى المتعاطفين معنا , عندهم رؤيا تختلف عما نراه ...عندنا مثل يقول أهل مكة أدرى بشعابها...
وهذا يعني ان المخلصين والوطنيين العراقيين يملكون رؤيا مستقلة تناسب بلدهم ..وتاريخ شعبه ومزاجهم ..وهذا يساعدهم على اعداد قيادة من الشعب تنفذ البرنامج الذي يناسب ويفيد.. من كثرة آلامنا ما عدنا نثق بأحزاب , الله وحده يعلم من يمولها ويوجهها ...
نريد حياة حرة كريمة ..فيها عدالة وفيها حقوق مضمونة لكل مواطن وكذلك الحرية ..الحرية الواعية الناضجة التي تحترم ولا تعتدي...
لا نريد أفكارا مستوردة وتجارب غربية تطبق هنا..لا يمكنك زراعة الفراولة في الصحراء...تريد أجواء مناسبة
حتى تعيش وتنمو.. وأين هي أجواء الديمقراطية الغربية ؟...لكل مكان أجواؤه الخاصة ..نحترمها ونأخذها بنظر الأعتبار حتى لا نطلع مغفلين .,ونعرض انفسنا للنقد والأستهزاء من المعارضة المسالمة , أو العنف والقتل من معارضة لها مقاييس أخرى في فهم وحل الأمور بطريقة بالغة الحكمة , لا تترك وراءها سوى مزيد من الضحايا ومزيد من الملفات المعقدة بلا حلول في الأفق ....
****
ما زلت في عمان... خالد وماجد رجعوا الى بغداد لمتابعة بعض الأمور الدراسية..الدوام لم يبدأ بعد.
رائد بقي معي..اليوم عيد ميلاده ..سنعمل له حفلة صغيرة في بيت خالته...وتحيط به بنات خالته الصغيرات المشاكسات اللواتي يقضين النهار في الصراخ والمجادلات بينهن ...وأنا ورائد نفتح أفواهنا دهشة من هذا الجيل الجديد ..وربما رائد يخاف أن يتورط معهن في حوار...فيهجمن عليه ليأكلنه..
رائد سيبلغ السادسة والعشرين من عمره...أتمنى له العمر الطويل المليء بالعمل المفيد لنفسه ولغيره..
أتذكر نفسي عندما كنت في عمره ..كنت متزوجة وعندي رائد وعلى وشك أن يأتي خالد..وكنت أعمل ...وأنهمك مع زوجي في شؤون تخص العائلة وتفاصيل حياتها....يعني لم أكن أعيش مرحلة قلق الشباب ..كانت مرحلة قلق من نوع آخر ..أقل أذى من قلق هذه المرحلة..كيف أكون وماذا سأكون؟
وبمناسبة عيد ميلاد رائد ..فأنا سأتلقى السؤال المحرج ..إذن كم عمرك الآن ؟..وابتسم وأخفي إنزعاجي .
لماذا ننزعج من هذا السؤال ؟
لأن الآخرين ينتقدون أي تصرف لا يعجبهم ..وسيقولون ..لماذا تفعلين هذا الشيء ؟...كم عمرك؟
وطبعا أنا لا أقصد الحماقات فهي مرفوضة في أي عمر كان ..ولكني أقصد الطموحات ..كل الطموحات التي تم تأجيلها من أجل ألأولاد والعائلة والظروف وأنت شابة صغيرة السن ...بعد أن يكبر الأولاد تشعري أنك تحررت من عبأ ثقيل , آن الأوان حتى ترتاحي وتري حياتك وما فاتك منها ..فتطلع معزوفة العمر ...ماذا تريدين ..فات الأوان ..أنت في الأربعين أو تجاوزت حدوده بسنوات....مخلوقات غبية محبطة !
****
خرجت للتسوق , اشتريت لرائد هدية عيد ميلاده وكعكة فراولة مع الكريمة..تبدو لذيذة..ونادت علي البائعة لتعرض العطور بأسعار مخفضة..قلت لها سأعطيك فرصة للشرح لكن لا مزاج عندي لشراء عطر جديد..عندي عطور كثيرة ولا أحب المغامرة بنوع جديد يجعلني أعطس طوال الوقت,, وقفت تشرح عن كل عطر , وكيف سيجعلك في أجواء تختلف عن الآخر ...كل واحد له مقدمة وأفكار عنه..في البداية استسخفت الموضوع لكني أصغيت لها وتخيلت نفسي أشرح للزبائن عن أهمية وجود جهاز تصفية أو تعقيم للماء في المنزل...هذه البنت تبذل مجهودا لاقناعي ...حييت فيها الجهد والروح المثابرة لكسب الزبون واقناعه فقررت أن أشتري !
والآن أتساءل مع نفسي هل هذا ما يحدث معي حقا في المحل ؟ هل أبيع لأن الزبائن يشفقون علي ؟ هذه كارثة !
المهم ...اشتريت عطرا برائحة الفواكه ...وهو لطيف ويستعمل في كل الأوقات والفصول ...
بعد عودتي للبيت وجدت رائد عنده ضيف , عرفني عليه , وهو أمريكي يعمل في الصحافة المعارضة للحرب على العراق . وهو في عمان منذ يومين ويريد الذهاب الى بغداد للكتابة عن بعض الشركات الأمريكية وحقيقة عملها في العراق . وهو لا يعرف الكلام بالعربي ومعه فلوس ويخشى أن يتعرض للسرقة..
اتفق معه رائد أن يأخذ جزءا من فلوسه هنا ثم نسلمها له في بغداد ,ثم حجز له مع مجموعة ركاب عراقيين في سيارة واحدة وهذا أفضل من السفر لوحده...سيسافر في المساء ,أما الآن فهو سيتناول الغداء معنا..عند الجيران
حيث نحن مدعوين منذ الأمس .
*****
أفكر دائما حين أجد أجنبيا ...ربما يخاف منا , ويظن أننا سنغدر به أو نؤذيه . لكننا نشفق عليه ونهتم به ونحيطه بالرعاية حتى يعود لأهله. وعندما يتأذى واحد من الأجانب الذين نعرفهم من خلال المنظمات ,يركض الجميع ويسانده , ليس لأننا عملاء لأمريكا , لكنه موضوع انساني , وهذا الشخص لا ذنب له فيما يحصل . تماما مثلنا لا ذنب لنا ...
استلمت سؤالا من مجموعة فتيات يكتبن تقريرا عن الحرب في العراق..كيف تنظرون لعوائل الأمريكيين المتورطين في الحرب عندكم ؟ أنا أنظر اليهم انهم ضحايا مثلنا يدفعون ثمن فاتورة لحساب مستثمرين يكسبون الكثير..ونحن الخاسرون ..نحن الشعوب .
لا أنظر للموضوع كما يقول بن لادن ..قاعدة الحكومات شعوب تؤيد الحروب والظلم , فلذلك يتجه بالعنف والقتل نحو القاعدة ...يعني الشعوب . وأنا أراها رؤيا غبية عدوانية لا واقعية .
فحرب فيتنام مثلا توقفت بسبب ضغط الشعب القاعدة على الحكومات ...وكذلك نأمل أن يحدث لوقف الحرب ضد العراق ...يعني سبيلنا ومساعدنا هو الشعب الأمريكي نفسه وهو ليس عدونا الذي يستحق ضربه وقتله.
لكن حتى المتعاطفين معنا , عندهم رؤيا تختلف عما نراه ...عندنا مثل يقول أهل مكة أدرى بشعابها...
وهذا يعني ان المخلصين والوطنيين العراقيين يملكون رؤيا مستقلة تناسب بلدهم ..وتاريخ شعبه ومزاجهم ..وهذا يساعدهم على اعداد قيادة من الشعب تنفذ البرنامج الذي يناسب ويفيد.. من كثرة آلامنا ما عدنا نثق بأحزاب , الله وحده يعلم من يمولها ويوجهها ...
نريد حياة حرة كريمة ..فيها عدالة وفيها حقوق مضمونة لكل مواطن وكذلك الحرية ..الحرية الواعية الناضجة التي تحترم ولا تعتدي...
لا نريد أفكارا مستوردة وتجارب غربية تطبق هنا..لا يمكنك زراعة الفراولة في الصحراء...تريد أجواء مناسبة
حتى تعيش وتنمو.. وأين هي أجواء الديمقراطية الغربية ؟...لكل مكان أجواؤه الخاصة ..نحترمها ونأخذها بنظر الأعتبار حتى لا نطلع مغفلين .,ونعرض انفسنا للنقد والأستهزاء من المعارضة المسالمة , أو العنف والقتل من معارضة لها مقاييس أخرى في فهم وحل الأمور بطريقة بالغة الحكمة , لا تترك وراءها سوى مزيد من الضحايا ومزيد من الملفات المعقدة بلا حلول في الأفق ....
****
# posted by Faiza Al-Araji @ 4:26 pm
Thursday, February 05, 2004
Tuesday 3/2
We are now in Amman. It is cold and cloudy and the city is sinking in a kind of hibernation. The
streets are almost empty and the houses are closed. There are no kids playing in the streets as is
customary during the summer months. I haven’t even seen any people, except for the taxi drivers.
Where are all the people? I keep asking myself. In the summer Amman becomes busy with people, both
local and others from neighboring countries. All the hotels become almost full, the streets become
busy with cars. The cars with foreign license plates exceed those that are local. I would see
young women and men walking energetically. I am always so happy to see them, I wish them a beautiful
future. Amman is a small, beautiful and clean city. However it looks more like a small village
compared to Baghdad, from the point of view of the area and the population. It has a very distinct and
beautiful architectural nature. Sometimes it seems to me that if I close my eyes and open them
again that I would find myself in a European city, I think that because of all the advertisements
that are sprinkled all over the city. The commercial stores, the way they display their merchandise,
the streets and the traffic lights all remind me of European cities. Baghdad has an ancient feel
to it, it still has the style of an Arabic city, whereas I feel that Amman is losing some of that
Arab identity and heading towards a western influence. Especially now with all the American chain
restaurants. Like McDonalds, Kentucky and Boston, there are also advertisements for night clubs,
casinos and billiard salons. This doesn’t sadden me too much, Amman was never the capital city of
Al-Rasheed (fifth Abbasid caliph, arab ruler, eighth century, Baghdad was the capital city). Now it
is becoming a European city. On the other hand, I would be very sad if this happened to Baghdad. I
don’t know, I think it would become foreign to its own people. I am not against progress, the
opposite I am for it. But, I believe in progress while maintaining our unique identity. When I lived
in Amman in the late seventies and the eighties, It was more like a small village. Now it is
crowded with signs and advertisement by big companies that seem bigger than the cities capacity. Amman
is like a girl from a humble family that is trying to dress up and pretend that she is from a
higher class than her own. I love simplicity…nothing more beautiful than simplicity to face life with.
****
My sister is temporarily living in Amman, as a result of the war conditions. She keeps complaining
about homesickness. I tell her to be patient, this is a temporary stage. I hope that she and her
husband and daughters go back to Baghdad soon when things are calmer in Baghdad. Her friends came
over and asked me how are things in Baghdad? I laughed and said, perhaps better than here. Here you
have quiet and boredom. There we have American helicopters, with their buzzing sounds filling our
days with fun and excitement. At night we get the fighting jets piercing the quiet of the night. I
don’t know what these pilots are looking for, perhaps just having fun so that the engine of their
jets wouldn’t rust. Our sleep is worried, does he know? Does it matter to him at all. And then the
sudden explosions that shake the windows of the house. I usually jump from my place when these
happen. Despite all this I miss Baghdad and I hope to return soon. But then there is this reasonable
voice inside my head that says, be patient and enjoy your vacation, don’t go back too quickly you
will regret it. So I listen to the reasonable voice and wait, until it is time to go back.
****
I will try to go to the city center to look for new or old books. I will look for museums and
galleries. I am wasting time because I miss this quiet and emptiness. When I am in Baghdad I am always
nervous especially when I see a convoy of the American military machine. Their sight is
confrontational and it ruins my mood. Here is Amman it is too quiet. This quiet is also confrontational. I
love movement and energy. That is life. Life is a beautiful gift from the creator
[traslation by www.ihath.com]
We are now in Amman. It is cold and cloudy and the city is sinking in a kind of hibernation. The
streets are almost empty and the houses are closed. There are no kids playing in the streets as is
customary during the summer months. I haven’t even seen any people, except for the taxi drivers.
Where are all the people? I keep asking myself. In the summer Amman becomes busy with people, both
local and others from neighboring countries. All the hotels become almost full, the streets become
busy with cars. The cars with foreign license plates exceed those that are local. I would see
young women and men walking energetically. I am always so happy to see them, I wish them a beautiful
future. Amman is a small, beautiful and clean city. However it looks more like a small village
compared to Baghdad, from the point of view of the area and the population. It has a very distinct and
beautiful architectural nature. Sometimes it seems to me that if I close my eyes and open them
again that I would find myself in a European city, I think that because of all the advertisements
that are sprinkled all over the city. The commercial stores, the way they display their merchandise,
the streets and the traffic lights all remind me of European cities. Baghdad has an ancient feel
to it, it still has the style of an Arabic city, whereas I feel that Amman is losing some of that
Arab identity and heading towards a western influence. Especially now with all the American chain
restaurants. Like McDonalds, Kentucky and Boston, there are also advertisements for night clubs,
casinos and billiard salons. This doesn’t sadden me too much, Amman was never the capital city of
Al-Rasheed (fifth Abbasid caliph, arab ruler, eighth century, Baghdad was the capital city). Now it
is becoming a European city. On the other hand, I would be very sad if this happened to Baghdad. I
don’t know, I think it would become foreign to its own people. I am not against progress, the
opposite I am for it. But, I believe in progress while maintaining our unique identity. When I lived
in Amman in the late seventies and the eighties, It was more like a small village. Now it is
crowded with signs and advertisement by big companies that seem bigger than the cities capacity. Amman
is like a girl from a humble family that is trying to dress up and pretend that she is from a
higher class than her own. I love simplicity…nothing more beautiful than simplicity to face life with.
****
My sister is temporarily living in Amman, as a result of the war conditions. She keeps complaining
about homesickness. I tell her to be patient, this is a temporary stage. I hope that she and her
husband and daughters go back to Baghdad soon when things are calmer in Baghdad. Her friends came
over and asked me how are things in Baghdad? I laughed and said, perhaps better than here. Here you
have quiet and boredom. There we have American helicopters, with their buzzing sounds filling our
days with fun and excitement. At night we get the fighting jets piercing the quiet of the night. I
don’t know what these pilots are looking for, perhaps just having fun so that the engine of their
jets wouldn’t rust. Our sleep is worried, does he know? Does it matter to him at all. And then the
sudden explosions that shake the windows of the house. I usually jump from my place when these
happen. Despite all this I miss Baghdad and I hope to return soon. But then there is this reasonable
voice inside my head that says, be patient and enjoy your vacation, don’t go back too quickly you
will regret it. So I listen to the reasonable voice and wait, until it is time to go back.
****
I will try to go to the city center to look for new or old books. I will look for museums and
galleries. I am wasting time because I miss this quiet and emptiness. When I am in Baghdad I am always
nervous especially when I see a convoy of the American military machine. Their sight is
confrontational and it ruins my mood. Here is Amman it is too quiet. This quiet is also confrontational. I
love movement and energy. That is life. Life is a beautiful gift from the creator
[traslation by www.ihath.com]
# posted by Faiza Al-Araji @ 12:52 pm
Wednesday, February 04, 2004
الى صديقاتي المتبرعات بالترجمه..
ألعزيزه ايلين: اذاممكن ترجمة المقاله بتاريخ 3/2
العزيزه رفر بند:اذا ممكن ترجمة المقال 4/2
مع جزيل الشكر و الإمتنان...
ألعزيزه ايلين: اذاممكن ترجمة المقاله بتاريخ 3/2
العزيزه رفر بند:اذا ممكن ترجمة المقال 4/2
مع جزيل الشكر و الإمتنان...
# posted by Faiza Al-Araji @ 8:25 pm
الأربعاء 4/2
صحوت باكرا ..السابعة والنصف..الأولاد نائمون , الشقة هادئة , العمارة هادئة , نظرت من النافذة , الشارع هاديء فارررررغ .شربت كوبا من الشاي ولبست ملابس شتوية ثقيلة ونزلت أتمشى ...كان محل البقالة المجاور يفتح أبوابه للتو ,اشتريت صحيفتين محليتين ...وأكملت مسيرتي..الشوارع فارغة والبيوت مغلقة ..وليس ثمة سيارة تاكسي تلوح في الأفق ...قلت لنفسي هذا بسبب عطلة العيد ..ربما تعود الحياة غدا بنهاية العطلة .
كنت أسكن هنا في عام 1985 ثم انتقلنا الى بيت آخر قبل أن نعود لبغداد...
تمشيت في الشارع أحسست أن ثمة أسرار وذكريات بيني وبينه ...مررت بجانب فيللا كان أصحابها أصدقاء وجيران ...وأولادهم جدا أشقياء ..يتسلقون أعمدة الكهرباء مثل القرود ويضربون القطط الصغيرة بغباء وقسوة ..وكانت أمهم دائمة الأناقة ولا تبالي بهم ..تعيش عالما خاصا بعيدا ..كانت جميلة شقراء وعينيها زرقاوين ..وكنت أحبها وأظن أن فيها شيء من السذاجة أو اللامبالاة تجاه الأمور أو ربما بلهاء ...لا أدري لم أقدر لحد الآن على تشخيصها ..لكنها مسالمة جدا لا تؤذي ...ولا أظنها تحسد أو تغار ..ليست ممن يقدرون على هذه الصفات ...هذه لها أصناف أخرى من البشر ...
زوجها يشتغل في البورصة أو شيء مشايه ...اشترى البيت حين ربح صفقة في يوم ما ...ثم عرفت لاحقا انه باعه عندما خسر في صفقة أخرى ...بعد عدة سنين ..
اليوم مررت أمام البيت وحزنت على مصير العائلة بعد أن انتقلوا للسكن في شقة للإيجار في حي بعيد ...ثمة خطأ في حياتهم دفعوا ثمنه لاحقا ...
وبجانب البيت ثمة ساحة فارغة ..ما زالت فارغة اليوم ..كان يلعب بها الأولاد على الدراجات الهوائية ..وفي الصيف يأتي بائع البطيخ ويعمل فيها عريش ...وتزدحم بزبائنه ..ترى هل ما زال يحدث هذا في الصيف ؟
تبدو الآن ..كأنني أتذكر الآية ...(خاوية على عروشها...)
هذا بيتنا ..كنا نسكن هنا في بيت أبو حسن ...هم في الطابق الأرضي ونحن في الطابق الأول ...وهذه الفرندة ..أتذكر وأنا أجلس هنا وأنا حزينة ..وحامل في الشهور الأخيرة قبل أن يولد ماجد ...
كنت أحس بوحشة شديدة ومحتاجة لأمي أو أختي لتحضر ولادتي ...لكن حربا في العراق تعيق قدومها الى عمان ...قوانين السفر صارمة ومشددة .
وكنت أراقب جارتي الحامل في العمارة المقابلة ...ثم ولدت قبلي ..وجاءت عندها أمها ووقفت على البلكون تنشر غسيل البيبي ..فغرقت عيوني بالدموع ..من الغيرة ؟ أو ربما حزنا ..فقد أدركت قيمة أمي في تلك اللحظات ...
وكانت جارتي أم حسن طيبة معي وتقول دائما لا تحزني نحن أهلك ..وابتسم وأشكرها ..ويزيد حزني ووحشتي ..
الآن أتعجب من نفسي كيف تحملت كل تلك السنوات القاسية؟ الغربة جحيم ..حتى لو كان عندي عائلة و عمل ودخل مادي جيد وخادمة حنونة ...لكنها لا تعوض ...
وكنت أحن الى نهر دجلة ..وأتذكر قصيدة الجواهري ..(يا دجلة الخير ..يا نبعا أفارقه على الكراهة بين الحين والحين ...) وأجد عمان خاوية من ماء يجري ...يتأمله الناظر ويسعد به ...ويحس بألفة معه .
وددت أن أطرق الباب , باب أم حسن ,لكني ترددت , فالوقت مبكر ..وأتخيلهم يفتحون الباب ..ويفركون عيونهم ..وأنا أقف كالبلهاء أشرح ...أنا أم رائد ..جارتكم قبل 500سنة...سيقولون من أين أتت هذه المعتوهة؟
فقررت الغاء الفكرة ...
صحوت باكرا ..السابعة والنصف..الأولاد نائمون , الشقة هادئة , العمارة هادئة , نظرت من النافذة , الشارع هاديء فارررررغ .شربت كوبا من الشاي ولبست ملابس شتوية ثقيلة ونزلت أتمشى ...كان محل البقالة المجاور يفتح أبوابه للتو ,اشتريت صحيفتين محليتين ...وأكملت مسيرتي..الشوارع فارغة والبيوت مغلقة ..وليس ثمة سيارة تاكسي تلوح في الأفق ...قلت لنفسي هذا بسبب عطلة العيد ..ربما تعود الحياة غدا بنهاية العطلة .
كنت أسكن هنا في عام 1985 ثم انتقلنا الى بيت آخر قبل أن نعود لبغداد...
تمشيت في الشارع أحسست أن ثمة أسرار وذكريات بيني وبينه ...مررت بجانب فيللا كان أصحابها أصدقاء وجيران ...وأولادهم جدا أشقياء ..يتسلقون أعمدة الكهرباء مثل القرود ويضربون القطط الصغيرة بغباء وقسوة ..وكانت أمهم دائمة الأناقة ولا تبالي بهم ..تعيش عالما خاصا بعيدا ..كانت جميلة شقراء وعينيها زرقاوين ..وكنت أحبها وأظن أن فيها شيء من السذاجة أو اللامبالاة تجاه الأمور أو ربما بلهاء ...لا أدري لم أقدر لحد الآن على تشخيصها ..لكنها مسالمة جدا لا تؤذي ...ولا أظنها تحسد أو تغار ..ليست ممن يقدرون على هذه الصفات ...هذه لها أصناف أخرى من البشر ...
زوجها يشتغل في البورصة أو شيء مشايه ...اشترى البيت حين ربح صفقة في يوم ما ...ثم عرفت لاحقا انه باعه عندما خسر في صفقة أخرى ...بعد عدة سنين ..
اليوم مررت أمام البيت وحزنت على مصير العائلة بعد أن انتقلوا للسكن في شقة للإيجار في حي بعيد ...ثمة خطأ في حياتهم دفعوا ثمنه لاحقا ...
وبجانب البيت ثمة ساحة فارغة ..ما زالت فارغة اليوم ..كان يلعب بها الأولاد على الدراجات الهوائية ..وفي الصيف يأتي بائع البطيخ ويعمل فيها عريش ...وتزدحم بزبائنه ..ترى هل ما زال يحدث هذا في الصيف ؟
تبدو الآن ..كأنني أتذكر الآية ...(خاوية على عروشها...)
هذا بيتنا ..كنا نسكن هنا في بيت أبو حسن ...هم في الطابق الأرضي ونحن في الطابق الأول ...وهذه الفرندة ..أتذكر وأنا أجلس هنا وأنا حزينة ..وحامل في الشهور الأخيرة قبل أن يولد ماجد ...
كنت أحس بوحشة شديدة ومحتاجة لأمي أو أختي لتحضر ولادتي ...لكن حربا في العراق تعيق قدومها الى عمان ...قوانين السفر صارمة ومشددة .
وكنت أراقب جارتي الحامل في العمارة المقابلة ...ثم ولدت قبلي ..وجاءت عندها أمها ووقفت على البلكون تنشر غسيل البيبي ..فغرقت عيوني بالدموع ..من الغيرة ؟ أو ربما حزنا ..فقد أدركت قيمة أمي في تلك اللحظات ...
وكانت جارتي أم حسن طيبة معي وتقول دائما لا تحزني نحن أهلك ..وابتسم وأشكرها ..ويزيد حزني ووحشتي ..
الآن أتعجب من نفسي كيف تحملت كل تلك السنوات القاسية؟ الغربة جحيم ..حتى لو كان عندي عائلة و عمل ودخل مادي جيد وخادمة حنونة ...لكنها لا تعوض ...
وكنت أحن الى نهر دجلة ..وأتذكر قصيدة الجواهري ..(يا دجلة الخير ..يا نبعا أفارقه على الكراهة بين الحين والحين ...) وأجد عمان خاوية من ماء يجري ...يتأمله الناظر ويسعد به ...ويحس بألفة معه .
وددت أن أطرق الباب , باب أم حسن ,لكني ترددت , فالوقت مبكر ..وأتخيلهم يفتحون الباب ..ويفركون عيونهم ..وأنا أقف كالبلهاء أشرح ...أنا أم رائد ..جارتكم قبل 500سنة...سيقولون من أين أتت هذه المعتوهة؟
فقررت الغاء الفكرة ...
# posted by Faiza Al-Araji @ 8:23 pm
الثلاثاء 3/2
نحن الآن في عمان.. الجو بارد وغائم والمدينة تبدو كأنها تغرق في سبات …الشوارع شبه فارغة
والبيوت مغلقة أبجوراتها…ولا أولاد يلعبون في الشوارع كما تعودت أن أراهم في الصيف…
حتى الناس لم أر منهم لحد الآن سوى سائقي التاكسيات..وسؤال في داخلي أين السكان ؟
في الصيف تكون المدينة مزدحمة بأهلها وزوارها من الدول المجاورة..وكل الفنادق ممتلئة تقريبا والشوارع مزدحمة بالسيارات الزائرة التي. تبدو أكثر من السيارات المحلية , وكنت أرى الفتيات والفتيان من صغار السن يمشون بنشاط وحيوية..تسعدني رؤيتهم وأتمنى لهم مستقبلا جميلا …
عمان مدينة صغيرة وجميلة ونظيفة …لكنها تبدو كقرية صغيرة مقارنة ببغداد..من حيث المساحة والسكان
ولها طابع معماري مميز وجميل ……لكنني أفكر أحيانا لو أنني أغمضت عيني وفتحتها لوجدت كأنني في دولة أوربية من حيث الاعلانات وطريقة توزيعها في المدينة ..والمحلات التجارية..وطريقة عرضها للبضائع..والشوارع وطريقة تنظيمها وتخطيطها والاشارات الضوئية …
بغداد لها طابع قديم و لكنني أحسها ما زالت تحمل هوية المدينة العربية …بينما أحس وكأن عمان فقدت شيئا من تلك الهوية ..فهي تتجه نحو الطابع الغربي أكثر …
خصوصا بوجود سلسلة المطاعم الأمريكية..مثل ماكدونالدز وكنتاكي وبوستن…أو اعلانات عن نوادي ليلية وكازينو و صالات لعب بليارد...
لكني لا أحزن كثيرا..فهي لم تكن يوما عاصمة الرشيد..وتحولت الى مدينة أوربية…ولكني سأحزن ان صارت بغداد هكذا ..لا أدري ..أظنها ستصبح غريبة حتى عن أهلها.. أنا لست ضد التطور لكني معه , ومع المحافظة على الهوية …
عندما كنت أعيش عمان في نهاية السبعينات ..ثم في الثمانينات ..كانت أقرب الى القرية الصغيرة..أما الآن فهي مزدحمة بكل اللافتات والدعايات لكبرى الشركات…مما يبدو أكبر من حجم وقدرة المدينة…
وكأنها بنت عائلة متواضعة تلبس ثوبا غير ثوبها مدعية انها من طبقة أخرى …
أنا أحب البساطة …وليس أجمل .منها وسيلة , .لتقديم الشخص .نفسه أمام الآخرين …
****
أختي تسكن في عمان مؤقتا بسبب ظروف الحرب ..وهي تشكو من الحنين للوطن وأقول لها أصبري فهي مرحلة مؤقتة وأتمنى أن تعودي وزوجك وبناتك بالسلامة.الى بغداد حين تهدأ الأحوال .
وجاءت عندها صديقاتها وسألوني كيف حال بغداد ؟ ضحكت وقلت ربما أحسن من هنا , حيث الهدوء والملل , هناك طائرات الهليكوبتر الأمريكية تدوي مراوحها طوال النهار وتملأ يومنا متعة وحيوية …وفي الليل ..طائرات مقاتلة تخرق سكون الليل لا أدري عما يبحث الطيار أم انه مجرد تسلية له , لئلا تصدأ محركات الطائرة من قلة الأستعمال … يكون نومنا قلقا هل يدري انه يزعجنا أم انه لا يهمه رأينا قط ؟ وأيضا التفجيرات المفاجئة حيث تهتز نوافذ البيت ...وأقفز من مكاني ..
ومع كل ذلك فانني مشتاقة لبغداد وأود العودة سريعا …لكن ثمة صوت عاقل بداخلي يقول تريثي قليلا وتمتعي باجازتك ولا تعودي بسرعة فتندمي …وها أنا أسمع صوت العقل وأنتظر …حتى يحين موعد العودة …
***
سأحاول النزول للبلد للبحث عن كتب جديدة أو قديمة ..وأبحث عن متاحف ومعارض للصور ..أبدد الوقت لأنني أفتقد هذا الصفاء والفراغ في بغداد …فهناك أكون متوترة المزاج خصوصا حين أرى سربا من آليات عسكرية أمريكية ..منظرها مستفز ! ويعكر مزاجي ..
وهنا هدوء أكثر من اللازم ..هدوء هو الآخر مستفز !
أحب الحركة والنشاط ..ففيها حياة..والحياة هبة جميلة من الخالق ..
# posted by Faiza Al-Araji @ 8:20 pm
Monday, February 02, 2004
Jan. 29, 2004
This coming Sunday is Al Eid Al Kabeer [Big Eid]. It is the Eid of Haj and there are many lovely rituals and ceremonies. The day before Eid is Arafat and it is the most important stage of the Haj [pilgrimage]. The pilgrims all stand on a mountain near Mecca- Mount Arafat.
When we were children, we used to await this day impatiently… as if it had a different aroma than the rest of the days of the year. We used to rush home to our mothers making the special Eid cake…Ah, I can almost see those happy moments in our life that passed by… if only they had not passed.
If only we could have remained young… playing and screaming- not caring… actually not knowing what the older, more mature people were doing… catastrophes, wars and destruction to humanity.
When I was a child, I wanted to grow up fast so I could become mature. I had a belief that all adults were mature and they never made mistakes. I later learned that they are more stupid than children a lot of the time… but we'll get back to Eid.
We used to go out and buy our Eid clothes a week or more before Eid. We'd hide them in the closet and check them each day and never, ever wear them before Eid itself- that would ruin Eid! That's what we'd warn each other. The night before Eid, we'd lay them out on the bed- even if there were new shoes, for it wouldn't matter- they were new Eid shoes.
We would clean the house, take baths and brush our hair. The boys would take the trays of cake to the bakeries for baking and when they returned, the aroma of delicious cake would fill the house.
We'd reach out to taste some of it and my mother would yell, "Leave it for Eid!"
The neighbors would gather at my mother's and they'd discuss all sorts of topics and one of them might borrow a tray and the tools for making cakes to use at home, and everything would be filled with joy.
In the evening, we'd wash the narrow street, or 'darbooneh', in front of our house. How I love that name! It reminds me of sweet, old days… And that whole day we'd hear the call of the pilgrims speaking to God, "Labayk Allah, Labayk… Labayk, La Shareek Lek, Labayk…" We repeat it along with them as if it were a lovely song on our lips…
Everything on the night of Eid is beautiful and joyful and happy…the people, the houses, the streets, the city.
Today, where are we in relation to that world? It's like it extinguished, never to return… like the world of dinosaurs. It doesn’t matter if we purchase new clothes or not, clean the house, buy sweets and baked goods, greet Eid… I feel that the hearts are weighted down by sorrow. We go through the rituals, and the greet the guests and offer everything available… and the sorrow doesn't leave our hearts.
I don't know, but I can't taste the flavor of these days… am I just depressed or am I in a world that has become this way for everyone?
And Baghdad is sorrowful like me, with its dug-up streets and people lost between the mysterious explosions that are of no use to anyone… and newspapers printing scandals, of which legitimacy and intentions are unknown… and the Governing Council always talking and doing nothing… and the protestors angry at the wages too low for a decent living… and the American army spread all over the city…and American elections there… and promises of reconstruction, a happy life and lots of dreams…
we may realize later on that they were just the pressure of dreams!
How much time will we need to wake up from this deep sleep of ours…?
translated by Riverbend.
This coming Sunday is Al Eid Al Kabeer [Big Eid]. It is the Eid of Haj and there are many lovely rituals and ceremonies. The day before Eid is Arafat and it is the most important stage of the Haj [pilgrimage]. The pilgrims all stand on a mountain near Mecca- Mount Arafat.
When we were children, we used to await this day impatiently… as if it had a different aroma than the rest of the days of the year. We used to rush home to our mothers making the special Eid cake…Ah, I can almost see those happy moments in our life that passed by… if only they had not passed.
If only we could have remained young… playing and screaming- not caring… actually not knowing what the older, more mature people were doing… catastrophes, wars and destruction to humanity.
When I was a child, I wanted to grow up fast so I could become mature. I had a belief that all adults were mature and they never made mistakes. I later learned that they are more stupid than children a lot of the time… but we'll get back to Eid.
We used to go out and buy our Eid clothes a week or more before Eid. We'd hide them in the closet and check them each day and never, ever wear them before Eid itself- that would ruin Eid! That's what we'd warn each other. The night before Eid, we'd lay them out on the bed- even if there were new shoes, for it wouldn't matter- they were new Eid shoes.
We would clean the house, take baths and brush our hair. The boys would take the trays of cake to the bakeries for baking and when they returned, the aroma of delicious cake would fill the house.
We'd reach out to taste some of it and my mother would yell, "Leave it for Eid!"
The neighbors would gather at my mother's and they'd discuss all sorts of topics and one of them might borrow a tray and the tools for making cakes to use at home, and everything would be filled with joy.
In the evening, we'd wash the narrow street, or 'darbooneh', in front of our house. How I love that name! It reminds me of sweet, old days… And that whole day we'd hear the call of the pilgrims speaking to God, "Labayk Allah, Labayk… Labayk, La Shareek Lek, Labayk…" We repeat it along with them as if it were a lovely song on our lips…
Everything on the night of Eid is beautiful and joyful and happy…the people, the houses, the streets, the city.
Today, where are we in relation to that world? It's like it extinguished, never to return… like the world of dinosaurs. It doesn’t matter if we purchase new clothes or not, clean the house, buy sweets and baked goods, greet Eid… I feel that the hearts are weighted down by sorrow. We go through the rituals, and the greet the guests and offer everything available… and the sorrow doesn't leave our hearts.
I don't know, but I can't taste the flavor of these days… am I just depressed or am I in a world that has become this way for everyone?
And Baghdad is sorrowful like me, with its dug-up streets and people lost between the mysterious explosions that are of no use to anyone… and newspapers printing scandals, of which legitimacy and intentions are unknown… and the Governing Council always talking and doing nothing… and the protestors angry at the wages too low for a decent living… and the American army spread all over the city…and American elections there… and promises of reconstruction, a happy life and lots of dreams…
we may realize later on that they were just the pressure of dreams!
How much time will we need to wake up from this deep sleep of ours…?
translated by Riverbend.
# posted by Faiza Al-Araji @ 11:56 pm
Sunday, February 01, 2004
تحية الى كل قراء الصفحة
كل عام وأنتم بخير
ان شاء الله يعود علينا جميعا ونحن أحسن حالا
وخصوصا العراق والعراقيين
انه سميع مجيب
تحياتي
فائزة
كل عام وأنتم بخير
ان شاء الله يعود علينا جميعا ونحن أحسن حالا
وخصوصا العراق والعراقيين
انه سميع مجيب
تحياتي
فائزة
# posted by Faiza Al-Araji @ 7:20 pm
hey!
want the good news or the bad news?
ok..the good news: am not gonna be blogging anymore..and you wont have to read my rambling!
the bad news: i will keep writting...only in another place.. tell me a secret :)
take care..
me*
want the good news or the bad news?
ok..the good news: am not gonna be blogging anymore..and you wont have to read my rambling!
the bad news: i will keep writting...only in another place.. tell me a secret :)
take care..
me*
# posted by Khalid @ 4:09 pm
Friday 30/1
I am planning to visit Amman, Jordan during the midterm vacation time. I feel tired and sad, I need a change of routine away from all the psychological pressures. When I get tired I become agitated and I am impatient with other people. Usually that is a sign that I need a vacation. I miss our small apartment there, its furniture is new and hasn’t been worn out by the kids and guests. It is on the third floor. The apartment is not crowded with furniture like our house in Baghdad. The apartment has a class covered balcony, which I sit in frequently to look at Amman’s beautiful buildings. Amman is full of beautiful, stone constructed buildings similar to the traditional style. It is an expensive wy to build but it is beautiful. It also makes the building more sturdy.
I spent many years of my life in Amman working as civil engineer. I designed houses, housing complexes and governmental schools. It was a beautiful time in my life. I had many women engineer friends and also male engineer co-workers. I am proud of these friendships. During that time I was active in the engineering association, I was in the social committee. We would organize forums, national celebrations, political events, depending on the occasions. At the time I felt that it was beautiful to do union work, until politics get involved and then it all becomes ugly. Certain cliques stick together and attempt to gain power at the expense of others. Competition and self interest and the association turns into a body that serves certain people only. This group controls everything and attempts to stymie everybody else. Discussions become tense, some people take sides to win votes, they form a coalition and then breakup again. How embarrassing. I don’t like to be close to this atmosphere, I don’t understand their language and I don’t like it. I feel there is too much focus on self interest and little attention paid to public interest. So I left that committee and joined the scientific committee. There we had no politics and no competition. We would host various engineers to talk to us about interesting and unique engineering matters. For example, one of the talks was about cracks that happen to buildings as a result of earth quakes or bad implementation.
Another talk was about new engineering methods. After the forum we would make tea and get to know each other. I mean the attendants, committee members and the lecturing professor. That was an enjoyable experience. The kids were small at that time (in primary school), I had a Seri Lankan servant, I used to love and shower her with effection, because she was a poor woman that left her own family to secure a better future for her own children. She was very affectionate with the children, I trusted her to take care of them while I was away.
Azzam used to complain. However I was studious in my activism which was another source of happiness for me. I had lots of energy. I would work during the morning, take care of the kids in the afternoon and sometimes work on activities for the association. Despite the fact that I had conflicts with hateful types that belonged to political parties and hate anybody that disagree with them. I am very independent and I don’t belong to any political parties, I would deal with these people sternly. I found it to be empowering. To be independent is to be a king. No master hovering over your head. After a while I was fed up with the association activities and distanced myself from the
association. The independently minded people were in the weak minority. The politically oriented people were the annoying majority that ruined the atmosphere. So I started to write short stories for the newspapers. With a different pen name. I was afraid of criticisms from my husband or his family. I lived happy days in Amman. Despite the fact that I came to it as a shy scared foreigner. I was in my twenties. I left Amman as a mature woman with many useful experiences. I went back to beloved Baghdad in my thirties, after a long estrangement. Amman is a hilly city with beautiful landscape. Very different from flat Baghdad. Amman has many tall buildings whereas Baghdad has any
flat buildings. Winters in Amman are long and very cold. Whereas summers in Baghdad are long and very hot. Amman people are more elegant and more organized than people in Baghdad. This applies to clothing and houses. Maybe it is because they didn’t have the same hard times like people in Iraq.
When I returned to Baghdad, I would be surprised by the university professor that would show up to lecture in an un-ironed shirt. After a while, seeing the harshness of life in Baghdad, I appreciated the depression that must be felt by a person who leaves the house in an un-ironed shirt. I am not biased. I have lived in many countries and traveled as a tourist to many places but never found a place where I get along with the people and understand them like the Iraqi people. The good and the bad. I don’t know. But I love them even when I become angree at some their stupid behavior.
Isn’t this the same feeling I have towards my own children?
****
I will go to Amman tomorrow or maybe the day after. Maybe I won’t get the chance to write while I am there. My heart will be with Baghdad all the time. I remember a verse in a poem by Al-Sayab (Iraqi poet)
I am wondering how do the traitors betray
Can a person betray his country
If betrayal was meant to be
So how could it be?
The sun in my country is more beautiful than any other
And the darkness… even the darkness here is better
Because it is hugging Iraq.
[translation by www.ihath.com]
I am planning to visit Amman, Jordan during the midterm vacation time. I feel tired and sad, I need a change of routine away from all the psychological pressures. When I get tired I become agitated and I am impatient with other people. Usually that is a sign that I need a vacation. I miss our small apartment there, its furniture is new and hasn’t been worn out by the kids and guests. It is on the third floor. The apartment is not crowded with furniture like our house in Baghdad. The apartment has a class covered balcony, which I sit in frequently to look at Amman’s beautiful buildings. Amman is full of beautiful, stone constructed buildings similar to the traditional style. It is an expensive wy to build but it is beautiful. It also makes the building more sturdy.
I spent many years of my life in Amman working as civil engineer. I designed houses, housing complexes and governmental schools. It was a beautiful time in my life. I had many women engineer friends and also male engineer co-workers. I am proud of these friendships. During that time I was active in the engineering association, I was in the social committee. We would organize forums, national celebrations, political events, depending on the occasions. At the time I felt that it was beautiful to do union work, until politics get involved and then it all becomes ugly. Certain cliques stick together and attempt to gain power at the expense of others. Competition and self interest and the association turns into a body that serves certain people only. This group controls everything and attempts to stymie everybody else. Discussions become tense, some people take sides to win votes, they form a coalition and then breakup again. How embarrassing. I don’t like to be close to this atmosphere, I don’t understand their language and I don’t like it. I feel there is too much focus on self interest and little attention paid to public interest. So I left that committee and joined the scientific committee. There we had no politics and no competition. We would host various engineers to talk to us about interesting and unique engineering matters. For example, one of the talks was about cracks that happen to buildings as a result of earth quakes or bad implementation.
Another talk was about new engineering methods. After the forum we would make tea and get to know each other. I mean the attendants, committee members and the lecturing professor. That was an enjoyable experience. The kids were small at that time (in primary school), I had a Seri Lankan servant, I used to love and shower her with effection, because she was a poor woman that left her own family to secure a better future for her own children. She was very affectionate with the children, I trusted her to take care of them while I was away.
Azzam used to complain. However I was studious in my activism which was another source of happiness for me. I had lots of energy. I would work during the morning, take care of the kids in the afternoon and sometimes work on activities for the association. Despite the fact that I had conflicts with hateful types that belonged to political parties and hate anybody that disagree with them. I am very independent and I don’t belong to any political parties, I would deal with these people sternly. I found it to be empowering. To be independent is to be a king. No master hovering over your head. After a while I was fed up with the association activities and distanced myself from the
association. The independently minded people were in the weak minority. The politically oriented people were the annoying majority that ruined the atmosphere. So I started to write short stories for the newspapers. With a different pen name. I was afraid of criticisms from my husband or his family. I lived happy days in Amman. Despite the fact that I came to it as a shy scared foreigner. I was in my twenties. I left Amman as a mature woman with many useful experiences. I went back to beloved Baghdad in my thirties, after a long estrangement. Amman is a hilly city with beautiful landscape. Very different from flat Baghdad. Amman has many tall buildings whereas Baghdad has any
flat buildings. Winters in Amman are long and very cold. Whereas summers in Baghdad are long and very hot. Amman people are more elegant and more organized than people in Baghdad. This applies to clothing and houses. Maybe it is because they didn’t have the same hard times like people in Iraq.
When I returned to Baghdad, I would be surprised by the university professor that would show up to lecture in an un-ironed shirt. After a while, seeing the harshness of life in Baghdad, I appreciated the depression that must be felt by a person who leaves the house in an un-ironed shirt. I am not biased. I have lived in many countries and traveled as a tourist to many places but never found a place where I get along with the people and understand them like the Iraqi people. The good and the bad. I don’t know. But I love them even when I become angree at some their stupid behavior.
Isn’t this the same feeling I have towards my own children?
****
I will go to Amman tomorrow or maybe the day after. Maybe I won’t get the chance to write while I am there. My heart will be with Baghdad all the time. I remember a verse in a poem by Al-Sayab (Iraqi poet)
I am wondering how do the traitors betray
Can a person betray his country
If betrayal was meant to be
So how could it be?
The sun in my country is more beautiful than any other
And the darkness… even the darkness here is better
Because it is hugging Iraq.
[translation by www.ihath.com]
# posted by Faiza Al-Araji @ 2:17 pm
