Don’t Feel Sorry For Me.

” Aww, I feel sorry for you. You still have to wear the thingy in this heat”.

“Oh, I bet you’re boiling under your scarf”

“How do you feel wearing that in this heat?”.

You see, I am a Muslim and I wear hijab. No, I wasn’t forced to wear it. I did not just pick it up after my marriage. In other words, my hijab has always been part of my life.

But with the temperature soaring above the bearable comes the same old look, gesture and utterances I felt quite uncomfortable with.

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The Knots in my Heart.

Of all the love stories I have read and heard, my grandmother’s love story stands out tall above the rest. My grandfather was a merchant who traveled far and wide with his bicycle. As a result, his trade took him to a tiny hamlet where my grandmother was born and raised.

At this time, there were many girls of marriageable ages in the hamlet. Men travelled from neighbouring towns and villages to seek their hands in marriage.

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In The Attic Of My Mind

In The Attic Of My Mind

l have experienced some great losses in my life. With each one came the anguish of loss. The helplessness that came with the loss and the deep raw sorrow which loomed over my shoulder.

I lost my 28 years old brother when I was about 21, his death was sudden and came as a surprise to everyone. He died the year he was to get married. I took his illness for a joke. He was always okay and that was the norm for him, but, things took a different turn after 2 days, he died the third day.

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