Alert! Please Read First

Posted By Anubia Webb on January 1, 2010

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Women in Islam

Posted By Anubia Webb on February 17, 2010

I am woman. Hear me roar. At least you can hear me as long as I’m not in an alleged Islamic country. It is only there, that I am denied the rights set forth for me by God.

In most alleged Islamic countries, I am a shadow. I am indoors, away from the political life, from the happenings in the rest of the world. My culture rules my existence. Medieval customs form my days. I have been told not to question, told that I am mere chattel to be used as a bargaining chip for more power for the men in my family. I might be married off to a man 4 times my age if I am fortunate to be betrothed to one so young. This is the life that I know and I am told it is Islam.

Here in the United States, American Muslim women are devoid of these cultural practices from abroad, making us unacceptable brides for Muslim men. We know our rights as women in Islam and will not be bullied into giving those rights to men. We would not supplant ourselves to please mere men, no matter how sound their argument appeared on the surface.

Here in the United States, we are fortunate to know the difference between Islam as practiced by Prophet Muhammad (PBUH) and what has been passed from cultural generation to generation. For pointing out the difference, we have been labeled “bad muslimahs”, non-marriageable.

It is a far worse scenario for African American Muslim women. Muslim men would rather marry a non-Muslim crack head, than a woman of substance who knows her rights and practices Islam. She doesn’t have to practice Islam or know anything about it. This habit is an affront to practicing Muslim women all over the world. Our men are too provided and maintain us first, then move on to other women.

We are told that we are too combative, too strong-willed. There are a few of us who give our rights to men. I say give because that is the only way we lose them. How can mere men take away what ALLAH has so freely given? When this is pointed out, men in Islam begin to label us harshly. The Shariah has been twisted to favor men. We have only the hope that ALLAH will set it right.

My grandmother used to say. “Pray for potatoes then get a hoe”. We expect our rights, demand them, march for them, but stop in time to prepare dinner for our husbands and his children. We spend time taking care of the children, educating them, nurturing them, though it is a mercy from us for our family. We are not obligated but made to feel that we are commanded to perform these acts according to ALLAH, the Qur’an and Sunnah. Nothing is further from the truth.

When a woman feeds her family, donates her time and her personal monies to the family, it is considered to be a charity. If these acts that we were performing were obligatory, we would not receive the blessings for doing so as we would be doing what was required. One does not applaud the tenor for clearing his throat. One does receive “baraqah” unless it is beyond what is required. I didn’t make that up. That is what Islam states.

When we spend our time doing for ourselves, we are told that we are selfish, self-centered, not behaving like “good Muslim women”. This is a practice that has kept Muslim women in a collective oppression for centuries. Men have run the show despite evidence that there are women who should handle women’s affairs.

Until we as women, learn what our Islamic obligations are, we will continue to be subjugated by Muslim men and the world around us.

You are Beautiful

Posted By Anubia Webb on February 16, 2010

Dark and comely

Bright eyes reading my soul

Oh, how I love to gaze upon

The Joy of you.

Smile on me

Love me like no other

I look upon you

And see myself.

You are beautiful

Dark skin, bright smile

You bring sunshine and laughter

In your eyes.

You are beautiful

Technology Blues

Posted By Anubia Webb on February 4, 2010

Okay, let’s say hypothetically that 1. I’m married to an idiot. While we’re doing hypotheticals, lets also include that 2. This idiot is a procrastinating SOB(and if you’d met his mother you’d know that was an accurate portrayal) who conveniently forgets things —– LIKE PAYING A DAMN BILL.So in this hypothetical situation, I would be sitting at home and the phone would ring. It would be say SBC (which I’m almost certain is the acronym for Stupid Bubblehead Crazies). I take the call–hubby’s at work on a Saturday so NATURALLY this all falls on the sane rational one in the family (for those keeping a score card, uh, that would be me. Anyway, it’s the IVR in the mechanized, synthetic voice that I just despise. It’s not human. Hopefully in my lifetime, it will not be human and if you want it to sound and behave like a human , here’s a grand thought: GET A HUMAN. “Hello, we would like to know if you are ____ or an authorized party for ____. If so press 1. If you are not___ or an authorized party for ___ press 2. If you are an authorized part but you don’t want to admit to it, press 3. If you are the person we are calling but don’t want to pick up, press 4. ” You get the idea. So I press one. Figure I’m safe since I’m married to him. This time, they don’t want the last four of the primary account holders SSN. They want the 3 numbers on some obscure portion of the bill that I NEVER LOOK AT BECAUSE I PAY THIS CRAP ONLINE!! (Did I mention that we are PAPERLESS??) So I hope online (a short jaunt considering my family thinks I’m permanently attached to this chair) and go to the site to check the bill. Sure enough it’s past due. I decide to make a payment while I’m waiting on the IVR to get part 94 of it’s speech. Okay, it won’t accept my payment online. No prob, right? I figure I have to go through the automated system because well, why not? So around Option 19 which just happens to be repeat this options OR Press 0 To make a payment now, I press 0. Now I’m in queue with another IVR. This is the payment one. Not the one that informs you that a payment is due. AND it’s female this time. So she/it informs me of the balance and asks how much I want to pay. I choose the past due option. She/it says just a moment. Then it comes back and says that it can’t take my payment and will transfer me to an agent. YOOOOHOOOO! A live person!!

Ronnie, we’ll hypothetically call this one. Says that I can’t make a payment online because the bill is past due and that I can’t pay with the IVR for the same reason. He’s be happy to take my payment. So I’m giving him the information and he tries to slip it past me that there will be a $5.00 charge for him taking the payment. Hold the damn phone! Come again? No, I don’t think so. Well that’s how it is and we can’t wave that. Oh but you can. It’s not my fault that your anal retentive IT guys set up your system that they put stupid restrictions on who could pay online or use the IVR. 10 minutes and two supervisors later, there was no resolution. So that’s 4 people and two IVRs that I’ve spoken to so far. Did I mention that when the call from the initial IVR came on Legolas was telling Aragorn that the Orcs were running as if their master had whips on their backs? Probably not. Well by now, Frodo has found Smeagol and is trying to get into Mordor. So one of the supers hangs up on me. I call back. Another IVR. Well I’m wise to their arses and no matter what it asks me I keep repeating agent agent agent agent. Finally get someone in TECH (person #5) who says he can’t help because he’s in tech and transfers me into the queue for Billing. Grima Wormtoungue has the hots for Eoewyn. But ooooo doesn’t Carl Urban look good carrying his dead cousin?

I’m on hold. I’m still on hold. And I’m holding. Nice music. I’m singing while I’m on hold. OO OO OO I almost missed Jenny (too perky for my taste, but we shall endure even though she sounds like those cheerleaders that you wanted to kick down the bleachers.) PTSD! Okay Jenny wants to read the notes. Perhaps she’s not as dumb as the I thought and she IS human— I think. So now she needs to review. Can I hold? Sure. Comes back tells me that she can either take a payment or put me back in the queue so that I can make a payment, but if she takes the payment, it will be 5 bucks. No, I don’t think so. Get me another supervisor. No she won’t and SHE HANGS UP. (Definitely human, definitely ex cheerleader. ) The ELVES have fought along side men they have come to honor that alliance. And this little creature of the woodland realm is almost as cute as Legolas. Um Um Um.

Supervisor puts me BACK in the queue for QUICK pay. Go through the procedure. Gets to the pay part. And guess what? Yup you got it, kicks me back to an AGENT. AND I HADNT SAID ANYTHING!!!! So I’m in queue. Thankful that I’m on a cordless because it dawns on me that I’ve got to pee really bad. Me and SBC are in the bathroom now. I’m a little concerned. What if they come to the phone while I’m getting ready to wipe or flush?? So I sit and wait and wait and wait. Around the time I start to lose feeling in my legs, I hear “If you’d like to make a call, please hang up….” Oh no they didn’t!!

My legs are numb, the phone is down to one bar. I call my daughter to help me up. I flush. I leave She rubs my legs until I feel the tingling and then I can move. So I grab my keys, a printed out page of the bill and go to an authorized pay agent where I get a HUMAN who takes my money tells me have a nice day and then goes on to someone else. And technology was supposed to make this easier????????

Oh and what of the hypothetical idiot in the beginning? I’ll deal with him when he gets home.

Remember History

Posted By Anubia Webb on February 4, 2010

A beautiful Black man hanging from a treeBeaten. Bludgeoned. Lynched.

It didn’t matter what was the crime

Or if there was a crime at all.

The only time that blackness mattered.

I see our black people shrink in fear,

Cower and become compliant.

Now the crimes committed are illegal.

They have always been immoral, unholy.

My children do not remember those times

So we teach them the good the bad and the ugly.

They are learning the history.

Let’s not repeat it.

Reverend Wright was Right

Posted By Anubia Webb on January 7, 2010

Now that the fervor has subsided and we can actually look at what was said in context of history, we know deep down that Reverend Wright spoke for many of us. He was not divisive as many tried to paint him.  He was untactfully correct, brutally honest.

Even now we debate our place in America’s world. With our young men killing each other for no reason, no true leaders to give alternatives, we are compelled to find a reason rather than blame.  There is enough blame to go around. Reverend Wright just made note of it in a place where he could be heard and unfortunately, misunderstood.  

I knew immediately what his words meant. The truth of it rocked me to the core. POTUS had to distance himself to draw a larger audience.   Like an R&B singer crossing over to pop or country.  The reason that everyone was in a tizzy was because there was the politically correct tacit discussion of race and ethnicity. President Obama wasn’t “acting Black”. He could have just as easily been John Edwards or one of the other candidates.  No, this isn’t the race card, though race did play a part. 

I’m not saying that POTUS doesn’t deserve his position. It’s just that the stars aligned and when the results were entered, he was still standing.    No one is their right mind would vote for Sarah Palin.  The election was really between John McCain and Biden.  Even former President Jimmy Carter acknowledged that the problems that POTUS is having with Congress is because Obama is a black man. So if you can’t trust the innate nature of humanity trusts President Carter.      It is indeed an accomplishment, history was made. POTUS was the first. Once his two terms eAnd, the next Black president may not come until the new millennia.   And all POTUS needs is one really good misstep and he can  kiss his second term goodbye.

Like most black people have known for centuries,we have to  do it bigger, better, smarter and harder than our non-Black counterparts. Obama won because he had proved that he could assimilate, that he could act like, live like, behave and speak like them even though he didn’t necessarily look like them. White folks are proud to see us behave like them.  It’s as though a compliment has been given through our need to be accepted in their circles.  Twisted.  In fact, it should  be the opposite. These people need to feel honored that I would allow them in my company, not my inner circle, but certainly in my presence.

What was so special that the ultimate rainbow coalition elected the bright, young, vibrant upstart.  There is no doubting that he is indeed intelligent. (Our last potus had the IQ of a pet rock.)  He appeared compassionate when listening to the stories of small town people asking him to change their plight. America was ripe for the picking. POTUS reached up and the apple gently fell in his hand. It seemed so easy for him. But as the Reverend Wright stated, we are not all Obama.  And the opportunities that he was afforded were not available to the    majority.

I’ve gone on and on about how correct the reverend was in his statements. What I failed to mention is the ghastly nature with which his comments were received.   Isn’t this America? Doesn’t everyone have a right to his opinion.  And as freely as he can give his opinion, we are free to reject it, to counter it.  But we cannot silence it.

Let’s open the dialogue, drop the political correct pretense and face the ugly truth. Then we can move forward.

Love- a Haiku

Posted By Anubia Webb on December 21, 2009

Why Do We Do This?
Is the pain we must share
Worth the love and tears?

Adultery

Posted By Anubia Webb on December 15, 2009

It was late morning when he finally awoke and realized that his wife was not the beautiful woman laying next to him. Why would it be? He had taken great pains to have his mistress with him this holiday season, lying to his family that it was a last minute business trip that had been planned for months.

The redlight on the phone next to the bed flashed off and on. It signaled messages waiting. Calling the desk and learning that the wife, the children and the inlaws had all called so that wouldn’t be lonely this holiday. He had pulled it off. No one was the wiser.

It wasn’t that he didn’t love his wife. His family had grown boring over the years. Date night was a thing of the past. He felt underappreciated and ordinary. The women he worked with saw the intelligent gentle giant. He was always ready with advice and they were always ready to listen. They made him feel important, needed, desirable. The spark that had dimmed between him and his wife was reborn with each new affair.
He snuggled back into the 600-count sheets, pulling his mistress closer to him. She was slowly waking as her leg rubbed against his leg. The silky smooth against the rough hairy skin. It wasn’t long after that he had mounted her, sliding in easily, moving in a slow pas de deux that would make him feel even more manly. He swelled inside her as she became wetter and wetter. No time to think as her legs wrapped around his waist, her hips moving rythmically against the hard swelling inside her. She was tempted, but cautious about leaving marks on him so close to the departure. She bit into the pillow, still maintaining their pleasure rythm,

“Juicy”, he thought as he grabbed her ass going deeper, feeling the moisture. They had done this many times both during this trip and stolen moments at home,but never so intense. His breath hot on her nipples as he flicked them with his tongue. Her body rose as she felt his fingers reach inside her as his tongue past her navel. He would not stop until he tasted the sweet juices flow into his mouth. And then he would do it again and again until she begged him to enter her with his honeystick. By now it was even more swollen than before.

His thrusts were harder. She felt the sweat dripping from him to her breasts, oozing down, pooling in her navel. He lifted her hips and turned so that now she was on top, legs still wrapped around him. He played with her clitoris as she moved to her own rythm. He felt her come, grabbed her by her waist and thrust upward, harder and harder. Now came his turn to allow his juices to fill her, to flow out of her, to bind them.

Just as they finished, as she fell into the silky sheets next to him, the phone rang. It was his wife asking about his trip. His voice was raspy and he lied that he had just run into the room as the phone began ringing. While he talked to each of his children, he continued to suck on the breasts of his mistress. He assured his wife he would be home before the week was out and that he wished she could have been there with him. Satisfied that all was well, he hung with his family to go back to what now could best be described as fucking.

His wife wasn’t the frigid fool that she was thought to be. She knew that something was going on with someone somewhere. The certainty was that whatever he was doing was going on with a female, even then she was unsure. There have always been men on the down-low. His wife could only hope that he wasn’t one of them.

This is too good to be true.More out of town trips would have to be planned.

Cheater

Posted By Anubia Webb on December 15, 2009

I wonder who has caught his attention now.

Large breasts, short skirts,overly tight shirts that needs more buttons!

He behaves this way when he is having his own midlife crisis.

It begins simply enough. A minor mention about losing weight or toning and firming. Then homelife is discontent. He comes home later and later, hours after he should have been home from work. He spends his off-days with the boys though they never have a name or number that they use to call the house. It’s always his cellphone that rings in the middle of the night.

When he looks at me, I see the difference. There is no passion in his eyes,no love shining through. I might as well watch paint dry. More and more the things that he loved doing were no longer interesting. Our sex life became all but

non-existant. He would start an argument just to have an excuse. The lack of empathy became more pronounced. Now there was nothing that I could do that would make him happy. We argued. He intimidated me with his voice and his size. He controlled the money and made all the family decisions
I had never lived alone before, not certain that I could handle the struggle. I went from parents home to marraige. It wasn’t what I wanted to do but there were no other options. Besides we had been intimate several times and I felt obligated to stay with the man that I gave my virginity.

I call his antics part of a mid-life crisis, but long before our marraige reached double digits there were signs of a different lifestyle. He kept me in the dark about everything. I never met his co-workers. His excuse was that he spent all day with those people, night was for family. Only he doesn’t come home directly after work. Always an excuse -need to get gas, stopped at a bathroom, gave a co-worker a ride home.

So when he was scheduled to be off work at 10:30PM, he often came well after midnight never explaining why he was late. Always there was criticism. Foods he used to enjoy were no longer on his list. He ate a home less and less. When I would point out his behavioral changes,I was yelled at, berated.

I don’t know what happened to me. I felt myself being lost and the real me just disappering into nothingness; It’s not that I wanted my life back. I just wanted a life.

New Shoes

Posted By Anubia Webb on December 15, 2009

When she arose, she noticed $400 laying on the pillow on her bed. She had needed the money badly that this time there was actually bartering on her side.
He offered to pay, stating that his wife no longer could or would.
She remember as he mounted her, that she had an electric bill due, and the baby needed diapers and formula, that there more life than this. She believed that somehow had sent this man to her to help relive her monetary problems. One cannot refuse the help of God.

She lay there, creating mental games to occupy her time. She counted tiles in the ceiling, tiles with waterstains. She thought about the tricycle her son really wanted but could not afford. And then she met him, a nice guy that wanted to help. But as always in her life, help came with a price.
Her children were growing like weeds;their father nonmilitant everything in their lives depended on her.
Se closed her eyes, hoping the man’s grunting and groaning wouldn’t wake the children. His sweat dropped in her eyes. “Good”, she thought, “now I can mask the tears”.

When he had finished, wanted to lie there with her and snuggle. Pretending to enjoy laying there among the sweat, the heavy breathing. Looking over at her clock, she knew he had to leave soon; his wife would begin to worry. He rolled out of bed (something that she never said he could do, washing himself with the soap he always used to avoid suspicion.

After he had finished and dressed he cradled her face and kissed her, a deep thick tongue in her mouth, hot breathe. Soon it will be over. The man opened her robe and peered at her body to remind himself of the beautiful body that he just violated.

” I’ll make more time for us the next” he smiling as he left her house. She didn’t want to see him again, but she couldn’t survive without his gifts She closed and locked the door,quickly turning out the light so that he would think she had gone to bed.

Upstair, she counted the money on the nightstand. Her children needed clothes and school supplies. Their needs were fair more important and her doing this for their well-being was more than enough justification.

She put the money her purse and as sleep took over her, she dreamed of children with smiles as they tried on their new shoes.