Oil and Ink by hamedbukhamseen

Oil and Ink

Hamed S. Bukhamseen

I am the Bench Oh God, here comes Bu-Ghanim. 1 Please don’t let him sit on me; I don’t think my legs can take it anymore. Why do I harbor his favorite spot? Why can’t the neighbors who come over after dusk switch their positions once in a while? They are so much skinnier than he is. Here he comes; I suppress my scream as he sits down, but no matter what I do, I still release a slight screech of agony every time. They begin their daily discussions and, as usual, they start off discussing their trade finances in Mombasa and Dar es Salaam.2 Day after day, their discussions that stray into the wee hours of the night are narrowed down to business and the occasional jibes and gossip directed towards the other neighbors: monotonous I have to say. When they are gone, the others and I are left in the courtyard to bake in the sun, as we await dusk for the next reunion of Bu-Ghanim and his friends. I sometimes wish that I served the women of this household. My existence would be so much easier. I wouldn’t have to put up with these stout businessmen and their incessant discussions of improving their funds abroad. I wouldn’t have to bask in the sun as I would be in shade of the female courtyard.3 The women of the home would be too busy tending to the household needs to actually relax and sit down thus relieving me of the weights of everyday life.

1 Bu : Father of. Bu-Ghanim transliterates to father of Ghanim, a form of respectful address to elders in which the name is usually derived from the eldest son of the family. 2 Prior to the discovery of Oil in the Arabian / Persian Gulf region, most cities along its coast engaged in maritime trade. The trade routes followed a complex network spanning the Eastern coast of Africa, India and the Dutch East Indies. 3 The Female courtyard of the traditional Kuwaiti home is usually shaded versus the male courtyard. The reason being is that the women of the household would be more engaged in the daily activiites of the home as opposed to the men who would gather in a seperate courtyard from the family court of the home. Their gatherings would usually take place at dusk.

D R AW I N G 1. - “I am the Bench” Graphite, Gouache, Ink, Computer Mixed Media 22” x 30”

My name is Ma’asouma Bibi can be so clumsy at times. She has to understand that navigating these rooftops is completely different from the alleyways and roads of the city. I for one consider them a faster and easier trajectory to follow since you avoid all those twist and turns of this city’s winding rounds, however one has to always be careful. Wasn’t it just last week that Um Khalid’s 1 daughter, Moudhi, hurt her leg real bad when she slipped on one the steps leading from our roof to theirs and landed in their courtyard? As an older sister, I feel it my obligation to teach Bibi about these passages that will definitely save her the time and spare her the awkwardness of having to talk to the man of the house and ask him if Aunt Fatima or Aunt Khariya is around to spare some rice. For you see, these rooftops are our meeting point. On them we talk about our daily matters and if matters are of a serious issue head down to the shade of one of our courtyards. Men just have the streets to meet up; we have the privilege of our own private network.2 Bibi still prefers the narrow alleyways of the city to run around and play with the other neighborhood girls. She is still young and when she does use the rooftops, she doesn’t go anywhere. She just looks for the highest point along the homes to stare at the harbor. She just stares at the dhows as they sail off onto the horizon as she wishes she could join them in their travels. I guess the sense of adventure runs amongst the women of this family. For you see, I too wish I could join the men in their travels to these distant lands. Taking advantage of these roofs, I sometimes eavesdrop on the gathering of the men in the other courtyards. Their conversations of these faraway places provide a glimpse into world beyond the walls of this city. How incredible would it be to travel to these places they speak of where the clouds fill the sky and it would rain almost every day?

1 Um : Mother of. Um-Khalid transliterates to mother of Khalid, a form of respectful address to elders in which the name is usually derived from the eldest son of the family. 2 The traditional Kuwaiti homes’ rooftops were connected in order to create a private network for the women of the city in order to travel amongst the female portions of the homes and avoid the men of the household.

D R AW I N G 2. - “My Name is Ma’asouma” Graphite, Gouache, Ink 22” x 30”

My name is Eisa My name is Eisa Al-Deein, son of Khalifa Al-Deein one of the most devout and honorable men of Kuwait. My father had always insisted that I attend the classes at the local mosque in addition to the schooling I would receive at home.1 It was in this mosque that I had caught the attention of one of my teachers who noted my harmonious voice as I recited pages from the holy book. At the end of one our classes he insisted that I should sound the midday prayer call at the tender age of 12. He asked me to follow him to the top of the minaret to sound the call. Up the winding staircase we climbed and when we reached the top, the view of the surrounding homes and the direct view of the Gulf ahead was something I had never seen before. He had told me to wait a couple of minutes before I belted out my call just to be sure that the sun was in the correct position for the midday prayer. I was nervous, and the trepidation was apparent in my voice. A distinct vibrato had manifested itself in my recitation. When the worshippers had arrived into the mosqueâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s halls, they had asked about who had sounded the call today. When I was pointed out, I was met with such encouragement and praise, and was asked to continue sounding my calls. For the next twenty years, I would continue sounding the midday, afternoon and dusk prayers.2 For the next twenty years, I would climb up the 35 steps that would lead to the top of the minaret, three times a day. I would arrive a couple of minutes prior to the actual time of sounding my call just to stare off into the Gulf and the surrounding city. The women would go about their daily routines, ascending and descending from courtyard to courtyard and from roof to roof throughout the day. The men would go about their daily business at the harbor and at right before dusk they would gather at one of their homes before heading towards me at the mosque. These past couple of months, I noticed this young woman peering into of the courtyards of one of the homes around the time I was supposed to sound the dusk prayers. This was unusual because by this time, the roofs would be barren. Every dusk, she would just sit there and listen.

1 Mosques served as a community school for the neighboorhood children teaching them the basics in reading,writing, religion and arithmetic. 2 Prayers are sounded five times a day and would be sounded by different prayer criers based on a time share basis. Prayers are sounded at dawn, during the midday, the afternoon, dusk and nightfall.

D R AW I N G 3. - “My Name is Eisa” Graphite, Gouache, Ink, Collage 22” x 30”

I am the Mosque I was born in 1834, amongst a sprawl of low lying mud brick homes and was named after the Qatami family who lived around the area. They had financed my construction to unite the neighbors in prayer throughout the day and throughout times of hardship, which were ever plentiful back then. That was the official reasoning accepted to this day behind my foundation. Little do they know that I was born so my financier wouldn’t have to walk to the neighboring mosque because of his weight gain. But anyway, let us just keep that between us, I’d prefer my birth be remembered for a much nobler cause. During the days of my youth I was one of the tallest structures you’d see in this city. My minaret had a piercing presence in the sky and I was a point of reference for many, especially the children of the neighborhood who would fill my halls in the mornings. I was fairly active when I was young and served my community well. My financier had passed away, the children had grown up and had children of their own. I continued my services. The children grew old and too passed away, and their children would have children of their own. My halls would continue to be filled with worshippers and those seeking knowledge. I the mosque stood as a witness to these generations along with my compatriot mud brick houses. Together we had witnessed the early growth of this city. However, here I am now alone, spared the fate of the others around me. There came a time when the residents around the area had begun to desert the surrounding buildings. Had there been another plague?1 I wouldn’t know for the residents would never return to their homes. Soon after their desertion, a wave of machinery had descended around the area and reduced the homes to dust. I witnessed in horror and feared I was next; however, I was spared.2 With the people of the neighborhood and the neighborhood itself gone, my dense daily congregation would thin out and my existence would now only serve the generous pedestrians who would pray in my halls. My dominating height has lost its significance. I no longer serve in defining the skyline of this city. My minaret is now dwarfed by these glass buildings that surround me. My congregation has ceased to exist: a symptom those before me suffered. I live in fear. I pray to God that my fate won’t be that of the houses I knew and I plea the skyscrapers to spare me.

1 In the late 1800s, Kuwait City had suffered from a plague that had wiped out about half the population. 2 Due to religiouis law, a mosque cannot be demolished because its status as a house of God.

D R AW I N G 4. - “I am the Mosque” Graphite, Gouache, Ink, Computer Mixed Media 22” x 30”

I am the Megaphone Four minutes and two seconds precisely, to complete my call. Fifteen lines of melodious verse that I have perfected all these three thousand and five hundred and fifty two days that I have been bolted onto this windowsill. I just bellowed the call for the dawn prayer marking a new day. My pitch has been perfect every time I have sounded my recitation. The treble in my voice is ever present. My enunciation and pronunciation follow the strictest conventions of the classical Arabic of the ancient provinces of Eastern Arabia. I have set the standard for which all prayer criers in this city should follow since seldom have I heard a variety that had not faltered over time. The sun has risen beyond the horizon and I await its presence overhead to sound my next call. My days in this minaret are spent tracking this planet’s trajectory across the hazy desert sky, from dawn till dusk. My calls do not merely serve as an indication of the time of day; I am not the chime of a clock; my calls serve a purpose. I recite, “Come to Prayer, Come to Prayer” five times a day not as a plea but as a course of action that should be followed by those devout. However, these days my calls go unheeded. I remember the days that men flocked towards me with the mere utterance of the divine,1 yet all that has changed around the time I recall a shadow. In the beginning I had noticed the dark figure beginning to encroach around my periphery. I had paid no attention to it, for its kind around here is a blessing. It was a friend. With each passing day I had noticed this character grow. With its growth, my parish would dwindle. This friend, or should I say fiend, had somehow robbed me of my audience. My cry, as I have previously feared, now served only to signify the time of day, yet that too had become difficult. This ominous figure would eclipse the sun that I am so reliant on. When shall I sound my call not knowing precisely where this planet is in relationship to the sky? I fear that this figure would destroy me. It is robbing me of my purpose. In defiance I continue my routine. I am reliant on memory. When I feel the shadow’s presence around the corner I echo my call hoping to ward it off. One day I hope to succeed and draw back my devout crowd.

1 The Muslim Call to Prayer the Adhan (or Athan) is a 15 line verse that is usually called out from the minaret of a mosque five times a day with the initial phrase “God is great”

D R AW I N G 5. - “I am the Megaphone” Graphite, Gouache, Ink, Collage 22” x 30”

I am the Shadow I am the shadow and I know of my connotations. However, let me just be clear. I do not associate with evil spirits nor do I harbor any other type of menacing beings within me, for you see I am not that kind. I am the shadow that blocks out the harsh rays of this unforgiving sun that beats down on this city. I am the shadow that creates shade. I am summoned at dawn in order to perform my daily task which I gladly accept, for you see, my duty is to bring relief. Each morning I follow my designated route from West to East. My trajectory is set and at dusk, I am gone. My presence is sought after and to an extent sanctified in this region, for is it not in descriptions of heaven that I am ever present? 1 However, throughout the year my presence is appreciated at times more than others. When the sun is high, people seek me out. When the sun is low, I am at my largest state, yet my appreciation dwindles. How I wish I was at my largest state when the sun is high. How I wish I could bring more comfort and incite more sighs of relief as people step into the environment I create.

1 â&#x20AC;&#x153;They and their associates will be in groves of (cool) shade, reclining on Thrones (of dignity)â&#x20AC;? (36:56-57) Quran

D R AW I N G 6. - “I am the Shadow” Graphite, Gouache, Ink, Collage 22” x 30”

I am the Bank Finally, I have reached 800 feet. My skeletal structure of concrete and steel has fully developed and my flesh of glazing and sandstone is starting to form as these cranes work endlessly to tend to my needs. I feel unstoppable. At this height I dwarf all the other buildings in the vicinity and surely establish my presence in the area, for I am here to stay. I am the bank. My height represents progress. Back in the day, one or two story homes had dominated this landscape. With time, these buildings grew in size and so, I, as you see me today, represent the pinnacle of this cityâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s evolution and ingenuity. My height and presence demand authority for you see my growth is essentially fueled by this land: this land that has provided and that shall continue to provide such capital for my existence. This wealth that had leveled my predecessors had laid the path for my conception. It is this wealth that nurtures me into my adulthood so I can represent it to all. I am the bank. I do not look to the past for that is not my job. I live in the now and live for the future and so I must ensure my existence continue. I do not want to witness a time in which the landscape regresses back to an environment of single story homes.

D R AW I N G 7. - “I am the Bank” Graphite, Gouache, Ink 22” x 30”

I am the Vault Pay no attention to the building above me. He is just for show: 50 floors of office space that will be dedicated to running the monetary welfare of this nation whilst I, the vault, will harbor the actual wealth. 15 stories below grade I extend my reach. Within each floor, shelves soon to filled with bullions of gold stacked 8 feet high, each portion equivalent to the dinars 1 that you pass around to go about your daily life. 15 floors of high end security impenetrable to those who seek to rob me of my contents. Below grade I shall protect the wealth from those above. From the oil extracted below, I return the wealth back to the ground in another form. Being this deep underground allows me to relate to the original wealth that has and continues to feed this nation. I communicate with it. I tell it that soon it would pass within the shelves I harbor in the form of gold. However, the wealth informed me of something. The wealth tells me that it cannot sustain itself. The shelves that I eagerly aim to fill are actually robbing it of its existence. With this constant extraction, this wealth is fleeting. For now, I know I can expect to have my shelves filled, but as the for the future, I am not so sure. Lets just keep that between us, I donâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;t want to cause any panic. .

1 Dinars: The Kuwaiti Monetary Unit (KWD)

D R AW I N G 8. - “I am the Vault ” Graphite, Gouache, Ink, Collage 22” x 30”

Hamed S. Bukhamseen RISD BFA| BArch 2013 info@hamedbukhamseen.com