The · Woman's · Work

I'm hanging in there, but emotionally this situation is difficult.  I so can't wait until we leave, inshaAllah.  No solid news on that front yet, but is that fact a surprise?  I feel as though virtually everything is deteriorating around me.  My life is nearly in shambles.

I've been a little bummed also about the state of my al-Asr piece - or rather about the border.  It was too large - well, actually it wasn't too large aesthetically - but I don't have enough dark yarn to be able to cover the area - so I cut it down and it's just poky going.  I've tried to piece together the areas that I did do stitching on, and I hope they won't look too bumpy as I over-stitch them together, inshaAllah.  I've just got to push through it.

I've been thinking about the next piece more inshaAllah.  I like the visual image of a volcano, and I only wonder that I hadn't thought to use that image before this point.  I'm also drawn to the image of a corpse, wrapped in a white shroud, awaiting burial, rather then a little red house.  Oooooh I sound grim, don't I?  What can one expect after living here and then with the news as it is!  Gaza.  Ya Rabb!

I'm not managing to loose any weight AND I still have big time water retention.  I don't know how to get rid of this extra water and weight.  I'm going to try to reduce my salt intake and cut down on my bread consumption - but when the only vegetables in the house are turnips and celery, the only sources of protein are legumes and the only grains are, at best, mixed white and wheat flour, it's a bit tough.  I've had 3 cups of water so far to one cup of coffee.  I know, I know I should get rid of the coffee too, but how is the question?  How do I make up for a lack of sleep?

Which leads me to the next life issue...darling youngest daughter and her temper tantrums at night when I wake her up to pee.  See, if I had access to a good washing machine and dryer it would be no big deal.  But it IS a big deal because I have to wash everything BY HAND out in the cold, on the terrace and THEN try to get it to dry while it is pouring rain.  This is a problem.  A big one.  If I have three children who pee in their beds at night it is truly an absolute crisis because I won't have enough clean, dry bedding for them the following night. 

Therefore I have to wake them up frequently to pee. 

Therefore I don't sleep enough. 

Yesterday the light bulb blew in my room and I didn't have a replacement so I was huddled up to the space heater both for light and warmth and to dry my children's socks!  Nothing drys quickly in this weather.  With luck a sheet will dry in one day, but nice warm socks never will.  And my kid's feet get cold and wet from walking across the rain soaked terrace.  So have to try to dry the socks and it takes hours, literally, in front of the heater.  I have to shift them from place to place to dry the different parts of the sock, and turn them inside out and then back the right way to get all the parts to dry.  And these dry socks will be wet again within an hour after putting them on, no doubt, because my children's shoes become soaked from walking through the puddles of rain on the terrace while on their way to the bathroom, or to the kitchen, or to watch T.V. 

I mean, really - how can I not loathe it here?

I'm loosing my hair, and it's not because I'm pulling it out (though I have reason enough to).  I'm going bald on top.  Maybe other people wouldn't notice it, but I do.  I'm about to the point where I will have to start wearing a wide headband to cover my hair on top.  Over the last year or so I've worn bangs to cover my forehead wrinkles and the mole that is above my eyebrow which I also dislike, but I now feel that I would rather look at wrinkles and a mole rather then a balding scalp.  Authobillah.

With all that is going on in my life to then feel ugly too, and about stuff that I can't help, is a really self image blow.  I know that sounds so stupid, that I should even care, but I do.  I feel almost ugly and it's a bit hard to take.  I've never, ever felt beautiful but I also never felt repulsive and I'm almost to that point.  I wish I didn't give a damn.

On the 1st we went to an engagement party.  There was very little difference between this party and a wedding party, from my perspective, except that there wasn't dinner - we were only there for "coffee".  Of course, to a North African, coffee means the following:

1. A savory baked thing made from something like Philo dough and little glass bottles of pop.
2. Coffee with milk and sugar and three of elaborate almond paste/honey/fondant icing homemade cookies.  A package of candy and a cookie for the children.
3. Sweet tea with mint and two different kinds of semolina and nut homemade cookies. 
4. Gâteau with sweetened whipped cream and fruit.

Dear God!

The bride-to-be only changed her dress twice (floor length mauve and silver beaded satin and lace affairs - a little girl's dream of a Princess Barbie dress) and she had makeup a drag queen (I'm sorry to sound so crass, but there you have it) would envy, purple nail polish and an elaborate swirly up-do.  It sounds very tacky, and on one level it was, but on the other hand she looked pretty if one can embrace the aesthetic, as it were.

We were all crammed into the salon (living room) with many, many guests spilling out into the hall way and the other chambers.  I would say there was somewhere between 50 and 70 women in a three bedroom apartment.  The men were on another floor!  And this was only the engagement!

The older women were amazing - many of whom were at least in their 70s, if not much, much older.  They were dressed up - some tasteful Western styled clothes and some in more traditional longer dresses, but they (everyone of them) would tie a scarf around their behinds and get up and dance - shaking everything as much as humanly possible though in a graceful way.  These women (almost all of them) were very heavy, but it was so obvious by the way that they danced that they all felt like queens.  It was very, very sweet to see.  They danced much more then the younger ones - and at the point that the cake was rolled out (when the lady got her engagement ring) one lady was singing to the bride -to-be in this old, cracked voice.

The prospective groom came in to put an engagement ring on her finger and he really looked uncomfortable with all those women around him, crying out with their ululating calls, clapping and singing.  I didn't blame him.  He had on a dark pin-striped shirt with a large collar that made me think unavoidably of a pimp.  I'm sure he meant to be stylish but it just didn't work.  To complicate matters for me a variety of other male relatives were crowding around the doorway - whether it was to act as the mahrem for the bride or just to see what was going on I never knew.

Still, it was fascinating from an anthropological standpoint -  very tribal, quite unIslamic and I was very glad when it was done.  I left as they were bringing out the DRUMS! 

I should note that the walls of the living room - creamy beige spattered with darker browns - were coated with


GLITTER.

I do have to include here the directions to a doctor I received on my cell phone from my British friend.  Only in North Africa:

"Slm come as if u r coming to my house but instead of turning right at small mosque into my road go straight + take the next rd left at the apartments, u then turn right into the flats and the dr is in the building on ur right after the shops.the recp is my neighbor so i never waited, but i think if u r early u can wait if u r down the list they give u a time to come back, rec there from 9am i think."



Do I even need to say that I didn't try to go there?