Its Christmas, or so they tell me.
There are no decorations in the shops, no maddening crowds, no embarrassing parties, no other kids for my children to celebrate or compare their presents with, no church to remind us of what Christmas is all about and no indication, other than the date, that it is Christmas at all. The children are suppose to go to school today, Martin is at work. It is just another day here.
It is left up to Martin and I to carry forth our traditions and beliefs. Telling one's children about baby Jesus can be a daunting task. As I tell them, I am not sure they believe me. When the presents arrive under the tree they decide between themselves that it is worth believing me. But they intensely dislike the taste of Christmas mince tarts and turkey. I cannot convince them otherwise.
During my travels I have learnt that those physical things that we surround ourselves with, those excessive things we buy on impulse, create our identity and give us comfort. I have always traveled light, but this Christmas I miss things, physical things that I can call my own. Silly things, like the pink spotted gown I had in the UK, ugly things like the African face masks and comfortable things like the couches we had in South Africa. I wish the things that are in my house were mine. But as we move into the New Year, I know things will change again for me. I will be throwing things away again, moving on. The bin outside will be piled high with things I would love to take with me. With a 23 kg limit on baggage I know that the things I bought with such care and thought, are actually worthless. It is only a matter of time.
On a more cheerful note the children are very happy with their presents. Nicholas loves his new music player. He is very happy because, as an added bonus he has his own remote. I am not sure whether standing on the balcony to turn the music on full blast is going to please the neighbors. Matthew is taking pictures of these new developments with his new camera.
This morning my Arabic student neighbour tactlessly called me 'big' and 'old'. Nobody told him that comments like these are rude in a western culture. Despite this, I wish him well. He has failed his maths three times and will be going home to his family without his degree. He tells me he will not get a job. He comes from a lesser tribe and so his fate was sealed at birth whether or not he got his degree.
And so Christmas seems to grind on for me. I miss my older children who are so far away. Matthew, Nicholas and I have decided to eat lunch with Martin at the canteen at work. I will be taking my own food. I have grown tired of cardamom, chickpeas and tasteless rice served by uneducated Indians who think because I dont wear a hijab I am fair game. I am stared at, lusted after and insulted by arrogant Arabs and ignorant Indians. I feel dirty and gross. I no longer like to go outside the flat. I have become a prisoner. But today, because it is Christmas I will venture outside.
For you out there in the Great Beyond. I sincerely hope your Christmas carries many blessings. For my children Jayne and Andrew, Matthew and Nicholas, I love you all far too much. I pray that we can all be together someday. Mom, Rob, Eds, Alan, Elmare, beautiful Jess and sweet Cara know that you are all precious in my heart. I pray for continuing health for Mrs Clegg and that Martin's sisters find peace in their hearts today.
There are no decorations in the shops, no maddening crowds, no embarrassing parties, no other kids for my children to celebrate or compare their presents with, no church to remind us of what Christmas is all about and no indication, other than the date, that it is Christmas at all. The children are suppose to go to school today, Martin is at work. It is just another day here.
It is left up to Martin and I to carry forth our traditions and beliefs. Telling one's children about baby Jesus can be a daunting task. As I tell them, I am not sure they believe me. When the presents arrive under the tree they decide between themselves that it is worth believing me. But they intensely dislike the taste of Christmas mince tarts and turkey. I cannot convince them otherwise.
During my travels I have learnt that those physical things that we surround ourselves with, those excessive things we buy on impulse, create our identity and give us comfort. I have always traveled light, but this Christmas I miss things, physical things that I can call my own. Silly things, like the pink spotted gown I had in the UK, ugly things like the African face masks and comfortable things like the couches we had in South Africa. I wish the things that are in my house were mine. But as we move into the New Year, I know things will change again for me. I will be throwing things away again, moving on. The bin outside will be piled high with things I would love to take with me. With a 23 kg limit on baggage I know that the things I bought with such care and thought, are actually worthless. It is only a matter of time.
On a more cheerful note the children are very happy with their presents. Nicholas loves his new music player. He is very happy because, as an added bonus he has his own remote. I am not sure whether standing on the balcony to turn the music on full blast is going to please the neighbors. Matthew is taking pictures of these new developments with his new camera.
This morning my Arabic student neighbour tactlessly called me 'big' and 'old'. Nobody told him that comments like these are rude in a western culture. Despite this, I wish him well. He has failed his maths three times and will be going home to his family without his degree. He tells me he will not get a job. He comes from a lesser tribe and so his fate was sealed at birth whether or not he got his degree.
And so Christmas seems to grind on for me. I miss my older children who are so far away. Matthew, Nicholas and I have decided to eat lunch with Martin at the canteen at work. I will be taking my own food. I have grown tired of cardamom, chickpeas and tasteless rice served by uneducated Indians who think because I dont wear a hijab I am fair game. I am stared at, lusted after and insulted by arrogant Arabs and ignorant Indians. I feel dirty and gross. I no longer like to go outside the flat. I have become a prisoner. But today, because it is Christmas I will venture outside.
For you out there in the Great Beyond. I sincerely hope your Christmas carries many blessings. For my children Jayne and Andrew, Matthew and Nicholas, I love you all far too much. I pray that we can all be together someday. Mom, Rob, Eds, Alan, Elmare, beautiful Jess and sweet Cara know that you are all precious in my heart. I pray for continuing health for Mrs Clegg and that Martin's sisters find peace in their hearts today.
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