He was just a wee little thing when we found him waltzing into a fast food joint. He didn’t have a mum and the waiters urged us to take him home, for they had seen too many cats being run over in their car park. He was such a an adorable creature that it didn’t take much to persuade the girls. I, on the other hand, was hesitant – I remembered being devastated at six when my own pet kitten died and I didn’t want my girls to go through such grief. Just a year earlier, Mars had taken a liking to a stray cat and fed it. When it died suddenly, she cried for days.

Still, I couldn’t ignore the fact that this little kitten was too young to be wandering around. His scruffy and emaciated apppearance clearly showed that he was on his own. We would take him in as an act of kindness, but we would not get too sentimental, I decided. We bundled him into the car and took him home.

We took him to the upstairs terrace where he would be safe from the larger neighbourhood strays. We gave him milk and bedded him down for the night. That was enough, I said. I didn’t want everyone getting too emotionally attached. However, a storm was brewing and the little mite, horribly terrified by the sounds of thunder, began to mew piteously.

“The poor thing is frightened. We must comfort him,” the Dad Man tsked.

The girls agreed, “He is just a little baby, isn’t he?”

The little orphan we named Rocket had clearly enveigled his way into our hearts and so, received complete attachment parenting treatment from his new mums, Mars and Bear.

We bathed Rocket the next day and after gently drying him with a hair-dryer and fluffing out his fur, found that he was quite a good-looking cat ma shaa Allah. He had a cheeky little face, a wickedly long tail and well-proportioned ears. Rocket was so little that initially, he had difficulty drinking from his dish. So the girls and the Dad Man fed him with a bottle…

The Dad Man helped the girls feed Rocket. He was a feisty thing and gained weight shortly after living with us. We continued to keep him upstairs after a relative warned us about how the territorial strays in the neighbourhood would finish him off.

Rocket was even lullabied to sleep by his little mummies :)

The girls had Rocket duty every day – they fed him and played with him, without fuss or complaint. They even cleaned up his messes with good humour. Rocket had a few unusual tendencies – he would walk to heel, greet us at the gate whenever we returned from an outing and stand on his hind legs to put put his paws on our thighs when we sat down by him… He even frequently followed us when we walked to the market and park. It was a running joke that we actually had a dog trapped in a cat’s body!

He was quite a cheeky little thing and often mewed for the girls to come out and play with him.

The little charmer was eventually big enough for the big wide world. He took up residence in the compound and had a bed at the porch. Initially, Rocket had a hard time dealing with the neighbourhood cats. They were much older – there is one so enormous we call him “The Beast” – and very territorial. Young Rocket would emerge from their altercations with numerous injuries. That winter, we had to let him in the house many times to recover. However, he soon grew into a large and sleek cat and became quite a force to be reckoned with.

Rocket lying on the Dad Man’s lap while he worked on the laptop.
He had beautifully thick and long fur – Mars is convinced he has a bit of Somali in him.

It was obvious that my plan for us not to be emotionally attached had backfired. It is hard to toughen yourself against a cat who comes over and sits on your lap or who bounds over to you with delight when you return home. The girls spoiled him silly with toys and affection; Anees would save him bones and leftover meat and even Dadi, who claimed to dislike cats, bought Rocket a cushion for his bed. Rocket was evidently a precious member of the family.

One morning, some three months ago, the girls called out in the morning, “Rocket! Foodie!”, but he didn’t come running over like he normally would. We weren’t all too alarmed at first – he would sometimes roam around the estate and skip breakfast to return for an early lunch. Days passed though and he was still missing. It just about broke my heart to hear the girls calling out everyday plaintively, “Rocket… Rooockeet! Foodie! Rocket…”

We have cleared out his bed from the porch. but the girls are convinced that he will return one day. I let them go on hoping, because I know how much they cared for him and I don’t want to see them shattered. Deep in my heart, though, I know that he won’t come back. It has been too long for a cat so loving and loyal to have stayed away.

I hadn’t wanted to love Rocket, but he had given my kids a great deal of joy. He taught them about the importance of responsibility, kindness and patience. I miss seeing him lying on his bed and looking in on us by the porch window. I think I’ll always remember him as the mischievous, spritely creature that tore about the place wreaking havoc.

We miss you, boy. Be well, wherever you are.

Here’s my little Bear… once the baby of the family, she seems to have grown up overnight, ma shaa Allah.

So my smally molly, I love how you comfort me when I get my horrid migraines. I love how you forgive me when my awful temper gets the worst of me and those around me. I love how you like giving people presents and surprises. I love how you find joy and delight in the simplest things. I love how you love Mars and Peep.

In short, I love YOU :)

Good things come in little packages :)

Alhamdulillah, this little guy is now the newest member of our student body. Little `Isa aka Peep was born in late January and he’s kept us all busy, dizzy and in a tizzy!

We’ll be back to our regular programming pretty soon in shaa Allah :) In the meantime, I hope you’re all having happy, sunshiney days!

I come from a dual-income family – my mother was a nurse who worked shifts and my father was an Assistant Commissioner of Public Health in Singapore. During early childhood, my siblings and I had a helper who took care of us when my parents were at work and in later years, we became latch-key children when the much-loved nanny left to start her own family. It was inevitable, due to their work commitments and our school schedules, that we would often be left to our own devices.

I did not mind being independent, but I always had the feeling that there was something missing in our lives…

I do not blame my parents in the least – they had done the very best they could. They grew up during the Japanese Occupation and tightened their belts in the difficult post-war years. Their personal aspirations had to be shelved for more pressing considerations. When they had my siblings and me, they made sacrifices so we could have choices.

I believe my parents’ hard work and esteem for knowledge opened up horizons to me alhamdulillah and gave me the opportunity to choose homeschooling for my children.

It has been an exhilarating journey that has enriched us as a family. My husband and I love having Mars and Bear with us every day. We are their confidants and they are each others’ best friends. We have also been able to train them to take responsibility in our household’s daily operation. The girls have learnt to tackle laundry duty, meal-time preparations as well as cleaning and tidying daily. Alhamdulillah, homeschooling has enabled us to work as a team.

Homeschooling has allowed us to maintain close ties with our family. Whether we were based in Singapore or Pakistan, we have been able to make decisions to meet our children’s and family’s needs, without having to worry about school policy and classroom schedules. We were able to be with my father-in-law during his last days and were able to comfort my ailing mother during her kidney treatments and surgeries this year. It has been a blessing indeed that we have always been to make family – rather than school – a priority.

Our children are treated as unique individuals – their strengths are celebrated and honed and their struggles, identified and worked on with love and due consideration. The one-on-one attention they each receive enables them to get through their material in greater breadth and depth. They set their own rhythm, but rather than create indiscipline or inertia, this has made the learning more efficient and given them more time for other pursuits and interests.

Homeschooling has also given us the freedom to choose our preferred approach and resources. At our home, we focus on knowledge and good behaviour rather than on grades. Credit is given not for cleverness, but for good conduct. We encourage striving, but not for self-glorification and competition is tempered with compassion for our fellow learners.

The best thing about homeschooling is that my husband and I have been able to impart and incorporate Islamic morals to our children without compromise. Our faith is interwoven in our curriculum so our children have no need to leave their values at the school gates, set aside their worship or downplay their Muslim identity. Home education has given them a stronger sense of character and self-esteem. They have been sheltered from the bullying, teasing and negative peer pressure that is common in public schools.

A few months ago, a sister I met marvelled at the fact that I am a homeschooling mother. She declared, “I could never do what you do!” I assured her that it has neither been a sacrifice nor a great feat on my part. Being with my children has helped me find what was missing before – joy in togetherness and faith.

I thank Allah every day, for I have learnt more than I have taught and truly taken more than I have given.

This article was originally written for HomeWorks Magazine.

Mother’s Prayer

Oh give me patience when wee hands
Tug at me with their small demands.
And give me gentle and smiling eyes
Keep my lips from hasty replies.
And let not weariness, confusion, or noise
Obscure my vision of life’s fleeting joys.
So when, in years to come my house is still,
No bitter memories its room may fill.

~ Margaret H. Schwab (1968)

The air these days is terribly chilly. The blessedly bright and sunny day we had on Eid gave way to dark clouds and biting wind. Soon, unrelenting cold rains will fall for days on end and winter will be officially here. Our room is now cluttered with voluminous bedding and blankets and the wardrobes are busting at the seams with winterwear we’ve unearthed from the store-room. Things seemed to come to a head yesteday – the gloom and mess left us feeling unsettled and annoyed.

Poor Bear had been coughing badly the past few days. She’d been stuffed with all sorts of warm beverages, home remedies and medication, none of which seemed to be working. Yesterday, she coughed practically every other second and by evening, slumped in her chair and pitifully declared, “I’m SO tired … I’ve been coughing so much.”

Mars, just recovering from her illness, wasn’t doing much better. She was coughing as well, though not as badly as her sister, and was irritable after being cooped up in the house for so long. Without her loyal partner in crime to mess around with, she was a shell of her usual bouncy self.

The Dad Man, already worried about Bear, was upset because he had been forced to consume 7-UP at two homes he visited and was convinced it was what had given him the ‘flu. I was about to tell him that his symptoms may have been psychosomatic, given his aversion to caffeine and soft drinks, but levels of irritation were so high all around that I knew it would escalate into an unnecessary, heated argument.

Tired of the frazzled nerves, we decided that some comfort food was in order. We needed something warm, something hearty, something soul-soothing to bring back the cheer. We needed Lamiya’s Soup.

Now, there are an awful lot of ingredients in this soup – chicken stock, tomatoes, potatoes, chicken, capsicum, carrots, coriander and noodles. The stock needs to ‘brew’ and the vegetables must be cut and diced well, so preparation can be awfully tedious. The girls wanted to help and begged me to let them cook along. I remembered how we chatted and laughed in the kitchen last winter. I also had a less pleasant recollection of tempers fraying as the work progressed – when ingredients weren’t cut delicately enough; when there were spills and peels to clear; when the little kitchen felt too constricting altogether…

I made some ginger tea for the kids while trying to decide if I wanted my rowdy ruffians as my apprentice chefs and they watched. Mars began telling me about her gardening efforts – she has been growing garlic and onions in her room. Bear talked about her cross stitch sampler. I felt the tension dissipate and I knew that I had to let go of my exacting standards. We WILL have bad days, rooms WILL get untidy and moods WILL fluctuate – life isn’t a well-choreographed movie. Nothing is perfect so just roll with it.

I did. We did.

We made du`aa for barakah in our effort and result and plunged right in. Bear put on a face mask (yes, she was coughing THAT much!) and took charge of washing the vegetables and chopping the capsicum. Mars peeled and diced the potatoes. I tackled the chicken broth and other trickier bits. Interestingly enough, the kitchen’s cubicle proportions didn’t bother us for once. We didn’t jostle one another or encroach on each other’s work space. Everything was prepared beautifully and *just so* and the girls amazed themselves with their dexterity.

We got to know each other again that evening. The girls learnt that their mum likes things neat and so they remembered to clean up as they went along. Mars is into method and hurries to see the result of her efforts. Bear enjoys the process – she likes the company and is sorry when the job is done. It made me smile when they both broke up the noodles for the soup. Mars broke them three at a time and when Bear saw this, she cried out, “Don’t! No, do it SLOWLY! I want to TALK TO YOU!”

When we all sat down and ate the soup together for dinner, there was silence at first. We had our first sip and let the goodness run through. There was palpable contentment. Dadi was the first to break the silence and said in a gleeful manner that all one needs in winter are soup and pakoras. :) We all laughed, good humour was restored and conversation was merry.

I know we will have hectic and even trying times ahead, but I shall tell myself each morning: I will be grateful for this day.

I’d promised Sisters Adeela and Zara to write a post about living and homeschooling in Pakistan but to be honest, I didn’t know where to start. It wasn’t until Sister Souad from a French hijrah board ‘interviewed’ me online that I managed to come up with a decent write-up. I thought I would reproduce the interview with a few additions and editions :)

(1) Can you tell us about yourself by introducing yourself briefly?
I’m a mother of two girls whom I homeschool. Mars is 9 and Bear is almost 6. I am from Singapore and am married to a Pakistani. We have two homes – one in Singapore and one in Islamabad, Pakistan. We live mostly in Islamabad though and visit my family in Singapore twice a year.

(2) What are the reasons that pushed you to live in Pakistan? And why this particular country?
When I married my husband, he was then completing his studies in Indiana, USA so I joined him there. After 6 months, we moved to Wisconsin, where he was offered a job. I don’t think we had planned to live in the US permanently – we didn’t have concrete plans to be honest – but we did plan to be there for a while as my husband wanted to get work experience. In addition, his sister was planning to pursue her studies there, so he felt it was important for him to remain in the US as her mahram. I was initially happy – I’d always wanted to see more of the world and meet people from all walks of life. Being married to a foreigner based in a foreign country was a dream come true.

However, there were other issues and these often caused us worry and to feel torn. My father had been diagnosed with cancer just a few months before our wedding and even though he was in remission, we wished we could be of better support to him. My parents-in-law were also missing their sons – both my husband and his brother had been studying and working overseas for some 6 years. My husband often wondered if he could better serve his parents back home.

When I was later expecting our first child, we began to have more doubts. Even though we had found good Muslim company, we felt it was not enough. We had no extended family there unlike in Singapore and Pakistan. It wasn’t uncommon for folks to move and we often made good friends only to lose them when they relocated for a better job or returned to their home country. Even we weren’t planning to stay there for the long haul so we always felt unconnected and unrooted, which would have been fine and even fun if we didn’t have children or familial obligations to consider.

One event happened which forced us to make a decision – September 11. When the tragedy happened in 2001, I was at home and unwell so I hadn’t read or heard the news. My husband called and he told me what had happened. His next instructions were, “They are saying Muslims did this, so stay in and don’t open the door to anyone.” The next few weeks and months were fraught with tension and insecurity – Muslims in the US were under increasing scrutiny and facing danger… several Islamic charities were shut down supposedly for funding terrorists and so on…

It all made me feel that the Muslims’ position in the US would always be ‘precarious’ and it wasn’t something I had to stand for or something I wanted for my children. We decided to move either to Singapore (even though it isn’t a Muslim country, we have family and therefore support there) or Pakistan. Alhamdulillah there was a job opening in Singapore.

I thank Allah for the decision we made (or for making the decision for us!) – we returned to Singapore with my then 3-month old daughter and she made my father so very happy. I remember a relative saying that Mars gave my father the courage to fight his cancer harder. We had initially worried about finances but alhamdulillah, we always had savings at the end of every month. I believe Allah gave us this assistance as we made a decision that was pleasing to Him. What made me happiest was the fact that we were able to spend my father’s last moments with him. He survived another 11 months and I am so glad that Allah allowed us the opportunity to spend so much time with him before he passed on.

Shortly after my father’s death, my in-laws needed my husband’s presence and so he made the decision to move. I will be honest when I say I was very much against it. I had grown used to the many conveniences in Singapore – excellent public transport, facilities, places of interest and so on – so I really railed against the move. I did make peace with this decision when I saw that I was being selfish. My husband had stood by my family and I knew I had to do the same for his. So we moved to Pakistan in 2004 and lived there for 3 years. We moved back to Singapore for 2 years while my husband set up a business (his brother returned from the US to Pakistan to take care of my in-laws at that time). In 2008, we moved back to Pakistan where we have been since. Alhamdulillah here, my husband’s business has a great deal of potential for development and growth and has been doing well.

I could say that we moved to Pakistan due to family obligations, but it isn’t the whole truth. I could also say that we moved to Pakistan because my husband has better business prospects here, but it isn’t the complete truth either.

We are here because Allah made the choice easy for us – alhamdulillah being in Pakistan has been really good for our family, our livelihood and most of all, our deen. It was not something I had expected but it has been a wonderful surprise.

(3) What was it like in the beginning?
When we first moved to Pakistan in 2004, it was difficult for my mother. She was close to Mars and was sad to be separated from her. Still, she came round and understood how my in-laws needed their son and she also understood that as a wife I had to stand by my husband. I am very close to my relatives as well and while they were sad that we had to move, they supported us and welcome us warmly whenever we visited.

It was a little difficult for me in the beginning. I wasn’t used to the way things are done here in Pakistan. Singapore’s public transport is excellent so I never needed to learn how to drive. It isn’t so in Pakistan, so I was more home-bound, which really didn’t sit well wtih me. I couldn’t go out whenever I pleased as it wasn’t safe for me to take the taxis. It often frustrated me that I had to wait for help before I could get things done.

As for my husband, he had left Pakistan when he was 17. The country had changed a great deal by the time he returned as a working adult. He had to deal with corruption and dishonesty and this left him so disillusioned that he confided in me once that he wished he could go back to Singapore.

Mars was just two (and then an only child) when we moved but ma shaa Allah, she took it like a real trouper. She has always been mature for her age alhamdulillah. While Pakistan is a big switch from the more modern and developed Singapore, she adjusted well. I think it has to do with the fact that we had always kept our own lives simple no matter where we lived.

I remember once when we experienced the first of many power outages. (This is called load shedding and it happens frequently in summers in Pakistan.) It was night then and inwardly, I thought, “Oh dear…” but my daughter ran outside to the driveway and said excitedly, “Look Ummi! Look! Look at how bright the moon is!” She was not thinking about how inconvenient it was to lose the power and be in the dark. She was not thinking about how horribly inefficient things can be in Pakistan. She was not thinking about how much easier it could have been had we still been in Singapore. She was just looking at the bright side of things and I knew then that if she could be positive, then so could I. Both my husband found it hard being in Pakistan but we reiterated many times that we moved to please Allah and that He would help us. Alhamdulillah, in trying to encourage our daughter, we found comfort and ease in those words.

(4) Integration issues…
In the beginning, as I said, it was a little difficult for us. I found the days horribly tedious as I had little to do and nowhere to go. Mars and I were also an oddity – NO ONE we knew in Pakistan was homeschooling then and it was honestly no fun being the town freak. I loved being with my daughter and learning with her, but sometimes the endless comments and questions made me feel very much alone and anxious. It felt like our every move was being scrutinised and my daughter’s every progress monitored. It was as if I had to pass some benchmark in order to justify homeschooling.

Still we pushed on. We were not short of learning materials alhamdulillah. Islamabad has numerous second-hand bookstores (I think I’ve raved about these quite a bit on my blog!) and we would buy books by the bag. When we visited Singapore, we would buy whatever we could not find here in Islamabad.

The one downer was that Mars didn’t have friends. The cousins who were her age (aged 2 to 4) couldn’t communicate well with her as they had not learnt sufficient English in school yet and the older ones who could, weren’t interested in playing with a little kid. I tried to find some friends initially. Maybe I had unrealistic expectations, but a few folks put me off this effort. Some parents would promise to call and arrange playdates, but these never materialised. One mum kept telling my mother-in-law that she wanted to get together with me, but everytime we did, she would ask for children’s learning materials and proceed to converse only with my mother-in-law totally in Urdu. This actually went on for a while until she eventually just dropped asking to meet me and would ask my mother-in-law for videos and books. When I told my mother-in-law (pleasantly) that she could ask me herself, I never heard from her. This and other annoying encounters led me to simply make du`aa for the right friends and alhamdulillah, Allah answered my prayers.

We met a lovely English lady, Maria, who had 3 wonderful children – her eldest daughter who was 9 was so sweet and would play with Mars. The age difference didn’t matter an ounce to her. The family moved later on and it just about broke Mars’ heart. Mars loves Bee to this day and counts her as her very best friend. Our families have kept in touch long distance and have had a reunion as well, with another one in store in shaa Allah … our unique background and situation have given us unique friendships as well alhamdulillah.

Mars later had a little sister who kept her company alhamdulillah and we met still more friends via my blog. Over time, we found places of interest to visit and by the time we moved back here the second time, we found even more to do. My kids were able to enrol in karate classes, Arabic classes and are fast friends with two other homeschooled girls here in Islamabad – finally, another oddball family! :)

We’ve also started a humble library/resource centre alhamdulillah. I’m an unrepentant bibliomaniac (just in case you didn’t know that already, hehe…) and it looks like I’ve passed the gene on to my kids. We hate returning library books – we feel oddly possessive over them and get upset when something has been checked out (“Who took our book!?”) – and can’t bear to sell our old books so we thought we’d put this obsession to good use and open our own library! Alhamdulillah we have a few families coming over (yay! playdates!) to borrow our books and we are looking to expand our shelves in shaa Allah.

(5) Life in Pakistan as opposed to my home country…
There are people who admire us for living in Pakistan (“you must be really patient to be able to bear it!”) and there are people who feel sorry for us (“Oh! You must visit our country… there is so much to do and your kids will love it too!”). I find this sort of attitude really condescending and annoying. While Pakistan isn’t the easiest place to live in, I really believe it isn’t bad at all. In fact, I am glad that we live here because it is a more ‘real’ place to be.

In Singapore, life is comfortable – you do get a minimum basic standard of living which I believe is excellent by any standard. The government has done a wonderful job since the early days of nation-building and has turned the little island to a developed state. It is clean, has a good infrastructure, an extensive transport system and best of all, it is one of the least corrupt nation in the world. Singapore ties in first place with Denmark and New Zealand as the least corrupt country in the world – I say, wow :P

For all of Singapore’s positives, I still believe that Pakistan has been better for us. It isn’t wrong to wish for an easy life of course – no one wishes undue trial upon themselves. However, it is, I believe, easy to forget the akhirah in a place like Singapore. Life can be so comfortable that you forget that life isn’t about seeking comfort and ease for this world. Feeling too safe makes you afraid to venture out and sacrifice. It makes you forget how other people have it so much worse because even though there are disadvantaged people in Singapore, their hardships don’t quite compare to those of people in truly poor countries.

In Pakistan, we have seen people who do not even have a roof over their heads… people who were forced to send their children out to beg just so they had something to fill their stomachs for the day. Seeing people like these reminds us that we not only have a lot to be thankful for, but also that we have a lot of work to do to make the world a better place for the sake of Allah. I really believe that if were to live in Singapore, we would not have the same feeling of empathy or urgency.

(6) Life in Pakistan in general…
I think life in Pakistan can be nice if you have the right attitude. Once again, I’d like to stress that it can be trying if you wish for a first-world country lifestyle. However, Pakistan has its own charms and if you embrace change positively, then life here can be very pleasant. I live in Islamabad and like it here – it isn’t as crowded as cities like Karachi and Lahore.

With regards to food, the fruits, vegetables and meats are quite delicious… they don’t look as perfect as the ones you get in more developed countries. The fruits and vegetables are smaller and look a little burised. The chickens look a bit scrawny. (No, really! Don’t laugh!) However, they are much more flavourful probably because they are less chemically altered. Locally produced food is affordable – if you go to the weekend markets, you can buy them in bulk at cheaper prices. You can get foreign ingredients but these can be a little pricey. Some foods are available seasonally only so you have to get used to this. In the more developed countries you get anything you want at any time of the year because of large imports but here, it is a different story! I once wanted mangoes, but was told I had to wait for the summer and another time wanted broccoli for fried rice, but had to wait for winter. LOL! It’s a small inconvenience though and it has taught us patience. It is also fun waiting for the seasons and the special things they bring.

As to education, I have to say that homeschool has gotten easier for me over the years. There are Arabic courses that are of high calibre ma shaa Allah – my elder daughter attends an Arabic Institute and I take one run by another. Both have been very beneficial. Adults and teens can also take Islamic courses run by Al-Huda. We’ve also been fortunate enough to be introduced to a riding club – this is such an expensive sport in Singapore that I couldn’t get past dreaming about it for my kids. It isn’t cheap here but it is something that my kids can indulge in once in a while. They’ve also been able to take up karate and their instructors have been so patient and nurturing that they can’t bear to miss even a single class.

At the end of the day, I feel blessed to be able to call two countries home. As much as I love and miss the place where I was born, I believe, there is a purpose to me being here in Pakistan.

… my father.

My smally dolly …

• is talking a lot more… she says, “Alhambali-eelah” (Alhamdulillah), “Alaa-may-koom” (As salaamu `alaykum) and “Jallah `ayran!” (JazakAllah khayran)
• is quite the drama mama … after a bit of tickles and rough and tumble, she flopped down on the bed and declared melodramatically “Aaaahhh! Tiiired!”
• speaks more Urdu and Punjabi than English – she is her Dada’s little girl all right!
• is deliciously lovable – she gives generously squishy, squidgy good morning hugs to her big sister without fail
• is altogether too cuddly for my own good!

Alhamdulillah…

Love you muchly, Bear!

“A book is a garden, an orchard, a storehouse, a party, a company by the way, a counselor, a multitude of counselors.”
- Henry Ward Beecher

Here is a conversation that warmed my heart. Gave me a good chuckle, it did! It took place between Ms M and her grandmother. They had gone to visit a friend who lived at my old neighbourhood and since it was quite a distance away, my mum decided to take a taxi home. She decided to tease Ms M a little…

Jiddah (pretending to grumble): Hmph… you know it’s all because of you that I have to spend so much money today.

Ms M: How come?

Jiddah: Well you see, normally I would take a bus or train, but you said you were tired so here we are in the taxi. It’s a lot more expensive by cab you know.

Ms M (somewhat apologetically): Yes, I know.

Jiddah: Didn’t Aunty give you a prezzie just now? She gave you $10, didn’t she?

Ms M: Yes… (long pause) … oh! Do you mean *I* have to pay the taxi fare?

Jiddah: And why not?

Ms M: But Jiddah… I HAVE to save my money…

Jiddah: Whatever for?

Ms M: I HAVE to save so I can buy BOOKS for MY CHILDREN!

I know … this is meant to be a homeschooling blog but the home-ed categories show precious few entries.

I’ll post some lesson plans on butterfliesnext in shaa Allah but I will confess. The reason why I stopped posting for a while was because I felt like a fraud. What I mean to say is that I do still firmly believe that for us, homeschooling is THE road to take. My methods were another story altogether *S* Ms Muffet was (and still is) doing alright alhamdulillah but I began to crumble. I had a list of goals to achieve and wanted to do everything *just so* but this is not always possible when one has a little baby to care for at the same time. I was getting overly anxious – will I ever get the Singaporean out of me? (You’d have to live there to know what I am talking about *S*)

The beauty of home education is that it is flexible. I don’t mean to say that a parent can put in next to zero effort, let a child run willy nilly and then say that homeschooling is flexible. I mean that education is not just about and through books. There is more to a child/person than that. While I was fussing about lessons still undone, my daughter was doing some learning of her own. She learnt to help her busy mum, to share unreservedly, to give way to her little sister without resentment and to be independent.

Sometimes lessons are best learnt when you put the books aside and speak straight from the heart. Some you can’t TEACH – they can only be learnt through plain and simple LIVING.

A sister told me to relax and to breathe… another told me to just love my child and place trust in Allah .

They are right *S* There is so much room for improvement where I am concerned. So we will try to do better each day but we are doing OK alhamdulillah…

A sister I know is expecting a second child. An ultrasound showed that the baby looked fine alhamdulillah and that in shaa Allah, she could look forward to another baby girl. The sister praised Allah and was overjoyed that no complications had been detected or were expected. She knew her husband too would be all smiles about the news.

When she left the ultrasound room, the sister headed for her mother and her first-born daughter who had accompanied her to the hospital. Her mother eagerly asked about the baby’s gender and when told, looked visibly disappointed. “Oh… another girl? Your husband will be quite disappointed. It would have been nice to have a boy this time, don’t you think?”

Her little 3-year-old on, the other hand, beamed and grinned quite excitedly when told that she would in shaa Allah have a baby sister. When asked if she knew of a name, she nodded and said gleefully, “We shall name her Khadija in shaa Allah…”

I have been thinking about the mother’s reaction and how she almost spoilt the joy of the sister.

If I could, I would tell her that her to emulate her 3-year-old grand-daughter who showed instant appreciation for Allah’s blessings.

If I could, I would tell her that daughters are gems.

If I could, I would tell her these ahadeeth from the Messenger of Allah s, which testify to the noble status of daughters…

`A’ishah radhiallahu `anha said: A woman came to me with her two daughters and asked me (for charity). She found that I had nothing except for a single date, which I gave to her. She took it and divided it between her two daughters, and did not eat any of it herself, then she got up and left with her daughters. The Prophet came in and I told him what had happened. He sallallahu `alayhi wa sallam said, “Whoever is tested with daughters and treats them well, they will be for him a shield against the Fire of Hell.” (Bukhari & Muslim)

According to another report narrated by Muslim from `A’ishah radhiallahu `anha, she said: A poor woman came to me carrying her two daughters. I gave her three dates to eat. She gave each child a date, and raised the third to her own mouth to eat it. Her daughters asked her to give it to them, so she split the date that she had wanted to eat between them. I was impressed by what she had done, and told the Messenger of Allah about it. He said, “Allah subhanahu wa ta`ala has decreed Paradise for her because of it,” or, “He has saved her from Hell because of it.”

Abu Hurayrah radhiallahu `anhu reported that the Prophet said: “Whoever has three daughters, and shelters them, bearing their joys and sorrows with patience, Allah subhanahu wa ta`ala will admit him to Paradise by virtue of his compassion towards them.” A man asked, “What if he has only two, O Messenger of Allah?” He said, “Even if they are only two.” Another man asked, “What if he has only one, O Messenger of Allah?” He said, “Even if he has only one.” (Ahmad)

Ibn `Abbas radhiallahu `anhu said: The Messenger of Allah said: “Whoever had a daughter born to him, and he did not bury her alive or humiliate her, and he did not prefer his son over her, Allah subhanahu wa ta`ala will admit him to Paradise because of her.” (al-Hakim)

Abu Sa`id al-Khudri radhiallahu `anhu said: “The Prophet said: `There is no-one who has three daughters, or three sisters, and he treats them well, but Allah subhanahu wa ta`ala will admit him to Paradise.” (Bukhari)

The Prophet said: “There is no one among my ummah who has three daughters, or three sisters, and he supports them until they are grown up, but he will be with me in Paradise like this…” and he held up his index and middle fingers together. (At-Tabarani)

I have been struggling to loosen up. It sounds funny coming from an easy-going person like me. I am usually not one to get too intense about time management, schedules and goals, but when it comes to Ms Muffet’s schooling, I seem to have taken on a completely different personality! I’ve become a stickler for deadlines, a fusspot for details and, I hate to admit it, a complete ogre who may be killing any enthusiasm my child has for learning.

I’ve learnt in the past couple of weeks that it is crucial that I make space for Ms Muffet. I have to make room for her foibles just as she has to take my many weaknesses and mistakes in stride. She may not do things to MY standards, but then, she should not have to. My job is not to create a genius (OK, I do admit, I LIKE the idea) but to give her plenty of encouragement and opportunities to grow and to develop a passion for knowledge.

So… I don’t wince when she messes up the paints simply because “it is nice to MIX them ALL UP”. I no longer grimace when she colours outside the lines. I won’t tell her bears must be brown or black and not “multi-coloured”.

There are times when I fret and wonder why something so simple takes on gargantuan proportions to her. Then I remember… patience. Bearing in mind that mistakes are inevitable makes this arduous journey so much easier and pleasant. I’ve had thirty-something years of living. She’s just starting out. I should celebrate her accomplishments, not her hiccups.

I need to cut her some slack.

I read these ahadeeth yesterday and truly, they shamed me. How many times have I been in a hurry to complete my chores and placed my child last on my list of priorities? How many times have I forgotten to just STOP and BE THERE for my child?

Well, now is always a good time to change. Must go and colour some pictures with Ms Muffet!

And hey, give your kids a hug and kiss… just because, you hear?

• Anas radhiallahu `anhu said: “I have never seen a man more kind with children than the Prophet .” (Muslim) Anas also said: “The Prophet had the sharpest sense of humor with children.”
• The Prophet exhorted justice when he said: “Allah likes that you be just with your children as He likes that you be just among your own selves.” (Al-Daraqutni)
• It was reported from “`A’ishah that the Prophet kissed Al-Hassan and Al-Hussain, the sons of “˜Ali radhiallahu `anhu while Al-Aqra’ bin Habis Al-Taimi was in his audience. Al-Aqra’ said: “I have ten children, none of whom I have ever kissed.” The Prophet looked at him and said: “Those who do not show mercy to others will not be shown mercy.”
• “`A’ishah radhiallahu `anha narrated: A Bedouin came to the Messenger of Allah and said: “You kiss your children, while we do not kiss them.” The Messenger of Allah said: “I can not help that Allah has removed mercy from your heart.”
• It was reported by At-Tirmidhi and others on the authority of “`Abdullah bin Buraidah from his father (radhiallahu `anhuma) who said: I saw the Messenger of Allah while he was delivering a sermon. Al-Hassan and Al-Hussain radhiallahu `anhuma came wearing red garments and stumbling while walking. The Prophet descended Al Minbar (the pulpit) and carried them and put them in front of him. He then said: “Your property and children are only a trial. I saw these two boys stumbling in their walk and could not help stopping my sermon and raising them.”
• Al-Nasa’i and Al-Hakim narrated: While the Prophet was leading people in Prayer, Al-Hussain came and rode on his neck while he was prostrating himself. The Prophet prolonged prostration, until they (the worshipers) thought there was something wrong. When Prayer finished, the people said: “You prolonged prostration, O Messenger of Allah, until we thought that there was something wrong with you.” He replied: “My son rode on me i.e. rode on my back, and I disliked to disturb him until he satisfies himself (and gets down).”
• It was narrated in Al-Isabaah that “the Prophet was of the habit of playing with Al-Hassan and Al-Hussain radhiallahu `anhuma, walking on his hands and knees while they both clung to him from both sides, and saying to them: “What a good camel you have and what a good camel-riders you are.”
• It was narrated in Bukhari and Muslim after Anas radhiallahu `anhu that the Prophet said: “I enter into Prayer intending to prolong it, but when I hear a baby crying, I shorten it, as I know how his mother is anxious about his crying.”

I confess, I am not a library person. I like OWNING books and reading them over and over again.

My father encouraged my siblings and I to read … and we read voraciously. When our hobby became an extremely expensive one, he didn’t turn to the library to feed our appetite for reading. He took us to a quaint second-hand bookstore in a quiet housing estate in Singapore called Serangoon. It was a small outfit with wall-to-wall and floor-to-ceiling book shelves. The owner set up his well-worn desk outside where several baskets filled with even more used books and magazines were placed. I loved trips to that store.

When my daughter was born, I used to get completely stressed out, worrying about how to entertain her. Motherhood did not come naturally to me – I had to grow into it and I confess, it took a while before I felt comfortable with being a mother. There were days when I was at a complete loss – Itsy Bitsy Spider had been done to death so what was there to do for the remaining 8 hours till her dad came home? I was (am?) a bookworm who didn’t like dealing with people, what more babies, so… I did what I did best.

I read.

Ms Muffet must have been about a month and a half when I read to her “No David!” by David Shannon. It just about blew me away when she paid attention so I kept reading. I joined book clubs and when we left the USA for Singapore, I kept the supply up. I had worried that living in Pakistan would mean fewer books for Ms Muffet – she was used to getting some 15 to 20 new books a month.

But, alhamdulillah, I was delighted to find second-hand bookstores galore. I’ve been able to get a wide variety of books for Ms Muffet, from fiction to science to geography at a fraction of their normal prices.

My daughter is an avid reader, ma shaa Allah, and trips to the bookstores have been frequent so these days, I can’t help but think about my late father. I remember how he would look on indulgently as we rummaged for our favourite reads.

I remember how it was he who planted and nurtured my passion for books.

I am glad I am passing it on.

As salaamu `alaykum wa rahmatullahi wa barakatuh

Dear Shameel and Nuur…

It was very hard for me to go to your home last Monday. I had not met your mother in a long while… The last time I did, you were just a baby, Shameel. Nuur, you had not even been born yet. It wasn’t that your mother and I had quarrelled or anything of the sort – we had been good friends in junior college and university. I don’t know why we didn’t try to stay in touch… I guess I will just have to use the same reason which everyone else uses and which I am sure you find difficult to understand – we just got busy.

I did not manage to talk to you the other day – there were just too many people around. I don’t think that you were up for any conversation anyway. I just want you both to know that I am very sorry about your father’s passing. It was a big shock to me and I am sure that you are still trying to come to terms with it.

When I saw you crying as you left your father, it brought back memories of when my father passed away about a year ago. I never thought that anything could hurt so much and I was sure that I would never get over it. That is not entirely true, though. You don’t get over it – how can you ever forget someone you love? You can’t … but the pain does ease with time and you learn to think about the warm and wonderful memories you had.

You know, it is OK to feel sad and it is OK to cry. The Prophet, sallallahu `alayhi wa sallam, wept on the death of his son, Ibrahim, and said: “The eyes shed tears and the heart feels pain, but we utter only what pleases our Lord. O Ibrahim! We are aggrieved at your demise.” So we cry but we also remember to have faith in Allah and what He has decreed.

You see, Shameel and Nuur, we think of our souls, families and wealth as “ours”. So when the things and people we love are gone, we feel sad. The truth is, they do not belong to us – they belong to Allah. He gave them to us as a loan. So we must be grateful while we have these blessings and be patient when He takes them back.

Remember that the Qur`an tells us that Allah is with those who are patient – “O you who believe! Seek Help in Patience and Salaah. Truly, Allah is with those that are patient.” [Qur'an 2:153]

Allah has not one but THREE big rewards for those who are patient – He has promised His prayer for them, His Mercy, and their guidance: Who, when afflicted with calamity say, “Truly, to Allah we belong and truly, to Him we shall return… They are those on whom the Salawat (the blessing and forgiveness) of their Lord is upon them, and who shall receive His Mercy, and it is they who are the guided ones.” [Qur'an 2:157] Now, isn’t that wonderful? Allah sometimes tests us but He will always give us something better in return.

Shameel, you are now the man in your family. You need to take care of your mother and younger brother and sister. Nuur, you will need to be your mother’s partner and help her in every way you can. She will have a lot to deal with now and she will count on you doing your best in school and at home.

I know you will miss your father very much. I still think about my father too and sometimes I don’t want to because it hurts too much. I know that you and your father shared a very special relationship. It sounds funny when I say this but truthfully, it doesn’t have to end.

There is still so much you can do for your father. The Prophet sallallahu `alayhi wa sallam said: “When a person dies, all his deeds come to an end except three: sadaqah jaariyah (ongoing charity, e.g. a waqf or endowment), beneficial knowledge (which he has left behind), or a righteous child who will pray for him.”

Remember that YOU are sadaqah jariyah for your father – he will receive a share of the rewards for all the good that you do.

You must also always make du`aa for him because your prayers can help him enter Paradise. The Prophet sallallahu `alayhi wa sallam said: “A man’s status will be raised in Paradise and he will ask, “How did I get here?” He will be told, “By your son’s du`aas (prayers) for forgiveness for you.”

My good friend Sadiqa shared some comforting words with me when my father passed away. I would like to now tell you the same thing that she told me. Don’t think of your father as “gone” or “lost” – this separation is temporary, just like everything in this world. Think of him as waiting for you in another room. On the day of Judgement, you will be reunited with him and inshaa Allah you will all walk into Jannah together.

Shameel and Nuur, please know that you are in my du`aa … May Allah keep you safe and well always ameen.

Much love
Aunty Imaan

It was the eve of `Eid and the flat was still messy and dusty. I had just half an hour before Maryam’s bed time and I knew that I would nod off with her so I was desperate to make sure that the apartment was halfway decent before that. Inwardly reproaching myself for having left things at the last minute, I wiped, swept and mopped feverishly.

My two-year-old followed me around, rag and sponge in hand trying to be of some help. Our last stop was the kitchen. She likes it there and now that she is over the “Ummi, what is this?” phase, she often launches into the “Who bought this, Ummi?” mode. This time, though, the chat turned out to be a little different.

“Ummi, who bought this bin?” Maryam asked pointing to the white trash can next to the sink.

I turned briefly and told her, “Your Baba did… He bought it at Walmart in Wisconsin.” I smiled briefly, remembering that Maryam was born there. But there really was no time for walking down memory lane… I continued scouring the sink like there was no tomorrow.

“Ummi, who bought those bottles?” she piped up again, pointing at her milk bottles.

“I did… I bought them for you at Kiddy Palace, remember?” I said, thinking that I really was not in the mood for this conversation.

“Ummi, who bought that oven?” she said pointing to the large oven in the corner.

“Hmm… I don’t know Maryam. That belongs to the flat owner. We are just renting here, you know.” I really had too much to do.

“Ummi, who bought that small oven?” she asked unrelentingly, pointing to the small grill oven my mother had bought.

“Jiddah bought it for us… that big oven does not work…”

“Ummi…” I bit my tongue and stopped myself from telling her to hush. “Ummi, who bought that microwave oven?”

I stopped wiping and any annoyance I felt at her incessant questions faded away right then and there. My father had bought us the microwave oven when we set up house here in Singapore. It was going to be my second `Eid without him – he had died a couple of weeks short of the previous `Eid.

“Jid bought it, Maryam.” Strangely enough, the little livewire fell silent too.

When she did speak, she said earnestly, “I love Jid, Ummi.”

“I love him too.”

“I want to hug Jid.”

“Well, make du`aa OK… inshaa Allah we can all see and hug Jid in Jannah.”

“Ummi?”

“Yes, Maryam?”

“Where is Jannah?”

I dropped the rag and picked her up… What’s a bit of dust, really?

It will be Ramadhan soon inshaa Allah. This blessed month means a great deal to me and to every other Muslim – it is a month unlike any other. It is a time that is solely for `ibadah and for good deeds.

Ramadhan is also the month in which my father passed away. I still remember every detail of his final days and I remember spending my first `Eid without him.

You never forget the important people in your life… and you never stop loving them. My father was a devoted father and husband, always putting the family first. I used to tell him that he fussed too much… worried too much about us. I felt he needed to let go and not fret because we could take care of ourselves but I suppose he was just that kind of man.

When I was growing up, he pushed my siblings and I to work hard at school, sparing no expense and effort. He would buy us any study materials we needed and ferry us to and from tuition, twice a week no matter how busy or tired he was. When I started working, he would always drive me to the office. I often felt bad about this but my father would not have it any other way.

I gave birth to my daughter in September 2001 in the USA. It took three months before my husband was able to get a job transfer and we were able to return to Singapore for good. It was about 1 a.m. that January day when we reached my parents’ house. I saw as we pulled up the drive way that the porch and living room lights were on. The front door was open and my father was standing there, leaning on his cane. I rushed out of the car and took baby Maryam to him.

He smiled – I had never seen my father so happy. He just stared at his first and only grand-daughter and positively beamed. He could hardly speak… he later told me that he was so grateful that Allah had answered his prayers, for he had beseeched Him countless times to bring us back home. It was not easy returning to Singapore but seeing my father’s boundless joy, I knew it was worth it.

My father died less than a year later… to this day I thank Allah for giving us the means to return before it was too late. To this day, I thank Allah for giving me Maryam because I think she was my one and only real gift to my father.

Whenever my daughter and I visited him – which was often for I knew he loved her company – he would insist on driving us home. He would do this even when his body ached from the effects of the chemotherapy. He would drop us off at our block and we would wave at him as he pulled out of the parking lot before we made our way to our apartment.

This went on for several months until my father took a turn for the worse in October 2002. My father had gone back and forth to the hospital over the year and always returned home looking well on the road to recovery. Some of his friends used to jokingly remark, “Are you really sick? This is not the face of a sick man!” Mashaa Allah he always managed to look well… I guess he hid his pain well.

This time, Allah decreed that his admission to the hospital would be his last. He had had a third cycle of chemotherapy and a second bone marrow transplant but every effort the doctors made led to more complications. His kidneys began to fail and then his heart weakened so badly that he could hardly breathe without his body heaving painfully. His body could no longer take the beating of the illness and the drugs.

Word got round and friends and relatives rushed to see him. They had all just seen him a month earlier and were shocked and shaken to see how his condition had deteriorated. Many – grown men even – burst into tears upon seeing him. One said, “He was FINE last month… what have they done to him?”

One Friday in Ramadhan, the doctors told us that my father’s heart was just not doing its job. He was not getting enough oxygen and he needed to be put on a life support machine. They tried to be as kind as they could but we were really grasping at straws. Without the machine, he would surely die and with it, he had but a five percent chance of survival. We did what we thought he would have wanted – we went with the machine. Five percent was better than nothing.

We were all given a few minutes with him before they sedated him. Deep down inside, we must all have known that this was going to be the last time we would see him conscious. We asked the doctors to allow us to bring Maryam in to see him – children below 10 are not allowed into the Intensive Care Unit and she was barely over a year old.

We all stood around my father giving him words of comfort and encouragement, telling him not to be afraid… telling him all would be well. We brought Maryam in to see him and they held hands for the last time.

Then we had to go.

Saturday came and he showed no signs of improvement. After iftar at my mother’s house, my husband, brother and sister went back to the hospital. I had to go home to the flat to put Maryam to bed.

I had just finished giving her her bath when I received a call. My cousin told me that I had to be by my father… he was slipping. I dropped my daughter off at my mother’s house where the maid would watch her and, dry-eyed, made my way to the ICU.

I entered and saw a crowd of family and friends. When I went into my father’s room, I saw my sister, eyes red, sobbing uncontrollably as she tried to read from the Qur`an. My mother, calm and composed told me to read and to say shahadah in my father’s ear.

The minutes passed and I saw from the machine that my father’s heartbeat was decreasing, slowly but surely. I stepped back and looked at the people in the room – aunts, uncles, cousins and a few close friends… faces taut with grief.

Then I caught sight of a brother, Muhammad, whom my father cared about a great deal. It seemed as though he wanted to go to my father but could not as my aunts were close by. I gestured briefly at him and he nodded. I told my aunts to make way and then he took his place by my father.

He bent down and said the shahadah several times and then raised his voice, reciting Ayat ul Kursi. I remember thinking at that moment, “It is as if Abah will be going to sleep…” Brother Muhammad repeated the shahadah and then stepped back. It felt strangely calm.

I looked at the machine and I saw my father’s heartbeat falling… this time drastically… 48, 34, 28, 20…

I felt everyone stiffening. The air was thick with tension. I heard my sister catching her breath.

Then the line went flat. My father had passed away.

It took a while for it to sink in. It didn’t feel final, perhaps because we had matters to attend to. The men had to deal with the hospital and other arrangements and the women had to return home to prepare for the funeral the next morning.

Later that night, I had to go back to the flat as my daughter would only sleep in her crib. My uncle took the car and sent us home. Still dry-eyed, I took my seat. It was a quiet journey… what was there to say at a time like this?

Then we arrived at my block and said salaam. I got out of the car and stood by the car park, just as I used to when my father drove us home. As my uncle pulled away, he turned to us.

I waved at him and he waved back.

My heart went cold as the hurt came rushing in. It was then that it really hit me.

My father was never coming back.

Everyone is afflicted with tests at some point or another. Life goes on of course, but it is not quite the same when you have lost someone you love. There is the grief you do your best to keep locked away and there is the void that the memories don’t quite fill. Still, we all have to push along…

You may find that I talk an awful lot about my father… Well, truth be told, I think about him and miss him a great deal. He was a very good man, who loved his family and friends well, mashaa Allah.

Today, I remembered something that my mother told me about my father and it made me smile. So bear with me while I take you on another ‘ramble’. *S*

Islam places a great emphasis on good character. We are commanded to be honest in all our dealings and to be trustworthy as well. We are forbidden to consume wealth by means of falsehood and injustice and we must never ever get involved in haraam transactions like bribery, stealing and so on. “And eat up not one another’s property unjustly (in any illegal way, e.g. stealing, robbing, deceiving), nor give bribery to the rulers…” [al-Baqarah 2:188].

My father mashaa Allah was a man who believed in good old-fashioned solid values. He was a principled man who believed in doing his best in everything he pursued. He pushed us as children to do well in school and did everything he could to help us – he would ferry us for tuition twice a week, pay for any study materials we wanted and encourage us with pep talks every chance he got.

Once we started working, he often fussed at us about good work ethics. Whenever we were late for work, he could hardly contain his anxiety and disapproval. He saw work as a trust and often told us, “How would you feel if your employers were to cut your pay by $5 every month? You would not like it would you? Now tell me, is it fair that you are always late for work?”

My father started his career in the Ministry of Environment as a Public Health Inspector. He would conduct inspections in his sector and check that companies, especially hotels, restaurants and coffee shops maintained hygiene standards. Failure to maintain these standards would result in warnings, fines and suspension of business.

The food industry is a competitive one here, so many of these business owners feared the repercussions of a bad report. Some would try to bribe these officers at times – subtly or directly. They would offer cash, expensive wines and cognacs and even women!

My father, however, was scrupulous to a fault and always refused *S* Sometimes hotel managers would invite him to a meal before the inspections but he only accepted a glass of water. One particular restauranteur offered my father a pack of cigarettes but my father refused, saying he did not smoke. The man kept urging him and practically pressed the box into his hand. When my father kept insisting he did not smoke, the man leaned closer to him and hissed under his breath, “Its not cigarettes that are in the box!” Allah knows best how many bills he placed in the box – my father never found out.

My father always said that a moment’s indiscretion and greed could destroy a man and his family, so he never accepted nor gave any bribes. It was never worth it.

Now, Singapore has very strict laws – some would say draconian. The government takes a very harsh stance against corruption – any government officer found guilty would be sacked and lose his pension.

One day, the Corrupt Practices Investigation Bureau called my father in for an ‘interview’. He was naturally alarmed for he had no idea what the matter was. He knew that he had always been above board but feared that perhaps someone may have incriminated him out of spite.

He turned up at their headquarters and there, they told him that they had been watching him round the clock for close to 4 months. FOUR MONTHS, subHanAllah! They had tailed him EVERYWHERE HE WENT, TWENTY-FOUR HOURS A DAY!

When my father asked why, they said they had received a tip-off that my father had had a stake in a bakery that was located close to our house and that he was receiving bribes and favours from the owner. My father said that the family that owned the bakery were indeed close family friends, but stressed that that was all they were. He denied the charges vehemently. While he was outraged, he was at the same time, afraid. He was close to retirement and feared losing everything he had worked for. Still, he stayed calm and maintained his dignity.

It was huge relief for him when they told him not to worry – they said that they had no evidence anyway! In fact, the officers who tailed him often complained to their superiors – they said that it was exceedingly BORING tailing my father. All he ever did was go to work, do his prayers and take classes at the masjid and stay home with his family.

Their only concern was that there was one day when records showed that my father had left the office for a few hours. This was easily explained – my father clarified that a Muslim friend of his had passed away. Since Muslims bury their dead without delay, he had to leave immediately for the prayers and funeral.

Anyway, the CPIB found NO DIRT on him – my father was THAT trustworthy, mashaa Allah.

This story never fails to make me smile. As a child and a teen, I DID used to think that my father was boring. Now though, when I remember, I think, it’s not a bad thing at all…