Strings of Sadness

Someone sent me a piece from a song by Marcel Khalifeh. He asked me to translate it for him. He also said he suffered a bad psychotic episode some months ago, and he wondered how the Iraqis must feel like in their heads...

I translated the piece for him. The song is called "ya oud" - o'luth

"ya oud, the night's companion.
you weep on velvet and you hurt,
you travel to the farthest distances of the world and return,
you write and erase borders, ya oud...
tell me about your evenings in your marble castles
tell me of the fountains and the clinking of glasses,
tell me of the hips that sway and the silk that flies...
you wander not sleeping,
and your voice is like rain...
and you voice drips of sweetness
ya oud"

I love the Oud, for many reasons.

One is that the Oud-Luth, was introduced to the West via Al-Andalus from Mosul, around the 11th Century by an Iraqi called Zeryab.

From the Oud, other string instruments were later developed.

The Oud was later taken on by the Troubadours in the Middle Ages and became a symbol for Love ballads.

And today you have the luth, the guitar-son of the luth, the violin and the cello who has its origins in the Rababa - another musical instrument from the desert.

And today you have music. Music to your ears...

It was an Iraqi who first gave it to you. He was the first one to move you and an Iraqi will be the last one to move you as well.

Hence the Oud has a strong symbolic meaning for me. It touches me beyond anything you can imagine...

I will therefore share with you, the Joubran Trio from Ramallah, the West Bank, Occupied Palestine.

I discovered them about a year ago, when I was browsing CD's. And I secretly kept this discovery to myself, selfishly so.

But today, I will reveal it to you.

I will reveal it to you for many reasons.

For the past two days, Gaza has been without electricity, fuel or bread.
Palestinian infants have already died in the only Pediatric hospital in Gaza. Infants relying on machines to breathe...to live.

Today across the Rafah border, a little Palestinian girl, not more than 6 years old, was waiting to receive treatment in an Egyptian hospital, for kidney dialysis.

She spoke on TV. She looked 60 years old. Her eyes were puffed and she had huge brown bags underneath her lovely eyes. She explained to the spectator which is you, that she's been without dialysis for over 3 days, due to the embargo imposed on Gaza by the criminal called Israel. She said, it was important for any patient to have treatment otherwise he/she would die. She is only 6.

Another woman had a retina detached, and she was hoping to get some treatment as she was going blind...

A third had severe burns and wounds from Israeli jet explosives...

And so it went...

This reminded me of the sanction years, this reminded me of today's Iraq.
This reminded me of the half a million Iraqi babies in mass graves from 13 years of sanctions. A huge cemetery...little white tombs placed next to one another, thousands of them...and the Silence whistled...

the Silence whistled among the trees and the tombs...
It even composed a song,
It also played the oud,
singing
ya Oud, ya Oud,
you weep on sand
you weep on walls
your tears water the earth
like the dusk's dew
droplets...
and there grows
a thousand flowers,
a million flowers
from your tears
ya Oud...

If half a million Iraqi babies did not move you then, a million Iraqis do not move you today, Gaza does not move now, will Zeryab and his oud move you ?

I doubt it.



P.S: For those who were moved by the Joubran Trio from Ramallah-Occupied Palestine, you can check more of their oud pieces here , here and here. And do thank Zeryab from Mosul - Occupied Iraq.


Painting : Iraqi artist, Qutaiba Sheikh Nouri.

Cleaning Blues...

I've spent the whole day cleaning. I live in a small apartment, but spent the whole bloody day cleaning. Why is that? I'd wipe one surface, and take a 5 mn break. Sweep one corner, and take another 5 mn. So on and so forth. No wonder it took me the whole bloody day.
And the dust, God the dust...Where did this dust come from? And the paper clips all over the place. Well I know where the paper clips came from. Reading papers and tearing bits and pieces from them...

I've been on my feet for over 8 hours. My feet are sore. My legs hurt. My shoulders ache. My hands are dry. I feel awful. I am tired and drained. But my apartment is clean.

But why did it take me 8 hours ? The living room alone which is not spacious, took me 4 hours. OK am thorough. But still, 4 hours for a few square meters ?

I know why it took me so fucking long. I HATE domestic work.

Yesterday I programmed myself all day for the big event- Cleaning. I really programmed myself with "cleaning affirmations". Repeating them over and over until I summoned the courage to face it today. I guess the clutter I have doesn't help either. I have to remove books, papers, CD's so I can wipe behind, beneath them...And I've got hills of them. What a fucking drag.

The real reason remains the same though and all of the above are just excuses - I HATE domestic work. Hence my slowness...soooo slow.

I was getting irritated with my own pace. The endless breaks, musing over why I hate domestic work so much. A kind of brief self- analysis as to the why's and how's my hatred for domestic work has settled in and refuses to budge.

I couldn't find a particular trauma related to my "domestic work avoidance syndrome". Except maybe for the fact that housework is traditionally associated with women and I've refused such limiting associations.

But clearly that can't be the sole reason. After all, I love cooking. But cooking is a creative act, and cleaning is not. Cleaning is a purifying act. And I guess I've purged enough. And I can't afford domestic help either. So, am stuck with the cleaning blues...

But I devised means and ways to turn the whole thing into a "positive" endeavour.

So I'd clean away and imagine am sitting by some beach. That didn't work.

So I thought of my ex's and how angry they made me hoping to gather more energy so I can finish the job. That didn't work either. I was fuming and cursing and would take even more breaks...

So I switched on the radio . The local station was playing romantic slooowwwwwww songs. Nope, that doesn't do it either. I needed stamina, energy, fire...so I can finish this shitty thing called cleaning.

So this brilliant idea crossed my mind. Play some music that makes you want to dance and instead of dancing, clean away...you know, like they do in the cartoons - sweep away and shake your butt in total joy.

I went through my CD's and found exactly what I needed. A salsa CD called "Caliente", a mix of several songs. Yes that's it, I thought to myself. Caliente- hot-energy-stamina-fire-force. That's exactly what I need.

So I put the CD on, and the Cuban tunes were blasting away...

So of course I thought of Cuba and Fidel Castro, and wondered if it was "democratic" of him to hand over his executive powers to his brother Raul. Then my thoughts took me to socialism and how can one have a truly socialistic society and democratic at the same time when the U.S. warmonger is just next door.

Of course, I had to pause again to digest all these thoughts. That was no good. I needed to change the thought register to something more "light."

So here I was mopping the floor and pretending I was dancing Salsa. Then I remembered I can't really dance Salsa.

I took two lessons, ages ago, with a Cuban teacher who was drunk all the time. He'd tell me "dance with your Corazon". And I'd say "sure but I don't know the steps and I need a partner. You're supposed to be teaching me".

But my Cuban teacher used to sit, and pop open another can of beer, leaving me alone wondering which step to take...I heard later he became a skid row bum. I was his only student.

My other attempt at Salsa was here in this tribal land pretending to be o'so modern. They have the Salsa fever here. It's so in vogue. Everyone tries to Salsa.
So some places arrange special evenings for Salsa students or for those who wish to be initiated into it.

Dancing Salsa here is like jumping up and down in a desertic wasteland.

And this is exactly what happened to me.

Upon the suggestion of a friend, I went to this Salsa evening with her. She had caught the fever. I was just bored and wanted to get away from Iraq and Iraqi woes.

So we arrived and everyone was Salsa dancing. I had put on my black dress and high heels...thinking to myself, if I am to salsa, I need to look right for the occasion. You know, like in the Salsa clips. Vamp, supple...and exuding sensuality.

The minute we arrived, my friend saw a group from her Salsa class and she joined them,dancing away. And here I was watching, hoping to try it myself...

So here comes a "local" Salsa student, but he assured me he was in the "advanced group". I assured him I was nothing but a beginner. He said " Don't worry, just let me lead " - I smiled but my heart sank...

I know from experience when a guy says "let me lead" you can be sure, you're heading towards a wall...

Anyways, I yielded and let him lead. The pace was not too fast and the first 5 minutes or so, were fine...But the beat changed, and it took on a more feverish rhythm, and boy was I in for a surprise ride...

I don't know what the fuck happened to the "advanced" Salsa student, but he was suddenly taken by a frenzy - frantic steps, abracadabra... he was all over the place and I was dragged along with him. "Let me lead ?!" - yeah sure !

I found myself propelled to the four corners of the dance stage, not knowing what had hit me...I twisted my ankle and the local "advanced" student, ended up jumping up and down, like in some bedouin folk dance, bruising my toes.

And at every twirl, I'd cry out "ouch my toes, you're stepping on my toes."

"Maa'lech - never mind, dance with your heart..."

Heart, what heart? My toes were throbbing...what heart was he on about? All I wanted was to stop. Just stop. And take my shoes off and soak my feet in ice water.

Thankfully, God has created an End to everything. And the song finished. By the grace of God, it stopped.

So where was I in my cleaning blues ? Ah yes, mopping the floor and shaking my butt just like in the mumbo jumbo cartoons...

Next cleaning session I need to devise more positive thoughts and memories to accompany me...

Any suggestions to chase away the cleaning blues ?

Painting: Iraqi artist, Jaber Alwan.

Climate & Climax...

Away from politics for a little - not really.

A curious study landed on my desktop. A study conducted by a condom manufacturer. You know, a rubber factory-- by the name of Durex.

Now, why and how did this study land in my mail box, I have no clue.
At first, I thought it was another spam/junk mail, you know the ones - drive her wild, 1 meter long, better than viagra, she wouldn't believe her eyes, make her scream all night...kind of junk mail.

But this one was no junk mail. It was a "scientific research paper." Aha, intresting I thought to myself. What stuff are they up to now, stuff we don't already know...

Now this study was about climax also known as orgasm.

I've often wondered why the word climax and climate share the same etymological root.

A culmination of some sort, I suppose...But not always and definitely not for all involved.

Tis study was made of 26'000 participants (male and female-bien entendu) from 26 countries. Unfortunately the mail didn't mention all the participant countries, but it did mention a few countries that came out in 1rst rank, or above average in their "reaching an orgasm".

But let's start with the countries below base line. France and Great Britain scored the worst and Switzerland slightly above median line.

The countries who were top of the list - Italy, Spain, Mexico and South Africa.

BUT, in ALL of the countries surveyed only 32% of women reached climax in contrast to 63% of men. Nearly double.

I am sure this study didn't include Arab countries and particularly not Iraq.
I wonder what the figures would be there, given the overall "climate"...

And did you notice something - Italy, Spain, Mexico, South Africa -- all supposedly have good weather. You know -- laid back, sunshine, less anally retentive, less emotionally constricted...etc.
But however pleasant the "climate" is, still, only 32% of the women reached an orgasm...as opposed to 63% of the men.

One obvious conclusion from this study is that women need to move to "warmer" climates. So do envisage a permanent move to either Italy, Spain, New Mexico or South Africa. One thing you should not do though, is move to Iraq.

(Alternatively, if you're very attached to where you're at, you may want to consider a sex change.)

However, the bad news -- there are no guarantees. Remember, in all of the countries surveyed only 32% of women reached a climax as opposed to 63% of the men.

So I guess, the old adage of "fake it until you make it" still holds true, wherever a woman happens to be...

Good luck.

Painting: Iraqi female artist, Wasma'a Al-Agha