Museum of Islamic Art

Rising out of the calm, azure waters, the stone reaches out and catches the moonlight revealing an obelisk, mounted on an island, floating on the waves. An artistic masterpiece, symbolising the treasures buried within. The building epitomises centuries of Islamic history, from Cordoba, to Damascus, from Baghdad to Isfahan, from Fatehpur Sikri onward to Samarkand – the muse having been the thirteenth century Sabil (ablutions fountain) of the ninth century mosque of Ahmed ibn Tulun in Cairo.

Walking upon the palm-lined bridge, across the moat, the gentle sea breeze hums a lullaby to visitors who are hypnotised by the perfect twin reflection. Almost in a trance, they drift through the arches, the waters following, opening out to windows beyond which the distant city lights across the bay flicker as a reminder that they’re still in the 21st century. The vast open space of the atrium draws images of the warm desert sun upon the endless dunes, beckoning you to uncover its secrets. Looking up your eyes are mesmerised by the striking modernity of the flying carpets - transparent bridges as lookout points from the floors above. Looking below, the geometric Alhambra-style fountains lend a calming effect. The suspended circular oriental lamp, bearing resemblance to the lamp that hangs in the Suleymaniye Mosque in Istanbul, forming a perfect arc across the hall, and above that is the magnificent dome, mirroring the sculptural grandeur of the Dome of the Rock in Jerusalem. The atrium opens to soothing greenery as you look out through the oculus. The spectacular architecture and design are only hints of the splendorous habitants of this all but humble abode.

The capacious collection attests to Islam as not only a religion, but a culture, spanning continents and embracing the unique traditions of the varied peoples and places. Housed together, they beckon you through the Anatolian walnut carved doors, call to you with words of welcome – Ahlan wa Sahlan – taking you on a magical journey through time and space; revealing passages from the Book of Secrets; inviting you to meet Maliks and Sultans; navigating your way through seas with the astrolabe; paging through the manuscripts of old; unsheathing the ancient Ottoman scabbards; drinking from the fountainheads recovered in Madinat-az-Zahra and reclining on Shirazi silks; adorning the jewels of the Mughals and reading tales from the Shahnama.

In a world in which Islam is denigrated and the rich history and traditions are gradually eroding, the Museum of Islamic Art creates “a bridge between the past and the present, between the east and the west” – a heritage that cannot be lost! It stands as an attestation to the vision that the leadership of Qatar has to preserve Islamic heritage and culture and follows shortly on the launch of the Quranic Botanical Gardens, that will grow plants mentioned in the Holy Quran, cited in the sayings of the Prophet (SAW) and reflected in Arabic traditions, and bearing the landscape and design of traditional Islamic gardens.

Heart Memory

I scrape your name in blood onto the barbed wire fence that surrounds my dreams. In the distance waves of tears crash against a jagged shoreline of broken hearts.

My swollen tongue refuses to speak of its anguish. This bond has become a desert and my words of love have dried up like an oasis whose annual rain has failed to fall.

The Bedouin stand around parched, death is inevitable.

Berber Woman of Morocco

(Source: gallery.photo.net/photo/3081314-lg.jpg)

Shattering

Call them tears but they are so much more, the waves which wash away a million shards of hope.

Call it pain but it is beyond a feeling, a thousand sharpened spears hitting the bulls eye at once.

Call it aching but it is further than hurt, the shrapnel of an envisioned future.

You may call it love but is a massacre of hearts and a genocide of dreams.

The Desert is Going to Get You

( Source: www.slaughterphoto.com/Artists/4891/Mediums/M)

Forgive my ignorance but to me Desertification, sounds like when your significant other runs out on you ... aparently not . Desertification is actually some serious global warming speak, which translates as: huge dust storms which sweep millions of tons of sand from one country and deposit them into another . Initially the Gobi desert was the biggest 'hotspot' with 400 million people under threat in China, however thanx to climate change the threat is now one of global proportions .
The Facts are enough to freak anyone out!!!
In Africa demand for water has shrunk Lake Chad by 95 percent since the 1960s, leaving only sand and scrub. In Kazakhstan desertification has meant that nearly 50 percent of cropland has been abandoned since 1980. The Sahara is advancing into Ghana and Nigeria at the rate of 3,510 square kilometers per year. In Iran, fierce sandstorms are believed to have buried more than 100 villages in 2002.
So desertification affects both water and food supplies directly. In most of North Africa and the Middle East water supplies are close to 1,000 cubic meters per person per year, which is widely taken as a benchmark for water scarcity. While internationally crops are less as the desert claims even more of the world and considering the increase in food prices, I'd have to say the bad times are here to stay.

A Berber Bride of Morocco

(Source: www.bellaromamusic.com)

Child Slavery

While researching today, I felt as though I had fallen of the planet and into some crazy Star Wars crossed with Indiana Jones kinda story. The African concept of Trokosi. Briefly its the selecting of a child, usually a virgin female to serve in a shrine for the crimes committed by another family member. Basically we're talking traditional religious crime control. Its practised by groups like the Dangme, Ewe and Fon of West African countries like Benin, Ghana and Togo.

Trokosi's comes in 3 flavours, which I will arrange from most to least humane. Dorfleviwo or Baviwo get offered by their parents to serve the Gods in appreciation of their role in the child's conception and birth. Fiasidis may be given by their families, inducted by the deities, or voluntarily chosen to serve in shrines. They are the “wives of the gods” and are treated with respect (go figure) and may own property. The un-pretty version of Trokosi is the atonement on behalf of other family members type.

Although a Trokosi should only spend between 6 months and 3 years in servitude, depending on the gravity of the family members offence, they are often stigmatised and feared in their communties and so their families often don't secure their release and they are forced to serve at the shrines for the remainder of their lives or until they become sexually unattractive (who decides this shit???). They perform free labour ( one can only imagine the type ) for those that run the shrine so its basically bondage or slavery playing dress up, paying for someone else's crimes. To make matters worse Trokosi's have to wear blue-black cloth and the identification Raffia necklace at all times, so that people can see you a mile away and can get a head start deciding how they are going to abuse you.

Information on the Trokosi found in: RK Ameh : The Trokosi System in West Africa (2004)

A Tuareg Woman of North Africa

Jihad An Nafs and the Habit of Denial

The title of this post got me in giggles when I wrote it! Almost sounded like “Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix” but really, it’s about more serious stuff!

I’ve been pondering of late, about denial – “the subconscious suppression of an unacceptable truth or emotion” (Oxford English Dictionary) and while reading some blogs, some things stood out for me…. Usually people talk about denial of events in our lives that may have had negative psychological effects on us but we’re often in denial about spiritual and physical matters too.

Years ago in a chat room, I happened to participate in a discussion that still resonates today…. Many of us speak against idolatry and shirk (equating others with the Supreme Being) – the ultimate crime in Islam – but how often are we unconsciously treading that very thin line?

Let me elaborate in yet another story from yet another friend (wow I didn’t realise I had that many) ….
Safwan and I were talking in general about how fortunate mutual friends of ours were to have spent part of Ramadaan in Makkah. This discussion led to Safwan reminiscing of the time he performed Umrah (the minor pilgrimage to the Holy Kaaba) and the immense connection he felt with Allah (SWT), as he watched the feathered circumambulators in the sky. Down on the ground, he noticed how strict the guards were in preventing people from doing certain acts that are frowned upon. But as he was in the tawaaf (going around the Kaaba), he suddenly noticed a man ahead of him wearing a “Beckham” t-shirt. What was even more puzzling was no one else seemed surprised or perturbed by this – no one but Safwan recognised the irony of it all!

Back to the chat room of old, where different forms of shirk were discussed – we idolise heroes and superstars and we’re surrounded by the daily intrusions into their lives so that we can feel part of that fame! We sponge off any little tidbits the tabloids have to offer and rarely does a day go by that we don’t read about who was seen with whom, who’s getting divorced, who’s adopted a stray from the third world, how many millions were paid for which pic! etc. etc. etc.
We keep a close watch on the trial of the death of a princess and condemn the paparazzi for it but aren’t we equally guilty for being part of the chain that has noosed around their necks?

And then there’s the almost shirk that we don’t even notice we’re doing! We go to the mosque or leave a gathering to pray – not for the sake of God Almighty and our connection with HIM but rather to show everyone else – oooh look at me! Wat a Good Muslim I are! Is showing off really going to get us brownie points with Allah?
Then we obsess about a sheikh or mufti or teacher or even a prophet and pay more attention to their words than the words of the Creator? An Arabic proverb reads: “Howsoever big the mosque is, the mullah can preach only of what he knows.”

All that said and done, I’m off to watch the wannabe demigods in Indian Idols!