Who am I ? The eternal Question . Have not figured it out fully yet. All you need to know about me is that I am a Middle Easterner, an Arab Woman - old enough to know better. I have no homeland per se...All the rest is icing on the cake. Copyrights reserved 2006-2020
Fayruz on Sundays
I remember Sundays . Sunday mornings were linked to Fayruz - the singer. Something about Sundays and Fayruz . Evenings were reserved for the occasional Um Kulthum but Sunday mornings were definitely a hommage to Fayruz . A turkish coffee perfumed with cardamom , sitting on the balcony , listening to her majestic voice . Songs of love and longings, of defiance and irony . This sunday, I could not get myself to go to the balcony . I could not listen to Fayruz . I stared at the walls and sipped my coffee silently . The silence was almost embarassing . It was a bloody sunday . Sunday bloody sunday ...
Bush bidding his last goodbyes in occupied Baghdad. Bush the president of the United Asses reaping the fruits of his labor and that of his American people from my Beloved. Bush congratulated his stooges, the extra-large Zionist/Kurdish buffoon Talabani and the other Kurdish pimp Barazani. The puppet Tareq Al-Hashemi who was all smiles, and guess whom Bush kissed on the cheeks ? None other than the son of a bitch from Iran, A.Al-Hakeem, head of the Supreme Iranian Butt Council and head of the Badr death squads, whose hands are inundated with the blood of innocent Arab Iraqis. The criminal psychopath, Bush last stop, was at a press conference with his other puppet, the sectarian dictator, from Iran, PM Nuri Al-Maliki. And whilst Bush was pontificating from his ass, Muntather Al-Zaidi , a 28 years old journalist, a leftist, from the independent anti-occupation, anti-sectarian TV, Al-Baghdadia , stood up and threw not one shoe but TWO pair of shoes at Bush, calling him at the top of hi
On rare occasions one is graced with a few seconds of insights. And in those rare seconds of insights one is shown the world. And what you see is Truth. The world is a mental asylum in a huge garden. Every single person in that garden believes they are sane when in fact he /she is in a mental asylum. And like any mental asylum it has sections - section A, section B, section C .etc... These sections are what you call - continents. And within this sections just like in a mental asylum there are Units . Unit 1, unit 2, unit 3.. These are what you call in your language -- countries. And within these units you have the rooms and in the rooms are the patients. And just like in a mental asylum, they allowed out depending on the severity of their cases. Some are encouraged to make friends meet other people marry , some are encouraged to study, some are told to seek occupational therapy what you call work others are told to engage in play therapy or art therapy or music therapy. and
I suppose you still remember the lesson of my last class where I taught you some basic Iraqi dialect. I now see that some serious rehearsal took place since that last lesson - Everything you need to know about Shoes - and resulted in some empirical knowledge in the application of shoes. Let us recap from Lesson 1 : PAPPAZ = STOOGE, PUPPET, CLOWN, JESTER... BOOMA = VERY STUPID/DUMB ENTA KUNDARA = You're a Shoe. Or, IBN Al-KUNDARA = Son of a Shoe. Or, SHLON KUNDARA = What a Shoe! WIJHAK WIJH AL-KUNDARA = Your face is like a shoe. BIL KUNDARA = a threatening remark involving the potential use of a shoe. But I thought to myself, should I ever retire from my "educational" role, would my conscience be satisfied ? The answer is NO. I feel I failed to teach you more essentials from the Iraqi vocabulary and I fear that your empirical applied knowledge of shoes would not have the full desired impact. Hence prepare yourselves for another lesson in Iraqi colloquial.