Out and out

I managed about three days before the red rivers of Lucifer opened up and I had a good excuse as any to take an early breather. Once the 5 customary days (stretched to 6 on the count of one red spot on my knickers) were over I started psyching myself up for the arduous observance of Ramadan but there was no will power to be found, I looked again and rummaged in the abyss of my soul (very deep my soul) to find some willpower but all I found was a tumble weed (insert picture here)! Moving in the desert winds of my soul (insert dramatic music here)! 

Trying to understand the why is the real conundrum, I thought of a few answers; 

• I have been debating my faith for a few years now and I struggled with it as any of my readers would know, I guess you could say it was only a matter of time before the chasm widened and the jig was up. 

• The prevailing atmosphere doesn't help. Islam has such a bad rep nowadays that I thought myself a weakling who got put off by a bunch of faithless terrorists disseminating dogma and terror and calling it the will of God. I am made of sterner stuff that this. So theory dismissed. 

• Being alone during such times as Ramadan can be daunting and discouraging when it's a time to be reunited with loved ones, family and friends. Mayhaps... 

• Safety in numbers: a good theory as any to use when linking your argument to the power of the many, the many who have lapsed, gave in or never had it (faith that is).

The fact of the matter is I don't know if my faith will ever be restored, if I will horribly regret this one day or if it's gone forever and I shall become the Infidel (roll eyes 👀 ) ...what I know is that I am an adult of mostly sound mind who consciously and publicly decided not to observe one of the 5 pillars of Islam and argues simply this feels ok and also it's none of anyone's business.

Today (well when I wrote this) , Eid is upon us and as ever, I am celebrating it with family and my loved ones and I love it. The way I see it? It's not religious it's cultural (preachers, go nuts now)  :D 

A belated Happy and blessed Eid to all 

Dios Mio

Playing with mummy's perls and heels!

I started scribbling this draft, already looking behind me; I had to dig out some old dusty screen shields from the stationery cupboard (and stole a pen), as I googled the first keyword I already looked shifty and suspicious, my Google search was instantly flagged as suspicious material and for fear of having HR and security on my case, I shut it down immediately. I kept writing using code words and shorthand, which I made up because I don’t know what shorthand is, just to avoid anyone reading from my screen! Dios Mio la paranoia!

I was sitting at a terrace the other day with a friend, he happens to have a daughter who looks older than her 10 years, in fact she looks just like the models on the banners we were staring at on the window shops of Miss Selfridges. My friend seems to be worried about the similarities and how his young child could be perceived as a model, a sexy model, regardless of whether Miss Selfridges might cater for teenagers or not, the pictures of the models used were those of very young looking frail little girls dressed very sexily and provocatively and Chris looked increasingly worried.

My first thought, self-centred as ever, was: “no wonder I can’t find a decent man” but I didn’t voice it for fear of sounding too shallow in the face of his fatherly worries over the fact, the high street and the fashion industry could be inadvertently or not, cultivating a paedophiliac culture.  There I said it.

Could it be the case? Could it be that the fashion industry is brainwashing people into seeing children as sexy? Into the adultification of children? And consequently but perhaps not so relevant here, making us look and feel less attractive because we lack the freshness and firmness of our teens and strive to find the fountain of youth through indulging into this very consumerist and shallow tourbillion of fashion and trends.

Children (and blondes…and my friend Tania) are the most easily influenced demographics in terms of consumption, and marketers have an easy job steering their tendencies and trends, parents will undoubtedly find it hard to fight the “pester power”* and this massive fashion monster and logo culture that is everywhere you look, on TV, press, internet, buses, airport, trains and every last available space for advisement (one day they’ll advertise in our dreams). 

Without digressing further from the topic, what seems to be happening is an inappropriate sexualisation through clothing and make-up and the fact all children want to look like their favourite pop star or footballer, which could engender other issues such as children being blamed for being molested or harassed following in the women-ask-for-it-old chestnut; the Guardian published an article quoting with no traceable source given, a piece published by the church where it appears they partially blame children for pedophilia, it says: "Methods of dressing which are almost next to sheer nakedness have hyperbolically** increased the incidence of rape and vilification of otherwise innocent children." 

The main concern here is over the ‘adult’ styling of fashion for children, especially girls. Girls’ fashions can provoke anxiety about the sexualisation of young female bodies; a concerned parent said the following to me: “I mean if they are marketing bras to a seven year old, it’s a pædophile’s dream isn’t it?”

I chose to stop here, this is just food for thought for parents out there who need to recognise; first the impact of commercial industries on children (the new commodity) over their innocence, looks, welfare and how they are commodified, transformed into sexual objects and therefore targets.

And second that succumbing to their children’s nagging over the logos and the latest in fashion is supporting the commercial industries and the sexual offenders, who are like poised vultures who count on this very obliviousness on the parents’s side.

But you must often wonder; how did these predators come to be? Are they aliens from another planet where the way of life is different? Where children are sexual objects regardless of their gender?

Paedophilia has always been a taboo subject, but in recent years, as much as more awareness has been raised about this problem, instead of discussing the problem and assessing prevention and solution, it seems to have gone the other way, so much so that nobody can utter the word without fear or being stared at or chased with sticks,  one would think there is a conscious effort striving to keep it taboo, to surround it with the utmost prudery and secrecy that victims wouldn’t talk and parents deal in secret whilst predators roam free; unnamed and unashamed. 

Notice how most people are always wary of looking at a cute kid in the street or pat his hair, cannot smile at a child, how we consciously strive not to look or make eye contact for fear of being labelled a kiddie-fiddler. Yet nobody ever voices their concern or frustration, nor seems to question the over sexualisation of our children.

Notwithstanding, the physical and philological traits that exist within the offender, notwithstanding, the local, geographical and economical situation of certain cultures and countries that perhaps cultivate sexual perverseness not intentionally but more as a result of frustrations, segregation, poverty and more, or the intrinsic reasons for the paedophile to come to be. We should be concerned mostly with the protection of children and teenagers, from all the monsters of this world, the fashion, the religious and not just the outright perverse sexual predators.

You might find this all very controversial, but I believe you need to vulgarise the topic in all its terms and use when appropriate, regardless of the dreadful feeling it carries with it, regardless of people’s looks of horror and shock.

Dz-chick….philanthropist in training!

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* pester power: nagging and pestering the parent for the latest trainers and the latest toy

** Big word!

Very interesting piece of research I found on an angle of this topic: http://www.consume.bbk.ac.uk/working_papers/Boden%20Working%20Paper2.doc

Very shocking material: http://www.beautifully-invisible.com/2011/01/children-and-the-fashion-industry-when-are-they-too-young.html

Algerian Dad!

Sometimes when I am bored at work, I call home in Algeria to chit chat with the parents, for a recipe, a random question or for a laugh…

My dad is now retired, he never picks up the house phone, he wants to be called on his mobile to get some use out of it, he never picks that up either, he also never takes it out with him when he leaves the house. I had to explain to him that it was called a “mobile” for a reason but he ignored me. (Just now I called him to get more quotes out of him for this little post and nothing; nada)

When you do call him on his mobile, after he reaches up for it on top of the highest furniture in the room, he has to remove his glasses and squint to see who it is first, then by the 10th ring, he will dramatically struggle to slide it open, by then the phone call drops or the caller gives up.

My dad is a badass character, I heard from a reliable source that he has a foul mouth, though admittedly I never heard him say more than “saligou” in our presence, though everybody is missing a link according to him and we live in a mental country where the language spoken is screaming.

Since retirement, my dad got funnier, admittedly I find him funny because I live far from him, my sister finds him annoying at best of times, I guess there is nothing funny about living with your dad at the age of 30, it is neither easy nor ideal, perhaps it’s practical but let’s not encourage that.

Apparently the whole family including the neighbours and their dog is conspiring against him, they hide his hair brush (he HAS no hair), his glasses keep moving, he can never find them, he accuses mum of moving them on purpose and accusing him of suffering dementia. You can never laugh out loud at home, because the neighbours have nothing better to do than to listen to me laughing, he argued “but you laugh like a hyena”. Fair point.

When I visit, I am usually spared the wardrobe commentary, at least for the first few hours, then you can really tell he’s suffering and has to let it out,
“is this what they call la mode nowadays?”, “Those trousers do nothing for you ma fille”, “c’est pas tres elegant ma fille”, “you look like Gavroche”, once he referred to my Bermuda shorts as “kilouta”.
He doesn’t like my weird style, it’s not tidy or smart and he usually laughs in my face and this is me getting the guest treatment. Ahhhhh fond memories.

After about a couple of days, he forbids me from touching the crossword puzzles, because I can never finish them, apparently he only finds it adorable for the first couple of tries and I only prove him right, I am an apeutpriste, we are all Apeutpristes, the whole of Algeria is a nation of apeutpristes, including the people who make the Puzzles because he always finds “mistakes”! ya ya!

Everybody is out to get him and his money, the plumber doesn’t know what he’s doing, he’s a cowboy, “I will do it myself” so he does and makes a mess of it, latest damage; he put a hole in the brand new bath tub and taped it with duck tape and painted over it with white so my mum doesn’t see it. She did and called him an apeutpristes. Ah sweet justice, he didn’t eat her diner that night.

I know you’re starting to see the similarities…

But that’s just my dad; I always thought he was different from other perhaps more typical Algerian dads, but I am pretty sure he isn’t. When you think about it what makes the Typical Algerian dad?
Is it the gandoura he owns and only wears some Fridays not all, the fact he calls everyone a hypocrite particularity if they were bearded, or is it the fact he never cooked a meal in his life (Omelettes and BBQs don’t count), or maybe the respect he always manages to impose and the fact he can be uber annoying and his excuse will always be “because I am your father”.

I always find I have a different relationship when I am away from him to when I am under his roof; I have a fondness, love and respect for him that is unimaginable but it doesn’t make him mind his own business, be less annoying or less imposing, but he’ll always be loving, funny and my dad.

American dad: eat your heart out, Algerian dad remains my favourite character of all times, he gets my jokes and knows how to boil water.

Now; I am against (over) quoting other people unless it’s my dad or someone of great wisdom, but this is a quote I find to be very true:
“That is the thankless position of the father in the family-the provider for all, and the enemy of all. ~ J. August Strindberg


Dz-Chick….daddy’s girl! Always…