Saturday, August 23, 2008

Teaching faith & inter-faith

In the name of God, Most Merciful, Most Kind

* * *

"Hijabi!!!" my five-year-old became accustomed to gleefully yelling out whenever she laid eyes on a woman whose hair was covered with a scarf.

We were in Canada at the time, having just spent a few months in Saudi where a person would grow hoarse by doing the same thing.

We hadn't realized how profound the experience of bringing our young daughters to the Muslim-majority kingdom would be. After all, one bouncy child is five, as mentioned, and the other little doll is just over two.

And yet, the effect was startling - not least of all to my family members back in Canada who were not happy that their minuscule relative had suddenly become a fundamentalist.

"I don't care about Christmas lights," she would announce, responding to my father's reminisces about walking around our neighbourhood during last year's holiday season. Yikes, all I had said was that we don't celebrate the occasion. I never meant to promote such an antagonistic view.

And then there was that little issue of statues. Oh boy.

"Mom," she would ask, peering at the window as we'd drive by Parliament Hill in Ottawa. "Why are there so many statues? I don't care about statues."

Well, that came from stories about Prophets warning their people not to worship stone idols. What could I do? Those were the stories I had grown up on and which had enriched my life as illuminating examples of righteous people reforming their communities into ones which upheld concepts like truth, justice, and faith.

"Statues are bad . . . oh, that one doesn't have a face. Maybe that's okay, mom?"

So here I was, having spent a few years trying to teach my daughter about Islam, and now, right before my disapproving family's eyes, she was displaying some pretty rigid ideas about everyday life.

What to do?

Ever since my experiences at Islamic camp - yes, there are such things, and no, they have nothing to do with terrorism - I had realized that the only way for a person to truly practice Islam was to love it. Love it for its simplicity, its magnanimity, its kindness. Unfortunately, Islamic camp, at 16, only proved that Islam was little more than "a bunch of annoying rules".

"Don't wear colours!" (Okay, it was the early nineties and anything really, really bright was in. Remember MC Hammer?)

"Don't talk to your brother because not everyone knows he's your brother!" (Come on!)

"Don't laugh out loud!" (I'm a girl, you see.)

"Don't ask questions too loudly." (Again, that unfortunate realization that I'm a girl.)

And on and on it went.

That is not Islam and it took me several years, and a lot of painful detours, to figure it out. In fact, it took a trip to Cairo, my birthplace, to realize that Muslims could be a pretty easy going lot. They could indeed love you for who you are, and overlook your short sleeves and make-up, but still appreciate your nascent beliefs.

So when I heard my daughter speak about all the things NOT to do as a Muslim, I realized that somehow my teaching methods had failed.

I changed tack.

"You know nurse Jacky, at Teta's (grandma's) hospital? She is a non-Muslim," I told her one day, as we were driving to visit my mother. Her eyes lit up. She loved Jacky - after all, she was the self-appointed grand-ma assistant, ever-ready with presents and balloons.

"Yes," she said, expectantly. "So you see, it is okay not to be a Muslim. Everyone has different things they believe in. She believes in something else, we believe in Islam. We can still be friends. Islam says we have to treat everyone with kindness and respect, especially if they are kind to us."

Little one nodded, while the other one started lisping, "Jacky, jacky!" They both adored her!

It wasn't easy but I slowly tried to explain how different beliefs didn't necessarily make for instant avoidance. Then I realized how difficult it would be to teach about other religions in a country where not only is the official religion Islam, but where other religions are completely ignored or driven underground.
Unfortunate, especially considering that Islam was one of the first political systems to grant rights to minority religious groups, guaranteeing their safety and security. (It should be added, though, that there have been laudable steps taken by the King himself to promote inter-faith dialogue culminating in a couple of well-attended summits this past summer, including one held in Mecca.)

As we prepared to return to Jeddah, I managed to sneak in an Oxford children's book on different religions into our suitcase, fervently hoping it wouldn't be confiscated - likely an irrational fear. Nevertheless, having been told that Saudi customs officials sometimes confiscate reading materials to ensure they don't offend somebody, I sincerely hoped they wouldn't object to all the different manifestations of worship displayed in the book's colourful pages.

Thank God, we got through, with only one of my books examined by the curious agent who obviously couldn't read English so instead focused on my husband's Arabic books - published in Saudi anyway.

And when we sat down to go through the mini-encyclopedia on faith, my daughter skipped over the sections on Islam - wanting to know more about people, and places and symbols she hadn't already learned about.

And all I could think was, whew! That was a close call.

But it still leaves open the question: how on earth do I instill a belief in Islam without inadvertently making everyone else look bad?

Like the ladies who 'show their shoulders' -- a no-no for us, as modesty is considered a key branch of the faith, but hard to explain to a youngster.

Sigh. No easy answers and I welcome suggestions.

Tuesday, August 5, 2008

Consumers'R'us

In the name of God, Most Merciful, Most Kind,

* * *

My kids tried out a hot tub last night.

"Mama, it is going to be so relaxing," parroted my four-almost-five-year old excitedly, nodding her pony-tailed head towards me and her doting grand-father.

We both chuckled at her eagerness and I let my skepticism give way to curiosity.

"Are you going to the hot tub?" exclaimed the younger one, a chubby basket-ball of energy who barely understood what we were saying. She laughed along with us as we readied ourselves to get out onto the deck and duck the cool air as we disappeared into the whirling, rainbow-lit luxury.

As we bubbled away, premium jet streams pushing at muscles I hadn't realized needed pushing, I couldn't help but once again wonder at the standard of living all around me. And my girls. . .what was this teaching them?

* * *

When the artifically-flavoured yogurt "tubes" (specially marketed at a discerning toddler public) run out, saf saf, my two-year-old, never fails in saying, "We'll get some more," speaking with certainty, not just optimism.

When tam tam, the other one, wants something, it is "let's go get it now". And sadly, I find myself going along with all this.

How do we teach children to become more than simple consumers of a world where everything is seemingly at their fingertips if they simply ask, or cry, or beg? I've tried showing them pictures of children whose bellies bulge from malnutrition in Africa. I've pointed out the kids on Arab streets that wonder aimlessly with ripped shirts or torn pants. My daughter came with me to give money to a man who had no legs and was pulling himself along on a thin wooden plank with wheels that required him to be lying flat out on the ground. At least the older one is concsious of the reality of the world -- and sometimes even fearful of becoming like "them", "Mama, we can't give away everything, because we will be like them...." sigh. How to teach generosity in a society that is so me-focused?

* * *

Even I think I'm entitled. When we travel, we are shocked that we are not being treated as we were back home in Canada. This belief that we are somehow deserving of the blessings all around us is extremely problematic and symptomatic of a dominant nation that refuses to give more than 0.28 per cent of its country's wealth to the poorest of the world (Canada's foreign aid ranks as the lowest among G7, as of 2007).

A friend of mine once asked her mighty brood of five (now six, God Bless and Help her!), to toddle around the house, picking up every car, truck, doll, plastic knick knack, ball, etc., and stack them up in some empty boxes.

"We're taking these to the poor kids in our neighbourhoods," she relates telling them. "God wants us to share."

The kids obliged, perhaps not realizing that it meant that her modest two-story house would become almost free of any wheely, cuddly or accident-inducing thing-a-majig, from then on. When we visited a little while later, her two eldest, a shy girl of about five and a confidant boy barreling into his sixth year, blew me away.

When my daughter wanted one of the few toys left in the house, a spiderman flashlight that the boy happened to be in love with (can you blame him?) he very simply handed it over to her.

"Keep it," he lisped and leaped away. I tried not to choke on the food my hostess had brought for us to share in one big plate. And then, her daughter, responding to the tireless requests of the same little lady who is related to me, asked her mother if she could give away the lovely paper-mache flower she had made at school and which currently hung on their simple walls.

My daughter jumped up and down with happiness as the pair lovingly removed the only colour in the otherwise drab room and gave it to her, both smiling at their offering.

"Fatima," I said, not knowing what to do,"say 'thank you'." She did but I wondered how I could ever instill this love of others in the hearts of my daughters.

“You will not attain righteousness till you spend in charity of the things you love.”
——— The Qur’an, Chapter 3, verse 93.