A Special Day for Angel - Revised

It is definitely a special day for Angel.

I met my cousins for the first time. They are both gorgeous, and down to earth. We have so much in common, it's eerie!

They're AMERICAN, and have never voted for Bush, don't you just love 'em?

Anti war, anti OIL, anti Middle East meddling, anti Bush, and pro Obama. What more could a girl ask for? I'm in heaven.

I won't say more at the moment, we have another 2 days of talking to go, so a whole lot more info to come.

Just one thing. They speak funny!!! Not really, they were both surprisingly easy to understand, unlike another US rellie.

We talked and ate, talked and ate. I think we were all worn out!

It was very different for me, having someone related, apart from Mum. It was special, I guess you could say. Overwhelming, more people to love and again leave.

To my beautiful cousins:

Shlamee oo khoobee. Gatee pesgeenee t'kharro deeman'e.

http://wwwyesterdayschildrenbook.com/

Angry Mad Angels

Have I or haven't I? Gone mad, that is .I have taken down more posts about work. Decided if I kept putting things in the public eye, I would end up ????. Somewhere I shouldn't be.

So, a different topic for a while. A particularly nasty comment about Middle Eastern Christians/Iraqi Christians on Last of Iraqis blog. In fact, I am truly offended by the attitude.

The person has been shocked by comments made by ME Christians. Apparently we don't hold Christian values. How rude and obnoxious.

What about the KKK Christian values? Home grown terrorism, right in their own back yard. Are Americans proud of that and have the KKK values rubbed off on ordinary Americans? Rape, shoot, hang and burn. Hmmm, I may have a point there, shall we turn our heads towards Iraq for a few minutes?

What about the Christian values of militant groups in Northern Ireland? They make bombs, kill, and burn. That must be different sort of terrorism, because there are no Muslims about.

What a load of BS.
Apologies to Ian.
http://wwwyesterdayschildrenbook.com/

Don't Ban the Blogger

The Blogger Buzz at the moment seems to indicate that if Google doesn't like what you say, you are either stopped from publishing, as with An Arab Woman Blues, or are not included in Google News Index, ditto Uruknet. This is censorship and completely unfair.

There is, of course a tab to enable you to flag a blog as inappropriate, but really it's quite simple. If you don't like the content:

GIVE IT A MISS, DON'T READ IT. SIMPLE.

Personally I love the Middle Eastern writers, blogs, and news sites. It gives a different perspective on our predominantly Americanized news. Ergo we get views from both sides of the fence.

I don't leave many comments, but I enjoy reading the comment sections. I am not a fan of comment moderation, even though some may be tedious or out right rude. You get to know the commenters, and if you don't like what they say, skip it. Simple.

I have taken a tip from peacepalestine, and a commenter, earthheal, by using BlogBackupOnline, link available on right side of screen.

Christianity and the Angel of Death

Iraqi's are sick of the fighting and the killing. There should be a mandatory mass evacuation of Iraqi's to the US, who would welcome them with open arms. Yeah, right! What a joke, except it's not in the least funny. You know Bush and Co., lied 530 times about WMD? It's fact.

Christians these days do not associate themselves with being the cause of death and destruction. That is strange, given our history of invasion and colonisation. Here is a little example of Christian Terrorism, how very apt for this to turn up, via Layla, at this time.
http://uruknet.info/?p=m37419&s1=h1

It was us, was it not, that invaded the "Holy Land" first? What do I hear to that? No comment. We have a long history of invasion, destruction, and death. We cannot see it. That was back then, right? Yes, but it is still happening now. No, I'm not talking about Iraq, amazing!

We are often reminded by the media and the USA, of the age old feud's in the Middle East, between Sunni and Shia, Palestinians and Jews, Turks and Kurds, the list goes on and on. "They are killing each other" Unfortunately, that is partly true.

Do we ever associate the rivalry with current day events in the West? The answer is no, of course. Now, a reminder. The Hell's Angels and the Gypsy Jokers, as an example, are tribes that are warring. The rival gangs we hear about in Western cities, are tribe's of a sort. These people are raised as Christians, or at the very least, in the so called "civilized" West. These "civilized" people are killing each other with guns, knives, and whatever else they can lay their hands on.

If one of them is killed, there is a revenge killing, or a savage brutal beating. What would you call this? Gang warfare. In tribal terms, or even soldiers terms, it would be "looking out for your family", or "watching your mates back".

An Americanism, "we blood, bro, you kill my blood, we kill your blood". This is all out war, yet no-one can see it. Why? Because it is part of everyday life. There are none so blind as those who cannot see. What we refuse to see, is that this IS tribal, it IS war.

Did I hear you say they don't blow each other up? Really? Dare I mention Northern Ireland? Or are they all Muslims too?

The Bad in the Cupboard. Part 1 of Three.

Five children, aged between 7 and 10, playing, laughing, enjoying a day full of sunshine. Two live there, three are visitors.

One of the three comes accross a well, this is a cause of great excitement. He has never seen one before, and calls the others over. Between them they manage to lift the lid, and peer down into the gloom, unable to see the bottom. It is 120 feet deep.

One older boy gives one small girl a shove, she looses her balance and starts to fall. The girls sister, 2 years older, grabs frantically at her clothes, unable to gain purchase. Finally, she manages to hold on to a foot encased in a sneaker, her little sister dangling precariously over the edge. Both girls are screaming for help. The other children do not come to help, they stand mesmerised, staring. As if in slow motion, the shoe and the foot part company.

There is no initial splash, just a dull series of empty sounding thumps echoing, as the small girls body bounces from one side of the shaft to the other. Eventually, after what seems like many minutes, there is a loud thump, and a small splash. She has reached the bottom of the well, and the end of her young life.

A little after 2 hours, her body was recovered and bought to the surface, smashed to pieces like a broken porcelain doll. The skull in 3 pieces, with one beautiful eye completely missing.

The parents identify the body. It is an horrific sight. The father suffers complete nervous collapse, and has never spoken of the event since. The grandmother blames herself, as she was minding the two girls. She still cries every night. The sister's life is never the same again, she blames herself because she let her sister fall. The event will haunt her to the end of her days. The family are never able to live in the house again. The well was their water supply. The eye is still down there. The marriage dissolved under pressure.

Finally, we get to the mother. She was working that particular day, satisfying the craving for money, to support her Western lifestyle. She also blames herself, of course.

This event was I hope, done in the innocence that comes with childhood, in a land where there is no war.

It is bad enough a child dies, let alone being killed in war.


To be continued.

Yesterday's Children

This is subject to copyright and written by my Mother, the book is Yesterday's Children by Elizabeth Yoel Campbell, and the 2nd edition is being released later this month. The book has been edited by Carolyn Karam-Barkley, who has done a brilliant job. http://wwwyesterdayschildrenbook.com/

"Although I am not quite 80 years old, I have yet experienced life as it must have been lived in the Middle Ages. For the first few years of my life I lived in a walled city with great iron studded gates and narrow cobblestoned streets, flanked by two storey high adobe walls. Small latticed windows pierced the walls at the highest level and strong solid doors, always locked, barred entrance to the stranger. What goes on behind those doors is impossible to tell. Is it a rich man's abode, light and airy inside, with priceless hand woven carpets, silk cushions, golden ornaments, perfumed lamps and bejewelled harem wives, or a poor man's home, a warren of dark rooms and darker passages, where maybe twenty families live, four, five, six to a room? No, no one can tell from the outside. For one does not want to attract the evil eye, nor the attention of the greedy and fierce tribesmen, who from time to time and without warning, descend on the hapless inhabitants of un-walled cities, to sack and pillage, then withdraw to their mountain tops, where no government troops dare to follow".

"Our town walls are as thick as they are high, and when all the visiting caravans bringing in their wares from far off places like Samarkand, Bukhara, Isfahan, Khoisan, Baghdad, Basra and places further to the East are safely in, the gates clang shut and afterwards only a special permit from the Governor, or knowledge of the password can let you in or out".

"Inside those thick walls are granaries and storage's for all the necessities of life to feed the inhabitants in times of siege or famine, and barracks for the soldiers who guard the walls twenty four hours a day, always on the lookout for trouble, inside or out".

"By sunset the caravans have arrived at their destinations in the great caravansaries to seek food, shelter and rest for the night, after their arduous day long journey from their previous night's shelter across the desert and the interminable mountains. They open out on to the great bazaars to give easy access to travelling merchants to barter or sell their goods, purchase local wares and make ready to set off with the caravan next morning".

"There are acres and acres of bazaars crisscrossing each other, covered and vaulted, the only daylight coming in from the skylights set 25 feet or more at the apex of the arches. To us children, the bazaars are an enchantment, a wonder filled Aladdin's cave, a visit there to be prayed for, to be dreamed about".

"Just before sunset, after the caravans are out of the way, the streets are swept clean and water from goatskins is sprinkled on the parched ground to cool and settle down the dust, in readiness for the call to evening prayer. I can still smell the fragrance of water on parched earth and the Petunias growing inside private gardens...and then, thin and sweet in the evening air, comes the lilting voice of the Muezzin from his high perch in the minaret towering over all other buildings".

"By now everybody is heading for home and wherever he is, on hearing the Muezzin's call "Lah, Lah el Inlah, Mohammad Rasul Allah" ( Allah is great and Mohammad is his messenger), a Muslim spreads his prayer rug, which he has carried with him all day, to answer the call to prayer several times during the day, turns towards Mecca and performs the rituals of his faith without embarrassment. The prayers over and the Muezzin now silent, he picks up his rug, shakes and folds it reverently and goes home to his waiting family".

"At our home, as in every other house, oil lamps are being lit now. Some are very beautiful, gold and ruby glass, others in poorer families are made of tin. In warm weather, most people have their evening meal and then sleep on the flat roofs of their houses, for the city is malarial and troublesome mosquitoes stay close to the ground, in the damp vegetation of the garden".

"Out in the street all is quiet now, gates locked and barred against the evils of the night. But on the roof tops all is light, alive with laughter and expectancy, for this is the time for the main meal of the day and the man of the house, having toiled all day, is eager for his dinner and time with his family. This is the time for fragrant pilaf, spiced yearling lamb, chilled sherbet and yoghurt and many delicious fruits of the land. The lamps and lanterns are alight, tablecloths laid, and dishes set out in readiness. The roofs have high parapets for safety and to guard privacy, but you know that people are on their rooftops all over town, because you hear laughter and whispering voices nearby, and see the reflected light from lanterns on parapet walls in all directions stretching in to infinity, or so it seems to me".

"It is quite dark now, the voices around us stilled in sleep. The servants have cleared the remnants of the meal and gone down to their own quarters somewhere in the depths of the house. Finally, we are sent off to bed to sleep under the stars, which is absolutely magical. The deep silence of the night descends and wraps us round in slumberous peace. For a while I lie awake on my back gazing at the stars in all their glory, so far, far away. But tonight they do not seem so far away. To me it seems that I could stretch out and pick one and keep it for my very own. I gaze and gaze, fighting off sleep, wondering if somewhere out there among those millions of worlds, there are other little girls who would like to be my friends and come down to play with me. As far as star gazing goes, I am a true daughter of those far off Assyrio-Babylonian forebears who first turned star-gazing into astrology and then into a science".

"Something wakes me up. Not a sound, (apart the perennial chatter of Sufi Chai, (the river) outside the city gates) light or whisper anywhere. I listen and listen and then-yes-it is the sound of donkey hooves on cobble stones down below. I run to the parapet and climb on to a chair. In the pitch dark I see a lantern bobbing up and down as it approaches and then just for a brief moment a man comes into my line of vision, running ahead of his master astride his donkey, to light the way. The master is a Mullah on a mission of mercy, perhaps to be at the bedside of a dying man. For no-one (except on illicit business) would be out at this time of night without a pass, or knowledge of the password. Papa, being a doctor, knows the password, which is changed every few days. The 'word' is passed on directly to Papa by the Governor himself, the two being close friends. Papa is at the Governor's compound almost every day, for there is always someone sick in his large household."

"As the Mullah's light is swallowed up by the night, I hear the Town Crier's voice approaching and every few metres he stops and calls out at the top of his voice 'It is now ...O'clock and all is well. Sleep well all of you true believers, for Allah is Great'. Then he too vanishes from sight. I still do not want to go back to bed for I am waiting for something special. Then I hear it, clippity clop, clippity clop, the sound of horses hooves of cobble stones and the chink of weapons on metal. They too come into view and by their lanterns I see they are armed to the teeth, fierce looking men - and they have to be. For this is the Night Watch and because of them we all sleep more soundly. They too vanish in the velvet darkness, the noise of their passage gradually diminished by the distance".

"There is a hush now and all the world is sleeping. The silence is so deep and eerie that I seem to hear dim, unintelligible fairy voices singing the songs of Arabian Nights Sirens and calling me from the stars above. Suddenly I am afraid and very lonely, I no longer like the night. Finally I find Mama and Papa's bed and climb in to be held in their arms and comforted, before being carried back to my own bed. I am happy now for the night holds no more terrors".

"The night is warm, the breeze has dropped and the poplar leaves which have been rustling all night as if singing a lullaby to the children of the land, are quiet too. All nature seems suspended, waiting for the rising of the sun and the renewed life it brings with it. That is good and I am happy, for I like playing in the sun".

Visit the website: http://wwwyesterdayschildrenbook.com/

Angel , Demons , Four B's and X.

The demon in this instance, is Bush and the US administration. At least one of my B's, possibly two, voted Bush back into office.

Just prior to the last US election, my Uncle B the first, sent me an email. Told me that if Al Gore was elected, he was going to leave the US in disgust and move to Aus. and to look for a property nearby for him.

I got the shock of my life. I could not believe he wanted Bush to serve a second term. Being a dutiful niece, I would never disrespect him by telling him I thought he was nuts. I did not send a return email.

I have another Uncle there, Uncle B the second. He also surprised me, not by voting for Bush, but by telling me the US was God's own country. He was bursting with the pride that we see in their military forces. I can remember, when I was much younger, being told by this B that the country X, was the land of milk and honey.

Then there is Aunt B, she is the third of my B's and is one classy lady. She is also in the US, but very covert in her thoughts. She sent me some pictures of Tabriz, where she and my mother were born, saying she would hate to see anything happen to that beautiful city. I figured there was a hidden meaning mixed in there.

None of them have said one word about Iraq. I can't believe they said nothing. Have they been struck deaf? Do they not read the paper, or watch the news? Or is it laundered, smoothed over so as not to invade their delicate senses?

Thank goodness for my Mother, who is distraught at the devastation wrought in Iraq. Mum has no trouble voicing her disgust regarding the USA, possibly because she does not live there. She has some very interesting stories to tell about CIA 'black' ops, misinformation, intervention, and the last Shah of Iran. I will save those stories for another time.

Who is the fourth B? That is Bush, and thank Ishtar he does not belong to my family of B's.

As for country X, there are branches of my family everywhere, with roots reaching into Iraq, Iran, Turkey, Armenia, Syria. They are all lands of milk and honey, according to each individual branch.

Education and the Assyrian Cause

Today was terrible. I got hooked up on blogocracy with a guy called **** ** ***** *****. You know the type. One of those that thinks everything he hears on the news, or reads in the papers is 100% true.


I tried to educate him a little, regarding my family history, and Great Uncle Patros, and the http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=D_apDyzm3ag Assyrian mess. Also this , Assyrian Martyr's. http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=37k8C74INVk&mode=related&search=

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=S7oDBIjbldw dedication.


All I ended up doing was spilling the beans of my personal history. It went way, way over the top. Tim, at blogocracy pulled the thread. I'm glad he did.

I said things I normally wouldn't say, describing them fully, in minute detail, my beautiful cousin Shushan, her repeated rectal rapes, at the hands of US soldiers and her subsequent suicide. The deaths of my niece and nephew, and their funerals, and the rape of elderly Aamia Sharifa

I asked him to put himself in my shoes, and how would he feel? I was that upset when I read his reply, I turned the computer off. I can't even remember what is was now, and can't read it again because the thread was pulled. Just as well, I suppose.

It's people like him, that believe this "war" is straight forward, and there are no twists and turns, that caused this in the first place.

Bushista's, don't you just love them? Those self righteous, puffed up tossers should be made to spend a few weeks "In the Shadow of the Palms" with family in tow, and learn by first hand experiences of a war zone. Maybe in down town Baghdad, or in Mosul.

They should walk the walk, before they talk the talk.

I have just remembered what he called my point of view - Logical Fallacy. I had to look it up, and don't fully understand. There was another logical fallacy regarding history -'just because you believed it to happen, doesn't mean it did. Confusing

Anyway, if you come accross him, he is a nasty piece of work, and is best to stay clear.