Baggy Pants Offend White Folks

I was furious when I read this article in the Toronto Star the other day. Here's an excerpt:

Proposals to ban saggy pants are starting to ride up in several places. At the extreme end, wearing pants low enough to show boxers or bare buttocks in one small Louisiana town means six months in jail and a $500 (U.S.) fine. A crackdown also is being pushed in Atlanta. And in Trenton, N.J., getting caught with your pants down may soon result in not only a fine, but a city worker assessing where your life is headed.

"Are they employed? Do they have a high school diploma? It's a wonderful way to redirect at that point," said Trenton Councillor Annette Lartigue, who is drafting a law to outlaw saggy pants. "The message is clear: We don't want to see your backside."

Besides the mind-numbing wordplay, where are human beings on the evolutionary scale when we have to fine people and throw them in prison for dressing a particular way? You think it's about decency and modesty that they're doing this? Think again. It's clear that the folks over in New Jersey feel that sagging pants are an indication of unemployment and high drop-out rates. They are also targetting only a certain population with this new law. Namely, young black men. It's no wonder that there's unemployment and school drop-out rates in a city that is so biased against the black population. Perhaps policy makers need to take a few sociology courses. Or, they could just try really hard to stop being bigots. Either option would work.

I wonder that the folks in New Jersey didn't feel the need to institute a law again females wearing mini-skirts that are so mini, they show your "backside." I was downtown today and saw a female wearing an absurdly short skirt, it was like wearing nothing. Or the numerous times girls flash their thongs or wear brutally innappropriate clothes. Why is there not a law in New Jersey about that, pray tell?

The answer is clear, because white girls may dress this way, and we wouldn't want them to end up in jail for 6 months, would we? And of course, the black men will end up in jail anyways, right? So why not just put them in ahead of time? What a contradiction. This is one of the most blatant racist laws I've seen recently. And law-makers down there are trying to justify it by assuming that males who dress this way are dangerous people. They define the clothing as "an indecent, sloppy trend that is a bad influence on children."

Heaven forbid the children want to wear low pants. What they are really teaching children in the long run is that if you're white, and in power, you can make up whatever laws you want, and not care about the impact on the affected population.

I'd rather see the kids wearing pants at their knees.

Strength in Diversity

I was at the first night of tarweeh yesterday. I was in the back and I looked at the rows of women in front of me. The Somalian women and their big hijabs and colourful clothes, the younger girls wearing basketball jerseys and hoodies, babies crawling around between the rows. And then the Imam prayed witr at the end and made dua, asking Allah to forgive us in this month and accept our fasting and prayer.

And it suddenly struck me as beautiful that throughout Ramadan, every single night, these people come out for the sole purpose of worshipping God. Next time you're in your mosque, look at the rows of people and how each of them is different. From the old men in thobes to the young thug-like teens, every shade of black, brown and white. The diversity within our community is beautiful. It just adds to the amazing spirit of Ramadan; all of us being so different, yet more alike than we sometimes care to admit :)

Ramadan Mubarak.

Halal Skittles

Muslims are obsessed with halal skittles. Whenever they're in a Muslim country they come back with skittles. Whenever their friends go to Muslim countries, they ask them to bring back skittles. Skittles this, skittles that.

Back to my point, I jumped on the bandwagon (partly because of peer-pressure) and decided to bring back some halal skittles from Egypt. (See the Arabic? That proves they're halal)

I brought some back and I gave them out to some friends, who will now apparently love me forever (or until their skittles run out). So here's the deal. I have exactly one handful (see picture) of skittles left. That means 10 packs.
Today may be your lucky day because I am now auctioning them off. Meaning, make your best offer. And I expect to hear some quality offers, like maybe your first-born son.

Worthwhile Literature

I went to the library today because I could feel a rattling sound in my brain due to lack of reading. Once I was there, I got a couple of books, but it didn't seem right. Something was missing. Then I realized I hadn't read a Garfield comic book in years. So I got a couple.

My basic conclusion is that Garfield is my hero. Please do not confuse this admiration for the comic with that of the Garfield movie, which was about as entertaining as a cute baby seal stuck in a thick layer of ice.

I'm pretty sure the laziness, sarcasm, food-addiction, etc. are the reasons I love him so much. He's basically the cat version of me. On that note, my mom told me that I remind her of Garfield. And way before that, she told me I looked like Stewie, the evil baby from Family Guy.

Oh, familial love.

yo-yo

I can't wait for Ramadan.

In my (thus far) unsuccessful ventures to find permanent employment, I've been a yo-yo. I'm up, I'm down. I'm "man I need a job" to "maybe I can take time off and work on my writing/painting/sleeping." That second option sounds good, I know. But how long can it last?

There is something so desperate about making plans, making plans for your entire life, and then coming to a point where they're just not materializing, they are beyond your reach. And all you can do is seriously hope and pray that there is a better plan for you, even better than what you've been dreaming about.

Which is why I'm glad Ramadan is around the corner. Amidst the chaos of everything, the confusion of being, sometimes you need to clear it all out, vacuum your mind, wipe away the cobwebs (you get the metaphor), and get a new perspective on things.

Random doesn't always cut it for me. I am dying for a new perspective.

Bookshelf Identity

As per Faraz's general tag, my bookshelf. Let's see what we can deduce from the random stuff here.

Exhibit A


Textbooks from school, as well as one (very out of place) Stephen King book which I have never read. I promise you I didn't buy it. It was a gift. Various writing guides, a book of super-old English plays, stuff on mental health. In the left bottom corner there are some copies of The Muslim Voice from when I was editor (vanity much, I know).

Exhibit B


My favourite textbook of all time: Deviance and Social Control. That was possibly my all-time favourite course. I realized that society does not like deviants such as myself, but that it's okay because there are people out there who understand. As well as other random texts. The Brothers Grimm complete compilation of stories (which I borrowed from the MSA office once when we were cleaning it out. Nobody knows why it was there in the first place). Let me take this opportunity to say that they were perverts. All the fairy tales you read are watered down versions of the originals.

Exhibit C


Top left corner is a bunch of AlMaghrib course packages, then there's cream, sunglasses that I never wear, a jar of seashells I picked in Egypt three years ago, old poetry books. The Muqaddimah is there somewhere, too. Have yet to make a significant dent in it yet.

So Deduce what you will. Analyze what you will. I think it's a fair representation of my interests (except that Canadian Literature book which was full of super super boring stuff. Not that I dislike Canadian literature in general).

So how well do you think my bookshelf represents me? Not that you know me, really.

♥ Canada ♥

I'm back, and it's great. I missed the quiet. I missed actually having the option of putting a seatbelt on in a car. I missed the pedestrian's right-of-way. I missed cleanliness and not being fearful of encountering large crawling things every time you venture into the outdoors (and indoors too actually). I missed fruit! Oh man, I missed fruit. Peaches and bananas and oranges and grapes that don't have flies hovering over them.

The funny thing about changing environments so fast is how you end up feeling about yourself. In Egypt, I'm practically considered irreligious. Aparently all the really dedicated Muslim women wear niqab or are on their way to doing so. But I just tended to blend in with all the other hijabi women. It was harder for me to focus on my Islamic identity there for some reason, even though you hear the athan 5 times a day and there are mosques everywhere. There's something about being in a non-Muslim country that makes me feel like I need to hang on to Islam a little tighter, that I need to be a stronger Muslim here. Someone please analyze this for me since I'm still too jetlagged to think straight.

I've decided that I love Canada. That is all. And now I am off to sleep for the next 15 hours.

PS: if anyone has a job they'd like to offer me, please feel free to do so. Thanks.

PPS: anyone wishing to phone me should realize that I no longer have a cellphone. Will likely buy one once I have more than $40 in my bank account. Bye.

Buckles and Beads

So I'm traveling back to Toronto in a couple of days. I'm looking forward to coming home. Sometimes I get so frustrated here because I don't know my way around and have to rely on other people (who are often unreliable) to take me places. That's what I most about home: my independence.

But then, being still unemployed when I get back is going to suck. Being unemployed in Egypt isn't that hard since you'd fit in with the majority of people anyways. I think I'll miss it here.

Sometimes I think it'd be okay for me to live here for longer, to get a better taste of what every-day life entails. For some reason I've been thinking about what the Sound of Music would've been like if it were made in Egypt...

Bright neon clothing and shiny gold buckles.
Bearded old men with thobes and bloody knuckles.
That scraggly grey cat and the tune that it sings.
These are a few of my favourite things.

Bad English grammer on storefronts and t-shirts.
Glittery hijabs and tight short beaded skirts.
Half pound sandwiches fit for fat kings.
These are a few of my favourite things.

When the cars smash
when the streets stink
when I'm feeling sad
I simply remember my favourite things,
and then I don't feel so bad...

So yeah, Egypt has definitely had some unforseen effects on my brain cells. I need to re-grow them and come back to Canada.

The girl is MARRIED

No, not me. My sister got married yesterday here. So far two of my sisters have gotten married in Egypt...so yeah, it's been a busy time :)

It was chaos, pure and utter chaos. We went to the mosque and found that it was packed with other people who we didn't know. They had apparently double-booked the place: 2 nikkahs at the same time. So we sat in the crowded and hot prayer area and waited for the other nikkah to be over, which took just under an hour. My sister was sitting there and saying to me "uhh can you go make sure this isn't MY nikkah going on" since we couldn't see anything due to the crowdedness of the place. People pressing up against you while you're trying to breathe in the moment, very distracting.

So the unfamiliar crowds finally dissipated and we were left with our guests, mostly family (of which we have an unspeakable amount). There we were, looking over the balcony at the men's area, pointing out our cousins, waving at random relatives, listening to our uncles making speeches before the marriage was performed. It was surreal. You know when you have to do a double take in your mind to make sure what you're seeing and hearing is actually real? That's how it was.

Then she went down to sign the contract and fingerprint it, and came back up. We watched our dad with her fiance, now husband, "giving her away." And it was really a couple of seconds and it was over, and I looked at my sister and thought, you're married now. I cried like a baby, it was pretty despicable. To make up for it, I took around 200 pictures.

So the groom's family gave out chocolate and mango juice to the Egyptian crowd. Another custom they have here is that the groom gives the bride the "shabka" which is jewelry, including a diamond ring and blah blah. So what they do is put the jewelry on a platter and walk it around the mosque for people to ooh and ahh at. My sister was irritated. We all came back to our apartment and ate cake and drank pepsi and 7-up from glass bottles.

I must have greeted at least 80 people, most of which I didn't know. And each one got three kisses (sometimes four, depending on who they were). It was interesting, watching all these people, some complete strangers congratulating my sister so sincerely. I couldn't tell if it was genuine or not. I'm pretty sure every single person who said salaam to me said "3obalik," meaning "may you be next." I was afraid. The pressure is on.

The end. Amongst all the stress and arranging stuff for the wedding, I told my sister that as long as she's married by then end of the night, nothing else matters.

Now that's the end.

A summary of why shopping in Egypt is hard...

a) hideous clothing.





b) english that gives me a headache.

c) naked, dismembered mannequins.