Mind Reading

Throughout history, people have dreamed of developing our psychological powers. Books like The Chrysalids explore the idea that eventually some day human beings will evolve a higher level of society, where people can communicate without talking, where people understand each other from the inside. Dozens of superheroes have been invented with the power to read other people's minds and influence their behaviour. Scientists believe that someday we will truly be able to tap into the power of our brains and talk to each other without words.

I already know how...and so does Mustafa.

The boy and I can communicate without words. Alhamdulillah, Allah made us like a team: one complements the other. Where I am reckless, Mustafa is careful. Where Mustafa is weak, I am strong. A clear example of that is simply coming to Egypt. Mustafa was the main driving force behind the fact that we are here in Egypt. Without his campaigning for it, we'd still probably in Canada. Now that we here in Egypt, I am really enjoying Arabic, and when Mustafa is down, I buck him up. Alhamdulillah Allah made us that way. It's definitely not something that happens by chance.

Even when if we are ever apart, we will still be together.

Remember that.

~Ameer

Failure

Ahhh....the word is painful.

But there is no such thing.

Most of our lives we struggle to catch up to our society. We want to be recognized for something. Deep down we have a fear that we'll live our lives in mediocrity, that our lives don't really mean anything because no one knows what we've done. That especially goes for sports or any type of competition. Unless we win gold, all that effort is useless.

Till I was about twelve years old, I hated sports and loved eating, with predictable results. After my uncle visited me from Pakistan (cue in teasing galore) I decided to change and ever since then I've been obsessed with sports and exercising (at least I like to think that). But because I was motivated by the sheer desire to look good, to stop getting teased about being fat, I didn't have the right reasons. In 2002, I trained seriously for the first time in my life in preparation for our annual taekwondo tournament. I wanted to win badly. I ran, I lifted weights, I practiced my patterns everyday...

I lost.

That was a turning point. My hopes of ever winning any competitions was shattered. "What is the point," I asked myself, "of putting effort into anything if it all comes to nothing?"

In Egypt, I've learned the answer. Because you love doing it. When I don't exercise, my body feels like a Safeway cake; soft with no substance and no energy. There's no carrot-on-the-stick now, no competition driving me on to exercise because I want to win. If I exercise or not, it makes no difference to anyone but me. But any effort I put in now is not without benefit. Someday I'll realize that any action I've done, no matter how small, helped me in some way. Before I came to Egypt, I thought that the three years we had spent studying with Ammo Rafik were useless. We weren't consistent, we couldn't understand anything; we were studying simply to make ourselves feel good. But no action is ever wasted. Ever.

It was not fitting for the people of Medina and the Bedouin Arabs of the neighbourhood, to refuse to follow Allah's Messenger, nor to prefer their own lives to his: because nothing could they suffer or do, but was reckoned to their credit as a deed of righteousness,- whether they suffered thirst, or fatigue, or hunger, in the cause of Allah, or trod paths to raise the ire of the Unbelievers, or received any injury whatever from an enemy: for Allah suffereth not the reward to be lost of those who do good;-

Nor do they spend anything that may be spent, small or great, nor do they traverse a valley, but it is written down to their credit, that Allah may reward them with the best of what they have done.
-Surah Taubah (120-121)

So for some little kids out there, don't worry. The pain you feel will dissipate, but your efforts, bi'idhnillah, will not.

~Ameer

p.s. Sauleha once told me, "I will win and I will lose, but I will never be defeated."

Ironic Immortality

Salam. Mustafa here. I'll pick up from where Ameer left off.

By the time we finished our applications, it was 2:00, and we were starving. After praying Namaz, we started walking around the vicinity trying to find a decent resturant. With traditional Ameer and Mustafa luck, we stumbled out of a sideroad into a gigantic traffic circle. It reminded me a lot of the area where the Agha's Supermarket is in Pakistan (sorry for non-Agha patrons. It's fairly hard to describe.) At the one end of the circle (I know there are no ends to a circle, but this was more like an oval) was a massive concrete building, built by a highly utilitarian Egyptian without a grain of fashion sense. This monster, we later found out, is the Mugamma, the place where we are going to have to renew our visas (not loking forward to it.) One the other side, we found out, after much pointing, gesturing, running away from bakseesh seeking police guards, was the Egyptian Museum.

(Sorry to cut it off here. will continue later).

Passports, Our Style

Yesterday was some adventure.

There is no such thing as laww ("if"), but it perhaps we should have renewed our passports before we left for Egypt. In any case, we should have at least renewed them as soon as we got to Egypt. But in uniquely AmeerMustafian-style, we left things to the last minute and so on Sunday we had to take a day-off and go to the Canadian Embassy. In the morning we feverishly checked, double-checked, and triple-checked our passports. Then as we were signing the declarations on the passports, Mustafa suddenly slumped, his body sagging as he put his forehead on the table.

"What's wrong?" I asked him.

"I signed, 'Mustafa Farooq, signed in Nasr City, Canada.'"

We thought we were in trouble then because the Internet cafe was closed and if we waited till it was open to download our forms, we might not make it to the embassy. Alhamdulillah Mustafa came up with the brilliant idea of ummm....getting another application at the embassy. (Please don't laugh). So with the name of Allah we left our apartment, walked down the road to Dhakir Hussein, hailed a taxi, and started our journey to Tahrir Square.

It was far, and the streets were packed with cars on their way to downtown Egypt. Suddenly the taxi driver pulled over and got out of the car. Mustafa and I were a little surprised, since we hadn't noticed anything wrong with the taxi, other than the fact it sounded like it was twenty-five years old, the transmission croaked like a frog, and someone really busy had done the paint job. The driver opened the hood and looked inside, pulled a wrench out from somewhere, dropped it back inside, whacked the horn a couple of times, went to his trunk, and pulled out a pair of pliers. After messing about in the engine for a bit more, he honked his horn to make sure it was it's usual blaring magnitude, then closed the hood. I am almost positive that he left both his wrench and the pliers inside his engine. Then we set off again, walhamdulillah.

I won't bore you with all the gory details of waiting in the embassy, but alhamdulillah it went well. Insha'allah we'll get our passports after a month.

I think I'll let Mustafa describe the next part, as I'm sure he knows more about it than me.

~Ameer

For My People

Nota Bene: I saw a cage perched on a balcony. The little canary inside it was singing with all its might.

Caged Bird

A free bird leaps

on the back of the wind

and floats downstream

till the current ends

and dips his wing

in the orange sun rays

and dares to claim the sky.

But a bird that stalks

down his narrow cage

can seldom see through

his bars of rage

his wings are clipped and

his feet are tied

so he opens his throat to sing.

The caged bird sings

with a fearful trill

of things unknown

but longed for still

and his tune is heard

on the distant hill

for the caged bird

sings of freedom.

The free bird thinks of another breeze

and the trade winds soft through the sighing trees

and the fat worms waiting on a dawn-bright lawn

and he names the sky his own.

But a caged bird stands on the grave of dreams

his shadow shouts on a nightmare scream

his wings are clipped and his feet are tied

so he opens his throat to sing.

The caged bird sings

with a fearful trill

of things unknown

but longed for still

and his tune is heard

on the distant hill

for the caged bird

sings of freedom.

-Maya Angelou

~Ameer

Flow

The days pass by without any of us noticing it. My Bangladeshi friend, Mo'een bhai, is leaving to attend his wife's brother's wedding in America on May 1. That made me realize, we've been in Egypt for more than two months.

"Time is a two-edged sword. If you do not cut with it, it will cut you."

Alhamdulillah everything is going well, although my test today was a little crazy. I knew most of the grammar rules but still managed to make some really inventive mistakes. My teacher was in awe of me. I have a feeling that I know more about Arabic grammar than I do English, which I guess isn't really saying much anyways.

I think I need to do something different now when I'm studying Arabic, because for the first time I'm feeling a bit...not bored, that's a swear word, but a little uninterested. I don't know why. Maybe it's just that stage in the middle that Farooq bhai told me about before I came.

I really pray to Allah that tomorrow's soccer game is good. Last time there were too many players and as a result you don't get to actually touch the ball very often, and when you do, you want to keep it for as long as possible, which leads to indegenerate smashing and bashing.

We need all your dua's, especially right now.

~Ameer

Attempts

Life is a series of attempts, groping in the darkness sometimes with no sense of where you are going. Other times you think you know where you're going but you actually are going in circles.

And then sometimes you have a light with you.

Heart

Salam,

Mustafa here again. It's time to turn down the satire a bit and tap into the heart.

Because when it really comes down to it, that's all that there really is. Muslims are like hearts to one another. We feel each other beating, and when one heart is ill, the other heart aches. Sometimes our hearts ache with other things. Myself, I feel it all the time. Even in Egypt, so far away from time, trying to achieve my dreams, I still get envious when I hear about the achievments of others. I still get angry or irritable when I think about people I dislike or have disagreements with, and that's almost ludicrous if you think about it.

Another thing is the homesickness. One thing that's almost never mentioned by people who come from Egypt or Syria or what have you ever mention the homesickness. What exactly is this feeling? I mean, there's no conscious area; we just feel the pain. Sorry if my writing gets a bit jumbly here, but we're talking a language of the heart that my language skills are not up to describing. Sometimes I wish I could leave Egypt and just come home for a day. Just spend a day with Ami and Abu and the family. But I guess that's the way it's sometimes meant to be. We have to make sacrifices in order to make gains.

When I was younger, I guess I didn't understand that as well. I wished to have everything; play, leisure, happy days, high marks, achievments, my 15 minutes of fame, and ten hours of sleep. Now I'm starting to realize that they are "the things dreams are made of". What we get is proportional to the amount of work we put in and the amount that Allah helps us with.

I hope my writing isn't hypocritical, and I know it sometimes, "lacks depth, lacks worth/ lacks the distance to travel between heaven and earth" ect, but I hope it conveys what I feel. And here's a word from Tennyson's Ulysses:

I am a part of all that I have met;...

Come, my friends.'
T is not too late to seek a newer world.
Push off, and sitting well in order smite
The sounding furrows; for my purpose holds
To sail beyond the sunset, and the baths
Of all the western stars, until I die.
It may be that the gulfs will wash us down;
It may be we shall touch the Happy Isles,

We are not now that strength which in old days
Moved earth and heaven, that which we are, we are,
--One equal temper of heroic hearts,
Made weak by time and fate, but strong in will
To strive, to seek, to find, and not to yield.

-Bismillah

Mustafa

Jobs

Bismillah,

Salam.

Mustafa here. And to get things straight from the start, I am not the one who wrote the "Love" post.

I'm not brave enough.

I value my neck.

Anyhow, I decided today was a great time to submit a List of To Do Things when I get back to Edmonton, and a list of job possibilites. We'll start with the less pressing topic to get my writing fingers warmed up.

In the modern day world, young Muslims are being forced to re-examine the possible job opportunities out there (Doctor, Engineer, Taxi Driver, and every so often the lone corrupt politician.) To help the cause, I decided to make my own list after much hard thought, to save others the trouble- to find an occupation that will cause personal self fulfilment, a 7 digit salary, something that will help the Muslim ummah, and doesn't require to much work.

1. Business Conglomerate.

Seriously, we need more people like this. Imagine, if you will, a team of Uncle Syed Hasan's. Now that is something to seriously be afraid of. Twelve more guys like him, and the Edmonton Muslim community will be something to reckon with. We might even be able to employ someone to clean the masjid washrooms full time!

2. The Arts (AAAAAAAH!!!!)
If there are any people still left reading, please proceed to job number 3.

3. Mad Scientist

If we could get a mad scientist, the Muslim community would get a lot more positive coverage. Instead of constantly telling people that our religion advocates peace, we could say that our religion advocates progress. We'll put up a big sign outside the masjid "The Muslims Are on The Move!"

4. Bounty Hunter

5. Soccer Player

Muslims need more soccer players. I mean, that would take our shebab who sit and laze around all day, and convert them into mindless minions who enthrall millions by putting balls into nets. That reminds me- on my "To Do List"- I better advocate for Al- Ikhwan Youth to change their name to Al- Ahly. This would accomplish two strokes in one go ; erase negative publicity for the Ikhwan and 2. Get more Egyptians on the team.

6. Car Maker

Someone needs to tell Toyota to pick up a few of the taxi driving engineers and get them to refit the Toyota Corolla. Thousands of dollars are wasted each year by Muslims customized their cars to fit the Muslim cause. If Toyota could just make a couple of changes, Muslims would start buying their cars even more (move from the 90% of the market to 95% of the market). Here are some changes which we Muslims want:
1. Large CD with Quran ayats hanging from the rear view mirror
2. Cut the GPS scanners. Instead, put in a Halwa cooker in the dashboard
3. A tea proof cup holder
4. Clocks set automatically to MST (Muslim Standard time)- 1 hour behind everyone else.

Well that's my list. Of course, Criminal Mastermind, Lyers, and Janitors still rank among the top, but I worry. Some people are already picking up on the job that really is going to spice up our community in the coming years.

Religion Toting Thobe Wearing Police.

Wasalam,

Mustafa.

Sandstorm in Cairo

April is the cruelest month, breeding
Lilacs out of the dead land, mixing
Memory and desire, stirring
Dull roots with spring rain.
Winter kept us warm, covering
Earth in forgetful snow, feeding
A little life with dried tubers....

And down we went.
In the mountains, there you feel free.
I read, much of the night, and go south in winter.

-from The Wasteland by T.S. Eliot

~Mustafa

(No, this is not describing a state of mind, but a state of weather. The picture kind of evoked it. the sandstorm in Cairo today was bad enough to shut down the airport.)

Love

Today our lesson in Kitab-ul-Assassi was about "Majnoon Layla". It's the real story of Qays and his uncle's daughter, Layla. They were born about two centuries after hijra (eight century common era) in the harsh landscape of the Hijazi desert. Qays and Layla as children worked as shepherds together until the time when Layla became of age and withdrew from her work as a shepherd. But by that time, without either of them realizing it, a deep and powerful love had sprung up between them.

When Layla started wearing hijab, Qays realized his love for her and wrote a poem praising her that became famous. But that was his greatest mistake: at that time, if a young man wrote a poem in praise of a woman, he would not be allowed to marry her because that would destroy her reputation among people. Qays begged his uncle to let him marry Layla, but to no avail. In the end, Layla married another man in order to protect her family's honour, despite the fact that she loved Qays also. Qays lost his mind and fled to the desert, and became known as "Majnoon Layla" (The Insane One of Layla) or simply "Majnoon" (The Crazy) (that translation is really bad, I know, but I don't really know if there is a word in English to describe majnoon; psychopath doesn't really cut it). Layla becomes sick and dies, and upon hearing the news of her death, Qays dies also.

I know some people would be astonished that I wrote about this story on the blog, but I think that's because today we don't really know what love is; we only know about lust. You can't imagine someone actually dying or wasting away because of love. I think it's because as Muslims, we've had to force ourselves to actually go completely the opposite way; we've made the entire subject of love as taboo and forbidden in order to protect ourselves from all the filth that we see around ourselves. And I think that's better than us falling into dangerous situations, but at the same time we've denied a part of ourselves that actually exists. Human beings have hearts, and are meant to love one another, but we have to ensure that our actions stay within the limits set by Allah subhanahu wa ta'ala.

The story of Majnoon Layla in my opinion is more a story about society than anything else. When I was reading this story with my teacher, conflicting thoughts were running through my head. What's better? Is it better that Layla protected her family's honour, but caused Qays to go crazy? Or would it have been better that she marry him, but have to live with the stain on their honour? Personally, I think what Layla did is better, because otherwise we wouldn't have this story.

I also think that the whole story reinforces the concept of hijab. With hijab, there are far less chances of something like this happening, and that would save a lot of people from a lot of pain.

But I hope my analysis doesn't obscure the most important point of the story: love is the most powerful force in the universe. It can move mountains, cross deserts, and change fate.

I pray that Allah gives us his love, and the love of the people he loves, the love for the actions he loves.

The Red Stuff From Outer Space

I got the bawwab to clean the apartment and I found this strange stuff when we lifted up the carpets. I seriously hope I'm not about to morph into "Arabicman" or something like that.

Qasem Amin

Assalam u alaikum,

Qasim Amin is the only television series that I have ever really followed closely. It's interesting because it gives me an insight into Egytian history that I don't think I could have got any other way. It is based on the true story of Qasim Amin, an Egyptian writer and thinker who lived from 1868 till 1903 . At that time the British were occupying Egypt and many famous scholars were present at that time, such as Mohammed Abdo and Jamal al-din al-Afghani (both featured in the series). The show focuses on the political, social, and intellectual conditions present at the time and amazingly for an Egyptian program, features a really strong cast of actors and actresses.

The shows are always thought-provoking. Qasem Amin obtains a law degree from France and consequently full of 'enlightened' ideas about the freedom of women: they should know how to run their own affairs, they shouldn't be forced to stay in their houses all the time, etc. etc. He wrote about his ideas in a book called Tahrir al-Mar'a (Freeing the Woman). The problem with Qasem Amin (at least how they portray him) is that he mixes up things: parts of his ideas on women are correct and others aren't. For example, he correctly identifies the fact that women should be educated becaused they're the basis for our society. They raise children and shape their character. "Behind every great man is an equally great woman." But that doesn't mean that there should be mixing between genders or that women should have to join the work-force or other things that Qasim Amin advocated.

I have to say though, even the most just laws can be twisted to oppress people. One of Qasim Amin's friends is named Hassan. Hassan's father marries women, then divorces them after he gets tired of them, then marries someone else. Of course, he still provides for them and therefore it's his "legal right" according to Islam to have four wives and marry and divorce as he pleases. The spirit of the law is just as important as the letter, if not more important. The show is really well-made in the sense that it isn't just a long diatribe; they illustrate their point through the characters and situations that arise during the course of the story. The only thing I worry about is getting indoctrinated with ideas that aren't necessarily correct, so there's a on-goingwrestling match that I have with the show.

Perhaps unsurprisingly, there is an article on Qasim Amin on Wikipedia:
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Qasem_Amin

The most important thing I've taken from watching Qasim Amin is that a true revolution starts with the thinkers and the people first. Qasim Amin, Mohammed Abdu, and company are constantly planning and thinking about how they can awake people from their slumber and encourage them to revolt against the British occupation. I think what's even more important is to motivate people to revolt against the erosion of our identity and our connection with Allah. It's easy to dream about going back to the 'glory' days, the days when Muslims ruled from Spain till India, the days when we decided the law, when we had the power. But that's not truly what we've come for.

The real revolution is the revolution of the heart.
Ma'asalam,
~Ameer

A Still from the Television Series

An Actual Portrait of Qasim Amin

The Usual Suspects (A Juha Story)

This is a Juha story. It would work well in a modern thriller, I'm sure. And if you're wondering, it sounds worse in Arabic, believe you me.

The title of the story is open to speculation. Intially I toyed with "Nice Story" then "Juha Strikes Back" then "The Great Juha Returns". Finally, I just named it after one of the world's movies famous for making you feeling empty inside.

Once upon a time, Juha was riding his donkey through the desert. Suddenly, he heard approaching footsteps. Juha kept his cool, and rode on as if he didn't hear them. In fact, he listened carefully to their conversation (my teacher said it's bad adhab to eavesdrop, but I suppose there are no eaves in the desert, and Juha doesn't follow any adhab rules, so it's safe to proceed without getting commented on by the super radical religious police we have going in Edmonton "blearily reads an email regarding the tawhid of the Nation of Islam, based on a Wikipedia article"). Anyhow, he found out that they were theives, plotting to steal his camel; perhaps they would kill him in the process.

Juha immediatly intiated a plan that would have stunned Keyser Soze; he pretended that he was majnoon and insane. Then he quickly hopped off the donkey and ran into the desert, singing. At night time, the theives unloosed the harness of the donkey and intiated the Brilliant Master Plan of the Master Criminal. One theif ran off with the donkey, and the other hooked himself up to the bridle. (I guess this was a ploy to confuse Juha. Go figure.)

Anyway, Juha comes back in the middle of the night and manages to mistake the man for the donkey. He runs off into the desert, all night. In the morning though, the man reveals himself as...you guessed it...a man. The theif claims that he was changed into a donkey in the past because his mother made dua against him because he never listened to her (que in Sami Yusuf "Mother, I'm Blessed Without You"). He claims to have been caught and sold into Juha's ownership. Now, his mother has apparently asked for his forgiveness, and he is back into a man. (sounds just like a steal from Beauty and the Beast). Juha tells him cryptically "Alhamdullilah. You're free. Don't ever offend your mother."

The next day, Juha is walking in the market when he finds the theives selling his donkey. Instead of calling the police, Juha walks up to the donkey and whispers into it's ear, "Why did you offend your mother."

The people inquired why Juha was talking to a donkey. Juha told his story, and the police made the approriate arrests. The story ends with Juha walking out of the police station to the donkey waiting outside.

"After that, I don't think you'll see him again."

Wasalam,

Mustafa.

Various

Assalam u alaikum,

I've finally discovered the secret reason behind the arrogance and pride of mankind.

They don't clean washrooms.

I guess you all won't want the detail.s

Alhamdulillah everything is going well. I'm writing on Thursday night in the Siraj Mall internet cafe. I don't like this cafe as much as the other one, because the other internet cafe run by Ammo Hazim and Co. is always full of Pakistani students wearing topis and jubbas and laughing their heads off as they play Fifa-Pro on xBox. However, the only advantage here is that the connection here is a lot faster. Otherwise Siraj Mall is a really weird, exotic, and undesirable place to be in. Mustafa and I realized that the reason why it is so big is because it is actually three or four buildings connected together. It's even worse than West Edmonton, actually, never mind, nothing is worse than West Ed.

Why is it that the only thing famous in Edmonton is a giant mall? The only thing you have to lose is your chains! Proletarians, unite!

The weather here in spring is really strange. Sometimes it gets really windy, the sand blowing across the streets and turning the sky gray. You almost feel sometimes like you're on another problem. But then it rains..."mercy like the rain" (I haven't seen the nasheed video but I love the title). It drizzles lightly and I bare my shoulder, remembering how Prophet (SA) used to bare his shoulder because the drop were recently with Allah. What a beautiful thought.

I have to take some pictures of Cairo as I go to my class in the morning. Cairo is definitely at its best in the morning. All the little children are on their way to school, the boys sleeping in the car, while the little girls smile with pearly white teeth. Insha'allah I will take some pictures and post them.

Today I was thinking about coming back to Edmonton and began to shudder piteously. The thought of Khala Su'ad of first testing my Arabic, then talking to me only in Arabic and giving me more Arabic poems to memorize is enough to make anyone scared. (I'm just joking, of course. I'm looking forward to coming back and talking to people in Arabic, Ammo Rafiq in particular).

Keep those duas rolling boys.

Ma'asalam,

~Ameer

What I listen to at Isha

http://english.islamway.com/bindex.php?section=echapters&recitor_id=236

The Past, The Present, and The Future

Assalam u alaikum,

The lessons in Kitab ul Assassi are getting pretty heavy ("fatty," as my teacher would say). I know a lot of people, especially the many foreign students studying here, hate Kitab ul Assassi because it is "non-Islamic" and all the women do not have hijab and it is boring but I personally thought that the people who wrote the book were smart. They started with things that would be important for foreign students to know: eating, sleeping, finding an apartment. Now that I'm in the second book alhamdulillah things are getting more interesting and more serious. Today's lesson was "The Dialogue Between Nations". Basically it was taken from an article in a magazine that called for people to engage in conversation and dialogue in order to save our world from the problems that face us all. The author makes the point that the proliferation of nuclear weapons, the pollution of the earth, and explosion of the human population are problems that face us all and do not discriminate between race, social standing, colour, or religion.

Some of people I've met tend to have a pretty hard approach to things: either our way or the highway. They want everyone to accept Islam automatically. They're not willing to talk to non-Muslims respectfully and consider them to be dirty and totally unintelligent. What they don't understand is that without dialogue, without good communication, without give and take, no one will be accept another person's position. Learning Arabic has helped me realize that changing yourself is not impossible: the mind can grow and stretch and change dimensions. But everything takes time and effort, without which change is artificial and sometime impossible.

Today I listened to Surah Ma'arij in Salat ul Isha and I realized also that besides all the shared problems we face, we also all share a common destiny: we all have to face our Lord someday. A day when there are no excuses, no more dialogue, no more conversation...

The guilty man will long to be able to ransom himself from the punishment of that day at the price of his children,

And his spouse and his brother,

And his kin that harboured him

And all that are in the earth, if then it might deliver him.

By no means! for it would be the Fire of Hell!


Truth is painful.

Ma'asalam,

~Ameer

Loyalty

Once there were was a green jungle, full of animals and trees (this is an Arabic jungle, okay? so it's a little idealistic). In this jungle there lived three bison: one white bison, one red bison, and one black bison (you'll see why I had to modify this story; there is no way one of these placid Egyptian bulls could fight off a lion; besides, I think this story should become a little more multicultural and adding a little Canadian tinge always spices things up). There also was...you guessed it...a lion. And the lion tried to eat the bison, but was unable to do so because when he would attack one, the others would rake him with their horns or trample him with their hoofs. The bisons' motto was always, "All for one and one for all."

But being an Arabic lion, he thought up of a plan to eat all the bison. One day he went to the red bull and black bull and respectfully addressed them.

"Look guys, I got something important to say."

The black bison pawed the ground and the red bison lowered his horns.

"Wow, steady there old fella. I really think you should listen. See, that white bison, he's a huge source of danger for us. All of us blend in together (red, black, and golden somehow blend of course) but that whitey over there, he's gonna get us killed by those hunter chaps! What do you say, let me eat him and we'll be free of danger forever!"

The bison stared blankly at each other and said, "Okay."

The lion ate the white bison, licked his chops, and came back to the red bison.

"Look, bud, you were pretty smart to listen to me the last time. But I've been thinking: the black bison doesn't camouflage so well either. Besides, he's pretty dumb, and I think this jungle will be a lot better if only you and I are living in it."

The red bison continued chewing, and said around a mouthful of grass, "Yeah, sure whatever."

The lion ate the black bison, licked his chops, and came back.

"Hi old boy. You know something, I'm gonna eat you, and there is nothing you can do about it."

The red bison looked around for a long time, being slightly short-sighted. His slow brain finally realized that he was all alone and he had no one to help him. The bison sighed, and said the saying that would becoming famous among Arabic proverbs,

"I was eaten the day the white bison was eaten."

Brotherhood

Assalam u alaikum,

Since coming to Egypt, I've realized that I don't appreciate the people around me. When I'm in Edmonton, I'm sort of grouchy. I don't enjoy meeting people. I go out of my way to try and avoid people, just stay at home, do my own thing. It's not that all the people in Edmonton aren't amazing: quite the opposite actually, but somehow when I meet other people I'm always trying to size them up, compare myself to them, figure out ways I can put myself over them. I never actually meet them: I just meet my own bloated image of myself.

Here in Cairo I feel completely different. When I meet other students I feel excited to be able to talk to other people. We meet someone and after five minutes it's like we've known them for our entire lives. I think other people who have travelled can relate to this. There is something purifying in leaving your own home: you're not secure anymore, you know that you hold nothing in your own hands, so when you meet other students like yourself, you know that they will help you and you will help them. And the stories of their lives are enthralling.

I met this British guy named Kaysar the other day. This guy has like I don't know how many degrees, he's worked in this place and that place, and here is, studying Arabic like Mustafa and I. I guess we're pretty lucky that Ammi and Abu trusted us to come here and study all by ourselves. It's not so simple sometimes for parents to do that, and I realize that after I meet different students and hear their stories.

Sometimes when I write I have a whole bunch of thought crowded up in my head and it comes out in a big jumble. John Milton was blind for the last part of his life while he was finishing his magnum opus, Paradise Lost. He employed a secretary to write down his poetry lines as he composed them in his head. One day his secretary was late and he reprimanded her, saying, "I need to be milked!" I start to get an idea of what that's like.

Today we started the lesson on Arabic proverbs. This I think will prove to be rich in ideas and wisdom, so insha'allah I'll try and post some of what I've learned soon insha'allah.

So until next episode of Crazy Canadians in Cairo, Stay Calm, Be Brave, and Wait for the Signs.

and meet people.

Ma'asalam,

~Ameer

Travels

Assalam u alaikum,

Today we went to play soccer, ka al-aada, and alhamdulillah as usual it was great. Mustafa and I have a kind of routine now: we leave at about six o'clock, arrive at the suq al-sayarat (car park where they sell cars; they just park their cars and I guess people just randomly select cars and then buy them? It's always packed but right after Fajr it's empty) and play with Turkmenistanians and Ramiz, an Egyptian who used to play soccer with one sock and one shoe (don't ask me why). We use that as a warm-up, getting our touches and passes flowing, pulling off a few dekes. Then at around 7:15 we leave and cross the street to the most beautiful pitch in the world; well, it is a car park also but we actually have NETS!

The people that we have met at soccer have been incredible. My favourite is Hamza, a Russian who has lived almost his entire life in Egypt. I could never have told from his demeanour, but he is studying Usul-ul-Din at Al-Azhar. I asked him about Russia, and he was saying that there are very few Muslims, but in Dagestan where he is from, there are lots of Muslims but in name only. I was amazed at the fact that his entire family left their homeland for a strange place just so their son could get the knowledge of the din. And I thought I was on a journey.

Alhamdulillah studies are going well. I have an oral test tomorrow insha'allah so please pray for me.

Ma'asalam,

~Ameer

Call that humiliation?

No hoods. No electric shocks. No beatings. These Iranians clearly are a very uncivilised bunch

(courtesty of Zachariah al-Khatib's blog, a.k.a Softest of Tongues)

Terry Jones
Saturday March 31, 2007
The Guardian

I share the outrage expressed in the British press over the treatment of

our naval personnel accused by Iran of illegally entering their waters.
It is a disgrace. We would never dream of treating captives like this -
allowing them to smoke cigarettes, for example, even though it has been
proven that smoking kills. And as for compelling poor servicewoman Faye
Turney to wear a black headscarf, and then allowing the picture to be
posted around the world - have the Iranians no concept of civilised
behaviour? For God’s sake, what’s wrong with putting a bag over her
head? That’s what we do with the Muslims we capture: we put bags over
their heads, so it’s hard to breathe. Then it’s perfectly acceptable to
take photographs of them and circulate them to the press because the
captives can’t be recognised and humiliated in the way these
unfortunate British service people are.

It is also unacceptable that these British captives should be made to talk on television and say things that they may regret later. If the Iranians put duct tape over their mouths, like we do to our captives, they wouldn’t be able to talk at all. Of course they’d probably find it even harder to breathe - especially with a bag over their head - but at least they wouldn’t be humiliated.

And what’s all this about allowing the captives to write letters home saying they are all right? It’s time the Iranians fell into line with the rest of the civilised world: they should allow their captives the privacy of solitary confinement. That’s one of the many privileges the US grants to its captives in Guantánamo Bay.

The true mark of a civilised country is that it doesn’t rush into charging
people whom it has arbitrarily arrested in places it’s just invaded.
The inmates of Guantánamo, for example, have been enjoying all the
privacy they want for almost five years, and the first inmate has only
just been charged. What a contrast to the disgraceful Iranian rush to
parade their captives before the cameras!

What’s more, it is clear that the Iranians are not giving their British prisoners any decent physical exercise. The US military make sure that their Iraqi captives enjoy PT. This takes the form of exciting “stress positions”, which the captives are expected to hold for hours on end so as to improve their stomach and calf muscles. A common exercise is where they are made to stand on the balls of their feet and then squat so that
their thighs are parallel to the ground. This creates intense pain and,
finally, muscle failure. It’s all good healthy fun and has the bonus
that the captives will confess to anything to get out of it.

And this brings me to my final point. It is clear from her TV appearance
that servicewoman Turney has been put under pressure. The newspapers
have persuaded behavioural psychologists to examine the footage and
they all conclude that she is “unhappy and stressed”.

What is so appalling is the underhand way in which the Iranians have got her “unhappy and stressed”. She shows no signs of electrocution or burn
marks and there are no signs of beating on her face. This is
unacceptable. If captives are to be put under duress, such as by
forcing them into compromising sexual positions, or having electric
shocks to their genitals, they should be photographed, as they were in
Abu Ghraib. The photographs should then be circulated around the
civilised world so that everyone can see exactly what has been going on.

As Stephen Glover pointed out in the Daily Mail, perhaps it would not be
right to bomb Iran in retaliation for the humiliation of our
servicemen, but clearly the Iranian people must be made to suffer -
whether by beefing up sanctions, as the Mail suggests, or simply by
getting President Bush to hurry up and invade, as he intends to anyway,
and bring democracy and western values to the country, as he has in
Iraq.

· Terry Jones is a film director, actor and Python
www.terry-jones.net