Islam vs. Shariya Law

Interesting conversation today about how Shariya Law has caused Sudan to be less Islamic.

We sat talking this evening, after the second meal of meat and more meat - lamb, slaughtered this morning. The man, who I'm not sure I know, is clearly related to my uncle's wife. He has the same features I see in my cousin's faces, the high cheekbones, slightly flat nose. He is very handsome, and I'm guessing around 60 years old. My auntie sat talking with us. She spoke in Arabic, he spoke in English and Arabic, stopping occasionally to translate for me or for my auntie. I said what I could in Arabic, but spoke mostly in English, aware that I could never express my strong feelings about Sudanese society in my broken Arabic.

The conversation started when my auntie - talking about Oprah and Dr. Phil - was saying how many problems there are in American society. I wasn't really being defensive, but I felt like I would be lying if I were to just nod my head and agree. I relayed my feeling that much of what goes on in America goes on here, it's just more secretive and hidden.

The man said this was largely a function of Shariya law in Sudan, that it wasn't always like this.

He said 20 or 30 years ago Sudanese society functioned as a unit. Families, villages ensured that people did the right thing. If they didn't, punishment was visited upon the transgressor and his family by the entire community. His sisters wouldn't be considered marriageable. His family would suffer and maybe they would be cast out of the village.

Now, he said, people just don't care. They no longer act together to ensure that people follow the law. If people are punished, it is by the government, on an individual basis.

He talked about how - in those days - people shared of their wealth and possessions according to the rules handed down by Allah in the Qur'an (Zakat). If a farmer was ready to harvest his crop, he would first allow those without farms and/or money harvest some for themselves first. Because every farmer in the village did this, those without farms might end up with just as much of the harvest as each farmer did.

Any visitor to the village would be fed and housed, treated hospitably and with kindness. If someone died, was sick, got married, had a child, the entire village would come together with money or whatever kind of support was needed. This still exists, to a large extent, with distant relatives attending the bika immediately after someone dies. People visit relatives when they are sick - even with a cold or flu. (I wonder if this is wise :)

He noted that in thise days, you couldn't tell a rich man from a poor man. The guard and the sheikh sitting down to eat together were indistinguishable. Now the disparity between rich and poor has grown. He said, only recently has this phenomenon of the rich flaunting their wealth become apparent. Huge houses, expensive clothing, etc.

No law dictated how women dressed. What was considered "modest" by Islamic and cultural standards was much less rigid. The kinds of laws that exist now were largely unnecessary, he said, because everyone in the family, extended family, village, was considered a brother or sister. Because women were seen as sisters, no one would dare hurt them and every man would protect any woman as if she were in his immediate family.

Thirty years ago, there were bars and you could choose to go or not go. You were free to do what you wanted as long as you didn't infringe on anyone else's freedoms. Driving drunk was not accepted because you might hurt or kill someone else, not because it was "wrong."

Interesting to me is that so many young people here - people my age and younger - don't remember this, don't know this. If I wore an outfit today that my aunt wore 30 years ago, I might be arrested. I mean, I might be arrested wearing much more than my aunties wore 30 years ago - pants, for example.

I wonder what Sudan will look like in ten years, 20 years, 30 years. Will Shariya law still exist? Will inequities still be the rule? Will people return to the idea of a collective society or continue to grow more individualistic?

Outsider

He said, "Our kids don't think that way." Our kids meaning Sudanese kids, meaning Sudanese kids but not my kid, not American kids. Meaning my child was not part of what he called "our kids."

The words hit me like bullets.

I felt like he was screaming YOU ARE NOT ONE OF US! And I know that wasn't what he intended, that it was my own interpretation of an offhand remark.

I felt like though they permit me to be here and act like I belong, that I will always be seen as an outsider. And the loneliness overwhelmed me. Overwhelms me in moments like these.

And yesterday he was in my arms. Next to me. Holding me. And I felt a part of him. I felt wanted. I felt included.

But today I want out, away. It is eid which means lots of family time, and I'm just not in the mood to be around lots of people. And it's hard to find space to be me. I want to sit and smoke a cigarette without hiding. I want a Coke Light. Some chocolate. I want to be alone alone alone. Or alone with him.

Because being around people when I don't feel like I'm a part of them is lonelier than being by myself.

And I know I'm just ultra-sensitive right now. I know I'm PMSing. I know the way I'm reacting isn't helping anything or anyone. I know I know I know. And I need to just put on a happy face and be with everyone. But the tears that keep filling my eyes make it hard. And the lack of space...

I am up on the roof right now, enjoying the emptiness around me. I hear them, but they don't see me. I don't have to deal with anyone. I don't have to smile for anyone. And it is a relief. I can breathe and write and try to get myself recentered.

And I need to forget about the fact that he is on the phone constantly. I need to accept that he won't choose to be with me, that he can't... Because I can't be who he wants. Because I won't accept the way he behaves. Because I won't be his servant and maid. Because I will always have my own opinions and will never be able to refrain from sharing them. Because I will raise my child, and my future children, inshallah, to be free to be who they are. Because I will never keep my house clean enough. Because I am me. Even if he loves me for me.

And this is why I will never fit in. Because I am me. And here, I can't be me and be one of them.

There are many things I am thankful for...

I'm thankful for:

my child and the amazing things he says
avocado milkshakes
love
my curves
unexpected kindnesses
tender kisses
my balcony
having the courage to take risks
my new school and my old school
music
my mother
my sisters
my son's father
my American family
new friends and old friends and their wisdom
my voice
my words
my Sudanese family
learning Arabic
photographs
chocolate
experiences that help me grow
my students
faseekh
India Arie and Amos Lee
watercolors
the sky
sweet dreams
always having enough
my worldwide family
beauty in the world
Sharpies
vacations
chunky babies
change
hope

Attempt at Poetry in Arabic

لو يختفي العالم
If the world disappears

ليوم واحد جميل
For one beautiful day

انا حكون مبصوطه في يدينك
I will be happy in your arms

مع ابتسامتك حلوه
With your sweet smile

في عيوني
In my eyes

اليوم هذه كله
The whole day



لو كل الناس في العالم
If all the people in the world

مشين بعيد منا
Go far away from us

ليوم جميل واحد
For one beautiful day

قلبينا حكون فل
Our hearts will be full

مع السلام
With peace



لو يختفي العالم
If the world disappears

انا حقلتليك
I will tell you

نوم حبي
Sleep

نوم هينا
Sleep here

في يديا
In my two arms

في الحب
In love

Ok, so that was the line by line literal translation. Here's a slightly better one:

If the world disappeared
for one beautiful day
I would be happy in your arms
your sweet smile would fill my eyes
all day long

If everyone in the world left us
for one beautiful day
Our hearts would fill
with peace

If the world disappeared
I would tell you
sleep my love
sleep here
in my arms
in love

My child sees ghosts.

The other day my child told me there's a ghost in our house. He thought it was me, at first, because she looks just like me, but it wasn't.

Today I asked him what the ghost said. He said, "How am I supposed to know? I don't speak Ghost... Ghostinese."

He said, "Why don't you just talk to the ghost yourself? You just have to sense that it's there."

I said, "Well, until then, do me a favor and just ask what the ghost wants if you see her again."

He told me, "She's not bothering anyone."

As I lay with him in his bed at bedtime, I asked more questions, and what is most interesting is the matter of fact way in which he answered me. No hesitation. No thinking. Impatient with my questions.

He says there are ghosts in every house. The ghost in this house is my twin. The one in his friend's house looks like his friend, but with different color hair.

The ghosts in Tuti look like everyone in Tuti.

So are they family?

Yes.

They just sit around in the back of the house waiting.

Waiting for what?

Waiting to take a shower, mommy, because they stink.

They smell like old cheese that's been sitting out for 80 days.

They're waiting for the rain because that's how they take showers.

And it's been sooooo long since it rained, mommy. So long.

He rolled over, telling me, "Don't go yet, mommy. You always talk to me and then I can't fall asleep." I kissed him, lay there a little longer, and then said goodnight.

But I sit here thinking, and I am fascinated by the way this little boy talked about the ghosts he says surround us, occupying every house. I know when my child is lying, and he wasn't lying. And he wasn't giggly like he can be when he's trying to get me to believe a story he's making up.

I am remembering when he was two or three and for a month or two, he adopted a new name. He became Tito. We didn't know a Tito, hadn't met one. None of us had any idea of where Tito had come from, but if you asked him his name, he responded, Tito, with no hesitation.

I have never believed in ghosts.

But just a few weeks after my sister died, I was sure I felt her lay down next to me in my bed and put her arm around me.

It could have been a dream, but I felt her.

I want to know more about what my son senses and sees.

Looking Back

September 2009

i've waited

your arrival
belated

or not at all
no footsteps
in the hall

you coming or what?
flutters in my gut.

four hours ago excitement
now?
Disappointment

But this ain't nothing new
and I'm tired of feeling blue

forgotten
dismissed
dissed

I mean
If you just let me know
I wouldn't be waiting

If you let me go
maybe I'd be dating

But you just ain't show
so right now I'm hating

In the name of Heaven, we are headed for Hell.

I'm starting to get it now. Starting to get that this really has very little to do with me and him and everything to do with Sudan and culture and tradition - which matter so much to him.

Here's where the rose-colored glasses come off.

See, the thing about Sudan is that what matters is what other people think. Facades and pretenses are the rule. Free thought is hidden behind wrought iron doors and whitewashed brick walls. Fear = Respect = Fear.

This is why my child is seen as galil adb, badly behaved. They shake their heads and suck their teeth at my child's disobedience, at his refusal to obey orders given without please or thank you. And I'll admit, I get frustrated with him sometimes. But I know that in the long run, I would rather have my child respect me than fear me. And I will raise my child to have his own opinions and thoughts and the courage and self-confidence to express those thoughts and opinions.

The difference between America and Sudan is not in the actions, but in the secrecy or lack thereof. People date. They have sex before marriage. They drink and smoke weed and drive drunk and high and without seatbelts. They lie and cheat and steal. There is sexual abuse and physical abuse and rampant corruption. But at least in the United States, we speak about it, address it, condone or condemn it. Here people just pretend it doesn't happen.

And as I realize this, I am losing respect, a tremendous amount of respect for the individuals who function within this society, perpetuating the dishonesty and judging people who don't do a good job of hiding their lives. I am living in a country where hypocrisy is the expectation, where people who are not hypocrites are looked down upon. And all this in the name of religion, tradition, and culture. All this in the name of Heaven.

This is what he - my "man"- is afraid of... that I will ask for compromise on his ideas of "the right way" to raise a child, have a family. That I will choose to respect him, but will never fear him. That my opinions will continue to be my own - not those of the collective society. That our children would be free-er than he can tolerate. That his notion of manhood will be challenged.

And he tells me, "You can't change Sudan." Maybe he's right. But I don't have to become a coconspiritor in the hypocrisy. And maybe I can initiate some small change. He tells me, "You have two choices. Be an American and live like an American in Sudan or be Sudanese and follow our rules and be part of the family." If following the rules means lying and pretending, I'd rather not. If being American means speaking my mind and having my own ideas, I'll be American. But in reality, I don't have to choose, won't choose, can't choose. I am American and I am Sudanese. And more importantly, I am me.

I will emerge from these two years, not unscathed, not unchanged, but with my morals intact, inshallah. And I will move further along the path of finding myself. I came here thinking I would find myself here, in Sudanese society, in my family, and in some ways I have.

But what I am finding is that I may also end up defining myself in opposition to what exists here.

And there is no love lost. My people are not bad, nor are their intentions. They are beautiful in so many ways. And I see myself reflected in their faces and passions. And as negative as this particular reflection on Sudanese society is, I respect the kindness and warmth that I have found here.

They judge me, but they do love me.