Diary of a Muslim Mum

In the UK, we always celebrated Eid ul Adha, commemorating Abraham’s willingness to sacrifice his first-born son on God’s command, and his subsequent sacrifice of a sheep.

In South Africa, a Muslim pilot project has started – one that has nothing to do with aeroplanes. It is a dedicated after-school madrasah for children and adults with mental and physical learning disabilities. Their ages range from four to forty. Some of them can walk; several can talk.

One of the first things I noticed on our recent return to England was the choice: choice of breakfast cereal, choice of teabags, choice of fruit – and even a choice about where that fruit came from.

Last month, on a quiet Saturday morning, I was anticipating an uneventful day. I dropped off two of the children at a weekly activity and made some routine stops at unexciting places like the Post Office that are just about manageable to visit with one child but rather more of a challenge with three. Their responsible father, Julian, was busy pursuing his new hobby, learning how to fly two-seater aircraft safely around Johannesburg.

I left the children at home one evening recently - much to their disgust – to attend a local charity fundraising event. It was the celebration of a joint project between Muslims and Christians: the start of building an ‘old age’ day-care centre. (No political correctness here: old people are just called old, rather than ‘senior citizens’.)

My children love talking about death. Some may call it morbid. But with these kids, it is just another topic of conversation, much like discussing what’s for lunch, or who hit whom first -and who hit hardest.

The children are getting used to their new home- and school-based routine in Johannesburg, and talk about wanting to stay here for ever.

We all want our children to grow up showing consideration to the living world around us – whether that relates to plants, animals, or people, and of course particularly parents.

Last month we returned back ‘home’ for a flying visit to see friends and family in England and France - and back to the road we have lived on for so many years.

As we left the UK in summer 2006, the debate was raging: can you be Muslim and British?’ Now as we enjoy the South African summer, I was both amused and disappointed to find we are part of another national debate: ‘can you be white and African?’

When we originally mentioned to people that we were moving from the UK to South Africa, ‘security’ was the issue people who knew anything about the country talked about.

‘I am a South African’, announces Asim proudly, balancing his Noddy books on his head and wobbling around the bedroom, attempting to copy the way some people here carry their shopping. But it may take a little more than this particular balancing act to understand - and be truly part of- the local cultures.

As we settle into our new lives in South Africa, we have been surprised that God permeates many aspects of life here, amongst people of all races and faiths. Although Asim still needs to be convinced that God can see him as he forages without permission in the larder.

We have been in South Africa one month now and it is amazingly easy to get back into the old routines – taking the children to school, developing a social life and trying to help the kids to learn about the world. But the old routines take on a new dimension here.

The children had lived all their short lives in one road in one town in England. And then we moved our lives to South Africa.

In our last week before our move to South Africa, things were getting a little crazy.

We are moving – or migrating to be precise - to become temporary ‘immigrants’ or ‘expatriates’, (depending on your perspective) in South Africa.

It is fascinating watching children make sense of their world, in matters ranging from the mundane to the miraculous.

Yesterday I was given feedback, ranking, assessments and targets for my teacher training course, and realised that was something you miss as a mother – not the targets perhaps, but the feedback!

I realised how much my life had changed since having children, when I needed Toy Story 2 to remind me of the name of a work colleague I needed to contact.

My husband and I recently went with a family friend and all the children to see the children’s ‘Nonna’ (Italian for ‘Granny’) who lives in the French mountains.

There is a hadith (saying of the Prophet Muhammad) about honouring a guest for a day and a night, and providing hospitality for three days.

We were recently invited to a Muslim wedding. On the way, I talked to Safiyya (7) about how much special it is to be married.

This week I was invited to a local school to talk about Islam with their 5 and 6 Year olds. I managed to persuade a sweet but hitherto unsuspecting friend to look after my two pre-schoolers for long enough to allow me to do this.

As my friends at Tumble Tots tell me, we Muslims have already had ‘our Christmas’, also known as Eid.

We know Ramadan is all about getting closer to God through fasting, increasing your prayers and increasing your good deeds …so I tried explaining that to the children.

During the summer, we took our children, age 2,3, and 7 to the US for a fortnight to see family and to enjoy some national parks. We asked them on the return what was the best part of the holiday.