A Unique Blend of Modernity and Strategic Location: daily life around home, الصحافة
As Sahafah, the 'l' elided with the hard 's' to follow, reading from right to left, so not 'al' as you might think, but 'as' as you might not. The 's,' in contrast to a Moon letter, in which case you would pronounce the 'l,' is then known as a Sun letter. This my Tuttle-published book on Arabic introduces early on, why? Correct pronunciation seems a higher priority than grammatical construction; and there are many rules of pronunciation, the famous diacritics indicating all but the main vowel sounds but usually, as in 'لصح,' this bit of the word for the district where we are, such indication is absent. What you are seeing in this word-bit is 'l' followed directly by hard 's' followed by a 'huh' and then alif, or 'a,' which might be elongated, according to the rules of pronunciation known as Al Madd . . .
I was of course quite wrong in introducing the previous post as Al Muruj, because that's the name of the metro station, not the district, hence the title here, As Saha-afa(aspirated 'h'), naming the district aroundabout where we've been living, and eating salmon direct from Norway (see image above). Freshest, tastiest salmon I've ever eaten. Panned with handfuls of fresh Saudi dill. The gentleman (must get past 'guy') with the questioning eye wants to know, filleted? how many fish? That day they were on special, about NZD30 a kilo. One man bought 6. Filleting done on premises, at Lulu Supermarket in As Sahafah.
Check out the pomegranates. Doomi Doo looks fun. . . I'll go to an evening sequence, in the gloam around 5pm, dark by 6pm, as winter encroaches, 5.30pm:
The Tallest Heritage Building looms over this area, gloomily, heritage, apparently due to lack of investment, resisting being made present. The lit-up ad-truck reminds me of KL, every evening of our short stay, video ads on wheels cruising.
- foot hygiene is a priority
. . . to be followed by a nice domestic sequence,
the stretched limo not but the foot ours. . .
local cat. . .
local calamity. . .
a doco should be made about these urban cowboy-motorbike delivery young gentlemen, who seem mostly to originate from Pakistan . . . this one leaving a trail of discarded gear, most wear body-armour, some dress their saddles with rugs and animal furs for style and comfort as they would a camel's, leading back to the discarded bike. . . Hunger Station most commonly seen, Noon delivers food as well as pharmaceuticals, and Amazon also, a depot located north of us.
the potatoes here form patterns. . .
and the moon hangs like a yellow boat, here captured with another who is beside it,
one day there was a fire. . .
- speak for themselves, the deco style tower however indicating we may have strayed from zone
- features the return, the heritage perhaps that it embodies, that it is empty, of the Tallest Heritage Tower, and of the moon
it became another day, and I visited the supermarket, and took these shots on my return journey:
now I recall the significance of the day. It was the day we found out our beloved Shirley Kelly had died, honorary grandmother to our children; the last of a generation of theatre people, she had been in the Southern Players, as I write in the piece which appears below the title "what do you want to say, Shirley."
I originally posted it with an illustration, here. It shows a vapour trail above the cityscape we see out our windows. And that day, on which I also visited the supermarket, I seemed to see a lot of similar signs in the sky and on walls, and in objects scattered randomly around, as one does when reality is honed, it leaps forward in sharp details. And, also, it is in dissolve.
