Al-Farhan Released

Saudi blogger Fouad Al-Farhan, who was detained by the Saudi government without charges for four months, was released on Saturday according to the BBC and another well-known Saudi blogger Ahmed Al-Omran who blogged the release on his site Saudi Jeans.

Alhumdulillah.

Journalism is not a crime!

Speaking your mind is not a crime!

Fight censorship for a free world.

Ps- this is my 100th post!

Memory of Egypt

In keeping with my 'missing Egypt' mood. Something written when I missed and remember my husband.

I can taste it, the dust in the air poignant, stagnant, choking, breathing, living dust. Laughter in warraq the smoke of trash burning, the bark of the dogs. Horns and donkies side by side somewhere, but here, just him and I. I can taste his sweat and he pulls my hair, hushed love above the dirt streets. No, alleys. It is an alley where the bawebs' children play. Women peddling fateer and sweets. Below, loud voices. But above the caucaphony hushed, quiet, hurried love. He pulls my hair, heavy lidded eyes. I love you, he says. Awy, awy, awy, I reply, hushed by lips and laughter in warraq. Hushed, sweet, sensitive love, I love you, he says. Awy, awy, I reply.

Ya'ani?

From Al-Abasseya Weekly:


Wife Murders Husband for Injudicious Use of “Ya’ani Eh?”


Late Tuesday night Umm Tamer had finally had enough and during the a’asha meal hit Abu Tamer on the head with a pot containing macaroni we beshamel, the heaviest casserole known to man. Witnesses (Tamer) say that while dishing out the entree Umm Tamer had been complaining that Abu Tamer was spending too much time in the streets with his friends and not bringing enough of his salary home. When Abu Tamer replied, “ya’ani eh?” Umm Tamer lost control and hit him with the hotdish. During the grand jury inquisition the judge was swayed by her testimony that Abu Tamer always asked “ya’ani eh” whenever he wanted to dodge the issue in their arguments and she was unable to stand it any longer. She was cleared of all charges on the ruling that injudicious use of “ya’ani eh” contributed to a momentary psychotic break and as such Umm Tamer could not be held responsible for her actions. In the press conference when Umm Tamer was asked if she felt any remorse over the death of Abu Tamer she replied, “Ya’ani eh..?”



*"ya'ani" means something along the lines of "what" or "I mean"- "ya'ani eh?" can be translated as "what do you mean?"

**I wrote this, as far as I know it never really happened.

Riding ze microbusses

Amnesiac just posted a blog in which she described a ride in a microbus.

As well as being an absolutely hilarious read it is the closest example I have found written down of what it is like to ride in one:

. . .we rejoined a motorway which cuts its way through the moon-like topography of the Beni Suef desert and raced along to a stirring soundtrack of Sha3by and chillout music recorded off Nogoum FM. The driver was as usual a 22 year-old who looked like he had just imbibed Colombia’s entire annual Cocaine production and who drove accordingly. We came so close to the bumper of vehicles that I could probably have counted the driver’s nasal hair in his rear view mirror if it wasn’t for the sudden velocity with which our microbus driver veered out from behind the car in front and overtook it.

I am not of a nervous disposition when it comes to driving at breakneck speed with boy racers but did experience a slight heart flutter when the microbus threatened to veer off the road at 100 km an hour when the driver fumbled with the cassette player, or when he spurned the steering wheel and expressed his disgust at something by clapping his hands together for what seemed like 89 hours.

Check out her blog, she works as a journalist in Cairo and talks about some of the more serious political rumblings of today's Egypt.

A poem is never finished, only abandoned. ~Paul Valéry

I am never satisfied with my writings, I go over them a million times and revise them a million and one only to end dissatisfied and hopeless.

And then I abandon them to whatever criticism I may receive, throwing them into the trash in my mind with helplessness.

Why am I never satisified?

The Color of Our Souls

"Do our souls have skin colors?" he asked folding her tiny five year-old hands within his large, age-marked, callous palms.

She looked at him perplexed, wrinkling her tiny forehead in concentration.

"Have you ever seen your own soul?" he prodded further, looking into her eyes as they watched him intently.

"No..." she ventured finally, uncertain whether or not she ever had and what a soul looked like.

He smiled at her benignly in his wonderful grandfatherly way and she smiled back, bubbly with happiness that she had figured out the right answer.

"Poppy," she climbed into his lap and rested her head against his wide chest listening to his heart beat. He smelled like cinnamon. "Have you seen your soul?"

"No sweetheart, I never saw m'soul. But I just wonder whether we should be judgin' people by the color of their skin, or the pureness of their souls instead."

Later she peered deeply into the hallway mirror at herself trying looking past her blue eyes and brown curly hair to see if she could see her soul. Wondering maybe if it had a skin color.

(c) Molly Ann Elian 2008

Disconnected Verses

Used one of my pieces as a "visiting writer" post on their site.

Check out my work "The Opening" posted on Disconnected Verses.

I'm so excited, let me know what ya'll think of my creative writing skillz.