Leaping over language barriers

This article was first published on Aquila Style.

Adventures in picking up a new language doesn’t have much to do with meeting new people.

Image: Pixabay

At this moment, I live unwillingly in the Netherlands. I didn’t move here because I loved the language or the culture. After three and a half years, I can understand most of what people are saying, but since I haven’t had (read: couldn’t afford) any formal lessons and I’m not particularly fond of the language, the Dutch language requires the activation of a whole other part of my brain.

I’ve nothing against learning new languages. Or European languages for that matter. I stuck through French lessons in middle school before I finally realised how I actually loved speaking it when I participated in an immersion programme in a sleepy French town (and later, studied there for a year). I still speak decent French and try to not lose my skills by watching French films. And because I already speak English by virtue of being born and bred in a former British colony, I think two imperialist languages are enough for me, thank you.

The thing about speaking Dutch in the Netherlands is that… you don’t have to. Most people in the big cities speak decent English, which is enough to get by if all you want is to buy groceries at the supermarket, or find your way with public transport.

But there’s a double standard when it comes to speaking the local lingo. If you’re a Caucasian or European, you’re not expected to speak Dutch. Laws that allow free movement in the European Union also mean that for Europeans, learning Dutch is merely voluntary. However, for me as a non-European permanent resident, I have to take a language exam in the next two years or risk a severe fine.

Here, there are two types of people who are usually assumed to be unequivocally Dutch: White or Brown (thanks to colonial history). Because my appearance is typically Javanese or Indonesian, I’m often mistaken as being Dutch. Many Dutch people also have grandmothers or great-grandmothers who came over from the former colonies. These women often attempted to integrate totally by adopting the local language and ways of life.

At one point in time, I figured I’d similarly integrate by forcing myself to speak and listen to Dutch. I decided to start in a prenatal yoga group that I had just joined. I figured that I would do okay since I could understand most words relating to movement and parts of the body. Plus, it was a good opportunity to learn the relevant vocabulary for labour and delivery.

It turned out to be a very lonely 10 weeks. Even though I tried my best to speak a little bit of Dutch each lesson to the yoga instructor and to the other participants, I never got around to actually striking up a semblance of a friendship with the other mothers. Perhaps it was our age difference: Almost all the other women were well into their 30s, and some in their 40s. Perhaps we lived in different places: They live in the suburbs and I live in the city. Or perhaps I was just the only non-White person in the whole group.

I had a very different experience in a postnatal Pilates class I’m currently attending. It’s a small and cosy studio not too far from where I live, run by an English woman and attended by many English-speaking people (even though most of the instructors are Dutch). I take two different classes, and both instructors willingly carry out their lessons in a mix of Dutch and English to make sure I can understand.

I’ve also met some kindred souls in this class – a total change from awkward attempts at conversation in my previous yoga class. Whether it’s because women are more sympathetic when they can bond over how bad their hospital experience was, or whether it’s just a friendlier group of women, I haven’t needed to speak Dutch at all. (Besides, my go-to excuse is that my brain is too sleep-deprived caring for a baby to string together a sentence.)

I realised then that it’s not about the language we speak, but about our willingness to know the other. Now when someone speaks to me in Dutch, I don’t feel obligated to reply in the same language to prove I’m a “good” migrant. I’m perfectly happy to speak what is most comfortable to me because what is more important is our effort to communicate, not the language we communicate in.

The sustainability of selfless parents

This article originally appeared in the August 2014 Family issue of Aquila Style magazine.

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Why taking care of yourself is the first step to providing good care for your children.

Image: Fotolia

As children, my friends and I would compare our parents to one another. At five years old, I pleaded with my mother to wear skirts like the other mothers of my kindergarten classmates. When I was 14, I car-pooled to school with a neighbour and remember being amazed to learn that her mother – who worked full-time – went for massages regularly.

In comparison, my own mother was a full-time stay-at-home-mum, and we always employed a domestic worker as well. I never remembered her going to a spa or anything similar, even though I’m sure she was pretty stressed out running the logistics of a household, raising three children (one with special needs), and managing a live-in employee virtually by herself (my dad is the hands-off kind of father typical of his generation). I thought she was selfless, always putting others before herself, as mothers should ideally be.

Looking back, I’m not sure why I thought that way about motherhood, other than it was probably because society had normalised it. As a new mother myself, I understand that this model of selfless motherhood was not only unsustainable and unhealthy for me; it was also apt to drive me nuts. So, with the birth of our son six months ago as a turning point for our own household, my husband and I reconfigured our duties and came up with strategies to keep ourselves physically and mentally recharged.

Delegate and take turns

My husband and I consider ourselves co-parents, with our duties pretty evenly divided. While we both work, I have the fortune of working from home. Being able to care for your child while also pursuing your own interests is priceless to me.

There are certain chores that are exclusively mine: breastfeeding is one of them. My husband takes out the garbage and recycling. For all other chores, we take turns.

On Mondays, Tuesdays and Thursdays I am the “primary parent”, taking responsibility for diaper changes and entertaining the baby when he needs attention. My husband takes this role on Wednesdays, Saturdays and Sundays. On Fridays – what I consider my “day off” – I get to work undisturbed when my mother-in-law comes to babysit.

Pay someone

Exclusive breastfeeding takes energy. I often joke to my husband that I’ve already prepared 6–8 meals every day. In return, he’s in charge of preparing breakfasts and dinners every day. Both of us work full-time, so we find it affordable to get a cleaner to come every two weeks to do the heavier household work like vacuuming, wiping down surfaces, folding clothes and mopping the floor. It depends on what you consider the more difficult chores – laundry and cooking are easy for us.

My son is also reaching an age when he’s starting to recognise who his primary carers are, so he won’t be okay with an unfamiliar face. I’m lucky that our babysitter is an elderly Indonesian woman – my son probably finds our faces rather similar!

Reconceptualise “we” time

While I love spending time with my son, I think it’s also important to spend time with only my husband. Admittedly, “date nights” don’t happen much because, so far, going everywhere as a family unit is just easier for all of us.

I lucked out with my son being such a good sleeper and having a calm disposition. My husband and I still manage to do many things we used to do as a couple, like watching movies and going to the park. But it’s important to have some time to myself, too.

Find “me” time

While I get several opportunities a week to be by myself for a few hours, I don’t always take all the time off because of the hassle of pumping and storing breast milk for when I’m away. At this point in time, I feel that two hours of exercise a week is the right amount of time for me to recharge physically. I go to Pilates twice a week and a chiropractic adjustment once every few weeks. On some Fridays, I indulge in my biggest treat: spending an hour or two at a neighbourhood cafe with a book and a cup of tea.

Surprisingly, what I relish most about being by myself is that I can cycle to my destination. Even while I was pregnant it was my main mode of transport. (My son can’t join me yet; I still have to wait a few months before he can sit up properly in a bicycle child seat.)

Since becoming a mother I’ve had to let go of my adolescent notions of what it means to be a good parent. Not eating properly, not exercising and feeling stressed can negatively affect my ability to feed, play with and pay attention to my son, all of which ultimately affect our relationship.

I’ve also learned that it’s important to listen to yourself and your child, in order to figure out what works for you both. The individual needs of families vary tremendously, and it won’t be long before it is my son who is comparing me with his friends’ mums.

Image: Fotolia

Watch: Malaysian NGO uncovers 8 misconceptions about polygamy

Where I grew up, polygamy was normalised through the actions, stories and tacit approval of the adults around me. Even though the negative side of having multiple wives were not ignored, there was no struggle for justice either. In retrospect, the apathy surrounding the women who were suffering is astounding.

A Malaysian NGO, Sisters in Islam (SIS), produced a short video illustrating the myths and realities around polygamy in Malaysia. From 2007 to 2012, the NGO carried out in-depth interviews with 63 respondents from polygamous families, on the impact that this marriage institution has in Malaysia. According to the information on their YouTube account:

"SIS hopes that the data gathered from our nationwide research on the impact of polygamy on families will prompt the relevant authorities to re-look and reform current Islamic Family Laws on polygamy in Malaysia."

[transcript below]

#1
People say... Polygamy is the undeniable right of a Muslim man.

In reality... Based on Surah An Nisa (Quran 4:3), polygamy is only allowed in order to protect the property and welfare of orphans whose fathers were killed in war.

#2
People say... Men practise polygamy to fulfill the sunnah (practice) of Prophet Muhammad.

In reality... 70% of husbands surveyed admitted to practising polygamy because of sexual attraction.

#3
People say... Co-wives tolerate polygamy for emotional and material reasons.

In reality... 42% of second wives work overtime to support household expenses.
32% were forced to contribute to expenses of the husband, his first wife and their children.
56% of husbands failed to provide sufficient nafkah (allowance), while some did not provide any allowance at all.

#4
People say... Only men with sufficient wealth practise polygamy.

In reality... Men who cannot afford to practise polygamy still do so.
70% of husbands interviewed earn MYR 3000 (USD 700) monthly or less.

#5
People say... Polygamous men divide their time fairly between their wives and children.

In reality... 50% of husbands do not discuss the distribution of time with their wives. (50% do.)
64% of first wives found that their husbands did not follow the arranged schedule.
42.5% of second wives and 77% of the first wife's children are unhappy with the arrangements.

#6
People say... Children do not mind their fathers being polygamous.

In reality... 87% of children interviewed find that polygamy has negatively affected their psychological wellbeing. Some fathers did not know to which wife a child belonged to. Some did not know the names, ages or birthdays of all of their children!
92% of children oppose polygamy because of their own experiences.

#7
People say... Polygamy brings happiness to husbands.

In reality... Husbands admit they suffer emotional stress due to time constraints, financial burdens and complaints from their wives and children.
47% of husbands work overtime and take on extra jobs.
50% admit that taking turns between houses is exhausting.

#8
People say... Malaysia's sharia family laws are fair in dealing with polygamy and family matters.

In reality... The laws are only ideal in theory; enforcement is extremely weak.
60% of first wives were not summoned to the Shariah Court to give their testimony on their husband's eligibility and capabilities for polygamy, before the judge granted a second marriage.
40% of polygamous marriages took place outside the country, mostly at the Thai border.
32% of those marriages did not register their marriages in Malaysia, thus neglecting the legal rights of the new wife and her children.

The Islamic Family Law Act 1984 states the requirements for a proposed [polygamous] marriage:

1. It must be both appropriate and necessary
2. Husband must be financially capable
3. Husband will treat all co-wives equally
4. It will not cause darar sharie (harm) to the existing wife/wives
5. It will not directly or indirectly lower the standard of living of existing wife/wives

However, the 1984 Act was amended in 1994. Husbands now no longer have to ensure that the standard of living of existing wife/wives remain the same (See #5 above).

In 2005, the 1984 Act was amended again to make polygamy easier for men. The proposed marriage only has to be appropriate OR necessary (See #1 above).

The 1984 requirements must be reinstated and strictly enforced. Polygamy should not bring happiness to only one party. The purpose of marriage is to create happiness between two people who love and feel compassion for one another (Quran 30:21).

And you will never be able to be equal between wives, even if you should strive [to do so]. So do not incline completely and leave another hanging. And if you amend and fear Allah - then indeed, Allah is ever Forgiving and Merciful. (Quran 4:129)

All data in this video was obtained from 'Impak poligami atas keluarga Muslim di semenanjung Malaysia' (2007-2012) [Impact of polygamy on Muslim families in Malaysia], a research collaboration between SIS and researchers from The National University of Malaysia (UKM), Malaysia Science University (USM) and Malaya University (UM).

4 essential mama tops for breastfeeding ease

This article was first published on Aquila Style.

Don’t limit yourself to maternity shops, mums. Try these types of tops for minimal fuss, exposure and equipment.

Image: Fotolia

When my baby was a few weeks old and I felt ready to leave the house, I remember looking through my wardrobe and declaring that I had nothing to wear. Maybe I had said that a few times before, but this time was different: my staple high-cut tops, t-shirts and pullovers were going to make breastfeeding on-the-go much more difficult. Though a hijab or nursing cover would provide sufficient coverage, I was looking for ways to dress modestly yet be able to nurse in public with minimal fuss, exposure and equipment. After a few months of experimenting, I found that these were the kinds of tops that worked best for me:


1. The basic blouse


NYDJ Contrast zip front blouse | $98 | zappos.com
GAP Navy Poplin shirtdress | $36.99 | ebay.com

A conventional blouse with buttons down the middle – easily found in stores – works just fine. A zipper is less common, but still readily available. I found these sorts of tops great for when I needed a more formal outfit or wanted to feel more put together.

Either way, you’ll need two hands for this kind of opening – which is sometimes not so handy when you have no hands left to keep baby from rolling off your lap. Zippers and buttons can sometimes smoosh onto baby’s face, leaving marks.


2. The cache coeur


Anna Field jersey dress, petrol | £34 | zalando.co.uk
Fizza silky kimono baju kurung, navy/burgundy | $40.66 | poplook.com

A wrap-around or cache coeur (“hidden heart”) cut makes it easy to manoeuvre access to the breast with one hand, and it’s just as easy to cover up when you’re done. Layer a cropped tank top underneath and pull it up while nursing for coverage.

The only drawback is that such tops are usually made from jersey material, which I find sometimes staticky and tend to cling too much to a post-partum body. Look for more structured materials that fall away from your body in the right places. For Eid this year, I got myself a modern take on the traditional Malay dress (baju kurung) which used a wrap around top made from chiffon instead of the usual long blouse.


3. The crop top



Chiffon loose cropped top | $9.60 | chickisslove.com

Navy white striped loose crop blouse | $16.67 | sheinside.com

These loose and boxy tops are my favourite; I find these to be the most versatile and useful. Layer a crop top over a tank top and it gives you easy access (just lift up the crop top) and enough wiggle room (slip one or two hands underneath to unhook and hook nursing bras). Plus, it even doubles up as a nursing cover.

Great for hot weather or babies who are not used to nursing covers, since baby can drink al fresco while there’s just enough fabric to keep you covered.


4. The DIY top

Heather Lehmann | made-by-rae.com

With the exception of cache coeur tops, you can also easily modify current pieces in your wardrobe to have the opening that you like best. Hem off your loose maternity tops or oversized t-shirts to make your own crop tops or send a few items that you love and wear often to the tailor to incorporate invisible zippers (one down the middle, two on each side, or horizontally).

This solution can be easier than buying new clothes – especially when you’re too busy nursing your baby to spend hours shopping!

"Actually, I'm his mum."

It's been a whirlwind few months since the big move back to Singapore. It's had its pros and cons, but mostly I am very glad to be back. As a Kiwi friend once said, "Singaporeans always miss Singapore, right?"

My posts have been rather depressing of late -- the cons of moving back. One of the reasons I wanted to come back was to feel a sense of a Muslim community again. Back in NL, I had cobbled together a motley group of Muslim friends, which I was and still am very grateful for. In retrospect, I realise that I should not expect myself to be able to integrate seamlessly back here -- I've changed so much as a Muslim and as a person that the Sunni Shafii mainstream is not really an Islam I am 100% comfortable with anymore. Listening to people talk about how men should only marry women who can bear children is extremely triggering.

(I can't imagine being able to articulate that only just 5 or 6 years ago, which is when all my questioning started.)

Being a mum to 17 month old now, I've changed so much. While I already had to learn to put aside other people's opinions because of many of my feminist-social-justice beliefs, I definitely give even less consideration now -- in short, IDGAF. My priority is to advocate for my kid.

Staying in a neighbourhood with many White foreigners is also creating its own series of misconceptions. Because many of their kids are cared for by live-in Filipina oIndonesian migrant domestic workers white women assume I am also a domestic worker. Never mind that Nootje is practically a carbon copy of me (when compared to his dad at least). When he is near me my Brownness is enhanced. Especially if I'm out and about in my Tshirts and jeans/shorts as opposed to a fancier skirt or blouse, with makeup or accessories.

The privilege of being able to groom myself into socially acceptable femininity every day (or any day) is what distinguishes me from migrant working women. They only get Sundays (their day off) to dress up as they like. This counts for women who wear hijab as well, as the headscarf functions as a marker of urban modernity. If I wore hijab and presentable clothes at the playground, I would not be mistaken for an Indonesian or a Filipina. Hijabi migrants might be allowed a simple 'instant' hijab on trips to the supermarket, but only on Sundays can they go all out with their outfits.

Having had the last few months to process all this, and now that I am aware of how I fit into this intersection of race, gender and migrant status, what do I do?

The 'me' of 10 years ago would have detested being mistaken for a 'maid'. Her choice to wear hijab would have been partly influenced by this (not the only or the most important factor, but a factor nonetheless).

The 'me' today? IDGAF. I dress in what makes me comfortable in the heat, considering my need to safely cycle and run after, carry and breastfeed Nootje. When I'm in the mood, I take the opportunity to educate the adults and children who assume I am Nootje's 'maid', 'auntie' or 'bibik' simply because I have brown skin, plain clothes, a plain (and very Javanese) face, and I sit on the bench watching him at the playground instead of constantly following him around (aka "helicopter parenting", a fun post for another day).

When I'm not in the mood, I simply say, in the coolest tone I can muster and witness the offending adult flush with embarassment: "Actually, I'm his mum."

On trying to not be an anak derhaka.

(This actually started out as a Facebook post, and then I realised I had more to say)

Even though I was brought up to listen to authority, I now know that a well lived life is more than just being "obedient". As a child, I was told plainly to obey my parents and obey teachers. Presumably, this was to prepare me for life as a wife who should obey her husband. (That didn't go down well, obviously.) Obedience was prized as a mark of a good child and a good student - and in the context of Singapore, a good citizen.

At the root of this was love. We thought that if we obeyed well enough, we would be loved. But then when I was much older I realised that love should not be bartered for obedience, especially in a child. The ideal parent was supposed to be a benevolent dictator: the father and/or mother held power by virtue of being older/bigger/the parent, but s/he was supposed to exercise it with responsibility and kindness towards the child. So everything that the parent asked for was supposed to always be in the child's interest. 

But the saying "absolute power always corrupts absolutely" couldn't be truer in this case. When does this benevolent power stop its reign? According to what I was taught, for girls it was supposed to stop when you got married. Then you were passed over to your husband, who would be your guardian (in other words, for women it never stops).

The last four years have been life-changing for me in many ways. Moving to a new country by accident, getting married (multiple times), giving birth, raising a little boy, and another big life decision in the works. Along the way I have had to make many decisions which were not exactly the most popular ones, and faced a lot of backlash and drama for it. Soul-sucking, but I won't go down without a fight. 

Along the way I've learned strategies to deal with it: explanation, direct resistance and hiding (in that order). Unfortunately, the strategies don't always work out because there's always that cloud of anak derhaka (Malay, lit. unfilial/disobedient child) hanging over your head. At some point, you start to realise that this kind of power and control uses fear woven into cultural stories and myths.

The most important thing I learned is this: the worst thing is, in the name of obedience, to let someone else make decisions for your life that you regret and/or resent. If you want to do something for your life, whether mainstream or offbeat, then do it. Just take responsibility for it - that's good enough for me.

If you do something that someone else wants, and you think it's part of being obedient or a good child or whatever, then learn to own it or leave it. If you don't have the time, the money, or the physical and emotional energy to carry it out, then just don't do it. The martyr mentality really kills me: you do something because it's "the right thing" and then you totally find yourself in a rut or you totally hate it. Or you whine and make everyone else's life hell because your own life is hell. 

I don't want that for myself and I don't want to carry such baggage down to my own children. I don't want to teach them to suffer in the name of blind obedience. I want to teach them to make careful and balanced decisions, consulting me if they feel that I can help. It's my job to cultivate that connection with them so that they feel I can be someone they can turn to. No child is going to come running to their parents for love out of nowhere when the child-parent relationship has always been that of power and control.

I have been told I don't do what I am "asked to do". I have also been told I am "too educated" (a comment reserved exclusively for a woman, though I'm amazed to hear such a thing) because I ask questions and refuse to be bullied into life-changing decisions. 

Thank you, I take these as compliments. My life is more than the sum of other people's ideas. 

10 telltale signs you’re most probably a Muslim mother

1. You have a book of foolproof baby names.
The Qur’an contains about 30 names for boys, suitable for any parents or in-laws from an Abrahamic faith. There’s only one ready name for a girl, though, so maybe you can consult a book on Islamic history for more ideas.

2. Your healthcare professional is wondering why you’re whispering into your newborn’s ear.
It’s called the adhan, and if you’re lucky you’ll get to hold your newborn babe as soon as he/she is born and let your voice be the first thing he/she hears.

3. You say “alhamdulilah” probably 50 times a day.
If this comes involuntarily out of your mouth every time someone burps, farts or sneezes, then you’ll be doing a lot of this with a baby or several children around.

4. You are expected to put something sweet on your baby’s mouth, make them bald, and sacrifice an animal.
One tradition called tahnik involves placing dates or honey on the lips of a baby within the first seven days of life. Another tradition involves shaving hair of a baby (or the alternative: snip off just seven hairs) after 40 days, weigh it and donate an equivalent amount of gold to charity. Yet another called aqiqa calls for the slaughter of a goat or cow to express gratitude for the birth.

5. Piggy plush toys are a source of discussion.
Imagine this: a well-meaning non-Muslim colleague gives a friendly, furry, stuffed toy pig as a present. You actually have a conversation (with yourself or someone else) about whether it’s okay for your kid to play with it. If you decide it’s okay, you might still have to deal with other Muslims telling you that your child shouldn’t put the toy in his mouth.

6. A discussion about whether it’s okay to let your children see you naked must include fiqh and not just revolve around issues of body-image and self-esteem.
One mother wrote on the internet about how she lets her sons see her real post-baby body so that they grow up with realistic images about women’s bodies, instead of thinking that the airbrushed photos in magazines are real women. I figure that someone that has seen your insides can probably see your outsides without being too shocked. Besides, a discussion about which parts of the mother’s body is visually off limits to her son is way too Oedipal for me.

7. “It’s sunnah” becomes your stock answer for extended breastfeeding.
Even though a minimum of two years of breastfeeding is recommended by the World Health organisation, many in our parents’ generation who were influenced by the aggressive marketing of infant formula companies may try to stop you from breastfeeding your child beyond six months, or up to several years. Luckily if you’re Muslim, you can always say the Qur’an indicates 30 months for pregnancy and breastfeeding (46:15).

8. You have to deal with equal numbers of people telling you that you can or cannot fast while breastfeeding.
Opinions are pretty divided about whether a pregnant and/or breastfeeding mother should or shouldn’t be breastfeeding in Ramadan. Luckily, whether you fast or not is only up to you and your baby. Just listen to your body.

9. You worry that your kid gets ham sandwiches at the day care.
If you live in a non-predominantly Muslim community or country, a ham and cheese sandwich is a totally normal snack. Be sure you let your caregivers know what your child should eat – or pack it along when you drop her off.

10. You feel simultaneously terrified and hopeful about Islamophobia.
Parenting can be the most joyful and the most scary experience of your life. From the moment your children are born, your greatest fear will be losing them. While being Muslim after 9/11 has not been easy, you’re hopeful that your children will be the ones to change the world for the better.

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This article was originally published on Aquila Style