"So, verily, with every difficulty, there is relief"

It has been a fictional year to the say the least, so fictional that even writing about it seems hard at a time when I myself find difficulty in convincing my mind that what I went through was real, not a wild segment of my imagination, nor a chapter drafted by Pamuk, or Plath. 

A year that included but was not exclusive to: being stranded, almost homeless in a city so cold, a city I once called home. 

A year that included but was not exclusive to: first times, last times and repeated disappointments. 

A year that included but was not exclusive to: rejections, shattered dreams and loss of meaning. 

2012 was indeed a fictional year for me. I should have taken a hint at how it started, with serious negotiations with the self, and God. Endless meaningless conversations about existence, and futile attempts to lure the evil into the good side,  and rest the binaries between the colors white, and black. I should have understood in January last year that this year was not going to be good. But I don't give up, I am one of those that survive against their own will, persevere against all odds, and stand up when all they want to do, is fall apart. 

I should have known that night by the river Thames when I laughed so hard, that temporary happiness is no happiness at all. It bears the consequences of sad tomorrows, and constructed, often exaggerated memories of an otherwise, mundane moment. 

I should have known in February when my attempts at performing an Iraqi identity, a feminine approach to Baghdad and what I believed then was its manifestations, failed. I should have known that 2012 was alarming when I was left stranded in an island, alone, with pieces of torn paper and a dry pen. 

I should  have known..

March comes, and with it leaves Spring, in a perfect harmony with my withered heart then. I come back to Dubai to find its skies white, its air heavy and its people sad that the good weather was gone. A weather I missed, stranded in England and its cold brutal weather. 

Applications flooded, pleas for support, attempts to be recognized in any geography in the world, a passport so banal yet powerful enough to take over my dreams, make them impossible. Pieces of paper, stapled together, flavored by never-ending colonial powers, stamped by puppet governments; an Iraqi nationality that is divorced from any sense of noble nationalism, or loyalty. That was April for me, a month where a milestone was supposedly achieved, just because it happens that I was born that month. 

I should have known when May came with another set of questions, that have no answer, with pain that is unfathomed, and disappointments that left my mind wondering; now what? 

I should have known it was not going to be ok, or perhaps It would: lets rise again Maryam. 

Summer comes and goes, with stolen moments of laughter and joy as I walk down the aisles of SOAS, celebrating my success and the friends I made along the way. I think to myself, this is a good day, not a good year, but a very good day. Hamdula..

The year begins to end, and my heart flutters at the possibility of new chapters, or perhaps a new book, let's throw this one behind. No lets keep it, it is because of these moments that I have become. Or is this what I try to tell myself? Could it be that suffering is useless?

2 months ago, I stood alone looking at a broken watch in my hand, an actual watch that belonged to another restless wrist, and laughed a little on the irony of it all. There I was, standing still while the whole of Dubai moved around me, the breeze was just getting to change to acceptable, and the burdens were about to get lighter. There were random walks on the beach during sunrise, echoing laughter on familiar balconies, and that watch, left on my palm, remind me yet harshly again that those moments of pure joy, were indeed, out of time. I now keep this watch in a museum I built, mimicking Pamuk's museum of innocence, but mine is not innocent at all. 

I should have known, but even if I did, I wouldn't have changed a thing. I left this year with a faith that إِنَّ مَعَ الْعُسْرِ يُسْرًا  (So, verily, with every difficulty, there is relief). 2013 must be the year that challenges this one, a year that counters all the performances of identity that failed and the attempts of reconciliation that bears witness to my own shortcomings. 

Facebook's year in retrospect displays my images smiling, graduating, laughing, and posing in front of Galata bridge in Istanbul, and SOAS in London. It does not however display the written above, because Facebook is funny this way; we select the moments we want to share with Zuckerberg, the world and the secret services, and they are often constructed notions of  a life we would like ourselves to believe we lead. 

At the end of this year, I am reminded of an old Iraqi song,"ماكو عتاب و لوم .. بس السلام يدوم"  There is no blame after all, let the peace last..

happy 2013, I know for me - ارتاحت الروح - my soul is at peace. 

Googling Ramadan

Edgware Road, London

It was warm, the kind of warm you'd appreciate after living in London for a while, a warm long july day in 2011, which was also the first day of Ramadan, and my first ramadan away from the east.

I remember all the conversations that led to that day about what seemed to be the impossibility of fasting the long hours of the day; not accustomed to the European summer, I found it difficult at first to grasp the idea that fasting 17 hours a day would be possible.

I didn't think of the fact that life during Ramadan in London would resume as normal, and how the smell of coffee, cigarettes and bread would be hovering in the air I breath. I forgot that in London, unlike other cities I've witnessed Ramadan in, the majority would not be fasting, I forgot.

I also did not think that when it was time to break the fast, I wouldn't have my TV turned on Sharjah TV channel with their famous iftar ritual every year, in fact, I forgot I didn't own a TV and that my fasting would break with me googling the time of Maghrib and comparing and contrasting the different timings between the different time-zones of the city.

It did not feel special at first.

I remember situating myself in front of my laptop with some strawberries and water since I had no dates and yogurt, and searching on youtube for the Adhan that most resembles home. The moment I'd break my fast, I'd pray and then call my friends and socialise a little with them before it was time to catch the last tube back to my apartment.

It was difficult the first couple of days, until I decided that googling Ramadan in London, was probably not the best way to spend the holy month in a city that was slowly becoming home. And so began my journey in trying to ease the binaries that rested within me about the East and the West, slowly by taking short walks around my neighborhood and trying to spy with my little eye fellow muslims. As soon as I reached the bus stop in my beautiful islington neighborhood, a woman too busy reading her novel and twirling her hair smiled at me, and said Ramadan Mubarak. At that moment, I couldn't tell if she fasted as well, or if she was indeed a  'fellow Muslim', in fact, I ridiculed my very attempt of trying to 'type' her as any kind but a fellow human being. And there it was, the bus journey that took me to the centre of what was then my universe showed me a sense of collectivity in a society that is often dubbed as individualistic. I found myself seeking that sense of closeness that I often reject priding myself that I belong to the 'I' alone, and nothing else. I found myself walking to Edgware road, the famous Arab street that always offers the best and the worst of what it means to be an Arab. I actually found myself looking for the commonalities rather than the differences I usually feed on, That Ramadan,  I became very collective.

It was difficult at times to feel the spirituality of fasting, when the coffee smell from the neighboring cafe is almost blinding to all my senses, or when the parade of the teenage drunks starts marching on my street on friday night, indeed it was very difficult to the point that I wanted badly to go back to Dubai for just a while, just to feel the presence of God again. But then I found my solace in the words written by Him that tell us, and told me that day that "To GOD belongs the east and the west; wherever you go there will be the presence of GOD. GOD is Omnipresent, Omniscient. (2:115)"

Ramadan is beautiful in London this year as well, and though I stopped looking for commonalities between me and this city, I find solace in knowing that He is here, like He is there, without the need to keep googling Him.

This post was written for Art Dubai's Blog, as part of their "Posting Ramadan" Series. Original Post can be found here: http://www.artdubai.ae/blog/googling-ramadan-by-mariam-wissam-al-dabbagh/

On Brothers, Cousins and Strangers

Image of Iraqi car plate, with Kuwait listed as a city in Iraq. Image circulating heavily on facebook. 

Amidst the traffic of all the drama series competing for audience attention during Ramadan, couple of productions managed to catch, if not ignite the attention of Arabs and Muslims around the world. The famous Omar that narrates the historical significance of one of the most prominent figures in the Islamic history; Omar ibn AlKhattab, and another Kuwaiti series titled, ‘Saher Al Leil’ which takes place in Kuwait, during the Iraq-Kuwait war in 1990. 

Much has been written about Omar that I feel the only thing I want to say about it is that I am indeed watching it. It is interesting how the debate itself on the series has rested within two fixed positions, or rather statements: 

• I watch Omar 
• I don’t watch Omar

You can read statements as such on both twitter and facebook, with some offering explanations and others just sharing their decision; the main concern being the depiction of the companions of the Prophet (pbuh).

In the specificity of Iraqi online groups on Facebook that I have been monitoring lately, the debate on Omar took a different shape given the nature of the sectarian sensitivities within the Iraqi community. Some of the members of the different Iraqi groups were posting images of the series, especially scenes in which the character of Omar Ibn AlKhattab and Ali ibn Abe Taleb are together, either to bring awareness to the desired unity between Sunni and Shia Muslim Iraqis, or sometimes even to poke fun at one sect. Some of the expressed views in the groups I monitored about Omar were in fact suggesting that watching the series is indeed a ‘strong’ political statement against the status quo in Iraq nowadays. 

I apologise to the non-informed reader about the nature of the dispute between the different sects in Islam, and the symbolism of both Omar Ibn AlKhattab and Ali ibn Abe Taleb to the sectarian politics, I wish not to indulge in such details in this post. I just wanted to share some of my observations on the initial reactions in both the Arab public sphere ( I use the term loosely here) and the Iraqi one. 

meme found in facebook page. 

Very interesting observations were made as well in regards to the Kuwaiti series Saher Al Leil which depicts life in Kuwait during the Invasion of Iraq in 1990. I have not watched the series, and so will not offer my opinion on what the show is about. However, what I believe is fascinating is the sense of unity this series has provided amongst Iraqis from different sects, ethnicities, and political backgrounds. I myself have received emails and facebook messages from different Iraqis I know, that hold very different political, religious and social views all critising the series, and bringing back a rhetoric that has not surfaced for almost 22 years now; images of Iraqi Car plates, with Kuwait listed as a city, and images mocking the borders between the two countries. In fact, the same groups that had very conflicting opinions on Omar Ibn AlKhattab’s role in Islam shared almost the same views against what they described as a false and unfair depiction of Iraq in the series. It actually reminded me of the famous Arab proverb أنا وأخي علي ابن عمي وأنا وأبن عمي علي الغريب

which roughly translates to: My brother and I against my cousin, and my cousin and I against the stranger. 

I have included images I found on facebook, published here for illustration purposes only.