An introduction to Irish......blarney

Adare, Co. Limerick

If I’d been back home to Ireland in the last 3 years this post would have been so much longer, as there are so many sayings I’ve forgotten from lack of use – there really is no point in saying something that absolutely nobody around you understands. 

I never heard my Mum (or my Dad for that matter) use any kind of bad language in her life – for her the word ‘damn’ was a swear word.  Which made it all the more unlikely to hear  the following phrase out of her mouth whenever we complained about one ailment after another:

‘You’re never without an arse or an elbow’

When you hear the same phrase over and over since you were very young you don’t question it – my Dad always entered the house after being away with ‘God Bless’  and we would reply ‘And you too’ and I had grown up thinking that was how everyone greeted each other.  It wasn’t until I realised that other people don’t use these phrases that I started to question them and when I asked my Mum what did her phrase, above, mean and where it came from she looked a bit sheepish and then, half embarrassedly said she hadn’t a clue.  I had never heard anyone else use it but discovered in my research that in actual fact it is a fairly well-known Irish phrase, so it’s ok Mum….you weren’t quite as dotty as we thought!   Not quite…..

Another of her favourite phrases was one my sister said she only ever heard my Mum use and that is a ‘noodie nawdie’, as in  ‘she’s a right noodie nawdie’ – she’s a right oddball.  However, again, it is a well- known Irish phrase originating in the Irish language.

Lord save us and guard us!  Said when surprised at something…usually not a good surprise.

What an a ‘amadán’ (pronounced ‘aumadawn’) meaning what a fool.

C’mere will you ask yer man for the yoke there  - when you can’t remember the name of the man or the thing you want.

I was shopping in Cork the other day – ‘the other day’ could range anywhere from yesterday to 10 years ago.

Back the road….in the total opposite direction to ‘up’ or ‘in the road’, and woe betide those who would confuse the two.

When a child has hurt themselves they are often told  ‘Shur it’ll be grand before you’re married’  as if this is any kind of reassurance to a small child.

I stepped out of the house and there it was……. gone! 

       

She’s weak for herself meaning she absolutely loves herself

.

Saw ya across the street the other day but by the time I caught up with ya….. ye were gone!

A LOT of conversations start up, especially among the more mature of years, with ‘Do you know who’s dead now?  You do know him, ah you do, you DO…you’d know him to see!’

Whenever you meet up with someone whose name you have forgotten it’s no problem:  ‘Tis  yourself!’  Or  ‘Is it yourself then?’ said with great enthusiasm should gloss over any awkwardness.

More power to your elbow.  Meaning good job done, or well done

About a lazy person – if there was work in the bed he’d sleep on the floor

Ah there ya are!  Are ya back?  Erm….no…I’m just a figment of your vivid imagination!

Hold on a sec….I’ll be back in a minute

There was aytin an drinkin in it!  Meaning there was a lot of it.

Irish phone call:

How’s things now?/How’s the form?  You’re well? Ah sure nothing strange. Isn’t the weather brutal? Yeah,  I know yeah . Right. Sure go on so. Bye… bye….. bye…. bye bye bye bye bye bye

Bye……………………..Bye………………………………………………………..Bye.

Alternative ending:   ” Good luck, good luck, good luck….. go on wha? Ok.  Go on. Bye bye bye…..…..bye”

View from my brother's garden

My brother had a Dutch neighbour who was putting in a new door in his house.  My brother, making conversation as he was passing asked him ‘how’s the door turning out?’  meaning how’s the work going so far, at which the neighbour looked at him in puzzlement and then said ‘From the inside!’

If ever stuck at a bus stop with a stranger the conversation  (and conversation there will be as there seems to be an unwritten rule never to be silent when you  can have a good ole chinwag (chat), and strangers are only friends you haven’t made yet )will usually consist of the weather, politics or religion.  You might be forgiven for thinking that, in Ireland it’s either raining or….it’s raining, but that is not so:

Sure it’s great drying weather.

“There’s great heat off that sun.”

When it’s raining lightly – it’s a soft day.

When it’s warm – it’s close         

                                                                                                              

All weather is "fierce." It can be fierce wet, fierce cold, fierce mild, fierce dry, fierce windy, fierce drizzly, fierce warm, fierce frosty, fierce breezy, fierce damp, fierce humid, fierce dead. Fierce everything, basically.

And when it does rain it can be spitting, pouring, bucketing down or lashing.

Many an Irish child has been sent off to get ‘the messages’  (the shopping), which their mammy would then put in ‘the press’ (cupboard)when they returned home.

In the past on a Saturday night all across Ireland Mammys would put towels into the hot-press (airing cupboard where the hot water boiler was stored) to warm them up for the weekly baths in preparation for Mass (Catholic Church service) on Sunday morning.

” She’s there every Sunday chewing the altar rails”  a rather fervent mass goer.

The dead arose and appeared to many (someone not seen for ages)  or as my Dad would say when I’d get up after a long lie-in…..’so there IS life after death then!’

There are no end of expressions describing those considered not to be ‘the full shilling’, or….’all there’ :

If he had another bitta wit, he’d be a half wit

If he had two brain cells he’d be twice as dangerous

Shur he’d be only half as smart as someone twice as smart as him – another one of my Dad’s favourite expressions.

She woke up like a bag of cats…..she woke up cranky    

  

Cmere  a while I want ya….said very fast to someone from whom you need something

Lovely stretch in the evenings. Referring to the summer evenings

The nights are really drawing in. referring to the winter coming

View from Garnish Island

Don’t come running to me if you break your leg!

Shut your mouth and eat your dinner!

Ah will ya relax will ya – shur  pressure’s only good for tyres!!

On dropping food on the floor – ‘don’t worry – its’ clean dirt’

I’ll do it now in a minute!

He’d rob the eye out of your head if you weren’t careful/ he’d rob the eye out of your head and come back for your eyelashes.

Very small meal – sure it wouldn’t fill the holes in your teeth

Sure it’s only down the road…..anywhere from half a kilometre to 10 kilometres!

To someone who answers the phone – ah so you’re at home then are ya!

If yeh die with a face like that no-one will wash yeh

I like your hair……did you knit it yourself?

He couldn’t lie straight in bed (a bad liar)

Look at yer wan, who does she think she is…the Queen of Sheeba?

Who does she think she is?  Lady Muck?

Yer man and yer wan usually refers to a man or a woman whose name you don’t know or escapes you at that moment in time.

Will you stop gawking!  Stop Staring!

When feeling nervous about something ‘I’m rattlin’

Were ya scarla?  Were you scarlet?  Were you embarrassed?

I was morta (mortified) Extremely embarrassed. And everyone in Cork is often either ‘scarla’ or morta’.

I’m in and out like a fiddlers elbow  - very busy

On the phone to let someone know you’re on the way   ‘shur I’m halfway there’ ……….and they haven’t even left the house yet. (A phrase both Ireland and Algeria have in common)

Stop the lights!  Said in surprise usually to something not very complimentary

Short hands, long pockets to describe someone who’s miserly

Your eyes are like two burnt holes in a blanket (a look brought on when you’ve had too many late nights)

That fella wouldn’t back away from the table too quick/ that fell wouldn’t back away from the table without a fight  said about someone with a good appetite.

So ……what’s the story?  Any news?

How’s the form?  How are you?

How’s the craic (pronounced ‘crack’ but with absolutely no connection whatsoever to any illegal substance!)? How are things?

He made an absolute hames (it rhymes with ‘James’) of it….a mess of it

He/She came with one arm as long as the other – didn’t bring anything to the house when they came visiting.

He/she would give an aspirin a headache

‘Ah go away!!’  or  ‘Go way outta that!’  Said in surprise at something.  When my eldest was about 6 years old she asked me why ‘Granny’ didn’t like me, and when I asked her where she got that idea, she replied ‘Because she keeps telling you to ‘go away’!

She’s got a face like a slapped arse/wet week-   someone who looks miserable

She’d bring a tear to a glass eye – someone who can move you to tears

It’s’ banjaxed’ meaning it’s broken or irreparable. 

The Jacks – the toilet

I haven’t seen her in donkey’s years….a very long time

Put the heart crossways – to give someone a fright

Macroom, Co. Cork

The guards – Garda Síochána …the Police

Ossified – drunk out of your mind

Will you stop acting the maggot?  You’re a right toe-rag!  Usually said to children when they’re messing around and being annoying

Taytos – ALL crisps, whatever brand, are called Taytos going back to when Taytos were the only crisps to be bought in Ireland.

A culchie – someone who comes from the countryside

Topper – a pencil sharpener

A sliced pan – a sliced loaf of bread

Hair like rats tails – lanky and greasy and uncombed

Between the jigs and the reels  – as in ‘between the jigs and the reels he never got there in the end’ meaning ‘between one thing and another’.

If you’re in Cork you can’t help notice that they put ‘like’ in every sentence, and if the sentence is a long one it can appear more than once: I was down the Mardyke like and I heard yar man was selling this yoke like and I thought to myself like that would look great in the sitting (living) room like.

Boy (pronounced ‘bye) is another popular ending to many a question or statement in Cork as in Are you alright there now boy? Sure that’s grand boy!  Which brings me to a Cork joke:

An Arab and a Cork man were travelling through the desert , when the Arab said ‘I think I’ll build a city here’ to which the Cork man answered ‘Do Boy!’

Stand back and let the dog see the rabbit – another of my Dad’s old favourites, when he was about to tackle a difficult job.

He’s a right plámáser (pronounced ‘plawmawser’)/ Stop your plámásing – plámás meaning to flatter or suck up.

So now….if you visit Ireland for the first time you’ll be able to talk about the weather as good as the next wan,  and you’ll  know when you’re being insulted up to the eyeballs….maybe…..because often it’s done with such charm it might go right past you!

And finally, although this has nothing whatsoever to do with Irish sayings I still think it’s amusing enough to share.  Of all the things I’ve learnt in Irish in school, the only verb that I can still successfully conjugate in the language, much to the great delight of my children,  is ‘to see’ in the present tense:

To See – Feic (pronounced ‘Feck’)

1 sg     feicim

2 sg.    feiceann tú

3 sg.    feiceann sé/ sí

1 pl.    feicimid

2 pl.    feiceann sibh

3 pl.    feiceann siad

Can’t think why this has always stayed with me…..along with the Irish word for….word…..’focal’ (pronounced ‘fokkal’).

West Cork

The joys of being an odd-ball

Ever since I was very young I’ve always considered myself to be…well….not to put too fine a point on it….odd!!!  I know that each one of us is a unique individual, and as a result, we may each appear odd to others at times, I’ve always felt my personality borders on the downright weird, and I have thought maybe it’s my background.  I mean, what’s the point in having a slightly (some might think that was an understatement)  unorthodox  upbringing if you can’t use it to hang all your most undesirable traits.  At the same time….I do think I hide it well......most of the time. 

Then a few years ago my eldest daughter, Sarah informed me that I was an introvert.  I immediately dismissed it as hogwash – I had the idea that an introvert was someone who was shy and quiet, and seeing as I could talk the hind legs off a horse with anyone, including those with whom I have no common language, I certainly didn’t fit the bill.  But then she said something that totally resonated with me – extroverts are people who, after socialising, return with a buzz and a real feel-good factor, whereas introverts return from the same situation with a desperate need to wind down and be quiet and alone.  Sometime after this I saw an article on Facebook entitled something on the lines of 'the 23 signs you are an Introvert', and when I went through them 19 of them were so me, and it was a light-bulb moment for me – there was a name for what I was and..... it wasn’t ‘peculiar’!

Recently Sarah did the Carl Jung’s and Isabel Briggs Myers’ typological approach to personality tests (can be found here) first for herself and then with my eldest son and other daughter, and then she turned her attention to me.   I found some of the questions difficult to answer as it wasn’t always clear to me exactly what they meant, so we had quite a few discussions and a lot of laughs.  Finally I got my result – ISFJ but with a margin of only 1% between  Sensing over Intuitive and very high introversion, some of the personality characteristics of both INFJ and ISFJ could apply to me, with stronger leanings towards INFJ.  I did the test again on my own, going with my gut instinct this time when answering the questions and came out with almost the exact same result!

And it has been a revelation to read a description of me by someone who has never met me!

They are notoriously bad at delegating ("If you want it done right, do it yourself"). And although they're hurt by being treated like doormats, they are often unwilling to toot their own horns about their accomplishments because they feel that although they deserve more credit than they're getting, it's somehow wrong to want any sort of reward for doing work (which is supposed to be a virtue in itself). That’s me!

ISFJs make pleasant and reliable co-workers and exemplary employees, but tend to be harried and uncomfortable in supervisory roles. It may come as a surprise to some…but in reality…..I hate telling people what to do!

They hate confrontation; if you get into a fight, don't expect them to jump in after you. You can count on them, however, to run and get the nearest authority figure.  I will do my very level best to avoid a confrontation at all costs, or to diffuse one, however that does not mean that I don’t blow up every now and then when the pressure builds to breaking point.

They are, in fact, sometimes mistaken for extroverts because they appear so outgoing and are so genuinely interested in people -- a product of the Feeling function they most readily show to the world. On the contrary, INFJs are true introverts, who can only be emotionally intimate and fulfilled with a chosen few from among their long-term friends, family, or obvious "soul mates." While instinctively courting the personal and organizational demands continually made upon them by others, at intervals INFJs will suddenly withdraw into themselves, sometimes shutting out even their intimates. This apparent paradox is a necessary escape valve for them, providing both time to rebuild their depleted resources and a filter to prevent the emotional overload to which they are so susceptible as inherent "givers." As a pattern of behaviour, it is perhaps the most confusing aspect of the enigmatic INFJ character to outsiders, and hence the most often misunderstood -- particularly by those who have little experience with this rare type.  This explanation is one that probably best describes me.  If I don’t go to an event it’s not because I won’t enjoy it or the interaction with people.  I know, for a fact that I will have a wonderful time,  but I choose to stay at home, alone, because I need that more, I need my alone time to recharge my batteries, or I’m in danger of burn-out and becoming stressed.

Usually self-expression comes more easily to INFJs on paper, as they tend to have strong writing skills.  This is SO me!!!!  I don’t know anyone else who would prefer to write to someone rather than to talk to them on the phone.

There were other observations that I recognised in myself but….as they were of the more complimentary nature I just could not bring myself to copy them here.  I just ….could….not.

Obviously you cannot take the millions of people in the world, add to them the millions upon millions of people who have lived since our time began, and just squeeze them all into 16 personality traits.  There is so much more that defines who we are, how we perceive the world and how we react to what happens in our lives.  We are, each of us unique, so much so that all of us, at one time or another will have that feeling of total isolation where we feel as if nobody else can possibly understand us in the same way as we ourselves understand who we are.  It can be overwhelming to feel that total sense of ….aloneness.  But, I think, this is not something to be feared but actually something to embrace and rejoice in because it is the perfect representation of our uniqueness – there has never been anybody else in the world who has ever been the exact same as each one of us (in my case some may breathe a huge sigh of relief!).   It has always seemed so strange to me that, in a world where individuality and being your own person is so highly valued, at the same time there is a huge pressure to conform to the norm.

But just as being male or female has a bearing on how we view the world, I think these tests can help to enable us to become more self-aware and,  personally for me, have helped me to be more true to myself and not look on some of these traits as something for which I have to apologise.  Even more importantly they have helped me to understand some of the traits I have seen in those closest to me which previously I could not comprehend and caused me to take personal affront.  We all had such a laugh while doing these tests…..there were so many ‘a-HA’ moments and, as a result, I think, a deeper tolerance and acceptance of each other inshallah.

If anything, these tests have revealed to me yet another facet of the wonderful intricacies of Allah’s amazing creation.  MashAllah.

A day in the life....

Pitta bread ready for the oven

Have you ever had one of those days when you know that you would have had a more productive day if you had just stayed in bed?  First I put the bread maker on to make Pizza and realised I had put in the ingredients for pitta bread instead.  So now……I have 8 pitta bread, because, of course, I just had to double the quantity…and the blunder.  I still have to make the Pizza dough because I have nothing to put in the pitta bread as yet.

Then, as I was minding my own business (not very well I’ll admit) I heard this very peculiar noise from the back garden.  It sounded like someone cranking a piece of scaffolding or something like that, and when I looked I just couldn’t believe my eyes!  What is it with our garden and birds???  Last year it was Moriarty the seagull and this year it’s a ……turkey (Actually.....NOT a turkey but a guiinea fowl as corrected by a lovely reader in the comments below, mashAllah) !  I just have this nasty suspicion that someone is trying to tell me……I’m for the birds.  Tell me something I don’t know.  Then, as I was trying to take a photo of the flamin’ thing my camera wouldn’t work and I think that the memory stick has gone kaput.  And….to cap it all….I burnt my milk saucepan.  It was wet, I NEEDED a cup of milky coffee so I put it on the cooker to dry before I put the milk in and ….promptly forgot about it until I smelt it. All of this before 9.30 am.  I really wished I’d stayed in bed.  So now I’m going to make pizza and then I’m off to do my spring cleaning.  I mean….what can go wrong with a bucket of hot, bleachy, suddy water and a cloth??? 

You wouldn’t believe how hard it is to give the kitchen in this house a really good scrub.  The problem is not with its size but more to do with its popularity.  There is ALWAYS someone in it needing something to eat, or drink or put the kettle on.  I have always really admired the way Algerian women in small over crowded apartments just bulldoze their way to a clean home every morning, cleaning everything in sight and not letting anything or anyone get in their way.  I just don’t have that knack so a simple scrub turns into an all day job.

Loquat fruit tree or Mishemsha as it's called here in /Algeria

But the upshot of my inauspicious morning is that the guinea fowl flew off, only to return briefly at coffee time, my camera memory card works on my daughter’s laptop so my son’s pictures of his visit to the countryside are not all lost Alhamdulilah, the pizza went down a treat and everyone’s looking forward to pitta bread for tea, and the Loquat fruit tree (mishemsha in Algerian derja) in the front yard and the fig tree in the back yard are both bearing fruit Alhamdulilah. Soon after we moved into this house my youngest was at a neighbours' house devouring their mishemsha when the lady of the house told him to plant the seeds in his garden and the picture above is the result mashAllah.   The fig trees were already in the garden when we moved in and both fruit trees have withstood total neglect on one hand or too much water on the other,  on my part, and total abuse by various workmen down the years Alhamdulilhah.

Figs...in April!!!!!

Not only 'mad dogs and English men go out in the midday sun'

The view from the end of our road

Over the years we have had various guests from abroad who have bravely ignored all the dire warnings about the dangers of travel to Algeria, and have come and stayed with us and created some very happy memories with us. 

One group who came to stay with us for 8 days were of Pakistani origin but born and brought up in Kenya, after which they moved to UK from where a few of them moved on to Canada.  The only man in the group was a very good friend of my husband in England and he and his English wife had shown us a lot of kindness and support throughout the years we lived near them.  He brought along his two sisters, one of whom travelled from her home in Canada along with her 16 year old daughter.

One of my favourite views coming into Algiers Center from 'our  side

The morning after they arrived the two sisters were up on the terrace supposedly admiring the view of the sea but instead looking down into our neighbour’s back garden and shouting down ‘Asalaam Alaykum’ to them at the top of their voices…..neighbours we had very little to do with up to this point.  Soon after they went out to go down to the sea but somehow managed to wangle themselves an invite into the very same neighbour’s home which was in the opposite direction, bringing back home a plate of goodies. This was just the first morning and I started to wonder if our fragile relationship with our neighbours was going to survive their visit.

Their enthusiasm for soaking up as much as they could of the unique atmosphere of Algeria was, admittedly infectious and rather endearing, and they had a wonderful sense of humour which meant a lot of laughter echoed throughout the house.  The two sisters were older than me and, like all sisters, bickered which sometimes bordered on the point of a full-blown row, in the middle of which they would often stop and invite me to sit between them and relax.  I stared at them disbelievingly and told them I’d be safer sitting in a war zone!  They often chatted away in Urdu and then would turn to one of us and ask ‘what do you think?’  I dared not tell them.

Everything seemed to remind them of somewhere else…Dubai, Saudi, Kenya…etc.  Funnily enough nothing reminded them of Pakistan because contrary to their outward appearance and obvious Pakistani cultural preferences…none of them had ever set foot in Pakistan.  A few times it was on the tip of my tongue to say it all reminded me of Algeria but I kept quiet, and had my revenge when a few years later they returned to Kenya after many years absence and drove their brother mad by saying how much everything reminded them of…..Algeria!!!! 

Ketchaoua Mosque, Algiers

They loved everything and, to be honest even though they were exhausting in their wish to see most of Algeria (we are talking about a country 9.8 times the size of mainland UK) in 8 days, they were easy to please.  As fast as I chopped carrots for the dinner, they ate them exclaiming with every bite how they hadn’t tasted carrots like that in years.  The ate everything I put in front of them….as long as it was accompanied by a dish of rice and they were very much hands on in helping with the cooking and the washing up.

There were many times when we were outside and I was so grateful for wearing a niqab…for all the wrong reasons.  They totally ignored the fact that English and Urdu are not universally spoken or understood here in Algeria and just chatted away to every shopkeeper and vendor nevertheless.  They decided that they just HAD to make ‘mandazi’s, something my sister had introduced us to years ago, which were the Aisan version of a doughnut, but whereas my sister’s recipe did not include coconut it was essential in their recipe.  So off we went hunting down the crucial and very elusive coconut milk.  They would walk into a shop and ask for ‘halib’ and be shown the long-life milk cartons and then they would say ‘no, no…..we want COCONUT halib’ which invariably elicited a blank stare from the poor beleaguered shop-keeper.  Eventually it occurred to me to point to a Bounty bar and ask them for ‘halib’ made with that…and hope they didn’t bring out a chocolate milk carton.  Oh no…they didn’t have that kind of milk, but wait here a minute and they would go down the road and ask in the next shop if they had any.  So many times it went like that….the Algerian shop-keepers were so eager to please the foreigners and find them what they wanted.  We never  did find the coconut milk and they had to make the wretched things without them, which tasted fine to me.  Of course they couldn’t just make them with anything I had in my kitchen…..no….they needed a ‘tawa’ or griddle which they just had to borrow……… from the neighbours.

The Port of Algiers

They were very vehement in their desire to see the Sahara – coming to Algeria and not going to the Sahara was like going to Mecca and not visiting the Kaaba….their comparison….not mine.  So they piled into our car in the very early hours of the morning along with my daughter (and the flamin’ mandazis), and my husband drove them the 10 hours drive to the Sahara.  While my husband collapsed in a heap and slept for a while they spent their time walking around the beautiful sand dunes and taking pictures of themselves and the camels and picking up Desert Roses, which are natural formations of sand in the shape of roses.  They ate at the home of someone who was a friend of a friend of my husband, because, in Algeria everyone is a friend of someone.  They were offered a place to stay for the night but our guests were adamant that they wanted to return ‘home’.  So my husband drove them 10 hours journey back to our home, stopping once for a little rest on the way.  Our guests soon felt the full force of the lyrics of a song ‘mad dogs and English men go out in the midday sun’, when they became really ill on the journey home suffering from sun stroke and dehydration.

They recovered quickly to attempt to see the rest of Algeria in the remaining time of their holiday and when they did leave, we all collectively collapsed in a heap.  But…..to be honest…..I would have them all back again tomorrow because, simply, they loved it here, they appreciated our efforts and they were very good fun, which is all I ever ask of a guest.

Port of Algiers

Ants!

I am not in the least bit squeamish about most creepy crawlies apart from cockroaches, or ‘grillos’ as they are called here in Algeria.  I used to be absolutely petrified of spiders when I was younger and could not go to sleep once I knew there was one in my bedroom no matter how small.  As soon as my Mum heard me call her in that frantic tone she knew immediately ‘it’s a spider’.  There’s nothing like moving to a country where there are cockroaches and geckos to help see spiders in a rather harmless and kind of mind-their-own-business frame of mind…I might even go so far as to say that they almost seem nostalgic.

I have never minded ants…..actually I’ve always rather liked them.  They are hardworking and industrious and mind their own business…..until now.  Now……they are driving me, literally, up the walls.  We’ve had them in the kitchen and the bathrooms in previous years and they were annoying but not to the point where they drove me crazy…..until this year…..when they, in their hordes of millions, decided to make numerous homes in the brickwork behind my kitchen walls and around my kitchen counters.  At first it was a case of clearing a few off the kitchen counter between the cooker and the sink…the one I use the most.  I used to spray them with a mixture of bleach and water, but after a few incidents where one of my daughter’s favourite tops had a red, discoloured line where it came into contact with the counter top, I switched to vinegar and water which was a lot kinder on my family’s clothes, but had the same effect on the ants….although unfortunately only a temporary one.  They obviously went off and regrouped and started to come out in their hundreds…..they were on two of the counters, the cooker top and the sink. 

Now I must admit to feeling a bit guilty about my absolute wish to totally annihilate every ant in my home.  But it did start to feel as if these little creatures were taking over my whole life.  In my Aqeedah class we were studying the Prophets and our homework was to research one of the Prophets.  I chose Solomon and found myself even here immersed in ………. ants...... because in the Qur’an, in Surah An-Naml  Allah tells us about the Prophet Solomon (May Allah’s blessing be upon him) who had the ability to communicate with the animals and birds.  He was travelling through a valley with his army of soldiers and he overheard an ant warning all the other ants to return fast to their homes in case Solomon and his men would tread on them by accident.  So of course I felt like a big giant ogre battling tiny armies of ants and I felt bad. 

One of my friends suggested talking to the ants.  Yes….tallking….to….the……ants and asking them nicely to leave my home.  She told me that her husband had done that and that it had worked for them.  Well…..I decided to do my whole ant whisperer thing and I asked the ants, nicely, to leave my house….I asked in English, I asked in derja, I asked nicely, and I asked firmly and then I threatened…..and the ants totally ignored me and continued on their merry way taking over my kitchen.  Another friend suggested I do what she does and just sweep them up in a dustpan and throw them out into the garden.  I had visions of me telling my family that there was no food cooked because I was too busy ushering hordes and hordes of ants out into the garden.   I would come downstairs in the morning and the first thing I had to do was to do battle with the ants – they were all over the sink, all over the counter and the cooker top. Everything seemed clear until I started chopping up meat for dinner or one of the children left a jammy knife lying around and suddenly my chopping board or the knife was totally covered in ants that appeared to come out of nowhere.  Who knew that ants loved raw chicken, turkey and meat?  I always thought it was only sweet things that attracted them.

So I sprayed and sprayed and then got crafty and, after doing some online research I placed little mounds of icing sugar mixed with equal portions of bicarbonate of soda to entice them to eat the latter and bring it back to the nest and kill the lot of them.   I waited and waited for it to work, and I watched as crowds of ants happily dived in probably thinking all their birthdays had come at once.  Then I began to have a sneaking suspicion that slowly but surely became a certainty, that these ants were having a laugh at me.  I could almost swear that I saw them waving at me from the mounds of white goodies I had so generously donated to them and I’m sure if I had Solomon’s (may Allah’s blessings be upon him) gift of being able to hear them, I would hear them shouting  ‘PARTAAAAAAAAAY!’

Having done my research and watched them for hours (at least it felt like hours) and learning more than I ever wanted to know about them, I will be honest and say that they are really amazing creatures, mashAllah.  Their power of smell must be phenomenal as they have proved to me so many times.  One day I was chopping meat for the freezer and did it on the table which, with no connections to any counter or worktop is the one place I feel I can put food with the security that ants won’t be able to get at it.  I could not believe my eyes when I suddenly noticed a crowd of them on the corner of the table.  When I investigated I saw that they had traveled across the kitchen floor, up the chair, and from there, climbed up the tablecloth the end of which was just barely touching it, and up onto the table.  Another time they climbed across the kitchen floor, up the side of the freezer and across the top to reach a small opened container I had left there with some of my icing sugan/bicarbonate conconction……how ironic.....now I KNEW they were having a laugh!

So then I decided to go back to the source and I started to really study them and try to find out their exit holes.  Do you have any idea of how long it takes an ant to find its home! These creatures that  are so super-efficient in so many ways take an enormous amount of time wandering around looking for the entrance to their home.  If I didn’t know better I might almost think these ants were wandering around trying to throw me off the scent so that I would give up and go away and not discover  their little hidey holes….but they’re not that clever…..are they???.Or it could just be that they are like Algerian men…..unable to go from A to B without going via Z e.g. I send my 13 year old son out for milk from the shop that is 5 minutes’ walk away and he returns 2 hours later. He says, ‘I went to see my friend,’   who, of course, lives much further away than the shop. After quite a lot of time watching the ants I discovered them emerging from behind the tap over the sink, from three holes  beneath two of the counter worktops, along the gas pipe down onto the cooker, from a teensy weensy hole on the window sill over the sink and from the bottom of the wooden frame of the kitchen door.  Do you have any idea of how many woman-hours it took of me watching them to discover these little holes?

I then rolled up my sleeves and started mixing cement in a little box to cover up all the holes, and, in the process learnt all I never wanted to know about mixing cement….at first it seems like liquid which is great for doing the fiddly jobs like around the back of the tap over the sink, then it becomes drier and clings together a bit better which is great for bridging gaps in the cupboards under the counter.   The latter sounds easier than in actual practice because it’s very difficult to reach in under the counter worktop unless I remove the shelves and actually lie in the cupboard….with all the excess cement falling on top of me.  The only alternative was a mirror, my mobile phone, a tin of mushrooms and a tin of tuna.  I put the mirror on the shelf pointing up at the hole, I put the flashlight on in my phone and faced it too towards the hole and propped it up with a can of mushrooms on its side against a tin of tuna to stop it sliding off…..I think a tin of any kind would probably do the trick!  Then I started to fill in the holes all along the underside of the worktop, and in the other holes around the kitchen including following the gas pipe up the wall and across the top until I found where it was screwed to the wall and where the ants were emerging in their hundreds. I even went outside the kitchen into the back garden and covered up any holes I could find there from where they could enter the house.  It’s an exhausting and time consuming process and the song ’99 miles from LA’ kept coming into my head except in my case it was ’99 miles of counters and walls’.

I felt a great sense of satisfaction once I’d finished as I felt as if I’d reclaimed my kitchen, and was so happy to get up in the morning and find my kitchen ant-free.  But then…….I realised……the ants were just lulling me into a false sense of security because slowly but surely they all started to emerge again!  When I stopped pulling my hair out and screaming like a banshee I  looked and discovered that they had just moved along and found other holes from which to emerge and torment me.  So again I got out my cement and….well you know the drill.  Whenever any of the kids came into the kitchen all they saw was me either hunched down staring underneath the counter or standing in the middle of the kitchen floor staring up at the pipework at the top of the walls.  At other times I started to relay all the new cubby holes I had found or my new plan of extermination to the point that my daughter told me I was becoming extremely boring….my only topic of conversation was ants.  And when she caught me shouting ‘THERE!  TAKE THAT!  I GOT YA!’ at my miniscule adversaries she started to really worry about my sanity. 

When I found that they were emerging from the top of the wall all along the other side of the kitchen where three pipes came out of the wall at the same point I nearly cried.  They were using the pipes as some kind of super-highway where they careened along at neck-breaking speed all along three walls to climb down the gas pipe onto the cooker top (no matter how clean I kept it).  I might have found their resilience and ingenuity amazing….if only they weren’t in MY house!  I felt utterly and totally defeated because there wasn’t any way I could get my pudgy fingers into the holes between the pipes.  I also discovered something new about ants….they can excavate as I would find new holes right beside the ones I had blocked up.

So now I feel that I have no recourse left to me other than to go out and buy a gun.  Now……before you all write me off as a total lunatic with visions of me in my kitchen taking pot shots at my walls trying to shoot every ant in sight,(although I must admit it’s a very appealing thought in my ant-obsessed mind) I will elaborate and say a silicone or caulk gun and hope that this will reach into areas where no human has been before.  It’s either that or go with one of my sons’ suggestions and just blow the whole kitchen up and start again…..extreme as it sounds don’t think I haven’t considered it….in one of my manic moments.  Throughout all this battle there is one tune that keeps coming into my head ‘I WILL SURVIVE!’  But I’m not sure that’s my own battle cry….or just the ants getting inside my head…….

Oran

One of the unforeseen disadvantages of moving to Algeria is that I have seen less of the country than I did when I came here on holiday.  Somehow, the settling down process has taken every ounce of our strength and every minute of our time, and when we do get a chance to go and explore we have no money…or we have the money but work and school and University and exams all get in the way.

So when my husband suggested a fool-proof means of visiting and staying in Oran I jumped at the chance.  He had a friend (don’t they all?) whose wife was from there and her in-laws had an empty flat beside their own one and we could stay there, just a short distance outside Oran.  My eldest son, allergic to the idea of travelling that distance with his siblings and parents in the confined space of a car, decided he had more interesting things to do like catching up on his sleep and hanging out with his friends.  The two girls took some persuasion, but after explaining that no, we were not going to stay with strangers, we were going to stay beside them, and we would have a chance to explore Oran, they decided to be adventurous and come with us.  The two youngest boys needed no persuasion – a road trip to Oran?  Yipee!

When I asked my husband to ask the brother what we needed to pack in the way of kitchen or bedding equipment I was told not to bother, and so I clamped down the tiny voice of doubt in my mind by reminding myself we were only going for 2 days…what could go wrong?

A unique way of growing trees!

The day came and we were packed and ready for just after lunch time as we were to follow the brother who was going to travel down with us in a separate car to collect his wife and children who had been staying there on holiday.  So we waited for his call to say he was ready, and we waited, and we waited. We prayed Asr prayer, and when it came to Maghrib the girls and I decided we were no longer going to go because it was just too rude to land in on a family of complete strangers at midnight or maybe even later.  My husband who had been out all day returned home to a mutiny with us women unpacking and planning a nice quiet weekend without him or the boys.  When he told the brother, HE rang back and said, honestly it was no problem…we were all welcome and we must come.  After quite a bit of back and forth phone calls and heated discussions between us women and my husband, my husband informed me that the brother’s family absolutely insisted that we come.  I knew my husband really wanted me to go with him so I relented, purely to please him, but I really wasn’t happy about arriving in a strange house with  strange people in the middle of the night. The girls really didn’t want to go at this stage and I persuaded my husband to let them stay behind.  When all the children realised that I was going without either of the girls each of their reaction, from all five of them and my husband, was ‘how are you going to manage?  You can’t speak the language. How are you going to communicate with your hostesses?  You need at least one of the girls with you!’  I told them all that I was a bit on the old side to need babysitting and if this family absolutely insisted on me coming….then THEY could put up with the consequences….ME!

The Basilica of Santa Cruz

As we set off at 8’0 Clock at night I sat in the car and prayed to Allah ‘You know this is such a daft thing to do…it’s rude and I’m sorry but it’s not up to me.  I really don’t want to do this but I’m doing it purely for Your Sake.  Just help me get through it.’  My husband was full of the joys of spring on the journey down and Allah answered my dua and I managed to be civil to him the whole way!

Inside the Basilica of  Santa Cruz

We arrived in at midnight and my husband and second youngest son disappeared off into a room, and I was ushered into another room with my youngest son.  The brother’s wife and her sister both greeted me and then brought in a complete meal…chorba, main meal, bread, salad…the works.  I barely touched anything as it was late and I was tired….and extremely embarrassed.  They wanted to know where the girls were and I told them that they had stayed behind because it was too late…and was greeted with puzzled stares.  Anyway, somehow, I got through the next hour and they showed me to the bathroom and when I returned they had made a bed up for me on the canopy.  So much for staying in the flat next door!  They had made another bed for my son, and then there was a third bed made up on the floor where the hostess settled down for the night, and I realised that this was out of courtesy to me.  When I came to Algeria on holiday once, without my husband, I went and stayed with his brother and his wife and when it came to night time, for the first few nights she insisted on sleeping in the same room as me.  I found it all very odd but it was Algeria and peculiarity and abnormality was part and parcel of my observations here so I never remarked on it.  It wasn’t until sometime later, either on a forum or Facebook that someone made a similar comment and I discovered that  this was considered to be part of a hostess’s duty in ensuring the comfort of her guests, because it was considered discourteous to leave them sleep on their own in a strange house!

Inside the Basilica of Santa Cruz

The next morning I tried to communicate with my hostess and I remember so well, as she made way for me to go to the bathroom she muttered to herself ‘ma famt waloou’ (I don’t understand anything), and I burst out laughing.  She looked behind at me and when she realised that I had understood her she also started laughing and from there on in everything was fine.

I met her married daughter, her parents and we all had breakfast and then my husband, the boys and I went to look around Oran.  It was winter and the day was quite foggy so the pictures I took were not all that brilliant, but we had a good look around and bought a take-away, before returning to the house for the evening meal at our host’s insistence.

My youngest son had deserted me in favour of a much younger playmate and I was left to fend for myself, communication wise.  By the time I left the next morning, somehow,  I had managed to learn the whole family history and we had all become good friends.  That’s the thing about being Irish….we never let a little thing like a language barrier get in the way of a good story...... or getting all the 'sca' (Irish slang for gossip).

I think we caught him on a bad day!

The life of a revolving door

One of the nicer selections of patisserie cakes

When we were still in England, before we moved to Algeria I really believed that one of the big advantages for me in moving to Algeria would be all the free time I would have to myself.  Time was slower there; at least whenever I was on holiday it certainly seemed the case.

My husband told me that if I didn’t feel like cooking or baking I wouldn’t have to as there was plenty of cooked food to be bought and the patisseries shop cakes were wonderful and very cheap.  I don’t know who got more of a shock on that score, him or me, but after a few ‘take-out’s’ consisting of: overcooked roast chicken, ‘frite omelette’ which consisted of exactly that – chips and omelette in a baguette, or what they euphemistically  called a pizza, but which was, in fact, a pizza base slathered with tomato puree with a sprinkling of plastic cheese that wouldn’t melt even if you cooked the base to a cinder, or else had cream cheese dotted around it, that idea went totally out the window .  The patisserie shops usually only sold small tartlettes, sometimes with pastry that tasted of cardboard, and ‘mille feuille’ which was actually about three sheets of cardboard sandwiched together with grey custard all served up in a nice neat rectangle. Admittedly we lived outside the centre of Algiers in a place which, although a new development, was still quite conservative in many ways, and where ready-made food sold outside the home was in short supply and rather inadequate.  There were some wonderful restaurants and patisserie shops in Algiers centre and its suburbs and I had THE most delicious melt-in-the-mouth ‘mille feuille’ once when my husband’s sister-in-law treated me to one in one of the posher areas of Algiers.

 But in the area in which I lived there was very little to be had so I had to cook and bake almost every day…..and…..from scratch.  No easy shortcuts here.  If I wanted a pizza I had to make the base as well, no defrosting one from the freezer and putting my own toppings on it.  Ready-made chips were unheard of so it was a case of peeling, chipping and cooking them, no mean feat if there’s no water and the electricity has gone.  All the recipes I had from the UK seemed to have one vital ingredient missing that I couldn’t acquire here and so my daily moan became ‘what on earth will/can I cook today?’  Of course the best thing would have been to imitate the Algerians in what they cooked but my family, including my Algerian husband, didn’t like a lot of their food, which was, in many ways a blessing because some of the things they cooked were time consuming and labour intensive.  Fine, if you have daughter and sister-in-laws to help, but a real chore when it’s just one person cooking for a company of hungry gannets.

Little by little I managed to adapt, thinking ahead and planning meals, and we moved to a different area of Algiers where foodstuffs were better quality and more varied, if a bit on the expensive side.  The children were out in school or University and I got on with my busy day, and, as they grew older they helped as much as they could so life became easier…for a while.  I didn’t realise it then, but that was the best period, at least in terms of more time for me,  up to now in this whole adventure of living in Algeria.

  

The children grew older (and therefore bigger which means they ate more!) and somehow, from what seems like nowhere, they developed lives of their own.  At an age when they could all be helping me a lot more and therefore my life should be drifting off to that nice easier stage I had dreamt of, they are all really busy with school, University (whether travelling to and from or actually studying), Qur’an classes, teaching English, crafting sessions, football, going to the gym etc. etc. and I am left with the brunt of the work which has actually increased because now I am feeding an army of grown-up gannets where patisserie cakes go nowhere in satisfying that afternoon ‘sugar fix’ and a take-away costs a fortune and still leaves everyone wanting more.

The family car is now in demand from three drivers and, although we are all considerate of each other in this matter, it often means that my aspirations for a social life come second to more pressing matters.  It’s difficult for me anyway to try and plan any kind of social engagement because there is always something or someone to scupper my plans – with one going out the door, another coming in, I feel it’s easier to just stop still in one place and let everyone move around me.  I feel as if  I’m standing still like a door while everyone goes in and out, but at the same time moving around in never-ending circles like a headless chicken, which is where my eldest daughter, Sarah, and I came up with the perfect metaphor for my life just now….…..a revolving door.

If it seems as if I’m complaining then please understand I am most definitely not – in many ways staying at home and, by so doing, enabling my husband and children to live their lives may seem difficult, and for some people I’m sure it most certainly would be,  but for me…..it suits me just fine Alhamdulilah.  So….I’m not complaining…..I’m explaining why it is I don’t have as much time as I thought I would have, because let’s face it really - the only way I would have more time to myself here in Algeria than I did when I lived in England is if I left my husband and children behind!

One of our regular treats - summer AND winter!