Their struggle is not in vein 

In the memory of those who proudly sacrificed their lives for our beloved country. 

Link to the original article. 
His mother remembers him as the handsome man he always appeared to be to her: tall and strong, with a shaved head and always with a hint of bukhoor. The bukhoor that she made for years and sold for a few dirhams in order to secure a decent life for her children. The scent is stuck to her fingers as she moulds the ingredients into round black pieces and preserves them in a glass jar, hoping that his memory will be locked in there, too, but with every whiff, her eyes well up. Each morning his wife applies the bukhoor to his children’s clothes before they leave the house, as though reminding them that they come from the bloodline of the brave. A deafening silence fills the house as the smoke rises and his memory swirls. He was a man of honour, one who was familiar with the horrors of war. Upon his departure he kissed their heads and promised he’d be back; instead they got his uniform and medals draped in a flag. 

This week we remember those who have fallen while protecting the glory of the flag and the safety of this country. 

Forty-four years ago, on November 30, 1971, a young policeman called Salem Suhail Al Khamis fell defending the Greater Tunb island when the Iranian armed forces made their first military assault. There were only six members at the police station that night; the calm island never required more forces. As the enemy forces marched on, the soldiers used the station as a fort and started attacking. The battle went on for hours, and when they couldn’t defend the fort any longer and as one of the men tried to bring the flag down, 20-year-old Al Khamis stepped out and refused to give up. They opened fire and he fell at the foot of the flagpole. The fort was compromised. 

The UAE’s brave soldiers have fought in conflicts to make sure that the hands of the enemy don’t touch the serenity of this country’s unity. They have helped citizens in ­neighbouring and far off countries. 

Each one of us carries the burden of their duty. Their sacrifices shouldn’t be forgotten; their glory should seep through us and ignite a fire that can’t be withheld. In their memory, we should work together to make the UAE proud of its children, and be heroes in our chosen fields. 

Our soldiers who fell in Yemen were helping a sister country survive and revive. They kept their oath, one that they repeated proudly every time they sang our national anthem, the last line of which says: “We sacrifice our lives for you, oh my homeland.” 

These heroes are not dead, they are immortal, and their glory will be studied and repeated. May peace and our prayers always be with them.


Searching for my voice

Hello World, how have you been.

Sorry i have been MIA on my blog for sometime but i wanted to share an article i wrote for the Women’s Majlis section in The National newspaper.

The article was published on Friday the 2nd of October and i have uploaded a scanned copy of it for you to read here. You can also read it on their website through this link .

This article was inspired by the current hype the UAE is going through with regards to the Federal National Council elections. When researching the candidates i found everything but what i was searching for, my quest to find a voice that represent me as a single woman on the council remained unaccomplished.

However perhaps my main inspiration was the fact that people are ready to SKIN women from humanity and treat her like an object that requires “fixing” of some sort.

I hope you enjoy it 🙂


Happy Reading.

Echo of a shadow

Hey All, this is another piece that i had submitter to the team. This was written for the “Twisted Fairytale” september 2013 theme. For this i choose to twist the story of the Emirati Folklor fairytal “Umm AlDuwais”. ENJOY 🙂


In an eastern land where bronze sands roll like waves and is  home of the brave. Where horses prance in a rhythmic pace. Where sun shines with glory and grace. There you can hear voices of mothers, telling tales of the evil that smother. They speak of an inhuman fay, in night’s veil it killed all those who stray.

Her shadow-like figure swayed in the darkness, as she walked towards the village in silence. She reached the valley where little huts lamps glowed. Her eyes traveled from door to door as she spied into windows of every home. In one of the houses, she heard a little boy, crying defiantly “I won’t sleep, I won’t obey”. The mother glared at her young boy, and told him “fine, but you can’t avoid the evil that is “Umm Al Duwais”. The mother wrapped the boy in her arms, and told of a tale from a legend of old. She spoke of a beautiful creature that was very bold.

“There are many tales of late, that spoke of this devil and her angel face. She walked the valley wearing Arabian gold that shone. Her anklets rang. Her bracelets banged. The silk dress covered her dreadful truth. She had donkey’s foot. Her hands were made of sharp sickles, weapons to behead her victims. She was the mother of sickles “Umm Al Duwais”  was her local name. The name that runs shivers through veins. Her perfume scent traveled the wilderness, to seduce a man that strayed, from home he came faraway”

The mother gazed into her boy’s eyes. The eyes so reminiscent of his father’s, it almost brought her to her knees in grief and sighs.??   She journeyed within her memory for words although she could not forget the events of this tale. After all, she was telling her son about his own father who strayed.

“Mother what happened to the man” asked the wide-eyed little boy.

She starts walking around the valley, gold clanging and spreading her mystic fumes. She finally got the man’s attention; he was drawn to her without suspicion. He thought she was lost; he wanted to help the lonely lady at any cost. She kept her eyes low; she had long lavish lashes, a perfect beauty that turns flames to ashes.

“Are you lost” the wonderer asked

“She turned around to claim her prize, When he got close enough she lifted her eyes, her cat like yellow gazes could not be disguised. He turned around and chanted his prayers; he ran with eyes full of tears. He knew the myth he came across, she wasn’t a ghost as he once thought.”


“Did he get away, Mother?  Did he escape?” asked the little boy in sorrow.

The mother tenderly kissed her boy’s forehead. She placed him down into his bed, covering him with a blanket, and walked away. She approached the door and said in despair:

”No one has ever lived to tell his tale. Anyone who meets her ends up meeting their fate”

The shadow at the window, stood still, unnoticed by those who lived within. She listened to her own story with pain in her heart she could not bare. She gave the boy a final look; she had always liked children and their innocence.

“I would have been a great mother,” she whispered under her breath, before turning to walk away.

She traveled back to her cave, to escape from the lies’ wave. She remembered the time when she was young human. She was as fair as a moonlit night, long black hair and a face of light. Caravans traveled to her father’s palace, to ask for the hand of his beautiful daughter. She was not always a cursed creature but a victim of a cruel spell from a wizard of hell. She had refused the wizard’s marriage proposal, so he was compelled to avenge his lost honor. On her wedding night upon witnessing her full beauty, he cursed her mirror until she become a monster that spread  terror. She remained as beautiful as she was on her wedding night, untouched and petrifying.

Little did everyone know what she was hiding, the helpless creature desired understanding. She wandered the land searching for that wizard. She sought for any means to end this curse that consumed her spirit. She wandered the mountains that he roamed, but she never could find him, nor find solitude.

The myth that was there that she seduced and killed, was no truth in that as she is not skilled. She hurt only those who wanted to capture her, hunt her down and keep her captive. The savage hunters had a cruel heart, they wanted to cage her and display her to the masses. “Sell her to who would place the highest bet” She heard them arguing while she hid. They ran a freak show where she was the freak, she killed only those and left them reek.

She retreated to her cave night after night, crying in pain and shriek on her life. The mountains screeched at the sound of her voice, only to be deafened by the winds hollow screams. An immortal she became no end to her misery, as a legend she would live,,, just a mystery.