The inspiration behind Memoirs of Sikka 84 came from the effect of globalization on wiping out the distinctive identities in each culture, that make our world colorful and diverse. Globalization has been hailed as a movement to introduce American culture to the globe, with a lot of merits to that. Yet they had aksimanaged to create a false aspirational objective that causes citizens of the world to forget their roots, traditions, and their cultural makeup pivotal in diversity and instead aspire to be American to be approved as 'modern, forward-thinking, sophisticated'. You see Japanese teens doning baggy jeans, spiky hair styles, and twirling with invisible music. Arabs have started fading away from their sense of extended family, community, instead adopting a series of separated family units that do not connect with the rest of their family tree. McDonald's has even designed their cafe's architecture to resemble Chinese temples yet still luring Chinese consumers to shift from their traditional cuisine to a more American gourmet.
In this story, I ask the question: what is happening to our unique cultural identities across the globe?
Memoirs of Sikka 84
I sip the dark, bitter coffee, inhaling the sensual flavors that conjure memories of my times at the local majlis. My circle of friends would meet up every Thursday evening for a quick sip of gahwa (coffee) and catch up on each other’s lives, the jokes erupting raucous laughter, and the strong friendship bond that held us warmly and closely as a rich tapestry. Ah, that was close to 40 years ago. And here I am, reclining on a rocking chair at my son’s house, glory aging with my body.
It is close to 4 o’clock. Khaled, my grandson, has come back from school with an iPod in his ears, shaking his body left and right to an invisible concert. He looks at me and waves his hand, “Yo, gramps!” he says with a casual kiss to the air. And he leaves.
He is getting ready for another outing with his friends; a group of boys and girls from his school who go out every Wednesday afternoon for a movie and dinner. They once passed by to pick up Khaled, and I got a peek at the lifestyle of our emerging Emarati generation.
I opened the door and saw 2 girls laughing wildly with 2 other boys. “Yes?” I interrupted. They immediately froze, and one of the boys I knew, Saeed, asked me for Khaled. He also introduced me to Khaleefa, Mariam, and Hind – all classmates of Khaled. They were wearing Western clothes you find at those garish fashion outlets like Berschka and Sixty, no traces of our renowned Emarati thowb and abaya/sheila. Khaled turned up a few seconds later and they all jumped into the roaring Porsche and into the free world.
Ah, could I label it as young love? That treacherous passion that enflames our young ones into being seduced by glitzy images of perfection, whilst it is merely an image painted by the canny media. Hind is Khaled’s girlfriend. This is the girl he has broke a fight with his parents for. The girl he has spent countless hours chatting on the phone to, dating every weekend, and proclaiming to be the love of his life – he is only 15 years old. And this is not the first girlfriend.
I close my eyes and I see the image of my late wife, Amina. I remember glimpsing her in her father’s home. My heart felt bound to her from the first sight. Her luminous aura enveloping her like a warm halo, so pure was her demeanor, I felt her belong to me from the first glance. I worked really hard the next year to establish myself so I can be worthy of my darling’s heart. My family proposed to hers – and they agreed. We got married 3 months later, the crowds of relatives clapping for us in the background, all happy for our blessed union. On our first night, I confessed my love for her, and she confessed hers as she passionately, silently prayed to God to bring me to her. I instantly fell in love with her chastity and her faithful heart. We lived in Sikka 84 and had a beautiful marriage…
I take another sip of my coffee – it has gone cold. Could I compare it with life these days? Cold, whimsy, fleeting. People ashamed of their essence and trying their best to shed their past traditions, the identities their forefathers have ingrained for generations and proudly displayed to other nations. My grandson, today, is wearing American clothes, speaks with an American accent, studies in an American school, and lives an American lifestyle – where has his Emarati identify found a home in his heart?
