Tuesday, September 07, 2010

World Unseen

“The World Unseen” (2007), based on a novel of the same name by Shamim Sarif, is the kind of movie I like in that it depicts the lives of two women who stand up for what they want. It’s a woman’s story about crossing boundaries. As Liz Gilbert might say: “Attraversiamo!” Let us cross over.


Set in Capetown, South Africa, in the early days of the apartheid regime, the story revolves around Ameena, a young woman of Indian descent who resists the traditional marriage-wife-mother path, choosing instead, to pursue another course. She wears trousers; learns to drive; and opens a restaurant with Frederick, an older man of mixed race. The two team up to open a restaurant for mixed-race non-whites, primarily Indians and Asians. African blacks are not allowed.


The restaurant is routinely harassed by police who bully their way inside, inflicting as much damage as possible. Despite the harassment, the business flourishes. The food is good, the atmosphere inviting. Boundary-crosser though she may be, Ameena learns to stay just within the bounds of apartheid law, realizing that the popular restaurant is itself an act of resistance.


While giving the civil government its due, Ameena insists upon asserting her ‘human’ right to love whom she pleases. Turns out, that someone is Miriam, a pregnant Indian woman, mother of two, whose husband rates dead level on the A-Hole scale with the apartheid police. The plot thickens when Ameena’s grandmother decides that she must marry and opens negotiations with the family of a prospective groom. The plot rocks and rolls from there.


A crucial scene comes when Miriam finds Ameena in her bedroom, dressed in traditional Indian garb, prior to her meeting the prospective groom and family. Ameena is miserable. The two women have just begun to acknowledge their feelings for each other, yet, Ameena feels the weight of tradition bearing down, forcing her toward her ‘natural’ role as wife and mother. Surprisingly, it is Miriam, married at 19 (like me) who encourages Ameena to resist. “Wear what you like,” she says. Buoyed up by this, Ameena puts on her trousers and goes off to meet the groom.


Later Miriam questions Ameena about her pugnacity. Where did she get the idea that she could have a life of her choosing? The idea never would have, never could have occurred to her. Every woman she had known, or heard of ‘chose’ to marry when given the opportunity. There was no other way. “I wish I could be like you,” Miriam laments. To this Ameena responds, “Be careful what you wish for.”


Throughout the story, Miriam grows stronger as 1) she begins to imagine a different life for herself; and 2) she acknowledges how miserable she is in her marriage. When Ameena suggests that they run off together, Miriam refuses. She also defies her husband, telling him that she plans to take a job in town despite his objections. When he threatens to beat her into submission, she calmly looks him in the eye and says, “You must find another way to speak to me.”


What happens next is left hanging. Will Ameena and Miriam get together and live happily ever after? Who knows? The only certainty offered is that Miriam has ‘crossed over.’


Saturday, September 04, 2010

An Unstructured Day--Addendum


Missing pict . . .

An Unstructured Day



Joni and Andrew were up and out early this morning, off to work; Joni in a pink, glittered suit (meeting with the boss’s boss), Andrew in beige shorts and black shirt bearing JimmyJohn logo. As the door slams behind them, the whirlwind subsides,18-month old Mya and I look at each other. I don’t know what she’s thinking, but I’m thinking “OMG!” A whole day with this kid.


Right then, I made a decision. This child lives such an ordered, structured life that my gift to her will be an unstructured day. No toys. No flat screens. No pre-programmed activities. We make it up as we go along from whatever comes along.


First stop, the back deck, upon which was nothing but a barbecue grill and two chairs. Seeing nothing to play with, Mya ran to the gate leading out the the yard. She rattled the gate indicating that she wanted out. I plopped in the chair and shook my head. “We’re staying right here.” Just then a school bus rolled by. “School bus,” I called. Seconds later, another followed close behind. “School bus,” I cried again, pointing. Mya smiled. The game was on.


First, Mya learned that the big yellow ‘car’ with many windows was not a ‘car,’ but a ‘school bus.’ Next she learned that, even before the bus appeared, she could identify it by the distinctive roar of the engine. This was all very exciting. When a jet passed overhead, the game reached a new level of complexity.


Meanwhile, amid the passing of bus and jetliner, with nothing else to do, Mya pushed the empty chair up against the railing--her aim, to climb into the chair and possibly escape over the railing. But alas, try as she might, her legs were too short. A push on the butt and up she wiggled. Triumph! She grinned in delight, as seen in the accompanying photo. Then came the challenge of wiggling off the chair without sustaining a bump on the head. It took several attempts to master the feat of dexterity and coordination. It isn’t easy pulling a short little leg from beneath a fat little tummy. Mya struggled with each descent, but eventually discovered that the trick was to get both knees under said fat little tummy before the downward slide. Thus passed the morning.


After lunch and a nap, we moved to the front porch where the most splendid entertainment awaited. There, in a large bowl of water (meant for the dog) swam one very frustrated but determined cricket. Mya looked at me and pointed to poor creature who paddled furiously from side to side in search of a foothold. “Gug,” Mya said, pointing to the insect. What to do? I sat down beside her and, together, we pondered the cricket’s predicament.


Empty the bowl. Fill the bowl. Empty the bowl. Fill the bowl. On and on throughout the afternoon. A school bus arrived. “School bus!” Students passed by the porch. “Gug,” said Mya pointing to the bowl. A few stopped to admire.


The story has a happy ending. With pebbles Mya gathered, we built an small island in the middle of the bowl. Little Miss Cricket seized her opportunity. Onto the island she swam and, with one quick hop, she jumped onto Mya’s arm to deliver a quick “thank you” before retreating to the bushes. Mya raised her hands, “Gug.” All gone.


Mommy and daddy returned from work--the end of our unstructured day.


The following morning when I peeked into Mya’s room, I saw not a baby, but a little girl sitting pensively in her crib.


The toddler--childhood’s adolescent.