You are not going to believe this, even I do not believe this. At this moment, December 15, 2023 6:42 it is ten degrees Celsius here in Medina, Saudi Arabia. Yes indeed it is. It is slightly warmer in my next stop Manama where it is 18, after that the next stop will be Jeddah where it is 22. My prior home Edmonton, is recording a temperature of 0.
The conclusion of my Umrah last December found me in Riyadh. One day it was 10 degrees there, that same day it was -38 in Edmonton. Congratulations Edmonton, the home of my winter clothes, you are warming up. Hahaha.
It is my intention to go for a walk, Fear not I will be warm, although not exactly stylish. I shall wear a long black skirt, with pajamas underneath to keep my legs warm, a sweater bought last year in Riyadh, another sweater bought at the American Eagle men’s store in this hotel. A wool scarf gifted by an Edmonton family last year prior to my last year’s Umrah will cover my head. . I may have someone take my photograph. Seeing will be believing. Hahaha.
It does feel like a new dawn; a new day for so many reasons. I have just discovered that Its a New Dawn, Its a New Day is known as the Feeling Good song., written by English composers Anthony Newly and Lesslie Bricusee for the musical The Roar of Greasepaint-The Smell of the Crowed. It was firs performed on stage by Cy Grant on the UK tour. More fascinating details continue: Simone’s music has always resonated with marginalized communities, and “Feeling Good” is no exception. Its message of empowerment is particularly important for those who have experienced discrimination, trauma, or hardship. More is written of the song’s meaning: The narrator is “feeling good” and experiencing intense happiness and optimism after overcoming adversity. The track puts forward the idea that this is “new day” and a “new life” for the narrator, who’s speaking to nature, saying, “Birds flying high, you know how I feel. There is an underlying question to the song, a short form of the longer question – “Are you feeling better now?” it’s meant to ask if you are recovered, or at least stable, after whatever happened, without being too intrusive.
I am allowing you to be intrusive. Go ahead! Will tell you freely that I have recovered and am at least stable. Better than that I am optimistic and have peace of mind although there has been intense hardship, trauma and discrimination in the past.
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For despite my presently absolutely privileged existence, I have to deal with all three. To begin with one of the three first – suffered discrimination, occasioned not by the color of my skin, not my blue eyes. It was Islamaphobia that did me in. I am not suffering death and utter destruction as I would be in Gaza but this blog shall be accompanied by a photograph of my right arm, its injuries inflicted by a police officer in Corte Madera, California.
Yes indeed, in Marin County where I was a well respected lawyer employed by the County Counsel’s Office who represented the Sheriff’s Department. It is not safe to be a Muslim in this dunya but our odds improve remarkably in the next life. I was evicted from my California apartment under totally false pretenses. It was an unjust California statute enacted by pressures from affluent developers and huge apartment complex owners to evict ‘unruly’ tenants. I was not unruly but a case was insidiously made against me. My amazing legal skills could not prevail because I was unrepresented, no lawyer would represent me and the scum of opposing counsel would not allow a continuance. Rather than stay and fight I fled to the UAE – which proved to be a horrible mistake. But one’s judgment is not intact under such circumstances. I suddenly, and awfully, became aware of what it is like to be black in white America. It is not pretty.
Faithful readers will know that was abused both sexually and physically by my father – proven by scientific testing. One should not have to have proof but a woman does, even these days unfortunately and regrettably a woman still.does There were no child protective laws back then. In my adult life looked into bringing him to justice. Regret I did not for only one reason. There is proof that one, if not both of my brothers were abusive. They are, in some ways, not to be blamed – Freud’s Repetition Compulsion causes the abused to abuse. Perhaps seeing the e horrors of my father’s ‘meeting his maker in this lifetime may have served as a determent for my brother’s loathsome behavior.
To meet his maker is idiomatic, euphemistic: to die or to pass into the afterlife. I am unsure as to the afterlife my father will pass into as he is not a Muslim; nor are my brothers. It can, and must, be of no concern to me. The Islamic Faith instructs Believers that no one but Allah (SWT) can forgive sins – so all of this is completely out of my hands. It does enable me, in a real sense, to not only survive but to thrive.
Returning now to writing after the morning walk I can ensure all that there will be a photo. It was an absolutely perfect morning to walk, dressed my warm but weird outfit, running shoes and warm scarf. I walked through the Prophet’s Mosque to another gate – saw there the perfect place to have my photograph taken. It was was the Center for Lost Children. I made attempts to have my photograph taken with the sign in the background as I was not tall enough for a selfie. Hahaha.
Just outside the gate I encountered a guard – one of the rudest, most insulting of men I have ever encountered, and that is saying something, believe you me. As I tell this story please remember that he is employed by the Prophet’s Mosque. This to be remembered. The Prophet’s Mosque is more correctly called the Masjid al-Haram. Why is the Masjid al-Haram called Haram?
Haram means “sacred precinct” and denotes protected zone or a holy place of worship. It comes from the same Arabic root of the word “forbidden”, showing that al-haram is a place where certain actions and behaviors are not allowed.
Most certainly rudeness and disrespect to a Muslim woman is forbidden, particularly if you are entrusted to ‘guarding’ the most sacred of all places. I asked a woman, near the gate and the guard, if she spoke English. She said not – I looked about in vain to find a photographer capable of taking a photo under the Lost Children sign. That seemed so very funny to me. I spoke to a lone woman, reading her Quran. She said she did not speak English, so I did not ask her to take the picture.
Suddenly, the non English speaking guards accosted me – that being the correct word as it means to approach and address (someone) boldly or aggressively. In other words he shouted at, hailed, detained confronted, buttonholed and collared me.
Do please recall that I was covered, from head to toe – perhaps not in an abaya, but modestly dressed. The photograph will show my unconventional garb which kept me warm in the 10 degree weather. The guard was able to communicate in a rude demanding way that he did not believe that I was a Muslim. I was ready for that, knew that it would come at some moment because I do not look like a Muslim and no not behave in a submissive manner as required by most Muslims. The screen saver of my iPhone contains an Arabic document from the Abu Dhabi Zhayed Center
Me: It is in Arabic so you should be able to read it. It is proof that I am a Muslim.
He reluctantly took the phone and examined it. But he was not through with me, not yet.
He: Hotel. Hotel
Me:If you are asking me if I stay in a hotel, the answer is yes. The Oberiol.
By the way, unlike Mecca where entry is denied to non- Muslims – in Medina one can stay temporarily if you are a non- Muslim but not enter Masjid al-Haram.
He continued to threaten me, to harass acting as if he did not understand me. I took the room key out, pointed to the name of the hotel and said:
Me: See Stupid.
He was terribly offended. “Not Yell! Not Yell! “ he ordered.
Me: I did not yell. I called you stupid. You do not understand English. How could I have offended you?
Aimed the camera at him to take a picture, to complain about his behavior.
He: No pictures in Haram No pictures. Put his hand in front of the camera.
The woman I had spoken to before reappeared, she heard the confrontation conversation. Her English was fine. She took the photo of me in front of the Center for Lost Children. We chatted, laughing at the guard. Found that we were both on Instagram, followed one another. Then took a selfie of the two of us in the Haram which shall also be attached to this blog.
Two days later, the morning was a blessedly cool 11 degrees. It was walking weather again. The same strange outfit with a face mask from pandemic days. This experience was disparate in every way.
Took the same route, walking toward the same Gate, looked lovingly upon the Center for Lost Children. The offensive guard was not in evidence. Turned homeward bound. The umbrellas were closed, no need for their shelter as no protection from the sun needed. I leaned upon a movable green fence watching the groups of pilgrims. A man, a smiling sweeper, called out to me, a red collapsible stool in hand. He proudly opened it, presenting it in a flourish.
Me: Thank you!! Thank you! Thank you! What a gift! Alhamdulliah.
He resumed his duties but later another man joined him and we began ‘talking’. He was from Pakistan, the other man from India. Now they lived in Medinah felt so blessed to live in Medina. I told them that I would be living in Medina. It was sign language but we understood one another perfectly.
I sat basking in the sun, becoming inspired to record this moment in time. Groups of people were rushing by but no one individual to ask for picture taking. So I took matters into my own hands, began musing, recording my thoughts in short selfies.
Muse, in its use as a verb, used as a verb: ponder, consider, think over/about, mull over, reflect on, contemplate, turn over in one’s mind, chew over, weigh up, meditate on.
After the recording session, returned the stool to the sweeper then happily, joyously strode back to the Oberio’s Breakfast Bar. On the way saw three men in uniform, three guards. I smilingly gave them a mock salute, we fell into conversation. I gave them my blog card, one of the men, an officer, saw I was on Instagram. He was as well, we joined one another, his photographs were of the Haram, in all its glory, over a long period of time.
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This was indeed a new dawn, a new day -so different from the previous morning. Blessed with oodles of consideration, caring and respect from at least five men, all employees of the Masjid. They all were exemplary, clearly joyous and fulfilled being in the service of, working for the Prophet (PBUH). I absolutely know the Prophet (PBUH0 would be proud.
Photographs will follow. My injured right arm. The screen saver of my phone. The sites of my musing, me in front of the Center for Lost Children, the wonderful woman who took the photograph. Then two reels of my musings.
