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Blog Worldly Fragments

But is it Halal?

Lucy Bushill-Matthews, whose biography I bungled while introducing her, at Islamic Relief’s  Sisters of the Deen event in Mayfair yesterday regaled the 500-strong audience with her typically witty observations of the idiosyncracies of Muslim life in South Africa. Her first brush with Muslim life in South Africa, she recalled,  was the conclusion of a meal at Nando’s. She was taken aback to see halal insignia proudly emblazoned, on the back of an unassuming wet-wipe. As far as South African Muslim life goes, much of it is spent lusting after a McDonalds happy meal while your conscience twists in agony over whether it really is halal. We are consumed with issues of halal and haraam when it pertains to how many insects’ legs were used to shine our chocolates yet we neglect to count how many feet we trample to climb the ladder of self-righteousness. And as the audience guffawed with laughter at Lucy’s joke, a backstage volunteer at the event, a recent convert to Islam, poked me in the ribs and asked me to explain what the joke was. And as I explained our penchant to stamp everything from toothpicks to a shoulder of lamb with halal, she looked at me exasperatedly and said, ‘But how else will we know what’s halal then?’

A post on Indigo Jo Blogs this morning responds to an article that appeared in that great standard for journalism, the British press, boldly informing the British public that entertainment venues like Wembley Stadium and Royal Ascot are serving halal meat. The article I take it, is meant to paint a picture of,  ‘Even the meat in our posh schools are halal, them Moslems are taking over!’ Without delving into the issue of stunning animals before slaughtering them, and how halal or haraam that is (which was the ostensible argument against halal meat) or speculating on whether our heavily meat-ridden diet is at all halaal, I’d like to point out instead that during the Fifa World Cup™ earlier this year, each stadium was equipped with a halal food kiosk, and though the very, very large contingent of local Muslims who formed substantial numbers at the stadiums complained bitterly about the standard of that halal food, we didn’t rate a headline.

allah-hu-taala het gesê innie koran

djulle moet djulle bekke hou
preek die imam innie smokkelhuis;
hoek me allah
djkr hy by die jintoe
wat net halaal kos iet

toe excommunicate die jamma hom.
maa’ allah ken mos betere
wan’ die man het hom mos geremember
ennie woord gespread tussen innie mense
en toe stuur allah hom straight heaven toe
met n’ borrel dop

Farouk Asvat

(allah the highest said in the qur’an
you must keep your mouth shut
the imam preaches in the shebeen
hook-me-allah
he chants at the harlot
who only eats halaal food.

so the community excommunicated him
but allah knows much better
because the man remembered him
and spread the word in-between the people.
and so allah sent him, straight to heaven
with a bottle of booze)

Translation by Mphutlane wa Bofelo

Our self-serving hypocrisies quite aside, it takes just a  mention of  ‘Majlis’, ‘Rainbow Chickens’ or more recently, ‘Woolworths croissants’ to a Muslim in Johannesburg to realise the severity of our problems with halal certification in South Africa. And these are problems that must be resolved within ourselves for the betterment (and sanity) of the community. Woolworths are not feeding us porcine lard in their croissants as part of an obscure  Zionist campaign.  And I assure you, when I first heard of the Woolworths  confectionery being ‘not halal‘ I was incensed because they appeared to be perfectly halal in Cape Town. It seemed to me that Gauteng and Kwazulu-Natal air rendered it not precisely ‘haraam‘ but just, ‘not halal‘. I’ve spoken to the big people at Woolworths themselves since, speculating on how different a Cape Town recipe could be to a Pretoria one. My email to them was angry enough to induce their people to actually call me with a response instead of offering me lame platitudes over email. It turns out the factories preparing confectionery for Woolworths in regions besides the Western Cape can not guarantee that your croissants have not been mangled with pork or alcohol in the preparation process. While these factories have been requested to open facilities especially for Woolworths products that will be sanitised of any porcine or alcoholic influences, they are yet to comply. I was still skeptical but what finally swayed me was my interlocutor’s unlfinching honesty.  I asked him, if he as a Muslim (he had a Muslim sounding name and had offered me salaam)  and a Woolworths employee would eat those croissants should he find himself in Jo’burg. Without missing a beat he said he would not.

We cannot rely on the presence or absence of halal insignia at the expense of common sense.

Categories
Blog Worldly Fragments

A good girl, bastardised

Some who follow me on Twitter  react with an exaggerated befuddlement over exactly which of the venerable President’s bevy of children ‘Zuma’s Bastard’ refers.  Not among the spawn of Zuma, but perhaps of Satan and also the title of an upcoming book by Azad Essa from the Two Dogs stable, ‘Zuma’s Bastard’  is the work of a friend, suitably outfitted by the winning cover design of another friend,  Saaleha Idress Bamjee. More essentially though the publishing process of ‘Zuma’s Bastard’ has led me to realise that this sense of significance achieved through the book is a communal one. There are a number of people who, like me, feel the book is as much theirs as it is Azad’s. Make no mistake, it’s him who’s pushed eighteen hour days,  becoming surly varying his disposition between peevish and cranky. Perhaps it’s because so many of us have had to put up with Azad’s errant moods that we feel so closely related to the book, or perhaps too we’ve managed to channel, collectively through Azad, our own hopes, dreams and forget-me-nots.

I have absolutely no knowledge, whatsoever, how the walls of the 44 Stanley Avenue complex, during the Mail and Guardian Literary Festival last week, were adorned with ‘Zuma’s Bastard’  posters despite warnings against such ambush marketing tactics by the diligent security personnel, who were similarly ineffective in deterring more accomplished lawbreakers from stealing a handbag and wallet from under their noses. When I first spotted ‘Zuma’s Bastard’ paraphernalia on the wall of a restroom I felt an absurd surge of pride. No, it’s not my book but I will buy a bucket load of copies to distribute to my family, at least those who wont take offence to the incendiary title, as a sort of promise that there may some day be one of my own ( a book that is, not a bastard).

I think Azad and Two Dogs have latched onto the right approach with the Cover Design Competition. They’ve selected a cover from an astonishingly high quality set of entries and have been careful too to choose a design that stands out against more dour South African book designs. It is not at all a run-of-the-mill book cover. It’s irreverent, cheeky, bold and an immediate eye-catcher. I am particularly pleased that the cover has been seen as an essential tenet of the book and not just a seductive ploy to see books out of stores.

Saaleha’s also the design guru for Al Huda, a cousin twice, thrice, or more removed, (it was only after meeting as bloggers that we knew each other as family) and one of the most talented people I know. She was one among a gregarious group of women who were my company for the Literary Festival. And after a diminutive, French woman working for TV5, in a rushed whisper insisted to know where Saaleha was from, casting aspersions on Ms.Bamjee’s South Africaness and earning the rest of us a scolding glance from some who’d have liked us to be more quiet in defending our citizenships. Our French companion later clarified her suspicion of our identities as she believed we speak English with a French accent. My parents are of course pleased to know that two years of French school have at least left that lasting legacy. In a fit of giggles over how the rest of Johannesburg’s litterati may be boxing us, Saaleha and I played interviewer-interviewee. I’ve decided to post it here before she and Azad are really famous and deny any knowledge of me, or my blog.

Saaleha purses her lips in front of a 'Zuma's Bastard' poster sporting her winning cover design at the Mail and Guardian Literary Festival

Who are you anyway?

I’m a freelancer and my email signature reads, “Wordworker, Ideas Girl.” Kind of vague, yes, but I don’t have a job description set in concrete. I’ve designed wedding invitations and co-written a radio drama series. I sold shweshwe fabric-covered notebooks at the Rosebank Rooftop Market and interviewed Justice Edwin Cameron on HIV/AIDS law for Inter Press Service. You could say I’ve got my thumb in a lot of pies, and I food blog. I grew up in a little town called Azaadville on Johannesburg’s West Rand. Sounds a bit portentous now, doesn’t it? I went on to study Marketing Communication at the then- Rand Afrikaans University and followed this with an honours in Journalism and Media Studies at the University of the Witwatersrand. That was a turning point for me, and it was the first time I was introduced to print design as a subject, allowing me to crack my knuckles over the layout of our student newspaper.

After an intern stint at City Press newspaper, I became something of a Jill-of-all-trades at frayintermedia (formerly Paula Fray & Associates). Moving from the newsroom to a media training agency meant that I got to write, edit, design and account manage. I had to negotiate really bendy learning curves, and it was a brilliant place to build and refine my skill-set.

So you’re a writer/designer, designer/writer, designer, writer?

If it came down to, “Writer or Designer?” with my hand on my heart, a writer I am; a dilatory one at that, but, a writer. I started blogging in 2005, with the aim of using that space to ‘write to keep the rust away’. It’s been fruitful; I’m getting the words out there and meeting some pretty awesome people along the way. I do love good design though (my personal guiding tagline, ‘Pragmatics meets Pretty’), and I’m still pretty much a noob at it, which is why winning this competition was such coup for me in terms of building my design profile.

I don’t understand why the announcement that you had won took you by surprise. Your cover rocks!

When I saw the announcement, I was genuinely surprised. Flipping chuffed, but surprised. I knew my cover held its ground against the other short-listed covers, but I did think the concept was maybe just a tad over-the-top, that I’d pushed a small stationery store’s worth of envelopes. The other designs were posh and pretty much spot on the brief. They were the type of covers that would make me buy books.

There’s a lot of violence, irreverence and humour in this cover and you have all the looks of a sweet, Muslim girl. Weren’t you nervous about how your cover would  be received?

Not really nervous. I was certain that the Powers That Be would be able to see what thigh-slapping fun I had putting the cover together; from sourcing stock graphics to working with Azad’s disembodied head on my Photoshop art board. It was also one of the boldest things I’ve ever designed. I wanted the cover to reflect the irreverence of his writing; his in-your-face-suck-on-this type of appeal. I knew I had to have his face on the cover somewhere because this was a book born from a blog, and what is more narcissistic than a blog even if it is about the politics of our times? The twitter-logo font was one of my favourite parts. It looks a bit comical and soft, but what it captions belies this. It’s also a reference to Azad’s MO of using social media and blogging to spread his brand of desktop activism. The USB-capped gun came right at the end of the process. It was meant to diffuse some of the aggression from my initial submission, which received really valuable feedback. A brown guy with a gun can be pretty damn scary.

You are familiar with some of the work in Zuma’s Bastard – being a blog groupie yourself (ahem).Do you think there’s a role for such writing or should people buy the book just to look at your cover?

There’s most definitely a place for the type of political opinion Azad puts out (and I’m not just saying that as a groupie who followed his blog from his freelance hero days on blogspot). It’s the type of stuff that holds up a mirror to society. Sometimes brash, slightly aggressive, he pulls you in with the shock-awe, and after you’ve read a little further, you start thinking, “Hey, this lightie has a point.” I’d tell people to buy this book because the writing is smart and incisive.

PS. Azad Essa, Saaleha Idrees-Bamjee and I have all been nominated for awards in this year’s South African Blog Awards. Do pop a vote for the three of us and some of the other brown nominees here. (update: Voting has now closed and the top two in each category have been announced. While none of us have cracked nods, we thank everybody who has supported us)
PPS. Join the Zuma’s Bastard Facebook page for updates on the launch and other trifling illegitimacies.
PPPS. For an interview with Azad Essa himself, scurry over to The Daily Maverick.
Categories
Blog Getting Personal

Memory, a whip in calloused hands

Lying pale, against a backdrop of starched, white sheets, a tube prying open your mouth, reaching into your throat,  fetching you a little more life.

‘But her blood pressure,’  ‘After this pint of blood we’ll know’, ‘Maybe she’ll be fine’,  ‘Ma, moenie bang wees nie. Ek is hier,’ ‘Kidney function’, ‘Take her home!’, ‘Adrenalin,’ ‘She’s stable’,  ‘A death in dignity,’ ‘Pulse’, ‘She’s 85,’ –

It’s the monitors behind you keeping time.

For just a moment, your eyes open and don’t roll back, you look at me, right at me, glassy-grey eyed, ‘Raboo mama?’ I ask tentatively, pausing from my prayer, in hope. But your eyes roll back again. They shut. Your body contorts in pain, or fear. ‘God, make light what it is she must endure.’

I tuck a strand of greyed hair back into the scarf they’ve so strategically draped over your head and remember how just two years ago you chided Aunty Shahnaz for forgetting to come dye your hair.

You’re writhing again, I stroke your brow, continue my prayer in your ear, my tears inconsequential to the fact. I don’t want my memory of you to be this.

I don’t want to tell the children I-may-never-have of the woman who lies on that bed, I don’t want my memory of you to be of the woman who’s sat in that wheelchair these five years. I don’t want to remember you a speechless woman in a darkened room.

I want to remember you the woman in her blue-checkered apron, that Eid at your house when Sulaiman protested his Nehru suit by walking only when forced,  I want to remember visiting you in that big, beautiful house that was yours, the smell of your cooking wafting through the kitchen, I want to remember sitting in your TV room, watching a Liverpool game, while you light up a Stuyvesant, and chatted to Mama . I want to remember you the sister of my grandmother, the friend of my grandmother, our Big M, the eldest, the matriarch, kind, gentle,  beautiful woman.  I want my memory of you to be of the woman who walked her own path, not this one slipping away.

I stand beside your bed, bending down to brush my lips against your head. I’m watching you die and memory is a whip in calloused hands.

VITAE SUMMA BREVIS SPEM NOS VETAT INCOHARE LONGHAM
(The brief sum of life forbids us the hope of enduring long – Horace)

They are not long, the weeping and the laughter,
Love and desire and hate:
I think they have no portion in us after
We pass the gate.
They are not long, the days of wine and roses:
Out of a misty dream
Our path emerges for a while, then closes
Within a dream.

Ernest Dowson

Categories
Blog Worldly Fragments

Lest we become caricatures of ourselves

In South Africa we’re swathing our cars in the national flag, wearing football jerseys to work, trying our damndest to look for some unique way to show off our patriotism. I am a Muslim. I am a South African. I have been blessed to never feel that these identities are irreconcilable. My Muslimness is entrenched in my South Africaness. My South Africaness is connected to my Muslimness. While the rest of the world squabbles over a woman’s right to wear the nikaab, in my neck of the woods, women in nikaab drive cars, work in banks, serve you in stores. And it’s never been anything to write home about.

I have honestly never been made to think twice about wearing a hijab, or an abaya, for that matter for fear of social recrimination.  I blend in, I’ve never walked into a mall, or an interview , or a meeting having to worry about how I am going to be perceived.  I don’t doubt that my dress inspires curiosity but even when this curiosity is pronounced I’ve never been made to feel as though I was under a searchlight.  The reaction to the publication of the Zapiro cartoon by the Mail and Guardian this morning however has made me feel as though my Muslim identity and South African identity are being mercilessly wrenched apart.

In the words of former Mail and Guardian journalist, Qudsiya Karim, ‘As a Muslim, I’m not at all impressed with Zapiro’s cartoon. As a journalist, I understand that press freedom is important.’ I too champion the right to a free press, just some weeks ago I joined bloggers around the country to protest the intimidation of the media by the ANC Youth League. It is apt then that City Press editor Ferial Haffejee says, ‘Draw Mohamad day is as much about free expression as the Youth League is about advancing young people.’ I had been able to merrily ignore the calls to boycott Facebook yesterday in protest of ‘Draw Mohamed Day’. I reacted with some bewilderment that Pakistan has cut off its nation from their social media diet. To be honest it was easy to ignore until it concerned us.

Waking up to news that an interdict against the Mail and Guardian publishing a Zapiro cartoon depicting the Prophet Muhammed (Peace be upon him)had failed left me a little unsettled. I only believed it once I saw it. And when I did see it, it was disappointment I felt most acutely. While I looked at the cartoon pensively, a text message from an acquaintance interrupted me:

‘ Alert: Now on Radio Islam the government wants see how Muslim South African youth react to the Zapiro drawing of Prophet Muhammed (PBUH). They are waiting for any violent action from the youth to clamp down and persecute Muslims in South Africa. Even though this may hurt us, please try to remain calm and not resort to any violence!’

That message plays into the victim mentality so many in this community are handicapped by and it is disappointing that most Muslims, myself included, don’t batter an eyelash when other religions are made the butt of the cartoonist’s pencil. There certainly is a duplicity of values that needs to be addressed.

It is interesting too that on the two occasions publishing cartoons of the Prophet has been made an issue in South Africa, both times the judges deciding the matter were Muslims. A clear indication of how much more integrated Muslims in South Africa are. In the first case of the infamous Danish cartoon, the late Judge Mohamed Jajbhay decided that publishing it would amounted to hate speech. A reminder that even the most liberal constitution recognises limits to free speech but the ruling came under great scrutiny as it was felt the judge was ill qualified to hold an objective perspective in matters pertaining to his namesake.  This time the Judge was a Judge Mayet who insisted that her Muslim identity would not interfere with her ability to judge the matter.

I’m not sure if Zapiro’s cartoon can be judged a victory for free speech. As I conclude this a couple of friends are coyly tweeting admission they find the cartoon funny, that’s all. And that doesn’t make them any less Muslim. Nor does my disappointment in the cartoon make me any less South African.

Also read Hamish Pillay’s thoughts on the matter here.