On the slopes OR Playing and praying

Each child needed extra-warm hats, gloves, boots, ski-outfits etc to be fully prepared for this expedition, so Asim (4) , Amaani (2) and I headed off into the English countryside to pick up items from an unknown fellow Freecycling member, and came back with quite a collection (for the uninitiated, Freecycle is an internet-based global network of local communities where people hand on their unwanted items for free to other local members instead of taking them to the charity shop or even the dump). Kind neighbours with older children have also been happy to pass on outgrown items – or perhaps they were just happy to have the prospect of a week’s peace and quiet while we were away!

At Geneva airport, my friend and I extracted various children from somersaulting over the barriers and put them into pyjamas, intermittently collecting suitcases/bags/car seats from the conveyor belt, while my husband was having a much more civilised time talking with the car rental people. When eventually we were ready to load the bags (and children!) into the car, it was a surprise to find contact lenses and fluffy blue cardigans in one suitcase instead of all the basic essentials I knew should be there: the children’s clothes, jigsaws, Weetabix and of course Cadbury’s chocolate. Back we rushed to the airport, bumped into an English couple clutching our bag, proffered a confused yet apparently convincing explanation relating to harassed mothers and small children - alhamdulillah (praise be to God) all was forgiven and everybody left happily.

We attempted to go ski-ing with the older two. Nonna had some spare fur-like hats for the adults, which came in very useful although I was a little disconcerted by the ‘mad bomber’ logo that happened to be imprinted on the front! Whilst we were getting ready, Nonna tried unsuccessfully to get the apartment telephone reconnected, and was rather stunned when she was told by a France telecom operator that if she didn’t like the service she should go back to live in her own country (meaning Italy)- certainly a novel approach to customer service but not one that I suggest we emulate in the UK.

On the ski slopes it took us a whole hour to obtain ski passes using GCSE-level French, and prise the children’s feet into their rented ski boots and skis. While they were waiting, the children spotted hijabs on many of the ski-ers, although I noticed later that these scarves were advertised in shop windows as ‘thermal head coverings’! It seems to be all a matter of perception and definition, a subtlety that was completely lost on the kids. They were too busy feeling cold, so we literally had 5 minutes ski-ing before they had had enough. Much to my husband’s disbelief, off came all the accessories and that was the end of that!

As Safiyya got better at ski-ing, we were able to be increasingly adventurous with her. The views from the mountaintops were breathtaking and it is easy to explain to your children about the wonders of God’s creation when you can see signs right in front of you. However, as a mother, it is equally hard not to be concerned as you see your little girl picking up speed on her skis heading towards a precipice, with her father up ahead encouraging her to go faster. Prayers certainly become very fervent and sincere at that point.

Later, we took all the children out to play in huge mounds of snow, losing them intermittently as they waded waist-deep amongst it all. Asim attempted to model the Kaa’ba out of snow - a worthy cause but one that was destined to fail given the presence of his little sister. In the space of a few days, she had developed a well-deserved reputation for making trouble - locking herself in the toilet, smothering walls in facecream, drawing all over the bedsheets, slathering anti-inflammatory cream all over her face, ripping out pages from her books… the list was endless! Squashing the ‘Kaba’ was simply in keeping with her rather destructive character.

We returned to the airport to find one of the airport’s best kept secrets – a play area for young children with climbing structures, craft activities and multicultural books, along with spotless areas for feeding and changing. Our children were the only ones using it- probably because all the signs to the play area used a picture of a baby’s bottle, cunningly and effectively deterring most children over 6 months old! And since it was next to the tranquil multi-faith prayer area, it meant that we could easily combine playing with praying - what more could anyone want?!
Not using:

For the plane journey, we had only managed to book five out of the six seats in the row, with the sixth person in our group due to be seated behind. I apologised to the man who was already sitting comfortably in the remaining seat in our row for the noise and chaos that was about to surround him. My husband decided to be more direct, and offered him the choice of being terrorised or moving back one row. The guy moved pretty quickly! It was not until I realised what words my husband had used, and how we might be perceived (two women in hijab, one man with a beard) that I could understand why!

Over supper, Amaani informed us that Allah gave the Qur’an to Safiyya. Asim explained it all patiently: explaining that Angel Gabriel told Prophet Muhammad who told his children who told his children who told his children who told mummy and daddy who told Safiyya, Asim and Amaani - thus succinctly explaining the preservation of the Qur’an through the oral tradition. Inspiration to get her to read the Qur’an, from my working days: make objective SMART (specific, measurable, achievable, realistic, timely), by using the natural divisions of the Quran into 60 different sections (hizbs) with each one divided into quarters marked by flower-like symbols– at this rate Safiyya may be a teenager before she finishes but right now she is desperate to reach the next flower!

We all then had to navigate between the Swiss side and French side through a series of narrow and rather scary barriers, each one opening and closing in succession and squeeze one at a time into the tiny lift on the French side, sending down various unaccompanied children and trollies. I am sure there is a very good French reason for the lift design, but it seemed unfathomable to us. It was only in the car park that my husband noticed one of the bags looked different.

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