Written 20 Ramadan 1433/8 August 2012
Dedication: To spacing out while cooking
I sometimes space out when I cook. I'm pretty sure I do it much more when I'm fasting.
Like, after I make sure I have all that I need in front of me and after I read
bismillah and
Surah Quraysh over everything, I go into
the zone.
---
A
few days ago, my brother-in-law invited twelve of his friends over to
break their fast with us. In between cooking and Facebook, my mind wandered to the summer of 2006.
--
I took a trip with a friend to the beautiful city of Aleppo--the beautiful
Halab. Her city, she called it. We stayed with her family, and they took me in as their own. I'll never forget it.
 |
| www.greenprophet.com/wp-content/uploads/pistachio-tree.jpg |
We
were roommates that summer in Jordan studying Arabic at the University
of Yarmouk. She convinced me that we should spend our midsummer break in
Syria, so I applied for a visa before we left the U.S. We shared a cab
with another family from Irbid to Damascus and then got on a bus from
Damascus to Aleppo.
The night we arrived at her aunt's
home, someone quickly took my suitcase from my hands and carried it to the room
in which I would be staying. Suddenly, I was surrounded by her little
cousins who ran up to me and kissed my hands. After dinner, the kids
walked me to my bed and brought me water. I couldn't speak much Arabic at the time, but they kept me entertained and I imagined they told me about their
amazing lives. In exchange, I imagine I did something amusing. Since I
was still limping from a sea urchin encounter in the Red Sea, I may have dramatized my
snorkeling adventure to explain myself. I can't be so sure. What I am sure about is that they
were called away by the adults and reprimanded for keeping me awake.
...but I didn't mind.
One
night, we went to visit another aunt. She was a doctor and as soon as
she found out about my feet, she told me she knew just the thing to make
it all better--which is when I realized she began to sanitize a few
needles to pull out the urchin spines in my feet. I managed to escape.
Another
night, another aunt set up a massive feast for us on her patio. They
had asked me previously what I wanted to do during our short visit in Aleppo. I said I wanted
"to try Halabi food." I think she heard, "I want to eat
Halab"--because by the end of that night, I felt I had all of delicious Halab in my
belly.
And another evening, one of the older cousins
asked me about the history of Bangla as a language. He was very smart,
and I was the first Bangali he ever met. (I'm pretty sure I made stuff
up. I hope I said something about Sanskrit and Persian.
Miskin.)
I
learned that he loved his beautiful city. He loved it so much that he
never left it and the longest he had ever been away was for a day.
Another day, his brother took some time from work to show us around the city. From a rooftop--
was it at the top of Salahuddin's citadel or another rooftop?--we
could see the green domes of saints' tombs. I remember asking him
about his favorite holiday. Without hesitation, he said, "The Prophet's
birthday!"
Of course.
Another day,
his gentle mother took us to the old marketplace--the largest covered
historic market in the world--to go shopping. And shopping we did. I
still wear the scarves and jackets I bought there. (Have I revealed too
much?) Before we returned home after
maghrib, she took me
to visit the tomb of Zachary, father of John the Baptist. "Go ahead and
take your time," she motioned. "I will wait for you."
And every day, I enjoyed the most elegant food and generous hospitality. Beautiful juicy fresh figs, more kinds of
kibbeh than I ever could imagine...stuffed cucumbers and
mulukhiya...gorgeous
salads...a local brand of peach iced tea...some enormous amazing sloppy joe-like
burger with lots of fried onions...raw green pistachios...white string
cheese peppered with black seeds...
--
When I looked at the pots on the stove, I realized the chicken curry was done, and it was time to move on to the
dim bhuna and
khichuri.
I called mom. I told her how much I wished I could invite my friend's
family today. They were so good to me. I wished they were coming over. I
wished I was cooking
for them. I would make every dish I
knew. I wouldn't make it too spicy. I would place water near their
bedside if they decided to stay. I would speak with them even if they
couldn't understand.
I told Mom, My friend wrote
yesterday. These days, her family is just grateful for the bread they
can get. Many of them have had to leave their homes and neighborhoods.
Mom said
a prayer. I couldn't speak after that. Mostly because it broke my
heart. So I got off the phone and went back to the eggs.
----
Guests are from your
rizq. Guests come with their own
rizq. We plan, He plans.
As our
guests ate that night, I prayed that my Syrian family are safe; that
the gunfire they can smell and hear never touches them; that freedom is
near; and that the bread they can get tastes better and is more
fulfilling and nourishing than roasted lamb, honey, milk, dates and
fresh juicy figs...
---
And now, I'm not even sure what I'm writing. My husband has already begun calculating our
zakat for this year. There are a lot of options...
---
And
now, so many of you are posting about another mass shooting in the U.S.
Last time in a cinema hall by a young white male who dyed his hair like
the joker; this time in a Sikh temple in Missouri by a neo-Nazi
discharged from the army. On the same day, eight people were shot across
Chicago between 12:30 and 7 a.m and a mosque in Joplin was burned down
for the second time this summer. A few days before, many white friends
posted about Chick fil A and homophobia, and a few days before that
many anti-racism activist friends posted former Florida Republican Party chairman's
confession that the party had meetings "to suppress the black votes."
You would think there was a war out there, only I'm not really sure what we're fighting for...
---
In
other news, NASA's Curiosity has landed on Mars; FoxSports.com said
Baghdad is in Iran; Clifton Truman Daniel, former President Harry
Truman's grandson, attended the 67th memorial of the world’s first atomic bomb attack on Hiroshima and Nagasaki carried out by the U.S.; and Texas has
just executed a man with an IQ of 61.
---
 |
| Last night. |
Last night, I made
khosa.
Before Ramadan began, I emailed Baby Auntie for her recipe. Although
Auntie grew up in Chittagong, her mother is a Burmese Muslim. Auntie
learned from her mom how to make dishes like this coconut curry beauty.
As
soon as it was the perfect moment to space out about how much I love
Baby Auntie and Burmese-Bangalis, the fire alarm went off.
...but that
khosa sure was delicious…
