Silma Ihram

Travelling to Spain

2009-10-28T05:40:00.000-07:00

The trip to Madrid was quite long – definitely plane travel would have been quicker for some parts and less expensive. However it was certainly quite an experience. (Woah! Unbelievably my 3 dongle on this fast train is picking up a roaming network and allowing me to connect to the internet.) The trip from London to Paris was amazingly quick and brought me into the heart of Paris. Paris I have to say was quite a disappointment. The place looked tired, not just old but decaying, and uncared for. I had to catch the metro to another station across town – my fellow
passengers mostly looking so dispirited. Apparently the cost of living here is enormous, as I found out, and workers in Paris can barely afford to eat out let alone go to the cinema. Rents here are huge and the economic crisis has hit hard. The subway looked very drab, with cables running everywhere just overhead the entrance and exits and walls. The streets also were less than attractive, a fact not helped by the rain and the cold. Taking a walk around across the Seine to the Gare de Lyons (a very large train station) I found side streets with small shops and stalls, putting their boxes of rubbish piled high in the street. The faint smell of decay reminded me of parts of Indonesia. Even the great monuments, museums I walked past and tourist attractions needed attention, or had sections cordoned off due for repair. Walking back across the Seine I noticed at least 6 large boats tied at the side, obviously used for accommodation with rusting hulls and adorned with small and tatty sunshade areas protecting bleached patio table and chairs, and decorated with tiny pots of plants. I wondered if this was perhaps an alternative and cheaper form of accommodation for those desperate to work in Paris. After failing to understand the menus of the restaurants I passed I found a reasonable looking family type restaurant with English and French menu. Ordering a simple salad, with hot chocolate followed by mineral water I was shocked to discover the total bill over 20 Euros! Especially as the salad was mostly tinned corn and beetroot, accompanied by four tiny pieces of bread with melted camembert. No wonder Parisians cannot afford to eat out!
Close to the Paris Austerlitz station where I would start my next journey I was told there was a mosque – only 10 minutes walking distance. Twice I tried to get there, dragging my small suitcase and backpack along a narrow street past hotels with locked doors and dim boutique type businesses, until I eventually saw what was clearly a huge mosque type establishment standing out from the tall narrow buildings around. Eagerly I approached the first entrance only to discover that it was a busy restaurant, with Hamaam signs still hanging above the festive customers. I continued around the building and found a different entrance, through a huge wooden door studded with ancient iron rounded nails requiring entrances to step through into a small entry with a courtyard visible just beyond. I had seen someone enter and so decided to look around. The courtyard was small, with a central garden, overgrown rose bush, weeds and mud but little staircases led off from various doors. Most were locked so I tried the closed door where I could hear voices. The door opened and the distinguished teacher addressing his long narrow class politely paused while I apologised and asked in broken French/English/Arabic if there was a mosque nearby. Following his directions further up the building I stepped over the lip of even larger studded doors, and found myself looking at a beautifully tiled large entrance, with green fountains full of beautiful small trees. The mosque was very large with many doors running from the wide patios surrounding the fountain area. Tiling and decorations were ancient and very beautiful and obviously very old. Winding my way through archways I was directed down steep circular steps to the toilets which were, unsurprisingly but still disappointingly mostly broken and flooded. Considering that Muslims brought washing and cleanliness to so many parts of the world, it being half of their religion according to the Prophet, it always disappoints me that Muslims today are so incapable of keeping even their mosque toilets in good repair. By the blessing of Allah I was able to quickly pray the Dhuhur and Asr qasr prayers just as the Azaan was sounding, and then quickly perform the Maghrib and Isha prayers as only Allah knew just how hard it would have been to perform them earlier and later. Rushing from the mosque in the middle of their Jamaat, I dashed down the long alleyways in time to grab some food and jump on the overnight express.
The train was definitely an experience – four of us ladies squashed into a tiny room, with four small beds, a shared toilet (with men) at the end of the carriage, and a tiny wash bowl I discovered some time later. It would have been impossible to find space to pray as all space was communal, the beds not being put down until later when I was so exhausted I simply crawled in and crashed. One of my fellow companions was a Spanish teacher from France on her way to visit her parents. Her English was pretty good and she was very chatty – happy to translate, give advice and keep up a steady stream of conversation. I would not recommend travel by train from Paris again as the facilities are just too limited for the cost, and it certainly takes a long time – from 8 pm till 9 am the following morning. Although the company was great – the Spanish teacher and I caught a taxi across town to the next connecting train in Madrid - I would have preferred catching a plane and will do so for my next trip. Madrid is definitely warmer, cleaner and more alive than Paris. The town has an open feel, with wide clean streets surrounded by beautiful gardens. Culture is also evident as I saw a whole street of book stalls setting up early on Sunday morning, each with fiction, non-fiction and collector’s books by the hundred. The Atocha train station was magnificent – a massive forest of palms and lush Tropicana talking up the bulk of the space under an arched glass roof, split by marble paved walkways. Small sparrows flitted throughout the station and the lush foliage while little turtles sunned themselves in the lilied pool closest to the cafes and food stalls.

Medinat Al Zahra

2009-10-28T05:47:00.000-07:00

Today I visited Medinat al Zahra – the excavated city built in the tenth century and later buried only to be discovered in the early 1900’s. This was the most well organised and pleasant tour so far with a very friendly guide who alternated effectively between English and Spanish for his customers. A large air conditioned bus took us from Cordoba city to the large parking area at the base of the excavated city. Comprising over 100 hectares of which only one tenth has been excavated, the excavating team has constructed a museum some distance from the recovered site in order to allow for continued excavation over the years. An excellent video presents an animated explanation of the history of Medinat al Zahra, with interactive displays visually highlighting the existing topography alongside
the historical progression of the city. Unfortunately there was simply not enough time to adequately see all that was on display in this thoroughly high tech and modern display, busses waiting to take groups to visit the actual site.
The walk was long but well worth the effort even though the weather continued to be unseasonably hot. Entering first from the mountainside – the servant’s entrance with its militarily significant zigzag road – it was immediately apparent just how appropriate this site was for a city. With its back to the mountains, only a short distance from the existing city of Cordoba, and looking to the south over fertile fields, the city was adequately supplied by water, limestone deposits for building and minerals for mining. The city was built in an exceedingly short time despite the extensive carving and architectural decorations discovered all over the site. It was apparently built to support the claim to Caliphate of one of the last dynastic inheritors of the Umayyad rule, a rule that had been successfully challenged in other parts of the empire. Standing on the ruins of this beautiful city, overlooking the gardens and the carefully laid out quarters of the Caliph – from his throne room, administrative areas and private areas – it is hard to believe that it could have been built so quickly and destroyed again so quickly. Within 70 years rebellions throughout the caliphate and ‘fitnah’ and discord had caused the Caliphate to crumble, the whole site being pillaged for its building parts by other conquerors. Gradually landslides, natural erosion and earthquakes buried this beautiful city – with its magnificent arches, careful planning and ideal location, remaining hidden for nearly a thousand years.
Returning full of thought and wonder for the rise and fall of civilisations, power and wealth, I then trekked to the Caliphate’s baths – only a short distance from Al Mesquita. Fortified by a small tortilla (potatoey omelette with red pepper garnish) and fresh bread lavishly covered with light whipped butter, I was ready for more hours of walking. The Caliph’s baths – like so many parts of Andalusia – did not represent one epoch only, but stages of history. The first baths were established as part of the Caliph’s personal cleanliness routine, with up to 500 eventually being located throughout Cordoba for public use. As the Muslims were conquered, so their Christian successors built their own baths – using some of the former baths – as the Muslims had previously by including Roman designs. Cool and shadowy, filled again with the classic palm type column and arch found in Al Mesquita, they were vaulted over with natural light streaming through star shaped holes in the arched roofs. With lavatories, disrobing areas, cool room, warm rooms and abundant flowing water, these baths once again represented an advanced civilisation which nevertheless was lost in time.
From there I wandered to the Alcazar – the huge palace built by Spanish conquerors over the former fantastic Alcazar belonging to the Muslims. According to the displays, each conqueror wanted no rival from the past, so the former Alcazar had to be completely buried in order for the new Christian conqueror to built an even bigger and more elaborate palace – one which would have no existing rival. Indeed Alcazar today is replete with beautiful gardens, orange groves and citadels of power, but it is also stained with the terrible history of the inquisition. The horrific torture and deprivation of justice and humanity was palpable as I walked the corridors and climbed the stairs of towers and vaults. No such history of brutal repression, ghastly repression of thought and climate of fear and intrigue has been associated with Muslim rule. Rather the rule of Muslims is acknowledged by all parties as a time of flourishing art and culture, wisdom and respect for different faiths, and development of science and literature. Even the history of military conquests have not discoloured the acknowledged greatness of Islamic history in these parts, something I am immensely proud of.

Cordoba mosque revisited

2009-10-28T06:02:00.000-07:00

My second day in Cordoba was less dismal – the first day being so sad at the loss of so much history and beauty with the Cordoba mosque. Walking first across the bridge to the Tower I was able to listen to an English commentary of the historical displays relating the history and more importantly the philosophy involved in the development of Cordoba and some of its scholars. It was also fascinating to learn that Al Mesquita was itself built on an existing Visigothic church, as apparently Abdur Rahman I settled in Cordoba when it was controlled by the Visigoths who agreed to lease part of their church – including Roman ruins – to him.
As his flock grew, he bought out the remainder of the church to begin establishing the beautiful Mesquita. The fact that it was now again in the hands of Christians did not seem quite so disastrous and I was able to recognise the various stages of the building’s development as I followed the maps and stories I had purchased.

There were many small groups of toured guides explaining both the Muslim and Christian history of this site. Joining in with some of them I was able to enter chapels richly decorated with Renaissance paintings, glass casings housing historic and fabulous gold sculptures and religious icons – including giant Crucifixes carried in earlier generations through the church that were studded with crystal, rubies and emeralds amongst others. A huge case held an intricate gold creation standing at least 2 metres tall, festooned with saints, cherubs, and various other fantastic decorations. At one point all of the rafters were covered in paintings of flying cherubs. The huge Cathedral itself housed a huge organ, ancient choir stalls and enormous decorative paintings. In each of these areas, the simple Arabesque and been replaced with elaborate floral paintings and carvings, richly colourful representations of saints, former kings and queens as well as religious stories. Returning to the remaining Muslim areas, although somewhat reduced, the beauty of the original decorations and inscriptions were evident in the decorations surrounding the mihrab, the magnificent arching columns – even the fine decorative painting of the ceiling area leading up to the mihrab.

Trawling through the various markets and stalls, it was clear that the Cordobans had continued their excellent heritage in the crafting of silver, leather and precious stones. Everywhere the narrow cobbled alleys gave alluring glimpses of small courtyards, colourfully tiled, shaded but still open to the fresh sunlight. Each was a small oasis of colourful potted plants – adorning the floors and the walls, green and cool reflecting the ochre walls and bright coloured mosaics.
Although most shops and businesses are not open until 10 am, lunch time goes quiet here with shops shut and streets deserted. The few stalls open alongside Al Mesquita bake in the heat, especially as each has bright lights showing off silver jewellery, decorated pottery and various artifacts which gradually heat up their display cases. The town comes to life again after 5 pm and as I sit in the square in front of my hotel I can see crowds of shoppers, families and children joining with revellers enjoying the evening although it has been dark for more than 3 hours. Restaurants and shops are still open and crowded and will probably cease at 10 when the good folk of Cordoba finally head off to sleep.

Castles and Hills

2009-09-25T16:25:00.000-07:00

Wales has been an absolute treat! I’m staying in a 17^th century house – which was split into two accommodations after a fight between the wives of two brothers who lived there many years ago – surrounded by farmland, walking tours, and old castles. I’m just minutes away from Abergavenny (prounounced Aber-ga-vEnni) – a small town with great coffee and cake shops, all the necessities of life and loads of history.
My bedroom is tiny – just enough room to put my small bag and walk beside the bed, a TV attached to the wall at the end of the bed, a tiny window high on the wall that a sweet bird cheeps through all morning,
and a cute little ensuite at the other end looking up at grazing sheep on the hill behind. I arrived in after dark, as I had missed my train – it being only two carriages so that I did not see it as I waited in a room on the platform. The next train arrived an hour later, and once again, I was comfortably seated at a table with lots of room. Everything here is written in Celtic (Welsh) and English, although the language itself is seldom heard.

I was warned that the Welsh do not have a great liking for the English – possibly stemming from their ongoing rebellions over the centuries against the ruling British. This is particularly the case these days as the British are continually moving to the picturesque countryside to benefit from the peaceful lifestyle. My two hosts are English, as well as the taxi driver, and most of the shop owners and employers in town. Of course the British can’t see what the fuss is all about, arguing somewhat correctly, that the waves of immigrants from Europe that have entered Britain over the centuries have continually diluted the ‘Celtic’ culture so that it really has little authenticity as a separate culture. It appears that the Celts in fact came to Britain from Europe – after the last Ice Age, displacing a mystical people who were apparently short, stocky and dark with curly hair. The Celts who arrived were part of a larger culture that also existed in France, Spain and other parts of Europe, drifting across the borders as successive kingdoms rose and fell. I find it almost amusing that such deep rooted hostility could still exist after generations – not too different from the long lasting feud between Prophet Abraham’s sons!

Yesterday I spent discussing the history of Wales and elements of environmental philosophy with my good host, then hitching a ride into town. Busses come only once every two hours, and are situated a good half hour walk away anyway, so its best to get a car when you come sight seeing in Wales – not to mention the difficulty in locating castles in the first place. I then set about finding some lunch and a decent coffee – something not had till late in the afternoon. My first castle visit was virtually in the town itself, Abergavenny being built on the foundations of another Roman garrison (just as the Tower of London was) which was abandoned temporarily to concentrate forces against Queen Boadicea. Within 30 years they were back and had subdued the unruly Celts. Again, castles were built as much to protect the new ruler from his populace as to prevent invaders arriving – in fact, they were built to protect the new invader! These castles were much smaller and again showed how ruthless they were, with descriptions of how the Norman Lord decided to end opposition in 1175 by inviting the Welsh leader and his men to a massive feast – and then slaughtering them all! Revenge was enacted by the later Earl of Pembroke – a London educated man who was so angry at losing a dispute over land in the courts there (he was also a lawyer) that he attacked the castle and destroyed most of it 50 years later. Much of it was rebuilt and added to in stages, and it continued to be a massive presence in the area until recent history (that being about the time Australia was discovered I guess!).

I spent the rest of the afternoon wandering through the most beautiful garden at the edge of the town. After enjoying a delicious dinner at the Greyhound Vault (not sure why it was called that and probably don’t want to know either..) it was dark and time to head back to the country house. The difficulty was that outside of the town there were no street lights, so after a few unsuccessful attempts I managed to locate the guest house hidden up a long dark drive, and stumbled in the dark towards the dim lights of the old house.

The next morning after another hearty breakfast of mushrooms, tomato, egg and crunchy toast with an excellent round of coffee (5 stars for both) I was encouraged to take a walk in the hills. The day was cooler which assisted with my huffing and puffing up the hills. The views were magnificent and I went a little crazy with disappearing roads, old stone walls and the beautiful hedgerows coloured with a range of berries and beautiful gnarled old trees. There were heaps of blackberries which I munched on continuously - much better than old bottled water! From the top of the steep hill behind the country house the heath begins, stretching for many miles along the border between Wales and England. The views were just beautiful and I hope that I have given them justice in the shots that I took. Truly a beautiful country.
The afternoon was spent back in town, blogging, eating cake (what else!) and driving through the countryside to find the elusive next castle. I eventually found it close, well after both it and its adjoining information centre were closed. Tomorrow begs even more fun with horse riding over these magnificent hills, and hoping that this beautiful weather doesn’t suddenly turn to pouring rain!

Trafalgar Square, Soho and Piccadilly

2009-09-24T03:42:00.000-07:00

Currently I’m sitting on a speeding train heading towards Cardiff Central in Wales after a fascinating, fun filled, well fed and hectic few days – all detailed below. The weather has turned cooler but the train is comfortable. I am at the end of the carriage and have
plenty of room in front of me, a working table with power point for my laptop (there are about 6 of these in my economy carriage), good views and a comfortable seat. Better still, as I am now over 55 I got a return ticket for 30 pounds instead of the usual 68 pounds for economy. Of course I could have gone first class, but the cost would have been much higher and the difference in what I have now is miniscule – a bit more comfort in the chair I think. I have just finished a very nice Costa coffee with orange and lemon muffin – both excellent flavour and quality for just a few pounds.
Today’s blog will be divided between three different areas – food of course (lots of it) and generally the sights with another more detailed historical account of what I have been seeing. The last few days have been extremely hectic but full of interest, and I would certainly recommend anyone reading this blog to see the sights of London and do the tours with some possible amendments.
It is still Eid time effectively and I’m struggling to find the good coffee and cakes that have beckoned me from so many shop windows during Ramadan. Imagination is often more tantalising than reality – especially heightened with a month of fasting! Started the day back at Brunswick shopping centre with a coffee (Milan) and an almond honey cake. This was where I first bought the most delicious and fresh (later ones I bought elsewhere were a bit dry and stale) giant chocolate meringues. The coffee was good but still a little bitter (maybe I ordered the wrong one – there were two types) and the cake a little dry but with lashings of honey flavoured fresh whipped cream. This was the day that I wanted to do the tour of London on one of those great looking open topped busses which drive right around London city with commentary. Passengers can hop and off at will. I had tried to book one online, but unfortunately there was a 72 hour notice period to book online and therefore I received a late email saying to apply for a later booking. Deciding to take a punt, I headed off to Russell Square to see if I could simply pick up a ticket where the busses waited. This was a good guess and I grabbed a ticket to catch the next bus tour – the bus being almost empty at the time. I was still on my coffee crawl, so decided to hop off at the National Art Gallery to check out the views more closely.
The National Art Gallery is located at Trafalgar Square and has a huge forecourt with massive fountain, stature of ...and plenty of space for community activities. A crowd was gathered at on edge of the fountain looking up at a high scaffold nearby where speakers beat out a thunderous beat and a young DJ leapt and danced to the amuzement of the crowd, holding up a white board with messages that he regularly changed. Initially I thought it was some kind of protest, but realised an equally jubilant and jumpy woman was leaping around in the middle of the crowd with another white board sending return messages of public love.
After walking around Trafalgar Square and having a great time snapping photos and then looking in at all the cafes I settled for the Haagen-Dazs. This quality ice-cream place has a wonderful range of beautiful ice creams and sorbets which could be combined with biscuits, waffles or crepes, or made into fabulous looking ice frappes drinks with a mix and match selection of chocolate, biscuits, nuts etc and presented in tall fluted glasses. Very impressive. Still I settled for the Strawberry Cream ice cream with waffle and maple syrup, and a latte. The ice cream was great, waffle a little bready but crusted with sugar, and the coffee good with a rounded, soft flavour albeit a little weak.
I realised it was getting late and needed to pray so hopped on the tube to go to Regent’s Park, it appearing to be the closest and easiest to get to – Google and other listings not providing anything closer. Regent’s Park however is a particularly large park, and having a station called Regent’s park as well as a mosque with the same name does not actually mean that they are close together. Although the mosque was only four stops from Chaucer Square (?) I did not arrive until nearly an hour later, just as they were performing the Asr prayer. Alhamdu lillah the mosque was lively but not chaotic as it had previously been during Ramadan, and the prayer was wonderful.
Jumping back on the tube I had to wait a while for the next of the sight seeing buses. I was using The Big Bus Company while another company – the Original Tour had at least five busses come and go while I waited. Perhaps it was just bad luck but the other company looked better organised and more popular. Then it was on to the Thames and down a big river boat – the on and off bus along with the Thames river cruise all available for 24 hours and just 25 pounds. By now it was late in the afternoon and not the best time to be seeing the view. The trip was quite short and ran between the London eye, finishing up in front of London bridge – interesting but not nearly sufficient for all the sights to be seen. I finished up at the Tower of London, now later in the afternoon. Just about everything had shut though so I decided to return the next day. Almost hidden under the ground was a series of shops and a comfortable large cafe restaurant – the Tower Hill diner (a name I could not understand from the waitress despite her repeating it twice) - with excellent fish and chips for 5 pounds. Just as I was deciding to turn in and head home I a call from a family friend who was now residing in London. She invited me to join her with friends at a restaurant in Bayswater – Al Khans. The food was scrumptious, with a huge range of delicious dishes (some predictably very hot!) and the company awesome. Sharing a great range of dishes we supped and discussed foreign affaris, technology, China, Kashmir, Pakistan, journalism , teaching – aaah, London, cosmopolitan, intellectual and enlightening!
The next day I headed back out again to pick up where I had left off at the London eye. As I stepped out of the tube a Big Bus appeared and I jumped on – perfect timing. I had barely settled when I heard the announcement that those wanting to see the changing of the guard needed to get off at the next stop otherwise they would miss it. Grabbing camera, bags, coats and all the maps I had just unfurled I quickly got down and asked for directions. Just go across the other side I was told and catch the bus going the other way. Great I thought – no problem! The difficulty with being a traveller in a new city is that what seems logical can suddenly become more complicated when the information is not complete. Crossing the road to wait for a bus coming from the opposite direction, I realised that this was a huge one way street crossing the bridge – so I could not possibly catch a bus from the other side. Did he mean the other side of the bridge??
Struggling across the other side of the bridge I walked for some time trying to position myself where I could see a bus stop for the tour bus which was located close to the Houses of the Parliament and Westminster Abbey according to the large maps we had been given. These were both huge buildings and enormously impressive – they were also quite large to try and walk around. As with the previous day the rival bus company - Original Tour came past numerous times while I waited patiently (my 24 hour clock ticking furiously) for my own bus. Finally it arrived and I resumed my tour to Buckingham Palace. I arrived just in time to join the thousands who were squashed up against the impressive ramparts of the Palace forecourt. The bands were playing and I could just squeeze my camera between the people and then the bars to be able to snap the backs of the palace guards with my long range camera. The best spot to catch it would have been from the parks and gardens side of the forecourt, as most of the guards were facing that direction. The majority of the activity seemed to be various guards marching fashionably towards individually or in small groups towards another stationed or waiting guard, effectively picking them up with lots of stamping and appropriate calling out from their posts, doorways of the palace and the assembled parade ground, then dropping them off and picking up someone else at a different position. At the same time, two more senior members of the contingent marched as if they were doing laps in a pool in a more leisurely but still military pace, (I think I noticed them quietly chatting as they approached right next to our section of railing) then quickly doing an about face and continuing to criss cross the parade ground. One of these two had a particularly impressive collection of swords, medals and various adornments indicating presumably his seniority along with the extraordinary height of his (fake) bear fur headpiece.
Abruptly it all came to a completion, the huge gates creaked open and the bands marched out while young police officers tried valiantly to keep the snapping tourists off the road and on the pavement. It reminded me a little of school. The crowds disengaged themselves and began streaming slowly from the vantage points on the huge statues and fountain opposite, the railings and the fences of the palace forecourt. The surrounding gardens were magnificent, peaceful and full of speckled light from the towering trees that dotted hectares of grass. Massive gold and black crests adorned two huge entrance gates that locked off the peaceful green park extending into the distance, from the palace fountain, surrounded by traffic and bordered by huge decorative flower gardens with their milling palace crowds. The police could now relax, and catching a group of Indian Muslim girls smiling with three of the ‘bobbies’ I gave them Eid greetings and asked if I could get a snap with them in this Muslim/London picture. They politely acquiesced although seemed a little taken aback and bemused – along with the London bobbies! It certainly will be much easier doing these kinds of posing photos with various locals when I am not a single odd-looking, Anglo Muslim grandma. I also found one of the palace guides, in her black and red uniform, sporting a black hijab – demonstrating that even at the highest levels there has been an acceptance of Muslims despite the vitriolic press.
By this time I was truly hungry and headed back to the Big Bus stop where the two guides from rival tour companies were keeping themselves amused. Our bus company had an American guide – she was typically loud (you could hear her in the palace entrance) with a raucous and irreverent sense of humour and accosted all of her customers with helpful advice. Being bored and the busses (again!) being late, she teased her fellow rival guide – a London born African girl – taking her phone and calling her boyfriend a ‘sugar daddy’ and encouraging him to appreciate what a gorgeous girl he had. In the ensuing conversation we discussed the pros and cons of such a job – standing at the side of the road for up to 9 hours in summer, 8 hours in winter, with up to 20 kilos of walkie talkies, wireless ticketing machines, and change, rain, snow or shine. Both of the girls were cold and getting tired, and kept themselves distracted by teasing each other, complaining about how lonely the job could be when there were few customers in bad weather or winter. My over helpful guide assured me that the best place for coffee and treats was in Soho – back near Trafalgar Square, and then proceeded to give me a reduced price ticket for the London Tower.
This was good advice and after alighting near one of the oldest Toy stores in London (Hamley’s – 6 storeys of games, soft toys and technology) I slipped down a lane into the winding alleyways of Soho. Despite asking numerous cafe owners I could not seem to locate the recommended coffee shops and eventually decided to stop in a delightful little white store with attractive looking cakes called Mrs. Marengo’s. It was vegetarian, with very cottage style posh presentations of cakes and meringues, so I decided to be healthy and chose a leek and blue cheese quiche. The mango, avocado and radish salad looked interesting but I decided to try one new dish at a time. The quiche was absolutely delicious and I could see why I was lucky to get the very last piece. The leek gave a gentle flavour to the soft cheesy quiche with a hint of onion and a touch of the tartness of the blue cheese. For the first time also I really enjoyed the coffee which had a full flavour, was smooth, rich and really nice. Five stars for both.

A wonderful day for Eid

2009-09-20T14:18:00.000-07:00

Today, fully replenished from another wonderful dinner the night before with new London friends, I set off bright and early for the advertised Kingsbury Park One Eid celebration in the park.
This organisation aims to encourage Muslims into following the Sunnah of the Prophet – praying the Eid prayer in the park, rather than in the mosque. It was only two bus rides away, but jumping on the first bus that came, I found myself next to a friendly, elderly (probably not much more so than me that is) South Asian sister who greeted me with Eid salaams – something that would happen many times today from total strangers, even non-Muslims! She explained tearily how excited she was to have finally been able to fulfil a lifelong wish of doing i’tikaf in the mosque due to the marriage of her son and the help provided to her by her new daughter in law. The difficulty with i’tikaf is that once you are in retreat, you cannot leave the mosque and therefore rely on family and friends for food, clean clothing and other essentials of life for the ten days that you are there. Fortunately for her, despite a little baby, her kind daughter in law and offered to provide for all of her needs, and she had only returned from the mosque the evening before.
As we said the takbir together, she told me that she wanted to go the local mosque, and encouraged me to come with her. I was a little hesitant, but looking at the clouds outside and the possibility of being lost trying to walk from bus to park, thought that an Eid salat in the hand was worth two in the park – figuratively speaking. I was even more concerned when she alighted from the bus and led me to the closest mosque which I had previously assumed to be Shia. There is a reason for this I thought, as she continually beckoned with a smile and almost pulled me into the ladies entrance. The salat was about to begun and a quick appraisal showed a broad multicultural congregation including Malays and Africans – not usually Shia followers. The salat was as usual a huge relief – the spiritual celebration of a month of sacrifice for Allah s.w.t. as waves of satisfaction and joy sweep through the believer who has managed to fast, and can now thank Allah and celebrate with fellow Muslims. Meeting and greeting after the prayers I quizzed a tall Dutch convert who was quite surprised that I had thought it was Shia.
My next priority was to head for the closest coffee! After peeking into the first five located at Cricklewood, I chose ‘Sandwich Plus’, none of the five having the tasty pastries that I was looking forward to. After the usual greeting of ‘Eid Mubarak’ the friendly shop owner explained that the TV screen I was watching was from Algeria, and that this was an Algerian coffee shop. Seeing my bemused expression at the huge framed photograph of an old steam engine protruding from historic buildings after seemingly crashing nose first into the pavement – he enthusiastically told me that he had the full history of this occasion, and that the steam engine was now housed permanently in a museum. I realised that the shop – as were others on the street – was full of celebrating Muslim men, but no females. The coffee was reasonable, a little bitter and the milk not sufficiently creamy. Two stars.
As the trains were out at my local train station I spent most of the day talking to my children via Skype, or trying futilely to get to the city and its alluring pasty and coffee shops. In the end, the traffic was so slow that I alighted from the replacement bus and headed for an Italian restaurant in Kilburn for lunch. The melted goats cheese over tomato on traditional Italian bread was good, the decor was great (dark, traditional Italian and rustic), but the coffee was flat and weak. I had an apple pie with custard but could hardly finish it – it seemed to be a supermarket reheat. Two stars again.
For dinner I was lucky to discover a fantastic quality Indian restaurant only metres from my front door. With newspaper reviews giving it a four star rating glued beside the entrance, I bought the huge London Times and settled down for a long Indian dinner. Palak chicken – (spinach and coconut milk) was good, although a little gritty – something I always struggle with when cooking spinach, Pilau rice, mango lassi – a yogurt drink and absolutely delicious, followed by Karahi Kulfi’s mango – a rich and creamy ice cream. Four stars and the service was excellent including a delightful hot towel after the main course for a total of 16 pounds. To top the evening off for Eid was a new season of Doc Martin. Thank you Allah!

Crazy humans, their companions and the end of Ramadan prayers

2009-09-18T15:09:00.000-07:00

Today began with mistaken public transport and an old lady, holding up the traffic in her wheel chair, waving her arms at the impatient banked up cars.
I had intended to go straight to the agency and start studying the national curriculum, collecting a bank of appropriate teaching ideas, quick activities to fill the gaps and a better preparation for facing an unknown bunch of kids. Instead I found myself heading off to the city on the wrong bus! No harm done, there was some great shopping at a place called Primark – much cheaper than the city shops, good quality, and so popular that by the time I got to the register I was at the end of a line more than 30 people long.
I then headed for the bus, carrying these huge heavy paper carriers with my new warm coat and foot warmers when I heard horns blaring and people staring. In the middle of the busy main road was an old grey haired lady, struggling to get her wheel chair across the road and waving her arms angrily at the impatient queues of cars itching to accelerate while the lights were green. Amazed I waded through the immobile bank of mostly men watching her, and with bags bouncing off the wheel chair I quickly wheeled her off the road – while she roared to the crowd “what kind of men are you??!” amongst other less controlled comments. Wishing her well I then caught another wrong bus and had to walk back to where I had started!
Pets, as in Australia are a very big part of a Londoner’s life. The free London Paper – which unfortunately printed its last issue today due to the financial crisis – had been running a favourite pet picture in each of its issues. Amazed at the response it had from readers it ran a centrefold page of guinea pigs in knitted hats, cute cats, pigs and various other human companions. They were all beaten by the amazing pup which trotted across my path – a type of black and white miniature boxer breed but with huge stand-up butterfly ears! Perhaps even more unusual was the lead story today - of a 12 year old boy who turned up to school as a girl, prompting the head of the school to make an announcement in Assembly explaining the child's choice of future gender. Surely an adolescent's nightmare!!
Tonight was the last night of Ramadan and I was almost moved to tears thinking about how it would be probably another year before I stood comfortably in a mosque praying sunnah and hearing the Quran roll melodiously around me. I stopped to pick up some fattoush from one of the many take away joints still open on my road home (not to mention the 5 or so 24 hour small grocery and fruit stalls in less than a kilometre). As usual the staff were friendly and gave salaams. I noticed that they were watching on a large screen an Arabic station where Omar Sharif – the ever so famous actor, was being interviewed. He was sitting on a chair in a classic Bedouin tent, with the desert wind coolly lifting the tasselled sides. I checked with the shop owner, who happily confirmed that Omar had left his many Hollywood years behind and returned to Cairo, the land of his birth. “Is he Muslim then?” I asked amazed, thinking of how much my mother and grandmother had adored him, and how horrified my grandmother would have been to think that he was Muslim.

Travelling the tube reflections, new mosque in Brent

2009-09-17T05:04:00.000-07:00

Today as I headed once again into the bowels of lower London it occurred to me that in terms of evolution, humankind has progressed remarkably towards our fellow insects – the ant.
Organised in long lines that generally head in a distinct direction – with little groups forming to check and then resume – we have become experts at tunnelling underground. Just like our fellow ants we have lines that move at different speeds, individual humans who rest and share information in a tete a tete with their fellow ant/human, and move through complicated intersecting tunnels according to our different destinations. Aah, evolution! Isn’t it wonderful. I wonder if some ants have devised a better escalator system?
Two particular ants cum humans caught my attention this afternoon. One appeared to be Swiss, according to the embossed handle on her expensive travelling gear. She wore the most beautiful sandals, cleverly crossed and studded – appearing both comfortable and extremely classy. Next to her sat a dour businessman, complete in his suit with his head adorned by a metal pyramid structure. He sat calmly with the square side of his simple wire structure pulled firmly over his forehead, like the outline of an invisible hat. As with all correctly behaving tube passengers, no one looked surprised, commented or even bothered to care.
In the evening I finally managed to attend the new – and still unfinished - Central Mosque of Brent, an imposing mosque which is still attracting parishioners as it was less than a quarter full when I attended. In the rear of the expansive ladies section upstairs I was surprised to see sheet structures – like large changing areas in a ladies salon. I realised that the community here was enacting the practice of the Prophet for I’tikaf – or virtually camping in the mosque for the last ten days of Ramadan. There must have been at least 12 of these sheet partitions running down on each side of the still uncarpeted and unfinished upstairs section.
After the Isha prayer there was a long speech by the Urdu Imam which many of the sisters had no hope of understanding. Like them I struck up a quiet conversation with the Somali sister sitting next to me. She had arrived in London over 8 years ago as a refugee from the Somali war and was a careworker, trained practically but still struggling with written English. She described how her father and her mother with the surviving twelve siblings (four of her mother’s sixteen children had passed away!) had moved to London. Finding the social environment less supportive of parental authority, her parents with eight of the still unmarried children were now living and studying in Cairo where she sent her meagre savings to assist them. Amazingly, her mother had been injured during the war and only had use of her right arm – still managing to raise another 4 babies after her injury! In this close community apparently there were always sufficient relatives to ensure that minimal work was done by her mother, who focussed on the care of the babies while others cleaned and washed around her. My own contribution to the next generation immediately paled into insignificance!

What direction are Muslim Schools heading?

2009-08-18T18:58:00.000-07:00

Education has a host of meanings for those involved in the schooling of the next generation – but none should include dividing them into self-possessed winners or disaffected losers. But this is exactly what is happening as one school system in the Muslim community
drives students to compete in an artificial environment which generally does not consider their real aspirations, instead creating an Ivy league – or more appropriately perhaps – a Castle League of graduates. They are the ‘winners’ in the community’s eyes as opposed to their competitors in the public system and those that never made the final race – denied permission to continue in these schools earlier on.
This begs the question – what is the ultimate aim of schooling? The answer to this question depends on who is being asked. Students of all backgrounds look forward to the long years of school ending with enough of a qualification to get them to further study or a job. Many Muslim students struggle to survive the bullying, class disruptions, peer pressures and teacher misunderstandings – in order to survive a childhood as a marginalised identity. But in many Muslim schools there is an added pressure – to stay in the school by competitively achieving high marks in the subjects allocated. Time and again I have heard from young graduates of these schools that although they were interested in the Arts, or Humanities subjects, they were given no choice - having to study the Sciences and higher Maths subjects in order to achieve a mark far higher than they needed to enter the University subjects of their choice. In other words, these schools do not exist for the welfare of their students, but for the high marks and associated prestige that such students supply for the school’s reputation. Maintaining such a high standard is costly – in terms of student wastage and pressure on the students who manage to continue in the school. The immediate benefits are an enviable reputation within the Muslim community that clamours to put their children in such high status schools.
There are huge repercussions for such an agenda however. What is seldom considered is the price for both the students who succeed and those who do not. Invariably the students who survive such a system are hot housed – often being forced to study long hours in after hours tutoring schools, sacrificing most of their social life, as well as their own aspirations to study alternative subjects including the creative arts or Information Technology, as well as the Humanities of History and Geography amongst many others. Whereas they may have comfortably graduated with sufficient marks to enter University while enjoying the many other highlights of life as a teenager – sport, community activities, family life and so on, they are required to study long hours in order to achieve high marks in subjects that they may not enjoy. At the same time they are told that they are the ‘winners’ – the clever ones, with their marks paraded and celebrated throughout the community – ultimately breeding a league of often arrogant graduates from the closed off Castle of their existence, a 'Castle League' alongside the wealthy ivy covered GPS schools who graduate an Ivy League.
Many of these students are then encouraged by their status seeking families to choose the prestigious courses of Medicine, Dentistry, and sometimes Law, struggling at University with subjects that, once again, they may not really be interested in, and without the ‘spoon feeding’ that occurred in their schooling. Many of these students fail in their first year at University, exhausted due to the strain of continual study from their school years and the distractions of being able to develop their social lives - for many for the first time.
But for the ‘losers’ the cost is much higher. Not able to gain entry to such demanding schools, or being part of the annual wastage of students who did not achieve the high marks necessary to continue, or not having the funds to pay the fees – still small in comparison with their Ivy League competitors – they can be defiant in demonstrating their worth. Schools receiving these ‘reject’ students often struggle with the psychological results of students carrying such labels, and their resulting behavioural, social and academic consequences. Successful students from public schools in contrast can be dominant and almost aggressive in restoring self-dignity, often behaving loudly or rudely in compensation for their lack of school status, while those students who did not succeed work hard to demonstrate just how little they care. These latter are potentially the most concerning for all of society – marginalised both within their community and externally as Muslims or immigrant Arabs and South Asians, these students often show little sign of social civility, the behavioural norms of respect and patience that are the hallmarks of a civilised community. Instead they have a chip on their shoulder, respond quickly to conspiracy theories, and react angrily and defiantly to any perceived injustice. These are the members of a growing number of ‘Muslim’ bikie gangs and the young semi-professionals who flock to the speeches of equally angry young Imams and defiant organisations such as Hizb Tahrir.
It is unfortunate that the purveyors of this type of education are not in the minority. This drive for ‘high marks’ at all costs originates in the national body politically representing all Muslims in Australia – the Federation of Islamic Councils. Having acquired the largest assets of any institution in the Muslim community - through halal meat, overseas donations and business - they have managed to build at least one school in 4 States of Australia, and currently have the largest combined student population of any of the Muslim independent schools. Their financial and ‘educational’ success has encouraged smaller schools to move directly under their influence, while competing Muslim schools are forced to adopt similar drastic policies in order to compete in both keeping their academically capable students (who are regularly petitioned to join these Castle League schools) and achieve results that will ensure parental support and therefore financially necessary enrolments.
It is almost impossible financially for a comprehensive school to survive in such a climate, or a school that offers a wide range of activities and choice in subjects and extra curricular activities, elements of learning that are the hallmark of the modern education system. Historically education in the Muslim community was not seen as the means to an elevated social status, but worthy for its own sake, for developing the skills and academic discourse of the whole community. Life saving skills of literacy and numeracy as well as running, horse-riding, swimming and archery were encouraged. During the Golden Era of Islam scholars were feted by the wealthy who collected vast libraries from earlier literary works and international sources to be translated and further interpreted by the scholars employed by them.
However, the young people in our Muslim schools today are not encouraged into creative new thinking or interpreting and solving the problems facing their world, their society. Instead, the contribution and the worth of these young people throughout their schooling ultimately comes down to a single annual mark and its resulting effect on their admission to these inwardly focussed, self-serving Castle League schools.
It’s time we wake up to the potential consequences of this status seeking education - it's time for a change in direction.

Travel Reflections on England

2009-09-09T02:05:00.000-07:00

First Impressions of London
After being unfortunately booted from business class (where I left my complimentary toiletries, ear plugs, classy socks etc) into economy, I arrived a little more rumpled but ready and excited. Heathrow is under repair and we emerged into a Hajj type gathering, 10 abreast under low temporary ceilings, drooping flouros and makeshift walls. Slightly oppressive. Forty minutes later
we had shuffled through to the luggage, which was also delayed (four large aircraft arriving simultaneously apparently – yes, this is not Libya, this is London!). After previous warnings, decided not to respond to the urgent entreaties of a taxi touter, but stood in line – confident that I’d get a fair English deal. One slight problem – I was relying on my credit card till the accommodation, as I figured airport rates would more expensive than local exchange, but the taxi informed me at the end of the ride, that he doesn’t take credit cards on Sunday. He complained at length about how many days he has to wait to get paid from the airport, and how hard it is to get his money – cash only. So another 15 pounds and four ‘not working’ cash dispensers later (they don’t take cards on Sunday either it seems) I got my cash and paid the driver.
The accommodation is student type and frugal, with a breakfast room, outdoor garden/eating area, computing room and tiny narrow corridors. With suitcases dumped in the luggage room until check in time, I managed to find a free bathroom and cleaned up. I think I counted 8 pipes above the narrow shower area – like showering under a city plumbing station! Still, it was good to be clean.

Next headed out to begin exploring. First stop, the corner shop for a paper around the corner. Next to it, a small and comfortable little street mall with cafes, cheap but nutritious pastries, cakes and a range of cheap but nutritious dinner foods – 4 pounds for dinner – and excellent coffee! Hey, I’m in the right place! Touring the streets it reminded me about how old London is, the children’s refuge with the founder’s statue outside – 1685 – 1750, still running, still caring for kids. Trees in the parks are huge, with thousands of rustling leaves as you walk underneath, and nearly every building has festoons of coloured plants dripping from planters on the street walk, and planters even on fourth storey window sills. As I focussed my camera on a huge old hotel, a passing tourist alerted me to a skinny little squirrel sitting on the ground watching me, then dashing off into the park’s bushes before I could catch his photo.
I’m now eating in Brunswick – an up-market, comfortable piazza style shopping area with a fabulous range of gourmet foods, although I’ve opted for scrambled eggs and grainy toast. The coffee around the corner is still the best so far.

Monday 7 Sept 09

2009-09-09T02:14:00.000-07:00

Today was taken up with being ‘sorted out’ by the Protocol Education agents. Located in Chancery Lane they run a very efficient practice with a friendly staff checking all details, filling out forms, explaining a raft of procedures from pay to National Security ID’s to police checks. Once identifying
what and where I might want to teach, two ladies from the different areas dropped in and excitedly spoke at the type of schools in their domains. Outside of this office with its helpful troop of organised personnel sat newly arrived teachers from Canada and seasoned teachers manning computer terminals beside bookshelves of teacher resources and curriculum. They were locating places to stay – one of the first and most difficult parts of the settling in process. It’s the beginning of the school year and work is still slow – most teachers arriving back at school healthy and fit from their long summer holiday. This is good for new supply teachers as bank accounts have to be opened, longer term stay organised and the curriculum mastered. It seems living in Islington is good as they have excellent schools there with limited supply teachers. So, I think I’m in the right place..I’m pumped and ready to roll!
That night I attempted to find my way around using the Tube. After organising an Oyster card – which allows you simply to swipe whatever transport you’re using – whether bus, tube, train etc and simply top up every now and again, I entered the maze of vertical escalators - where fit Londoners skip down – or hold tete a tete’s as though they’re in a comfortable cafe, repositioning themselves quickly on each new downward journey. The Tube map fortunately has some straight lines – its bad enough with the maze that’s spread before me! I need to change at least two times it seems as someone is under a train in the direction that I could most easily go. Finally I emerge to look at accommodation which seemed to be pretty close on the map, but took one hour to get to. We walk for fifteen minutes, passing another closer train station which winds back towards the city from the direction of the person under the train. The houses continue to be unbroken by any side passage or front garden – quaint, cheek by jowl with a village atmosphere that is borders dull after the buzz of inner city. Unfortunately there are no good cafes here, there are four flights of stairs to get the bedroom and it’s a shared house, albeit with fairly responsible teachers from Protocol. My legs have had it, and my knee is saying ‘enough’!
The return journey takes half an hour of waiting for a train – perhaps someone is still underneath the train? It’s deadingly quiet out here and I try not to listen to the platform’s sole other commuter explain loudly on her mobile about the personal problems of her parishioner whose Bible is somehow an issue. I’m determined to get to London Central City Mosque so break fast in tiny Bangladeshi restaurant. It’s clear it belongs to a comfortable semi retired person – old fashioned lights on the walls, fading but loved multicoloured Persian carpet, with straight backed chairs toned with dark blue to match the fading light blue walls and tablecloths. The old man in charge shuffles quietly and resolutely in serving me with a reserved air of long habit. The food is simple and nourishing, the price reasonable.
Getting to the mosque which directions indicated was not far required walking a mile, then catching one bus, then walking, then catching another bus and finally walking another few blocks. The streets were dimly lit and although fellow Muslim bus passengers who walked some of the way with me gave helpful directions, it was a journey I decided not to repeat. I decided to get a taxi for the return home – despite the certain extra cost. The mosque itself was chaotic – with few lights and a confused mass of fairly noisy mixed races and children running around a forecourt. I found my way to the ladies wudu section which was crowded with small groups of ladies sitting on the ground or in small groups noisily talking to each other with the detritus of their recent break fast piled around them. Rubber mats usually placed on the tiled floor in front of wudu areas were located everywhere – with some groups of chatters set up at tables next to the taps or on the floor in adjacent tiled areas. After cleaning up somewhat I headed upstairs to the ladies section – where scores of women were quietly engaged in Quran reading or praying. Finally we rose to prayer and the a wave of peace washed through me as I heard the first ‘Amen’ deeply sung by a united and uniform congregation.

Tuesday 8 Sept

2009-09-09T02:16:00.001-07:00

The bank I was directed to for opening an account seems to run completely differently. There were no tellers that I could see and – wait – no queues! I found my way to a friendly African staffer behind a centrally located desk,
who took my name with a helpful smile and politely asked me to take a seat in bright red chairs. Music played overhead, including my favourite Coldplay album. Within minutes a polite lady appeared, smiled and apologised for the wait, taking me to her booth from an indepth explanation of my new account. Well, I thought, this is service!
After spending the morning surfing the net and trying to locate anything that was short-let and reasonably priced in the exclusive suburb of Islington that I liked (well, my dad was born here I think, and they did say the schools were great!) – I accepted the futility of the exercise in realising that exclusive suburbs don’t have cheap or easy rent! The next best offer seemed to be a number of places – dubiously without photographs other than ‘sample ones’ – in the area of Willesden Green. So I now decided to see how long it would take to get there and whether I would be stranded in the snow on a deserted and lonely station platform in the freezing dark. Three stations and one hour later I emerged in leafy Willesden Green. As usual coming out a high point of the village with little shops falling away on either side of the station bridge, I immediately saw a sign pointing down the road to a mosque. Well, I thought, this looks good. My imagined small door to a tiny musallah in fact turns out to be the huge Brent St mosque still under refurbishment. Peering in the door a worried South Asian gentleman carrying his masbahah tried to shoo me away to a different entry. I persevered and through our different accents managed to eventually get approval to pray and browse around. The mosque is huge, airy and comfortable. Yep, I like the area.
Walking back up to the train station I decided to try for cafes and busses. The cafes were limited, but the busses were plentiful and one went directly back to my destination! Muslims and halal restaurants were everywhere, with a much busier small village life than the place I had visited earlier. Catching a double decker bus I sat up the top to watch the view. These tall narrow busses seem to surf down the narrow rivulets of village streets, banked steeply on each side by quaint and sometimes crumbling shop fronts. The tall sashed windows that rise up on each side seem to lean in as the buses lurch between grated crossings and down grand residential streets with towering trees almost obscuring the sky.
People are more relaxed I notice, but tense in a worried sort of way. You see less of a cool restrained type of dude – the one my son is so adept at – than open features that display the full range of emotions. I imagine him cringing if I behaved in the manner of those around me who seem oblivious to social expectations, speaking loudly on mobile phones and above and over each other as though there was not ten people standing between them.
I break fast this time in a tiny restaurant off Oxford St with rich tomato and basil soup, light salad with fried salmon fillets on top and crusty bread. Delicious, but the owner is a little bemused by my insistence that I have to wait before I can break fast. This causes me to miss a coffee I have been dying for from the Costa coffee shop which closes across the street while I am dashing towards it. Closer to home I find the street mall which had such wonderful little cafes during the day, not spread out with rustic tables and tablecloths for Italian, Greek and Asian restaurants joyously celebrating the night. I ask for a coffee and am told I have to have desert as well (now that’ll be hard). I choose a light sorbet – so light it slips dreamily from my spoon like heavy beaten egg white – and the coffee is warm, not too strong and very smooth.
I watch as behind the tables on the mall, speed past ladies on bikes. I had seen many of these in the city also – usually no helmets, weaving comfortably between the double decker busses, little black taxis and other cars. From high heels and dressed up, to middle aged and casual, there were an abundance of fit women peddling their way around. Certainly everyone seems fitter than me, and there is little obesity. Suddenly a troop of Greek musicians start up at the tables, as a black taxi trundles through the tiny space of the mall behind them. I love this place!

Encounter with a Squirrel

2009-09-10T02:08:00.000-07:00

Wednesday morning headed back to Russell Square to Skype my daughter while sitting in the park. No one seemed particularly surprised at a middle aged lady with headphones talking and laughing to her laptop -
at least until it crashed, there being no available power points located at a park bench.
I caught my friendly little squirrel there, scurrying among the leaves and stopping occasionally to check me out. The park is lovely although the Caribbean gentleman who joined me on the bench and spoke at length, loudly, on his mobile phone slightly spoiled it. The squirrel didn't think much of it either and disappeared.
I had already picked up pastries and snacks for breaking fast, but discovered a range of stalls selling Algerian, Asian, Italian and various other authentic delicious foods located in tents all the way down the comfortable street mall around the corner. I added to that a huge white with swirled chocolate meringue that was so light and slightly chewy, it reminded me of my Nanna's meringues from childhood.
Dashing across the crossing as I dragged my little suitcase to rush back for Iftar a slightly paunchy businessman (minus the coat) with a slightly wonky helmet was peddling furiously what looked like a kids bike with vertical handbars. I wondered how he could possibly overtake buses in it. I also wondered how the ladies were managing to keep their skirts (often loose and above the knees) from flying up as they weaved between taxis and huge red busses.

Almost back at the LSE I took an interesting back street - under an arch that supported a continuation of dwellings, to discover a cobbled street with an Inn - the Blue Lion, established 1627 carved above it. If only there was a timelapse camera from that time - how much change it would have caught over 4 centuries! Rather than excite the casual drinkers outside the pub I took a picture of the comfortable dwellings farther down the cobbled lane.

Studio Flat discovered

2009-09-12T02:40:00.000-07:00

Have finally found a wonderful little place in Willesden Green. It is a small studio, with a dug up private back yard under huge, huge trees filtering speckled shafts of light.
It has a double bed, sofa, tiny kitchen space, little bathroom and a cute table and chairs set at the end of the double bed looking onto the backyard. I couldn’t wait to move in. After being dropped off at the station after the viewing I doubled back and walked down the main street to where the flat was, only to discover that the place I had rented was very close to an Islamic College!

It appeared to be a former church and I decided to inquire inside, as it did not seem possible for it to hold more than a few evening classes. A narrow entryway led on a small welcoming room with a large reception counter. I noticed the expensive graphics and the authorisation from Middlesex University. This was clearly more than a little operation. The sister at reception was kind enough to show me around, down winding hallways with more and more classrooms, a tiny outdoor area to play table tennis, and a small musallah. A library full of volumes loomed briefly through a doorway with a firmly set Anglo woman in traditional and austere hijab. She smiled briefly before returning to her records. Apparently they have up to 200 students studying for their ‘A’ grades – a category I am not yet familiar with, as well as Bachelor’s and Masters of Arts in Islamic Studies. Some of the terminology however was unfamiliar – what was a Hawza? – and the style of hijab gave an indication that this was a Shia institution – confirmed in its subject offerings. The College also offers Arabic short term courses in the evenings – certainly going 'next door' would present little concerns regarding travel!
I also discovered the following safety features of my new residence – a doctor’s surgery two door away, a police station directly opposite, and a small supermarket (amongst numerous little 24 hour fruit/supermarkets) further down called Noor al Houda! A Muslim never ceases to be amazed at the ‘coincidences’ that Allah s.w.t. throws up in their lives, and certainly I’m thankful – Alhamdu lillah!
My taxi driver the next day who helped me get my bundle of large bags to the new house was a Bangladeshi who chatted at length about the state of the Muslim world. He also espoused speakers he admired – particularly a prominent Hindu convert – who run their own Sky (?)TV program avidly watched by British Muslims. Apparently many of the Hindus who watch this program convert to Islam.
As I waited for the agent to arrive and organise the lease, a line marking truck pulled up in front of me. The two lane street was already crowded with buses, overtaking cars and bicycling people, until this truck appeared taking up another half of a lane for the traffic to weave around. I waited with bated breath for an accident.

Two brave men eventually hopped out and proceeded to walk down the road two abreast without any form of traffic diversion while the traffic continued to weave around them. Ultimately the traffic simply could not get around them and the parked cars and was completely stalled until they stood aside temporarily. Is there any form of Occupational Health and Safety here?? I’ll have to learn to turn down my internal alarms systems, especially as the papers today record that up to 80% of public schools are being forced to use totally unqualified ‘supervisors’ to run classes in schools, sometimes for weeks at a time! Well, if I was worried about coming up to scratch in this new system, I should at least be better than the reported ‘supervisors’ such as retired bus drivers! Then again....
Finally, another interesting new system. I was handed a small USB type key and told that this would need to be regularly ‘loaded’ in order to keep the power running. I was shown how to push it into the power meter, read the amount that was still available, and the local shop that ‘uploads’ money onto the key. Certainly an interesting way of monitoring expenditure on power, which apparently can be as much as 4 pounds a day – even for a little flat!

Parks and Mosques (and more good food)

2009-09-14T15:59:00.000-07:00

Today - Saturday, I walked the back streets of my new area trying to locate what appeared on Google maps to be a crowded cemetery beside a large park. The cemetery entrance indicated
it was private and Jewish, open and green although later from the park side the cemetery was an ordered mass of leaning headstones, glinting in the afternoon light. That space sure will be crowded come Yaumul Qiyaamat! The park itself was quite beautiful, full of flowers, tall rustling trees and children playing. A hill rose in the centre providing a vantage point overlooking the neighbouring suburb. The low sun beamed soft yellow light beautifully through the trees behind the sprawling grand houses below.

Black and white couples are a common sight here if not the norm. Not sure if this is still a new phenomenon as I’m sure one or two generations back it would have been problematic. As I waited for the bus (which I discovered later had been held for nearly an hour up by a Manchester United football game) three African girls played nearby. Their hair was neatly parted in radiating lines around their head, the hair plaited into thin parallel lines close to the skull, with the plaited ends forming into anemone type arrangements, sprouting from different places and bouncing as they played. I wondered how long it would take for these kids to sit still and get their hair done!
I was determined to enjoy the beautiful city cuisine tonight after eating a local Turkish restaurant the night before. The menu showed a range of pides and other delectables, but on ordering I discovered most were not available. The lamb I ordered was crispy, tasty and tender. After finishing a full plate however, I felt the heavy weight of greasy lamb fat settling into the pit of my stomach. The coffee I had ordered to follow was weak, and tasted old and flat – but maybe that was because I was gradually getting over my coffee addiction.
Heading into the city for Iftar, I jumped off the bus at Highbury Islington and strolled down the main road passed numerous busy restaurants, checking menus and the amount of alcohol on display. Many mouth watering dishes tempted until, low and barely visible, Arabic letters caught my eye. It was a Persian restaurant, almost hidden from the main road through a low door accessed by a recess in the shop front. Here no alcohol was visible, the restaurant was well lit and the walls covered in runners of red and black tribal geometric tapestry.
I ventured in further to discover soft thick Persian carpets, about a metre across, hanging on the walls. They were very beautiful, for sale and about 500 pounds. The restaurant was Persian and I ordered a delicate rice dish, aromatic and full of citrus peel with finely cut and braised nuts. Hidden within the mound of rice was tender chicken. This was much better than heavy lamb fat!
A cake shop was still open opposite, full of strange looking dishes for a light dinner and platters full of delectable cakes. I chose a vanilla cupcake and bought 4 of the huge meringues – this time swirled on top with light raspberry sauce, and another variety dusted all over with finely cut hazelnuts. These would be my thank you gift for the next Iftar.
I then had to get home. It was now late and busses seemed to be the most direct option. However they were continually delayed. As I began to relax having finally caught the last bus on the way home, there was a loud crunching sound. The bus swayed to a halt, and then slowly pulled over. Passengers leaned out the windows to see what had happened and we all looked around at each other for clues. After another ten minutes the majority decided that another bus would be a better option so there was a mass exodus. I waited at the back of the top deck to see if another bus would come, and saw the bus driver exchanging details with the driver he had collided with and noticed him being pressed with money which he valiantly refused. I briefly thought that I should be a witness to this attempted bribery, but the thought of weeks waiting for a long court case chased that firmly out of my mind. Just as another bus appeared, the bus driver hopped back in so there was a mad rush to get back onto the bus before it left. The driver called out loudly over the mike, asking for witnesses to stand by his assertion that the car had been at fault, eliciting loud discussion between passengers as to who had seen what, while the two busses virtually raced each other all the way back home.
Today I decided to see the local mosques in the area. I realised that I have been walking between 2 and 3 hours a day, locating different bus sites, alternative routes for travel and exploring back streets and main streets. First I located Yusuf Islam's school - Brondesbury Boys High School which was already closed for the day, and found it had changed little from the outside in the past few years. The first two mosques I visited in Brondesbury Park seemed – as with most of them unfortunately – very closed. There was no real sign that any door was open and little indication that visitors were welcome. As I tried unobtrusively to take pictures, I was becoming worried that I might be considered to be spying for some agency, especially considering the recent tension and protests outside mosques that had been covered in the news.
I then visited another two mosques – one of which had an open gate and a laneway down the side. I decided to give it a go! Bravely walking down the side of the mosque I was followed by a number of fellow Muslims who looked at me slightly suspiciously. I enquired innocently – ‘where do the women pray’ – and was gruffly directed further down the alley to another entrance labelled ‘Women’s Prayer Area’. Thanking them I peeked inside but decided against going past the initial vestibule. I chatted briefly with a stall holder outside, trying to assess what background this mosque might have. There was a table full of CD’s with young, black bearded men and small turbans – a type I had not seen before. They appeared to be Pakistani or Bangladeshi rather than Iranian, and although the turbans were reminiscent of Shia mullahs, they were smaller and of a slightly different fashion. Suddenly I heard the azaan as more young men rushed to the salat. I quizzed the stall holder – what salat is this? It was already well after 5.30 pm and my salat times indicated that Asr prayer had begun more than an hour earlier. He explained that this was Asr time for the locals, and then rushed to join the prayers. As I returned down the alleyway I was passed by another attendee who frowned, saying ‘Laa hawla wa laa quwata illa bi illah’ (there is no help or strength save in Allah) – so I guess I really did stand out from their expectations! Of all the local mosques (and apparently there are 8 within two kilometres of where I live), the Central Mosque of Brent was the most welcoming and friendly.
Tonight was another wonderful Iftar with fellow British ‘immigrants’ – friends of my children, who kindly invited me into their homes. It is certainly one of the wonderful aspects of being a Muslim and travelling in Ramadan – even complete strangers feel compelled to offer you their hospitality and fine food, there being so much hassanat in sharing food with others in this holy month, and even more so providing food for travellers. Last night, as I had travelled so far for the Iftar, I was invited to stay the night and dropped back at the station early in the morning so that I could get back in time for work. Sharing the Iftar and then the suhur with this family, their hospitality in providing spare clothes for sleeping and a wonderful bed, along with all of the many tales and discussions that we shared at both of the dinners will be a great memory of Ramadan in Britain.

Pride, Power and Privilege in Palestine

2009-01-09T19:52:00.000-08:00

Since the Israeli New Year invasion of the overcrowded concentration camp which once represented the beautiful Mediterranean beach of Gaza the international public has been sickened by the hypocrisy and tragedy of the saga unfolding on its screens nightly. It has also been confusing with claim and counter claim in a war for the minds of the international community carried out in the media as much as in the streets and homes of the victims. For once we have a brief respite from the media’s never ending reference to the Jewish holocaust - perhaps because (for once) it does not suit to remind Western audiences and have them conflate the Jewish trauma with the modern Palestinian trauma. The history from each perspective of rightful possession of Palestine however has been explained along with the history of peace efforts and much of the political background to the recent crisis which has been pored over in every detail. Yet it is the emotional factors that have as much a part to play in the recent crisis as the historical and political detail – the emotions relating to Israeli and Arab pride, the emotional drive for power at all cost, the emotional effect of the unjust distribution of privilege and finally the complete absence of human or spiritual compassion accompanying these emotions that really needs to be addressed.

Let me first begin with pride and its accompanying vice – hypocrisy. Pride breeds arrogance and can begin – as it has historically done with the Jewish/Arab family saga –with an insult that is never forgiven. When Abraham (Ibrahim a.s.) took his second wife Haaja – by some accounts for political reasons and to ensure the safety of his existing wife – he began the epic family tragedy which continues today. Abraham’s first wife was barren, and the insult of taking a second wife was compounded by Haaja (Abraham’s second wife) delivering a son to the patriarch. The conflict was so great that Haaja had to be removed far away – in fact to begin a new nation, and with her son to build the Kaabah which is still revered by Muslims until today as the central unifying structure of Islam - at the centre of every formal prayer and pilgrimage. This same pride and self-centred belief in who has a greater right to God’s message and authority is at the heart of much of tragedy of Palestine. Israeli’s believe that as the rightful heirs of Abraham they have a God-given access to the land of Palestine – a claim apparently rejected by many of their own rabbis. They forcefully substantiate their claim in modern history as part of a just retribution for the Jewish holocaust – but hypocritically inflict a slower and more insidious holocaust on the usurped Palestinians. Islamist militants – rightfully angry at the misappropriation of their land and resources – steadfastly reject the right of Israel to exist, regardless of the size of its modern existence, and hypocritically claim their God-given superiority over the misguided People of the Book despite historical and theological evidence in Islam that Jews could and should be dealt with in a respectful and peaceful manner.

The same pride and hypocrisy is clearly evident in the defiant unleashing of rockets into Israel from within civilian areas – in defence of the Palestinian children who minutes later die of return fire from Israel. The humiliated Palestinian population – particularly the unemployed, frequently detained and tortured, impotent Arab males - see the restoration of their pride in defiance at all costs, even at the cost of the horrific injury and morbid blood letting of their families. The Israeli leadership hypocritically continues to state that it is not targeting civilians and has no evil intent against the Palestinian people – yet its actions are clearly contrary and hypocritical to its statements. Targeting UN Aid convoys, informing women and children to shelter in schools and homes that are then deliberately bombed – not to mention the decades of deliberate and continuous humiliation and deliberate eradication of any hope or aspiration other than martyrdom of their Arab cousins. Yet again hypocritically the Israeli Zionist leaders claim to be God’s chosen people – what kind of a Satanic, unjust and cruel god are they then claiming to represent? Certainly not the God of the Old, New and Quranic testaments who was and is a God of Compassion, bringing judgement on the arrogant (often transgressing Jewish people), a God of justice who freed the children of Nabi Yusuf from Egypt, and a God who delivered through His Messengers - including Moses, Jesus (a.s.) and Muhammad s.a.w. – a just and comprehensive law. All this explains why today, both sides have refused to lay down their arms and consider peace – the pride of the men on both sides is at stake.

However, pride cannot act alone as the central contributor to such a ghastly fiasco. Power and privilege are also at stake. In this crucible of religious, political and racial controversy, the control of one people by another and the privileges that are metered out by those in control is a critical element that must be addressed immediately for any solution. The situation here becomes far more complex than simply the power exercised over the Palestinian people in terms of checkpoints, home demolition, the detention of hundreds of thousands of young men as ‘political prisoners’, theft of water resources, theft of land, and domination of every corner of what was once the beautiful land of Palestine by settlements on every hilltop to intimidate the surviving Palestinian rural population. In fact, as so often in the known history of mankind, Palestine is at the centre of a more global fight over the hearts and minds of humanity. Why is that Iran is supporting Hamas? Iran – representing the virulent version of a hardline Islamist view of the world is using a surrogate army – Hamas to face off against the hegemonic power of ‘the West’ represented by the surrogate government of Israel. The corrupt and Western backed Arab leaders are vacillating in the face of an Islamist presence throughout the Muslim world, while their disenfranchised and suffering population are backing the Hamas/Hizbullah challengers – albeit that they represent a militant and harsh future not too distant from the uncompromising Taliban. This ideological, political and economic fight then may be based in Palestine, but in fact stretches into every continent of the world as Muslims of the global Ummah redefine their changing role in the 21^st century.

In the Quranic story of the creation of man, Iblis or Satan refused to bow as ordered to the first man – Adam a.s. He knew – as did the angels – that this creature would be capable of destroying God’s beautiful creation – wreaking death and destruction in Paradise. But Iblis’s greatest crime, and one that he was determined to encourage all men to also commit, was arrogance. Iblis felt that he knew more than to follow the instructions of God and as a result he was condemned for ever. Right now, in Palestine, this sin of arrogance, of pride in interpreting the instructions of God – is being staged catastrophically in the universal media. It is time to return to the true underlying message of all of the Scriptures – humility, compassion, and the rejection of arrogance. The Israeli’s according to their Rabbis are not willing to accept the exile imposed on them by God – but they must. The Arabs are not willing to let go of their land and accept the humiliation imposed on them by the Israeli’s – but they will have to swallow their pride once again for peace. The Israeli’s are not willing to justly share the resources they have illegally accessed – and neither in truth are the Islamists. But they must both learn to live together. And ultimately, those who claim to represent Jewish, Christian and Muslim governments must be brought to account by their people and forced to accept the laws of their respective religion in relation to justice and compassion as dictated by God. Only then will we build a future for our children without fear.(picture of Gaza under attack - compliments of SBS website)

Fighting Fear

2008-11-30T16:18:00.000-08:00

It is sad that I must begin my blog with condolences, shame and sadness. Condolences to those who lost their lives or endured fear, injury or trauma during the Mumbai attacks, and for all of their families. Once again, for myself as a person who follows a religion called Peace – because this is one of the meanings of Islam – I am enormously distressed by violent men who use the word Islam for their monstrous deeds. The Muslim community globally continues to reel from those who dominate our screens with images of hate and bloodshed.
I am sure that all Muslims in every community are, like me, condemning these latest acts of terrorism. Like them, I do not have any solutions to the injustices that lie beneath the rage that we see in these satanic young men. But I strongly believe that we must continue to honestly delve into the roots of their anger in order to dry up the emotions that are played on by their evil masters. It is true that there is injustice occurring all over the world. It is true that the wealthy continue to profit and exploit the poor. It is true that lies and deceit dominate much of the history of global politics and the marginalised communities are frustrated to the point of desperation in meeting their legitimate demands. However, this alone does not explain and can never excuse the awful crimes of terror that have been committed and associated with the name of Islam.
The other aspect to these atrocities lies in the teaching and justification that permits them. Globally and internationally the lack of education that exists in so many Muslim countries permits the ill-informed to be presented with a view on life that is totally out of touch with reality. We know that there are teachers who play on the frustrations and anger that injustice develops, and these teachers present lies as truth about what historically has occurred in Islam and what is permitted. The only way to combat such teaching is a mass education drive to spread an alternative teaching throughout the Muslim world – confidently presenting the teachings of Islam that offer hope, political solutions, and an ethical path of determined and rightful resistance that does not target innocent children, the elderly, women or the vulnerable. Such an ethical path can never be called terrorism – and terrorism has never been the practice or teaching of Islam.
There must be a concerted effort on both fronts – working to provide solutions and hope to marginalised and frustrated communities – through our writing, speaking and active entry through global political and aid organisations, and simultaneously an active campaign to expose the falsehood of teachings of hate and of recruitment of the gullible and hurt. It is time for our leaders to step up to the plate and begin this important work – not as we see now, armchair leaders who are silent in the face of atrocity and defensive when confronted.

Ethical leaders of courage – where are you?

Capitalism's Grief vs Islam's Ethics

2008-10-04T16:22:00.000-07:00

I've been listening to commentators for the past two weeks. I've been thinking about materialism and genuine religion. I say genuine religion in opposition to political movements and strategic sermonising - the ethical basis that is at the heart of each Prophet's message. A deeply felt awareness of God is present in all their messages, an accountability for action is also there, but there is no Prophet whose message has been more for today than Muhammad - the Final Messenger (peace be upon him). All Prophets have criticised greed and required care of the poor, but the jargon and the insistence of the recent decades of materialism have overtaken every religion - except the teachings of Islam and especially its ethical economic teachings.

While I am not an economist, it is apparent that understanding the true value of an asset has different interpretations - and this has ethical aspects. According to many reports this week, and cited again today on the ABC's Insider's Business Report - the amount of 'leverage' applied by banks in recent times on an asset has been up to 20 times it's actual value! In other words, against your $10 deposit, the banks have borrowed $200. Another example is share investment. For example, Woolworths have allowed those with cash to buy a slice of their company - thereby increasing it's asset base and sharing it's profit (or loss if that was what happened). But shares today have little regard for that profit or loss return as can be seen right now in the resources sector. Mining companies which dig giant holes in parts of Australia amongst other long suffering countries are still exporting mega-tonnes to China and other developing nations. But 'fear' that China's growth will now be slowed has meant that the price of mineral shares has dropped significantly. Rumour, fear and greed have been the reason d'etre of share prices for many years now.

The Prophet of Islam though, told his followers to exchange like with like - sell your slice of a gold company for a slice of Woolworths - not a speculative guess at what returns might be gained or lost in the next few months or years. Sell your dates at their current value for wheat at its current value. He instituted very strict market regulations aimed at curbing dishonesty and misrepresentation in the marketplace, and of course the Quran legislated against the whole concept of interest or 'riba' and it's consequent injustice to the poor.

The Prophet also legislated against speculation - for example, that you could not sell your crop of wheat until it had been harvested. You could not estimate it's value and speculate on its worth - it had to be harvested, packed and ready. Only then could a buyer know exactly what he or she was getting for their money. Such a regulation would have eliminated the 'short selling' - where investors sell something they don't even own!

For many years I have engaged in a debate with members of my family about interest - as have many Muslims living in the 'modern world'. Interest - demanding an increase on the return of borrowed money regardless of whether the money generated profit or loss - is seen as an inherent and inescapable part of normal society. But interest is the cause of much of the capitalistic problems of today:

* it encourages people to borrow and consume above their means in the hope they can repay

* it allows those with capital to benefit from the desperate hopes of others without any accountability
* it builds an unrealistic inflation into the economy (commentators this week have been saying that business cannot access credit resulting in the immediate slowdown of growth in business which is dependent on credit for even their daily transactions)

* it effectively means the wealthy parasitically live off the earnings and assets of the poor - the root cause of suffering throughout most of the world today (http://www.thestoryofstuff.com/)

The awful reality of capitalist greed was reflected in the news that just HALF of the current bailout of Wall St could eliminate poverty in the developing world as outlined in the United Nations Millennium Development Goals. For the 1.4 billion or so in the world who struggle to survive on less than US$1.25 per day (that's one in four of us), and the vast majority of the world who struggle to put shelter over the heads over the children, this bailout of greedy capitalists is an unbelievable slap in the face to justice and equity.

Ethics has only recently entered the economic debate - with the likes of Kamran Mofid a Christian economics professor who has toured the world speaking about ethical economics and in 2005 called on the First World Islamic Economic Forum to be part of a "Spiritual Revolution" to bring justice against the "false religion of materialism". It is time that Muslims educated themselves about the fundamentals of their ethical religion, rejected the 'false religion' of materialism and began to campaign for an end to capitalism. There is another way - but we have to study it, and to live it, before we can help others with it. But before all that, Muslims in particular have to restore their integrity and their ethics, given that Muslim countries are amongst the biggest investors in speculative markets and corrupt social systems. We have to reconnect with the ethical and socially just message of the last and most relevant Messenger from God - the Prophet Muhammad (peace be upon him.)

Election Musings

2008-09-20T18:20:00.000-07:00

Well - the best (or should I say worst) made plans do not always succeed - and often for very good reasons. I had intended to run for the local elections, but missed out on registering by the barest of timelines. 2008 would have been an excellent time to run for local elections due to the impending ICAC investigations into the sale of land for Auburn Central, and the Labour party being 'on the nose' anyway due to the shenanigans of the State Party whose public appearance changes like the shuffling of a pack of cards. But the elections were heavily contested, with a number of Muslim names standing - two of whom were good friends and represented the Greens. I also had a thesis to complete, and a series of conference papers to present amongst other pressing and time consuming issues. So, hopefully, I'll not be too old to consider running at some stage in the future.
The elections though, highlighted once again the parlous state of the Muslim community in comparison to some other communities, and its inability to unite for common purpose. Although the Greens were fielding two Muslim candidates, there was little effective policy presentation that demonstrated a thorough awareness of local Muslim issues, and a struggle to man the booths despite the high profile of both members. Muslim Independents stood in opposition and campaigned actively in much the same electoral territory as the two Greens members, while both Liberal and Labor ran Muslim candidates. It seems like a classic case of divide and rule! None of the parties really appeared to consider issues that are at the heart of the Muslim community - in fact, the Muslim community itself is not that sure what the key issues are!
From my own research I see that our Muslim community (often misperceived as a single entity) can be divided into more representative groupings. Firstly, there are generally two age related divisions - if you can imagine lateral lines - according to the place of birth and education in Australia. This would initially divide up the Muslim community into those born and educated here - and that is mostly those under the age of 25-30, and those who've had partial or no education here and who are tied in various ways to their overseas origins. The under 25's who are born and bred Australians are generally in a class of their own, and as Sheik Fehmi Naji el-Imam recently stated they are part of today's global youth - interacting through Facebook and Youtube, and in many ways they are less affected by their parent's ethnicity. The only subdivision here should be according to education, as those youth who have not succeeded at school, often stay close to their ethnic roots, marry within the same community (not infrequently their cousin) and do not share in the cosmopolitanisation of their better educated peers.
The rest of the Muslim community - the older than 25-30's and not born in Australia, should be divided vertically by ethnicity and sect (Shia, Sunni, Habashi, Alawi etc) and subdivided again by socio-economic state. This would provide, I believe, a more effective division of the community according to matters of concern and needs in regard to electoral polling, provision of services and general identity.
For example, a Lebanese girl who dropped out of school at Year 10, married at 18 and lives with her mother or mother-in-law, and whose husband is most likely to be a blue collar worker or independent trader, would have a very different electoral dynamic than her school friend who went on to Uni, is struggling to finish a law degree and find meaningful work with or without a hijab and is probably unable to find a suitable partner until her late 20's. By the time she has children she is probably more than 12 years senior to the first girl, will have less children, but will probably have purchased a house and be involved in a completely different social space related more to Uni friends and work friends than just family and the ethnicity of her community. The chances of her marrying someone from a different ethnicity, thereby widening the range of her families issues, is also considerable.

So, following on from Irfan's blog bringing up the issue of elections, I would like to suggest the following:
* funding to be provided by AFIC (which generally has plenty to throw around on legal cases when they want to) for electoral polling on what are the significant areas of concern for the Muslim community - categorised by ethnicity and age.
* a series of forums be convened in different areas that initially target local areas, and work by giving generalised introductions and then - according to the comfort area of the community targetted, further attract those attending according to the following groups
a) prominent local ethnicities (remembering that a lot of Muslims by now have married outside of their own ethnicity
b) young people
c) the more cosmopolitan educated and professional group
For example, if running the Forum in Auburn, the African groups could be brought together through their various associations and attendance at mosques, relying on the support of their various community leaders; the Turkish community could be attracted through the number of mosques and local Turkish newspapers, while the youth could be attracted to a separate forum though Facebook, local newspapers, and chat forums, as well as the mosques.
These forums would have to be carefully run so that they are not just 'talkfests' and are geared to ensuring that people's concerns on housing, health, economy, education, employment, work etc are allowed to be heard, recorded and there is the avenue for private followup (in case e.g. the wife actually has a different to the husband and is shy to present it).
* the information so gained be compiled to present a clearer idea of the dynamics and concerns of the community.
* the results to be presented to each of the various political parties, who are encouraged to demonstrated how they are willing to accommodate or respond, the responses being published in local newspapers and even interviewed on Muslim radio stations.

Ideally this is the kind of work that AFIC should be supporting. However, as a largely discredited and grassroot deficient organisation, it may be sufficient to begin in one or two areas with local political activists getting together along with some necessary funding, and then see if it can be 'carbon copied' for other areas.

Personally, I have almost (but not quite) despaired of obtaining the kind of unity within even one of our ethnic Muslim communities that was so apparent with the supporters of the Unity Party. I am also concerned that the many issues that affect the Muslim community will not be dealt with unless direct and planned action is taken. I am disgusted at the ignorance of the community which can keep putting Labor candidates back into power after all of the recent poor behaviour, corruption and lack of any real sensitivity to the community (and disgusted also at the Muslims who can stand for such a party). And I am also disappointed that locally Labor and Liberal will support Muslim candidates - but not at a State or Federal level, neither the Greens, Labor or Liberal will honestly look at policies that reflect our concerns on security, the hijab (visual religion) debate or foreign policy, and the Democrats (of which I am a retiring State Secretary) which had the potential to provide real solutions - is not showing signs of any reasonable recovery from its recent and disastrous decline.

Comments please!!!

Clean-Up Auburn Campaign

2008-08-10T21:03:00.000-07:00

Today I launched my Clean up Auburn campaign in Auburn Central. With today's pictures of rubbish in and around Auburn, I am hoping to get the support of locals in fixing some of the problems that exist around Auburn. I want to see a cleaner and more presentable Auburn. This may require more education programs, more fines being issues, more pressure placed on locals not to spit in the road or drop their rubbish. It can be done through our local schools, through rewards for the cleanest streets or areas and through fines being issued to those who don't comply. Above all we must have better developments as Auburn is a growing vibrant area - if developments are unsightly, dark and windy and without any attractive areas, it is more likely that residents will not feel any incentive to look after and respect the way the area looks.

Auburn Central investigation

2008-08-10T19:05:00.001-07:00

For the many months there have been reports about an investigation by the Independent Commission Against Corruption into Auburn Central. According to the Daily Telegraph on July 31st last year, "developers are taking short cuts" and "creating potential death traps in their race to build apartment blocks, failing to install the most basic fire safety measures," specifically referring to Auburn Central, which was also described as "a serious fire hazard" for its occupants. The Council apparently released a statement at the time saying that all fire safety measures would be fixed within a few days. From the Auburn Council business paper of July 16 this obviously has not yet been completed. Nevertheless, in the most recent Council meeting there was more discussion about who had leaked the confidential report about Auburn Central, than whether or not they were getting it fixed! Added to that is the news that relevant files are missing from Council - an obvious attempt to cover at least one guilty party.
Not only have rate payers lost millions of dollars in this development, without any real services added to the area (no extra community facilities, libraries, parks and gardens or other desperately needed services) but Auburn Central has become a dark and windy eyesore, with little protection from the rain and rubbish floating in the drafty corners on most days. Unsafe, inappropriate - significant questions arise as to who was involved in the approval of this development and whether or not it is being investigated by ICAC. ICAC itself continues to either confirm or deny that Auburn is being investigated, while the local government investigative report has still not yet been released. The Council's attempts to ensure compliance are still progressing with recent action in the L&E underway.
Is this a case of trying to keep the lid on another Wollongong scandal because elections are due shortly??? If not, we should be addressing the issues openly.

Standing for Auburn Council

2008-08-10T18:54:00.000-07:00

Once again it is time for elections, and again I am standing - this time as an independent. Over the past few years I have become increasingly aware of the problems in the Auburn area and its enormous potential. The Auburn Council area is one of the most multicultural areas in Australia with one of the highest rates of growth in Western Sydney (16.4% in the last census). Most of the suburbs within Auburn have seen significant redevelopments - including Newington, Botanica, Auburn Central and Homebush Bay. Population increase is expected to continue with an increasing number of young people, due to the high birth rates and the settlement of refugees.
In 2004 Auburn Council was declared a Refugee Welcome zone to recognise the large number of refugees that have chosen to live in Auburn. The support for such refugees however, has not matched the rate of settlement with reports indicating that those in need have to wait up to 7 months for assistance from the local Migrant Resource Centre.
Auburn residents are hard-working with many of the local businesses having been established for between 10 and 30 years. Unfortunately, in the process of approving new developments, Council often appears not to consider their effect on these long established, hard working Auburn business people. Reduced parking availability, an increase in similar types of competitive business and loss of amenity for shoppers means that these long term Auburn proprietors are losing out.
Watch this space for more information about my campaign as get ready to run for AUBURN COUNCIL.

2008-04-29T23:13:00.000-07:00

More ridiculous claims against Dr Abdalla

If ‘secretive’, as claimed by The Australian, then the Tabligh Jamaat (TJ) group must be one of the worst kept secrets in the Muslim world. Established in India in the 1920s, TJ has a presence in over 80 countries around the world. The main activities of the apolitical movement are to encourage Muslims to be more religiously observant, particularly in terms of prayer, charity, and fasting, as well as to provide social support to Muslims who are isolated, sick, or disadvantaged. Muslims associated with the TJ spend considerable time in mosques and regularly make spiritual journeys to mosques in different towns, states, and countries.

In Australia, the TJ operates with the full knowledge and support of the mosques in which its members are present. Although many Muslims see TJ members as conservative in terms of their views and appearance, they are generally appreciated for their simplicity and reminders of traditional Islamic values, norms, and manners. While actual TJ members generally comprise only a small proportion of the congregation in most Australian mosques, it is not uncommon for large numbers of the congregation to join TJ study circles after prayers to listen to narrations of Prophetic traditions.

It is this traditional focus that attracted Dr Mohamad Abdalla to the movement in his younger days. While he is not a leader of the TJ, he maintains a close association with the group as he does with various other organisations within the Muslim community. As Acting Imam of the Kuraby Mosque for many years, Dr Abdalla was expected to develop positive relations with various Muslim groups and to build bridges of tolerance and understanding between the Muslim community and the wider Australian society. He is widely acknowledged for his success in both these regards.

Time and again Dr Abdalla has been a voice of forgiveness and restraint. In the aftermath of the burning down of the Kuraby Mosque in September 2001, it was Dr Abdalla who calmed the Muslim community and began working with various levels of government on engagement strategies. He has subsequently played this role at times of other major issues such as the Cronulla riots. Dr Abdalla should be judged on his work; false assumptions and innuendos are no bases for a fair assessment of this important Australian figure. It is unbecoming for The Australian as the national daily of this country to tolerate sensationalist, inflammatory, and biased journalism like that of Richard Kerbarj. Mr Kerbarj has previously been proven to have written misleading articles but has chosen to not correct these. A correction is expected this time.

Statement endorsed by:

Ikbal Patel
President, Australian Federation of Islamic Councils

Suliman Sabdia
President, Islamic Council of Queensland
(Representative body of 16 Islamic Societies of Queensland)

Shaykh Moez Nafti
Australian National Council of Imams

Imam Yusuf Peer
Chairman, Queensland Council of Imams

Dr Mohamad Hanief Khatree
President, Muslim Business Network

Mahmood Surtie
Kuraby Mosque

Naseem Abdul
Islamic Society of Gold Coast

Mustafa Ally
Crescents of Brisbane

Nora Amath
Managing Director, AMARAH inc.

I personally would also endorse the comments contained in this letter. I have seen the Tablighi Jamaat travelling to remote parts of Australia where isolated Muslim communities have benefited from their teaching, much as many years ago Anglican priests travelled the outback as part of the Bush Brotherhood ministering to the needs of isolated country Australians. My limited interaction with them has always confirmed their refusal to be involved in political Islam, preferring to focus on the spiritual development of the individual. To castigate a prominent and responsible academic such as Mohamad Abdulla for supposedly being a member of the TJ 'clergy' (not an appropriate term for Muslim academics as we do not have a 'church' institution)
is once again contributing to the tide of Islamphobia that directly discourages the excellent work many of our prominent Muslim Australians are struggling to perform.

The Danger of Misperceptions about Griffith Uni

2008-04-23T17:23:00.000-07:00

Published yesterday in the Australian was a second attack on Griffith University and in particular the Islamic Research Unit established by Dr. Mohamad Abdalla. Citing Judge Wall - who has suddenly become an expert both on Islamist influences in the West as well as Islamic extremist theology - the Oz claims that because a donation was made by Saudi Arabia to the centre, that it necessarily follows the centre must be akin to a Pakistani madrassah.
Not only is this an insult to the students who attend Griffith University, but it certainly shows that the Oz considers our universities to be entirely unaccountable when it comes to the content of their teaching. What an outrage to relate any Australian University – with their emphases on critical thinking, academic writing and sound research to madrassahs which are typically based on rote learning at a very elementary level.

Or is this deep insight based on Dr. Mohamad Abdalla’s beard, cap and gown? Is his centre being publicly rejected with the same small mindedness frequently accorded a woman wearing hijab?

Muslim Australians are being encouraged by their leaders and peers to enrol in higher education courses that allow them to expand their knowledge and critically analyse the more modern and extreme teachings that have become a common part of the discourse surrounding Islam. Centres such as the one at Griffith and Melbourne provide an excellent opportunity for such students to continue the long tradition of academic scholarship that existed for centuries prior to the European Renaissance, which established the University system that is universally accepted today, and on which modern Western education is based.

By denigrating such rigorously supervised Islamic centres, journalists and newspapers the likes of Richard Kerbaj and the Oz, run the risk of derailing this necessary step of bringing young Muslim minds into modern academic discourse. If they are denigrated along with their mainstream Australian institutions, they may very well be driven into studying in a Pakistani madrassah instead.

Irfan Yusuf has very capably delivered a very good read with his usual witty sense of humour – for a good read - Planet Irf

Peace Forum

2008-04-18T05:20:00.000-07:00

The Columban Centre for Peace, Ecology and Justice organised another of its frequent Peace Forums at which I once again pleased to contribute. The Peace Forums discuss the origins and solutions for peace that exist in each of our religions - in this case from two Christian speakers and two Muslim speaker.
The event was held in the Sydney CBD - in the Sydney Mechanics School of the Arts in Pitt St, and the turn out - as well as the organisation - was excellent. In my case I focussed on the element of compassion in Bismillahi Rahmani Raheem - In the Name of God the Most Compassionate, the Most Merciful, which pious Muslims are required to say before they perform any act. Combined with this attitude of compassion are the rigorous guidelines of the Shariah - the comprehensive yet flexible parameters which have been debated and moulded over many centuries - a system which ensures security and justice while limiting the negative attractions of society - alcohol, gambling and adultery amongst others. There are also many initiatives being undertaken in all parts of the world, to bring about peace, a state of being that cannot exist without a concurrent feeling of justice.