Monday, December 16, 2013

Through A Dead Girls Eyes

…Only the dead have seen the end of war. (Plato)

Or so they say.

There was always dust. Dust in my eyes, my hair, and my breath. Everywhere was dusty so I stopped trying to clean the windows everyday. We didn’t go out much; we usually just stay at home and listen to death on the box machine. Schools were out. The park wasn’t a park anymore, it smelled of burned childhood.

We had soups that did not taste like soup for days. Father went out everyday and he always came back looking a year older. One night he came home so old that I couldn’t tell it was he. We lived on. After sometime, I watched my little brothers’ body shrink in on itself. He got very small. He became a baby again; mother did everything for him just like when he was born. I don’t remember how it happened but when he went to sing with the angels, fathers old eyes cried streams of tears and mother broke into so many little pieces that went flying all over the house that we could not put her back together. She slept a lot but she never cried.

The sounds of gunshot and buildings falling always put me to sleep. Sometimes I get scared when I hear the screams of my friends and when I can’t hear their screams anymore; I get off my little bed, kneel by the side and say a prayer for them and my little brother. I used to cry a lot I remember.

The day it happened, it was very quiet; mother was in bed staring into space and father wanted to go see what was in the market. I went with him. I held his very old thin looking hands and wore my slippers. They were two different kinds. I walked with him along the street, we skipped over the rubble and I saw my uncles crumbled home. The street was empty, except for a bird or two, mindlessly chirping away. I saw a dog limp past us. I remembered that dog. It used to chase all the street kids. Now it just looked so sad, whimpering away on its broken leg. We reached the market and there was a fruit stand so we went to it. We got 3 oranges and a couple of grapes and one banana. The old man at the stand gave me a small apple. We walked back onto the street and the sound we heard was so loud I fell to the ground. I saw fathers eyes grow wide. He looked so pretty, just like my little brother. He tried to help me up but my ankle hurt so bad I couldn’t stand. We heard another sound, a familiar one this time, gunshot. The blood sipped slowly through my chest and I could see tears falling from my fathers’ eyes.

My mother never spoke again and my father kept getting older. They buried me next to my little brother and I heard them say three of my friends were close by too. There was a time before the green uniformed soldiers came that this ground was a garden, filled with beautiful flowers and smelled of roses and lilies. Now it smells like death and it holds the souls of dead children. Everything changed, I saw mother die of heartbreak and I watched the day they dropped one on our house. Father slept in a little tent where our house used to be and some nights, I hear him ask God why he hasn’t taken him too. I cried with him. He had no family left.

Some days I sit and watch the war go on in front of my fathers’ tent and some days I wander the old garden where I lie with the other kids. I haven’t met mother or my little brother yet. Maybe when father joins us, we will be a family again, in a place where gardens held flowers and parks smelled like childhood and innocence.
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Thursday, December 12, 2013

Love, God and Infinity

White black and brown mountains,
Blue white and grey skies
There must be a God
There has to be
As the beautiful flakes fell,
I took several scoops and pressed them to my face
It was divine
Maybe this is how to feel God
Or in the stars
If i stared hard enough
Maybe i could see a face
Love is God and my love for him is Godly
His hands pressed to my face
Just maybe if i pressed them hard enough
I would consume him into me
And he would know me
Know my depth
Know me in all the little ways
Know me in all the secret places i do not know myself
We would be together forever
Maybe not forever
But in a timeless place
Where we counted time
As a multiple of infinity
Where love was money
The richest man was the one
More in love, deeply passionately in love
Entertwined in our beautiful infinity
Our love would last
It wouldn't grow old
And crumble to little particles of dust
Flying into the night carried by the wind
Our love would go round a circle of infinity
And circle right back to us.

The night is dark
River flows
Sea gulls
Cold, Ice
The snow fell hard
We held hands.
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Monday, December 9, 2013

My Kind of People

I found a perfect description of my relationship with the world. Do not be surprised when you see me just falling in love with people just for being intelligent (i do that all the time):

"i actually feed on intelligence
i love it when people know a lot about a lot of things
about music, films, religion, beliefs, history
i love listening to peoples opinions 
i love big words
i want to suck in all these smart things like a sponge."

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Wednesday, December 4, 2013

For us with thirsty hands

It's 8am
On a cold saturday morning
And i wonder if you think of me.

As the sun rose
Did i rise in your mind?
It's so bright out here
I wonder if it's bright where you are
it reminds me of how bright your eyes are
And how you words soften my bones
Makes me feel light
Do you think of my eyes?
My hands my lips my feet?
Or has your brain drowned me
In a pool of your other conquests?

My thirsty hands are numb
They don't remember your hands anymore
You are not cold water to them anymore
I am thinking of you
On a cold saturday morning.

On a hot monday
Or a windy Tuesday
Or sunny Friday
Do i ever cross your mind?

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Thursday, November 28, 2013

Wednesday, November 27, 2013

Tuesday, November 26, 2013

Sexual Harassment

Note: This something i am going to be writing about a lot so brace yourselves for a truck load of feminist ideologies. Realise that this is a highly sensitive topic for me. More than a feminist, i am a Humanist(not in the actual definition but a complete pro human rights) and a violation of human rights regardless of gender/religion/race enrages me and brings me to this blog.

Ok Listen:

You know why most men that perform the act of sexual assault commit such heinous act? Because they were raised by generations of women who were thought that they would always be nothing but number two and that their world revolves around a man telling them who to be and so they raise their sons to be the alphas they are supposed to be, telling them that the world is their oyster whilst forgetting to teach them the most important lesson of all, respect for the female gender.

Do you realise that when ever a woman reports being harassed the first thing they ask her is "Were you out at night?" followed by "What were you wearing?". Since time immemorial, women were always told that it is their fault whenever such ugliness happens to them. We as a society have done nothing but fail each other repeatedly.

Why don't we stop throwing the "you should have worn something less revealing" line and start teaching our boys that a woman is not a conquest, they do not get gold stars for sticking their manhood into her, they must respect a woman enough to never touch her unless she agrees to be touched. As time goes, the human race is apparently supposed to evolve into this mega hi-tech clan with so much technological advancement that we could go to the moon and back(literally) but i have come to understand that barbarianism still holds us back and the human race will never be fully evolved to its super hi-tech"NESS".

Look, the thing that separates us from animals is our ability to feel and think and do other cool shit but as long as men keep on assaulting women and getting away with it, we will always be nothing but animals on two feet instead of four.

I found Feminism when i learned to love and respect myself first. Everyone, male or female should be feminist because if you respect yourself enough to treat yourself right, you will respect the next person and treat them just the way you want to be treated.

A story: Couple days ago i was out with my friends and a guy walked up to us like he was going to pass and he grabbed me at the crotch and attempted to just walk away. You know what i did? i turned right around and punched him. That would remind him that my body is not a side walk for him to walk on and girls remember, this people are not real MEN and do not hesitate to punch a bastard(ok, this is bad advice i think but yeah, report to the closest authority you can find and make sure he gets punished for harassing you).

More on Sexual harassment soon. I have a surprise coming for my lovely readers.
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Sunday, November 24, 2013

Saturday, November 23, 2013

How To Not Get Raped

Do not look like a female. 
Do not smile. 
Do not make eye contact. 
Walk with your head down. 
Wear robes. 
Avoid at all cost shorts and mini skirts. 
If possible, walk around wearing masks. 
Shave head.  
Bandage up boobs and ass.  
Do not go out at night or during the day. 
If possible, live in a cave. 
Make sure you do not draw attention. 
God forbid you wear lipstick, allow your lips to chap like there is drought on your lips. 
Make sure you remember to not look like a female. 
Avoid Rape. 
Shared Girlhood. 

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Thursday, November 21, 2013

Too White??

What is “too white”?? Is it 5 shades lighter than Barack Obama or 3 shades lighter than Miley Cyrus?

So lately, I have being spending a lot of time by myself, thinking, writing, not sleeping and all that and I have being getting very interesting comments when I speak to people. The most surprising one is “you are being too white”. It’s always a brick to my skull that phrase and I have gotten it more times than an African should. My question, what is “too white”?

I thought we could only act based on our guts and heart not based on skin color. Well at least that’s what I thought, obviously someone thinks otherwise. Being the sentimental bastard I am, I am attracted to art, music, poetry and all that emotional crap. Yesterday I told my friend whom is by far more annoying (still care about the little fucker) than humanly possible that I am so bored with life(which I am actually, leave comments below of any advice) and I am searching a place online where I can go and like have a snack and watch/listen to live music and out of nowhere, he hit me with that large brick “you know you are not white right”?. Wait, what?? I’m not?? Shocker. I mean, I have a bathroom mirror, which I stare at everyday and I always assumed I was white.

Reverse. How does one act white?  My lack of attraction to basic everyday routine that people around me conform to makes me act a skin color lighter than myself? I am confused (no for real I am).  Like, is it humanly possible to be anything other than what you are? I am African, is it possible to act lets say, ASIAN(of Caucasian skin color)?? How does one act Asian?

I cannot understand the need for us to stereotype one another. Honestly, we are doing nothing other than bringing ourselves down by ourselves. If you want to go backpacking across the globe, buy a fucking backpack and set out. Do not glue yourself to a place just because people around you do not go backpacking across the globe. Seriously, we need to break free of the boundaries society has built around us. This is such a big world and there is so little time to do the things we want to do, who says a particular thing has to be only for Asians or Africans?

I do not even need to go into biological details of how we all look different based on our respective countries but I mean, that’s just physical appearance. Your brain was not programmed to act your race. Please, kids do not need to hear this “do not act white” crap people like to feed. Whatever you do, do it because you want to, do it because it makes you happy, do it because in your heart you know it is right for you, do not imprison your mind, break free of the boundaries of society, the world is your fucking oyster.

I like to read a lot of interesting things about the human psychology and how to better myself and I like live music and I love travelling to new places, if these make me several shades lighter than my skin color, then so be it. I mean, what is wrong with being who I am. I think this is the main reason why there is so much unhappiness in our communities. We prevent people from doing what makes them happy and they are left with nothing other than what we have told them is the definition of happiness and it gets them all confused in the head.

If you want to act black (whatever that is) do it, and if you want to act yellow, or green or blue, but please remember, do it because you want to and because it is the right thing for you. It’s all about YOU. YOURSELF.
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Wednesday, November 20, 2013

The Irrelevance of Birthdays

I became a year older this month and i have being completely bummed out about it and just overly depressed about getting older. If you do not feel this way about birthdays, that's fine. Ya'all are gorgeous you know, don't let one sadist ruin birthdays for you :D

Recently, I’ve started to see the irrelevance of the amount of effort we put into doing something “fun” on our birthdays. I mean, do you realise it is just another year marking the things you didn’t achieve? It is another year closer to your eminent demise (not that every minute is not a step closer to our eminent demise) but yes. What really is the significance of celebrating birthdays?

Maybe I don’t know anything, I mean, who am I to comment? I’ve never had a birthday party unlike most kids; my first ever birthday celebration, which wasn’t even exactly a celebration, was during my second year in a middle school boarding house. I’d just turned 12 and my mum brought me cake and some drinks and snacks (on my request), which I shared with the entire dormitory. So basically what I’m saying is I am not the most experienced person when it comes to birthdays, so bear my negativity.

It’s 2013, and birthdays are now sort of like a debt (I know you’ve thought it too). You feel the need to get your friend a gift on their birthday, not because you really give a shit, but because you remembered they gave you one on yours so you are obliged to give them something back. I mean, what is the point of doing something not because you actually want to, but because you feel it is a duty.

And turning up to the party? Please. We could turn up whenever we feel like turning up. What is the importance of partying on your birthday? Does it make you feel better about getting older? Does it make you any more accomplished than you already feel? Does it hide the fact that you have wasted another year of your life in a dead end job? Or does it make you feel good about the fact that your dreams are still on hold?

I get the whole giving the kids a show of love and affection from their parents on their birthdays (ignore my use of the word show, I’m sure your parents love you all), I mean, kids need that. But what about adults?  Call me a sadist but I think most of the time, we don’t really care about people’s birthdays. We forget 70% of the time (if not for Facebook), admit it, you do not care if on this same day a couple of years ago your friend popped out of their mothers belly so yeah, birthday celebrations are highly irrelevant.

Those that love you will remember your birthday and they'll probably call you, or text you, or whatever you means of communication is and well, some love you but they'll forget, we are not computers or facebook, anyway what i'm saying is, chill out on the whole birthday ok? there is so much more chilled things than being silly on your birthday.

Do not get me wrong, marking the date IS important. That’s why we have birth certificates, but the need to celebrate every single year you turn older is just highly vain in my opinion. We all love gifts, sure, but if you truly love someone, you’d get them a gift whenever you want, not just on one particular day because you feel obliged to.

Do not deny it, I am voicing out your unspoken thoughts.
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Sunday, November 17, 2013

-the beginning of madness

My lungs expanding in my chest
my throat was on fire
i was on fire
my fingers grabbed for sanity
redemption was gone
drowning in a sea of myself
eyes rolled back into madness
head erupting a lava of commotion
chaos was loud
peace was silent
fire fire fire


"breathe" i told myself



sanity slowly sipping back into swollen lungs
stone, the lava froze
peace peace peace
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So, i am super excited about getting Salt by the amazing Nayyirah Waheed. Her words speak to me in a way two souls intertwined in space and time speak to one another.
She is amazing and her book is out on amazon. Order it and tell me if it does not change you. I told you, words are not just words sometimes, sometimes they are what heals our brokenness and brands us anew.
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Sleepless with you

sleeping alone
In my spacious bed
With my body hugging itself
My knees held up high to my chest
Both arms tucked safely beneath my head

Falling in love felt safe
Instead of hugging my knees
I hugged you
My head laying softly on your chest
Arms wrapped around one another

My body does not feel the need 
To constrict on itself
I open up to you
Knowing you got me
It was safe

Last night i hugged my knees
And my tears blanketed me
My bed was cold
My arms tucked beneath my head

Today i am awake
I have not been sleeping
You ruined nights for me

I got a new bed. 
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Saturday, November 9, 2013


Have you ever asked yourself what it is you are living for?

Forget everything you think you know, open your mind now. Did you ever imagine a certain utopia, where every single person just looks at another person and thinks about the life that person is going through? The homeless man down the street and the man in the big mansion next door are living two parallel lives, one is just a side story, a glance in the others story. Every single person we meet is struggling through something, he/she has passed or is passing through a phase, like me every single person has there own way of accepting things, everyone has their individual beliefs and everyone is just searching for eyes that deem recognition.

I think if we think about these things, we would live in a lot more peaceful world. Think about it, move past physical appearances and look into peoples heart. A friend once told me "everyone has a good heart, some are just misguided". He has no idea, but his little phrase changed my life. Did you know that, if you strip 10 random different people of different ethnic and cultural backgrounds, if you strip them down to their skeletal form you would not be able to recognise who is who. It is very important that we listen to people, and listen to them well, see their heart, be black, brown, white or yellow, nobody was born with hate. Every single soul is capable of a gargantuan amount of love, you have no idea. When we treat people the way we want to be treated, we realise that we treat others better and they learn and treat others better and its a huge cycle of people randomly being nicer to other people and it starts from you, you treating the next stranger exactly the way you want that stranger to treat you.

Live a life which you will look back on and smile. Be a reason for someone to be kind. Kindness is so infectious, if you are kind to people around you, they too would want to be kind and just like that, you have begun another cycle. Be a person whom others think of and say "she/he changed my life". We sadly live in a very vile and angry world, fortunately for me, i was born into a religion that rewards people for smiling (smile, it's sadaaqah :D ). Regardless of your religion, a smile never hurt anybody, a single smile has started millions of relationships and one angry comment has ended so many. It breaks my heart that we see one another and look away just because we do not know that person. smile, it's sadaaqah. Wallah i can promise you that a smile has never broken a heart.

A teacher once told me "breaking someone's heart is like breaking a part of the Ka'abah". For us muslims, the Ka'abah is so precious to us that we could never think of ever ruining it. And if we learn to take peoples hearts as the Ka'abah, wallah we would cause less pain to people around us. Treat every single person you meet like an egg. Every soul is precious and every soul living through a struggle. Be the reason for someones happiness. Be a reason for other people to be good people. The wise poet Jelaluddin Rumi wrote "Yesterday i was clever, so i wanted to change the world. Today i am wise, so i am changing myself". It starts from yourself, you do not need to save the world, you need to save yourself first, unless you are good, you cannot make any other person better.

Take a day or two to think about your life. Re-evaluate you prioritise. Be the person you want your child to be. Be the reason someone excels. Change our life. Change others'.
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Thursday, November 7, 2013

For My Daughter On Her First Heartbreak

Baby, sweet little child of mine.
This volcano of pain erupting
from your heart, the burning in your stomach,
I promise you baby all this will fade.
A time will come when,
all that pain is just rain,
the fire in your heart
will die down.
The walls closing you in
baby, all will fall.
Your breath will become
 so light baby,
you will breathe life
and you will live.
You will take a day
at a time,
a bonfire
does not go on
after day break.
Your tears,
baby your tears
will dry up
and on that day,
you will smile on this earth
and your face,
your beautiful sweet face
will glow, it would glow
so bright that night becomes day.
You become the earth,
you will see the color on the flowers,
you will smell the ocean breeze,
your will hear the wind
and feel the rain.
Baby this is not over,
you are not over,
life is not over.
Baby you were made strong,
titanium baby,
you are unsinkable baby,
you will rise from this turmoil baby.
The stones that break you
will become dust before you.
Take this pain baby
and give it to life.
Let it be the wind.
Sweet little child of mine,
this too shall pass
like everything thing in life.
Live life
and baby love,
it’s so tricky but
baby when you do fall in love
it will over take you
and you will be swept away.
Love will find you baby
and  it will take you
to places mummy can’t take you.
Pain changes you baby
and I pray that it makes you
the best you
that you can be.
I do pray
that my love for you
hugs you and
kisses you at night
and I pray baby
that my love for you
will make you love yourself
more than he will love.
I love you sweet little princess.
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Monday, November 4, 2013

Saturday, November 2, 2013

....and i pray to God
that you find a girl
that looks at you
and sees you,
that sees right through
the mask of righteousness
and virtue that you so
love to wear,
i pray that she sees past
the garment of you,
and sees your lies
and your one two three broken sincerity
and innocence
and when she does
see past all that,
i pray to God
that she will be everything
i never was.

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Wednesday, October 30, 2013

Child Not Bride or Child Not Adult?

This is one article that is long overdue.

I ask you to read this to the end once you have started it and if you are a bigot I urge you not to start reading this because I would hate for any reader to not fully comprehend my point here. Read to the end, I am not spewing words that I do not understand, I know full well what my argument is and I stand by it also I have proof of all that I write so….read and leave your comments below

First of all, I start by pointing out one fact. The choice for adults to reproduce comes with a certain responsibility that entails that until this child is fully an adult, he/she is under the sole care of his/her parents. It is the parents responsibility to protect and provide for this child, it is their duty as parents to do everything in favor of the child. The child did not ask to be born, the parents made that decision for the child so they are required to do whatever it is they can to protect the well being of that child.

Education has become a privilege. Those of us privileged enough to have an education know this very well. There are several people that are not so fortunate.

The issue of child marriage is appalling honestly. I just watched the interview with Senator Yarima and I am honestly disappointed on how clueless these so called people we elect into office to lead us are. I am not trying to be disrespectful here. I understand Senator Yarimas whole basis but come on. In the interview he said, he went all the way from Nigeria to Egypt to see a girl but ended up seeing the 13 year old whom he wedded. Doesn’t this seem just a little odd to you. This is a man over the age of 50, he has kids way older than 14 years of age. I have a father who is over the age of 50 and a little sister who just turned 13. I am simply outraged by the idea that someone as old as my father would look at my little sister in a “sexual” way. This is a child who can barely take care of herself, a child whom I as an older sister always have to remind to go take a shower. How do you as an adult and a father look at this innocent child and think of taking her up to your bed?

I am pretty sure the Senator gave this girls family a ton of money to marry their daughter and it breaks my heart to know that there are families out there who would take their child and give her off to a man just because he has a lot of money. This reminds me very well of slavery. You cannot tell me a 13-year-old girl has always had a dream of marrying a man of 50 years from a place far away from her hometown and everything she knows. 13 is a tender age, a very vulnerable age, this is the stage where a child begins to discover herself, this is the time in her life when she begins to understand her body and the changes her body will begin to show at that age. 13 is the age of innocence. I think it is highly important that we as adults do our best to preserve the innocence of children.

If a child at the age of 13 thinks of nothing but marriage to a 50 year old man then I am sorry but there is something wrong here and the mother should be worried too. I am not a mother, I may not know anything about raising a child, but I am a child of 5, I have four sisters and I happen to be the second oldest. I have watched my mother raise my little sisters and me and at the age of 13 my mother does her best to keep us as innocent as possible. I mean, isn’t that what parenting is? Protecting your child? If my mother should ever hear about a man, giving her 13-year-old daughter a look of sexual desire, knowing my mother, I know she would go berserk.  I am completely blaming the childs mother here. To rub your child of the innocence of a 13 year old, to rub your child of the beauty of being a teenager, that is absolutely heart breaking. This child has being made into a mother at the age of 15. Do not tell me she can still go to school and follow her dreams and be whatever she wants to be. She cannot, her sole responsibility is now all about protecting her own child and doing what’s best for the child. At 15 years old, I was in High school still not sure of who I was and what I wanted to be and there is no way in hell that I would have being able to take care of a child at that age.

I think marriage is sacred and before anyone embarks on this life long journey, one must be able to understand what he/she is getting into. Marriage comes with sacrifices and compromises and biologically, the average 13 year olds brain is not fully able to comprehend what exactly marriage entails.

I am not even discussing the medical ramifications under aged sexual activity has on a child.  This child is vulnerable to VVF. Do you as the “supposed” husband make this child understand that she is at a risk of tearing her internal organs? Do you make her understand that if she agrees to go to bed with you, that she is at a risk of having to hold a bag of pee with her wherever she goes? Senator Yarima pointed out that his wife is fine but that doesn’t mean other girls are. We are all different and we all have different body types, one girl may be mature enough to give birth at the age of 15 but another girl wouldn’t be. So because one child narrowly escapes this horrible path we should allow it and not protect other girls?

Notice how all this time I by-passed the topic of religion. I am a born, raised and practicing Muslim. I have read the Qur’an in both Arabic and English and I have had it read to me and explained to me in a language I could understand right from childhood so I do have a pretty sound idea of what I am about to talk about.  Yes  it is common misconception that the prophet married his wife Aisha at the age of 6 and had the marriage consummated two years after when she was at the age of 8. I have done my research, I have read about this several times. The reason I used the word “misconception” is because The Prophet  (SAW) did not marry Aisha (RA) at as young an age as 6. She is said to be way older. It appears that Maulana Muhammad Ali was the first Islamic scholar directly to challenge the notion that Aisha was aged six and nine, respectively, at the time of her nikah and consummation of marriage. This he did in, at least, the following writings: his English booklet Prophet of Islam, his larger English book Muhammad, the Prophet, and in the footnotes in his voluminous Urdu translation and commentary of Sahih Bukhari entitled Fadl-ul-Bari, these three writings being published in the 1920s and 1930s. In the booklet Prophet of Islam, which was later incorporated in 1948 as the first chapter of his book Living Thoughts of the Prophet Muhammad, he writes in a lengthy footnote which I quote from saying

“Again it is a fact admitted on all hands that the nikah of Aisha took place in the tenth year of the Call in the month of Shawwal, while there is also preponderance of evidence as to the consummation of her marriage taking place in the second year of Hijra in the same month, which shows that full five years had elapsed between the nikah and the consummation. Hence there is not the least doubt that Aisha was at least nine or ten years of age at the time of betrothal, and fourteen or fifteen years at the time of marriage.”

(Full article from

To make my point even clearer. Men do not have the right to compare themselves to the Holy Prophet. We are told in the Holy Qur’an to follow the teachings of the Prophet (SAW). We were not asked to be him. Men have come to justify their actions by stating the phrase “The prophet also did it”, excuse me but you have no right  to compare your virtues to that of the Prophet (SAW). Why then are men asked to marry only up to 4 wives but we know clearly from The Qur’an and hadith that the Prophet had up to 11 wives. The time of the prophethood and our time is not the same. Men need to understand that, before they can quote the Qur’an and use it as a basis for their arguments, they must first understand the Qur’an first. Later research have also gone on to prove that Aisha (RA) was not as young as she is said to be when she married the Holy Prophet.

Below quoted from the compiler of the famous Hadith collection Mishkat al-Masabih, Imam Wali-ud-Din Muhammad ibn Abdullah Al-Khatib, who died 700 years ago, has also written brief biographical notes on the narrators of Hadith reports. He writes under Asma,  the older daughter of Abu Bakr:
“She was the sister of Aisha Siddiqa, wife of the Holy Prophet, and was ten years older than her. … In 73 A.H. … Asma died at the age of one hundred years.”

“This would make Asma 28 years of age in 1 A.H., the year of the Hijra, thus making Aisha 18 years old in 1 A.H. So Aisha would be 19 years old at the time of the consummation of her marriage, and 14 or 15 years old at the time of her nikah. It would place her year of birth at four or five years before the Call.”

We women in Nigeria have always being silenced by men. When I first showed my disapproval towards the whole bill to make a 13 year old girl an adult and be legally consent towards marriage, I was told by several people to “keep quiet” about it and someone went further to tell me “I support prostitution and not the teachings of the prophet”. Women must take a stand. If no one will stand of the 13 year olds, we as adult women must fight and protect them. We must be heard.  I keep thinking of my little innocent baby sister as I write this. I am an educated young woman and I know my rights and I know wrong when I see it and Senator Yarima is wrong. This is not about the Senator, Yarima loves the attention he is getting, this puts him in the spot light for the next political office he runs for and he knows full well that the ignorants among us are so much more and he will have their support.  Again the is not about the Senator. This is about the rights of children that we as a society must protect and stand for. We must let children know that the society has not forsaken them and they are safe. Their rights to an education is safe and their body is not a vessel for a man to purchase whenever he pleases.
My religion teaches peace and equality. It does not teach barbarism, it does not teach extremism. Quoting from the holy book:

" It is He Who has created you from a single person (Adam), and (then) He has created from him his wife (Eve), in order that he might enjoy the pleasure of living with her." The Holy Qur'an, Chapter 7,Verse 189

"The believers, men and women, are "Awliy," (helpers, supporters, friends, protectors) of one another, they enjoin (on the people) Al-Ma`ruf (i.e. Islamic Monotheism and all that Islam orders one to do);and forbid (people) from Al-Munkar (i.e. polytheism and disbelief of all kinds, and all that Islam has forbidden); they offer their prayers perfectly (lqamat-as-Salat), and give the Zakat and obey Allah and His Messenger. Allah will have mercy on them." The Holy Qur'an, Chapter 9, Verse 71

"So their Lord accepted of them (their supplication and answered them), "Never will I allow to be lost the work of any of you, be he male or female." The Holy Qur'an, Chapter 3, Verse 195
“And according to usage, women too have rights over men similar to the rights of men over women.”
(al-Qur’an, 2:228)
This Verse denotes that rights enjoyed by men are the duties of the women and the duties of men are the rights of women. This implies a similitude between both the genders. There is no right conferred on man that woman may be deprived of because she is a woman.

So basically my point is, know the deen before you use it to justify your own human actions. Regardless of your beliefs, a 13 year old is not an adult. NOT AN ADULT.

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Saturday, October 26, 2013

- Last night,
i wore blood red lipstick,
coloured my eyes black
and painted my face
several layers of brown,
i looked like the definition
of angels in heaven.
i was tumbling
down valleys
of self hatred
and several years
of repressed
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Monday, October 21, 2013

Tears Of My Mother

I grew up with the idea that only the weak cry. It worked for me. I wasn’t one of those kids that cried all the time when they didn’t get what they want, I sit and strategize and I always end up getting what I wanted. I was a smart kid like that. I blame my father tho, he bought me books that thought me to be smart.

Tears are like rain in summer, I look at it as beauty. You know when it rains and you want to sit down and read a book or just go to sleep, that’s tears for me. It’s a rare comfort I am not blessed with having the company of all the time, whenever I cry, I always end up sleeping the day away, I saw my mother do this when her friend died. As she cried out her friends’ name, I sat on the couch and hugged my knees. I tried to watch the show going on on the tv but all I could hear wear my mothers cries, I could feel the tears streaming down her face forming a pool of anguish at her feet. It wasn’t a pool I could swim, I couldn’t save her. I was only 5. I sat and listened as her other friend hugged her and comforted her. That is how I learned the beauty of hugs. Even in the most painful moments, I hug could lift your spirits. My mothers’ sobs subsided and she wore her iron mask. We were not a very touchy feely family. My mother taught us to swallow our pain and only let it out when it was most necessary. Whenever I did something wrong and my mother hits me, she always follows it up in her very cultured mother tongue “swallow those tears”. I grew up swallowing my pain, at a point I drowned in my pain. In cases when I was allowed to cry, I learned were when the source of my anguish is beyond my control, I had to sit in the waiting room and listen to my mother in the theater with the doctor while I held her purse. I listened as my mother cried out for her own mother when the doctors’ blade sliced her finger to remove the puss from her infected whitlow. I could not save my mother. I felt the doctors lift of the blade and I felt it coming down on her finger and I heard her blood flow from it, I listened to it flow like an ocean wave, it was chaotic, between the sound of the blade, the flash of its silver tip, the ocean of blood flowing from my mothers finger and her sobs. I sat in the waiting room and held her purse and drowned in my ocean of emotions. I was not allowed to cry. My mothers’ tears were gold, a rare form of gold that you only get to see almost never. I wanted to lift a glass to her eyes and well up the tears to stop them from hitting the ground and forming a pool that I couldn’t swim across, I wanted to be able to save my mother, she came out of the theatre with a smile on her face, I held her purse, I asked her if it hurt and she looked at me dead in the eyes and said “a little bit”. She was titanium. I held her purse. She bid the nurse and doctor goodbye. I held her purse. We walked to the car and my mother, hand bandaged up all together got into the car, put on her seat belt and drove us home. I held her purse.
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