There is a lot of cooking going on – a lot of new cooking – and I will eventually put it all up here. Ameir is also going to help me redesign this layout soon. But later. This Bar thing is taking up much more time than I thought it would. The whole “you’re done!” thing was a lie. Fraudulent misrepresentation.

Meanwhile…..

Fatimah made me this “Graduation Kunafa” because she thought it would be better than Graduation cake. I agree.

And here are some gratuitous Molly pictures….

because she’s so cute.

I went with some colleagues today on a tour of the Raleigh Women’s Correctional Facility. It was one of the most “mixed feelings” experiences I’d ever had.

I walked in there having decided two things: first, that I’d smile at every inmate I made eye contact with; second, that I’d say “Wa alaikum assalam” to any of the Muslim inmates who called out to greet me (if there were any). I also was a bit apprehensive because…well….it’s a prison.

I had done some research for work about women’s correctional facilities, but I still wasn’t really sure what to expect. TV skews your perceptions of things – and indeed, the first thing the Deputy Warden, the two caseworkers, and the officer who walked us around said was – “This is nothing like what you see on TV.”

Last semester (yes, that is my turnaround time), I went to DC with my Constitutional Adjudication class. The highlight of the visit was sitting in on a Supreme Court oral argument. The Nine sat on the bench, regally robed, in the perfect stereotype of what I imagined them to be. Ruth B. Ginsberg focused the whole time, asking pointed questions. Scalia asked weird hypotheticals and kept beating the dead horse. Thomas sat back the whole time and looked like he was asleep. Stephens was just old – but you could tell his mind was as sharp as any of the rest. The clerk of court wore tails (tails!!!), and so did the lawyer from the Solicitors General – who was by far the most incredibly skilled appellate attorney I’ve ever seen. It was an incredible experience for a young law student to have.

Professor Muller, whose research focuses on Japanese American draft resisters and the internment of Japanese Americans during WWII, took us on a little walk to an unknown memorial, The National Japanese Memorial to Patriotism, rather hidden between downtown office buildings. In fact, I almost kept walking, thinking it was just a little courtyard. It is built with dark grays and blacks, highlighted by a large waterfall in the center. All around, etched into the marble, are verses from Japanese American poets reflecting on what was a terrible time for their people. The verse by Ehrlich above touched me the most.

Professor Muller told us that this memorial caused quite a bit of controversy in the Japanese American community. There were two main opinions on the struggles of internment, curfews, and other racial persecution. As reflected in the memorial, a large group of Japanese Americans felt that, terrible as this burden was, it was their duty to patiently succumb to the American government’s rulings. America was their home now, and they had to make this ultimate sacrifice so that, one day, their children might be able to live a more comfortable life here. This was the honorable and patriotic thing to do.

The other group, who took issue with this perspective, felt that it was instead the Japanese American’s duty to fight back against the American government’s oppression. The oppression should not be allowed to continue, and as Japanese and Americans, they should not allow themselves to be subjected to such. This was the honorable and patriotic thing to do.

Now, I don’t presume to know much about Japanese culture, but from what I understand, it involves intense honor and respect towards elders and leaders, even if they are in error. Maybe the perspective of sacrifice is one that came from the Japanese immigrants, the parents who grew up in that culture – while the “fight back” perspective is from the American-Japanese children. I can understand both perspectives, because there is a similar concept in Islam about the respect towards a ruler, even if he or she makes a mistaken ruling. The Quraan constantly encourages Muslims to be patient through adversity and to have faith in God’s ultimate reckoning. But, there are also verses that one should aid a brother who is an oppressor by helping him to stop oppressing.

But, if I put myself in their shoes (which, I accept that I never truly can) – or, indeed, in the shoes of any people who are being oppressed by their so-called leaders – what would I do? Would I keep quiet, such that my children might be saved? Or would I fight back against the cage, risking my life and perhaps damning my children to a life of reproach for their parent’s actions?

I can’t honestly say. I begin as a pacifist, in all things. I dislike war and conflict, even to the point of avoiding confrontation with people I disagree with. I have a notorious weak spot for upholding rules and deferring to authority. My first impulse is always to defend the decisions and decrees of leaders, and only speak out against them after much deliberation. But I think I would agree with the younger group – the ones who would say “No, this is not America, and my honor is in refusing to go quietly.”

But that is hypothetical. The reality is that these people went through intense turmoil, and they should be honored for it. Their patience was of Quranic proportions. Their sacrifice was presented with pure hearts, with a desire to protect their families and their culture, and with an intense honor to which American youth of all ethnicities should aspire. Their stories are a lesson to every child of immigrants that grew up so blessed in America. May they be rewarded.

Resources for more info about and pictures of the internment:
War Relocation Authority Camps in Arizona
Exploring Japanese American Internment
Effects of the camps – life after internment
Children of the camps
Ansel Adams’ Photography of the camps
Large list of relevant sources

Also see Professor Muller’s Essay: Arab American Internment?

Isn’t it? I’ve suddenly been reminded of that, as life and law school have caught up with me.

And really, when did this become exclusively a food blog? Come on, brain. You can churn out more stuff than pasta and potatoes. It’s time for some catharsis.

I realize that I’ve been coasting for a while – not slacking….law school doesn’t let you slack – but letting languish what used to be an active mind always talking to itself in art and poetry. Maybe my brain got so full of growing up, into law school and family, that the carefree poetry had to slow down for a while.

And, of course, I can’t do anything spontaneously. I’m not wired like that. So I carried my journal around with me for a couple of weeks, planning out my “first day back” entry in my mind. Two nights ago, I finally started writing again. It felt amazing, like a tap had been opened and a river of emotion and thought was flowing in ink all over the page. Will those entries end up here? Probably not in their entirety, but I suppose food will have to share the spotlight with prose.

The picture above is one of my favorites in all respects. I had gone for a walk after a light fall rain, capturing by camera all the multicolored thoughts-in-nature around me. At the bottom of a hill, this stone sat in the middle of the road. It seemed to me that he was contemplating the great journey ahead of him – the long climb, the many of his tiny steps it would take to get him there. But in the distance, there was hope – a brightness beyond…and alongside, the colorful support of fall trees.

Alhamdulillah. Things have a way of working out, even though it takes time and work. But such is life. Crazy, isn’t it?

Allahu Akbar Allahu Akbar

The athaan for Fajr went off this morning, same as any other. Ameir and I mumbled incoherently to each other, “Wake up, it’s time to pray.” Ameir got up first, swinging his legs around to sit up, and then stand.

*Squelch*

“Uh….Taiyyaba, did you spill water on my side of the bed?”
“Huh? No.”
“Did I spill water?”
“I dunno.”

Ameir stood up and took a step. Then another, then another. And then..

“Oh [step, *squelch*] my [step, *squirt*] GOD! [step, *squeegie*]. HONEY! GET UP!”

I get up on my perfectly dry side of the bed and start walking. Suddenly, I feel the carpet squelching under my feet. Now, for those of you who have not felt this, let me clarify. Ocean-wet sand squelching under your feet = pleasant. Sopping wet carpet squelching under your feet = terribly disturbing and uncomfortable.

What happened? Were we attacked by a water demon?

Should I start building an ark?

We kept walking *squelch, squelch* to figure out what was going on. Our steps left footprints behind us, embedded into the soaking wet carpet. I first opened the door to the sump pump, fearing the worst. But, Alhamdulillah, thank God a million times, the carpet was soaking only with clean, warm water and not sewage. Then, we made our way into the kitchen, where the water was standing a few inches deep on the vinyl floor.

We discovered the culprit: The water heater. It was pumping out water at an alarmingly fast rate, as if to say, “Hey sleepyheads. Finally up? I’ve been at this all night.”

Ameir and I did what any rational couple would do in this situation. We got into a tiff. “Get the towels!” “Turn off the water!” “Don’t use my nice towels!” “There’s A FLOOD! Forget about your nice towels!” “You’re going to get electrocuted! Be careful!”

The water had gone from the kitchen, down the hall to the bathroom on one side and to the living room and bedroom on the other. The living room was dry, but the water proceeded to soak almost our entire bedroom. The flood came from the door (down the hall) and through my closet. Well….at least it proceeded in an orderly fashion. The worst of it was the carpet right in front of the kitchen. As I stepped on the carpet there and the water squirted up beneath my toes, it was like the carpet was saying “I’m sorryyyy, I tried to stop it but it was just too much!”

So, Ameir turned off the water and we threw all of our towels onto the floor to dry the water. First, the kitchen, which was easier because vinyl isn’t absorbent. Then, there was the question of the sopping wet carpet.

At this point, I wished I had friends like Harry Potter. Or Spongebob.

So, we again did the thing a rational couple would do in this situation. We called our parents.

Ameir’s dad came over within half an hour and brought more towels and one of those mop+squeeze bucket contraptions. This was incredibly useful in squeezing water out of the towels, instead of having to do it by hand. He also went and borrowed us a wet vacuum, one of those carpet cleaner gigs that soaks up water (we pulled ouat at least 30 buckets of water. The unpleasant squelching sound stopped, but it was still soaking wet). My mom left Virginia immediately and got here by 1:00, by which time we were *exhausted* so it was great to have her help and comfort. My dad called the plumber from Virginia, and the guy came over and fixed the water heater. My sistafriend Maryam came over and helped us move everything out of the bedroom, which got hit pretty badly.

So, right now, the carpet has been ripped up (the concrete on the bottom was wet, despite our drying attempts). But, things are under control! Alhamdulillah, it could have been much worse. The water heater could have exploded instead of just pumping out the excess water (apparently, this is a safety feature – when the pressure is too much, it leaks water out. Now we know to properly connect the pipe to a drainage system!). It could have been *sewage* *ick!* Or, (omg) Ameir’s computer could have been on the floor. Thankfully we were at home, and this didn’t happen last week when we were gone to VA. Alhamdulillah!

There’s almost always a bright side. Now I get new vinyl in my kitchen! Also, I have a nice big mud patch outside (from pouring out the vacuumed water) in case any manner of cattle should decide to drop by.

I think we’re going to have to have a serious talk with all of our appliances – get all the grievances out in the open. This is the second thing to go haywire in the past few months (the sump pump clogged on us earlier). I guess three, if you count that my coffee percolator broke and almost slit my wrist with its jagged edge. (But yay, Mama got me a new one today!)

Alhamdulillah. We couldn’t have done this without the help, guidance, and support of Allah, our parents, and our community. Our parents sacrificed much to give us hope, love, and the ability to follow our dreams. We will never be able to repay them for that.

Also, as my friend Sophia mentions, this cultural and educational movement takes on a similar form in today’s Muslim students going into medicine: “While our parents encouraged science careers or medicine for the monetary stability and gain, their children who are pursuing such a career might not be doing it for those reasons– and while the shift the kids are making isn’t in careers to another field, it is an ideological shift as to why they are pursuing such a career– i.e. medicine as a means of empowerment, being a poor doctor by passing up lucrative specialties for something like family medicine, and then using that career in ways to help the community that hasn’t been done before. again, this kind of shift also requires the stability that comes with being a second generation . . . so hopefully in the future this shift that is occurring towards non-science careers will be accompanied by a paradigm shift in what a science career can be used for. i think the key is for people to realize that the possibilities are endless. we have to get past a “survival” mindset and think bigger.”

A particular moment comes to mind when I think about why I came to law school. Once, I was at the masjid after I had started my first year of law school. An older brother who was active in the Muslim political action sphere stopped to talk to me. He is a Palestinian who had to leave his homeland. He said Salaam and asked me how I was doing, what I was up to. I told him I was in law school. We were both walking away, but he stopped and smiled brightly. “You make us so proud, Sister Taiyyaba,” he said, “we are so proud of you.” That’s when I realized that going to law school isn’t just about doing it for me….it’s about doing it for them – for our parents who sacrificed for us, for our community who gave us a home. Inshallah, all of us youth who are working in any field now have to keep ourselves grounded in our roots and remember who we are.

And we don’t just have to work for “Muslim” issues to be true to ourselves. Being who we are makes us uniquely situated to empathize and sympathize with other communities who are finding themselves victim to the same discrimination and struggles. Being empowered by our careers makes us able to do something about it for all of us. We have to be fighters for justice for all.

O ye who believe! Stand out firmly For justice, as witnesses To Allah, even as against Yourselves, or your parents, Or your kin, and whether It be (against) rich or poor: For Allah can best protect both. Follow not the lusts (Of your hearts), lest ye Swerve, and if ye Distort (justice) or decline To do justice, verily Allah is well-acquainted With all that ye do. (The Noble Quran, 4:135)

Shout out to Natasha, Saja, Yasmin Amer, Shahid, and all the other Muslim liberal arts students who were interviewed in the article! Thanks also to Nigel Edwards, whose picture is in the article in the center of the section; he was also part of our group of four Muslim law students from UNC who interviewed for this article.

Students on course for empowerment
More young Muslims gravitate toward careers in law, journalism, acting and filmmaking
By Yonat Shimron, Staff Writer
http://www.newsobserver.com/105/story/1274326.html

One year ago: Absence, reality, and all that jazz (no, I don’t have time).

www.WeeWorld.com actually has hijabs and niqabs for you to put on yourself as a little image! Huzzah! I’ve got one of my favorite colors on and have my camera in hand, of course.

One year ago: Absence, reality, and all that jazz (no, I don’t have time).

this morning i opened my box of fruity pebbles for breakfast, and suddenly i was three years old again. i used to love this cereal – it was a regular in our house because…well…i was a bit of a picky eater back then (i know, can you imagine?) so whatever i ate, i ate a lot of.

i specifically remember going on a trip with my parents to texas – my dad had a business meeting in houston, so we all went. i was used to drinking whole milk, but my parents got me a little carton of 2% and a box of fruity pebbles so i’d actually eat something.

i was perplexed and indignant. “when can we go back to america? the milk doesn’t taste good here!” after all, it had taken us three million hours to get here, just like it did when we went to pakistan, and drinking a different type of milk always tastes funny. that was enough proof for me that we were *not* in america.

ahhh memories. being three years old for a few minutes this morning was a blessed relief from the horrors of “one month left” law school. alhamdulillah