67minutes......Do your part!

It's Tata's birthday and he's celebrating in style!

The Nelson Mandela Foundation and affiliated organisations have set out a challenge to everyone: -

Madiba spent 67 years of his life dedicated to making a difference in the world ... can we dedicate 67 minutes?

DD is always willing to do her part:

1. 67 minutes of looking damn HOT in my killa heels --- hmm but then I already do! All the time! And that is my gift to humanity!

2. 67 minutes of Pure, devilish chocolate indulgence!

3. 67 minutes of sweet seduction of a certain sexy someone

4. 67 minutes of six senses spa serenity

5. 67 minutes of giggling with the girls

I think I've made my contribution so social development, now let me hear your 67 minute pledges!

Prayer Mats to Drive The Message Home...

An Honourable Act?

I promised to return to the subject of honour killings after posting the story of the crime of passion in Buffalo (USA). This week, the topic has become unavoidable – there have been several cases reported in the news from different parts of the world:

* In Germany, a Turkish man admitted to stabbing his 15 year old daughter because she did not follow Islamic customs. The act was seen to be premeditative, rather than a crime of passion because the teenager lay asleep when her father stabbed her several times with a kitchen knife.

* In Jammu/Kashmir, a Brahmin father poisoned and strangulated his 22 year old daughter for marrying a Dalit boy in a secret wedding. The young woman told her father of marriage when he was arranging her marriage with another man.

* In Belgium, two Pakistani brothers were arrested on suspicion of killing the wife of one of the men. Her beaten body was found in suitcase in a canal in northern France. A third brother was thought to have fled to Pakistan. The deceased was in process of filing for divorce and custody of their child prior to her murder.

* In Saudi Arabia, two sisters were shot dead by their brother after they were arrested by the religious police for fraternising with unrelated men. The two young women were shot as they were being released into their father’s custody from a women’s shelter. The Society for Defending Women’s Rights in Saudi Arabia blamed the Commission for the Promotion of Virtue and Prevention of Vice for sparking the brother’s anger over his family’s honour by arresting the women. The Society said “arresting women for mingling with unrelated males should be stopped because it puts many Saudi women in danger and sometimes costs them their lives.” The man will face the death penalty unless his family forgives him. If he is spared capital punishment he will still face jail time served in the name of the public right.

* In Jordan, a 29 year old man, who had killed his raped sister by shooting her 12 times in the name of honour after she returned home from a government shelter, had his sentence halved by the court. Over the past two decades, dozens of women were reportedly killed in Jordan annually in the name of defending family honour. Two such cases have been reported since Thursday in Jordan.

Now the last time this topic was raised on this blog, a frequent reader, robg, raised many questions on the penal codes of the countries where these crimes are more frequent. At the time I admitted my relative ignorance and I appealed to robg and Kimyashafinaaz to help with their esteemed knowledge. I hope that they will contribute with comments on this post. In the mean time I read up a little bit (to address my ignorance)... there were certainly interesting points I came across but I thought for the purpose of today’s post I’d stick with the contemporary – that which seems to have occurred quite recently.

Jordan has long faced protests against the penal code that favours the perpetrators of honour killings. Even the Royal Family has protested against the act but to date Parliament has been reluctant to change the law that shows leniency in these cases. Legal experts and religious leaders insist that there should be no exemption for the so-called honour crimes under the law. The government of Jordan this week said that they were taking a number of 'legal and preventive measures' to ensure a drastic drop in the number of such crimes. Currently some defendents who murder their female relatives in the name of family honour could get a minimum of six-months in prison if the court decides to invoke Article 98 of the Penal Code, which stipulates a minimum of three months and a maximum of two years in prison for a murder that is committed in a fit of fury caused by an unlawful act on the part of the victim. According to the Jordanian Minister of Social Development, Hala Latouf, the government takes honour crimes seriously, as they “contradict all religious, human and cultural values.”

Syria this week scrapped a law “limiting the length of sentences handed down to men convicted of killing female relatives” (BBC News). President Bashar al-Assad issued a decree repealing Article 548 of the Syrian Penal Code and replaces it with a more severe sentence. In Syria, it is estimated that between 200 to 300 honour killings are committed annually, although official statistics show the figures as much less. While some are hailing the repeal of the Article, some Human Rights activists are not as optimistic and believe that the change in the law is still not a strong enough deterrent. Also, Article 242 of the Syrian Penal Code still states that “those who commit crimes of passion resulting from the unacceptable or illegal actions of the victim can benefit from the excuse of mitigating circumstances.” Last year the Syrian government sponsored a national forum on honour killings that both religious figures and jurists participated in. The forum’s final recommendation was to call for religious edicts (fatawa) to be issued forbidding honour killings and forbidding those that commit such crimes from making use of Article 242. The forum further recommended a prison sentence of no less than 15 year to be imposed on perpetrators of such crimes.

It will likely take a really long time for the customs and traditions to be repealed, even if the laws are. Practise in many parts of the world, is still forgiving of crimes of passion. There is certainly a movement to protect the rights of the women who are unfairly judged by their societies and accused of bringing dishonour to their families but from some of the stories above, the shelters seem to only delay the crime, which then becomes premeditated. Education and respect for women is needed. Regardless of differing opinions on honour killings, one thing should always be borne in mind – these crimes are tragic but they have no basis in Islam (as argued in the previous post).

Beached

( Picture source: google.com)

It was the way he always remembered her – burrowing her little feet in the cool, soft sand; her trail of footprints slowly filling up by the tide, washing away the trace of her journey. Wisps of her curly, black hair tickling her nose as they swayed to the singing winds in chorus with the rambling waves. Her deep-set eyes looked out toward the ocean, past the ripples in the sand, fleeting over the pebbles, pausing a moment on the broken shells, then staring off into the distance beyond the comber. It was odd though, he noticed that she wasn’t dressed for the beach – dark suede jeans rolled up to her knees, freckled by wet grains of sand; knitted black sweater and a thin cream silk scarf that flayed in the breeze.

She leaned forward digging her nails into the mud, manipulating a lump into a ball, kneading slowly, pressing the heels of her palms down, pushing forward firmly, then digging out again – repeating the mastication again and again, each time laying her open palm with her offering to the goddess of the sea.

The sun was gradually dipping out of sight behind them, casting a fiery halo above her head. The fluffy white clouds turned candy-floss pink in contrast to her wistful, dark aura.

He cast his last line for the day, hoping that this time luck would be on his side. By now, as the moon gradually rose out of the depths, the beach was deserted, yet she still sat there, her crepuscular silhouette rocking to the rhythm of the ebb and flow.

Thinking back, he still found it peculiar but somewhat beguiling that in her seemingly pensive state, she was completely oblivious to the stranger nestled between the foam-covered rocks.

His final cast yielded no reward. As he packed his fishing tackle back into the box and prepared to head home empty-handed, he contemplated walking up to her but he didn’t want to scare her.
His was a quiet demeanour. He wasn’t the kind of guy who was comfortable talking to women. He usually “fumbled and crumbled”, as his friends often joked.
Of course he was curious as to why she was there all alone – perhaps she was waiting for someone or just for the moon to gleam its spotlight on her.

He walked towards her, fishing rod on his shoulder, tackle-box in hand, his rubber boots making squishy, wet, embarrassing sounds, but she didn’t flinch. He passed just behind her, mumbling a hesitant “hello”, fighting the urge to say more or ask if she was ok, or needed anything. She barely lifted her head but he did hear a soft “hi” in response, while she continued to paint swirls in the sand.

As he got into his car to leave, he looked out towards her one last time. He couldn’t help but notice the ominous glow cast by the moon on the murky waters. A sombre figure alone on the beach, as the waves gushed towards her, was now playing with the shell shards that shined mother of pearl in her hands.

He set up his line the next morning in his usual spot between the boulders as the sun rose sleepily. As was his usual routine in the mornings, he began to clear away any debris that had been washed up and spit out by the ocean over night. A familiar cream silk scarf swam and danced in the little rock pools below his niche.

CATari?

Source: http://www.flickr.com/photos/emiraty911/331080799/

A Tribute to a Legend - RIP MJ

Mark of the Ancients - A story by the late Michael Jackson

He had lived in the desert all his life, but for me it was all new. "See that footprint in the sand?" he asked, pointing to a spot by the cliff. I looked as close as I could. "No, I don't see anything.""That's just the point." He laughed. "Where you can't see a print, that's where the Ancient Ones walked."We went on a little farther, and he pointed to an opening, high up on the sandstone wall. "See that house up there?" he asked. I squinted hard. "There's nothing to see.""You're a good student." He smiled. "Where there's no roof or chimney, that's where the Ancient Ones are most likely to have lived."We rounded a bend, and before us was spread a fabulous sight -- thousands upon thousands of desert flowers in bloom. "Can you see any missing?" he asked me. I shook my head. "It's just wave after wave of loveliness.""Yes," he said in a low voice. "Where nothing is missing, that's where the Ancient Ones harvested the most."I thought about all this, about how generations had once lived in harmony with the earth, leaving no marks to scar the places they inhabited. At camp that night I said, "You left out one thing.""What's that?" he asked."Where are the Ancient Ones buried?"Without reply, he poked his stick into the fire. A bright flame shot up, licked the air, and disappeared. My teacher gave me a glance to ask if I understood this lesson. I sat very still, and my silence told him I did.

I am A Woman

A poem by Sheema Kalbasi with Roger Humes

I am woman

coming from the desert

coming from the long line of tribes

coming from the long line of faiths

They called me mad

They chained me to the wall naked

yet I broke free the bonds

and ran through the pain of my existence

in search of the innocence that was denied me

and they called me mad

and they called me the evil spawn of Satan

yet I broke free the bonds

and ran towards our freedom

where I knelt

before the Mother and the Son

and I called them Salvation

and they named me Nation

and I tore loose the chains of captivity

only to fall once more into bondage

when I was raped by a Mongol

married a Jew

gave birth to a Muslim

watched the child convert to Buddhism

watched the child marry a Bahai

live as a Christian

die as a Hindu

I am a woman

I am the river

I am the sky

I am the clouded covered trees upon the mountain

I am the fertile earth whose song the plants drink deep

I am the long line of tribes

I am the long line of faiths

Don't try to convert me

into something I am not

for I am already all

that humanity will ever be