Blogs

Snakes Or Crocs? – A Backbreaking Trek Manakara lies about 373 miles (600 km) south of Antananarivo, Madagascar. Yet, it takes our team of seven the whole of two days to complete the drive. Afzal Yusufali, Murtaza Bhimani, Zuhair Hemraj, and I visiting from Tanzania, and S. Haneef, CEO of FCRA, CAI’s partners in Madagascar,…

A Chat With Maria It is soopa hot and steamy in Dar today as I type this blog at my dining table. There is sporadic relief from the intensity in the form of an occasional breeze from the Indian Ocean not too far away. It pushes the stagnant, muggy air from one window and out…

I’ve tried to visit the school/orphanage for 200 orphan children that CAI donors support in Damascus, Syria, twice last year, but something or another mars the trip. The impending one in November is also doubtful, given the violence in the region. It would not be nice if I went and could not leave due to…

Kaka And Keema, And Clever Monkeys I recently find myself in Mumbai, India, a city I visit frequently. I’ve been visiting it since it was called Bombay, a bindas, badass city, where I, strangely, feel at home within the densely populated island, where nearly 22 million people live, packed tight, in relative harmony. Imagine, that…

I return to Dar es Salaam at the start of the holy month of Muharram. Yet another opportunity to partake in the remembrance and pay respect and honor Imam Hussein (a) and his family for their devotion and sublime sacrifice for the pleasure of Allah and the reformation of Islam – for me, a time…

Botox Nightmares Sohail Abdullah, CEO of CAI, and I are in Lebanon once more, on our way to Damascus, Syria. Why would anyone in their right mind want to be in this country at this time is perplexing, sometimes even to me. Strife and violence are a concern, of course, but we have not been…

Raisi Is Dead Mullah Mchungu looks at me listlessly, his dentures, with telltale signs of decay, grin at me idiotically. I am never sure if the grin is genuine or if the dentures are masking a more sinister mood in him. From the blank look on his face, I can tell he does not recognize…

I find myself in India once more, right amid a general election. This does not affect me so much, except the immigration officer in Mumbai wants me digitally fingerprinted; this has not happened before. It’s not a big deal, and I am out and speeding towards Mumbai, where Sarfaraz, the driver for Najafi House, promises…

Pooja Has A Beef With Azaan I meet Pooja on my way to Dubai from Dar es Salaam; she occupies the seat beside mine. It is the 28th day of Ramadhan and I look forward to spending a few days of Eid with my two ailing sisters Nazma and Sabira in Dubai. Hopefully, the Mullas and…

Allah Has Abandoned Us I return to Dar es Salaam from a trip to Pakistan and the Philippines dog-tired and weary, vowing not to sit on an aircraft or a car until I am in heaven and can travel to a desired place at the bat of my eyelids. Both Sohail and I had to…

Land Of Lychees / Nasty Najaf Land Of Lychees A break of a few days after my trip to Tanga and I find myself on my way to Madagascar. For a change, Kenya Airways is on time from both Dar es Salaam and the short layover in Nairobi, even amid the rainy season in East…

Nasal Hair And Ghantias Made Of Steel It rained heavily here in Dar es Salaam last night, not a good sign for heading to the airport in the morning since the already terrible roads will now be full of mucky water masking horrid potholes that’ll snare traffic even more. Sure enough, the going is a…

I wish I Was Born A Zionist The persistent ringing of my cell phone five minutes into my deprived sleep after fajr prayers startles me awake; I frantically try to regain consciousness and peer at the caller’s ID. Is this another SOS? Afghanistan? India? Syria? Yemen? Another disaster? Earthquake? A sectarian attack in Pakistan? Is…

The weather in Dar es Salaam is heating up as ‘summer’ takes a firm grip. We’ll soon have the best mangoes, pineapples, and the finest cashews outside heaven to enjoy. In my past Blogs, I’ve alluded to the filthy beggar who sits, but most times lies prone on the concrete floor opposite the building I…

I hear someone call out my name from the crowds behind me on the streets of Dar es Salaam, near DT Roundabout, so I stop to see who it is. A heavyset Bohri man with his trademark cap and an unkempt flowing beard hurries to me, breathing with difficulty, and offers a handshake. Hands and…