American Muslima Writer -Daring to Work Towards Jannah

In an age where Muslims have to keep their heads down and their political views under wraps sometimes we read news pieces that just make up pick up our heads a little bit and find a way to talk more about things that interest us.

I am writing a novel featuring UAE-Iranian Political matters, a work of Fiction, yet based on my observations of real life. I closely follow the Politics of the region and have my personal speculations about how things will turn with certain rising powers. But I try to keep all that off blogland for the safety of my family.

Just saw news on Gulf News about a man who was lynch mobed in a rural village of Lebanon. The Mob of angry Villagers managed to get him from police custody (two officers) and then took Justice into their own hands.  They murdered him and then stripped him down to his underwear and dragged him through the streets and then people stepped all over the body then it was displayed on a car driven slowly through town as more villages assembled. Finally they used a Butcher's Meat hook through the throat to hang him on a telephone pole for all to see.  The Lebanese Army had to be brought in to move out the crowd and retrieve the body.

Polygamy is common in Islam and sometimes causes stress or disturbance to the families involved and other time i causes bliss.  Either way it's a big issue not only in Western society but in the Arab society.

Many times with any big issues there will be jokes about it.
Men like to rattle women. Women like to spite a man.
Men like to share a knowing wink with another man.
Woman like to raise an eyebrow to another woman.

ALL OVER the world.

Even Doctors like to joke with patients as Susie featured in her latest blog post on Susie's Big Adventure.

Some will say this is a joking topic or some will say it's demeaning and hurtful and everyone is entitled to their opinions.

My own experience with this comes from family members and friends and random conversations I've overheard in English and Arabic.

Random comments:

It seems more clear recently how things go full circle.
I was in a shop buying a notebook (ever the writer needs) and it stuck me how just four years ago i was kneeling on the dusty floor of this shop trying to buy enough files for my new file cabinet and was making sure I had enough labels and tags for each folder and I was buying about 100 of the file folders so I had them quite spread out around me on the floor.  I never imagined four years later I would have accomplished all I have done or how changed a person I would be.  Even further in the circle would be the first time i set foot in that shop and smelled the beautiful scent of stationairy proucts....ahh it was love at first smell.  Time fades so fast and we never know what is around the next bend, you know.

It was also in this shop years ago, i was looking for a grave leaf vine stencil to paint a shelf I had gotten as a gift. I wanted to paint it and give it as a gift to another friend of mine. I looked and searched and shook my fist at the lack of stenciling options.  This last time i was in there getting my notebook I saw it a beautiful grape vine stencil, i thought wryly, ahhh NOW you get it...four years too late... it's just as well though for Allah is the best of planner and my friend no longer lives in Lebanon anyways, she went back to Sweden.

Looking around the city the western influence has crept swiflty into place.  Lingiree clad women on bilboards and seductivly posing around the more "developed" and more glamourous sections of the cities. Hijabi girls who could hardly be called hijabis. Double the amount of cars on the road and more noticably the better and newer imported cars on the road.  Buildings popping up and new streets directions being changed from two way to one way now.  It's amazing how cities change.

Nationalism is increasing here in Lebanon. Every other commercial is a nationalistic patriotic song or theme. They are quite stuck in my head.... Especially the opera one...... LUBNAAAAAN!!!!!
They think this is the solution for the wars to end here in Lebanon, having everyeon identify themselves not by religion but by the common thread that they are Lebanese.  To a point this would work...
EXCEPT... for the fact that Lebanon has the most DIEHARD extremests from EVERY RELIGION.  NO ONE AND I MEAN NO ONE is going to forget theat their religions come fist and their nationality second....
hmmm but then I double think.... the rise in Western influence is really leading people away from their religions into a consumerism age where people become confused about who they are and what they stand for....  SO I guess as always the debate is up in the air, the DIE HARDS are here to stay and the whishy washy LUBNAAAAANi people always meet head to head.  I enjoy the political sketches showing the stupidity of the politicians here.  They have about three or four weekly programs and no one misses them.  They are HILARIOUS!!!

I love my Lebanon, do I love Lubnan? Hmmm....  that's a question to think on.....

So here I am sitting here in the almost Fajr time and all of a sudden I hear a horrid screech and BAM BAM CRUNCH POP BAM BAM SQUEEEEELLL!!!!!
I live next to a roundabout that in the middle of the night is used in a race rally... finally someone got hit badly!
 I donned hijab and ran out only to find two men looking relaxed calling police and I asked if anyone is hurt and they look at me like I'm stupid.  I was the only female out there at 4am checking out the crash scene.... screw them then I went inside.... too darn cold out there anyways!

Jumping Religions and Marriages

ALLAHU AKBAR!!!! May Allah bless their family and make their marriage strong.

Oh Lebanon! Keep Waiting!
Oh Syria! Keep Waiting!
Oh Jordan! Keep Waiting!
Oh Afghanistan! Keep Waiting!
Oh Pakistan! Keep Waiting!
Oh Iran! Keep Waiting!
Oh Iraq! Keep Waiting!
Oh Saudi Arabia! Keep Waiting!
Oh Kuwait! Keep Waiting!
Oh Bahrain! Keep Waiting!
Oh United Arab Emirates! Keep Waiting!
Oh Qatar! Keep Waiting!
Oh Oman! Keep Waiting!
Oh Yemen! Keep Waiting!
Oh Nigeria! Keep Waiting!
Oh Egypt! Keep Waiting!
Oh Sudan! Keep Waiting!
Oh Mauritania! Keep Waiting!
Oh Turkey! Keep Waiting!
Oh Algeria! Keep Waiting!
Oh Morocco! Keep Waiting!
Oh Kazakhstan! Keep Waiting!
Oh Uzbekistan! Keep Waiting!
Oh Turkmenistan! Keep Waiting!
Oh Nations of the Prophets! Keep Waiting!
Oh Nations of the Books! Keep Waiting!
Oh Nations of High Morals! Keep Waiting!
Oh Nations of Wealth and Populations! Keep Waiting!

Keep waiting for Israel to find it's last "terrorist" Hamas leader
with his automatic rifle in one hand,
his green bandanna across his forehead,
suckling at his mother's breast.
Keep waiting for this infant militant to throw his ball
across the room and receive a grenade back from Israel.
Keep waiting for the numbers
to reach higher and higher.
Keep waiting with your blindfolds on
and your hearts locked in vaults.
Keep waiting while Israel clear out the foreigners
to prepare for the slaughter.

Ah, but they deserve it don't they?
Their babies blinked. Their children laughed.
Their youth kissed. Their mothers toiled.
Their fathers wept. Their elderly sighed.
Shameful deeds indeed.
So please keep waiting.
Israel is not done.


(c) Brandy A. Chase, 2009

There I was minding my own business leaving the ATM and about to make the perilous journey across the crosswalk in downtown Al-Ain on Saturady night. OK, remember to push the button to make the cars stop 'cause otherwise you'll get flatened.... remember to hide your money and credit card up your sleeve since you forgot your wallet in the car and -

BEEEEEEPPP!!!!! BEEP BE-BEEP BE-BEEEEEEEEEEEEP!!!!!!! HONK! BEEP!! HONK!!!! Went an idiot next to where I was standing. He stared furiously through his front window at a store. BEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEP! He announced rudely again really laying his weight into that horn. "Why isn't that low bred moron coming to serve me in my car because I'm far too lazy and well-bred to get my butt out of my car and go into a shop for service." He was thinking. It was written all over his face. HONK!!!! He goes again. By that time I had walked directly into his line of sight and I purposly dropped my jaw a bit and let my eyeborws rise to the top of my hijab in absolute amazement that someone could be so incredibly rude. I purposly stared him down showing my incredulousness that he was doing that. He was pratically standing over his horn and at my look he slowly sat down in his seat looking kinda sheepish. His eyes shifted side to side to the other dozens of cars parked along the street facing the shops, then he looked down until I finished passing. I didn't hear him honk again as I walked away. Then as I continued my brisk pace to get to the cross walk I noticed every other car held an Emiratian. Let me clarify that statement. Every other car, there was an Emeratian sitting in the driver seat waiting for his service to be brought to him because he couldn't see fit to physically get out of his beloved car and go into a shop and ask for what he needed. As I cut through these cars and waited as a long line of cars were pulling through the tiny parking lot. One stopped almost right in front of me and the female Emiratian driver began honking furiously and the female Emiratian passenger gestured out her window at the eatery shop. She sat right there in the driving lane of the parking holding up a long line of cars wanting to get in and cars were backing up all the way down Khalifa Street as far as I could see honking furiously because of her. I sighed and walked behind her car and all of a sudden she roared off since the service had not promptly answered her Beeping. The other cars behind her filed through the parking to where ever they wanted to go as I reached the crosswalk. I walked across the street to where my family was waiting for me to return from my bank run and got back into the car shaking my head.

Images of 50's drive ins filled my mind with chicks on rollerskates bringing service to cars. But there are a few big flaws to this image and the reality of what I experienced.

1. This was not a drive-in with special places to park and eat. This is a regular parking lot. These businesses all have indoor eating. You know Tables! Chairs! Menus!


-
2. These were not chicks with rollerblades taking orders, they were "low-bred"(in the eyes of some) workers forced to ignore their indoor customers and fly car to car changing orders here and there on the whim of a HONK!
3. Drive ins where I come from are there for people to enjoy sitting and eating in the privacy of their cars and it's fun. Here they are using this method more like a drive-thru with no thru, just drive up honk loudly, wave, order, sit there furious as it's being prepared honking every few minutes to be sure they remember you are sitting there waisting fuel.
I find this kind of mentality really disturbing. I really feel if they want food 'to go' so badly they can just call ahead or at least have the dignaty to leave their car and go to the store and order it inside and if they must wait in their car until it is finished then go get it.





My Uncle in Law who had a restraunt here said to me that if you don't rush out right away and take their arrogent orders they will drive off in a huff and then bad-mouth you to their families and friends so you don't get good business. If you rush right away and probably grovel enough they will come back again and again.
As my family reached McDonalds on Khalifa Street we got out of our cars (amazing huh?!) and walked into the restraunt (imagine that!?!) and stood in line with all the other Emiratians, Arabs, Indians (can you just believe it!?!?!) and waited for our turn to order our food. Ta-Daaa! Voila! It is THAT easy people!

I call myself a Writer. Yet I have not yet told how this came to be.

Perhaps we should first look at my childhood. Since I was young I was good at telling stories. My biological mother always would say "Brandy tell me a story." Later as I grew up to around 6 or 7 I saw many Shrinks and Social Workers and I was always Narrating my past so they could analyze me. In Kindergarten I was just learning to read things and in the foster home that taught me to read one of the younger boys made fun of me that he could read before me. This fulled my rage to be better than him and so I read like crazy. In 1st grade I was reading so well that they moved me up to the 3rd grade reading hour (where I'd go to 3rd grade just to read books with them for an hour). In the 3rd grade class I had so much fun and I felt so special being advanced. Also the smartest boy in that class was tripping over a new "hard word LIGHTENING" and I was so tempted to say it out loud to help him but I held my tongue wiggling in my chair saying it over and over in my head. Finally the teacher corrected him and moved on and I never had the chance to show my brilliancy. I was disappointed but still elated I knew more than the smartest boy of 3rd grade. Once I started living with my father and my new mom they encouraged me all the time to read and I did voraciously. All my tests showed I had advanced reading and comprehension skills many grade levels higher than I was in, consistently through the years. I used to spend summers reading book after book eating ice pops curled up with my cat. Also playing pretend with my childhood best friend all the way until the middle of high school led me to enjoy the world of imagination.

In school plays, because of my advanced reading levels, I always got the part of the Narrator because I could easily read quickly and memorize the many lines. It was my inner joy that I was still "the best" at reading. My 5th grade teacher, the wonderful Mr. Vasquez, used to read to us out loud in class and it would send me into the enchantment of books to the point I'd wait eagerly for the reading hour and when it ended I wished I could take his book and finish it off myself. I also by this time had made a few simple poetry books and the teachers had applauded them thoroughly.

Middle School taught me further the power of words and writing. One of the teachers read the first book of Narnia out loud. Another book he read out loud enchanted me to the point where when reading of drunkenness you could almost feel yourself sloshing sideways out the door to the next class. Words held power. I was still writing poetry here and there and practicing my use of imagery with just the right word well placed. In 8th grade our teacher gave us an assignment to write an actual long story. My mind was racing! Oh the plots to make! It was fabulous fun. I wrote a Science Fiction booked called "Journey to Pluto". Basing the characters mostly off of my real life friends. A Book I'm still polishing to publish to this day (it's there in a file!) But I made a short version and gave it to the teacher and she liked it very much.

More importantly though my parents showed it to my Aunt who is into writing and publishing and I had no idea we had so much in common. As we edited the story to make it longer I fell in love with the writing process. I was having fun with this. Also I continued to write poetry to the point when we'd eat out with my grandparents nightly I'd write out a new poem on the napkins and spend the evening trying to find that perfect word and driving my whole family insane trying to capture a feeling with only one word. Eventually my parents gave up and bought me a thesaurus.

Sadly shortly there-after my paternal Grandmother's health was quickly deteriorating. She was placed on Hospice Program and I read literature and pamphlets on how to deal with death. One pamphlet said to let the person know you love them. So one night I went to my grandmother's room and held her sleeping hand while Beethoven's Fur Elise played in the background and finally she woke and I told her how much I loved her and she assured me how much she loved me. That night I was feeling so emotional about it all I wrote the entire experience down and sent it to my mom through the post office since at that time I didn't feel comfortable enough to hand it to her. She saved that letter unbeknown to me at the time.

Later, when my Grandmother died, at her funeral everyone told special things about her. I was too shy to stand up in front of everyone though I had so much to say. My mom though stood and read my letter out loud to everyone. I felt better. As we were walking to leave the cemetery my Dad's Step-sister told me she loved my letter. His other Step-sister came up then too and said "Wow that was powerful. You know you should be a writer!" I was really stunned by the compliments. I know it was heartfelt but 'powerful!?' Me? A writer? Could I be? Am I? Is this where I belong? Is this what I can become? More family members complimented me and a dayIi expected to be so sad turned into something amazing. The beginning of my dream to become a writer. From that moment on I was insatiable in my quest to read more challenging books and each summer I took a classic author in Science Fiction and read all their books. One summer Alan Dean Foster, Andre Norton, Anne McCaffrey, the entire Star Wars novels series. I also inherited my grandmother's Romance Novels and there were hundreds.

I couldn't get enough of reading. It's all I wanted to do. I let homework and school slack as I finished that last page of a great novel. I lived my life in imaginations and fantasy. While I moved around in the physical world my mind was always dual mode in an imagination. I was the Queen of Europe gliding gracefully toward the evening supper and later the grand ball as in real life I went to my next class and to the cafeteria. People around me were just extras on my personal set. Instead of doing homework at night I'd spend hours and hours acting out my personal imaginations when I wasn't in a book, like being a famous "Riverdancer" as I danced to my Celtic Music in circles in my room. Being an only child ensured I wasn't interrupted or bothered.

But the best of all during these High School Years was writing novels. Instead of listening to a history lesson I'd be writing the 7th Chapter to my latest novel. Two weeks later I'd have a new idea and relate to my friends the new plot. Sometimes during lunch I'd get them to chime in on plot ideas. My closest friends can attest to my obsession. Sure I flunked a few classes but it was worth it at the time to finish that part of the book. Plus there was always Summer School. By the time I finished 12th grade I had 20 yes TWENTY unfinished books in various stages of completion. Yes I am a procrastinator with Attention Deficit Disorder. But I'm a writer!

So as I met my future husband and had to deal with a suddenly difficult life. My solace was writing and reading. I read so many books while unemployed that I could predict (correctly) the entire plot by the end of the first chapter. It got so bad I lost the interest to read and write anymore. I couldn't enjoy the books when I could predict it all. Just then luckily I was too busy working at the movie theater to worry about time to read. But for me Movies are like Books with free pictures. I even used to ditch school on Fridays to catch the latest Picture Book ;) that was released. I never stopped having my dual reality of imaginations during real life but it got harder and harder to find the right plots to match my life. I made a rule though that no matter how difficult Praying 5 times a day got for me I'd never "pretend" to Pray or be a Muslim Character. Islam is always been the one thing I don't use in imagining. Because Allah is real and Islam is not something to play with.

After I got married and moved to Lebanon I spent much of my time cooped up with myself as is my habit and made more imaginings and I had suddenly a lot of free time to write but social obligations to hang out with the family caused me strife with time management. Until my younger sister in law H, showed an interest in my stories and in making her own poems and story ideas. Such a special bond we share. She was my happiness in those early days when few spoke English and understood my aloofness. Now I'm able to share books and stories with her easily and she's my sounding board for everything I write. When I had the idea to write with Arab characters for the first time she was right there helping me with names and themes. To her I owe much. While pregnant with my daughter I had ages of free time to write and finally I finished my rough draft to my book I'd been working on since high school. I finally got to write "THE END". It's been 4.6 years since I wrote THE END and still haven't had time to finish typing it into the computer and getting it polished to send off and of course it's a Romance Novel so it's unIslamic and I have that whole debate still going in my head of if I morally SHOULD send it off...

Now I have over 50 books in various stages of writing (one completed!) about 12 of those Islamic, and I've made my dream to be a Writer. This was how I got to this point of finally opening a blog to find people "just like me". Muslims who Dream to Write.

Suzie wondered what will be my next topic to blog about....
Well Suzie, wonder no longer because this post comes from you!


Suzie and L_Oman have been thinking about their fellow bloggers and I do too. I always stare at my list and run mental checks on each name. Sometimes I can't click because of time but I see the name and think about them. Offline I think about them too and hope things are going smoothly for them. You all are in my du'as literally and may they come to pass. SO I'm playing this Tag! What do I wonder about my top fav bloggers? Quite a lot actually!


First I have the most incredible base of sisters in my Private Blog Truth Hurts. They listen to me go on and on for long winded posts -mostly without complaint- and give me solid good advice to live on. Without them I'd be a blubbering shell of nothing...blubbering to myself....


Angry Muslimah and Miss Muslimah are no longer with us in the bloggingland but they are always in my heart and I constantly wonder how they are and if things are going smoothly for them yet.


Aalia from Chasing Jannah is always making me wonder ever so randomly when she's ever going to get her behind here to UAE lol. And when she gets here , if she ever does, will she really like me as much as she seems to in blogland?


Saffiyah from Shaalom 2 Salam, I wonder how her moving is going and if things are getting squared away and if her health esp in Ramadan is holding up. I wonder if she's ever written a book. I wonder if one day I'll meet this strong and amazing woman.


Umm Ibrahim from Stranger in This Dunya, I wonder how a woman with so much responsibilities and kids and so much cooking has time to write and type up such delicious recipes. I appreciate her words of wisdom but I drool over her Fudge and Lemon-Meringue Tarts wishing time would slow down so I could be more great in the kitchen.


3rd Lady always seems to have an amazing new insight to share with us on her blog and I wonder a lot about her life and the fabulous advices she gives me. I do wonder what religion she is but I'm thankful that no matter what that is she understands the Higher Power we both believe in and can relate to what I say and believe in. I wonder if she will enjoy raising a family in Polygamy or will she feel trapped as time goes on. I surely hope she can deal with it because she seems so strong and she deserves a beautiful family of her own.



Jayne with a Y.... ah my dear when Will I get to meet this unique personality? She reminds me so much of my best friend's mother growing up that I feel at home even more here in UAE. I saw a Harley Davidson shop in Abu Dhabi and I admit I did look carefully at the windows wishing I could catch a glance of perhaps her. Insha'Allah one day. I wonder when that day will come when I can hear in my own ear her particular emphatic brand of cursing and feel more like I never left USA.



Habayeb from A Learning Muslimah another one I wonder when i can meet up with this awesome lady. I'd love to have a chance to sit down in a park and chat about life. I wonder why for the longest time i thought she was local emiratian but then I got mixed up and figured she's not local.....where are you from Heb? Oh and when are you going to get more awesome songs on your playlist because I leave your blog playing non-stop while I worked around the house in Ramadan cause i love the three songs you have but then Ya Taiyba started stuttering and I was down to two until my daughter was like "I don't want this anymore turn it off!" When Heb WHEN!


Is There Food On My Niqaab .... I wonder where she comes up with her blog posts from... they are always super in content and always make me think.


Marahm, iMuslimah, My Hijab, American_Bedu, Ammena, Abez Sez and OWL I check you all very regularly and wonder if life is going smooth for you.

Last but not least Suzie of Suzie's Adventures (in Saudi), is the only blog I subscribe to in my e-mail because I want to be sure when she posts I don't miss it. Always something new and interesting that reminds me of my first days in the Middle East. What I wonder about her is when and if she will ever look deeply and reflect deeply about how to strengthen her Imaan because if she starts covering Islamic topics in conjunction with her more cultural observations then her blog will beat most of ours in my whole blogroll for content. I enjoy her posts most about her reflections on religion and hope she'll do more. I hope she continues to have a beautiful attitude towards the Middle East and doesn't become Jaded as many before her have.

I do try my best to go through my whole long list of fellow bloggers once ever week or two weeks if I'm swamped because I do love all your blogs and I wonder how you are. As I said above even if I can't click your name one day I will think of you and keep you in my du'as.



YOU ALL ARE TAGGED!!!!!

This word A'yb (pronounced Eye-b) has many meanings in Arabic and here's the story how I first learned it:
Dunce-cap of shame...



My husband and I spent the night at my sister-in-law D.'s house (her husband was there too). It was fun and the next morning we were lounging around having breakfast and watching a movie when they get a phone call that our other sister-in-law M is coming over. She rushes around cleaning things, swooping breakfast plates to the kitchen and washing them, vacuuming the living room and picking up the couches from misplaces magazines and paraphernalia... although I'm helping her in her mad dash (as we all are) I asked her why she was freaking out. This is our sister in law. She looks at me with beautiful brows raised incredulously. "It's A'yb!"
"What's A'yb?" I ask back.
"A'yb is shamefulness. To be ashamed of something." She says and continues her "perfect house" clean up campaign. I follow her intrigued.
"But you didn't feel all this was A'yb for me so why for her?" I question. She smiles.
"You're not Arab. You're different. You don't mind the scatters at all out houses and you don't talk about the messes at our houses to others. You don't know us Arab women yet. We can be back biters. So we must rush not to show our A'yb to anyone so they have no reason to back bite. We make our houses perfect because that is how they SHOULD be. Anything less in an insult to them and to ourselves." She said. (Paraphrasing the long conversation between all four of us talking about this) . So Sister-in-law M came over and praised D's house greatly and we had lunch together. The whole time though I did feel special that she felt close enough with me not to feel I would back bite her about her house. But I thought it's sad that even between sisters there was no trust. They were so worried about appearances. It's almost obligatory to praise a person's house excessively in Lebanon. This A'yb matter also worried me because I'm kick-back when friends or close family come over and don't tend to do the "white glove test" before people come over. I started worrying what bad things were being said about me and my house behind my back. Sure before important dinners or something I would "Lebanese clean" but other-wise my house looked like any other house.

At sister-in-law M's house I would try to help her to clean up the breakfast dishes as it's expected to show closeness and warmth by helping to clean up with fellow sisters or family that you want them to think you're close to (and I am close to my in-laws I'm not just SHOWING help). But she would try to push me aside and take my sponge saying "A'yb go rest." Meaning: you are shaming me as my guest by working in my house. Now normally an American would back off and go rest feeling that you tried and you backed off gracefully and the host is happy to be hosting you. But as an Arab this is WRONG! You are to grab that sponge back, forcefully if need be, and force your hostess to get out of your way, while you clean her dishes. She will hover and try to fight back for the sponge but if you're determined enough she will feel a close bondness towards you because you are doing something good for her and helping her out. But be prepared for the consequences that if you do this once you are expected to do this every time. At M's house the first four times I let her beat me and I went and sat and then i didn't see her for a long time while she took all morning to clean the kitchen by herself. I was bored and regretted giving in. I talked to my husband about this and he told me what was expected of me to fight them back. So I tried it first at my husband's sister's house. She was cooking so I tentatively picked up her sponge behind her back and started furiously attacking the pans when i saw she didn't notice me. But WHOA as soon as she turned around she was like !!!!"AHH! A'yb!!! Give it to me! I'll do it! Go rest!" She tried to get the sponge out of my hand but i used my then wider girth to hold her out of reach with my hip as I continued to scrub. "Nonsense! I'm helping you! I'm your sister! You have to let me help you." I rushed unable to believe I was doing it, was holding off an Arab woman in her own kitchen. It felt like some important battle being conquered. She feebly tried again to make me stop but I brushed her off as they used to do to me. She went back to cooking as I polished off the dishes. It felt good. I was a part of them now.
Next time I was at M's house I started in on the dishes and my husband's brother (M's husband) tried to stop me but I brushed off his protests so he called in the heavy guns, his wife. M came rushing in protesting and assuming I would back off again. That was her mistake. I had won a battle I was not gonna loose the war!
"No no Put it down! I will do it." M says trying to elbow me aside.
"Khalas, it's easy for me!" I said sticking out my hip blocking her access to the sponge.
"NO! Go rest it's my responsibility." She says trying to sneak in the other side.
"I love to wash dishes though!" I protest and jut out the other hip scrubbing furiously all the while. She backs off a second but I know better.
"A'yb! Come on don't be silly. You're my guest!" She attacks a minute later after she LET me wash a few glasses and spoons.
"You're silly. It's my fun. I'm your sister!" I demand and I was amazed she backed off. But from then on I always had to wash dishes at everyone's house :D But it was worth it to make them like me more.






Another way they use A'yb here is for people or children showing off what they shouldn't be. Or wearing something inappropriate. If a small girl shows off her underwear (as small girls are prone to do) the mother rushes up to her pulls down her dress hissing "A'yb!" If a lady wears (as i used to do) sneakers with a dressy abaya it's A'yb, the people whisper behind her back.
I'm sure you all have heard other ways this is used.

PS: It's been A'yb for me that I haven't gotten back to the comments you wonderful people have left me but I have done it now and gotten to all those past posts you can go re-check them now and I apologise!

It amazed me when I came to Lebanon all the fresh foods they cook with. No boxes and very few jars (mostly homeade jarred food). They would take a fresh food and stuff it with another fresh food everyday! Many times a day. Very important foods to learn how to make are following:

1.Kousa Meshi (Stuffed Zucchini)

2.Warna 'A'nab (Rolled -and stuffed- Grape Leaves)

3.Kibbe (Meat stuffed into a burghol-cracked wheat- shell)