That’s right.  It’s time for the hole in Abdullah’s heart to be closed off and fixed.  He’ll be 11 months by the time his surgery rolls around, which is September 1st.  He is, alhumdu’lillah, doing really very well considering his condition.  It’s almost like he doesn’t have any problem at all, actually.

But the reality is that he does have a problem.  Not only does he have a large sized hole in his heart, his aorta is prolaptic and leaking.  That’s the real issue, according to the cardiologist.  We could’ve withheld surgery on Abdullah if he had just a hole in his heart, but the leaky valve is worth worrying about (finally, I guess…) So they want to go ahead and fix the valve and hole before it truly affects Abdullah’s health.

So some of you may be wondering, how does it feel to know your son is going to have open heart surgery?  Well, like the title of this post suggests, it is something that no one wants to hear.  I don’t even like saying surgery– I keep telling Abdullah he’s going to have sugary to become sweeter.  Saying surgery, or rather OPEN-HEART surgery is scary… I can see the look of fear on people’s faces when I mention to them.  They kind of… cringe.

And what’s not to cringe about?  Someone, albeit a highly trained paid professional, is going to put a blade to my son’s chest, put his heart on by-pass, cut into it, and then fix him back up again.  As amazing as the surgeon is (alhumdu’lillah) that’s still really scary!

And just because the surgeon is likely to be successful, doesn’t mean he will be successful.  Allah is the One I am depending on to heal my son.  But what if Allah chooses differently for Abdullah?  Insha’Allah he’ll make it through the surgery, but those first few days after are even more critical.  The nurses say to expect two days in the ICU and a couple of days in a separate recovery room.  Will he heal?  Will he have any complications?  Will he be in pain?  Will he be my same smiling little goodu? Will he be right back to his little antics at home, crawling under and over the furniture, keeping me on my toes?  It is something I have to prepare myself for… again, these are all things that no one wants to hear.

Imagine if we went berserk collecting good deeds the way we all obsess over good deals on black Friday. There is so much planning and preparing put forth for ONE day of sales at the mall.  Now imagine if that was multiplied by 30 days, and also if the deals were 70 times better!  I would line up for a deal like that the night before…

Which is exactly what I did!

Narrated Abu Huraira: I heard Allah’s Apostle saying regarding Ramadan, “Whoever prayed at night in it (the month of Ramadan) out of sincere Faith and hoping for a reward from Allah, then all his previous sins will be forgiven.”

Now *that* is one deal I cannot pass up!

Not that I hate love songs, but I don’t like ones with potentially destructive lyrics.  How are the lyrics for this song potentially destructive?

I imagine a girl, a young girl, who has her eye set on some boy that she knows.  Maybe it’s in school or at the masjid.  Maybe she’s talked to him once or twice, or maybe they talk all the time. Maybe her feelings for him are secret, or maybe they’re straight up dating.  But I imagine this girl listening to this song, and relating to the first few lines, and then just going along with the rest of it in her mind.

The song starts off describing a girl who was lost, confused, and lonely until she met a boy who liked her for who she is.  At last, she has found comfort in someone, and even better, it’s a boy!  Life is wonderful, because now her teenage dreams are becoming a reality:  I have a boyfriend.

Now let’s go back to our young girl listening to the song.  She’s enjoying the music, and she listens carefully and she is suddenly daydreaming about her teenage dream.  Hey… the boy I like thinks I’m pretty without any makeup on. And he laughs when I tel. the punch line wrong–*sigh* this song must be about me, and we must be in love, just like Katy.

The stage has been set:  two valentines in love.  Now, what’s the next prescribed step in the song?   Once this teenage dream has become a reality?   Here is where the destructive part comes in:  as our young girl is listening to the song, Katy transitions into some not so young ideas– Katy wants to go all the way with her boyfriend, and she is going to feel no regrets, just love.

Now I’m not advocating that a young Muslim girl who listens to this particular song is going to run out and commit zina (fornication), but I am saying that in the off chance that she is teetering on the thought of it (because let’s face it, she’s already gone so far as to find herself a boyfriend), then hey, if Katy’s song is giving her the warm fuzzies, then the entire song is giving her the warm fuzzies, and what Katy is singing about won’t be so bad.

It’s like the song is giving the kids written permission to think about and obsess over falling in love and going all the way.

She even tells you HOW to start it off:  1) meet up with friends somewhere 2) get drunk 3) seclude yourselves from the group and then 4) let him put his hands all over you when you’re wearing skin tight jeans (she even tells you what to wear!)

This song is a recipe for disaster–but we’ll all just let it slide by because it’s a “love song”, and blaming music for our societal problems is just extreme and way too conservative.

Now what about Katy’s male listeners?  I can’t even begin to imagine how much this song messes with them.  When they hear an older woman singing about letting a man put his hands on her in her skin tight jeans, and being a teenage dream for him, WHAT do you think our young male listener is going to think of the next time he attends an MSA meeting, or sunday school and sees the girl he kinda likes wearing a pair of skinny jeans???  You better BET he is going to think about putting his hands all over her.

Is what I’m saying too extreme?  Can I really blame one song and one woman for our current teenage problems?  Do these problems really exist?

First, I’m not being too extreme.  These problems are foreal, and these ideas and feelings are foreal.   Please don’t go through life thinking that teenagers aren’t loaded with hormones and totally in love with some idiot they know at school. Plus, I’d rather lean on the extreme side and be safe than be sorry.  Because in this case, being sorry is sometimes not enough.

Second, I’m not going to place the blame on one song or one singer.  The real problem is that teenagers are continuously surrounding themselves with TONS of songs and TONS of singers with EXTREMELY suggestive lyrics for committing destructive sins.  So no, Katy Perry-Teenage Dream is the not the end all, be all of zina-inducing music–I’m just picking on her song because it was easy.

Third, these problems DO exist in our communities.  Our teenagers are going through serious problems these days.  They are dating, they are doing drugs, they are touching each other, and let’s just say it:  they are committing zina.  And of the cases I’ve heard, the situations actually sound pretty close to what Katy is singing about:  a lost girl, a boy who understands her, bam– they’ve gone all the way.

What’s the point of all this?  Parents– take a look into your kids iPod and see what they’re listening to.  If you don’t want to listen to the music yourself, a simple google search will yield the lyrics to the song.  If it is inappropriate, don’t go nuts on them, TALK to them about how destructive and suggestive the lyrics are.

Teenagers–take a look into your iPod, and think about some of the lyrics to the songs you love to listen to.  I’m not going to even ask you to think about what Rasulullah (saw) would think about it, just think of your own parents.  If they were to read the lyrics, would you be embarrassed that you listen to that?  Also, try to assess how you feel when you listen to these songs– do you feel connected to the lyrics somehow?  If so, re-evaluate what you’re doing in your life… why do you, a practicing Muslim, feel a connection to a song about dating and committing zina?

Just some food for thought.

Well, it’s been 5 weeks since then, and Abdullah is now 6 weeks old.  He still has a hole in his heart, so you can imagine that means he still hasn’t had his surgery.

On the one hand, this is great news.  Alhumdulillah, Abdullah is doing really great.  Of all the symptoms that a child with a VSD can show, Abdullah only has one– his heart beats fast.  Otherwise, he’s eating well, gaining weight, sleeping well, not turning blue, breathing just fine, blood pressure is great, and the oxygen concentration in his blood is almost always at 100% Awesome!  I couldn’t be happier.

On the other hand, because he’s doing so great, the cardiologist has decided to postpone the surgery until an undecided date.  This worries me.  This worries me because the reason why we’re postponing the surgery is because he’s doing so well.  In my mind this is the perfect time to do the surgery:  here you go, surgeon, a healthy baby to operate on, with no complications! But apparently, a healthy baby isn’t a good enough reason to operate.

Okay, I get it.  The cardiologist said that we need a good enough reason, on paper, to operate.  On paper, Abdullah’s vitals are awesome, and we’re still not 100% sure the hole won’t close on its own.  The moment we can say otherwise, we’ll get a green light to operate.  In other words: if his health takes a turn for the worse (ie, congestive heart failure) then we’ll have a reason to go in for surgery.

I don’t want to wait for that to happen!  As a mom it makes me crazy at home, just watching him for signs of congestive heart failure.  Every time the poor kid works up a sweat because his mommy has him wrapped too tight in a blanket, I can’t decipher if he’s sweating ‘cuz he’s hot, or sweating because his heart is having a hard time pumping.  Or, when he’s drinking his milk, and he gets a little out of breath, I don’t know if that’s because he’s just hungry and drinking too fast, or if it’s because his lungs just aren’t strong enough for him to do the work.

I’m scared.  I’m scared, a lot.  I’m scared about all the time in between now and the surgery.

One of the tasks I’ve been given by Abdullah’s cardiologist is to make sure he stays healthy before his surgery. His heart can’t handle any type of infections (flus, colds, etc.)  This means that Saqib and I have basically locked ourselves in the apartment and are keeping visitors away.  But I don’t know how long that’ll be effective in keeping him healthy.  It’s one thing to keep “germy people” away… but what about germy parents??  What if I get sick, or Saqib gets sick… then what??  Do we stay away from Abdullah?  Is that realistic?  The chances of one of the two of us getting sick is going to increase as the winter months get closer and closer.  I’m not sure how long we can go without any germs in our apartment…

*sigh*  I guess all I can do is 1) trust in Allah and 2) listen to the doctors.  They are the professionals, afterall–they did go through years of medical school.  I’m guessing that the cardiologist is an expert on heart problems and probably knows what he’s talking about.  But, unfortunately, the maternal voice in my head is starting to get louder and louder, and it’s getting harder for me to shut it up.

“…and it may be that you dislike a thing which is good for you and that you like a thing which is bad for you. Allah knows but you do not know.” (Surah Baqarah: 216)

This is true in all matters of life.  Sometime we think we’re the experts on our life and that we know what’s best.  Nope.  Allah knows what’s best, always.  Sometimes we don’t get why we have to do something, or wait, or whatever.  But in the end, we should remember that Allah planned something for us, and He is the Best Planner.

I guess wanting surgery soon may not be a good idea, and postponing it could be better for Abdullah–and that’s really all that I want.  Allah knows, and I don’t.  Gotta give it up to that.

In the meantime, I’m going to try my best to be patient and think happy thoughts:  sometimes I like to close my eyes and revisit my hospital room, Tuesday morning, on September 28th.  It was just me, my husband, and my baby:  no holes, no surgeries, no heart problems.  insha’Allah my family will come back to this feeling again.

اللَّهُمَّ رَحْمَتَكَ أَرْجُو فَلَا تَكِلْنِي إِلَى نَفْسِي طَرْفَةَ عَيْنٍ

وَأَصْلِحْ شَأْنِي كُلَّهُ لَا إِلَهَ إِلَّا أَنْتَ

He really only has 4 basic needs:  to pooh, to fart, to sleep, to eat.  When he’s pooing, he turns red in the face, stretches out, and sounds frustrated, but isn’t crying.  When he’s gassy, he’s crying and won’t eat anything.  When he’s hungry he’ll start to turn his head to the side with his mouth wide open, or he’ll start to suck on his entire fist.  And when he’s tired, it’s usually right after he did one of the other activities

I can imagine that as more weeks go by, and he has more feelings, needs, frustrations, I’ll be able to figure those out based on his habits and faces.  Now I know why my parents can tell how I’m feeling just from the look on my face… they’ve been identifying it for years!  Silly me to think that they didn’t know how I was feeling, when it was clearly written all over my face… at least for them to see.

So note to self, and to other kids:  Parents really do know their kids so well.  You can’t hide much from them.  So just embrace it and let them help you.  Because if there’s one thing I’ve also learned–no matter what face Abdullah is making, every bone inside of me wants to help him get past what’s bothering him.  Even if that means cranking up his leg, and letting him fart all over me

I delivered a baby boy on Tuesday, September 28th, 2010 at 12:23AM.  He was 6lbs 11oz, and 19 inches long.  We named him Abdullah Yusuf Shafi, and he is the most beautiful person I’ve come to know in my life

A lot of people have been asking, “So, how does it feel to be a parent??”  I’d sum it up with one word:  uncontrollable.  Never in my life have I felt so much that Allah controls everything, and I have absolutely no control.  For one, I can’t control the love that I have for my son.  If you think about it, I’ve hardly known the kid for 12 days, yet he is the single most important person in my life now.  All I want is what’s best for him, and I’m not sure why.  It perplexes me that I love him so much, but I don’t even know him, and I have no “real” relationship with him.  As one person said it best, “If weren’t for the mercy of Allah placed in the heart of a parent, their children would be the number one people that they hate.”  Honestly, I couldn’t agree more.  The love and connection I have to my son is one that I couldn’t even dream of building myself–it is completely from Allah.

Not only are my emotions and feelings uncontrollable, but what happens to my son is uncontrollable.  I have come to realize that no matter how much I want things to be one way for my son, only Allah can control what the reality is.  This is most evident in the fact that Abdullah has a large hole in his heart (VSD).  He’ll be needing surgery in the next few weeks (du’as requested, please!).  Alhumdu’lillah he has a great cardiologist and surgeon lined up to work on him, but still I know that ultimately what happens to my son is not controlled by the doctors, but rather Allah.

Whew, talk about a lot of feelings to sort through!  New love, new fears, and new hopes.  May Allah make this new relationship that I have with my son, one that helps us both attain jannah, ameen!

I think I may be having a delayed reaction to Ramadan because it seemed to come up and out of nowhere so quickly!  The summer has been going by, full steam ahead, and then… wouldn’t you know it, Ramadan was here!

Saqib started fasting on Wednesday, so Tuesday night we headed to the local masjid to pray tarawih.  We just moved into our own apartment (another reason I hardly noticed Ramadan was coming up–I’ve been busy setting up this place) and it is about 5 minutes away from the masjid.  It was real nice not having to rush out the door to make it on time for prayer.  The hall was jam packed with people.  And with the 90 degree weather, it was almost unbearable in there.  That’s why I haven’t been to tarawih since Wednesday night.  Me and my 33 week baby just can’t take the heat.  I figure it’s better to pray at home, anyway.  I get some more time with the Q, and I can take my time with my salah.

So as someone who hasn’t been going to tarawih, I’m a little behind on my Ramadan-Mubarak-ing.

Oh!  and I haven’t been fasting. I feel like that makes me twice removed from Ramadan (not nightly prayer, no daily fasting)   I tried on Saturday, and it wasn’t so bad.  Insha’Allah I plan on fasting on the weekends.  Most people have told me to not to fast more than one day at a time.  I figured the weekdays would be tough with school and work starting up, so Saturday was the best choice.  I’d fast Sundays, too, but like I said, I don’t want to push myself and fast two days in a row.  I’m not sure how much me and the little one can handle, and I’m not sure I want to find out!

Anyway, for those of you who are fasting and going to the masjid every night, I hope you reap the benefits of your ibadah, and that Allah accepts all that you do this month!

We got to talking about all of that, and somehow the conversation took a turn for the bad.  She got really upset (teary eyed!) as she explained to me her frustrations with… aunties.  It seems that since she graduated and started working, every time an aunty asks her what she is doing in life, they didn’t really care about what they asked, they just wanted to know when she is planning on getting married.  Which I guess isn’t such a big deal, because my friend does in fact want to get married one day, as soon as the right person is presented to her–but that isn’t what the aunties asked her about.  They asked her about what she is currently doing in life, so she happily tells them.   They, meanwhile, are trying to redirect the conversation towards what they find to be a more important subject… why aren’t you married yet?

I find it exceptionally rude that the aunties will ask one thing, but not care to hear the answer for it, and instead try to point out to my friend that she is doing something wrong by working.

And the ONLY reason I find it exceptionally rude is because it hurts my friend’s feelings.  That”s the bottom line.  I’m sure that the intention of the aunty is not to be rude, but in fact to show elderly, loving, concern for this poor, lost girl.  BUT, the fact of the matter is that they did hurt her feelings, and that is all that matters.  And unfortunately that is something that these aunties can be held accountable for on the big DOJ–Day of Judgment.

Dear aunty, when you pry into my personal life out of genuine concern–you’re offending me and hurting my feelings.  I didn’t ask for your opinion about how to run my life, therefore you shouldn’t give me any advice, lest you say something that you shouldn’t say to me and then are held accountable for it on the Day of Judgment.

Dear aunty, I know I might be making a big deal out of an “isolated” incident–but it’s not isolated.  Sometimes you just don’t know when to stop with the questions and advice.  Why do you feel like at every stage of  a girl’s life, you are more than welcome to give her your somewhat rude input about what she should be doing, when, why and how.

When she’s in high school you’ll criticize your appearances by making out loud comments about her 1) weight, 2) height 3) complexion.  And then you’ll very obviously inspect her body, up and down, for the sake of your son or nephew.

When she’s in college you’ll want to know 1) why she plans on working (after her parents shelled out thousands of dollars for tuition)  2) why she picked a school “so far” from home 3)  whether or not she’s learned to cook because 4) she better get married REAL soon, otherwise she’ll be a lost cause like that other girl who is 27, working and STILL without a husband.

After she’s (thank God!)  gotten married, you’ll question 1) is that outfit from her mom or her mother in law?  2)  did she put on some weight?  3)  why is she still working 4)  WHEN WILL SHE HAVE  BABY ALREADY!!

Okay, so let’s say she makes it out of high school, goes to college, graduates, gets married, and within a time frame that YOU approve of she has a baby–does it end there?  One can only wish– after baby number one, when is baby number two coming???

Dear aunty, all of this is none of their business.  When you repeatedly ask about, in very obviously nosey ways, the inner details of our family life, you are offending an entire generation.  We very often loathe speaking to you.   And because you are offending us, and making us feel bad about ourselves, and making us feel like we’re doing something wrong (when more often than not, we aren’t doing anything wrong at all) you are only hurting yourself.  Imagine the silliness of it all, when it’s the Day of Judgment and you’re being held back by a bunch of younger girls that you spent the last half of your life offending.

Dear aunty, don’t you remember what it felt like when you were our age and there was some other elder that always badgered and belittled you for what you were doing in life?  Don’t keep the cycle going– treat us the way you had wanted to be treated.  Please don’t use your age against us, and tell us that as an elder you have the “right” to know everything about our lives.  And please don’t try to brainwash us into thinking that because you’re an elder you have the “right” to ask us anything.

What we all have the right to is respect and kindness.

The Prophet sal Allāhu ʻalayhi wa sallam said,

“The one who does not show respect to our elderly or mercy for our young is not from among us.”

[Aḥmad]

Dear aunty, if you think that the way our generation speaks about the elderly is disrespectful, maybe it’s because none of us have been shown enough mercy.  For once, when you ask about our lives–just listen to our answers and appreciate them for what they are.  Don’t ask more than you should– just a simple, “How’s school?”  “How’s work?”  “How are your parents?” is sufficient.  If we want to tell you more, when we feel comfortable, we will.

Monday– One of abbu’s subordinates at work is moving to Brazil and was in town checking the area out to find a place to live.  Abbu, being his boss, graciously invited him over for lunch and a basic FAQ session.  So this guy showed up around noon with his wife… did I mention they’re South Indian, ??  Wery antarasting, indeed. I had all sorts of South Indian trivia questions I wanted to ask him, but I didn’t want to embarrass 1) my parents or 2) my in-laws where I picked up my little know-how.  FYI–he was very impressed that my husband is from Bangalore.  2 points for Saqib!

Ammi having done her research found out that this little h-i-n-d-u actually ate meat, so she made chicken shami kabobs, allu gosht, chawal and daal.  I realize that in my last post I repeatedly said that whatever ammi had made for kaana was “yummy” or “delicious” but foreals, the kaana was yummy and delicious!  It’s not my fault that she keeps cooking good food.

After we served them lunch we also brought out some desserts.  As we were all enjoying our little chocolate cakes and brownies, abbu offered to make chai.  This is when something happened that I thought I’d never hear:  the man asked abbu if he was serioiusly going to drink chai, abbu said yes.  The man said, “You must use dip tea bags.”  Abbu said, “Of course.”  The man then said, “But this will not taste good.”  [[needle comes off the record player]]  I had to look the other way to hide my dropping jaw–did someone just tell my dad that his chai will not taste good???  Wow.  Abbu handled the matter very nicely, he just said, “Okay, no chai then.”

Monday happened to be my pseudo-anniversary so we “celebrated” with pizza.  I requested plain old cheese, and abbu brought home a four cheese pizza from Celeiro–one of those cheeses was GORGONZOLA–wow it was umm… interesting.

Tuesday–We all got up bright and early and headed downtown to the old city.  We first drove along some ocean drive which was very pretty and ended up at a light house that was built on a peninsula.  It was a beautiful day outside so walking around the light house was very nice.  After that we went to this market place Mercado Model and I bought a bunch of little trinkets to take back home for my friends.  We then went up to the rightfully named upper city and walked around to find a place to eat lunch.  That took a lot of time.  The only place we could find was some fancy restaurant that served huge proportions.  It was called Odoya.  Before we left we had to pray Asr so we went into this really beautiful historic museum.  They had a lot of open ballrooms that no one was walking in, so we took turns praying there.  I love knowing that the world is my musallah, and I can pray wherever I want.  We went to the masjid for maghrib after all that.  Abbu who is a pretty good expert of the streets was just a little bit confused about how to go from downtown to the masjid.  Being the American that I am, I told abbu to just follow this GPS.  He insisted it wouldn’t be helpful, but I told him that it was in fact helpful.  He humored me–the streets of Salvador are organized like a loose plate of spaghetti.  There is no rhyme or reason to the way the streets are set up.  Abbu already knew this, but I insisted we follow the GPS because it’d get us to the masjid in less than 10 minutes.  Actually it only get us stuck in a small street that was so congested with fruit vendors and other things–it was like driving our car through the ISNA bazaar.  Woops!  We ended up hitting someone

Wednesday– This was a pretty relaxing day at home.  I think we were all tuckered out from the big happenings from the day before.  The only point of interest was that I went to a grocery store with ammi and abbu and that yet again ammi made AMAZING food for kaana:  roasted chicken, vegetable rice, and homemade humous.

Thursday– When I woke up in the morning I couldn’t imagine eating another breakfast of eggs and paratay.  Not that it doesn’t taste good, but anyone can get tired of eating the same thing morning after morning.  Instead I asked ammi if there was a way to make French toast out of the bread we had–why of course we can!  We didn’t have any syrup, but we did have cream cheese and jam.  That was good enough for me.

Later in the afternoon we drove out to a local beatnik town called Arimbepe to go to some restaurant on the beach.  The restaurant was called Mar Aberto–open seas.  I wasn’t in the mood for anything local or adventurous, so I just ordered the closest thing to popcorn shrimp and mashed potatoes.  It was a lot better than Red Lobster–that’s for sure!  The food itself took forever and a half to get to us, but in the mean time I had fun looking out at the ocean and beach.  Luckily the restaurant sections off the beach in front of itself, that way you don’t have to see the real local fare on the beach–ew.

After lunch was done abbu showed us around the Complexo Ford.  My dad’s drive to work basically goes through what I consider to be the jungle.  It’s crazy dense forest with random animals crossing!  This ain’t no 96 or Southfield Fwy!   I asked my dad if when he comes back to America he’d shed a tear as he turned his car on Rotunda Drive–he had no comment, which to me is a yes.   The big Ford complex is in an area that is pretty industrialized, there were a lot of other factories.  Luckily the area where the Ford plants were didn’t look like they were harming the environment, too much.  Some of the other factories for other companies looked like tumors in the rain forest.  It was very sad indeed.

Friday–Another Friday, another Jumuah.  We got ready to go to the masjid at 11:45.  Abbu was especially busy in the kitchen because he had volunteered to make lunch for all the masjid folk.  Finally!  The opportunity to eat abbu’s kaana.  Whenever my dad is in fending for himself in Brazil without ammi, he has to cook for himself.  I always here about these dishes he prepares for the masjid that makes the locals go Coocoo-bananas, but I’d never actually had the chance to eat it.  I was impressed with him!  He made something akin to chicken pilau with vegetables in it.  And, of course, the masjid people ate it up right quick.  Good job to abbu!  A wonderful cook in the hiding

By the way, on the way to the masjid, the streets were completely DEAD.  I thought it was because it was the last day of a local holiday, but abbu knew better than me (of course, as always).  The streets were empty because it was the game against Portugal.  Which apparently didn’t even matter because both teams had already qualified to move on to the next round of the Worldcup.  Every single shop was closed.  Even the local restaurants weren’t open.  I was shocked to see that the Worldcup means so much to these people.  As abbu said, “Soccer is their religion.”

After we left the masjid we went out shopping for more local items.  I picked up some Brazilian knives which are amazing, and a pair of flip flops for the husband back home.  Fati and Hanie loaded up on similar items–knives, flip flops, coffee, etc.  I’m excited for Saqib to use the knives when I get back.  I wanted to buy a cutting board from here, but the really good ones are super expensive because the wood is from the rain forest.  Anything else is comparable to the stuff you find at BB&B, so there’s no point in hauling it back in my suitcase.

At night I made spaghetti sauce for everyone–actually I made it for myself.  I really wanted spaghetti, so I figured if I wanted it, then everyone else would just have to eat it, too.  Luckily it turned out to be good.  I didn’t feel so bad forcing it on all of them.

Saturday–My parents live in a town called Villas de Atlantico.  On Saturday I found out why.  I had no idea they were within 5 minutes of a beach–it was really nice!  Tons of palm trees, relatively private, and really clean.  We went on a day that was kinda cloudy, and we went kinda early too.  Ammi and I strolled up and down the beach a few times and then sat down on a bench to appreciate the beauty.  A man was selling coconuts on the sidewalk, so ammi and abbu bought some and we drank straight out of it!  I got to drink out of a coconut!!  The vendor moved on, and then a little later we saw his supplier.  A man came by on his bike, parked it by a palm tree, took off his Haviana chapals, and then walked right up the side of the tree like it was nothing dangerous at all.  He got to the top, knocked off some coconuts, walked back down the tree, and then put the coconuts in a bag.  We saw him selling coconuts to the man we bought our drink from.  How cool!  Local business from local products

At night ammi made matr pilau and I went it was my turn to go Coocoo-bananas.  I love love love matr pilau!  So I took this opportunity to learn how to make it first hand.  I have big plans to go home and make matr pilau for Saqib   Watch out, husband–Pakistani food is coming your way!

After kaana we went to Gelaguela, my treat.  I got some chocolate ice cream that had chunks of oreos in it.  It was really really good, and I think I liked it even more because I am jones-ing for some milk.

Sunday– Hanie left in the morning, and the rest of the day I think my parents spent resting and recuperating.  Fati and I hung around, went swimming, and acted like pretty big dorks together.  All in all a slow, relaxing day at home.

Monday–Abbu went back to work—boooooo!  Ammi, Fati and I headed out to the local shops to find some more local items.  She bought a sweater (not very useful to Brazilians, I think) and I bought some scented oil.  I was impressed that Fati managed to drive around the local streets, without getting lost!  I think I figured her out–if the streets are parallel and perpendicular, then she won’t get it.  If the streets look like spaghetti–Fati will be just fine driving in circles and making her way home

That afternoon we had our last chance in the pool.  The sun was out, the water was wonderful, and Fati and I laughed so hard I almost cried.  I’ve had too much fun with my sister over the past three weeks.  It’ll stink when I can’t see her and act goony with her everyday when I go back home.

Abbu came home early from work and we went to the Bahia plaza to watch the match against Chile.  Brazil won, 3-0!  How exciting.  I think their next game is on Friday?

At night we made pizza at home.  One of the ladies at the masjid makes really good dough, so ammi and abbu brought it home and put in the freezer.  We pulled it out and made our own pizza margherita and another pizza with shrimp and bell peppers.  Do I really need to tell you it was yummy?? It was so thin and crisp!  Absolutely perfect.  My little bambino enjoyed every single bite of it.

Tuesday–Wow–the weather stunk.  It rained a lot, so we were stuck inside.  We tried to make the most of it by inviting over one of the local masjid girls.  We entertained her with some fresh pakoray, and she helped us out by calling some people on the phone that only understand Portuguese.  I think it was fair exchange of services–food for favors

Wednesday–Our last day in Brazil.  Fati and I are leaving tomorrow early morning–cue the water works.  Even the weather was depressing–it rained all day.  We stayed in, again, and after packing up our stuff we sat on the couch and watched a movie.  At night after abbu came home, we made one last trip out to the stores to pick up a few last minute requested items:  Vuvuzelas!

It’s been good kids–real good.  My trip to spend time with my parents was, alhumdu’lillah, a wonderful, fun, fulfilling, success.  I enjoyed every single moment of my time spent with them, and I’m trying to my best to focus on that as I’m leaving them tomorrow.  Insha’Allah I’ll see them again, soon.  And insha’Allah when we get to spend time together again, it’ll be just as fun, if not more.

So imagine my delight when I was asked to come visit them for 2 1/2 weeks in Brazil!  The excitement was primarily to spend time with them and secondly to get to see Brazil.  The past 8 days have been a blast.

Saturday– We arrived at the airport a little past fajr and quickly collected all our luggage.  We breezed through customs, which was a small miracle considering 2 out of 4 suitcases were packed with food items and other assorted things for ammi. When we got home, I finally got to see their house.  It’s so nice!  I had only seen it in pictures, or had random glimpses of it through ammi and abbu’s webcam.  The real deal is awesome.  It’s just the right size for my parents and any guests they need to accommodate. It has a pool and really pretty flowering trees.  And the best part–all the bathrooms have power lotas

I took a nap on the couch when I first got home–that was one thing I missed doing at my parents’ house.  It was very satisfying. I  woke up to the smell of fresh rotis and chicken ka sahlun–man oh man, I was soo excited to eat ammi’s kaana!  It is something that I missed so so much.  It hit the spot and was perfect.  Pretty much everything ammi has made has been awesome and hit the spot The rest of the afternoon kinda drifted away and then we went to the masjid.

I’d been hearing about the masjid and all the people who go there for quite some time.  It was nice to finally see this small building where Muslims gather to remember Allah.  Talk about… weird:  when we got there they were having a halaqa.  Seems like a pretty standard activity at a masjid.  I sat down and then realized how strange it all was–the halaqa was in Portugese!  Okay, okay, I get it… obviously it’s going to be in Portuguese if we’re in Brazil, but it was so weird to hear people talking about Allah, Rasulullah, the Qur’an and Islam in a completely foreign language!  Islam really is everywhere, and it touches everyone wherever they may be

We stayed for kaana and then on the way back we dropped off a girl at her friend’s house.  We stopped for ice cream at a place called Gelaguela and I ordered the flavor flocos which is chocolate chip.

Sunday– Ammi and abbu had invited the local masjid girls over for lunch and dinner.  They all trickled in slowly after 11AM. Ammi made chicken salad sandwiches and soup, I made roasted potatoes.  I think I went a little overboard with the salt, but they all seemed to like it.  Apparently in Brazil people like their sweets SWEET and their salty foods SALTY!  Anyway, at night we ate pilau, shami kabob, karahi chicken, and bangun raita.  I stuck myself in the kitchen for some of the evening because I just cannot speak or understand Portugese, and to be quite honest–I don’t want to learn.  I know this is a very American thing to say, but what’s the point?  I’ll suck at it, and no one is going to understand me anyway.  I’ll stick to my English, Urdu and broke French, thanks yous very much!

Monday–This was a pretty relaxing day.  I woke up, ate a parata, and went swimming!!  Ammi and abbu’s pool is awesome.  It’s 5 feet deep throughout the whole length, so there’s no fear of “the deep end.”  I managed to remember how to swim pretty quickly and have been having fun in the pool since then.  Sometimes when I’m soaking up the sun outside I randomly exclaim, VACATION!  I told Fati that this is what I’ll remember when my students are giving me a hard time in the fall:  blue skys, green palm trees, chirping birdies, mama sitting poolside, and me in the pool.  I think that’s a pretty good stress relieving scene to remember?

The rest of my day I spent either lougning around on the couch, or just helping ammi out here and there in the kitchen.  I think we had left overs for kaana so as a treat we hit up this dessert place called Vanilla that is close by.  Uhh… I thought only Americans serve obscenely huge proportions.  I guess I was wrong!  We ordered three different slices, and it took the four of us two days to finish all of it.  Once slice was chocolate with strawberry cake, the second slice was croquante which is like chocolate, caramel and nuts, and third slice was some lemon pie.  It was all very very yummy!

Tuesday–Another day in the pool and lounging around the house.  Abbu got a half day off at work because it was Brazil’s big debut in the World Cup.  He came home and he and Fati went to a local place to watch the game.  I stayed home on account of being too tired, but I still managed to follow along the game.  How did I manage to do that without a TV?  The entire city ERUPTED with cheers anytime Brazil scored a goal.  So with the way things sounded I knew that Brazil had scored twice–and I was right

At night we went to eat kaana at a local pizzeria called Celeiro.  They make thin crust pizza in a wood-burning oven.  It’s ready in like 5 minutes because the oven is so hott and the crust is so thin!  It was yummy.  We ordered a pizza margherita and devoured the entire thing.

Wednesday–Another day in the pool and lounging around the house.  If this is beginning to sound repetitive, trust me it isn’t boring at all.  This is what I came to Brazil to do:  hang out at my parent house, be a bum, go swimming and get a tan.  All the excitment I need in a day can be found in going to the grocery store at night.  It was a giant mega mart called… Atakado.   I have no idea what that means, but it was enormous and they sold everything you could think of.  It smelled a little funky here and there, especially by the fish area, but otherwise it was an interesting place.  A lot of the other shoppers were staring at me, ammi and Fati like we were from a different planet–planet Islam where modesty is important.  I think for the locals to see a woman with all her skin and *gasp* her hair covered it doesn’t equal oppression and terrorism, it is equals, “WHAT ARE YOU????”

Thursday–We called over one of the local masjid girls, Mona, to join us for lunch and dinner.  She came just as we were done swimming, so we ate lunch.  Fati made Tuna salad sandwiches and we enjoyed them with local Doritos.  They are really good!  They actually taste like a real corn chip with actual cheese on it!  At night I made Chinese food for her.  On Sunday when she first came over, she sounded very surprised to hear that ammi knew how to make Chinese food.  So I thought it’d be nice to make some for her–fried rice, chicken lo mein, and sweet and sour shrimp.  It all turned out yummy.

Friday–I was CRANKY when I woke up.  The nights were getting way too restless.  Between having to turn over constantly because I couldn’t get comfortable, or having to get up to to go the bathroom, and being eaten alive by mosquitos, I was getting hardly any sleep.  By the time it was Friday I was at my wits’ end.  I just wanted to sleep, soundly, through the night, and wake up without a million new bits all over me, IS IT TOO MUCH TO ASK FOR??

We went to the masjid for jumuah, which was exciting and anti climatic.  Exciting because, hey, it’s jumuah!  Anti-climatic because the khutbah was in Portuguese, and might I add REALLY long.  I think I dozed off a few times.  Woops, forgot to ask Sh. Yaser about that in Divine Link, “Ya Shaykh, if the khutbah/khateeb is extremely boring, and I doze off, or rather blink for 20 seconds at a time, does that invalidate my salah??” It’s a valid question to ask especially when a khutbah is hard to find.

Friday night we went out to eat at  a place called Ki Mukayka.  They specialize in Bahiana food which is a mix of local fare and western African cuisine.  I think I went on a seafood overdose, and have banned all seafood from my diet until further notice.  It’s a little unreasonable considering if we go out the only thing we can order is seafood, but I guess that just means I have to stick to vegetarian options.

Saturday–The old brother in law showed up in the afternoon, finally.  I say finally because the poor guy was the victim of flight delays, cancellations, and missings altogether.  Of course with that combination up his sleeve, he had no luggage when he did arrive, 12 hours after his original time of arrival.  Poor guy.  I feel bad for him.

Hopefully ammi’s food made him feel better.  She had made Biryani that night and for some reason it was extra dee-lee-shush!  It hit the spot, and to be honest, the past few times I’ve had biryani, it’s been a little off, or I just haven’t enjoyed it much.  The last time my mom made biryani was the day before she left back to Brazil back in April–I was busy barfing my brains out with a stomach bug so I didn’t eat any then.  I’m glad I had to wait until now, because I enjoyed it that much more

Sunday– Yesterday we had a big Brazilian day out.  We all woke up, put on some shade of green and yellow and headed out to the Bahia Plaza.  We ate lunch at their buffet, and I got to eat Spaghetti… A+!  Then ammi and I went for a walk on the beach, and it was awesome… there was no one there!  Apparently this is a blessing because most of the locals don’t wear much when they do go to the beach.  Anyway we came back to the hotel and watched the Brazil game with complementary popcorn.

Dude, futbol players are a bunch of pansies!  Call me American, but I think the name foot fairy really suits them.  Talk about DRAMA.  If a player eve got touched at all, he was doing back flips, and pounding on the ground, “in pain,”  crying his eyes out.  Waaa Waaa Waaaa, giant babies!  Get a life.

After we came home from watching the game, we all headed out to a local grocery store and picked up some produce and then came home to enjoy a nice giant pot of nihari… wow, Ammi is really killing these dishes… or maybe I’ve just been so deprived of my mother’s cooking that EVERYTHING tastes amazing.  It’s a scarcity thing?