My life seems so improbable, but it is real. I am not imagining anything. As I write it is 4:20 September 23, which happens to be Saudi National Day. Writing was interrupted because the alarm on my iPhone told me that it was time for Fajr prayer. Jumped out of bed, performed abolition, prayed and an now back to writing the blog.
Looked up improbable, finding that both definitions of improbable describe my current situation. 1) not likely to be true or to happen: 2) unexpected and apparently inauthentic:
Some synonyms of the first definition are: unlikely, difficult to believe, implausible, far-fetched, unthinkable, inconceivable, unimaginable. Do love one synonym of the second definition: hard to swallow. The antonym: believable, realistic.
Why are the activities of this morning far-fetched and unlikely? I am an eighty year old woman, born in Saskatchewan of a poor family, admittedly led a rather wild and crazy life. Moreover, I was an atheist for most of life. “Put that in your pipe and smoke it, “I say laughingly.
As is my habit, opened my email. Found a paper from the Yaqueen Institute. I shall include the link here, although it is highly unlikely that any of you will read it. It is lengthy and very intellectually challenging. How the Prophet Muhammed Rose Above Enmity and Insult
This particular quote grabbed my attention:
“If we never experience the chill of a dark winter, it is very unlikely that we will ever cherish the warmth of a bright summer’s day.”
That is so profoundly, certainly and absolutely true. Looking at my life, even my most recent (more blessed) life I can see that the chill of a dark winter was necessary. The chill of the dark winter was the seven weeks spent in Edmonton prior to my return to Saudi Arabia.
So many things went wrong for one simple reason: Canada does not work, never has and never will. I slowly gained that recognition but it became crashingly clear as I attempted to manage my affairs to leave the country. It became impossible to get anything done – all systems are fundamentally flawed. It is impossible to accomplish the most fundamental tasks as there is no coordination. For example, it is almost totally impossible to pay a Telus (the wifi provider) bill. My ‘banker’ at the Royal Bank of Canada never returned calls, was unavailable for appointments, my debit card not replaced although ordered. I suppose it is the result of understaffing and poor training and having an online system that has nothing to do with reality. Taxation is onerous in every way. The corruption of politicians is embarrassingly evident. Social problems are not addressed, worsening at every moment. The net result of all of this is a populace who are, in the majority, depressed zombies who are unresponsive and ‘dead from the neck up’ as the expression goes.
Things were left in a muddle – order is so important when making a drastic move, but it proved absolutely impossible. During my final days there – said to myself.
Me: Self, how do you expect to make order out of absolute chaos?
Me: You are absolutely correct. I MUST stop stressing this and just get on my way.
Muddle, by the way, is a great word. The definition is:
The synonyms are even better: confusion, jumble, tangle, clutter, hotchpotch, mishmash, mare’s nest, chaos, disorder, disarray, welter, mess. The second definition’s synonyms excel” mix-up, foul-up, screwup; car crash, snafu. Then there is the vulgar slang: f**k-up.
Unfortunately these synonyms describe the mess I may have left behind.
Back to my motivation and how I saw the situation when I first returned to Edmonton in May of 2022. I did think I could make a contribution, try to help fix the things that were broken (the homeless situation for example). But it proved to be utterly impossible – an attempt at anything was undermined. I grew increasingly alienated from society. The Islamic Faith sustained and nourished me but it was a totally solitary practice. I left Edmonton knowing and admiring two Muslims – my esteemed Pakistani physician and the owner of a dry-cleaning establishment. I spoke to Ali the day I left, in the presence of his amazing assistant Rita. She and I just loved one another, we laughed and joked constantly. I would walk to the dry cleaners to visit with her.
Ali: No Alexis. You know three Muslims. Rita is a Muslim, from Indonesia. Can’t you see she is covered.
Me: I just thought she was wearing stylish and colorful bandeaus. She and I talked of the faith but I thought she learned from you. Indonesia has more Muslims than any other country, but their practices are different, adapted for the culture. I do know that.
So Rita and I laughed joyously together, exchanging hugs. I will be returning to Edmonton in three months, in order to gather everything together to make my final adieus to the country of my birth. I cannot wait to see she and Ali and my doctor again.
I find relief, and perspective, by writing. Two or three days before departure I wrote this to myself. I am now sharing it with you.
“I am not sure I should be saying this while I am here or even afterwards but I am so glad I am getting out of here! The vast majority of people it seems hate it here but have no way of either changing it or getting out. So they wander about in a state of apathetic depression. Being a Muslim does not help – seems to make it worse as most Muslims seem to be of the Puritist Mode – insisting only the blind observation of the rules without appreciating the joys from following the Faith and having peace of mind. So they are inward, non welcoming and non responsive,
There is corruption everywhere, The political scene is pathetic with no viable leaders. Social problems are not resolved as the rich 5% control all development. Downtown Edmonton resembles a desperate third world country: crowded with homeless, failing businesses and vacant buildings. Sidewalks are cracked – there is no pride in this city just some glorified media thrusts saying all is great. It is not. It has permeated to all levels. Even when you see an upbeat situation – when you are around it for awhile and scratch the surface, you see that it is all artifice. Positivity is avoided at all costs. It is a miracle I have survived this long. Nothing works – not the banks, not the postal system, not the government, not the transportation system. Inflation soars. I guess the good news is that rents will remain stagnant as there was much over building. Enough of this. Got to make plans to get outta here. “
But enough of all of this. I did get outta here and the day, in all of its glory beckons.
Alter Ego: What are my plans for the day?
Me: I thought you would never ask. Hahaha
Alter Ego: Please tell me, I am breathless with anticipation.
Me: You are making me laugh so hard it is hard to tell you. Plans may change but at the moment planning to go to the breakfast buffet, as I am starving. Usually the breakfast buffet here at the Hilton is to much, too crowded, too much food, too much noise. But I will go early, people are probably wasted after celebrating last night and will be sleeping in. Then I think a trip to the Woman’s Pool for knee exercises. AK is coming to fetch me at 1300 – we shall join in celebratory festivities.
Alter Ego: Sounds like a great day!
Me: I know!! It makes me happy, happy, happy. But it is rather unthinkable, implausible that it should all be happening to me. It is hard to swallow for sure.
Two reels are incorporated into this blog. One that was to have been included in yesterdays blog and the other recorded by AK yesterday.
He: I am going to take you to a place where no tourist EVER goes.
Me: Okay. But maybe there might be a reason for that.
He: That is funny, but no. It is a local auction and sale, attended those that are, shall we say, not rich and famous. There is not much order there, a lot of confusion, it is held weekly. It is a bird sale and auction.
Me: It sounds rather weird and wonderful. Let’s go!
It was weird and wonderful. Never have I ever seen or experienced anything like it. There must have been thousands of birds of different shapes, sizes and prices. An informal auction of a macaw was taking place – it was not over – the highest bid was $1500. The merchants were breeders of the birds – hundreds of breeders, thousands of birds. There were other animals up for sale: a miniature goat, guinea pigs, turtles, fish, a couple of husky dogs. I am ‘covered’ – wore a abaya and a head scarf (as you shall see from the reel). So thought I would ‘pass’. But no, I did not. Men stared at me in disbelief, as if I were a rare species. Do admit it made me a bit nervous.
Me: AK! Did you bring me here to auction me off? My blue eyes are a bit of a rarity.
He: No Alexis I did not. I do not think the people here have enough money to purchase you.
Me: PHEW!!
