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Archive for March 2006

Jordanian culture: Jaha

In Jordan on March 31, 2006 at 6:41 pm

One of the cornerstones of Jordanian society and culture, a “Jaha” ( J as in Judge), is broadly a word that means “a congress of important men”. The word itself developed significant connotations within the social norms of Jordan, now it has several important functions in weddings, times of trouble between two families or tribes, and more generally, social gatherings.

In this entry I will only talk about the role of a Jaha in weddings. Seeing as the form of our Jordanian society is essentially and deeply tribal, Jaha holds a certain number, preferably large, of men that enjoy a particular importance in their tribes. Those include the Sheikh, or head, of the tribe, and mostly old men of power.

Before a wedding takes place, there are fixed steps that need to be followed to ensure things go in harmony with traditions and customs. The women of the groom’s and the bride’s families arrange the details of the engagement, and then the Jaha plays its role in making the off-scene arrangements official and public.

It is the duty of the bride’s family to receive the Jaha of the groom’s family or tribe. The Jaha is headed by the most influential man available in the tribe or at that time, and it proceeds to the location of the bride’s family. Once the men are seated, it is customary of the bride’s family to offer them, as part of the rites of hospitality, Arabic coffee served in little traditional cups. What happens next is most interesting: the leaders of the Jaha takes his cup but puts it down without drinking it, to signal that something is the matter.

Then the leader speaks up and address the bride’s family, who would be presented by similar men of importance of the bride’s relatives, and tells them that the Jaha will not accept their hospitality unless their demand is met. This is of course a cliché, it is a traditional play staged with utmost seriousness and handled very carefully. On the other side, the head of the bride’s family asks what the Jaha’s demand is, and the leader of the Jaha announces that they have come to ask for the hand of a certain girl, and he names her, for a certain man.

The symbol of the bride’s tribe naturally consents and asks the Jaha to proceed to drinking their coffee, to mark mutual agreement. After this beautiful action and reaction, the modern Jaha is offered Arabic sweets, mainly Knafeh, and chocolates and other delights.

I should also add that, the larger the tribe of the groom, the larger the Jaha would normally be. The number of men contained in the Jaha is crucial, if it’s handsome this means the groom’s tribe is more powerful. The Jaha is usually treated to a wholesome lunch before heading to the bride’s tribe’s premises, and this lunch features the traditional Jordanian dish “Mansaf”. I will post a picture of Mansaf in tomorrow’s entry, hopefully.

It is fascinating to see the integration of old customs in today’s modern life in Jordan. I have never heard of a wedding that was settled without a Jaha, despite the obvious façade-like duty it has. It still connects the old with the new, and recalls to minds the traditions and culture of this great country.

Green for frog

In Life on March 30, 2006 at 8:49 am

It’s spring time, nice colors should show not only from earth but from my closet and yours. I am wearing green and blue today; a loud tone of green and a subtle shade of blue. This is a conversation that took place at the office minutes ago:

Tololy (walks into one of the offices to get something done): Good morning! Buongiorno!
Expert A: Buongiorno! Ahhh green! It’s spring time!
Tololy: Yeah!
Expert A: Now all the nice colors will come out.
Tololy: I actually didn’t know what to wear today.
Expert B: It’s nice, I like it.
Tololy: Thank you.
Expert A: Like a frog.
Tololy: Ha Ha. Not funny.

If green is for frog, I should be crowned queen of some colony today. Next thing you know, yellow is for jealousy, pink is for girls only, and orange is limited to summer.

Reading Sophocles’ Oedipus

In Literature, Mythology on March 29, 2006 at 8:00 am

When Oedipus The King was first introduced to me in Drama class, I was so impressed with this then-new form of reading. I hadn’t enjoyed reading many Greek plays before, and I certainly had not read anything by Sophocles, or about Oedipus.

I remember how much I enjoyed the eloquence in the texts, the ebb and flow of emotions, the statements that seem to speak of grand understanding of life; typical of Greek plays, and the catharsis that not only I, but all of my fellow students felt during our study of the play.

From that day onward, I’d hunt for ancient Greek plays composed by Sophocles or Aeschylus. And until this day I hunt for an original version, I hate photocopies, of Aristotle’s Poetics, still my searches end in vain.

Now on to talking about Oedipus. I must say I am glad that I enjoyed the chance of reading Oedipus The King twice, with a considerable gap of time between the two readings. The effect the tale has on me has shrunk a bit, mainly because I am now more accustomed to the beautiful word-play techniques that the Greeks employed so heavily in their works. The feeling of shocked fascination when Jocasta denounces the gods has technically vanished, the overwhelming sympathy with Oedipus at his moment of recognition is a little less, and the mental debates whether or not what happened was anyone’s fault, or the gods’, are not as frequent and definitely not as stormy.

I am writing this entry with the sole aim of motivating you enough to read the play. You cannot know what you are lacking unless you identify it. This play is not long, have no fears, but it is “full” enough that you would appreciate it for life. In a sincere reflection, what could be more important that the subject of struggle between man’s alleged free will and predestination, or the will of a mighty power ruling over him?

Do expect a detailed entry about Oedipus, probably handling all three of Sophocles’ plays about the Theban king; Antigone, Oedipus The King, and Oedipus at Colonus. I would hate to ruin your appetite for reading the splendid group of three, not a trilogy -mind you, so kindly inform me if by dedicating an entry to this topic I would be stooping to that folly.

Sentiment of the day

In Life on March 28, 2006 at 8:06 am

Generally apathetic.

I have come to discover, through determined and close monitoring, that apathy leads nowhere. I have also learnt that, regardless of circumstances, you cannot erase any actions or the consequences of these actions from your life. You may ignore them as you will, and they may trick you into believing that they are gone, just for a set length of time, but they will be there all the same, all the time.

Love Potion

In Love on March 27, 2006 at 12:08 am

A horrendous job I’d do at writing relationship how-to’s, but recently someone asked me a question related to wether or not I will be tackling any such issues in the future. I object to very little, mostly nothing really, if it meets my fancy.

And, as a reward for your patience with my complex syntax and interests, I shall unveil to you the recipe of Love Potion no.9. Let it be known and public that I will not, under any circumstances, be held responsible for any harmful consequences that may occur once this potion is prepared and/or tried. Now that I have stripped myself of all legal and moral responsibility, enjoy, and love one another.

In a small pot, simmer a half cup of jojoba oil and, moving your spoon clockwise, stir in 9 drops each of the following essential oils: ambergris, cinnamon, frankincense, jasmine, lavender, musk, orange blossom, rose, violet, and ylang ylang. Let cool and store in a dark glass container. Dab yourself with it as you would your favorite perfume before a night out (or a night in) to drive your loved one wild with desire.

Weird is good

In Bits & pieces on March 26, 2006 at 8:18 am

Hallelujah my dear ones. This is so accurate, via BlogThings. I am publishing this because A- I will not submit to Hareega’s (subliminal?) threat, and B- I am not in the mood for work and my word flow is down with a bad case of the evil eye. Not really, let the haters dream on.

You Are 50% Weird

Normal enough to know that you’re weird…
But too damn weird to do anything about it!

Modern Primitives

In Body Art on March 25, 2006 at 9:10 am

A movement I have come to learn about through my close observation of Fakir Mustafar’s works, ModPrims (Modern Primitives) are a group of people, race and belief aside, who believe in the vitality of mixing state-of-the-art technology and tribal body modification methods.

The ModPrims like Fakir Mustafar modify their bodies in numerous ways by piercing, tattooing, suspending, hooking, chaining, binding, or reforming their structure to revive old ritualistic behaviors found and practiced in all parts of the world in the past and the present. They embrace this day’s cutting-edge technologies that modify the human body, think plastic surgery, implants, or genetic manipulation, by employing the rules of modern science and medicine in their exercises

They argue that the people of this age can no longer identify with genuine pleasure, or pain for that matter, hence their manipulation of their bodies in ways that generate exactly those two elements on the short and long runs: pain and pleasure. This is the pursuit of ModPrims: sensation.

And since the limitations of the body cannot be obeyed, and mental faculties exceed the frame of the flesh, as well as their own, these manipulations serve as a means to defy such limitations and to break their hold on humans.

There is much more to be said about this movement, but I leave you at this. Should you be interested in learning a bit more about the practices or the foundations of ModPrims, read this article.

Boys on the way to Salt

In Jordan, Picturesque on March 24, 2006 at 9:38 pm

On my way to Salt city this morning, I managed to spare some minutes to capture pictures of two little boys who were present. I enjoyed talking to my models, and they were very cooperative and allowed me to have a mini photo-shoot of my own production.

I am sure it is clear that I have become picture-oriented lately in my posts, perhaps to an excess, but this is, like most things, a non-lasting phase. Then again, perhaps it is not so. Who am I predict?



Tololy takes Ohio II

In Bits & pieces on March 23, 2006 at 10:52 am

Featuring the second, and final, set of photos taken in Ohio’s Cedar Point last summer. First set is here.

To share a little of what happened in Cedar Point, I will tell you the following story. I arrived at the park quite zealous about the prospects of trying all the roller coasters and seeing as this place is coined “The Roller Coaster Capital of the World”, I sincerely thought I was up for it.

I first had to stand in line under the scorching sun for about 30 minutes to get the tickets for the very first feature in that place, called a Demon Drop. In retrospect, I realize what a gigantic mistake that was. I thought I could never scream, but I screamed so loud and with such heart that I did not hear myself. Nonetheless, it was a decent adrenaline rush and afterwards, needless to say, I played it safe, and the person previously seated next to me as we were dropped preferred to wander alone with bleeding ears.

Meet Snoopy.

And we pose for a picture. The poor performers in the customes can only take the heat for about 10 minutes, they dance and parade around, have their pictures taken during this time, then they take a 30-minute break. We were lucky to have caught them in the act.

A general overview of the park.

Those are the crazy people who like to scream.

And this is the nice ferris wheel, I am waving from one of the cabins. Look closely.

Who says you you have to play it rough to have a good time? Jude and Leen obviously do not think you have to.

Agamemnon on women

In Literature, Mythology on March 22, 2006 at 11:53 am

This is an excerpt from The Odyssey’s Book of the Dead or Book 11. To make matters simple I will provide you with some information on what is actually taking place. Odysseus, the much-debated epic hero, journeys to Hades’ Kingdom of Decay and there he meets the murdered king Agamemnon’s spirit. Agamemnon’s spirit tells him of how Clytaemnestra, the former king’s wife, assassinated him upon his homecoming from Troy.

I do not see the need to delve into prolonged particulars. But I think it is essential to draw your attention to the possible cause of Clytaemnestra’s blood thirst. Agamemnon had brought with them from Troy a dame called Cassandra, daughter of king Priam of Troy, as a prize of war. This clearly posed a threat in his wife’s eyes and played well on her jealousy and did incur tremendous disapproval from the part of feminists in defense of her reactions. She first was subject to the seduction of a man named Aegisthus and later plotted with him the annihilation of her husband.

The genesis of the story now revealed, I invite you to leaf through what Agamemnon tells Odysseus upon meeting him in Hades’ Halls. It strikes me as an unjustified audacity, especially from a dead person. But let me not distort your opinions beforehand, explore the passage as you will.

“ I raised my hands, but then beat them on the ground, dying, thrust
through by a sword. The bitch turned her face aside, and could not even bring
herself, though I was on my way to Hades, to shut my eyes with her hands or to
close my mouth. There is nothing more degraded or shameful than a woman who can
contemplate and carry out deeds like the hideous crime of murdering the husband
of her youth. I had certainly expected a joyful welcome from my children and my
servants when I reached my home. But now, in the depth of her villainy, she has
branded with infamy not herself alone but the whole of her sex, even the
virtuous ones, for all times to come.”

Hospitals and Clinics

In Life, Personal on March 21, 2006 at 1:45 pm

There’s this violent desire within me to talk of things personal today, but I am prudent enough, for the moment, not to fall to that. I do not entirely feel good about this resistance, but then again, I am not supposed to.

Perhaps one of the most used currencies in our everyday lives is health. It is often underestimated, while we enjoy it, and craved once we lose it. I find it appealing to muse over the usage of my own words : “while we enjoy it”. If we enjoy it, then we ought to feel it, appreciate it, live it. But we don’t. Not the grand majority.

I remember volunteering to spend quality time with children plagued with cancer. It was surreal to listen to them and to watch them play; their skins yellow-green and their little heads naked of hair. And then, just as we were playing, the nurse would come to take one child away for a “session”.

When I first arrived to the centre, there were people clustered around the main portal. Men and women. Then a black van came and the men hugged the now-crying women. I remember how sad I felt for them although I did not really know them or their misery. But that’s the miracle of being human, our sorrows and joys are common and don’t need much elaboration.

Some three hours later I was walking through the corridors of the centre, then passing through the same portal and by the ghosts of those men and women. All the people in the outside world looked so different in such a sudden manner. I stared at their faces and I stared at their hair. Having someone walk in front of me so slowly did not bother me anymore, being pushed out of the way by someone in a hurry seemed so trivial. Even my lectures and my whole personal universe were nothing. Nothing at all.

There are other worlds within our world, which seems so limited and yet is endless. Hospitals and clinics are one, they remind you that there are people who battle suffering while you complain about, what, trifles.

Happy mother’s day, mama.

Bite heaven

In Picturesque on March 20, 2006 at 11:18 am











I realize that this might be the very first entry dedicated to food in the Box, and it is not at all, not in any way, particular to Arabic food or to a specific culture. The pictures were taken during a party last week, and the food was heavenly.


“Food is our common ground, a universal experience. “

-James Beard

Quoting Cesar Chavez on cruelty

In Quoting on March 19, 2006 at 3:18 pm

Kindness and compassion toward all living things is a mark of a civilized society. Conversely, cruelty, whether it is directed against human beings or against animals, is not the exclusive province of any one culture or community of people. Racism, economic deprival, dog fighting and cock fighting, bull fighting and rodeos are cut from the same fabric: violence. Only when we have become nonviolent toward all life will we have learned to live well ourselves.

- Cesar Chavez

A tale unfinished

In Opinion on March 18, 2006 at 9:48 am

As I was checking my inbox this morning, I found a comment on a November post I had published under the title “A tale rarely told: The purest Aryans”. The entry handles the racism that some Circassians have, and tries to shed some light on the reasons behind it. Many people did not like that entry, and in that choice of taste they are free, and one of them was the person who sent me this morning’s comment. The comment is published but for some odd reason it does not show up on the permanent page of the entry, it only makes itself available once one clicks on the “Post a comment” icon.

For that reason, and because this comment was such a nice read, I am posting it here.

Yet another Circassian said…

First of all, i understand the appeal of my circassian culture. I also understand what it’s like to stand out as different in a crowd. I’m not going to be humble, circassians do have distinctively attractive features, and besides that we have a well-defined cultural identity to go with it.

I have seen a lot of people coming from homes where one parent is circassian and the other parent not; it often aint pretty. Some of these people I consider brothers and sisters to me, it pains me to to see such confusion. But I’ve also witnessed success stories that were able to avoid this: Upbrininging! Your child is either this or that (and be realistic).

As a minority/majority, an ethnic group or religious group -whatever- we are entitled to preserving what ever culture we have left. it is our natural right! I’ve seen racism among jordanians and palestinians and couldn’t believe it myself. So take it easy, this happens to the best of families.

Have the courage to accept who you are, live, and let live. Has it crossed your mind that this feeling of others being racist is just a reflection of your own thoughts? I think not. It’s much easier to blame others – it’s even easier when you are partially one of them.

Jordan is as much my country as any other Jordanian, but it is disappointing to still see people like you (especially with your clamed adiga lieange) accuse us of being racist.

This ‘racism’ has been kind to us and we will not change, so everyone better deal with it. If I were you I wouldnt worry about being a victim. You certainly can phrase your opinions well. But how about weighing your words first.

That was wholesome, no? Following is my reply:

” Welcome to Tololy’s Box, Yet another Circassian. Your comment was a joy to read, somewhat challenging and edgy, precisely what I was looking for.

Circassians, and all other nations, have distinctive features. The only distinctive feature that would separate some people from others and make them feel on a higher pedestal would be to have all children born with something extra, like an arm or a leg, if you wish.

Reading the second passage of your comment made me think you very wise; indeed there are always failures and success stories in any family, be it multicultural or not. I do beg to differ with you, however, on the point stating that parents should rear their children as being only one side of the coin. That is a waste of culture, let alone identity (for the children). I do not expect you to be nodding your head in my agreement.

As I positively have read my post, I do not see any point where I said Circassians have no right or business preserving their culture. I often stress that this culture is beautiful and that I personally would hate to see it lost (you may wish to go over my post again). And, indeed, there are still major hints of racism in the whole world, but does that justify the act? I think not.

I especially enjoyed reading “Have the courage to accept who you are, live, and let live”. I am not sure why you said that but I thank you for the free advice. I think it is valid for most people, even those who are so convinced they are better than everyone else, wouldn’t you say?

Has it crossed my mind that this feeling of others being racist is just a reflection of my own thoughts? It has. But then the words were no games, and they were no riddles either. The actions and pointing and the bullying were not false, and they mentioned me by name. Oh, and I even have witnesses should you care to carry this further. Now, there remains little doubt in my mind that these actions were targeting me, your mind may think what it pleases. Perhaps you would care to question many other people who had to put up with such folly from some Circassians, and that I tell you should be good exercise. Trust that this debate pleases me very little, it is a direct stab at a heritage I most adore, and at a people I am related to, with or without your consent. And the most trying bit about it is that, while I was trying to be objective and to pose a real problem, some actually believe I am attacking my own blood. That is, needless to say, a scandalous assumption and I do not accept it.

Positively, Jordan is the home of the Circassians who live here. They are a devoted and a loyal people to their second home, and this a quality one admires. I cannot tell how you deduced that I accuse all Adigas of being racist, again I am obliged to advise you to read my post thoroughly and to spare your fingers the extra baseless words.

Funny how your last passage struck me as absolutely contrastive with everything you, so eloquently, said in the previous ones. Would you mind explaining this:
” This ‘racism’ has been kind to us and we will not change, so everyone better deal with it”?.

Talk about weighing words first.”

Arabic Entry: ??????

In عربي on March 17, 2006 at 1:25 pm
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??? : ?? ???? ??? ?????? ??????
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??? : ???? ????? ??? ??????

A day in Damascus III

In Bits & pieces on March 16, 2006 at 10:28 am

The third and final set of pictures of Damascus. I am exalted at the near taste of freedom from uploading pictures and trying my patience but good things do come to those who wait, some times. To pick up from where we halted yesterday, the following group of shots were taken in Abu El Ezz restaurant. The first one shows two young men making food, and you can actually see the door from which you enter the vast multi-storey premises to the left of the food-makers.


Two views inside the restaurant, and one from the window right by where I was seated.

Again with the streets of Damascus, the first picture shows a man who makes fixing shoes his profession, and the other features two boys cleaning shoes, I presume, and one of them is having a sandwich while he’s at it.


I loved the facade of this building, I am not sure why. It seemed very real and very beautiful. Next to it is an old door in a very narrow street, you can see the shadow of the bus and a man walking past the door; that’s additional relish for you.



People going about their daily business, how real they seem as opposed to the worn-out images we see in the news.

Finalmente, “Al Qaryeh” restaurant where I had my lunch. The place was very nice and the weather absolutely pleasant – the food was not that good though. It was cold and I did not really enjoy it that well because I was already semi-full. Nonetheless, it was a good stop.

This concludes “A day in Damascus” series, I would’ve preferred to post all the pictures in one entry but that was an impossibility given the current state of the machines I operate. At all costs, I hope those pictures would give a “human” face to the people in Syria, and I certainly hope you enjoyed them.

A day in Damascus II

In Bits & pieces on March 15, 2006 at 9:35 pm

Bringing you the second set of pictures shot during the past weekend in Damascus -Syria. I finally managed to gather some extra energy to post this, and to upload the pictures you are about to see. To complain about my PC and internet connection is really such a redundant fit, therefore I won’t do it.

This coming set of three was shot at “El Ezz” restaurant, also known as “Abu El Ezz”. This is probably my favorite location in the whole city of Damascus, alongside another restaurant. The food is amazing, the atmosphere magical, and the place just reeks of culture and art. I have always been accustomed to visiting it at night, they offer splendid entertainment; a live band playing Arabic tunes on real Arabic musical instruments, a singer who always seems to be high, people who are willing to volunteer for enchanting the public with their dancing, and loads upon loads of tourists, and all this is very affordable.



Now for some pictures from Souk Al Hamedeyye.

A hand-less bride model, is that very twisted or am I imagining things? Shirts and tops for very little money, and hand-made fridge magnets.

The following picture was also taken in Souk Al Hamedeyye. The interesting bit about it is that it is part of a series of similar signs, available in multiple languages and put up high above the heads of the crowds in the tunnel that is the Souk. It calls upon the Lebanese not to listen to a said Waleed Jinblat, and not to antagonize Syria. Politics, I would rather not have my fix while shopping.


I seem to enjoy shooting heaps of slippers, I find them so intriguing and so mass-production-isque. Some of them are really cheap stuff though.

Finally, a street in the Syrian capital.

More pictures are coming, once I manage to trick the machine into performing for me. Patience is virtue.

A day in Damascus I

In Bits & pieces on March 13, 2006 at 8:59 am

Since a promise remains dead until you enact it, I am sharing some of the pictures I took during my very brief visit to Syria this past Saturday, March 11th. I would be glad if they find your liking.

The first two pictures are what could be seen through the window next to my seat in the bus. For those who don’t know this, it usually takes up to four or five hours to get to Damascus from Amman. In some occasions the trip takes a bit longer due to border paper work and such, Jordanians do not need a visa to visit Syria, which is why so many of them go there very often. In this trip I only went to Damascus, the city itself. The pictures are in no particular order.

This is the door of a very famous and old ice cream shop in the traditional Souk Al-Hamedeyye (Souk means market). This place is well-deserving of its reputation, I simply love the Arabic ice cream they make at “Bikdash”. This is a picture of my share, yum yum!

Then a view of an angel of this long tunnel-like Souk, it is a living gala, always bustling with life. And a gold shop’s window, very similar to what we have in Jordan.

The entrance of the Souk and another look into its depths.

I think this building in the next image is a court of some sort, I am not sure though. My personal favorite picture is the ultimate one, a simple shop selling all things China-made captured from above, near Baramkeh station.

The Box is back

In Bits & pieces on March 13, 2006 at 12:51 am

Apology is due for the readership that has been quite patient with me after the improper interruption in the life cycle of this box. I found it difficult to write something “appropriate” and cohesive with my last post, and therefore I decided to go to Syria for one day. The two things are not really logically connected but the brief visit was a joy.

And this place is up and running again: expect pictures and an account of events, soon.

March 10th, 2006

In Bits & pieces on March 10, 2006 at 8:46 am

Dear Amto,

It’s been three long years since I last saw you or spoke to you. This time has been the hardest because you were not here; I know you know that very well but I know it wasn’t your choice to leave this world. It was too sudden, don’t you think?

Because this is a special day, I decided to write you a letter. You are probably not expecting this, maybe you want me to visit your grave on this anniversary but that is too hard, it hurts too bad Amto, so please accept this letter and give me some time to get accustomed to the idea of your humble abode.

Do you remember our last phone call? I have to tell you I was not going to answer. I knew you dialed my number by mistake, as you used to, but maybe it was divine providence that wanted us to have a final chat that morning, and I answered. Sometimes I think of the way I would have felt if I hadn’t answered your call, and later on in the day knew you ceased to be in this physical world. That would’ve been so horrible, I would’ve never forgiven myself for it.

And then that night I was up and I got another call telling me you died.

Maybe I sound really shallow when I say this but I still expect to see you here. That night I didn’t cry, I helped mom reach dad because he was away. It was such a grave shock that I was numb and I was going about talking and doing things just like I used to, it hadn’t sunk in yet.

Someone has your fridge magnets now, but it’s someone you love so she’s taking care of them. I remember how much fun I would have teasing you by playing with them, and we all remember how much you hated it when someone touched your fridge magnets. Now they’re safe, I don’t play with them anymore.

I never really intended for this letter to be so sad but I guess that’s not something I can control. I have another bit of news for you, but I know you won’t like it. I don’t go to your home anymore. Ever since you passed away all things in that city, all the streets we used to walk, the shops we used to visit, the neighbors, and your house; they’re all too gray for me. Your house is empty now, all the tons of souvenirs you had are gone, the furniture is not there anymore, and the plants are dead. They died Amto; I think they missed you too much.

This may sound too hallmark-like to you but I remember you in everything I do. I sometimes even talk like you, and repeat your trademark words; they make me laugh. The days when I would wake up at 2 AM and find myself in tears don’t happen that often anymore, I stopped asking my family to “bring you back”, but sometimes I have the oddest most vivid dreams about you. I dream you were away in another country, and it is so real Amto I can’t tell you how real it is, and you come back and live like you used to. I never dream and know it, but the dreams involving you I never forget. It’s funny and a little scary to think I really tried calling you after you died, I really did. I guess I really wasn’t buying it; maybe this whole thing is a farce anyway, right?

But leave all those things aside. How are you? I know you are in a better place because I know you deserved heaven right here on earth, but never got it. It’s natural for me to ask how you are although you’re dead to people, you’re never dead to me. I don’t want you to think I don’t love you because I don’t visit your house. I don’t visit it because it is not your house any longer, it is not the same place you lived in and it is so void without you. I loved all your things because they were related to you, and now that you’re gone they have lost their appeal. Don’t think I need only this date to remind me of you. I have your picture next to my bed, but not in my purse because it might get stolen and then I would feel so bad. Isn’t that the most childish thing you’ve ever heard of?

There is so much I want to say to you but I will leave it for later, you can read it in my diary, all of it. I want you to know, and I know you do, that I love you more than anything and that I will try not to let you down. You’ve always wanted a daughter and considered me your own, and there hasn’t been a time that I’ve been your daughter more than I am today. It never sunk in, Amto.

Love,
Tololy

Fictions By Jorge Luis Borges

In Bits & pieces on March 9, 2006 at 8:54 am

“There is no intellectual exercise that is not ultimately pointless”

So said Jorge Luis Borges, for whom I have been reading these past weeks. The book, Fictions, holds a collection of the author’s works; including short stories and commentaries on imaginary books.

The style of writing, or the translated version of the original writing with what faith it keeps (Translated by Andrew Hurley) , is like nothing I have ever read before. The sheer power of imagination in this collection is overwhelming, in it you live myths, fantastic happenings, metaphysical encounters, and you are almost sure, after a story or two, that there will always be a twist at the end of the account.

A must read for any passionate, this collection is exquisite. I am, for many a great other thing, forever unable to repay the person who gave me this book as a gift. Grazie mille.

The experience of reading this book is physically original. When I started out, the uncanny events thrown my way in every line were a bit too much for my initial taste. The oddity lay in the fact that Borges, brilliant Borges, was relating things that were so supernatural, and he would tell them in such a matter-of-fact way that is quite confusing. Here lies the magic in this book; this is where you meet the man who forgets nothing, the poet who recreated Don Quixote word for word, the lottery in Babylon, and the library that holds all the volumes in the universe.

An ongoing obsession with mirrors, labyrinths, fantasy, and a living play on words and minds; Fictions. One of my favorite excerpts from Tlön, Uqbar, Orbis Tertius is on the issue of time, and debates on time in the mysterious planet of Tlön:

“One of the schools of philosophy on Tlön goes so far as to deny the existence of time; it argues that the present is undefined and indefinite, the future has no reality except as present hope, and the past has no reality except as present recollection.

Another school posits that all time has already passed, so that our life is but the crepuscular memory, or crepuscular reflection, doubtlessly distorted and mutilated, of an irrecoverable process. Yet another claims that the history of the universe- and in it, our lives and every faintest detail of our lives- is the handwriting of a subordinate god trying to communicate with a demon. Another, that the universe might be compared to those cryptograms in which not all the symbols count, and only what happens every three hundred nights is actually real. Another, that while we sleep here, we are awake somewhere else, so that every man is in fact two men. “

Visual: Detail of central panel of The Temptation of St Antony by Bosch, Museu Nacional, Lisbon – Link.

On this International Women’s Day

In Bits & pieces on March 8, 2006 at 8:24 am

I call for my right not to be considered less open-minded, less sophisticated, and less beautiful because I wear the Hijab (veil).

T Play Box XI

In T Play Box on March 7, 2006 at 11:08 am

Despite my frequent warnings, my employers seem to refuse to pay heed to the fact that if they leave me alone in the office, odd things will happen. I did not have orange juice this morning, only apple juice, and naturally this latter substance has little or no effect on me. Therefore, I only set up my camera in different corners of the office and had it take pictures of me and my surroundings. I made “interesting” photocopies, too. To uphold dignity, I can only share this decent picture.

The Mahatma within

In Bits & pieces on March 6, 2006 at 8:08 am

This was presented on November 20th, 2005 as a Creative Writing assignment. The goal of the prompt was to expose traits of a character, set up in an imaginary situation such as a party, a dinner, or any public gathering. Dialogue was not a demand, and it remained for the actions and physical appearance of the character, taken in a snap shot, to reveal its characteristics. It had to be a famous individual.

He sat in a humble fashion, looking at the food that has been so liberally spread before him. His narrow frame and his bones almost portruding from it, all those just sat silently and looked at the food for quite some time.

Much to my amazement, he reached out and grabbed a small piece of bread. He turned it in his hands, cut it up into yet smaller pieces, and then proceeded to putting it between his thin lips. From there the crumb moved downwards to his throat in a most visible manner.

The Mahatma then fixed his eyes on the ground and sat quietly for a while. Then he started chanting in a low voice, and never in English.

Daddy by Sylvia Plath

In Bits & pieces on March 5, 2006 at 8:28 am
You do not do, you do not do
Any more, black shoe
In which I have lived like a foot
For thirty years, poor and white,
Barely daring to breathe or Achoo.

Daddy, I have had to kill you.
You died before I had time–
Marble-heavy, a bag full of God,
Ghastly statue with one gray toe
Big as a Frisco seal

And a head in the freakish Atlantic
Where it pours bean green over blue
In the waters off beautiful Nauset.
I used to pray to recover you.
Ach, du.

In the German tongue, in the Polish town
Scraped flat by the roller
Of wars, wars, wars.
But the name of the town is common.
My Polack friend

Says there are a dozen or two.
So I never could tell where you
Put your foot, your root,
I never could talk to you.
The tongue stuck in my jaw.

It stuck in a barb wire snare.
Ich, ich, ich, ich,
I could hardly speak.
I thought every German was you.
And the language obscene

An engine, an engine
Chuffing me off like a Jew.
A Jew to Dachau, Auschwitz, Belsen.
I began to talk like a Jew.
I think I may well be a Jew.

The snows of the Tyrol, the clear beer of Vienna
Are not very pure or true.
With my gipsy ancestress and my weird luck
And my Taroc pack and my Taroc pack
I may be a bit of a Jew.

I have always been scared of you,
With your Luftwaffe, your gobbledygoo.
And your neat mustache
And your Aryan eye, bright blue.
Panzer-man, panzer-man, O You–

Not God but a swastika
So black no sky could squeak through.
Every woman adores a Fascist,
The boot in the face, the brute
Brute heart of a brute like you.

You stand at the blackboard, daddy,
In the picture I have of you,
A cleft in your chin instead of your foot
But no less a devil for that, no not
Any less the black man who

Bit my pretty red heart in two.
I was ten when they buried you.
At twenty I tried to die
And get back, back, back to you.
I thought even the bones would do.

But they pulled me out of the sack,
And they stuck me together with glue.
And then I knew what to do.
I made a model of you,
A man in black with a Meinkampf look

And a love of the rack and the screw.
And I said I do, I do.
So daddy, I’m finally through.
The black telephone’s off at the root,
The voices just can’t worm through.

If I’ve killed one man, I’ve killed two–
The vampire who said he was you
And drank my blood for a year,
Seven years, if you want to know.
Daddy, you can lie back now.

There’s a stake in your fat black heart
And the villagers never liked you.
They are dancing and stamping on you.
They always knew it was you.
Daddy, daddy, you bastard, I’m through.

Italian Entry: Il doppio o niente

In Bits & pieces on March 4, 2006 at 12:20 pm

Essendo stata una studentessa alla facoltà d’arte nell’Università di Giordania, specializzazione di Lingua e Letteratura Italiana e Inglese, sono stata colpita dalla notizia che mi è arrivata che tutti gli studenti delle doppie specializzazioni (Lingua italiana, spagnola, tedesca- più inglese) non possono seguire la loro isturzione superiore in inglese in quella università.

Se accettiamo il fatto che non c’è nessun programma o corso di istruzione superiore in tutta la Giordania nella lingua italiana, non credo che reusciamo ad accettare che noi, che abbiamo studiato la bellissima lingua italiana nel corso di tre or quattro anni, abbiamo gettatto il nostro tempo via, e non possiamo neanche continuare a studiare in inglese.

Non è un problema semplice questo, perché ci sono tanti ostacoli nella via di quelli che studiano una lingua straniera, ad eccezione dell’inglese o il francese. Quello che ho citato è uno dei problemi, e per me, è il più significativo.

Greenpeace Activist News: No more Chernobyls

In Bits & pieces on March 3, 2006 at 9:42 am

Another issue of Greenpeace Activist News arrived in my inbox on March 2nd, 2006. The issue does not mention the Ocean Defenders campaign but sheds light on the very significant case of nuclear weapons. Interestingly, this comes at a time when the world is overlooking the skeletons in the closet and acting saint-like. It is unfortunate that I cannot re-produce the images in Volume 2, but you can always refer to www.greenpeace.org for further details on activities and campaigns.

For readers in Jordan who are informed about the latest legal proposal to empower corporations to cut down what little trees we have, it would be beneficial to read the last passage carefully. That story was handled under “Annex 1: The trees need your help” , here in Arabic and under
“Baby steps: Second rejection for the kill-the-trees law”.

Following are the main points in Volume 2:

No more Chernobyls

Meet Annya. She is a fifteen year old girl from Belarus, but was unfortunate enough to be born in the fall out zone from the Chernobyl nuclear disaster.Annya was born in 1990 in a village highly contaminated by the 1986 Chernobyl nuclear meltdown. A cancerous brain tumour at the age of four marked the end of Annya’s childhood and the beginning of a life of pain and illness.

Annya has spent her life in and out of hospital, every 15 minutes of every night; she must be turned in order to prevent further pain and bedsores.Twenty years after the disaster, Annya, and her parents battle everyday with the cruel and personal legacy of Chernobyl.

For Annya and for the thousands of children like her, you need to speak out and say NO more nuclear, NO more Chernobyls. If you don’t, who will? Call on the UN to stop its promotion of a dirty, dangerous industry and focus its resources exclusively on its critical mission of disarmament and world peace.

Latest successes

After 10 years of difficult, dangerous work, and action by thousands of activists one of the world’s great world’s treasures, the Great Bear Rainforest in Canada has been saved from destruction.

In December and January we opposed France dumping the Clemenceau warship, laden with hazardous waste, in India. After we boarded the ship twice and thousands of people emailed French President Chirac, he abandoned the plan to dump France’s toxic waste in India.

There was more good news for the forests when Brazil announced the protection of 6.4 million hectare (around 16 million acres) conservation area. This is a great victory for the people of the Amazon battling land grabbers, cattle ranchers and loggers.

Suicide attack falls short in fragile Amman

In Bits & pieces on March 2, 2006 at 8:39 am

Three non-Jordanians were arrested on March 1st as their mission to execute a suicide attack on one of Jordan’s civil establishments was successfully brought to a failing end.

I hear that these people were targeting one of Amman’s landmarks, the building of the Housing Bank for Trade and Finance, and it is not humorous to reflect on how close I have been in the past few days to this location. This, I think, adds a personal taste to danger. You feel bad for the wounded, you mourn the dead, but you only feel what you go through first hand.

The three make part, so reports Jordan’s News Agency Petra, of a larger cell imported from other countries into Jordan. Some are Saudis, some Libyans, and others are Iraqis. I really could not care less for nationality but a striking observation that shouts out from that news bit is that none of those arrested, and those hunted down, are Jordanians. Naturally, to trust too much in the news is an error, as a matter of logic, to trust in anything excessively is fallacious.

I am forced to think of possibilities, and a little of mathematics. On November 2005, an unspeakable crime took many lives, and, according to the rules of a veiled game of luck, I was spared hours before the tragedy struck. I am saddened by the fact that the chronological life line seperating me from disaster, or so seems its job and purpose, is shrinking. This alleged target-establishment is so close I cannot even start to describe how close it is, I was there for several reasons this week, once being yesterday.

If anything, this is a nonnegotiable, and concrete, token to evidence the fragility of life.

Covering February’s Box appearances

In Bits & pieces on March 1, 2006 at 10:04 am

Since there is no hot topic circulating in my head, and because there are no episodes of any of my series ready to be published, I resolved to share some appearances the Box has made in the past month.

Jameed was so kind as to inform me that the post titled “3arabi mkassar” was thrown back and forth in the inboxes of faculty at The Middle East Studies Association (MESA) in Brigham Young University (BYU) – Utah. I am indebted for Mr.Jameed for his thoughtful gesture.

The Box also made it all the way to Dallas, Texas, and was quoted in the
Dallas Morning News on February 11th, 2006. Many other bloggers were also quoted in this article that deals with the reactions of people around the Muslim world to the Danish cartoon controversy. My gratitude goes to MFLS for informing me about this.

A spectacular site called BlogHer, featuring women bloggers from around the globe, chose to say this:

“This is from Tololy’s Box, a blog by a young woman in Jordan. She thoughtfully considers where the edges of free speech lie in the face of the international scandal caused by the offending cartoons.
In the midst of mindless “Buy Danish” and “Boycott Danish” campaigns, her consideration is refreshing. Read the comments too. Her sensitivity is something often missing in the heated arguments between free speech and political correctness.”

Find the page here, and if you happen to be interested in what the lady bloggers are saying, this is the site for you. And, in hopes that all the provided links prove to be healthy and not broken, I terminate this entry.