الصراحة راحة's profile~ الصراحة راحة ~BlogListsNetwork Tools Help

Blog


    March 29

    Dare I ? *naughty grin*


    Hmmm... dare I post my latest piece of writing? Dare I, with the possibility that the wrong people might take it the wrong way?

    ...........................


    Yes. I do dare. Read on.

    And keep your assumptions to yourself; unless you are willing to discuss them with me openly and constructively.

    Inspired by the least likely person; but not directed at them in any way. Read on.

     

    PS. Not poetry. Not anything...but thoughts. Any grammar/vocab mistakes are intentional. Better believe it.

    إحراج !!

     

     

    أخي الكريم ،

     

    ضع أوراقك جانباً

    ارفع قلمك

    (دع الحبر يجفّ)....

    و اسمعني

     

     

    أخي الكريم ،

     

    استغربت ... من أفعالك

    أزعجتني .. أزعلتني

    و الان لا أطلب منك سوى

    أن تسمعني

     

     

    أخي الكريم ،

     

    استمع إليّ .. فأنا أعرف ما هو العدل

    احكم عليّ ... بالإعدام ؛ الشنق اذا أردت

    أو ارفعني ... فوق عرش من ذهب

    إن أردت .. لا يهمني

     

    ** فقط اسمع **

     

    أخي الكريم ،

     

    انظر إليّ...و لا تكن من الظالمين

    إن المرء ليس دائماً كما يبدو... (أنت كذلك)

    ويلٌ للمنافقين

    و ألف ويل للمنافقين


    أخي الكريم ،

     

    عُد في كلامك ، فقد أخطأتَ ..

    لا حرج في أن تعتذر

    لمن ظلمته

    ويلٌ للظالمين .. و ألف ويل للظالمين

     

    أخي الكريم ،

     

    يقولون أنه من الأدب

    أن احترمك .. أن أقدّرك

    أن ألبّي طلباتك (إلى حدّ ما)  !..

    و أقول لك : لا أدب في الذي فعلته لي

     

     

    أخي الكريم ،

     

    يؤسفني أن أقول

    (بعد الكثير من التفكير)

    (و بعد أن حاولت مناقشتك)

    أنك تصرّفتَ .. بقلة أدب !!

     

    إحراج لك ، أخي الكريم .. إحراج لك ..

    الحسرة على المحرجين يا أخي .. الحسرة على المحرجين

    March 13

    The Problem with the UAE

     

     

    In retrospect, growing up in the United Arab Emirates was an insightful social, political, economical, cultural, and religious experience. In my opinion, nationalism is the major overarching factor that connects all of these experiences, and I will begin this series of blog posts with some comments on it. I will try to lay out how I feel nationalism in the UAE shapes, and was shaped by, such things as politics, money, population changes, culture, and other social factors. In the end, I hope to shed some light on my opinions regarding what I like to call "the problem with the UAE".

     

    Education and Nationalism

     

    I started third grade in the UAE, in the city of Al Ain to be precise. I attended Al Sanawbar School for eight years, a private, bilingual school established by Lebanese expatriates in the early 1980s. The elementary, middle, and high school experience in the UAE was wearisome. The first lesson in every Arabic textbook for every grade year taught a few Quranic verses, immediately followed by a lesson that promoted "love for the country" and nationalistic ideology. Such lessons talked about the greatness of the UAE and its leader Sheikh Zayed bin Sultan al Nahyan, and had titles such as "Our Dear UAE", "The Emarati Youth", and "Father Zayed". The lessons glorified the UAE's independence (from British imperialism- which was never mentioned), and the ascending of Sheikh Zayed to the throne, and stressed the importance of al ittihad or unity among the seven principalities, called Emirates, that constituted the country. The lessons never probed deeply enough the political forces that made way for the UAE to become a nation state, and the country itself was never put into a global perspective, leaving the students with a very narrow conception of what the UAE  had actually been, what it had really become, and what place it came to occupy in the international arena. All we got out of the lessons, as students, was that the UAE was the most wonderful country ever to grace the history of nation states, and that Sheikh Zayed was the most wise, strong, noble, generous, and kind leader who was loved dearly, not only by his own people, but by the world at large. 

     

    This school experience was crucial in shaping how we thought about the country, its people, and its leaders. The curriculum was intentionally designed, as in most countries, to promote patriotism and loyalty to one's country. However, the Emaratis, like many formerly-colonized countries, took this to the extreme, and the nation-wide school curriculum became a very explicit means by which students' hearts and minds were pumped full of nationalistic sentiments. It did not matter that none of the teachers I ever had were UAE nationals themselves; teachers of the Arabic curriculum, regardless of their own nationalities, were carefully instructed by the ministry of education to keep in mind the purpose of the lessons, and to make sure that their students came out of class each day with deep love for "our precious UAE". Interactions between the students illustrate some of the effects of these lessons: any child who uttered a slight remark, even jokingly, about either the UAE or Sheikh Zayed was immediately faced with intense anger, ridicule, and even threats to" be thrown into jail"  by fellow brain-washed Emarati classmates. Critical thinking about anything was actually discouraged by the books and the educators who taught the curriculum. The end result is obviously problematic. 

     

    The above-discussed problems in schooling become manifested in society when students graduate and attempt to enter the workforce, or go on to higher education. How so? It is not that these students with narrow conceptions and fierce, almost blind nationalism, who also lack critical thinking skills find themselves incapable of integrating into a competitive, healthy job environment and university life, at least in the UAE. Rather, the answer to the question I posed leads to a necessary discussion of yet another of the UAE's problems.

     

    --- More to Come iA ----

     

     

    Cbox Here

     

     

    January 26

    Red Shoes: On the Way To Travnik

     
     
     
    Lovely Palestine desribed my Arabic Blog as follows:
     
    لن يشعر بها إلا إذا كان مثلها طائراً وروحه تحلق فوق سماء فلسطين
     
    (you can't feel with her unless you are, like her, a bird..and your soul soars over the sky of Palestine)
     
    Terrible translation in English. Soz about that. I wish I had the time to update my Arabic blog. I miss writing in Arabic.
     
    ----------------
     
    Here is one of the last things I wrote for a long time..It's called Red Shoes: On the Way to Travnik...
     
     
     
    A completely true story; read the whole thing through to understand why/how I wrote it. Hope you like it.
     
    --------------------------
     
    Red Shoes: On the Way to Travnik
     
     
         It was a dangerous drive from Zenica to Travnik, and Admir was the only one who was brave enough to accompany him on the journey. He drove a small pickup truck loaded with children's toys, and Admir sat next to him, ready to translate when needed. The two chatted lightly, but both were nervous, aware of the need to be on constant guard while travelling this dangerous route. At any time they could happen upon an unexpected enemy checkpoint and be fired upon until killed. The roads in this area were perilous; winding and narrow, and it was difficult to see more than ten feet ahead.
     
         They approached a small village, and he could see two small children walking across an expansive green field towards the road. He decided to stop and ask for directions. The girl was about seven years old, and her younger brother was five. They both had long, rather bony faces, and very silky brown hair; the girl's bangs covered her entire forehead and hung just below her eyebrows. What struck him most though, strangely, were the red shoes she was wearing. Perhaps they seemed to him a small glimmer of childhood innocence amidst the darkness that had engulfed the war-torn society, or perhaps it was simply odd to see shoes of such a bright red color. Either way, they struck him, and he remembered them distinctly many years later.
     
          As he and Admir greeted the children, several villagers gathered around to see who the travellers were and inquire as to what they wanted. Admir asked them about the best way to get to Travnik; they pointed him in the correct direction, and wished the two men luck. He and Admir thanked them, started up the truck again, and headed in the direction the villagers had pointed to. As they pulled away from the group of villagers, he could see the two children in his rearview mirror, standing near the road, the girl with her arm around her brother's shoulder, her bright red shoes shining.
    "Admir, we should stop and give them some toys. That's what our mission is anyway. I'll back up."
     
        The children were delighted with the toys; they had never owned such beautiful playthings, and had never expected to either. Their father was just coming out of the nearby field, and he wanted to know who the two men were and why they were giving his children toys. His lean, pale face softened as Admir explained about the "Muslim man from America", who wanted to travel across war-stricken Bosnia distributing donated toys to children in a small attempt to make a difference. The father's slim figure straightened slightly when Admir finished talking, and he reached out to shake the man's hand. He asked them where they were headed next, and Admir told him they were going to Travnik, and that thanks to the kindly villagers, they knew which route to take. The father looked surprised when Admir pointed out which way they planned to go, and said something urgent in Bosnian. Admir's face drained of all color as he heard what the farmer said; but he slowly turned to his partner and repeated what he had just heard in English: "The man says there is a Croat checkpoint around the bend just twenty yards from the point where we stopped and backed up! We would have been shot at and killed!" His voice and hands shook. 
     
       The children and the urge to bring a smile to their solemn faces had seemingly saved their lives. The villagers likely did not know that the checkpoint was there, and had given them dangerous directions unknowingly. The two thanked Allah, bid farewell to the father and his children, and turned around to drive back to Zenica in shaken silence. They would find another way to get to Travnik. This near-death incident was only one of many past, and many to come, but my father and Admir were brave, and trusting in Allah.
     
    "We didn't even get their names," he said, almost sadly, with a far-away look in his eyes. Admir nodded.