I've been feeling misguided by my wanton for a familiar touch. For a whole month, my heart pumped liquid pain through my veins instead of blood.
If there is one song that captures the feeling, aspirations and fears of a generation of young, moderate Bahraini, it is the haunting and bittersweet “Rebellion” by Bahraini folk singer/songwriter Ala Ghawas.
As we live in extraordinary times and witness an era that has ravaged our humanity, our peace and our nation, the words that resonate with us are that which we hear so achingly sung by Ala in this song.The song is originally a very personal one to Ala. It is perhaps his most personal of all his songs. It tells of his heartbreak at losing a dear part of him, a close friend, to cultural and social prejudices.
Let’s take a closer look at the lyrics of “Rebellion”, which starts with:
Father, I’m running through the fire
I don’t want to belong, I just need a place to admire
Which makes me think of how our Bahrain, the one we were all used to, before the recent tragic events that unfolded. It’s a cry for help, for someone to hear us, help us. It evokes an image of our country on fire, us running through trying to find salvation, our search for not a place to belong, but to embrace.
My friends are gone, one by one
To the fighting, they just can’t live without it
How many of us have lost friends because of what happened? Either because of our strong difference of opinions, or due to fear, or even a friend in one of those who had lost their lives?
And yet in spite of this bloodshed, we continue to fight each other. We continue to distance ourselves, as if fighting has become the only thing we know how to do, even though it was never in us before.
You know I’ve never lost the faith within
If God is with us, then who’s with them?
In the second line of this verse, we find perhaps one of the strongest statements ever put to song. “If God is with us, then who’s with them?” we all claim that god is with us and are sometimes blinded by faith so much that we forget the very basics of what makes us human.
Towards the end of the song, Ala spells out his guts, bears his soul out to us, and in those next few words, paints a picture of how perception, ideas and conflict can either break us or make us stronger.
I don’t wear the black
I don’t close my eyes and ears
To prove piety
I don’t grow my beard
I don’t preach slaughter
I don’t raise a sword for the lord
To show loyalty
And that’s what I see
What’s wrong with unity?
Indeed, what’s wrong with unity? If there is one thing we desperately need today it’s abandoning our own prejudices, religious phobias and piousness, and to remember why we were all here to begin with.
I never used words to hurt you
The way you used your burning gaze on me
To leave a gaping hole in my soul
It was only after thirty-six days that I found
The last memory we made
Fractured by your fall from grace
Would have been easier for you to drag me
Through the thorny sheets of your bed
Than to remove yourself from me
It was supposed to be launched around springtime, but due to the current instability in my country, and around the region, it’s put on hold for now. I am even considering adding a few more bits about the recent events that my country has witnessed since February 14.
What’s fascinating is how different these writings sound now, some of them even relevant, directly or indirectly, to this current unrest, while others now paint an image of a country that was and never will be. I’m looking at it now with completely different eyes.
I had received my mockup sample a few weeks ago. It looked pretty good. Hard cover, dust jacket with 240 pages. The cover features an illustration by my good friend artist Mariam Haji and is designed by myself.
But there were also a few glitches that need to be ironed out, the biggest of which is the size of the font, which is way too small for a hardcover book. So that’s a technical issue that needs to be corrected. Apart from that, I’m happy with the look and feel of the book. And with it’s content as well. Again, some editing here and there gotta be done before the final copy is printed.
I still hope that the book will come out before the end of the year, probably even later in summer. But I wonder what it will mean to me, to my Bahraini readers, and how will others perceive it now.
It doesn’t seem that random anymore.
For years I’ve wondered why our literature was merely limited to stories of folklore, tradition and culture. In spite of the rich political history of this little island, you will find it rather hard to find any piece of fiction that tackles the many crucial periods that Bahrianis have had to go through.
Perhaps the only such period that has been touched upon, mostly in our books and silverscreen, is the time of British colonialism.
As a teenager I, and my entire generation, have lived through a significant time of instability in Bahrain, back in the early 1990s. Our country was turning upside down, yet none of us truly grasped the gravity of that situation.
Many people around me were affected, but somehow it didn’t really hit me. I personally didn’t understand it, didn’t have a clue.
Still over the years, I often wondered why no one ever wrote about it. In our history books, our novels, our poetry. It was as if none of it had occurred. A big part of it was because we were all still scared of talking about it. It was taboo.
The few mentions of it in some political books were either banned or censored. But as a fiction writer, my main concern was its nonexistence in local pop and modern culture. I personally hesitated a great deal about introducing these elements in my work. In fact, one other writer warned me that I risked writing about it, I might end up being exiled!
But I found that you can be political in your fiction without talking about politics. An English literature University professor from Canada who reviewed my short stories, explained to me that he found that many of my stories had political undertones, which helped him get a better understanding of contemporary Bahrain.
Twenty years later after those events in the early 90s, we are facing another historic moment. But a lot has changed since then. Unlike back then, everything is out in the open nowadays. Nothing can be hidden and everyone has access one way or the other, to information.
But it was in the way that the events unfolded since Feb 14 (and still continue to do so) that broke down so many barriers, perhaps the biggest of them: fear.
What will this mean for Bahraini art and literature? Will we suddenly see a shift in tone and context? Will artists and writers feel more emboldened by these events to let loose in expressing themselves?
Some will argue that is already the case. The fact that many artists have appeared regularly at (Pearl Roundabout) is a strong statement. Many of them have created new artwork on the spot, inspired by the movement and recent events; from traditional paintings to installations.
Bloggers, writers and journalists are voicing their opinions louder than ever, talking about taboo subjects that no one dared to tackle before, at least not publicly. Things such as social injustice, political reform, government criticism are the topics on every Bahraini’s mind.
But the true testament is yet to come. When the dust settles, will we see this trend asset itself on the longer term? Or will it fizzle and fade?
The momentum will carry it, and undoubtedly, things will never go back as they were in Bahrain. And most certainly, writers will begin telling the stories that have unfolded over these past few weeks, in more than one way.
I’m looking up to the sky and I see these little parachutes coming down like rain on us, swaying in the cool December breeze. Attached at the end of them are little packages and boxes bearing treats, goodies and gifts.
Next to me my friends are yelping in excitement as they see the national guard parade passing by, followed by a fleet of decorated trucks. Bahraini flags, emblems and red and white confetti is everywhere. Some young ladies dressed in traditional gowns are tossing mashmoom leaves on us as they pass by on their trucks, while the Ardah is not far behind.
Later that day, we would be standing out in the desert, staring up into the starry nightsky, waiting for the next firework to explode into a million tiny suns, in red and yellow and white and green. Everyone “ooos” and “aaahs” at the sight.
This is how I remember spending National Day. It used to be an occasion that we looked forward to as kids. The National Day parade was a memorable highlight, while the fireworks was something we’d wait for anxiously every year.
Bahrain has come a long way since then. It’d be naïve to pretend that nothing has changed. A lot has. For better or worse.
The ever expanding economy, the aggressive development and influx of foreign influence has had a great impact in reshaping Bahrain and reinventing the definition of a what it means to be Bahraini.
Being a Bahraini is to be accepting and tolerant of others, to be passionate yet moderate, shrewd yet understanding, receptive and yet adaptive.
As much as we’d like to grumble about it, we have a lot going for us. Our country is small, but it has a lot to offer. My only wish has always been to see Bahrainis, the true born-and-bred Bahrainis, take a stronger initiative and a more positive approach in making it theirs. Our generation may have had its up and downs, but it’s the generation that will pave the way for future ones by setting an example.
I remember when I was younger, I couldn’t wait to get out of this place. I felt that it was too tiny, to enclosed, and I wanted to explore the infinite possibilities the world had to offer. But as I grew up, I’ve become more fond and more protective of it. My father was right, he told me that no matter where I went and how long I went for, that I will always have one home. And that that home will always have a place for me.
*This piece appeared in Time Out Bahrain, December issue 2009.
There’s something about the beautiful sounds of alternative rock that is so nostalgic, so exhilarating, that it has the capacity to literally to turn someone’s day around once it’s on.
With their debut album, Lebanese alt-rock outfit Lazzy Lung have created an homage to the true spirit and grit of those incredibly sweet bands that emerged from the height of alternative rock music in the mid to late 90s.
Strange Places is packed-full with memorable catchy tunes that will find their way into your subconscious, and stay there. It’s the kind of music that give you that comforting feeling, as if you’ve heard before, but yet it has that fresh sound.
With influences ranging the versatile breadth of alternative music, Lazzy Lung somehow combine the riffs of Stone Temple Pilot with the melodics of Nada Surf. And when frontman/songwriter Allan Chaaraoui sings “I can’t help but feelin’/left out again” on “On Standby” when all know exactly what he’s talking about.
The simplicity of the songs is what makes them more appealing. Allan sings about things like the pressures of a new job, or being in a long distance relationship, or simply getting over a massive hangover.
As I listen to it, I keep imagining how these songs would sound played live. It just seems that they are meant to be played live, the sound is pure and the harmonics clean, and almost every chorus is memorable enough to be wanted to be sung along, like in the kick-off track “8 Hours To Get Home”
On tracks like “21 Below” and “Ridin’” the band really puts on a show to prove their capacity to produce rock anthems that can echo through radio stations and concert halls. There’s even a sweet little folksy tune in “Rains of October”, the mellowest track on the album.
All in all, a very impressive debut from an all-out alt-indie rock band that has the potential to make it big, if Strange Places is anything to go by.
Standout tracks: “21 Below”, “Ridin’”, “Onstandby”, “Rains in October”, “8 Hours To Get Home”
Up until three days ago, I was almost certain I wasn’t going to vote in the 2010 municipal and parliamentary elections.
Part of this was from the bitter taste the last elections left in my mouth – four years ago I had high hopes when I voted for one candidate, who ended losing out marginally - and partially it’s because I had my doubts in the process.
But I’ve come to realize, as I stood in line waiting for my turn to hand in my ID, that deep inside, I’ve always wanted to vote.
There was a buzz, excitement, and even tension around the polling station, but the sight of men and women of every age and background but me at ease. Smiling parents turned up with their children, groups of friends wearing matching colored-shirts, retired elderly men in the thobes and young women, were all here for different reasons, but they also all had one thing in common. They had hope.
No matter w
hich way you looked at it, and in spite of all that’s said and done, these elections are a monumental step towards a brighter Bahrain. It is a slow process, but as a people and a nation, we must stride side by side, step by step, together towards it.
As soon as I went through the registration desk, I was handed the two ballots (for both the municipal and parliamentary candidates) and I made my way to the booth.
A felt a little nervy as I held the pen and stared down at the ballots in front of me, thinking, that with one simple tick, I could have a significant say in deciding the future of my country, at least for the next four years. After a moment, I ticked my choices, with confidence and convection.
I realized that there is no wrong or right answer to this. It wasn’t a test. Whichever choice I made, it must be one that I believed would contribute positively to the wellbeing of my country, and to my hopes and expectations, and addressing the issues that concern me.
Taking the two ballots in my hand, I approach the box where the young lovely Bahraini lady supervising it gives me a nod and a smile, and motions to me to slip the papers in.
I do and smile back. And as I walk out of that polling station, with a spring in my step, I couldn’t help but feel proud of myself.
Things may not be everything we want them to be, and we are surely far from having a complete perfect political system, and we certainly have different opinions, but we’ve come a long way over the past decade or so.
What we must now understand is that our participation does not end at those polling stations. It’s just the start of another chapter. Let’s hope it has a great ending.
