The last one standing

Even as snow has fallen in several parts of England and in the midst of this terrible cold, I found this last symbol of autumn still standing valiantly.

St.Paul's Cathedral and The Millennium bridge at night

Today was such a useful and proactive day. I had a very interesting workshop all day which helped to train us to be facilitators for an event which myself and a few others are planning on having. The great RD was in attendance too, not only was he there but he also gave me a birthday present – Chinaman, by Shehan Karunathilaka. Very kind of RD indeed.

The sun set by about 4.13pm tonight and the wintry chill was very much in action, however I had decided last night that I would go around St. Paul’s cathedral and take some night images, the first time I am really getting to use my new camera.

So I went after the training session we had, got off at Bank tube station and took the Central line in the opposite direction to go to St.Paul’s, alighted at St.Paul’s and started clicking away. I walked along the Thames all the way from the Millennium bridge to Tower bridge – it was quite chilly and by the time I reached Tower hill tube station my hands were literally numb and insensitive from the cold.

Here are some of the photos I took of St.Paul’s Cathedral and The Millennium bridge.

St.Pauls Cathedral

St.Paul’s Cathedral and The Millennium Bridge

Hope you like the photographs!

Have a great week!

Come in for a free sample!

Bath was wonderful in that much of the attributes of a historical city was intact. Something I look for in England is the England Enid Blyton describes in her books, but that is not that prevalent in what I have seen thus far – except of course I appreciate that Enid Blyton’s books are now close to if not more than fifty years old. Amie, who came with me to Bath is from Devon and according to her Devon is still very much Enid Blyton’s England. I can faintly recall Devon being mentioned in one of Enid Blyton’s books – first book of Famous Five perhaps.

Bath had a very traditional fudge shop, where staff were clad in very tradition victorian attire and were inviting people to sample their traditional fudges. A ‘fudge’ in England, for those of you who have not tasted it is very much like the ‘Kiri Toffee’ in Sri Lanka, albeit a softer version that dissolves easily in the mouth but breaks into small pieces when bitten. I say this because someone may have stolen the name ‘fudge’ and totally misrepresenting it in Sri Lanka.

Below are some of the portraits I took of the ‘fudge people’. Apologies that this one here is over exposed.

And my favourite of the two.

 

As photographs, not to the best of my liking. Just to document my travels.

 

Tony Blair’s sister in law’s conversion to Islam. Now what?

Lauren Booth, Cherie Blair’s sister and Tony Blair’s sister in law converted to Islam a few days ago. Where I am concerned, it’s just one of the many thousands of transitions that take place every year. The significance of this is that the person in question is a well-known figure, and sister in law to a man oft repeated in political circles in the new millennium, Labour’s most successful leader and apart from the Iraq war and a few other mishaps a man who brought a lot of constructive changes to British society.

The Islamophobic right wing press and some feminists will have to eat their own words due to this rather unexpected phenomenon.

Cherie Blair herself has immediately changed her stance about Muslim women, as today’s Evening Standard reports here.

Lauren Booth has written a wonderful piece on the Guardian about her conversion, the press and stereotypes. I am copying it here.

The reader is neither obliged to agree or to disagree, but definitely well worth a read.

It is five years since my first visit to Palestine. And when I arrived in the region, to work alongside charities in Gaza and the West Bank, I took with me the swagger of condescension that all white middle-class women (secretly or outwardly) hold towards poor Muslim women, women I presumed would be little more than black-robed blobs, silent in my peripheral vision. As a western woman with all my freedoms, I expected to deal professionally with men alone. After all, that’s what the Muslim world is all about, right?

This week’s screams of faux horror from fellow columnists on hearing of my conversion to Islam prove that this remains the stereotypical view regarding half a billion women currently practising Islam.

On my first trip to Ramallah, and many subsequent visits to Palestine, Egypt, Jordan and Lebanon, I did indeed deal with men in power. And, dear reader, one or two of them even had those scary beards we see on news bulletins from far-flung places we’ve bombed to smithereens. Surprisingly (for me) I also began to deal with a lot of women of all ages, in all manner of head coverings, who also held positions of power. Believe it or not, Muslim women can be educated, work the same deadly hours we do, and even boss their husbands about in front of his friends until he leaves the room in a huff to go and finish making the dinner.

Is this patronising enough for you? I do hope so, because my conversion to Islam has been an excuse for sarcastic commentators to heap such patronising points of view on to Muslim women everywhere. So much so, that on my way to a meeting on the subject of Islamophobia in the media this week, I seriously considered buying myself a hook and posing as Abu Hamza. After all, judging by the reaction of many women columnists, I am now to women’s rights what the hooked one is to knife and fork sales.

So let’s all just take a deep breath and I’ll give you a glimpse into the other world of Islam in the 21st century. Of course, we cannot discount the appalling way women are mistreated by men in many cities and cultures, both with and without an Islamic population. Women who are being abused by male relatives are being abused by men, not God. Much of the practices and laws in “Islamic” countries have deviated from (or are totally unrelated) to the origins of Islam. Instead practices are based on cultural or traditional (and yes, male-orientated) customs that have been injected into these societies. For example, in Saudi Arabia, women are not allowed to drive by law. This rule is an invention of the Saudi monarchy, our government’s close ally in the arms and oil trade. The fight for women’s rights must sadly adjust to our own government’s needs.

My own path to Islam began with an awakening to the gap between what had been drip-fed to me about all Muslim life – and the reality.

I began to wonder about the calmness exuded by so many of the “sisters” and “brothers”. Not all; these are human beings we’re talking about. But many. And on my visit to Iran this September, the washing, kneeling, chanting recitations of the prayers at the mosques I visited reminded me of the west’s view of an entirely different religion; one that is known for eschewing violence and embracing peace and love through quiet meditation. A religion trendy with movie stars such as Richard Gere, and one that would have been much easier to admit to following in public – Buddhism. Indeed, the bending, kneeling and submission of Muslim prayers resound with words of peace and contentment. Each one begins, “Bismillahir rahmaneer Raheem” – “In the name of God, the Merciful, the Compassionate” – and ends with the phrase “Assalamu Alaykhum wa rahmatullahi wa barakatuh” – Peace be upon you all and God’s mercy and blessing.

Almost unnoticed to me, when praying for the last year or so, I had been saying “Dear Allah” instead of “Dear God”. They both mean the same thing, of course, but for the convert to Islam the very alien nature of the language of the holy prayers and the holy book can be a stumbling block. I had skipped that hurdle without noticing. Then came the pull: a sort of emotional ebb and flow that responds to the company of other Muslims with a heightened feeling of openness and warmth. Well, that’s how it was for me, anyway.

How hard and callous non-Muslim friends and colleagues began to seem. Why can’t we cry in public, hug one another more, say “I love you” to a new friend, without facing suspicion or ridicule? I would watch emotions being shared in households along with trays of honeyed sweets and wondered, if Allah’s law is simply based on fear why did the friends I loved and respected not turn their backs on their practices and start to drink, to have real “fun” as we in the west do? And we do, don’t we? Don’t we?

Finally, I felt what Muslims feel when they are in true prayer: a bolt of sweet harmony, a shudder of joy in which I was grateful for everything I have (my children) and secure in the certainty that I need nothing more (along with prayer) to be utterly content. I prayed in the Mesumeh shrine in Iran after ritually cleansing my forearms, face, head and feet with water. And nothing could be the same again. It was as simple as that.

The sheikh who finally converted me at a mosque in London a few weeks ago told me: “Don’t hurry, Lauren. Just take it easy. Allah is waiting for you. Ignore those who tell you: you must do this, wear that, have your hair like this. Follow your instincts, follow the Holy Qur’an- and let Allah guide you.”

And so I now live in a reality that is not unlike that of Jim Carey’s character in the Truman Show. I have glimpsed the great lie that is the facade of our modern lives; that materialism, consumerism, sex and drugs will give us lasting happiness. But I have also peeked behind the screens and seen an enchanting, enriched existence of love, peace and hope. In the meantime, I carry on with daily life, cooking dinners, making TV programmes about Palestine and yes, praying for around half an hour a day.

Now, my morning starts with dawn prayers at around 6am, I pray again at 1.30pm, then finally at 10.30pm. My steady progress with the Qur’an has been mocked in some quarters (for the record, I’m now around 200 pages in). I’ve been seeking advice from Ayatollahs, imams and sheikhs, and every one has said that each individual’s journey to Islam is their own. Some do commit the entire text to memory before conversion; for me reading the holy book will be done slowly and at my own pace.

In the past my attempts to give up alcohol have come to nothing; since my conversion I can’t even imagine drinking again. I have no doubt that this is for life: there is so much in Islam to learn and enjoy and admire; I’m overcome with the wonder of it. In the last few days I’ve heard from other women converts, and they have told me that this is just the start, that they are still loving it 10 or 20 years on.

On a final note I’d like to offer a quick translation between Muslim culture and media culture that may help take the sting of shock out of my change of life for some of you.

When Muslims on the BBC News are shown shouting “Allahu Akhbar!” at some clear, Middle Eastern sky, we westerners have been trained to hear: “We hate you all in your British sitting rooms, and are on our way to blow ourselves up in Lidl when you are buying your weekly groceries.”

In fact, what we Muslims are saying is “God is Great!”, and we’re taking comfort in our grief after non-Muslim nations have attacked our villages. Normally, this phrase proclaims our wish to live in peace with our neighbours, our God, our fellow humans, both Muslim and non-Muslim. Or, failing that, in the current climate, just to be left to live in peace would be nice.

For the safety of Aufidius

Stone at the exhibition collection at the Roman Baths, Bath.

Image explaining the stone, which dates back to the first century ad, when Britain was under the Romans.

Of course, my pseudonym, Aufidius is not based on the Aufidius featured in this post. Rather, it’s based on Tullus Aufidius, a character in Shakespeare’s Coriolanus. I played Aufidius at the Shakespeare Drama Competitions for College a few years ago.

Coriolanus the film is currently being produced with Gerard Butler as Aufidius.

I have been rather occupied with a lot of things, including moving house. Just settling in and I hope to post more images of my trip to Bath.

Enjoy the rest of your week!