In the name
of Allah most gracious, most merciful. Lord of the heavens and the earth and
everything in between.
27 June
2014.
The light of
the day breaks through the grey ever so gently, a part of the day that I adore.
Everyone has gone back to sleep after stacking up plates for maybe that last
Suhur, maybe not. Should you be reciting it is asif the birds answer. Should
you be excited and lying in bed contemplating the sad end of Ramadhan; you would be not be alone. The young people in
my house are at their best behaviour, turning out their rooms and looking at
what special bedding is in the cupboard to welcome Eidul Fitr.
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I am so
chaffed with a new oak table a gift from a traveller, needs a final sanding and
a lick of varnish or maybe a good beeswax polish. Honestly, I love sitting on
the floor but tables are important for Eid too. Beautiful damask table cloths
and silverware shined and flowers and linen serviettes. Abu and I have a ritual
to go and buy flowers for the house, the last thing that we do to await the resounding
Takbir in Cape Town. So I check all the vases are sparkling and the tablecloths
are worthy. I take out an Indian bedspread that only graces my bed on Eids and
then it gets packed away. Timeless in its beauty and cheerful for my
disposition, covered in poppies.
Yesterday we
went to eat at the Ocean basket, Nile perch and fresh prawns and mussels and
crunchy calamari heads a treat for us all. On our way back we drove down
Belgravia Road to stop at the Wembley. No, no not the roadhouse but the
minimarket. I forgot to get some cashew nuts for the baklava and knew for sure
I would get it there. There I know for sure supplies will be a bit expensive
but I will find most provisions and many that gives me ideas for an Eid table
such as pomegranates that are ruby red; custard apples that are just ripe
enough to eat; spring onion (I had used up all in the garden) for stir fries;
all kinds of fresh herbs and fruits that will look and taste fabulous for a
corner of tumbling lush fruits. So I am standing there considering the cashew
nuts or some real toffee; pomegranates or custard apples; douebla beans or
beautifully packaged dates in a box thin, wrist like and ornate. And I hear a
sweet Asalaamu alaykum and a dear friend is there too.
So I pasted
back these two paragraphs:
Tomorrow after Magrib, commonly regarded in Cape
Town as Lailatul Qadr, the Night of Power. The masajid will be busy from dusk
to dawn. Men and women, Palestian scarves draped on their head or their necks
will go from masjid to masjid and join saf after saf to send collective duah
and collective salaah and rememberance of Allah SWT. Although in the foreground
of my mind I am busy with house and chores and garden and preparation and
meetings, there is an excitement that is inexplicable in my Ruh. It has always
been thus. My belief is that on one’s life trajectory Allah SWT places people in your path and you in the path of others - beacons of lights to illuminate the way to self-realisation. For most of us Allah has also afforded us two stars that never set, in the form of parents who have unwavering concern for our souls; who remind us to make our ibadah; to be thankful; to be gracious; to stand up when we stumble and would even switch places with us to shield us from harm. Beyond that these lights mainly appear in the form of teachers and lecturers.
I thought
that beacons of light illuminates the way, the physical spaces and places that
we are familiar with, give us that feeling of groundedness. Like the Wembley.
Do you remember the feeling that you had when you walked into Shaiks Exotics?
The hessian bags of masalas and rice and spice in the front. The counter with
an array of dates and dried fruits and nuts and glazed ginger and figs and the
like. I knew that anything I ever needed would be behind that counter such as
Iranian saffron and vanilla pod and fresh cherries and while I was oohing and
aahing the kids could go bos with the books. Another little shop for fresh
supplies all year round thank you Allah is still there, I have to check the
name in Earnest Road, for sure I would find fresh coconuts or prawns and
other delights. And I miss the Rosmead! Hiring carpet shampoo machines and rows
and rows of delights that would grace my table with personal advice.
And then I
went down memory lane in Salt River. Is it just me or has that landscape
changed? There used to the Phillips Brothers and Obelwisch (sp?) and a bookshop and
the Kupugani and fabric shops with haberdashery counters and old school barber
shops and Babbi shops on every corner such as Baaboo and Karjiker and Allie and
Parker and Gaibie etc with those jars of delicious sweets and who knew all the
local skinner. All the
last minute shopping for Eid and Christmas could be done in Salt River with a
last stop for a piping bag in Durham Avenue and a quick walkaround at the
market –which now is decorated with second hand plumbing stuff and toilets.
This has
been the case of many places such as Walmer Estate where mostly older people
live now, their kids are out on the Cape Flats or in Rondebosch East. And the
same has been the case for some spaces in the Bokaap where parents started
selling off their homes which has been turned into restaurants. This feeling of
dislocation makes one look for familiar places, well at least it does for me.
So last
night I ended the day to watch Nouman Ali Khan to see why he inspires so many
Muslim youth in my class and all over the world. And well I do feel inspired today. That’s why
I am sitting at the computer pounding out my thoughts.
Plant food
and enjoy preparing for Eid and go sight the moon!
Yasmine
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