Early every morning, the local muezzin begins his call, asking all those who hear him to pray. I’ve lived here long enough now, that it doesn’t usually wake me up anymore. However, this morning was a little different. The call was markedly louder than usual and the usual muezzin was replaced by someone very talented in his singing/chanting. Today marks the day thousands of sheep will lose their lives as local Muslims commemorate Abraham’s willingness to sacrifice and the end of the hajj to Mecca. Some have fasted the day before, believing that doing so will absolve them from the sins of the past year.
Moving to a new city means hours of wandering around finding this store or that necessity. The other day I had a specific list of places to find as I dodged mopeds, hopped over the results of donkey carts pausing for passers by to look at the owner’s wares, avoided strange puddles in this desert city, and averted my eyes from young men trying to get my attention.
A girl has a special relationship with her hair stylist. I’ve had the same person in my hometown for years. I know all about her life and she mine. She knows my head and hair and I always leave her chair a new person. However, moving to the Middle East has made finding a hair person a bit of a challenge. Understanding my light-brown, fine Northern European hair which is very different from the black, thick tresses of my Arab counterparts. So, I look for the places that other expatriates frequent.