Memories of summer

On hot summer mornings, sitting on the beach watching the sea and drinking my morning coffee I said to my husband that it was memories of moments such as these that would keep me going through the winter months.  And so, here we are on a cold and very wet January morning, and I’m remembering those precious moments at the beach during the summer.

In recent years Ramadan has taken over a lot of the summer, coming as it has done right in the middle so the weeks preceding it have been spent in preparation, and the couple of weeks after in making up for missed days of fasting, and fasting optional extra days. In 2016 it took up most of the month of June and the beginning of the month of July with the most of the rest of that month spent on fasting for one reason or another, so summer for us really didn’t start until August.

All the world and his mother came to visit Algeria during the month of last August, or at least, so it seemed, and quite a few of them came to visit us.  So it was a very busy month, as, in addition to catching up with friends whom I hadn’t seen in a long while, we also had a guest staying for a while, the son of a friend staying for a few weeks and the son of another friend came for the day a few times.  The summer seemed to go by in a blur of preparing meals, washing up, brushing the sand out of the house, rinsing and hanging out swimwear and towels, and preparing cakes and tea and coffee.

But whenever we got the chance my husband and I went off to the beach around 8.00 in the morning with our flask of coffee, towels and deck chairs and whoever of our children wanted to come with us.  Often it was just the two of us and we bought lovely hot, soft croissants on the way and had a leisurely breakfast after a stimulating swim.  Our favourite beach is about a 20 minute car ride from home, and early as it was, we were never the first there, but the crowds only started to come as we were leaving.

I love the sea, and never get tired of it.  I only learnt to swim when I was 30 and so swimming is still very much a novelty to me.  A friend of mine from work and her sister volunteered to teach me to swim in the public swimming pool in Old Street, London and I went twice with them.  The first time, one of the sisters put her hand underneath me to support me in order to teach me to float, so I closed my eyes and tried, only to find myself falling, falling, falling, to what seemed to me down to the bottom of the pool – I couldn’t tell you for sure as I had my eyes tightly clenched shut.  As I lay there I thought to myself, ‘they will come and save me any minute now, they won’t let me drown’, but after a few minutes when it became apparent that nobody was going to come to my rescue, I started to flail around in the water and sure enough one of the sisters came to my aid.  When I asked her what took her so long she said that I was just calmly floating on the top of the water……upside down, and she thought I was enjoying myself!!!!  Then she showed me how to move forward in the water using the movement of my arms and legs, but somehow, no matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t move forward because……I kept swimming backwards, which of course, elicited various comments about the ‘backward’ Irish.  The following week when we returned to the pool I didn’t want to get in as I was absolutely convinced the water level of the pool was higher than previously.  This time, when I did get in the water I learnt the rudiments of keeping afloat and moving about in the water without totally disgracing myself.

Soon after we travelled to Algeria and I couldn’t wait to try out my new swimming skills only to find that swimming in the sea was a whole new ball game.  I insisted on putting on adult arm bands, to which my husband strongly objected on the grounds that I was probably the only adult on the whole coastline between Tunisia and Morroco that was wearing them.  I told him he was just thinking of the insurance payout he would receive if I drowned, to which he replied that it would cost him the whole amount to ship my body back to England!  Who said romance is dead.  Eventually I took my courage in my hands and went into the sea without the arm bands and gained some confidence.

I didn’t swim again in the sea after I became Muslim until we had been living in Algeria a few years and we went to a beach that was very stony and the sea was rough, not a good combination for an inept swimmer like myself.  I had lost any little confidence in my swimming ability and when I couldn’t keep my balance on the sea bed I clung to my eldest daughter’s arm for dear life, until she told me, in no uncertain terms, that she didn’t want to lose permanent use of her limb.  It didn’t help that I was weak from laughing.

Where the boys go swimming

Now I love going into the sea, but only when the sea is not too rough, because many is the time when I found myself, despite all my best efforts, being carried down along the beach, with my husband standing on the beach beckoning me to come back….as if I had any choice in the matter.  Once or twice I had to ask him to come in and get me because, no matter how I tried, I just could not move back up the beach, and of course, it didn’t help matters much that I was laughing my head off.  But in he came and brought me back up along the sea bed and acted as my anchor while I swam…..much the same as he does in life may Allah bless him.

Another place the boys love to swim

All of my children swim like fish Allahibarek, and the two youngest spent the summer in the sea.  They went off with their friends to a place where it is so rocky that only boys and men go to swim as there is no opportunity for gently walking slowly into the sea until you get accustomed to it which is the way most women like to get into the sea, but instead they have to dive straight in from rocks.  My youngest son spent most of his summer fishing for octopus….with a spear.  Throughout the summer he caught about 40 kilos and sold it all to our neighbour next door whose son has a restaurant, so I was very grateful that I didn’t have to cringe every time he returned with his catch. 

It never rains but it pours

Bouira, Algeria

It never rains but it pours

And this is never more so than when it comes to the weather in Algeria.  The country just doesn’t ‘do’ weather by halves.  In the summer it gets so hot that the sun is splitting the stones (an Irish expression, what else), and in the winter it rains, and rains and rains and then….it rains some more.  My husband tried to warn me about the rain in Algeria, but I got on my Irish ‘high horse’ and informed him that being Irish I knew all there was to know about rain.  After all we have different names for the different types of rain in Ireland, from just the fog and mist induced damp in the air (referred to as a ‘soft’ day), through to ‘spitting’ rain where you don’t know whether to go back inside and cancel the day or be optimistic and go forth in the hope that it comes to nothing.  And then there’s the ‘rotten’ rain, the name of which actually refers to how it makes you feel rather than any description of the rain itself, and where you have no excuse not to go out in it as you can use an umbrella, but…..some part of you will still probably get wet anyway. But the rest of Irish terminology for rain best describes Algerian rain whether it’s actually pelting, lashing, hammering or bucketing down, each term stronger than the last.  It literally feels as if the heavens open and all the water in the universe comes lashing down all at the same time.  Of course they have lighter rain, and they have showery days where you can go out and about in between the showers, but on those days when it really takes itself seriously the rain is quite awe inspiring mashallah. 

I’m a sun person – I love the heat and feel energised by the heat and the light of the sun, which means I’m not a particularly rain person.  However I do appreciate it, particularly here in Algeria where the country desperately needs the water to increase the levels in the water reservoirs especially for the dry hot summers, for the crops in the fields, and it does clean away most of the dirt and rubbish (when it’s not overflowing the drains and leaving a mud surface behind).  Above and beyond all that,  I love the rain because it is one of those special times when a dua (supplication) is more likely to be answered by Allah.  And I love the rain on a day when none of my family need to go out in it, I love the fact that we are all snug and warm and dry inside together.  I also love the rain in Algeria because I know it will stop…..sometime, and that when it does the sun will come out again, and the world will cheer up again, and my get-up-and-go will return again (as opposed to the winters in England and Ireland where I felt that my get-up-and-go had got up and gone…..forever).

A lot of Algerians love the winter because they feel more inclined to do things without the oppression of the heat of the summer and I can agree with this.  My problem is that once the day is grey and overcast my brain just goes into hibernation mode and I want to do nothing more than sit on the sofa with a hot drink and a book and just not even THINK.  It takes such an effort of will to ignore this inclination and force myself to get up and DO something, but whenever I do, of course, I always feel so much better and the day seems so much brighter.

I do love the variety of weather here in Algeria though – I love the fact that the heat of the summer very, very gradually turns to mild autumn and then cold winter, back to cool spring rushing back into hot summer.  The weather doesn’t really get cool here until the end of October and it doesn’t really get very cold here until January, although the cold here, where I live in Algiers can not be compared to the cold in England where I used to get a pain between my shoulder blades from hunching my shoulders against the biting cold.  There are areas in Algeria that are snowed under every year and people flock to these areas during the weekends for the novelty of playing in the snow.

The end of our street

It has rained a lot these past few weeks in Algeria Alhamdullilah, and I am sincerely glad as the past year or two we haven’t had as much rain.  We live in what used to be a marsh area, near the sea and when it the rain comes bucketing down a lot of the streets around our house become flooded and the drains have to be opened.  The street on which we live is a cul-de-sac with the sea at the end of the road and when it rains we feel like we’re living on an island as the road at the other end of the street becomes flooded.  I was out driving in the middle of it during the week and in a matter of hours the streets that I had previously driven through had become small rivers and it can be quite frightening when you’re driving through especially if you don’t know the road well and you don’t know if there’s a big hole in the road where you could get stuck.  It’s always a reassurance when you watch other cars driving through first, but it still can be heart-stopping to see the water flowing in waves around the car as you drive through it.  My son and I noticed that there were men in hazard striped jackets beside the most flooded areas to help people navigate the water and, where necessary, carry children over the water to their homes.

A street in our neighbourhood

In most countries, when the wet weather comes in, people dress appropriately.  In Algeria, if you’re not going to work or school and the weather is wet, then you fold up your trouser legs or haik up your hijab and walk through the water barefoot in flip-flops – it’s the only way to go!

Driving in our neighbourhood at the moment

My wonderful Mother-in-law (RA)

My mother-in-law left this world and a huge void in the lives of those she loved and who in turn loved her, at 09.15 on Saturday 2 January, 2016.  The previous year her life had been slowly winding down but she kept us guessing anyway.  She had several periods where she seemed so poorly that it looked as if she was on her way out and then, several days later she was sitting up commenting and making remarks that made the family laugh and feeling relieved that she was going to be around for a while longer.

She didn’t have an easy life, far from it.  She never learnt to read or write, lost one eye when she was very young, her parents divorced around the same time and she never saw her mother again as she died not that long after, she buried two husbands, several children, lived through the Second World War, the War of Independence, the years of terrorism here in Algeria, several frightening earthquakes and the big flood and landslide that roared near her home and decimated so much of her area.  She also brought up 5 step-children and was cheated out of two inheritances, one from her father and one from her first husband.  And for the 29 years I knew her, she was calm, contented with her lot, never lost her sense of humour, loved her own home and was the center of every family gathering.

When I met and married my husband I had absolutely no idea of how things were done in Algeria, and how much the women, especially the mother and the sisters, are involved in the choice of wives for their sons and brothers.  I cannot imagine how she must have felt when my husband returned to tell her that he was getting married…not only to a complete stranger…..but a foreign, non-Muslim  one at that.  I might as well have been French for all she knew! When I first met her two years later on my first visit to Algeria, not for even one minute did she give me any inkling that I was not whom she would have chosen for a daughter-in-law, but instead she and the family welcomed me and made me feel at home and tried to accommodate me as much as they could.  Many years later after we had moved here, at an engagement party, the women were talking about how they had chosen their daughters-in-law and she commented on how well she had chosen hers, when my daughter piped up and reminded her that she hadn’t chosen me.  She replied, that it was true….that she thought she had lost her son, my husband, but….that I had brought him back. Being a mother now and especially having a son of 23 years old which is about the age her youngest left to travel to England for the first time, I cannot imagine the number of sleepless nights she must have had.  When my son wanted to travel to Bejajia which is about 3 hours drive away to stay with friends, a few years ago,  he was instructed to ring me when he got there, every day he was away and before he left to drive back!

I could not communicate in any meaningful way with my mother-in-law except with the help of a third person (despite the fact that she proudly would tell everyone that we could communicate fine!  So I must have obviously been nodding the right nods in the right places!), but I didn’t need to understand Algerian derja to feel the love she had for me, and which was reciprocated.  Many times when we visited I would get the children to ask her questions about her past, and they were so enthralled at the stories of her life and a time long gone.  Once one of my husband’s nieces asked him how she lost her eye, he told her to ask me……because I was the one who got all the information out of her!

Soon after we moved to Algeria, my husband and his brother and wife and niece visited my mother-in-law and sister-in-law one Friday.  When my husband returned he was laughing at something she had said - ‘I feel sorry for Evelyn’.  When my husband asked her why on earth she felt sorry for me, she answered ‘because she doesn’t know how to rule you’.  After living here a while I had some inkling of what she meant.   Algerian women may seem docile and unquestionably obedient to outsiders, but everyone knows they really rule the roost….by all means necessary at their disposal!   My mother-in-law never saw me getting angry with my husband, losing my temper, and so just assumed I was a doormat, one for whom she felt very sorry!  She did try her best to urge me to be a bit more assertive, but I’m afraid these efforts went right over my head, not necessarily because I’m thick (there are those unkind enough who might dare to differ!), but because I didn’t need to learn ‘to control’ him….we had learnt to rub along together fine over the years, and neither of us was one for airing our dirty laundry in public.  I remember one time when my husband and I were visiting and the adhan for the dhuhr prayer called out.  She turned to me and said ‘you’re going to lose him to Younes again’.  Younes was the Imam in the mosque across the road, with whom my husband had many a long chat after the prayers were finished.    It never bothered me as often these chats were based around the religion of Islam and made my husband happy, unlike other conversations that brought him down.  My husband and sister-in-law started laughing together and then my husband explained to me that my mother-in-law was trying to get me to do what she normally did – shout at him and tell him to not delay after the prayer chatting  and to come straight back!  I think after a time she realised I had a backbone and could manage fine on my own, but it was always nice to know that she ‘had been looking out for me’!

 Before we bought our home here in Algeria, we bought a car first in order to get around, and when my husband drove it to show his Mum, she admired it and then said ‘but Evelyn won’t be happy until she’s in her own home’.  The first time I ever drove here in Algeria was when my husband had to go to England for 3 months, and I can still remember how nervous I was about driving the children all the way into to visit their grandmother and aunt for the first time ever.  I was amazed at the reaction of my mother-in-law  - she just kept on kissing me and saying ‘you don’t need him (my husband) now, he can stay over there, as you can manage fine without him’!!!!   Another time I climbed the 156 or so steps up from one part of Bab El Oued to the area in which she lived, and when I came in the door I was red faced, breathless and had the shakes for a glass of water.  My two sisters-in-law were laughing at me but my mother-in-law told them off saying that I wasn’t used to those steps…….nothing at all about her two daughters who not only came up those stairs on a regular basis and who were older than me but often carried kilos of semolina!

Another time she and my two sisters-in-law and my husband’s sister-in-law came earlier than expected for coffee so I made a quick impromptu lunch which included pasta salad.  One sister-in-law was not too keen on cold pasta while the other was ok as she had had it in England but as neither of them were great pasta eaters anyway, they only had a little and ate the rest of the food instead.  My mother-in-law, though was another story – she told me that she would eat pasta hot or cold, with sauce or without sauce….any way it came!  And then she went into raptures later over my doughnuts, she just made me feel such a success!

She never received anything from her rightful inheritance from her first husband and her stepmother ensured that she received nothing of what was rightfully hers from her father’s estate.  She remained in contact with her half-sister and half- brother, and her step daughters from her first marriage, and she treated her step sons as her own sons throughout her life.  Once her half-brother said that he remembered that time when she came with her little girl looking for somewhere to stay and how helpless he felt when his mother sent her away as he, himself, was still young.  He also commented on how part of the land he owned belonged to her.  For her part, the past was gone, she had what she needed and she was content with it and she didn’t want anything from anyone, but just good relations with everyone.

I brought my two sons and my daughter to see her and she was now too weak to sit up so she just lay on the divan which they call a ‘canopy’ here – she lay with her back to us so I thought she was sleeping and left her alone until I was leaving when I leaned over her and told her who I was and that I was going, she picked up her head and turned to give me a kiss and I knew she was aware that it was me.  That was the last time I saw her as she passed away 6 days later.  I thank Allah for blessing me with such a wonderful, kind and supportive mother-in-law who, in so many ways, has been an inspiration to me.

It is a testament to her that her grandchildren from her step sons (her step sons had since all passed away) and her step daughters (only one of whom is alive and is very unwell) as well as her own grandchildren and great grandchildren all attended her funeral along with her children, her daughters and son in law, her sister, her nieces and nephews and neighbours, past and present.

As my daughter, Sarah, summed her up so beautifully and so aptly ‘And how few of us on our deathbed can be as certain as she was that everyone loved her and would pray for her, because she never wronged anyone, and she always forgave those who wronged her.’

May Allah have mercy on the beautiful soul of ‘Mani’, forgive her all her sins, make her grave wide and spacious and grant her Firdous.  Ameen.

Eid Al Adha 2015

Cakes left over from a wedding and gifted to us - LOVE the tajine dish!

Every Eid we have had since we moved to Algeria has been different, and what has made each one unique is the variation of people with whom we have celebrated - different in-laws each time, but this year Eid Al Adha was markedly different in that we celebrated it as a family on our own.  This wasn’t what we had planned, but then man plans and Allah is the Best of Planners.

I was really looking forward to a lovely relaxing Eid al Adha (or as they call it here in Algeria – Eid Al Kabeer, the Big Eid).  We didn’t have enough money to buy a sheep so we didn’t have all that work to prepare for, and instead I was looking forward to spending a nice relaxing morning with the boys doing the rounds of the neighbours to help out if necessary, with me sitting drinking coffee and reading, and then a trip into my mother-in-law for a dinner not cooked by me (what a treat!), and then back home for a lovely relaxing evening with the family.  What could go wrong????

Two days before Eid my husband received a call from a friend who, when he found out in the course of conversation that we were not having a sheep this year, told my husband to go to a particular place and get a sheep for which payment was already made.   My husband didn’t understand what exactly he was talking about but decided to go and find out anyway.  And….what was my reaction to this unexpected gift???  Gratitude? Amazement at another’s kindness?  Praise to Allah for His mercy on us????  Erm…….no….not a bit of it.  Yours Truly’s reaction was to feel sick to the pit of my stomach as I watched my vision of the Perfect Eid slowly fade away, and instead be replaced by one of work, blood, gore, poo (the sheep’s that is I hasten to add!)and lots and lots of water and cleaning. ‘What’s the point – it’s not going to be ‘our’ sheep anyway as we didn’t buy it so why bother with all the work when we won’t get the blessing of it’ and on and on I went….as only I can do.  My husband, to give him his due, didn’t argue, just sympathised with me but  nevertheless went on his merry way to seek out this sheep, the downfall of my Perfect Eid. 

We had a very special guest (happy to say a two legged one)that day who we took, along with her children, to the beach for afternoon chocolate cake and doughnuts in the beautiful autumnal sunshine.  We returned to find the sheep happily ensconced in our front courtyard munching away…….on my fledgling olive tree and making short work of it and my other plants.  I so wanted to slaughter it there and then…..and my husband along with it, but refrained and instead made do with getting them to tie it up away from what was left of my plants.

This sheep was a quiet, placid, well behaved one as sheep go – it didn’t strain at its restraints or bleat all night long, but just happily accepted its fate, sitting in straw in the corner under a window and munched away – the noise is very evocative of children munching on crunchy breakfast cereal....chomp, chomp, chomp.

Love this drive into my in-laws.  Often I can't believe I actually LIVE here!

Eid day came and, after the prayer, once the children had fortified themselves with homemade chocolate cake and biscuits it was all hands on deck.  My husband, following the Sunnah didn’t want anything to eat or drink until he had slaughtered the sheep, which he did with his customary care and kindness – stroking it and calming it and not letting it see the knife, not even for a second and, once he had done the deed everyone had their part to play.  One kept the knives sharp with our electric knife sharpener, another poked a hole under the skin and started to blow it up so that it could be removed easily, another was cleaning up the blood from the slaughter, and then it was a group effort to remove the skin with everyone joining in….everyone except me.

First I cleaned up the front courtyard where the sheep had been sleeping and then hosed it down and left it to dry.  As I did so I could hear all the arguing, exclaiming and bursts of laughter from the central courtyard and I felt so grateful for this blessing, because even though it didn’t feel like a celebration of the kind to which I was accustomed in my childhood….you know, the kind with presents, lovely new clothes, decorations, etc. it felt like it in a new, different way, where everyone pulled together to get the job done and had fun in doing so.  Some families play board or card games…we…..slaughter and cut up a sheep.  In the end the same result…..quality family time together and at least we get to eat the results Alhamdulilah. 

Then  I was busy preparing food in the form of chicken roasting in the oven, chips, salad, to go with the liver, heart and other innards which would be fried up and served on a bed of fried onions along with lovely crusty French baguettes.  The children commented on each organ as it was removed and, as I felt them, still warm, in my hands I felt a deep gratitude to Allah, first for this wonderful food, and then to the sheep who had been sacrificed in the most humane way possible, so that we could have this wonderful meal Alhamdulilah.  I also said a lot of ‘astaghfirAllah’s for my initial reaction to Allah’s risq and blessing to us.

Once my boys and my husband had finished with our sheep they went across the road to help the neighbour with his one.  He had a new son-in-law who was willing to do the job, but our neighbour insisted that it wasn’t Eid if my husband and boys were not involved so they waited until they were free.  So sweet especially considering that, 11 y ears ago, they didn’t know we existed.  Just goes to show you don’t have to live a lifetime on the same street to become good neighbours Alhamdulilah.

And perhaps the one thing that cast a special glow over the whole day was the simple but moving reason we received a ‘free’ sheep in the first place - A man gave away 20 sheep in memory of his father who had passed away.  We don’t know this man, or who his father was but, in an age where everywhere you look, newspaper and TV news headlines, Facebook updates etc.  there is so much negativity, Allah with this one simple act, blessed us with the knowledge and hope that there is always more good than bad in this world.  Alhamdulilah.

On our way into my in-laws the 2nd day of Eid.  The rectangular building is the El Aurassi Hotel

Algerian Residency

Alhamdulialh I finally got my 10 year Algerian Residency after 2 years, 7 months and a few weeks….but who’s counting.  I signed and paw marked in triplicate and now it’s ALL MINE!!!!  The policemen (yes….men…they were a jovial crowd) laughed and said they’d all be retired next time I came in.  I’ll miss them…I’ve seen them every 3 months for the past 2 and half years, more often than my own family in Ireland.  I am so excited at ALL the things I can do with it – I can leave the country, and then come back…..and …then…leave again…..and then…come back again. Admittedly I could do this before with the temporary residency paper, the récépissé , but usually received funny looks and a few ‘wait here a minute while I check’s as they gingerly held the ancient artefact with the countless  renewal date stamps and numerous folding creases that looked like it was going to disintegrate at any moment.  And maybe once in a while the school might allow me to sign something for one of the children, so that I can feel like I am of some use after all. 

I had heard that they were stopping the 10 year Residency and I know one sister who has lived here longer than me, who received a 2 year one instead of a 10 year one, and she was told that she should hang on to her récépissé to prove that she had applied for it before the beginning of this year, as they were stopping the 10 year residency altogether.  Then my husband told me that a policeman friend had told him the same thing.  But when my husband asked the very nice policeman today he said that the 10 year residency is still in place and that anyone applying has to be married to an Algerian and living here for 3 years ( I had heard at one time it was 5 and another it was 7).  So it must be true….because the man in the station says it’s so, at least today anyway.  Tomorrow a different policeman, a different station…..a different story.

So now….what am I going to do with myself??? I know!!!  I think it’s just the right time to start applying for the next one.

The Life of 'Umar bin Al-Khattab (ra) - TV Series 2012 [English Subtitles]

This past Ramadan, just as we did last Ramadan, every night after Taraweeh prayers we settled down as a family and, while digging into various edible treats we watched the series of the life story of Umar Ibn Al-Khattab (RA), the Companion of the Prophet Mohammed (SAWS), and the second Caliph after his death. It comes in 30 episodes and mercifully, the version my son downloaded has English subtitles. From the very first episode it dives into life in Mecca in the 7^th century, and, for reverts like me, the Arabic names and the ignorance of knowing who is related to who can make it very confusing.  It didn’t help that, last year, we didn’t know how to adjust the light for the first few episodes so I couldn’t see anyone’s face clearly enough and could only identify them by their clothes…..when they changed  their clothes I was totally stuffed.  Alhamdulilah we managed to adjust the picture and all their faces came into focus, and then it was a challenge trying to remember who was the son or brother of whom.  The man who acts as Omar is an unknown actor…..for good reason….he can’t act for nuts, but that’s okay because so much of what he says are Omar’s own words (not all though – there are times when it’s obvious that a point is deliberately being made, a good point maybe but nevertheless not something that Omar himself said) and, he was such an interesting person with a unique view on life that he grabs your attention almost from the beginning.  Admittedly there are a lot of minutes spent on him as an old man sitting on a horse looking back, reminiscing on his life, or travelling very s….l….o….w…..l….y on a camel, at which point my husband irately would ask to ‘fast forward’, and this in addition to me asking ‘who is that again?’ meant that the 40 minute episode usually lasted a lot longer……with the kids patience proportionately decreased. 

I cannot recommend this series highly enough. Right from the beginning it grabs your interest as it shows the huge dilemma that the Prophet (SAWS) and the Message posed to the elite in Mecca – their agonising discussions on what to do with him, their plots and plans which usually backfired, and the fear of those first Muslims in disclosing their faith in this ‘new’ religion to their families.  For me it was so refreshing to see these Companions of the Prophet in their true light – they were……well…….like the rest of us.  When we read about the lives of the people on whom the Prophet (SAWS) could count on as his companions we can often be misled into thinking that they were so perfect that we could only hope to emulate them, when in fact they were as human as the rest of us and also, refreshingly, as diverse.  They each had their strengths and weaknesses, and they did not change miraculously overnight into perfect people once they accepted Islam.    Their strengths before Islam were their strengths after Islam, but so were their weaknesses and these they had to work on just like the rest of us.

Of course they had the huge blessing of the Prophet (SAWS) among them to guide them and inspire them to be better human beings.  Although we also have his guidance and, of course, the Message from Allah, the Qur’an, we don’t have this blessing, but then, we don’t have the huge tests that those first Muslims had to endure either.  I cannot imagine what it must have been like to have to go out in battle and see your own family – father, brother, son, uncle, cousin, nephew, former close friend – as your enemy and have to fight them for the sake of Allah.  And we’re not talking about cowardly suicide bombers, or those cowards who plant a bomb and then run and hide while it goes off and kills scores of innocent people, or snipers who hide behind their guns at great distances – never mind those who sit in comfort while firing off long range missiles that decimate whole villages and towns.  No…..we’re talking about hand-to-hand combat for sheer survival with those whom they loved….and probably still did as you cannot turn love off like a tap. 

The series shows how the Message of the Qur’an blew like a wind through Mecca changing its inhabitants forever. How it travelled from land to land through people who were willing to make huge sacrifices, and through its core Message which attracted people from all walks of life.

The surprising thing for me were the moments when I actually felt what the first Muslims were going through – that feeling of realisation that THIS is it…..this Message makes sense and gives meaning to everything….even the most meaningless event in life.  At the same time how do you turn around to those you love, who have cared for you and always looked out for your best interests, and tell them that you no long believe in what they believe and in what they have inculcated in you all your life.  Not only that…..how do you tell them that you are afraid for them and their souls?  I have to admit that, at times, I sat quietly in tears, while the rest of my family watched because it brought back a lot of memories for me and…..a lot of regrets.

But it’s not all doom and gloom….in fact the series is more about how Islam changed Omar (RA) from the person he was, into an Islamic version of himself, and the same with the rest of the Companions.  There is one father, and his two sons who made us laugh every time they had a scene together.  You can so well understand the father’s frustration when first one son becomes Muslim and then the other.  One son is a lot more vocal while the other is more conciliatory but the dialogue between the three is really amusing, and also quite touching. 

The series filled in a lot of the blanks in my knowledge of Islamic history, provided a timeline of events and the story lines on various personalities filled them out as real people rather than the cardboard cut-outs that they sometimes come across in books.

For me, watching this series developed a real connection between me, in the here and now, and those who lived then, a sense of continuance, a sense of familiarity, and a sense of love and appreciation for all they did so that I could live the life I do today.

Of course it helps a lot when you have someone who understands Arabic and has some knowledge of Islamic history beside you when you are watching it as they can fill in some very interesting details: there was the time when Omar (RA) was emigrating to Madina, and the people of Mecca were imprisoning people to stop them from going.  He stood in the main public area and announced that he was emigrating and that anyone who wanted to leave a bereaved parent, wife or child could try to prevent him!  What it didn’t say was that he brought something like 20 others with him, people who were in a much weaker position and who would never have been able to emigrate without his protection.  When it showed Hind’s fear of facing the Prophet after having his uncle killed in battle, one of my daughters told me the story of when she made her pledge to the Prophet (SAWS) along with all the other women in Mecca, she was so embarrassed that she covered her face so he wouldn’t recognise her, but, of course he did.  When he (SAWS) asked them if they had any questions she asked so many and was so impertinent that she made Omar laugh!  The series itself kicked off many interesting discussions between us as a family, from which I, myself, learnt a lot…..not least that somehow…..despite me….my children know quite a lot about their deen Alhamdulilah!

Abu Bakr (RA) and Omar (RA) were the two closest friends of the prophet (SAWS), and they became the 1^st and 2^nd Caliphs respectively.  They also could not have been more different in temperament and personality – completely chalk and cheese.   They might not even have become good friends if it wasn’t for Islam, and yet they loved each other so much and had so much respect for each other.  It reminds me of all the friends I’ve been blessed to meet since I became Muslim, from all over the world and all walks of life, and how we too became good friends through a common goal – growing in faith in Islam.

It was very refreshing and also somewhat comforting to see how these people did not change into wonderful people overnight, and most of them still retained their own personalities and all of them had to work on their own weaknesses – a great comfort to those of us who despair sometimes of ever being as good as we should be.

I love the fact that 1400 years later we still wear the same clothes, fulfil the same Islamic obligations in the same manner and try to practise Islam in the same manner just as they did.  There is a sense of continuity and kinship down through the years, a real feeling of being part of the Ummah Alhamdulilah.

The kindness and goodness of strangers

It started as a day like any other.  My eldest, Sarah left home at 8.00 am to travel into Algiers with her brother.  He duly dropped her off at Tefora bus station in Algiers and continued on to his hospital appointment.  When he returned home alone just before 1.00 pm I was not overly worried.   Sarah had gone to the Ministry of Foreign Affairs in Rouisseau, a place infamous for being somewhere people disappeared for inordinately long periods of time.

When the doorbell went at around 1.30 pm I just assumed it was my youngest son’s friend…the one who is around at our house so often we’ve been tempted to put him in our Family Book. Instead it was one of Sarah’s students to tell us that someone had found her phone and had rung them to let them know, seeing as their number was the last one she rang.   ‘How kind’ I thought…of her student and of the person who had found her phone.  My son rang her phone and arranged to go and pick it up.  Meanwhile I had visions of Sarah frantically looking everywhere for her phone, retracing her steps all to no avail…..and with no way of telling her she was wasting her time.

2.30 pm came and went and I wasn’t really worried….she may have decided to give up and go get her paperwork anyway.   3.00 pm had arrived, and no sign of her and, at this time I was supposed to be at a friend’s house for coffee, so I texted her to let her know I would be late.  By 3.15 I was becoming annoyed….why couldn’t she pop into a taxi-phone and call us?  When we first moved to Algeria 12 years ago (yup…it’s been THAT long!) there was one on every corner where you could go in make a phone call in a small phone booth and then pay when you had finished.  Now, with a mobile pressed up to every ear I’m hard pressed to remember the last time I saw one. Of course there is also the fact that mobile phones have made us practically number illiterate with few of us knowing any phone numbers by heart.  But I knew she would remember our home phone number….she had to repeat it to Algerie Telecom enough times to have it burnt into her brain.   But…there are cyber-cafes EVERYWHERE…..She could send me or her sister a message on Facebook or email me.  By 3.30 pm I was almost convinced she had been kidnapped and sold into white slavery.  I say ‘almost’ because the only thing holding me back from the brink of insanity was the knowledge that she had lost it in Tafora, one of the busiest bus stations in Algiers, and the upside of Algerians being so interfering and nosy caring and curious is that there is no way anyone could be attacked in broad daylight in such a busy place without several people intervening.  And there was also the fact that no Algerian kidnapper worth his salt would leave a perfectly good iPhone behind

.

 At 3.40 pm she finally sauntered in the door and I didn’t know whether to hit her or hug her.  The day, of course, had been so very different from her perspective.  She had realised she was missing her phone within fifteen minutes of dropping it, but was almost convinced she had dropped it in the car….of course she couldn’t ring her brother to check.  So she retraced her steps back to the bus station and looked up and down the footpath where she had walked.  There was a cleaner nearby so she asked him if he had seen it, and he told her he hadn’t but…she could ring her number with his phone.  I’m amazed she knew her own number but she did ring and it rang out.  She thanked the cleaner and walked back to the Ministry of Foreign Affairs where she spent the rest of the day.   If you know anything at all about this place you will know that in terms of awfulness it comes close to being sold into slavery.  It is notorious for its ineptitude and inefficiency , and, as a result it’s like a monster that swallows people whole and spits them out in pieces.  People enter these premises perfectly sane and calm and come out as total lunatics spitting fire.

When she finally was reunited with her phone she saw she had 24 missed calls between the first time she had used the cleaner’s phone up until lunch time…. The cleaner had taken it upon himself to try and make contact with whoever had picked up her phone (I don’t think there was much cleaning done as a result!).  But it seems that it was an older gentleman who had picked up the phone and not knowing how to answer it had left it ring, although not without opening some apps in his first few attempts to answer the darned thing.  When he arrived home he handed it to his son who contacted Sarah’s student (and also finally answered the cleaner’s call!).

So all’s well that ends well.  Sarah was reunited with her phone and I burnt a few calories pacing the floor with worry while also making it to my friend’s home for coffee where I had a lovely afternoon (adding on all the lost calories) with a few other friends.   And…..best of all……our faith in the innate goodness and kindness of strangers, in general, and Algerians in particular, was strengthened.  Alhamdulilah…there is always more good than bad in this world.