Tradition

We celebrated Eid in Cape Town four days ago. For you who may not know what Eid is, it is an Islamic religious holiday celebrated twice in the lunar year - the first is celebrated the day after the fasting month is completed (the one we've just celebrated), and the second one is celebrated on the tenth day of the twelfth lunar month, which corresponds with the third day of pilgrimage.
It can be likened to Christmas or Hanukkah - a day for families and friends to get together - but what makes Eid unique is that each one has a specific significance attached to it: the first one is the Eid of charity, and the second the Eid of sacrifice.

Muslims around the globe celebrate this day in many different ways, and along with the specific religious duties and customs that have to be performed, every family has their own unique customs and traditions that surround it. In my family, my mother buys gifts for all of her grandchildren, makes her own corned beef and home-made baked bread (which I have taken over, since she sustained a shoulder injury), makes meat pies and cooks a pot of biryani; My eldest sister-in-law makes her version of fried chicken (which is better than KFC, in my opinion); one of my older sisters makes a roast leg of lamb (or two - we're a big family) with all the trimmings; my baby sis and I bake biscuits and cakes; and the rest of my siblings will see to puddings and desserts. New clothes are bought and homes get a spring cleaning (regardless of the season).

Our home is the central meeting place for all my siblings and their children, and for a few extended family members, and for the last thirty four years, Eid lunch has always been under my mother's roof.

When I was younger (and lazier) I complained a lot - about the amount of people in our home on that day, of all the preparation that we had to do, of nieces, nephews and small cousins invading my personal space, operation clean-up afterward. I argued a lot with my mother and older sister because I didn't understand why things had to be done a certain way and when I became older and 'wiser', I became even more impatient with some of the customs that I felt were unnecessary and extravagant.

This year, due to miscommunication and stubbornness, we were almost forced to break with our thirty year tradition...and it felt like there was a death in the family. My mother was completely distraught at the mere possibility of abandoning the tradition of having all of her children congregate under her roof for Eid.  I kept my opinions to myself and waited to hear what the elders had decided, but overheard my mother say to one of my sisters that she wants us to carry these traditions on if she is no longer with us one day, and that she hopes that we will remember her and continue to pray for her.
We stuck to our usual plan, but because of the conflict of the preceding few days, the day was dampened somewhat.

It was the first time I actually stopped to think about what makes people cling for dear life to their traditions. I can only really answer for myself, and from what I witnessed and felt last week, it boils down to three things: immortality, human connection and the happiness one feels at the remembrance of fond memories.

I have lost some people in my life, but I remember them through the little traditions they were a part of throughout my life. My late uncle and aunt had supper at our house at least once a week, and I can still hear her laugh and I still clean the lids of the sauce bottles like he used to do. Whenever I hear the song, "Pump up the jam" it makes me think of my late brother, and his ridiculous dance moves. Tin Roof ice-cream reminds me of my father's late wife, because she always made sure there was a tub in the freezer whenever I came to visit her.

These people may be gone, but they are very much alive in my heart.

We do not live forever, but every person wants to be remembered after they leave this world, and I suppose traditions are the one thing which helps us to leave our mark in this life.

Photo Blog Challenge: Day 5 - Convention (is overrated)

Weddings can become such a spectacle sometimes.
I become quite disheartened when people stress excessively about the actual wedding day, that they forget about the lifetime of hard work after - who's going to be in the wedding, what are they going to wear, it must all be uniform, blah-blah-blah. Then you get those overbearing aunts and cousins who are under the illusion that they have a say and like contribute their two cents, even though it isn't wanted or needed, and the poor bride capitulates so as not to offend or cause huge rifts in the family. On the flip side, you get brides that don't give a rat's ass about anyone but herself, and alienates people who have been there for her, her whole life.

One thing in particular that really upsets me, particularly with Muslim marriages, is how the brides forget the boundaries of our religion when it comes to their wedding. I was really appalled at one of my cousins when she got married, because her dress was so transparent, she may as well have been naked. You have just bound yourself to one man, and every other male attending your wedding reception is treated to what should be for your husband's eyes only.

My baby sister was married eighteen months ago. She prides herself on being unconventional, and I daresay, certain aspects of her big day were quite so. I was really proud of the decisions she made with regards to her wedding.

The image above was taken in one of our local botanical gardens, and the only specification she gave to the photographer on that day was that she wanted to have 'sneaker' pics.

We are part Indian, and those of you who have attended one will know it can be quite an extravagant affair. The week before the actual wedding day is crammed with smaller functions and get-togethers. She chose to forgo all of that.

Her dress was beautiful - it covered her completely, and instead of having her hair done up with a tiara and veil, she wore it completely covered, simply draping her headscarf in a more formal way. She also said "To hell with fashion, I want to be comfortable" and wore flat satin pumps, instead of six inch heels.

Her bridal party consisted of eight of our family's grandchildren - five of our nieces and three of our nephews. Instead of spending obscene amounts of money on custom made ensembles that they would wear for only one day, she allowed the four bridesmaids (of which three towers over her) to select their own dress, in a colour of their liking, so that they could wear it again, and asked them all to accessorize with silver (scarves, bolero jackets, shoes and jewelry).
She didn't hire a stylist, a make-up artist or fancy cars, and she designed her own wedding dress.

Her unusual wedding was the most relaxed and most enjoyable one our family has experienced in a long time.
Convention is definitely overrated.

Photo Blog Challenge: Day 4 - Turning Point

My job description has changed almost every year since I've been employed at my present school.
In 2010 (the year I started) I was employed to assist the school librarian, to help with remedial mathematics and to assist the two school secretaries with menial things like filing and duplication. Since then I have taught EMS (Economic and Management Sciences), History, Geography and Art, and for the last two and a half years, I've been doing financial administration.

The most difficult thing I've had to do these past five and a half years was teach Art. I don't have an artistic bone in my body. I can't draw for shit, I don't paint really well, I cannot build or construct things. The extent of my artistic talent ends in organising an office space.
I was asked to teach this subject because the usual teacher had taken early retirement, and this woman did not leave a single lesson plan or guideline for me to follow. So, Google became my best friend and I spent that year researching things to do in a Grade 4 Art class.

To my unending surprise, my children responded well to the things I asked them to do. As I had a room specifically designated for me to use, I could display their offerings (as you can see in the middle picture above - that room was my solace and joy). That specific year was a turning point for me as professional.

Since then, I have had to face some weird challenges at work, many times involving things I had no experience of or training for. And thankfully, I have managed to handle myself (and in some cases, managed to avert or overcome catastrophes).

I am on the cusp of leaving my present job in pursuit of a completely different career path. I do not have a 100% solid plan yet, and yes, I am scared of the change. But I'm not scared enough to back out of my decision.

I had always been afraid to make a mistake at work. I had little to no faith in my abilities to fix my mistakes or in my ability to learn from them. It took a fourth grade Art class and two years of psycho-therapy for me to realize that I was holding myself back.

So, I may not know exactly which direction I am going to be turning to. I do know, that which ever way it is, I WILL hit the ground running.

Photo Blog Challenge: Day 3 - Miracle/Blessing/Inspiration

Ten years ago, one of my nephews entered this world with less than a 5% chance of survival. He emerged from his mother's womb and went straight onto an oxygen tank and into an incubator. In addition to not being able to breathe on his own, the doctors discovered a suspended liver, two holes in his diaphragm and a hole in his heart. My brother and his wife were told to expect the worst.

The procedure that he needed to have performed to fix the holes in his diaphragm had a very low success rate. Thankfully, he made it through, but we were told that his heart surgery would have to wait until he was a certain age and weight. I remember the day we fetched him from the hospital to come home for the first time. He was about 4 months old, and I remember my mother telling us that the doctors said he was too stubborn to die.

He had a long and arduous seven years, of doctors' visits, continually deferred theatre dates, stunted physical development and trying to reach the insurmountable mass of 15 kilograms.

In 2012, my brother arranged a trip to Saudi Arabia for his wife and their four sons, as we had finally gotten a solid date for his surgery. My mother and I went along, and it was by far, the best journey I had ever undertaken.

My photo today is of our miracle/blessing/inspiration and his mother, walking on the grounds of the mosque in Medina. We were very worried about how taxing flying would be on the his health, but he amazed us all from the very first day.
All of us got sick at some point. He did not even get as much as a sniffle.
At home, it was a constant struggle to get him to eat. He was the only person who ate every airline meal, and had the appetite of a grown man for the duration of this trip.
One of the rituals of pilgrimage is to walk seven times between two hills - the total distance is approximately 2.1 kilometers. Adults are spent at the end of it. He walked it all by himself, and even 'ran' some of his laps.

As had become normal for him, he breezed through his adversity against some pretty hectic odds, and survived his heart surgery, (hopefully) his last major medical procedure. His health improves daily, and he is a mischievous, humorous, intelligent little boy.

It is human nature to complain and become despondent at all of the things in our lives that go off-script. However terrible his ordeal was for him and for the family, it has taught me not to wallow in failure or disappointment. It has shown me miracles. It has shown me my many blessings.

And he will continue to be my biggest inspiration.