Alter Ego and The Chai Experience:

 

Despite my attempts to rationalize why I should'nt spend $4.00 plus everyday on my chai fix, I find myself giving equal justifications for why I DESERVE to spend at least THAT much on myself on a daily basis.  But the beauty about being alive is to know that these sort of challenges are there to be dealt with, AND that whatever decisions are made for or against is purely by self choice.

I have always been a connoisseur of great, strong, flavorful chai; being somewhat of a snob towards weak and anemic tasting versions of the same...scoffing at and passing over cafes which I thought would not have what I was looking for.  So, as readers know from previous blogs, my regular stand-by is Peet's Tea & Coffee.

I pretty much know the locations of a Peet's in the Oakland, Berkeley and Alameda areas of the East Bay; and am somewhat familiar with several spots in San Francisco -- Besides its' great taste, what draws me to the steaming hot soy chai latte is knowing that it allows me for a very brief moment to have an alter ego.

Picture this scenario. (Early morning coffee crowd, queued in line for the next barista): "Good morning, everyone.  Welcome to Peet's, we will be with you shortly".

(My turn in line for ordering, a chipper voice loudly greets):  "Fatimah, good morning.  How are you today?"  I look behind me to see if there was a Fatimah-looking hijabed-wearing person...noticing nobody fitting that description, I take it that the warm greeting was directed towards me...smiling ever so serenely, I answered back, "Oh, I am just great!...will even be more so after I get my cup of soy chai..."  Thus, began my "other" identity -- the chai persona of Fatimah.

Whenever a barista asks for my name, I simply say "Fatimah".  Today, I was asked if that was with an "h" or "without the h at the end?"...Ha, I am Fatimah with an "H", I said to the young man behind the counter; smiling secretly to myself, I felt like a fugitive with an alias.

So then, last night I walked in to the same Peet's Coffee to purchase my stash for an early morning flight out of the Bay Area, and guess what?  This barista recognized me from previous visits, and before I can give her my name, she said, "Aiesha"!

The New Year and Intentions

I've always wondered why people make a big to-do about coming up with goals and resolutions the beginning of every calendar year.  Here it is 2013 -- day 23 of January, the month already half over.

Perhaps it's an innate human quality to strive to do better, to be more optimistic at the start of anything...signaling an opportunity for change. Many cultures other than the West, also pay tribute to the beginning of the year, the Chinese and Persian New Years are just two examples.  All celebrate the end of the old and the start of the new...

What are your goals for this year?

Mine's are very simple: to be present in what I am doing at the moment (translated: do away with multi-tasking), be conscious of my breathing (translated: slow down, I am not running a marathon),  enjoy the people around me more (translated: see the good in everyone even though they get on my nerves) AND the big one: SMILE MORE! (It takes more muscles to frown than smile).

Before I go to bed, I run my lists of things to be grateful for -- the opportunity to build community and be a part of one, to watch my children blossom into their own unique individuals, the promise of the continuance of life with each toddler or baby that is a new addition to my growing family.  I look at myself in the mirror and watch the grey creeping over my once dark mane, the corners of my eyes looking somewhat weathered from the many decades of challenges in my life...I can smile about those now.

It is much easier now that I no longer have to prove myself to the world -- my past life was centered around pleasing and serving everyone, catering only to myself as a last resort; losing myself in the process of diminished priority.  I think this is a pattern for most women with families and work.  Achieving balance is a very difficult task in a society where the pace is quite fast and achievement is marked by the number of things one is able to accomplish in as little time as possible.

And so we come back to intentions and resolutions.  I planted lavender in my front yard, a visual reminder for me to be mindful of things that are truly important...this lavender is the first thing I see when I open my front door, the last thing I see when I lock it.

"Travel light, live light, spread the light, BE the light!!!" -- Yogi tea bag

Garden Cat

Feral cat -- (Wikipedia definition) is a "descendent of a domesticated cat that has returned to the wild.  It is distinguished from a stray cat, which has been lost or abandoned, while FERAL CATS are born in the wild."

Semi-Feral -- (Wikipedia definition) is an animal that lives predominantly in a feral state.  This may be due to having been born into a domesticated state and then reverting to life in wild conditions, or it may be an animal that grows up in essentially wild conditions but have developed a comfort level with humans due to feeding, receiving medical care, or similar contacts."

It all happened rather insidiously.  Six months ago, maybe more --

We've always had stray cats roaming the neighborhood.  Often, I would find one underneath my white van; comfortably settled -- surveying the world with seemingly wise eyes.  But as quickly as they sensed my awareness of them, they would dart super-speed to some other territory, coming back only when they feel safe.

My youngest daughter has always wanted a pet -- dog, cat, bunny -- anything soft and cuddly but requiring lots of work in the feeding, cleaning and monitoring of yet ANOTHER responsibility.  And though my child swears up and down that she will ultimately be in charge of the above -- we all know that once the honeymoon phase is over, Mom will once again be the one to pick up the slack.

So it came to be that one day, I notice this grey tabby, skinny and looking roughed up, hanging out in the backyard.  I would see it gracefully scale the side fence, confidently striding on all four paws. I think more or less, claiming territory over the fence and the domain that lies within its walls.  It was actually with annoyance that I noticed this cat.  I had a suspicion that it used my vegetable bed as a over-sized litter box.  I was trying to figure out how to discourage her from desecrating my vegetable garden with her poop...Sigh!  If not snails or aphids -- now, this...well, I suppose better a cat than a raccoon invasion.

At first we were not sure if the backyard cat was a "he" or a "she" --we named HER Katniss, nonetheless...yes, the "Hunger Games" mania continues to spill over in real life...Katniss and the daughter with the obsession related to the book.

We started to set out a bowl of water and cat food, which she ravenously would consume.  Then, we'd watch her clean her paws; whenever we tried to get close, she would hiss...baring her fangs at us --but that was all.  We knew not to touch her, even if she allowed us that honor-- until, we were sure.  As the weeks rolled into months, Katniss no longer hissed, she came to expect the bowl of cat food and water at certain times of the day.  At one point, we were able to touch her with a forefinger and she would look, but not hiss...

I noticed one day, and so did everyone else in the house that she was carrying more weight, her stride slower and heavier.  She had also grown bigger -- maturing from the adolescent stage (I think) of our initial acquaintance.  "Is she pregnant, Mom?"  My daughter voicing the question that has been running through my mind.  "Don't know!  What do we do now if she is?...Oh, my God!"

The answer came in form of a local newspaper article on the capturing of wild cats by an organization called Island Cat Rescue Alameda.  Many editorials were written in the paper about the great work ICRA is doing in terms of temporarily catching wild cat, vaccinating and ensuring that the ferals will not breed more neglected cats. Once checked and vaccinated, they are released back into the neighborhood and in certain cases, they are put up for adoption.

I did not have a phone number but I sent them an e-mail.  A few weeks later, I received a phone call from one of their volunteer trappers.  She was very knowledgeable about the subject of feral and semi-feral cats.  She described to us what the normative behaviors of each type of animal was and what ICRA does to help people like me who have concerns and questions. Mines was, does she need her shots and if she is pregnant -- what would be the next step?  I did not see myself keeping a whole litter of kittens, although my child would definitely LOVE that!

M. came immediately, in fact, that same afternoon of our conversation.  The front door bell rang and this woman armed with a cage and two tins of cat food came in and went to work.  She showed me how to set the trap and where; how to correctly place the cat food for optimum enticement and we were done. With kitchen back door wide open, we waited and watched...

As luck would have it, Katniss emerged from her makeshift shelter and started to sniff at the outside of the cage where the chunks of cat food were strategically smeared.  M. with her expert and experienced eye told me right away that Katniss had already been tagged.  "Notice that one of her ears had been clipped slightly...and no, she is to pregnant -- she is just fat!!"

"Whaaat?"  Relieved and somewhat disappointed at the same time, (the  idea of being Cat Grandma was already growing on me and we had started to find homes for the future kittens among our families and friends)..."Yes," M added.  "Your cat must be double-dipping somewhere else."

Okay...so now we know that Garfield, the cartoon cat was based on a real fat cats like Katniss.

* * * * * * *
Island Cat Rescue Alameda (ICRA) -- a volunteer organization dedicated "to reducing the suffering of the mistreated, abandoned and feral (wild) cat populations and to educating and empowering the local,community to aid in their plight" (From: www.icaeastbay.org)

Info@icaeastbay.org
(510) 869-2584

Lesson in Culture

"It's your Uncle's 40th day of passing.  They are having something over at the other masjid, so we are going." "Whaaat? We would already have been at our masjid for Qur'an school", whined my two younger children -- a high schooler and a middle schooler.  Tough age for everyone all around...they, on their end and me, the recipient of all their rationalizations for being anti-social especially when it involves anything other than their peers.

"Yeah, well -- we need to go.  We need to do it for the 'family' and that is that.  You both had your fun day yesterday and this is what we will do today.  Besides they will serve some West African food...(that's it!  If nothing else, appeal to their stomachs).

The practice of commemorating the passing away of a loved one after 40 days is widely observed by many Muslim cultures.  In West Africa, there is the reading of the entire Qur'an by individuals who take one of the 30 sections comprising the whole book, and once all sections have been read, the supplication (du'a) is made by someone in the community or an Imam (religious cleric).

The affair was to have started at 1 pm, my kids and I got there at 3 -- and still there were only a handful of people there reading the Qur'an.  The men were mostly reading, sitting on the floor with their backs pressed against the wall.  The women were seated on foldable chairs, talking quietly among themselves; others, with  prayer beads between forefinger and thumb.  Sigh!... Again, I miscalculated.  This things never really start on time...the schedule governed by either "African time" or "Muslim time"...my kids always respectful and well-mannered, sat down and waited...(Ha, for sure I will hear about it later!  My son had purposely not eaten lunch, and from across the room I saw him give me THAT look!)

Many people came up to me to greet me and show respect.  After asking how everyone in the family was, they commented on how the kids have grown so much from when they remembered...these last two children, forever engraved in memories as a toddler or baby.  Yes, time does goes by fast!  I, in turn, ask about their families...

Finally the rest of the bereaved party arrived and we prayed the sunset prayers.  There was a flurry of activity after that -- mats to be used as table cloths were unfolded, serving utensils,  paper plates, forks, spoons and cold drinks readied in tubs of ice; the aroma of spiced rice mixed with meat filled the room.  Time to eat....

There were typical West African foods served that day, starting with a porridge-like dish which is mildly sweet with yogurt.  What we we ate yesterday had a hint of peanut butter.  Then the huge trays of "chebbi" rice with either chicken, fish or lamb and abundant garnishes  of cabbage,  yams, peppers and other vegetables.  There were roasted chicken and other meat dishes as well.  One dish whose name I couldn't pronounce was bathed in textured, deep-cream colored sauce with greens and a combination of fish and meat.  Fresh fruits and hot and cold drinks are also plentiful.  I had several cups of Cafe' Touba, straight from Senegal -- the rich dark liquid, heavily sweetened with sugar was quite strong...

My son a towering 14 year old sat and ate with the men, mostly from Senegal and Gambia.  My daughter and I, were with the women; she running after her little nephew and I enjoying the visit with some of the "sisters" I haven't seen in a while.  I sat next to the Imam's wife as she insisted I sit next to her; a kindly-looking woman who held and pressed my hand and asked about my husband.  She is Moroccan, her fair skin made her stand out in the crowd of all shades of brown.  It was a welcome break for me to sit amidst this group and be a guest -- for a change.   Times like this, getting together communally around food for whatever commemoration or celebration is what life is all about.

We have yet to take the children to West Africa so they may know that side of the family and culture; occasions like this is as close as we can get to replicating a part of their culture and giving them -- a taste of Africa and what it means to be African.

Token of Time

(I write this as I sit plopped in front of my Dad's grave...the late morning sun bathing me with it's warm embrace and the gentle whisper of the breeze through my ears.  The faint smell of lavender and thyme adding to the sweetness; I love mornings like this!)

  

For the past several weeks when I go to Mom's I would pull out the old family albums and share them with my children.  Since my Dad's passing, my Mom's life has been centered around these memories -- housed in volumes of tattering albums, elicited through fading black and white photos and colored snapshots of years gone by...Mom would leave several of these albums scattered throughout the many rooms of the house, keeping alive distant past and claiming it for the present.  This is the world that she chooses to live in now...

Funny how a bunch of photographs freezes time,  jogging memories of family gatherings...the youthfulness in everyone a stark reminder that the years do take their toll.  Last time we were all together, I looked around the table at my siblings, all of us in varying stages of aging... grey hairs and body parts succumbing to persistent gravitational pulling -- I would compare photos of my parent's in their 50's and look at some taken of me as I am -- now, also in my 50's; my own children in their early teens to mid 20's...

I listen quietly to my older kids, the one that is now working for a living, the other recently graduated from college or another who has just begun it -- so full of life's promise and excitement, ready to conquer the world, travel to distant lands.and leave their mark. I would be reminded of how I was thirty years back with the same bravado and confidence...then I smile secretly to myself.  I look at my Mom and see her fragility as she nears her 80th year -- everyone says I look like her.  So then, I always think to myself, yes -- in a few more years, I would be her...

"If I could save time in a bottle, the first thing that I'd like to do

Is to save every day 'til eternity passes away..."

(Jim Croce)



English Class

Never say "Never!"  --  I have always been short of patience and swore that I would NEVER be a teacher to anyone or anything.  This, I use to say out loud to my younger siblings as I helped them with their homework when they were in elementary school.  Because I grew up in a school system where neatness, legibility of writing and exact, complete work is an ABSOLUTE must...it took me awhile to understand abbreviated answers, dangling sentences and homework papers riddled with erasure marks.

"Why," I would say to my siblings then, and now to my children as well --"our teachers would whack our hands with a ruler" were we to do the above...much less, forget to do an assignment -- that was totally unheard of!!! So what happened to me?

I have been an educator for almost two decades...poetic justice in action, perhaps.  Despite my degree in English, among other things -- I remembered that my goal was to be a nomadic traveler, roaming the world in search of people and stories.  Romantic idealism of what a writer should be doing ... it seemed like a doable plan except for one thing...I started a family and then began working as a community organizer, so that was that!

Building a community is not an over night thing -- neither is it something that one can readily walk away from. So here I am, having played many roles and continuing to wear many hats...

I teach an English class for non-English speakers in our community.  As design would have it, my class is ALL women, ranging from 16 to 60 something.  As diverse in age, my students are just as diverse in culture: from the Middle East, Indo-Pakistan to the continent of  Africa, I have come to appreciate what my students have to teach me -- while I , in turn teach them to read, write and speak in a language that is so foreign to their ears, lips and hands.  Some of our lessons verge on absolute comedy -- laughter being the medium of connection that binds all of us as comrades and family.

  Theories are one thing, practice is another.  I can honestly appreciate the tools I learned from the TEFL (Teaching English as a Foreign Language) certification program I took; implementation is, however another can of worms...I love the freedom to be creative and playful with the exercises I use to have my students "practice speaking English."

I am amazed at the level of commitment, hard-work and determination that ALL the women have in learning a new language.  A couple of the older students were illiterate -- not having gone to school in their countries of origin; speaking their language but not being able to read and write...so here they are: Beginning Beginning English class.  Learning the alphabet and learning the English words for say: hat, chicken, sundry body parts, days of the week, months and counting to 100.  They are learning how to form letters and hold a pencil. Our second year finds us spelling letter by letter learned vocabulary words.

Those that are at a higher functioning level are becoming experts at conjugating irregular verbs and writing descriptively up to a paragraph...engaging each other in animated conversation complete  with hand gestures and facial expressions on subjects such as:  describe how you make "chapati" or what is your recipe for "chicken biryani"?

Then there are those special moments when we actually get to demonstrate and act out vocabulary words -- say for example, the verb "sing" -- I had each student choose any song from their country.  With each one's turn,  faces glowed with  remembrance  -- each song reflecting memories of their homes or their childhood.  For a brief moment, we are carried along the landscapes of Syria, the mountains of Afghanistan and Yemen, the fertile forests of Bissau and even the flowing rivers of Bangladesh...

I marvel at the richness of each person's stories and unique personalities.  For two hours -- twice a week, we become immersed in a discovery of newly found words -- exciting, tedious and frustrating at times, but just as beautiful in creating and building bridges to understanding -- no matter where we are from.

Disaster Preparedness

In light of the recent destruction to many communities in the East Coast, many conversations have been tossed around as to how prepared we ALL are in terms of natural calamities, and perhaps the not-so-natural calamities, that could potentially befall ANY of us at any given time.  Imagine 7 days of no electricity, wet everywhere and falling temperatures, with a looming threat of yet another storm on the horizon...long waiting lines for food and gasoline.  Many describing their homes as ravaged as in a war torn country, access to necessities as almost non-existent, save for neighbors and locals getting together to help one another.

So what about us?  Are we ready?  In this city, we are fortunate to have community volunteers being trained by the Fire Department under the CERT (Community Emergency Response Teams) Program.  I am a certified CERT volunteer and am encouraging others to sign up.

Google:  CERT: Community Emergency Response Teams (www.citizencorps.gov/cert/) or
                CERT - The City of Alameda (www.cityof alamedaca.gov/City-Hall/CERT)

Despite having gone through CERT training and several Red Cross workshops on "Disaster Preparedness", I would be the first to admit that I am far from being prepared.  Short of telling my family that we are to meet at a designated spot in case of a disaster and giving each of them a relative's out-of-state phone number, I guess I can honestly say, I have a jug of water, random flashlights around the house with batteries stored in tin cans (which haven't been tested for several years), and last I looked -- maybe two cans of food...pitiful, hey?

I grew up in the Philippines were typhoons and flooding were almost a part of life -- not to mention earthquakes.  So in every sense of the word, I am a veteran -- but does one really get used to any kind of devastation?

Here in California, I have experienced the Loma Prieta earthquake, I believe in 1989. I was living and working as a nurse in Santa Cruz -- the epicenter of the quake. I remember that afternoon as clearly as if it was yesterday.  Working on the second floor of a pediatric clinic, I was getting ready to put a patient in a room to be seen by the doctor when all of a sudden, I heard the rumbling noise BEFORE I felt the shaking.  It was as if the floor had tilted and I was standing lopsided.  My oldest was about two years old and my thoughts were only of him and whether or not he was in a safe place. Although the earthquake only lasted a fraction of a moment -- it felt like time stretched in slow motion, until it became quiet again -- both the noise and the shaking.  In it's wake, was a roomful of files and stuff on the floor and a great number of people groaning in shock.  I quickly grabbed my purse and hurriedly told the doctor I was working with that I had to go home.  Didn't even asked if that was fine with him -- I didn't care!

I headed home to find dishes, stereo, books all in piles on the floor.  My toilet was sitting askew and my stove moved about half a foot away from the wall.  My son was with his father and they were fine.  Didn't really know what to do at that point, but to clear the mess and see what was what.  No electricity, no running water, no food in the house, no flashlight -- I remember having matches -- that's it!!!  My terrified two year old and I went to the only store that was opened and stood in line for three hours to get basic necessity of water, candles, batteries, flashlight and canned food.  We slept in the car that night, anticipating the aftershock that could be much stronger than the quake; I hugged my son against me -- did not really sleep much.

The next day, we went downtown Santa Cruz and saw many of the retail businesses owned by locals, some of whom were our friends, just completely demolished...as if a huge demolition ball went through each of the buildings and leveled them down to the ground.  So this is how a place would look like if it was bombed, I remembered thinking...Wow!!! Disbelief and definitely a humbling experience.  That was over twenty years ago...and now I am in the Bay Area.  The same thing can happen again.  Time to wake up!!!