6 tips for wheelchair travel for paraplegics

This article was first published on AbleThrive.

Emilio Choo, Singaporean wheelchair basketball player and travel addict hopes to convince you to start planning for that place you’ve always wanted to go to.

1. Research.
Google search ‘disabled travel’ for tips in the city or country. “There’s a lot of advice out there. Many people have been there and done the travelling. No matter how gung ho you are, you need to do some research. Because there are places that you really cannot go at all. There’s no point in going there and you cannot do anything.”

2. Plan the basics.
It’s also worth picking a place to stay and deciding how you plan to move around at your destination. “Things I plan in advance are hotels and transport. If you sort these out before your trip, I think you can have an enjoyable time.”

3. Reconsider flying on a budget.
Though budget airlines often advertise tempting promotions, Emilio no longer travels with these because of the costs of wheelchair assistance. “If you need help, you need to pay for it. When they travel to places without an aerobridge, you’re expected to pay for the wheelchair lift, which is another S$200 [US$140]. If you add up all the costs, it’s more than a normal air ticket. It’s no longer cheap for me.”

4. Pack everything you need.
Emilio’s basic essentials include: maps, itineraries, spare inner tubes for his tires, tools and a Swiss army knife, in addition to daily essentials like medication and a catheter.

5. Try something new.
Emilio discovered the joys of planning his own itinerary when he started driving on his trips. “I didn’t know that there are wheelchair-accessible vans and hand-controlled cars for rental. If I had known earlier, I could have travelled to even more places.”

6. Ask for help.
“Once you’re out there, don’t be afraid to ask for help. People overseas are friendly and will help you. You’ll be fine.”

Emilio Choo pushes himself to see “how far this chair can bring me”

This article was first published on AbleThrive.

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The Singaporean wheelchair basketball player travels and partakes in spine-tingling extreme sports for fresh perspectives on life.

Skydiving in Byron Bay, Australia in 2013

 

Before his spinal injury 14 years ago, 34-year-old Emilio Choo didn’t even have a passport. During a self-imposed gap year before commencing his studies in Computer Engineering at Nanyang Technological University, he set off on a maiden trip to visit family in Australia. After that, he was hooked on the idea of learning about new places, about new people and perhaps most significantly, about how adaptable he could really be. Since then, the national wheelchair basketball player has been to countries both nearby like Hong Kong and Japan, and far away as Switzerland and Italy. With his confidence increasing with every enjoyable trip, he has also participated in spine-tingling activities like scuba diving in Tioman (2008) and skydiving in Byron Bay, Australia (2013).

His first trip to Sydney, Australia, opened his eyes to the new possibilities of life in a wheelchair. His sister, brother-in-law, and aunt brought him around to see Sydney. “I didn’t know what to expect. Luckily, it was convenient. A lot of places are accessible and I had family there to help me,” he said. The trip taught him some first valuable lessons about travelling in a wheelchair, such as always planning in advance.

When he was able-bodied, Emilio said he did not get to travel much because his family was not well off. He had only been to Taiwan and Brunei as part his national service exercises – and he obtained his spinal injury on the latter trip. Looking at his situation with a fresh perspective, Emilio decided that he would make the best of what he had.

Today he is hooked on travelling with his wife — his main travel partner. Their first trip together, an arranged tour of several European cities for their honeymoon, was a turning point for him. “You cannot expect them to provide you with a wheelchair accessible bus. So every time, I had to climb up and down the bus, step by step. That was challenging, but it made me more adaptable. And you know in Europe, a lot of buildings are old. There are many stairs and [the streets are paved with] cobblestones.”

“I had to slowly adjust and explore what I could do. That trip really made me realise that I could do more and travel much further than I had ever imagined.” Emilio counts the US as one of his favourite countries to visit. “I like their inclusiveness. They really see everyone as equal and they have a lot of wheelchair-accessible places.” A 2012 trip to Universal Studios Hollywood and Disneyland theme parks in California proved to be memorable because it was the first time he had ever been on a rollercoaster or other rides.

More recently, in 2015 he was also able to enjoy the rides in Universal Studios Singapore. Naturally, Emilio initially worried about the many things that could go wrong while he was away from the comforts of home. His worries translated into meticulous planning for every aspect of a trip, including the accessibility of the places he wanted to visit and the availability of accessible toilets. “But now I can go to any toilet, I just have to jump around and adjust my chair,” he said. “You cannot always find a wheelchair-accessible toilet so sometimes you just have to make do. Because these are some things you need to learn which will allow you to go to many more places.”

These days, Emilio and his wife do only some basic research before going somewhere. “We still do some planning but we are more adaptable. Sometimes we even say, let’s just go there and see how it goes. It’s more free and easy now.” Sometimes an upbeat attitude is enough. But sometimes change is needed at a bigger, societal level before travel for people with disabilities become the norm. For example, while budget airlines become increasingly popular with travellers, Emilio avoids these airlines because of the hidden costs of wheelchair assistance that negate the ‘budget’ aspect.

Nevertheless, there are many interesting options for disabled travellers today, like hand-controlled rental cars and accessible public transport. “Sometimes [taxis] are very expensive. So we drive instead. Many places today have hand-controlled cars for rental, which is convenient. In Australia, I took some buses and trains. In Taiwan and Hong Kong, we got around using the MRT.”

“Singapore is a convenient and accessible place, but I also want to experience how the disabled live in other places. Or how other people live their day-to-day lives.”

“I want to see how far this chair can bring me.”

Rushing for Morocco’s “liquid gold”? Here’s how to get the best argan oil

Estée Lauder. Dove. L’Oréal. These brands have marketed a series of products containing argan oil, rich in vitamins E and C and often touted as a “wonder oil” to cure everything from split ends to acne. Unfortunately, these products usually contain only small amounts of argan oil.

Such advertising is often misleading since these products often contain much more of other ingredients that make hair feel smooth, such as silicones. I believe there are better forms of argan oil products, and better ways to obtain them.

“Liquid gold”

Argan oil has a strong but refined odour: a perfume that can be described as somewhere in between toasted hazelnut, almond, and sesame. In terms of appearance, it is a rich golden-brown colour with highlights of amber. Outside of Morocco, where it has been a traditional food of Berber communities for centuries, not many people know that argan oil also has precious nutritional properties.

According to various scientific studies, the nutritional and dietary properties of argan oil are superior to those of extra virgin olive oil. Argan oil consists of 80 percent unsaturated fat, just like olive oil, but has more essential linoleic fatty acids (omega-6) with an anti-inflammatory effect that helps our joints, circulation and immune system, plus it supposedly aids in fertility, too. There is also preliminary evidence that it can increase insulin sensitivity and therefore, it may have an anti-diabetic effect.[i]

Edible argan oil (pressed from toasted kernels) enhances the flavour of dishes like tagines, couscous, salad dressings, roasted vegetables and fish. A few drops on a green salad are enough to give a delicious flavour to a dish. But the simplest (and my favourite) way to eat it is as amlou, a mixture of argan oil, nuts and honey poured over a piece of bread, which makes for a nourishing breakfast.

Gold rush?

Also known as louz el-barbary or Berber almonds, the fruits of the argan tree resemble olives on the outside, and almonds on the inside. The traditional and more labour-intensive method of extracting oil from the kernels involves women who dry, de-pulp, break, roast, grind, and knead the final paste.

When bought straight from the source, pure organic argan oil costs around US$200 per litre (but luckily, they are also sold in small bottles at the affordable price of around US$4 to US$8 each). It is pressed from the kernels of the Argania spinosa plant, a thorny and evergreen tree unique to Morocco. It only grows within the Souss plain, a hot and dry 800,000 hectares in the country’s southwest, extending from the coastal city of Essaouira inwards towards the high Atlas mountains.

Since 2002, the growing demand for argan oil outside of Morocco, especially by cosmetic companies, has resulted in the creation and organisation of women’s cooperatives by the government. These cooperatives, set up by individual women, provide employment for Berber women, offer business and literacy training, and the collective revenue helps to drive village development projects and regional tourism.

Over the last decade or so, argan oil was so popular that prices have soared internationally and locally. This rapid price increase was partly due to international demand, and partly due to the reduced supply of fruit from two or three years of drought.

Today, in some areas, traditional methods of preparation have been replaced by modern manufacturing where machines are used to do the tasks, except crushing the nuts (which is still usually done by hand). This new method reduces the labour on women and increases the shelf life of the oil and its purity.

Faced with this international surge in demand, many women cooperatives are equipped with modern extraction equipment and have established organic production and certification processes (such as Ecocert for example), which have allowed them to gain significant access into the international market.

Today, there are more than 150 argan cooperatives all over Morocco, run almost exclusively by women. A number of organisations regulate and confirm the quality and origin of the oil, such as the Moroccan Association of Geographical Indication of Argan Oil (AMIGHA), which fulfils a function similar to the French appellation d’origine contrôllée for cheeses and other agricultural products.

Visiting a cooperative

The Women’s Cooperative of Argan Oil Produced by Women of Taddart is one of the numerous organisations all over the Souss plain. This cooperative was started in 2005 as a way to provide the Berber women in this small mountain town with literacy classes and alternative ways to supplement their family incomes. On a trip to Morocco a few years ago, I had the opportunity to drop by and see how this cooperative worked.

As I entered the small and cosy shop, women busy pounding argan kernels looked up and gave me tired smiles. A middle-aged woman named Aicha, who was managing the sales that day, cheerfully pointed out to me the variety of argan oil products made on-site: edible golden-brown amlou in small clay tagines, cosmetic oils in delicate glass bottles marked with a use-by date, soaps, and shampoos. I asked Aicha to tell me more about this cooperative.

She explained that at first, the men in Taddart were not keen on this organisation of women because they had traditionally been the only breadwinners. They were also sceptical about women working outside of the home. However, with time and increased family incomes, the men became more accepting.

Unfortunately, by trying to grab some of this lucrative income for themselves, Aicha conceded that the argan oil industry in Morocco is facing problems of fake cooperatives, diluted oil, bogus accreditation, and degradation of argan forests.






Fair trade
Should you buy that expensive bottle of argan oil, whether it’s pure or not? As with any product in today’s highly globalised world, one woman’s daily bread is easily another woman’s exclusive hair serum. If you wish to use or consume argan oil, it is best to go straight to a certified organic and fair-trade source such as Tounarouz in Agadir, or find a reliable international supplier like Saadia Organics.

It is important to look at the complex interactions between our consumption and the livelihoods of others, to help balance issues of biodiversity, fair trade and thriving livelihoods.

[i] Samira Samane, Josette Noel, Zoubida Charrouf, Hamid Amarouch and Pierre Selim Haddad, ‘Insulin-sensitising and anti-proliferative effects of Arganisia spinosa seed extracts’, Sep 2006, available here.

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This article was originally published at Aquila Style

A bath and a bite in Budapest: a sensory jaunt around Hungary’s capital

Szia from Budapest! After about eight hours on the bus from Prague, I’ve arrived here at 5.30am, greeted by snow. As I can only check in to the hostel after 10am, I can’t get into my room yet, so I rest in the common area while waiting for my bed to be ready.

The countries of Eastern Europe are often shrouded in mystery, having been part of the Soviet Union for so many years. However, a city like Budapest is great for backpackers travelling Europe – prices here are generally lower than in Western Europe because of lower average wages.

Buda and Pest

Budapest is made up of two smaller towns that were unified in 1873: the hilly Buda on the west bank and the flat plains of Pest on the east bank, separated by the river Danube. The two sub-cities are connected by the capital’s most famous bridge, the Chain Bridge. I decide that I may need an entire day to explore Buda, so I leave Pest for the next day.

At the top of Castle Hill in Buda is Fisherman’s Bastion, a viewing terrace with seven fairytale-like white towers. These towers represent the seven Magyar tribes who settled in this area in 896AD. I discover that, in the Middle Ages, a guild of fishermen was responsible for defending this stretch of the city walls. From this location I can get a beautiful view of Pest and Chain Bridge, and for free too!

Fun fact: Chain Bridge was built by William Clark, the same architect who built the Thames Gateway Bridge in London

The next day in Pest I start with an educational visit to the chilling House of Terror on the recommendation of other guests at my hostel. Portraits along the outside walls of the museum serve as a memorial to victims who were detained, interrogated, tortured or killed in this building, which was previously used by fascist organisations. In this museum, I learn more than I have ever wanted to about the Nazi and Soviet occupations in 20th-century Hungary and, later on, the life of fear that people suffered under the Hungarian Communist Party.

I find it baffling how history repeats itself; how we humans continue to terrorise each other, time and again.

A hot bath… outdoors
The tour of terror has left me high-strung yet low in spirits – I need to unwind. I am searching for the well-known medicinal Széchenyi Baths, and finally locate them in a lush green park. This innocuous-looking park hides underground pipes pumping from two very hot natural thermal springs (74°C and 77°C) to various indoor and outdoor pools.

Outdoor pools at Szechenyi baths. Photo: Nur Febriani Wardi

The indoor pools are about 27°C, while the outdoor ones are as warm as 38°C. Ticket prices vary depending on the time and day of your visit and extras such as a cabin or locker. In general, admission will set you back roughly 4,000 Hungarian forints (US$18) per person.

As I don’t want to be alone, I decide to try the mixed pool. I’m not sure about the dress code, and so I try to enter a pool in a T-shirt and long cotton trousers, fending off comments about my trousers. When I pass through the ladies’ changing room, a woman working there tries to pull my trousers off, insisting that I am not allowed to enter the pool wearing them. After some negotiation, I eventually pass through with knee-length tights.

Later I discover that there is no strict dress code for the pools, although one must wear swimwear in these baths (including tankinis and burkinis). Just make sure you are wearing something made of Lycra, or that at least looks like swimwear, so you won’t raise the ire of the other bathers.

I contemplate dipping into the outdoor pools, but decide against it because it is too cold to run outside in my wet clothes. There are many other people though, hopping in and out of different pools, trying them all. I am feeling rather embarrassed after the changing room incident, but I definitely want to come back here in warmer weather to try the other pools.

[Warning: Waters of the Széchenyi Baths are slightly yellow because of the sulphate content (along with other minerals like calcium and magnesium). Therefore, pregnant women and children are recommended not to spend too much time in them.]

Marks of war

In Pest, I notice that many ordinary and important buildings are still riddled with bullet holes. These marks are a result of the 1956 Hungarian Uprising against the Soviet-backed governments. The failure to hide these marks is probably not an oversight, as it serves to remind Hungarians of the price of freedom. Although both parts of the city bear bitter signs of fascist and dictatorial regimes, they still stand regal – proud of the beautiful and rich history behind their sites and buildings.

A bite of this and a nibble of that
After a good soak and swim, I need to restore myself. At the end of Váci Utca, the main shopping street of Budapest, is the Great Market Hall. This enormous indoor market is filled with two levels of shops. I am absolutely dazzled by the array of things on sale: spices, meat, fresh vegetables, fruit and pastries.

Vaci Utca

I select two food items: lángos and rétes. A popular summer snack, lángosis a deep-fried flat bread sprinkled with grated cheese and sour cream, with an optional rub in garlic. Other toppings include mushrooms, eggplant, cabbage and jam. It was traditionally a breakfast bread baked in the oven at home. However, these days it is fried in oil. Crispy, oily, warm – yummy!

Strudel, a traditional multi-layered fruit pastry, is eaten all across the former Austro-Hungarian Empire. The deliciously sweet and sour rétes, or sour cherry strudel, is one of the ways to use up an abundant harvest of cherries, grown all over Eastern Europe.

When I lived in the Spanish city of Valencia, my Hungarian roommate Andrea once prepared lentil főzelék, a cross between a soup and a stew, usually eaten with bread and a fried egg. Since it is usually a homecooked dish, it is practically impossible to find in upscale restaurants, only in cheap diners. Andrea recommended a self-service diner in Budapest, called the Főzelékfaló Etelbár (address: Nagymező utca 18). I try the lentil főzelék here, but Andrea’s version is definitely better.

I cannot leave the capital without experiencing Budapest’s cafe culture. Walking down Váci Utca, I duck into a small, half-lit cafe decorated with chandeliers. I order strawberry-perfumed tea and spend the rest of the evening contentedly writing postcards.

Lost in my thoughts, I relive the delight of Budapest: the breathtaking views of its remarkable buildings (some with a more powerful history than others), balmy public baths and delectable bites. The past two days are just a taste of what there is to discover in this dignified city that I can’t wait to visit again.

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This article was originally published on Aquila Style

In Their Own Words: The Ups and Downs of Fasting Abroad

This post was originally published in Aquila Style, 18 Jul 2013.
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Whether by choice or compulsion, sometimes we spend Ramadan away from family. Four Singaporean Muslim women speak to Sya Taha on their experiences fasting overseas.

For most of my life, I have spent Ramadan in my native Singapore. Since my family members have differing schedules, Ramadan was one of the rare periods in the year where we were able to eat together at least once a day.

While many Singaporeans try to spend Ramadan and Eid together, some may have to fast in other countries due to work assignments. Nadia, 27, a young Chinese woman, has experienced fasting a few days each in Hong Kong and Sweden:

The wonderful thing about fasting overseas is the high level of energy and enthusiasm I feel throughout the day, despite the lack of food or drink. Somehow the experience of being in a foreign land assuages any hunger or thirst or lethargy I may otherwise feel.

The variety of women who observe Ramadan abroad mirrors the diverse experiences they have. Syah, 24, a young Malay woman who did her undergraduate degree in Canada, saw her experiences change over the four years she spent in Vancouver:

It was very different from the first year I was here until now. The first year, I was pretty much alone in the dorms. It was winter so the hours were shorter. The dorms had a cafeteria which had this system of giving food from the previous day as the morning meal for those who fasted. But for sahur, I would just eat some cereal since there wasn’t a kitchen. My roommate was really nice and would often eat her dinner when I broke fast so I wouldn’t have to eat alone.

Syah started out rather isolated from Vancouver’s Muslim community, its ethnic segregation making it hard for her to connect. Now engaged to marry a white Canadian Muslim man, she says the difficulties largely persist, despite having eased somewhat:

Now, I’m a bit more connected to the Muslim community for Ramadan since I’ve made Muslim friends. Even so, I still pretty much fast alone otherwise, just with my fiancé because the Muslim community is still pretty rigid in terms of who they accept, [especially] us as an interracial couple. The Muslim community here in Vancouver is very divided along racial lines and there tends to be racial exclusivity in mosques, events, and so on.

On the other, young Malay women who have studied and lived in countries that have similar cultures and customs find a Muslim community that is welcoming. The presence of similar foods also makes for a more comforting Ramadan spent away from home.

Masaini, 29, did her undergraduate degree in Bandar Seri Begawan, the capital of the small nation of Brunei on the island of Borneo. With more than 60 percent of Brunei’s population being Muslim, she found comfort in the similar foods that were available during iftar such as air kathira (a sweet milk drink with coloured syrup and basil seeds), and rice porridge with meat. Despite the similar Malay culture, Masaini found something different in Brunei:

My fondest memory was the Islamic atmosphere and ambience. I could feel the strong spiritual aura that is not present in Singapore.

Likewise, Liyana, 28, who spent Ramadan in Kuala Lumpur while she studied there, enjoyed the widespread availability of air kathira, halal-certified food and the company of Muslim students from the Middle East and African countries like Eritrea:

My friends and I always enjoyed the luxury to choose where to break our fast. The mosque in our campus always surprised us with different types of food every single day. There would always be a pool of students, both local Malaysians and internationals, who swamped the mosque area in the evening, filling up the seats while waiting for the adzan to break their fast. That was when I got the chance to get to know other students whom I had not met before.

Liyana has fond memories of the generosity of student associations in her university who sponsored food for iftars, and warmheartedly recalled discovering a surprising benefactor behind one of these iftars:

My friends and I were on our way to the campus bazaar to buy food for iftar when we were stopped by an Arab man who encouraged us to break our fast at the campus canteen. He told us to sit down while he continued to prepare the food. I saw huge portions of food being served: rice with lamb, salads, desserts and drinks. We were also given a Qur’an each. Exhilarated, I asked the man if he knew who had sponsored this iftar. He told me it was the courtesy of an anonymous Palestinian man. I was stunned and touched at the same time, to think of how much most Palestinians had gone through but that this had never stopped them from radiating blessings in the lives of others. It was a great reminder to myself.

Despite not looking like a typical Muslim, especially with her Chinese appearance, Nadia also points to experiencing the kindness of strangers when fasting overseas:

One of the things I’ve noticed about being a foreigner in a strange land during the fasting month is how warm and welcoming local Muslims always are towards their fellow Muslims who are travelling and fasting away from home. At times I’d even receive offers to break the fast with these locals, indulge in their local cuisines and join in congregational salat with them in a show of shared solidarity for a fellow fasting Muslim. Such occasions are both memorable and precious. I’m very much aware that I may not have been privy to such offers or opportunities had it not been for my status as a Muslim, and the occasion of the fasting month.

Thanks to such overwhelmingly positive experiences, even after all these years, Liyana sometimes longs to spend Ramadan again in her former university, where she had the chance to befriend many women from all over the world:

One of those moments that I truly miss during Ramadan is getting to know women from various countries and cultures in my campus mosque. Most of the married women would bring their children to the mosque, and they would get request any sister in the mosque who was free to help take care of their children while they were doing the tarawih prayer. Every sister would help each other. It was a place for Muslim women to befriend other Muslim women – each had her own story on how she ended up in Malaysia. It was a wonderful gathering of women.

Overall, the experience of fasting overseas was a learning experience for these young Muslim women. Despite the cultural similarities or differences of the places they found themselves fasting, they were able to derive social and spiritual benefits from being with another of God’s many nations and tribes (49:13). While it can be comforting to spend Ramadan together with our family, spending it outside our native countries also brings an array of benefits.

The Challenges of FWM (Flying While Muslim)

This post was originally published in Aquila Style, 20 Jul 2013.

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Having to fast in the summer months for the second year in a row, I’m escaping to the tropics towards the end of this Ramadan. After about 20 days fasting for 19 hours each day in the Netherlands, I’ll be over the moon thinking about fast for a duration that I am most used to: 13 hours in Singapore.

I realise that this is a privilege on my part, to be able to fly halfway across the world. I’m not doing it just for the shorter hours, though; I’m also looking forward to being with my family during what I consider to be the most special celebration of my entire year. I have explained it to fellow Dutch people that Ramadan and Eid ul-Fitr in combination is just like Christmas for them (perhaps a weak analogy seeing how Christmas and Easter celebrations have been secularised for most of the country, but it will have to do).

Today’s travel times are much shorter than what the 7th-century travellers mentioned in the Qur’an had to deal with. We can travel almost anywhere in the world in a matter of a few days. Some things, however, remain the same. Here are some things to consider if you are flying during Ramadan:

1. Fasting

Travellers are exempt from fasting during a journey (2:184-5), but some will want to anyway. Those whose work involves travel may decide to fast some days instead of missing out on the whole month.

For example, my friend works as an air stewardess and crosses time zones every three days. When Ramadan comes around, she eats a meal on board for sahur, and breaks her fast when the sun sets at the plane’s destination – wherever that might be, and however long her fast may be. At the end of the month, she tallies the total number of days and pays back a few days later in the year to make up 29 or 30 days.

2. Conserving energy

During Ramadan my energy levels are lower than usual, so I don’t want to deal with the extra hassle of luggage. I pack only the bare minimum and try to travel as light as possible. While I may have to carry on a heavy item like my laptop, I try to check in as much of my other belongings as possible.

As much as possible, I make use of online check-in (if available) so that I only have to drop off my luggage at the airport. This is often a separate and shorter line, or for some airlines a completely automatic process with the use of drop-off luggage machines. No more standing in long queues!

3. In-flight meals

As I booked my ticket for this upcoming journey, my husband realised that the flight was at 10pm – just after iftar time. I didn’t know if the airline would serve dinner so late at night, so I sent them a quick email. Happily, the airline responded that they would serve meals in time for iftar and sahur to any passenger that wanted it, throughout Ramadan.

If in doubt, ask in advance. Many airlines are happy to accommodate their passengers’ needs even though Ramadan may not be in their calendar. If there are no meals served, it is also possible to bring your own dates and meals onboard, and water is always available upon request.

4. Prayers

While this may not be a concern specific to Ramadan, it’s still helpful to know that many airports have a meditation or prayer room (specific or interfaith) in at least one of their terminals (even where you least expect it). While such rooms are expected and abundant in airports of Muslim-majority countries such as Qatar and the United Arab Emirates, I have been to prayer rooms in Charles de Gaulle airport in Paris, Suvarnabhumi airport in Bangkok, Madrid Barajas airport, Schiphol airport in Amsterdam and, of course, Changi airport in Singapore.

I was once in Paris’ main airport, where there were separate Christian, Jewish and Muslim prayer rooms. When I peeked into the Muslim room, it was full of men in congregational prayer. Intimidated, I tiptoed over to the empty Jewish room. I opened the door tentatively and ready to explain myself, but there was no one there. It was also spacious and clean and I could do my prayer in total silence. Thank Allah!As for praying on the plane, while I have seen some passengers pray in the aisles in their best approximation of the direction of Mecca, I usually pray unobtrusively in my seat. By checking the ‘live’ flight path on your inflight entertainment screen (if available) or visualising the airplane’s general flight path, it is also possible to approximate the direction to Mecca from your seat.

The Qur’an also gives travellers the option to shorten their prayers when in unusual circumstances (4:101-3). The Shafi’i school of thought elaborates on how to do this through the use of qasar (shortening) and jama’ (combining) prayers. The Qur’an also gives the option of doing tayammum (dry ablution) in special circumstances (5:6). If water is available, one may also do only the obligatory ablution (5:6) – washing hands, face, arms, hairline, and feet, only once – to save on time and public water resources. Make the most out of these exemptions.

5. Security checks

I’ve been asked to remove my headscarf and cardigans at security checks. I’ve also had friends recount to me their unpleasant experiences being asked to remove their hijab or their dupatta. I have also been detained, without any explanation, in a room at Houston Airport, while my name (well, more probably my father’s name which contains ‘Muhammad’) was run through a database. I have also had immigration officers ask me unnecessary questions because of my name.

These experiences are indeed extremely unpleasant and I wish no one had to go through them. However, I try my best to get around the situation with excuses such as ‘I am bald and would rather not remove it’, ‘I’m not wearing anything else underneath’, or simply say ‘I cannot remove this’. Depending on the country I fly from, I have varying degrees of success when doing this!

I also try to get past security checks and get to the boarding area as soon as I can. This gives me some quiet moments to myself and also reassures me that if I ever fall asleep, someone will wake me up to make sure I board the plane!

Whether one travels for work or pleasure during Ramadan, I hope that it can be a pleasant experience for everyone. I believe that the reason God gives us exemptions while travelling is because it can indeed be difficult and God understands us best.

Fatima Hamed Hossain: Politician or Jihadist?

This post first appeared on Muslimah Media Watch on 3 Jul 2013.

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A few weeks ago, I attended the Critical Muslim Studies summer school in Granada, Spain. One of the speakers, Fatima Hamed Hossain, a lawyer, spoke to us about the social and political participation of Muslim women in Spain.

There are about one million Muslims who currently reside in Spain, with an estimated number of about 50,000 converts, and the rest being mostly of Moroccan, Syrian, Lebanese and South Asian origins. Immigration and growing rates of conversion of Spaniards from the late 1970s are the two biggest factors for the growth of Islam in Spain.

Fatima Hamed Hossain was born in Ceuta, and was trained as a lawyer. She currently practises as a civil and commercial mediator. In 2006 she joined the political party Democratic Union of Ceuta (UDCE) because she wanted to help marginalized groups, having grown up in a marginalized neighbourhood of Ceuta herself, and also because it was symbolically important:

“I have to say that for me it was a challenge, and I felt that despite all the difficulties and criticism it was necessary; it was about time to involve Muslim women in politics.”

She contends that the media creates a particular idea of Muslim women as being illiterate and submissive.

“My main motivation, in addition to fighting for social justice, is to break the prejudices and stereotypes that have been built on some Muslim women: we are not ignorant nor uneducated nor submissive. We rebel like any other woman against injustice and wearing the hijab does not prevent this. It shows my faith, my culture and my background that I’m very proud.”

She refutes the construction of Spanish liberal values as being superior as a recent phenomenon. This was because under Franco’s administration, married women needed their husband’s permission for all economic activities such as working or owning property. It was only in 1975 that this permiso marital (marital permission) was abolished.

Fatima was the first Muslim woman to be elected to the legal assembly of Ceuta in 2007.Her election became a question of national news – reported by the national newspaper El Pais. However, she is not the first Muslim woman with hijab to sit on a regional parliament: four years earlier, Salima Abdesalam was elected into the regional parliament of Melilla.

To conclude her short talk, she speculated that the newspaper El Pais had included a discreet message in reporting her new political position.

In an El Pais article after Fatima was sworn into the assembly, a photo of her is front and centre, with the accompanying headline below. “With the hijab and the constitution” implied that there was a need to reconcile her Spanishness with her own religiosity, given that she wore a visible marker of Islam, a religion that was different to the Catholicism associated with Spain.

The most telling message, according to Fatima, was the headline right next to her face, which said “Police warn of threat of second generation jihadists”. This clearly implied that she was such a threat, which – whether intentionally or unintentionally – aimed to bring down her political worth.

Despite such setbacks, Fatima states that her biggest task is to normalise the participation of Muslim women in social and political life in Ceuta, commenting, “If just one person changes their perception about Muslim women, my job is done.”

What are jinn?

One evening, after making tea with my roommate from Indonesia in our old Dutch apartment, I was surprised when she tried to stop me from pouring leftover hot water down the sink.

I asked her why, because I thought it was good for clearing out grease and smells from the pipes.

She said that her mother taught her not to do this, so as not to hurt any jinn.

I tried to not let my jaw drop -- it was the first time I had ever heard such a thing, even though we came from similar socio-religious backgrounds (Sunni/Shafii/Malay archipelago).

This little incident came to mind because today I came across across this article, containing a collection of quotes by Muslim exorcists from Egypt and Saudi Arabia about jinn, taken from the book ‘The Exorcist Tradition in Islam' by Dr. Bilaal Phillips.

“...She attended one of my lectures and after I recited the verses, we heard her scream. She was known to pray regularly and had memorized much of the Qur’aan, so I asked her what was wrong with her, and she replied in a man’s voice, “I am ‘Alee.” I asked him, “Are you a Muslim?” and he replied, “Yes.” I asked, “How did you enter her?” He said, “She poured hot water outside and hurt me.” I told him, “Get out!” and he left her.

“...Another unconscious woman was brought to me, and after I recited over her and grasped her throat, the jinnee began to speak, because it suffered from this. The jinnee spoke, saying, “My name is Saalih.” Then I said, “Saalih is a Muslim name,” and he replied, “I am a Muslim,” I scolded him, saying, “Since you are a Muslim, why are you hurting this Muslim woman?” He said, “She hurt me. Why did she hurt me?” I asked how she hurt him and he replied, “She poured hot water on me in the toilet and wounded me. She did not even warn me.”

Apparently this is some kind of Islamic taboo that I was not familiar with. (Thanks Mum and Dad!) But I grew up with many superstitions and folk ghosts and phantoms, and I remember having many nightmares as a child after the religious teachers in Sunday Islamic school would tell us about jinn, and other culture-specific phantoms like toyol.

Sociologically, the hot water taboo has sensible justifications. It's dangerous to pour water outside your house without looking outside first because you could injure someone seriously! And maybe in the days of poor sanitation, pouring hot water down the toilet might increase bad smells (even though it would be arguably better for killing germs?). And after personally experiencing how bomoh or witch doctors could not spot schizophrenia or genetic diseases, I think they serve a psychological purpose for the people around the sick person, more than anything else.

Source

I used to work at a mosque-museum, giving tours about Islam to Muslim and non-Muslim visitors. My favourite part of the tour was always the free question-and-answer session at the end. Once, an adult Chinese man asked me if it was true that Muslims could bring back toyol from Mecca. His friend, a Muslim, told him about this.

I was utterly amazed to hear this (and again, utterly grateful for my parents for not stuffing my head with this!) He went on to explain that apparently his friend told him that this was possible -- you could buy some kind of powerful spirit in a bottle somewhere in Mecca (must be the polytheistic influence, haha) to bring back and make it do all kinds of nasty deeds like steal money, or put spells on people.

In summary, I grew up with a great fear of the unseen thanks to all these stories by religious teachers. But as young as 14, I made the decision that as far as jinn and other phantoms were concerned, these did not exist for me until the day I actually experienced or saw one face-to-face. I didn't meet anyone religious who thought the way I did -- a friend once wrote about how he got rid of his guitar, normally kept under his bed, because he believed that jinn gravitated towards such dark and unholy places (because music is haraam!).

When I moved to France by myself at the age of 19, I was struck by how unfearful everything seeemed, even late at night (maybe only a drunk man here and there, but lacking the motor skills to actually hurt you). In Singapore, thick trees and the humid air coupled with folk stories of all kinds of phantoms and jinn created an atmosphere where anything could happen. Maybe this one night would be the night I would actually see a penanggal sitting in the tree above me.

This year I spent living on my own was also a time when I started reading more about the Islam I grew up with, trying to understand it for myself. It was a period when I stopped believing that Chapter 36 had some kind of magical Quranic protective properties when read on Thursday nights, or that I would be hung upside down in hell and have melted metal poured on my head if I didn't cover my hair with a headscarf. Here I truly understood the meaning of ascribing jinn as the partners of God (6:100), because nothing non-human can hurt you without the permission of God.

I would say it was the start of a long period of questioning which lasted seven years, and is still going on now (but at a slower rate!). There are many, many other issues that I have had to think harder about (especially since after meeting the Dutchman). I once read an article about an adoptive mother with children of her own who said that at some point we all have to 'adopt' our own children. Similarly, at some point, we all have to 'convert', to truly understand what it is that we were raised as.

I have always had reservations about this compulsory 'belief' in jinn. Even though some people hold it up like an extra pillar of faith (like they do for the headscarf) and make the belief in jinn akin to belief in God (since both are unseen), I find this argument an absurd insult to God. For all intents and purposes, jinn have become some kind of Islamic boogeymen for us. We use them to scare children and women into doing what we want them to do. Here are a few more gems of quotes from the same article to illustrate what I mean:

“The percentage of possession among women is greater than it is among men – about 70 percent.” 

“The jinnee in her manifested itself and spoke to me. I realized that it was a male jinnee. It said that it came to her when she cried in the dark because her husband had traveled.” 

“Some (cases of possession) are imaginary. Women often imagine that someone has bewitched them or that the change of their husband’s treatment is due to a magic spell put upon their husbands.” 

“The greater majority are women, about 95 percent, because they like to adorn themselves, display their beauty, and are disobedient. I have only encountered one possessed woman who was pious.” 

“When I asked a female jinnee why she possessed a man I was treating, she replied, “Because he does not pray.”

“Sometimes they (jinns) appear as humans, sometimes as a black dog or a camel. In human form it may even greet a person, and when he extends his hand to shake hands, it disappears. This creates great fear in one’s heart, and the jinn usually possess humans who are in a weakened state due to extreme fear.”

To summarise, you have a higher chance of possession if you are a woman (gee, don't we also have higher chances of going to hell too?), don't wear hijab, wear make-up or jewellery, disobedient (to men of course),  cry because your husband is not around (is that also something discouraged, wtf?), jealous, don't pray or feel fear.

Jinn appear in the Quran 32 times. It comes from the root j-n-n meaning something unseen, like how jannah is a Paradise garden hidden among foliage, or jinnah is a fetus hidden in the womb (53:32). Janna is to cover something out of sight (6:76) or to use a false oath as an excuse for not believing (58:16, 63:2). Jinnatin is madness (a hidden condition, not easily seen until you talk to someone) and majnun is a madman -- a name that Prophet Muhammad has been called in his time (7:184, 15:6, 26:27, 44:14)

According to this interpretation, jinn can refer to nomads or wild tribes (27:39, 34:12, 34:14, 46:29, 72:1)-- the opposite of insi which can refer to urban people (naas is used to refer to mankind in general, and rijaal to specifically men). Jinn and insi often appear together in the same verse to show that while people of all backgrounds may work together, your wealth or nationality doesn't matter as you will be subject to the same laws (6:128, 6:130, 7:38, 7:179, 11:119, 17:88, 27:17, 32:13, 41:25, 41:29. 46:18, 49:29, 51:56, 55:33, 55:39, 72:5, 72:6).

Jinn can also refer to hidden or selfish desires that together with temptations from other people, we sometimes worship instead of God (6:100, 6:112, 34:41, 55:56, 55:74, 114:6), unseen forces of nature which some mistake for God (37:158) or having a fiery temper (6:101, 15:27, 18:50, 37:158, 55:15).

Needless to say, I am immensely relieved to find an alternative interpretation of jinn! So now there is nothing to fear when it's dark at night, except maybe mice. :)

Muslimah Paralympians

I'm really pleased to be a regular writer over at Muslimah Media Watch now, alhamdulillah! I will primarily write for them, but also share my posts here. This post was originally published there.

You can still look forward to the same 'ol posts on Qur'an, Malay traditions and of course, hijab (haha). 
--
Last week I was in London, moonlighting as a cheerleader. My sister represented Singapore in boccia for the first time ever, and I was absolutely excited to see her play in the Paralympics.

Source: Voxsports

In between matches, a friend remarked:

"You know, your sister looks like such a good Muslim."

In Islamic discourses, disabled people are generally portrayed as being “special” or closer to God, but also “imperfect.” In the Malay archipelago, there are several du’a related to children that couples are taught to recite. The supplication from Quran 3:38 in particular stands out – Prophet Zakaria’s du’a asking God for offspring that is tayyib (Arabic, meaning “good” or “righteous”) is often translated and explained in Malay as sempurna or tidak cacat (Malay, meaning “perfect” or “complete,” i.e. having no disability of any kind). In parallel, we are also taught a du’a asking God for protection from Shaitan harming one’s baby. Following this logic, it’s not surprising that Malay society sometimes views disabled or deformed newborns as being a trial or burden from God, or the result of Shaitan’s influence.

Mental illnesses in particular are the most susceptible to being viewed as possession by jinn. I once had a niece who had schizophrenia and many relatives would speak of her as being possessed, before she was given medication to control it (it seems these chemical jinn in the brain respond well to drugs!). Since in mainstream jurisprudence, akal (Malay for rational state of mind) is a requirement for the validity of acts of worship such as fasting or prayer, those with mental illnesses growing up in Muslim families are often exempted from these ibadah.

The physically-disabled are not discouraged from taking part in communal Muslim life, but physical barriers often stop them from doing so. In Singapore, mosques (as any other building) built after 1990 have to be accessible, and older ones are slowly upgrading to include lifts and ramps. However, there are still a number of mosques in older or historic neighbourhoods that remain inaccessible. This mosque for example, recently provided a tent-like, fully-curtained space outside the male main prayer space for women who are too weak to climb two flights of stairs to the women's space. But Muslims who cannot even climb stairs have no way of entering the mosque.

When my sister and I went to Sunday school in our younger days, the mosque was not wheelchair-accessible. We had to round up two or three young men each week to carry her wheelchair down three big steps to where the classrooms were, before rearranging the wall panels to let her into the classroom. This process was repeated after class. Many thanks to these young men, but sometimes I wished that we didn't have to make such a grand entrance into class every Sunday.

Recently, a Facebook friend highlighted a disabled volunteer for a Ramadhan activity. Other volunteers were surprised to see this istimewa (Malay, meaning 'special') young boy on crutches come to help out with activities at the mosque. While older volunteers are already happy to see youth serving their community, this young boy was not singled out for his age, but for his disability.

Another example of how disability trumps Muslim identity is the portrayal Muslim athletes in the Paralympic Games -- to put it shortly, non-existent. Reams of articles were written on Ramadhan (here, here and here) and Muslim presence in the Olympics, but the universal fascination with Muslim women's bodies and freedoms put a special focus on Muslim women competing in hijab (here, there, everywhere), while pregnant, or competing despite their conservative countries. Invariably, these would be accompanied with photos of how they covered up (sometimes to show a stark contrast with their non-Muslim counterparts).

Without getting into a discussion of hijab as a marker of piety, a quick Google image search reveals heaps of  hijabi Olympians, but nothing at all for the Paralympics. Surely there were Muslim athletes at the Paralympics -- my sister is one, and I definitely saw a few hijabis from Iran zipping around in their wheelchairs in the Paralympic Village. Or are Muslim athletes only interesting when they wear hijabs and have lithe bodies?

Search terms: muslim+olympics

Searh terms: muslim+paralympics

The Paralympics has always received less coverage than the Olympics, so it makes sense that Muslim Paralympians receive proportionally less coverage than Muslim Olympians. (The Olympics coinciding with Ramadhan was probably another factor.) But what I find fascinating is that the the coverage on Muslim Olympians has been almost exclusively oriented towards hijabis, whereas coverage of Muslim Paralympians is practically non-existent (with the exemption of the Jordanian team sex charge and the Bosnian sitting volleyball team). Muslimah Paralympians, situated in the intersection of gender, religion and disability, represent a slice of society that are celebrities for only disabled Muslims (or Orientalists that view being Muslim/a woman/disabled as triple oppressions) and are barely covered in mainstream media.

Where were the celebrations for female and male athletes from Iran, Morocco, Algeria, Tunisia, and Egypt who won gold medals in powerlifting, javelin, athletics, and archery? Zahra Nemati is the first of Iran’s female Paralympians to win a gold medal in archery, Egypt’s Fatma Omar won her fourth consecutive gold in powerlifting, and Maroua Ibrahmi’s gold in the club throw was picked up by MMW last week. And silver medals? There were Algeria’s Mounia Gasmi in club throw and Safia Djelal in javelin, and Egypt’s Heba Ahmedand Iraq’s Randa Mahmoud in powerlifting.

Fatma Omar. Source: Paralympic.org

Maroua Ibrahim and Safia Djelal. Source: Zimbio

Mounia Gasmi. Source: Zimbio

Randa Mahmoud. Source: Zimbio

Heba Ahmed. Source: Zimbio

No abled person wants to be disabled, therefore no one wants to aspire to be a Paralympian. At best, young disabled Muslims look to them as role models, but for most of the general able-bodied population, they are either our source of inspiration our an outlet for our charity and pity. 

And how did my sister fare? She almost made it to the semi-finals, if not for the narrow loss of a tie-breaker with Korea. But she's happy. Success is not always a gold medal, because inshallah she represents possibilities for all boccia athletes in Singapore, and especially Malay Muslim para-athletes.

Team Singapore! Source: Author's own.

My sister, my inspiration.

I'm back from London, where the Dutchman and I, along with a ragtag group of friends, were supporting my sister at the Paralympics! I first wrote about disabilities last year, when I helped her in Belfast. Earlier this year I helped her in Porto, and these events and experiences are always helping me to think about things in a new way.

These posters caught my eye -- aren't they just lovely? All kinds of people (and animals!) are represented without resorting to stereotypes or caricatures.

But I digress. 

My sister is awesome and she has been my inspiration for... pretty much my whole life. In primary school, she fell down twice in school and I was awed that she wasn't put off from going to school and manoeuvring the absolutely-not-step-free school in a wheelchair. In secondary school, I was awed by her abilities in math and science.

In junior college, I never caught up to the amount of community service and social work she was doing (but I tried!). In university, I was awed by how she smoothly caught up with missed modules after spending an entire semester in hospital, and still got a decent GPA (I got the same GPA without the hospital stay, lol).

And then, she did something that I can't do with my two arms and two legs: she goes and represents Singapore at the Paralympics! First time Singapore has a Boccia athlete for the Paralympics, and the first Paralympics for her.

Of course she's happy.

Not a surname, but still correct.

I was bummed that I couldn't come with her to help with caregiving, but I found my niche as a cheerleader. Thank you RGS (my single-sex secondary school), for all those years you taught us all to cheer with our diaphragm with voices lower than the boys, even. It was put to good use because one boccia match lasts more than an hour. Six balls per end, and four ends in total, we gave her all we had!

We watched her play six matches: three to reach the quarter-finals which she lost in a tie-breaker to an athlete ranked No. 2 in the world, and then she played two more matches to finish 7th.

She put up an awesome fight, and I'm so proud of her I could burst. Love you, Kakak!


Do you think she's awesome, and an example for Muslimahs, wheelchair-users and anyone in general?
Then like her official Facebook page here!

Ramadan reflection #3: The shortest terawih.

Last week the Dutchman and I were really happy to be invited to break our fast with our friends in Leiden (It gets so lonely in the W-straat you know?) Their parents are Moroccan and along with their other sisters, were still in Morocco for vacation (and Ramadan), because face it, the Ramadan atmosphere here can't begin to compare with Morocco (or even Singapore, sob).

Although the hegemony of a supermarket Albert Heijn is surprisingly tactful of the existence of this holy month. Or maybe it's just because 90% of their evening shifts are covered by youth of Moroccan descent. :)

It was my first iftar Moroccan-style, with dates (of course!) harira soup, popiah/loempia, and hard-boiled eggs. I didn't know it was typical until the Dutchman showed me the Ramadan-journaal on Dutch TV -- they were eating the same things. Haha!

At about 11.30pm we set off to the nearby Al-Hijra mosque, squirreled away in a small road and just like the first European mosque I ever saw in France, it looked just like an apartment from the outside. I still fondly remember that mosque in Bordeaux (and the nice director who let me sit in his chair!), being only 16 and (already) searching for mosques in Bordeaux and in Paris. Which turned out to be educational for my host family as well.


Sitting in the women's section on the ground floor (rumour has it that the men's section is beside and above, but since I never saw it I can't definitively tell you so, haha) at the back, we had what I thought was a couple of minutes before terawih would start. I looked around at the women: one was reading the Quran, some of the older ones were sitting on chairs, and some were giving out murtabak-like pancakes and plastic cups of water.

At that moment, I missed going to the mosque for terawih prayers. Back in Singapore, a few years ago I would faithfully cycle to Al-Istighfar mosque on most nights of Ramadan to endure an hour and a half of sweaty and crowded prayer, makciks telling me to sit closer, cover my feet, pin my headscarf, etc.

But I loved being in a space that I was familiar with, sometimes meeting people I knew (or vaguely knew -- friends of parents or some distant relatives) or sometimes seeing kids dashing across the carpeted floor and falling helter-skelter, unhurt. Even though you had to get there early to get a good spot in the carpeted area within a good distance of a fan (a must in non-airconditioned mosques) or else you'd have to kneel and prostrate on plastic woven tikar (mats) on the hard tiled corridor. Ouch!

I didn't understand most of what was being said in Arabic and Moroccan dialect by a man over the PA system. I turned over to my friend and asked her.

"He's asking for money to build the new mosque. Last night he talked for one and a half hours, I really hope it's not going to be the same tonight," she answered warily.

It was already midnight and it was surreal to be in a mosque! I once stayed overnight for qiyam ul-lail (night prayer) with fellow volunteers in a mosque in Singapore and that felt more like a sleepover than a spiritual experience. It was the same this time around: the novelty of being in a mosque so late at night completely overcame the absurdity of this man talking for one and a half hours, asking for funds.

Finally at 1.00am, after a round of coffee and some gentle coaxing from the imam, this man got off the microphone and the imam started the prayer. He led only 4 raka'at (units of prayer) because it was already late and we left the mosque at 1.30am, passing people on the streets on their way back from Saturday night partying.

For the longest time I ever spent in a mosque, that was the shortest terawih ever!
--
P/S: If you'd like to donate to the construction of a new Al-Hijra Mosque in Leiden, the Netherlands, visit their website!
Dutch donors, you can transfer directly to ABN-AMRO 42.16.50.249 t.n.v.: Stichting Moslimgroep te Leiden.
Overseas donors, IBAN: NL70ABNA0421650249BIC: ABNANL2A or contact me by leaving a comment below if you wish to transfer to a Singaporean bank account.