The Neighbours

I have two immediate neighbours. David and Naima, who live above us and Jhun, behind us.

I often bumped into David and Naimah in the morning when I send Sya off to school at the gate. Somehow I gathered that Naimah, a Moroccan married to a Brit, not very happy being in this country. Typical of flamboyant Moroccan, she is loud and very expressive and has a very hearty laugh.

Out of my so Goddessy-good-neighbour self, I made a courtesy call, I went to her house one evening with warm bread pudding (a better version) and custard sauce. Over cranberry juice, we chatted for hours. Actually she did most of the talking. She was whining, complaining about nearly everything. The house, the landlord, the hot country, the arrogant locals, the expenses. I empathy with her actually because to tell the truth I am in the same shoes. But I chose to listen. And I found me comforting myself instead for feeling the same way as I smiled and nod at her complaints.

She complains about not going anywhere. She imagined camping at some exotic desert. She imagined lulling over dates with loving husband at an oasis. She imagines mysticism. Wait a minute that's me actually.

Then I did it again. I suggested something out of the blue. I said let's do bbq or something. She nearly jumped at the suggestion.

So that's what we did yesterday. We went for a little picnic at the corniche. She made kebabs, lamb and beef. Roast chicken. Salads, humus. I made big chunks of chicken and beef satay (too lazy toneedle the cutlets into skewers), rice cube, peanut sauce, the whole work and spring roll. As i thought, they loved the peanut sauce. And as I thought also, I attacked only the lamb.

There were also two other ladies Helen and Fadhillah. So there we were four ladies of different culture but amazingly similar dreams. Naimah, the expressive Moroccan lady, embracing the British culture and sizzling it with her kebab. Helen, the sweet English school- nurse lady and Fadhilah,also a Moroccan who doesn't speak English at all.

We talked about the abaya. An abaya can actually be sexy. The fabric swishing swashing against your skin as you walk or when the breeze pressures against your curve. I said imagine wearing the abaya with nothing underneath.

Ooohhh so daring said Helen. Fadhillah smiled. I think she finds me animated. Naima laughed really loud.

We also talk about how we, the woman, the confused species. So raving to go out. So wanting to be out there. Battling in the real world. Wearing Chanel suits. To be individually recognised other than being a mum. To be away from the kids. To get off this world of domestication.

But we are guilty of doing so. So we are here, complaining why the men in our lives can't feed the kids properly.

I have been thinking a lot about this, perhaps I will blog about it later. I am feeling a bit low. About the lack of excitement. Lack of individualism. About going out in the typical Malaya function and feeling restless.

Or perhaps not.

Anyway..it was a good break. We talked about the possibility of us leaving the kids with our husbands and go for a girls' night out. I almost suggested it out. But Naima will be popping soon. Helen will be leaving to Dubai for good this coming Thursday.

We had a good break. Our stomach full. The kids got sand in their hair. The guys got to clear up the rubbish.

So all in a good company.


Helen, Fadhillah and Naima. Chatting away while watching the kids play.