Islam's Green

Crw Carn and the Meaning of Life

I was invited to Cardiff to give a talk on "The Existence of God." It's a topic that is long overdue for a post, but this won't be it.
Somewhere in the mist of time I decided that while I was traveling around the country giving talks and lectures I should take a bit of time to see something of this sceptered isle upon which I dwelt. The mists of time for me by the way is anything more that two to three weeks ago. Time starts getting misty, or distinctly foggy and events and things that might mark as features in a persons life become obscured for me and seem rather like one whole lump called "The  Past."
One of things that motivated me to embark upon this this Discovery of Britain was that I was becoming fatter and fatter. Sitting in a car, driving around, surviving on crisps chocolate and coffee was talking its toll. I had transformed from a 13 stone lad to 18 stone mullah. Now of course weight itself is not a problem, if it is all muscle, which it wasn't. So I decided to kill two birds with one stone. Get some exercise and see the sites and landscapes of our Island. At first it was walks through scenic and historic sites and landscapes, but then I got a mountain bike. Without doubt the mountain bike is the USA's best and single most important contribution to civilization. Mountain biking manages to combine the pleasure of the country side (the great outdoors), with adrenaline surging excitement, skill and balance honing and a great workout all in one. You can do it all alone of with a group of friends or family, you can follow way marked trails or take a map and compass and plot your own route through the country side, or follow a previous pioneers routs. Britain is criss crossed with thousands of bridleways, byways, and RUPP's (Roads used a public paths) that you are legally entitled to ride a bike on.

So whenever and where ever I traveled around the country  I tried to take my bike with me. The Chilterns, Epping Forest, Bracknell, Thetford Forest, the Ridgway, North Downs, South Downs, Yorkshire Dales and Lake District, the Forest of Dean, Brecon Beacons, the Gower Peninsula  and the man made trails of Wales and Scotland saw the tracks of my tyres. I really have seen a fair bit of this land on the saddle of my MTB. Some of those rides are etched in my mind. Epics of endurance, awesome vistas, killer climbs and hold on for dear life descents!

Then there was the Saturday rides, with a posse of brothers who like me had caught on the MTB bug, or I had infected them!  Amongst them was my son Abdullah, who conquered the Red Bull run in Coedybrenin when he was just eight years old! Sun, rain or snow, nothing stopped us!  Then the posse all went their different ways, abroad to work, to Uni or whatever and I began work at the London Central Mosque and it had to end. I just didn't have the time to take the bike for the fewer lectures I was giving around the UK.  I was riding to work most days so I didn't have the energy or quite the enthusiasm to get out and ride. But I still dream of better trails and better bikes, and occasionally I get to ride. So when I got the invite to Cardiff I knew I couldn't resist!

Only twenty minutes from Cardiff is Cwr Carn, the latest of a series of man-made trails that have been hewed through the forests and across the hills of Wales (and Scotland). They are great fun, involve no map reading and are a great quick fix MTB experience.

This particular trail starts with a climb that is technically hard, steep and long. I'm not given to swearing, but some expletives issued forth as my chain kept getting caught in the granny ring (its called chain suck) and my lungs could not provide enough air and my legs not enough power. I was forced to get off and push. After a while I seriously thought of turning around, giving up and heading back. The thing was I didn't have much time, and so had to cover to 15km in a maximum of two hours in order to get to the talk in time.

The nice thing about this ride is that once you are at the top it really is nearly down hill all the way. At least whatever ups and downs follow it is nothing compared to the initial slog. In fact the descent was a Zen like experience as trail, bike and body flowed as one without the time or need to think. Eyes ahead, let them scan the train, your brain registers, let your bike and body take over. Trust it.  The bike skips and jumps as it hits the rocks and boulders, just a little more speed, close to loosing it and crashing, but just hanging on within the limits of one's skills. Near the end the trail opens out from the woods to a hillside with a sharp drop below and a view of Newport Bay that is so stunning you are torn between looking at in and concentrating on staying on the trail, any major diversion from which will cause a painful, perhaps fatal plunge down.

There you have it. Life compressed into a bike ride.

How often is it that whatever you want to achieve almost always demands a long hard struggle. You feel you can't make it, you want to give up, and time is running out! Yet once you get over that initial hurdle the difficulties you have to face always seem small in comparison, and the pay off is worth it. Then, just when you are about to reach the goal, hurtling full speed towards success, at that moment when it is most dangerous to fail something wonderful comes to distract you and nearly throws you off!

I made it down the trail in about an hour and a half and a big grin on my face.

Moving House

If you are wondering why there have been next to none in terms of postings recently it is simply by and large due to being involved in an activity that I seriously recommend you avoid having to do too many times in your life.  Moving house.
The simple fact was that we needed a bigger place. Four kids stuffed into one room, with one of them starting secondary school was not the most convenient of circumstances, and with one bathroom between the seven of us, and the house in an almost constant state of disarray moving was beginning to look seriously attractive.
Moving house, however, is a mission.
Over the month of almost constant packing and the four days of over half a dozen fully laden van trips I look heart thinking about the suffering of the people of Lebanon and the rubbled remains of what many of them used to call home. For some reason seeing pictures of destroyed homes sickens me in away that even pictures of death does not. I think its because home has always been, at least mostly, a happy place for me. Its where I retire, and am happy to retire at the end of the day. It's where I find refuge and happiness with my family, and family, it seems, is so much at the heart of our religion. Well, at least I had a home and new one to move too, unlike those suffering in Lebanon. May Allah compensate them!
Over these weeks I have been thinking of some lessons from this whole experience of moving.
One of the thoughts that came to me is just how pathetic and facile creatures most of us are. To think how greatly I feel my life is enhanced by a couple more rooms and cupboards! I don't by this mean to praise naked ambition and the desire to amass lands and palaces, as if your ambition was more your condition would more worthy. In fact it is only more pathetic. No, it is that we are so easily pleased by some small worldly benefits, and so ready to abandon much for what is little. It is so clear that the increasingly terrible condition we find ourselves in on this planet today needs people to be devoted and dedicated and to sacrifice, but we are so easily placated with trinkets.
Then there is the amount of junk we accumulate. Piles of completely unnecessary garbage, yet we can't seem to able dispose of it either!It's like we want to convince ourselves that it really was/is/will be useful one day. How much money was spent and how many resources expended? And we are accountable for every atoms worth of it. Our children need Quran and iman, but we give them play and plastic! How unlike the Prophet about whom it was said that there was nothing in his house except cleanliness!
I don't mean any of this to be ungrateful to Allah. In fact I can assure you that I have experienced the truthfulness of the Prophet's words concerning the blessing of a spacious dwelling, may Allah bestow such upon you in this life and next, dear reader!
I take heart from one matter, which leads to Green tip number two, following the re-use, recycle mantra, I didn't go and buy lots of boxes, I reused old ones being chucked out by the local Iceland and Sommerfield.
Now all that remains is to unpack! That will probably take the next month or two. Hey, but at least I've got something to unpack and place to unpack it to!

Alhamdulillah.

A Talk in Two Cities

23rd and 27th July

Edinburgh and Rochdale in one week. Is Rochdale a city though? Never mind.

The talk was in fact my one day Dawa seminar, and I have to say the two groups were amongst the best I have delivered too so far.

Well done to everyone!

The original plan was to deliver the dawa seminar in Edinburgh and then over the next week gradually make my round the Seven Staines, down to the Lake District and then finish up in   Rochdale a week later. However, we have our plans, but Allah has other plans. My beloved GarryFisher X-calibre had been badly damaged by zealous Estate manager in the mosque who thought that my bike was one of many dumped in the masjid by some Muslims who seem to think that that is what the railings in the masjid are for! Hiring bikes for a week was not really going to be and option. Still, I was going to play it by ear and see how everything went.

Now, if there are any of you out there that I have managed to enthuse with the idea of taking up mountain biking Seven Staines are seven mountain biking areas scattered around Southern Scotland and are rated amongst the best in the world. Check out the comprehensive web site.  More of that later!

It’s a ten hour drive from London to Edinburgh, and I had as company “the” teenage son, Bilal. ‘Nuf said.

What amazed me was that he actually sat through the whole dawa seminar, and even complimented me on how it was conducted!

The seminar was held in the Edinburgh central mosque in preparation for the Exhibition held there every year during the Edinburgh Theatre festival, for which they get about four thousand visitors. The brothers and sisters were full of ideas and competitive contributions, and it was very well attended. A special mention has to go to top man Sufyan for organising the whole event and sister Janis. For being the most clued up in answering very difficult questions posed by me in high pressure scenarios.

For anyone interested in organising such an event here is the basic schedule/programme.

10am Registration
10:30 Induction
11:00 The Importance and status of Dawa and Diaee.
12:00 Essential Guidlines and aspects of the Fiq of Dawa
1:15 -2:30 dhur and lunch
2:30 Uncomfortable Questions
3:00 Workshop
3:30 Answers to Uncomfrotable questions
4:30 Essential methods
5:30 Practical
6:30-7:30 Questions and conclusion

The days in summer are long in Scotland, and after the seminar ended, earlier than expected, we eventually manage to persuade Bilal, after much protestation, to go for a small walk round the centre of Edinburgh. It really is a picturesque city, and in certain places it has a distinctly medieval feel. Even the architecture of the mosque manages to blend into the theme of city.

The end of our “tour” took us to Blackfriars Bobbitt. This is a statue dedicated to a dog that sat on his masters grave for fourteen years…dedication or stupidity? They made a film about this dog, which I didn’t see, but the kids loved it.

Some very kind brother lent us his flat and it was midnight by the time that we got to sleep.

The next day Bilal and I headed off to Glentress, the biggest and best of the 7staines sites, where I had hired, by phone, earlier in the week two Scott Ransoms, a 150mm front and rear travel, freeride, carbon fibre modern wonder of a bike that weighs a mere 30lbs!

How perfect and sublime Allah is, the Generous, the Bountiful Bestower!

The first problem we encounter is that the guys in “The Hub” are insisting that I should supply a photo ID. They had a bike stolen recently and are refusing to hire them without it. Now for some extraordinary reason my driving licence is not in my wallet, and I don’t have my passport with me either! I’m really upset and tell them that I have come all the way from London, and no one told me to bring photo ID. The man in the shop grumpily insists that I was told, everyone is told! He can hire me a basic hardtail but not a £3000 bike!

I go to my car in desperation, hoping that something might be there, and then I remember! In my bag I have my Cannons Membership card! I take it triumphantly. “Here, this proves who I am!”

He grudgingly accepts, but wants my credit card, car keys and tax disc just to be sure!

Well, was it worth it?

Firstly you need to know that the Glentress Red Route (which we opted for) starts with what seems like an eternal climb. You keep thinking you’ve reach the top, but there is still more to go. We climbed up and up for what must have been at least twenty minutes. This is where you really start to feel the weight of the bike. 30lbs is, no doubt, light for a bike with that amount of travel, but that’s an extra 4-5lbs on my Garyfisher. On top of that the water we had was all frozen from leaving in the freezer the night before and was obstinately refusing to melt.

Keeping hydrated is essential to keeping focused. I had already suffered a nasty fall and badly scrapped raw the entire lower part of my left leg. I had to bandage it up, and the ride had barely begun! When we eventually reached the top the initial descent is a superb combination of berms and bumps which experts fly over...literally! I was taking it fairly easy, but some other riders encouraged us to try it again, and described the short cut back up. We left the water in the sun hoping it would melt, and made our way up to the top. Things started well. The suspension was soaking up the bumps and encouraging me to go faster and faster. I took one of the jumps at speed and took some air. On the landing I made a fatal mistake. I touched the powerful front break. I realised my mistake, and for a moment thought I was going to pull through, but it wasn’t to be. Clipped into the pedals I went flying over the handlebars, crashing onto my head, the bike following me and landing in a heap in the trail. It was a painful, horrible crash. The bike was fine, but I was less well off. We managed to ride the rest of the tail. Bilal in all fairness styled it the whole way down, skidding round the corners and hammering it on the down hills. He had a few crashes too, and if it wasn’t for my body armour that I had lent him he would have been more mashed than me.

Our deadline to return was 4pm. We made it with half an hour to spare.

One of the delights about a hard days riding is how satisfying a cup of coffee and slice of cake is. It’s one of those times you really appreciate Allah’s bounties, something that is all too rare in our luxury lifestyle world when we eat what we want, when we want, and often when we don’t even want!

Glentress really is a fantastic place to ride. The trails are amazing; with a specific “beginners” practice area, a freeride park and huge ridding opportunities and views with stunning scenery.

We returned to Edinburgh and after showers headed to the mosque where I met my old friend Sheikh Abdurrahma Damishqi who was there to help out for the duration of the exhibition. We talked a while about all that is happening in the world, but I was tiered and looking forward to sleep. It was to be an early start the next morning and I decided to take it easy on the drive down to London. We took the scenic route down the A702 along the Pentland Hills that revealed from the side of the road more great MTB opportunities. I wondered how I could get to live in this part of the world!

The further south we headed the hotter it got, and soon enough we were sweltering. We decided to take a diversion to the sea for a swim, and ended up heading for Morecambe, a typical run down semi squalid British seaside resort, which did not seem very inviting. We kept on until we reached or Haysham, a small and pretty village at the tail end of the town. We had lunch and headed down to the beach. The tide was out and we had to walk a fair way just to get to the sea. It was worth it. The water was cool and refreshing. Bilal was encouraging me to swim more, but the salt was stinging the cuts and scrapes that covered most of left leg and parts of my arms. I reminded him that putting salt in wounds was a form of torture!

Overlooking the bay was the ruin of a chapel. It seems, according to the plaque, that it is the ruins of one of oldest churches in the country, and had unique graves dug into the rock.

It’s a reminder to all those involved in Dawa, that this land was once a pagan country. Christianity was an alien, unknown religion from a far away place in the Middle East, but the message of Isa (as), albeit somewhat changed and corrupted, reached these shores, and today its ruler is called the defender of the faith!

Every drop raises the ocean!

 

see album for more photos

A Perfect Weekend....

Of course perfection in an absolute sense only belongs to the Hereafter, but I mean this in a poetic sense that my weekend was perfect.
Of course sitting hear now I could think of few ways that it could have been improved, but all things considered, it was near enough.
Lesson for you all: DO NOT LISTEN TO THE MOANS, GROANS and complaints of your TEENAGE SON about how he doesn't want to come with you, and how his broken ankle hasn't healed yet(although he was running around fine on it last weekend) and how he can't stand long journeys etc...etc...
You are his parent, you know what's best for him. End of story.
I was invited to give a talk in Abu Bakr Mosque in Nottingham on Saturday evening, so bundled three of the kids onto the car (including the above teenage son), along with mountain bikes.  Being world cup final weekend the roads were not nearly as full as usual, which made the whole drive relatively painless.

Star no. 1. Nice journey.

Although the talk was not massively attended, the attendees were attentive and enthusiastic. It was also one of my favorite topics, "The Importance of Giving Dawa." The question and answer session was also very constructive. After the talk the kids were really hungry (OK so was I) since we'd been traveling all day and so we went to the second best kebab shop in Nottingham, Chapati Junction.
After that we headed back to Hamza's pad and some of the lads follow us, and we sit and talk about Dawa the pros and cons of different martial arts systems (Hamza is well into them.) Teenage son argues that they are all rubbish and has wrestling match with Hamza, but begs him not to use his martial arts!? (Do teenagers realize how they manage to contradict themselves like ten times in twelve minutes?)

Star no 2. Nice talk, nice meal, nice brothers, nice fight, nice sleep......

We're up by 8:30am, after a basic breakfast and head off to Stafford to meet Ed, who is going to show us round "the Chase." First we drop into Tescos for munchies and drinks, and then were off to the Chase via  Mamouth Lifestyle to hire Ed a bike.

Now those of you who know me know probably know that mountain biking is one of my passions. Before we can actually start the ride we have two flat tyers to fix, and one of them proves very difficult. The tyre is so thick and heavy that its almost impossible to get it off the rim, and once its off its a mission to get it on again. In the ensuing struggle the inner tube gets a pinch flat and we have to start the whole process again! The whole getting ready lark takes a good hour, but in fact its all part of what mountain biking is about.
Teenage son meanwhile hops on bike and tries a pre-run from the top of the hill, and completely fails to see a ditch, but somehow amazingly avoids a major crash, but scratches himself up. He cusses the bike, and set his agenda for the rest of the day. Every time something goes wrong the bike is cussed, although the bike is excellent. even if it has seen better days.
The ride starts with a long but easy climb and soon opens out to wide open vistas.

The climb is followed by a cracking descent the end of which has us grabbing at our breaks and scrabbling for traction. Bilal (son) looses it and takes a second tumble. More bike cussing!

Nothing is too hilly for too long in the Chase, which is good and bad. You don't climb for too long, but then you don't descend for too long either. Kids can't seem to understand a simple concept that in order to go down you have to go up, and the ups and downs need to be equal. All this brings dreams of lift assisted ascents in the Alps. Myself, I like to earn the descents.

After a wonderful flowing hillside trail followed by a short sharp drop we head up into the forest of pines and wonder at the beams of sunlight dappling over the bracken through the trees.

This is mountain biking at its best. A fine day, not too hot, in wonderful country side with great trails that get the pulse going. What other sport gives quite such a combination of exercise, skill, adrenaline rush, and awesome vistas and the fresh air of the great outdoors?

Star no 3.

The day hasn't ended though, in fact the best is still to come. We stop off in the visitors centre for some baked potato lunch, and then hit the Garry Fisher red route. This is composed of technical single track, and is just superb! Ed is being brilliant and sticks with the girls and lets me and Bilal steam ahead. We wait at the end of the trail section and listen to the cries of delight from the girls.

Star no 4! The smiles on their faces say it all!

We go through five or six sections of these trails, some roller coaster like through head high bracken and others knitting their way through tight packed pines . Bilal, who didn't even want to come, now does not want to stop, but the girls, as much fun as they are having are getting tiered, and Ed can spot it.

He takes us to another Forest Centre, and leaves me with girls and heads of with Bilal to get the car.

We manage to get our foot into the cafe door as it's closing, but as the till is closed have to spend £10 on ice creams, crisps, drinks and chocolate. We munch our way through it and watch Adam, a teenager from Stoke perform some trials wizardry as he hops up onto and down from the benches.

We chat about out our bikes, rides, injuries and adventures. I try his bike which I can hardly peddle! Adam is moving on to freeriding and has it with jumps and doubles and trials. Me, well, I know that I'm beyond that anyway. Freeriding is  the buzz word(s) of mountain biking to which many aspire to but few really reach.

I'm just happy to be out on the trails, enjoying the air, watching the kids enjoying themselves and chatting to fellow bikers.

Star no 5.

Yep, its a five star, top marks Perfect weekend.

Thank you Allah!

check out the photos

Welcome to Heathrow!

The next two days were to be super intensive. It wasn’t only the lectures I was scheduled to give (six in the two days of the weekend) but the questions and discussions that went on around and after the lectures.

One of the highlights of the whole conference was being able to help answer the questions of young Canadian lady Jenny, and being part her journey to Islam, which she accepted on Sunday evening, taking her Shahaada right up on the front stage, and even amazingly courageously giving a small speech to thank all those who had helped her on her journey!
She had some quite detailed questions about the origins of Christianity and the Bible and Quran, which is an area of some speciality for me, so it was great to be able to put that knowledge to some good use.

The other highlight of the whole conference had to be the talk by a sister from Chechnya who’s husband Yahyaer Ibrahim was virtually paralysed and was receiving treatment in hospital in Winnipeg. One of my talks on Saturday was about the “Forgotten Muslims of Chechnya”. I went through a brief summery of the over three hundred years Chechen resistance to Russian rule, and a brief outline of the present conflict and a summery of the terrible abuses going on right now.

Then the sister from Chechnya started to give some detailed descriptions of things that she actually saw and experienced first hand. It had many in tears. She couldn’t speak English, so her whole presentation was translated from Russian. Perhaps one of the most moving things she said was when she was asked how she managed to get films and documents about these abuses out of the country. One could see her shyness as she was explaining how she had to hide those things under her clothes to get past the border controls, but she said, “We were not afraid! We are born to die!”

Wow! What a statement. If the men of this Muslim nation were like this woman of the Chechens, the world would be a different place!

On Sunday she came with her husband and they showed us some of the pictures they had taken, and I sat with Ibrahim and took notes as he explained about the conflict.

It really was humbling meeting people who have suffered so much, and are so determined to continue the struggle in any way that they could.

There are so many brothers and sisters who deserve a mention, and without doubt among them are some of the most wonderful people I have met in Canada, and have made a lasting impression on me. They have a saying for Manitoba. "Friendly Manitoba", and I was certainly made to feel that way. I can’t of course forget to mentioned our paramedic friend from Israel who sat in on virtually the whole conference, and interacted with everyone and is just so close to accepting Islam. May Allah guide him the rest of the way! And Omer the khateeb, with low slung ripped jeans! Only in North America! 
I was particularity glad to be able to give a lecture on "Youth and Marriage", as this is an area that has occupied my thoughts for quite sometime. In fact it was my visits to Canada many years ago that started me thinking about the momentous challenge of saving our youth in a highly sexualised society, and how the advice of the Prophet on marriage was so relevant. Yet there is such resistance from the “culture” of many Muslims to get married young.

This proved a “hot topic”, and the debate continued on Sunday night when I was invited to dinner at the house of a Libyan brother who had completely traditional ideas, yet his fifteen year old son was admitting that most of his Muslim friends had girlfriends. The whole girlfriend boyfriend scenario is such a destructive and sad way to live, that runs roughshod over the deepest of emotions. Yet for most, abstinence is just not an option. Parents have to think deeply and try to understand the sort of extreme pressures their kids are under. It’s all connected to another one of my lectures “The Importance of Dawa.” Either you are calling, or someone is calling you. Either you are giving Dawa, or dawa is being given to you!

It was late Sunday night by the time I got to bed, and sleep was no more that a few hours. I had to pack and then headed of for an early farewell breakfast. After that it was off to the airport. I was sad, af course to leave so many kind and nice people, but I hope I had left others with some thoughts on marriage, Dawa, the nature of Islam and Muslims living together in multi cultural societies and what that means in terms of the future relationships between the Islamic world and the West. I certainly am still thinking even harder about these and other issues of concern to us all.

When I got to Toronto airport I had to report to Immigration, and lo and behold, who greeted me but the same officer who had done the “interview”. He seemed genuinely happy to see me.

“I’m glad that for once giving someone the benefit of the doubt was the right thing to do!” He said.

That pleased me no end.

“You see, people can live together in peace, like we do here in Canada!” He said, smiling proudly.

“You are of course, absolutely right!” I affirmed.

Still, I needed to be escorted to the aircraft by another Federal Officer, but it was all done with great discretion.

There was one last thing, and I really wasn’t expecting this!

A reception at Heathrow.

Two extremely polite gentlemen were waiting for me at the passport desk. I was ushered into a small room and offered a cup of tea quite a few times, and eventually accepted.

These two gentlemen, unlike their Canadian counterparts, knew exactly what they were talking about. They seemed very concerned that they treated me better than the Canadians, and I have to give it to them, they did! The interview was no more than an hour, although they were more thorough in copying the contacts from my mobile phone and making copies of all the papers in my baggage (mostly notes from my lectures) and wallet . And their interview technique was certainly different.

One gentleman, very tall, white and very English with a tinge of northern accent (I think) began by asking me how I became Muslim, and seemed very sympathetic to the feelings of Muslims over Iraq and Palestine and what did I think of it? Of course I agreed that there was anger, and sadness over so much hypocrisy, but that of course, didn’t justify blowing up women and children. We have many peaceful means to make our voice heard and have out point of view taken note of. We should use those.

The second gentleman, shorter, seemed to be Asian, might even have been Muslim, but I couldn’t quite make out. He smiled a lot, and sooo politely apologised when I asked about his faith, he couldn’t tell me anything about himself!

Of course they asked me about my activities in Canada, and we very briefly went back to Afghanistan, but they seemed happy to let me go. I was asked to sign some papers, which I made a half hearted attempt to read. I was free to go. I was down the stairs, past baggage reclaim and as I was just about to leave the tall gentleman came running after me.

“Excuse me! Sorry to delay you again. We forgot to return you phone.”

I had to sit for another ten to fifteen minuets. A short wait, but then I was out. Out and on my way to home sweet home.

Certainly, travel is taste of punishment!

Especially these days.

MSA Manitoba University annual conference.

Part Two.

 

Arriving at Winnepeg at 10:00, I’m met by Izzudeen from Libya, president of Manitoba University Muslim Students Association. I’m staying with him in his immaculately tidy flat based in the Univillage cooperative. Low cost housing for students. They have a utility room that is booked for prayers everyday and I meet some of the Muslim residents there. The hub of social life is “Prince”, a young student from Bangaldesh. Thanks for the adapter bro! Without which I would not have been able to use my laptop.

Izzudeen has cooked some quite frankly delicious lamb and mushroom stew, and soon after I collapse into bed.

The next day we plan to see some of the sights of Winnipeg, so we head off to “the Fork”, where two rivers meet, sight of a bloody battle between the British and native Indians. A reminder that 
Canada, despite it’s ethos of multiculturalism, which is real enough, is still a nation forged around conflict and shedding of blood. There’s not much information about the battle, but there are plenty of shops. That fact that “the Fork” was a major trading post is easier to remember and commemorate than a monument to European expansionism. Still the shops are quaint, tidy. We have cinnamon buns and coffee.   

Outside is still bitterly cold. Izzudeen is certainly the early bird type, and it’s barely 11am when we decide to visit the Sate Legislature.

This building alone transforms Winnipeg from a typical soulless North American city to a place with some character. Amazingly we walk in without even the wiff of a security check. It’s an openness and confidence that every nation should display concerning the workings of government.  We are allowed in the debate chamber and listen to the state minister for health berate the former government and eulogise his own party’s achievements. Someone makes an attempted counter attack and is heckled.

Democracy in action, and by the way, at least a third of MP’s are non-white!

Winnipeg is cold. Even at this time of year. Its no more than three degrees centigrade and I’m taken completely by surprise having only packed summer clothes, so Izzudeen lends me a coat and hat, laughing that this is bar-b-q weather!

In the evening we are going to have “bodluc”, which I presume is a Libyan word for gathering, but I discover that in fact its “pot luck”, when everyone is supposed to come along with a dish and see what we’ve got. I give a small advice on the importance of brotherhood and following Islam. Pot luck proved a very tasty and well organised spread.

We have another appointment in Winnipe's mosque, which is a white building with a lovely arched roof of varnished wood inside.

Isha is at 11:15pm, and afterwards we go to Tim Horton’s (a Canadian national institution) for coffee and donuts. It’s late by the time we get back.

Friday we take the 20 min. walk to the University. It’s a modern campus but with some older and rather grand buildings that lend it a decree of character. I sit in Izzudeen’s cubicle and trawl through emails and search for info to help me in my lectures. I’m due to lead jummah prayers. It’s all a little chaotic as prayers are being held in tomorrow’s conference room as opposed to the usual prayer room. The adhan is given without me coming to the front and giving salams, so I tell them off.  The khutba is about the Day of Judgment and temporary nature of the life of this world. Afterwards we eat pizza while two convert brothers on tabligh talk about their journey to Islam and their journey by car from  Toronto and onto Calgry.   I go back to the apartment and get some desperately needed sleep ready for the opening lecture of the conference:

“Muslim Identity: Cultural Islam, Assimilation and Nationalism.”

The first lecture is actually one of the best attended of the whole conference. My mind map notes suggest a complex discussion about the nature of culture and ethnicity and complexities of idea exchanges, but a scan round the audience suggests something more pragmatic. What I want everyone to go away with are three things:

Firstly: Know what being a Muslim really means and understand your religion. To do that you have to start at least by reading the Qur’an in a language you can understand. After that we could go through the authentic hadith books like Bukhari and Muslim, or a compendium like Riyaadus Saliheen.  Of course this will not turn anyone into an instant scholar. In fact it is very dangerous to think that one could make independent ijtihad without the required qualifications, but it means at least we have some understanding of the what the revelation, the basis of our religion, teaches. It always amazes me how many even educated Muslims have not even done that!

Second: Differentiate between the culture you have been raised with and what that requires and what the actual religion demands.

Thirdly: Think carefully about what cultural norms you try to force upon yourself and your kids. What we need is Islam, not culture. This is especially true if the “culture” is alien to the environment. What we need is a “culture” that is adaptive to living in the West but is still fully Islamic. Such a development is in fact inevitable and is already happening, but we should do our best to ensure that it is based as much as possible on deep thinking, knowledge and understanding. This of course takes us full circle to point one.

 …..to be continued.

Success! Muslim adapting to Canadian culture...from Chai and Ladoo to Coffee and doughnuts!

Welcome to Canada!

Part One

Here I am in the University of Manitoba, in Winnipeg Canada.

It’s the first day proper of the Muslim Students Association’s annual conference. The theme is “Return to the Deen.”

It’s been a busy day. I mean just a part of it would make an interesting article. Talks, coffee and cookies, lunch, dinner, meetings, questions, discussions with Muslims and non-Muslims…That’s one of the amazing things about coming for a conference like this, super intensive iman immersion!

All of this has been made all the more enriching due to the fact that I only got in here by the skin of my teeth!

I have learnt from experience that sometimes the very lectures and meetings that I feel the least like going to are the ones that end up being the most beneficial. Now thinking about this there is a simple explanation. Shaitaan and his armies spying everywhere know that this given place is really going to benefit from my presence, or that I am going to benefit from going there. So its big time wiswas.

I was tiered and really didn’t feel like coming to Canada. I mean. its like too to close to the US and the US is like too close to Guantanamo! On top of that I just don’t get excited about travelling like I used to. Travelling is a taste of punishment, said the Messenger (saws). You leave your family, and I really didn’t feel like leaving the family. You leave the comfort and familiarity of your home, the food you like, the bed you sleep in! Hey, I can understand why George Bush takes his favourite pillow with him! Why not? And then you sit in this cramped aircraft seat for hours, being served some pretty terrible food, and then at the end of it, you arrive at you destination only to be questioned by Canadian immigration for six hours!

Welcome to Canada!

Now I know that six hours of questioning is really pretty tame compared to what some have gone through, and at no stage could I say that any of the staff at immigration where rude, or threatening or anything short of what I would expect of someone trying to do their job. Still, by the fifth interview I was beginning to feel so mentally exhausted from answering the repeated questions I thought that I had been drugged! My answers were coming out without thought. Maybe that was the interview/interrogation method. But I had and have nothing to hide.

"Yes! I went to Afghanistan and fired some weapons during my two week stay with the Mujahideen during the mid eighties conflict against the occupying forces of the then Soviet Union of Soviet Socialist Republics, but I never killed anyone or even fired them at a person.

It was jihad approved by the Scholars of this Ummah and backed by virtually every Western country, in particular the USA. The mujahideen where heroes, at the front line against the evil communist empire! Now of course the word jihad and mujahideen has taken on a new and sinister meaning. Those same “heroes” have now been labelled “terrorists in training.”

This is what I had to explain to the Federal Officer (and three plain clothes secret service and customs officers) who was obviously trying hard to make sense of all of this!

When he read Afghanistan, jihad, mujahideen, martyr, what he was seeing was bin Ladin hide out and terrorist training centre, terrorism, terrorist and suicide bomber! I was trying to explain that it just wasn’t like that then.

"When I returned and told British Customs that I had been with the mujahideen, they didn’t even bat an eye lid. They were more interested in heroin smugglers!"

The other sticking point was last summers little incident when I was, for all practical purposes, refused entry to Australia, and the statements attributed to me by the Australian press claiming that Muslims and Westerners can never live in peace and the conflict between us is ordained in the Qur’an.

I suppose in retrospect I could have said that yes I did say stuff like that, and that was some time ago, and that’s not what I believe any more and that we can all live in peace and harmony and there really isn’t any difference between us as long as we are just good people and respect each other. I mean, in one way that wouldn’t be a lie, but it wouldn’t really be the truth either. What I said is simply a historical, civilizational fact, and for the vast majority of the last 1400 years it has been violent, but I had also clearly said that the conflict does not necessarily have to be a violent one. In others words the conflict between Islam and West is religious and ideological. That, of course, was not mentioned by the Australian media.

"Why not?" The federal officer wanted to know.

"Because that doesn’t sell news papers," I replied. "The media are masters at manipulating your words to make you say what they want, not what you want."

We went over this time after time after time. Five interviews, going over essentially the same things.

“Which countries did you visit?”

“ Who organised and paid for your tips?”

“ Do you get paid for this?”

“What weapons did you use in Afghanistan?”

“ How did you get there?”

“ Who organised it?”

“I can’t believe you just “turned up”! How can you go and fight for some people you don’t even know? There is no excuse for violence ever.”

“What not even to defend you home land? How about Hitler?”

“I’m asking the questions here.”

“The mujahideen were terrorists!”

“How can you say that?” I’m angry for the first time. “Are you telling me the US government backed, funded and support a terrorist organisation?”

“That’s politics and I’m asking the questions not you.”

“Terrorism is a crime, its not jihad.”

“So what would you do with Usama bin Ladin.” (secret service

question. They interject every now and then.)

Good question. Hard question, I think.

“George Bush should have accepted the offer of the Taliban to hand him over to a Shariah court in Pakistan or Saudia Arabia.”

Nods of approval from the secret service.

“What do you think of the Khalifa.”

“It’s a good thing for Muslims to be united under one ruler. Europe, the US are all seeking unity, why not the Muslims. When we had one Khalifa it was a glorious time for Muslim civilization.”

“Of course. How about Hizbut tahrir. Do you know them? Do you agree with them. Are they a violent organisation?”

“Yes, I know them.I agree with somethings they say and do and not others. They are definatly not a violent Organisation.” (The secret service guys know their stuff, not like the poor federal agent! He keeps asking me to write stuff down. "Can you spell that?")

“What groups have you been with? Have you belonged to any known terrorist oranisations. Have you, do you, give money to any such organisations.”

I answer negatve.

“Ok you can sit down.”

I move away from the interview area and sit and read. Toward the end the Secret service guys have gone. The customs officer takes me to have my bags searched. He’s a born again Christian, and it his opportunity to ask questions, but they are of a theological nature. He starts to look through my laptop.

Back to the Immigration Office. Sit down. Twenty minuets later I’m called again. More questions. Some the same, some clarifications., some new questions. Sit back down out side the interview area.

“Anthony (that’s what the call me, or Mr Green), can you come here please..”

“My concern is that you are going to go to the University of Manitoba and indoctrinate the impressionable youth with a call to violence.”

"No, no way. That’s not my message, that’s not what I’m about!"

"But you said, its right here, jihad is ordained, conflict prescribed?"

"But I explained that, that’s not necessarily what I meant.."

"It seems clear to me what you meant….."

I tell him agian that of course there is a conflict between the idea that we should live in accordance with God’s will and that that is the purpose of life and the almost purely materialistic ideals of Western society. Of course it’s a conflict, but I said, it doesn’t have to be violent.

"But you talk about jihad…."

"Now let’s look at this power point presentation on your computer here. Explain this!"

The customs officers swings the computer round. There was a sense of triumph!

I saw the heading:

“Du'a: Weapon of the Believer”

"Explain that!"

Of course, he had seen “weapon” but had no idea what du'a was.

So I explained. Dua was supplicating and asking God. It was the best weapon against adversity.

"Show me more."

So I go through the presentation. Slide by slide. His hand took over control of the keypad and he began to read, but by now I knew he had given up looking for “weapons” and he was genuinely interested as my presentation went on to explain what was du'a, and its benefits and how one should call to Allah and its manners and etiquettes. I could feel a change in his attitude, he seemed to have relaxed.

"You can go and sit over there and I’ll let you know my decision."

I waited. I didn’t really care. If they send me back, I’d be back home, if not then that’s what I came for. In fact I was really thanking Allah that he let me suffer this bit in his path.

Well after six hours and by the end of the fifth interview the Federal Officer told me his conclusion.

"You’ve been to Canada quite a few times before, you haven’t broken any laws, you gone some way to explain yourself, but I’m still not completely happy, but I’m going to give the benefit of the doubt."

"Thanks."

"There is no excuse for violence. The recognised armies of countries fighting, yes, but not some bunch of religious fanatics taking up arms. There is no excuse."

I was beyond argument. The French resistance in the second world war came to mind, and of course the USA itself was born out of resistance and revolt against the legitimate British government of the time, but I was just too tiered. The hundreds of volunteers from all over the world who went to fight with the communists against Franco in the Spanish Civil war (George Orwell and Ernest Hemmingway being amongst them) might offer an insight as to how someone could go and fight for people they didn’t even know for a cause in which they believed, but what was the point?

I thanked the officer, genuinely, and assured him that if he listened to my lectures he would not be disappointed.

I’m given leave to stay for exactly the days of the conference.

I had missed my connecting flight by four hours. I was re-booked and for the first time in a long time had a sound sleep on an aircraft. 

Skiing, Dunya and Dawa. A trip to Sweden.

When you think of paradise, what sort of images come to your mind?
Palm trees, soft white sandy beaches and a tepid azure blue sea. A clear soft blue sky and shapely beauties smiling coyly as they offer you a cocktail of delicious fruits with a hint of something else underneath the shade of a palm tree gently moving in the warm soft breeze?  Don’t get me wrong, I don’t mind the idea of that either but when I had a dream of paradise it was a beautiful house over a rocky crag in a forest of pine trees that once you clear them leads to miles of nearly empty untouched snow down mountains and hills….and then I ski and ski and ski…..

You can ski something like that here in this life, but mostly you’ll need a helicopter and it’ll cost you thousands.  The closest most of us will come are a few powder days in a commercial ski resort. Anyway carving groomed pistes and pushing your limits on the black runs and jumps, ramps and half pipes of the “snow parks” has a thrill of its own.
The truth is though it’s all dunya and this dunya really is crap. I’ll give you one reason why its so crap and anyone who has understanding will comprehend, and whoever has insight will perceive. The one reason is that it always has to end. I mean how crap is that! The downside of having “the best time in your life” is that whatever comes after can’t be that good. However much fun  your having it has to end. Now how crap is that? How can you take any real pleasure in a life every moment of which is drawing to its end? You see those drunk on the world get caught, like any addict, in  chasing the high. I need another "best time of my life", 'cause now I'm so sad the last one ended...

so off you go chasing a pot of gold at the end of the rainbow,

and then just when you think you've got there,

off it goes!

This was the jist of one of the many discussion that Imran and I had during our trip to Sweden. He didn’t see it that way. We were going skiing to have a break. If we did it with the intention to go back refreshed and work harder for Allah, and feel renewed for our ibada then this itself would be ibada. Of course he was right, in fact I was to say exactly the same thing in one of my nightly lectures, and its one of the reasons I like trips like this, but the truth is that it always just ends up reminding me how futile it is to run after the world and its glitter. After all, as the Prophet (saws) told us, that if the world and all that is in it was worth the wing of a mosquito in the sight of Allah then He would not have given those who disbelieve in Him even a drink of water!
So if you want to work, work for that which is eternal and will never end. That’s the path of the wise.
Imran calls me with an invitation that’s hard to refuse.
A Muslim group in Sweden are going on an annual ski trip and are looking for a speaker to give a few lectures. All expenses paid, naturally.
Now if I had just got an invite to go skiing I would have said that I’d love to but I can’t, and if it was just a Dawa trip the same…..family, commitments in the mosque bla de bla. But stick the two together, and that’s a virtually irresistible combination. Plus point, I’ve never been to Sweden.
Some of you might wonder about skiing. I mean isn’t that a waste of time and money? Should we spending our hard earned cash lining the pockets of the kuffar entertainment industry? Anyway, don’t you end up breaking your legs?
OK, here’s the spin on me and skiing.
Mama and Papa followed the pattern of all good middle class parents and took me and my brother for regular skiing trips during the winter holidays. So from the ages of  nine to seventeen, we make quite a few trips. In fact on our second trip to Andermat I did nearly break my leg. I took a bad fall on day one inches away from a massive cliff and ended up in plaster. For the rest of the week it snowed so much we couldn’t even ski anyway. It can get like that sometimes.
Me and my brother entertained ourselves “bird watching” as we called it. This involved climbing outside our bedroom window and walking along a ledge to the window that looked into the communal showers, where we would observe the birds bathing., until we got spotted! OK, I know, but I was only ten, and not raised in the akhlak of the Muslim!
Nearly all the rest of our ski trips were spent in St Moritz, glitziest and poshest of all the ski resorts, with great descents from Piz Nair, and the famous Cresta run, where bob sleigh racing was born.
When I became Muslim that all come to end.
There is no blessing in play except three. Shooting arrows, horse riding and a man playing with his wife.
Like everything I read in the Quran or heard from the Prophet I took this hadith at face value. I gave up everything; tennis, golf, football, windsurfing, skiing…the lot. I swam and walked. This in a family where we can rightly call ourselves a sporting family. I turned my nose up at the mere suggestion from my parents of a game of tennis. I had better, more superior things to do. I didn’t think that playing tennis with them to soften their hearts and make them happy would be a rewardable action, but my knowledge was little. As my understanding increased and I began to understand the difference between haram, the forbidden, the mustahab, recommended, the mubah, allowed, and how good intentions can make an allowed action rewardable…like playing tennis to make my parents happy, or even just to keep fit.
Well then, back to skiing. 
One day (about eight years ago) my mum suggested that I take my sons Abdullah and Bilal skiing. 
One thing you need to know about skiing is that its not cheap, although it’s more affordable now than ever, you still have to kit yourself out. You need a waterproof jacket, trousers and gloves, and decent ski socks. Don’t scrimp on these! If you TK Max it, you can get the lot and quality stuff for around £100.  Then you have travel to and stay in the ski resort. Then there’s the hiring boots and skis, and don’t forget a helmet. You could ski for years without one like me and nothing happens, but if it does a head injury can be very serious as we learnt from three accidents on this very skiing trip! As the Doctor pointed out to me concerning a concussed member of our group: “God gave us a scull, but its not enough”… for skiing it needs some help. So Allah guided some smart people to make helmets. Tie your camel and use ’em. Whilst on the issue of accidents, if you are skiing in the EU don’t not forget to get a European Health Insurance Card before you leave, or like us you may well end up having to fork out for medical bills!  If you don’t know how to ski you’ll need lessons. I’ll say it again and again and again…pay the money and get lessons. It’s a false economy not to. Join a ski school, meet people and let them know about Islam, and learn properly. If you don’t you’ll get into terrible habits that will be hard to get rid of. If your young and mad, you might even get to go fast on your own, but you’ll be a danger to yourself and others and also you’ll only ever be able to get to a certain basic level beyond which you wont be able to go. Then there’s the lift pass.  All in all your talking about £600-£700 for a week, on the cheap, self catering, low season (begin Jan, March-April), other wise add another £100+. If you want to stay in a hotel or chalet and be pampered then that’s what your talking just for the food and accommodation.
Well there was no way I could afford that, but mum said she’d pay for it. The accommodation, travel, clothes…the lot.
Well, as they say, never look a gift horse in the mouth. So with wide eyed wonder I agreed, and it was really the one of the most amazing experiences I’ve had.  It was Easter holidays, end of season and we went to Avoriaz. It’s ideal for families because the beginners slope runs right through the middle of the resort. You step out of the apartments onto the slopes. True “walk-in-walk-out”. Leave the kids at the excellent ski school and off you go.
The sun was out, and it was warm. I only needed a fleece on top, and the views of the alps is awesome. It was dhikr.
For one week I skied and skied with a big grin on my face. Physically, mentally and spiritually I was high, and kids were loving it.
I’ve skied every year since, mostly France, also Scotland, Canada and Switzerland, and now Sweden.
Now the trip.
I guess we could divide this all into three sections:
The trip
The skiing
The dawa

Ok, the trip there. First off is Ryan air from Luton airport. I’ve never flown Ryan Air and never flown from Luton. The flight is 6:30am, which means a 4:30am check in. This all induces in me a mild panic, but we stay over night at a friends house so the whole group can leave together 3am. We drive my Estima from Ladbrooke Grove to Luton without hitch. Alhamdullah, and the airport is easy to find. Car is left at long term parking booked on line as are the flights….all is smooth and were left with lots of time in the airport. The flights just under two hours, and we arrive at Vasteras, which is about as much Stockholm as Luton is London. Snow is everywhere, and Sohaib meets us at the airport with a nine seater VW caravel. A superb vehicle with loads of luggage space.   
Its another hour to Stockholm which must be one of cleanest cities I have ever seen, with and undeniable old Europe charm. The central mosque is a listed building that used to be an electricity generation plant. I has been tastefully converted to a Mosque and the Stockholm Muslims are justifiably proud of it. We pray dhuhr and asr combined, eat some seriously tasty food in the mosque restaurant, which is also nicely decorated. Its all clean and efficient like Sweden in general. We spend the afternoon shopping for ski stuff for those who don’t have it yet, but everything is closing for New Years Eve, which is a big event in Sweden. We’re taken to a flat that’s in a government estate. No graffiti and urine in the lifts like UK. The Amir of New Moon, our hosts settles us in. We eat Pizza’s and sleep, only to be woken briefly by the midnight firework explosions.  The next morning we take the underground to the main train station for an epic eight hour train journey. There’s confusion about the actual number of our carriage, and there’s a delay of an hour while we wait for the restaurant car to be attached to the main train.  Its a breakdown in Swedish efficiency, but like a Swede said, what you expect, its New Years day.
We arrive at Åre, Sweden’s biggest and only truly international size ski resort, about 9pm and are designated Chalets.

Are is cold. In the nights were talking -15 and the days maybe just above zero.
We’re up for fajir and gather in one of the Chalets. Sheikh Yasir, goes through the morning dua’s and we head back to our Chalets for porrigde!
The whole group meets outside the ski hire shop at 8:30 where we queue for ages to get boots, skis and lift passes, but it doesn’t really get light until about 9:30.The sun sets just after 3:00pm, and starts to get dark an hour after that. There is couple of hours of night skiing from 6-8pm to compensate.
Åre is divided into three ski areas joined by infrequent bus services. Its better with you own car. We’re located in the middle, called Duved. It’s fine for beginners, and has a few harder runs, and that's where I skied for the first few days, mostly because I ended up giving lessons to the beginners. Knowing about something and knowing how to teach it are two quite different things!
About half the runs were closed due to insufficient snow, but there were plenty of quality runs, especially the Olympic run, which is a classic, and some seriously good jumps and a serious half pipe, onto which we only adventured on the last day, and it was the most fun.
Jumps and icy black runs at speed are the two areas that still scare me enough to get me really tense. Getting tense is almost always a prelude to wipping out. Not that I mind a good wipe out, but not down a black run where once you’ve started to fall there’s virtually no way to stop until you hit the bottom. That, and having to recover various bits of ski equipment scattered all over the slopes!
Now when I say jumps, I mean of course serious jumps where you get like 10-20 feet of air. Less than that I can manage, just. There were some jumps in Åre  that were perfect transitions from just “lifting-off” to getting serious air. I was petrified. I mean that type of scarred when you chest tightens and your body freezes. But my son Abdullah cleared it easy, Sohail with a fall..Imran with a classic wipeout. I managed to stay on my feet on landing,but that was about it! I was amazed that I had persuaded my body to go for it. There's always an amazing sense of satisfaction that comes when you overcome a fear. Making the jump look elegant and adding some tricks can come later!
The day ended too soon and the last lift had already closed.
It was a great end to a good trip.
That only left the epic drive back to Stockholm via Norway to pick up one of our party who had been helilifted to a hospital there.  1100km through icy. snow covered roads in the pitch dark in nine hours. A logistically virtually impossible feat. Ryan Air are merciless if you are late. We’d already had to fork out for two extra nights in the Chalet, and the idea of having to get new air tickets was horrifying. I was ready to give up hope when we arrived at Olso and saw that we still had to cover just under 600km in four hours, but Imran, an man of steely calm said that from his experience when you’ve got nothing to loose one might as well go for it! Well I was thinking that we do have something to loose, our lives! “Let’s go for it bro, against the odds, like the Chechens” he said. That was inspiration enough. Imran was in the zone, eyes fixed to road and driving the VW Caravel like a rally car. No breaks on the ice, gear down, low revs. These were impossible speeds on impossible roads, and once, he lost it, skidding into a side barrier, behind which lurked  unknown darkness. “Sorry everyone!” he said, revving off into the gloom again. The seven passengers didn’t hear a word, they stayed fast asleep!  We arrived at the airport with twenty minutes of check in time to go. I put it down to the dua of the traveller being accepted, and I had been making plenty of it! It was truly an epic drive…and believe me I’ve been on a few!
The nights , at least a few hours of them, was when the groups met up for a small lecture (that’s me folks) and on one night a poetry completion and on the other a cooking completion. We also had a film crew from SVT following us around the ski slopes and filming us skiing and praying. They also filmed my lecture. It was a simple “What being a Muslim Really means” type talk, with a few poignant questions as to the difference between culture and religion, and what it means to be a Muslim living in the West. Inshallah, I’ll be dedicating some space to these important issues later on in this blog.
If you’re wondering how I managed all of this in Swedish, or through a translator, there was no need because just about everone speaks near perfect English. Still, their poems and most of the rest of the stuff was in Swedish, which was kindly translated…although I think some things got lost in translation. Especially the poems. Anyway we heard about the poem competition on the train and Abdullah and myself put this together:

The Gangsta and da Poet

Blap! Blap! I’m reloading! Beware this a Mac 10 I’m holding!

He used to wax lyrical and make the crowds hysterical
His words were like knives
Opening people’s eyes

Gunshots! You wouldn’t like those sounds.
I’ll leave your clapped up body on the ground
Looking like a dog that just got put down!

The poet’s words were soothing
Nothing foolish or confusing
His message was clear and straight
Don’t kill, do drugs, act like an ape!
Leave those gangster’s alone!

Now that I’ve filled you full of lead
Your bleeding lying dead!

My body dies, my soul is passing
From this world ain’t everlasting.
You, your guns and drugs will go
Fade in memories like melting snow!
But the poet’s words go on and on
It’s message clear, right and strong!

The message here for everyone:
The pen is mightier than the gun!

We came second.
Our cooking was less impressive. We came last. Sohail, the ameer, took the top prize with three courses, the main dish being boiled potatoes with crème fresh and caviar and pickled seal. The judges couldn’t stop eating it! I have to admit, it looked good and tasted as good as it looked.
In general I was very impressed with New Moon, and the brothers and sisters we met from Sweden. I don’t think that I heard a heated argument once. Everything was dealt with in a cool and controlled manner. Issues were discussed over in a shura that included almost everyone.  It was all very touchy feely, and I don’t mean that in a derogatory sense.  Imran joked a couple of times that there was too much love in those rooms. So un-stiff upper lip British! Virtually none of the biting sarcasm we Brits can’t help dishing out so generously.   The other thing to note was the amazing maturity with which the whole trip was organised and handled. Sohail, the ameer is 17 years old! The biggest regret was that I didn’t get to spend more time and share some more knowledge and experience with our brothers and sisters in Sweden. Next year were planning to take a bigger group here from UK, or even meet up in France. If your interested, add your name to the list and we’ll let you know the plans!

To finish, an incident!

Imran and I are on a chair lift to the top of the mountain. It can carry about five, and since the ride takes about ten to fifteen minuets there’s always a chance to start a conversation and give some dawa. Well we had one companion from Latvia (Åre has a lot of visitors from the former Soviet Union). He had obviously heard us saying some words in Arabic and mentioned that he was studying Arabic as he thought it might be useful. I asked if he know anything about Islam, because he could hardly understand Arabs without understanding Islam. No, he said,  he knew very little about Islam, only two words. What are they asked I. Fire and Sword he replied. Imran and I looked at each other with mouths aghast! Well I had about four minutes to explain to him what Islam was really about and suggested he get hold of a copy of the Quran.
I was so shaken by this on the next lift up which we were sharing with four young ladies I straight away asked if they minded if I ask them a question for which I wanted a completely honest answer. They looked very suspicious, but concurred. “What do you know about Islam?” Well at least two of them knew something more than “fire” and “sword.” Alahmdulillah. We had a good chat about Islam and the New Moon annual skiing trip.
That’s another thing I like about skiing. Lots of chances to let others know something about this wonderful way of life that Allah has in His mercy sent down for the benefit of all humanity.
May He guide us all to the paths of His good pleasure., and may His peace and blessing be upon His Messenger Mohammed, his family and followers until the last day. Ameen.