Would u rather invest in a whirlpool or loamy soil

What does this picture mean to you? Take a moment before you read further.


For me, it is giving this woman the dignity to earn her own living without having to beg for a loaf of bread, a bar of soap.
I haven't properly blogged about the empowerment initiative we are part of in a township in Soshanguve, thanks to the inspiration and support of Sanzaf. Sanzaf has found, through decades of working with underprivileged communities in SA, the rise of an ideology of entitlement. You are privileged Indian Muslim, I am unfortuante Black Muslim, I hold out my hands and you pour, Unfortunately hands that don't work for their keep don't look after it either. This is not the case everywhere, but it is a reality in most Muslim communities.

Sanzaf has sought to redress this by developing amazingly creative initiatives. Freak, I sound like a telemarketer. I'm not on their payroll I promise. They do stuff like bursaries. But they don't only give you the bursary and say Salaam. They provide you with textbooks, and involve you in community projects and excursions to educational places etc.

Their initiatives are based on the Grameen Bank model by Mohamed Yunus which works on the principle that the "poor" in society always have some resources. So, for example we give these women gardening tools and land. They use their physical energy and gardening expertise (which is waaay more than ours) to make a harvest.

The point of this post was to explain how much hope these projects bring to my life. But I can't explain it in words. Spending the day with the kids at the zoo. Seeing the community raise funds for their own Eid festivities. Participating in Qurbani with them, and teaching them how to slaughter their own sheep for the first time ever. There are so many amazing people involved. So I think the point of this post is, you can become one of them. Someone who does not just give out hampers or a meal and then go back to your enclave of comfort. Share the feeling of Shade you have, by empowering another person to feel capable. Befriend the woman sitting on the garden patch that is one step closer to her paying her daughter's school fees. Not that feeding schemes don't have a place. But in Brazil they give you fruit and veg per kilogram of waste and dirt you bring to recycle......

How???
If you're in Jhb you can call Hoosen Essof- 083 313 6208
or Imthiaz Jhetam 084 45 786 30

Anywhere else enquire at the Sanzaf office.

Silly Kitty Hibbie Jibbies

This sounds so silly even when I say it to myself. When I tell it to my friends they laugh out loud. But I can't hide it any more. I am terrified of domesticated animals. Well dogs and cats to be specific. Developmentally, I blame my mum. I went through a phase around 6 when I reeeally wanted a white kitty with blue eyes but it was just a conditioned response to major gender role identification from my environment. Anyways my mum refused us pets.

This would be cool if a cat hadn't entered my life recently. This I also blame on my mum (Jeez I'm turning out to be a real Fraud, Oops slip of the tongue). Anyways my mum saw this stray cat outside and she had just listened to Mufti AK on CII and was therefore feeling a little lightheaded. And this cute greyish mixture cat miaows at her while she waters her herb garden. And she immediately imagines it's a farishta (angel) testing her generosity and she thinks about all the bala happening recently and decides feeding this cat could be the one small good deed that makes her look Albino on the day of Judgement. Of course this thing is conditioned to think like a Hillbrow squatter and now won't leave us alone. PS I know the Prophet SAW loved cats an looked after them. He also was awesome at archery whereas the one time I tried I skinned off half my forearm and killed some ants.

One morning in Ramadhan we were praying Fajr after Sehri and the darn thing sees the lights on and starts making a racket like it's in labour pains. And then it finds and open window and nearly attacks me while in Ruku. Okay maybe that's how it looked from my side. It just came really close with this I'm so hungry I could eat you look in its eyes. Lucky my screaming made my mum break her Salaah so peace reigned.

The thing is no matter how much I whirl high pitched shrieks of terror at the cat (I'm the one terrified) it refuses to leave me alone. The other night I was going to visit my neighbour and it followed me. And it gives me these puss in boots looks every time it sees me. And the scariest thing is that I'm realising that if I wasn't scared that this thing had rabies or lice or some other Ebola-like abomination, I would not mind feeding it. And I think, do I fear the cat, or do I fear the attachment that comes with caring for it.

To those everyday Wonders

People I know ask why my blog isn't filled with hilarious stories about my "patients".
Cofidentiality issues aside, the way Hollywood notoriorizes (my word) mental health issues is fare removed from the actual reality, warmth and respect of the time I spend with clients.
If I am laughing in a session it is usually due to a wisecrack made by them, as life's difficulties allows one an above average grip on humour. Here is something these wanderers of my soul have taught me:

Depression, to my nuanced sight,
Appears as my experiences of driving alone
Through a voluminous thunderstorm

My usually firm grip quivers
From the force of this unrelenting
Jaggedly shaking pressure

The roads that I usually whiz through
Singing at the top of my voice, become
Sinister, slippery, arduous with danger

The thunder assaults my ears and the lightning
Reflects the fear in my runny eyes
I am too weak for this, it is too strong

I need a safe rest stop, away, away, with
My doors and windows Locked. To protect
Me from what I cannot control

Our Room

Our room is cosy like a square four foot cottage
Hewn into a slumbering cave
With one entrance yet many exits
And they wonder where we come from

Our room has a lush orange carpet
On which we sit cross-legged like maulvis
Searching for truth yet creating fatwas
That refuse to leave when we do

Our room has a roof pregnant with cherry bunches
Each cherry bitter-sweet and tingling
Filled with some intoxicant we have no name for
That leaves us prancing and dizzy

Our room has a neighbour, a middle aged artist
Whose mixture of qur’an verses, old Indian songs
And the santoor sends shivers down our spines
Tomorrow, we sing back, there is always tomorrow

Our room travels in suitcases, in wallets and memory cards
It is where we still sit on walls and throw astros at boys
Or come home late or kill all evil or make everyone happy
It is, wherever we go, we are with me, mon cherie

Ummahatul Roohy

Ummatur Roohy

Ummatur Roohy, Mothers of My Soul,

Sisters of my thoughts

Daughters of my ideas

Keepers of my dreams

Our relations born out of improbability

Our bonds preserved implicitly

There is Ngara, beautiful, quick witted

Pure and perseverant as a Malian princess

Her healing spirit soothes.

Elizabeth, grounds us with sarcasm, innuendo

And opinionated debate

In her I see illusions of me, and am disillusioned

Itsweng, the nurturing Teacher, guides our hopes

With experiences of breeding worms, tantalizing men

And nourishing crowds, she is Strength

We are all leaders of our milieu, philanthropists of our Love

Celebrating the Peace we imbue