Barakah Doesnโ€™t Swipe

๐—•๐—ฎ๐—ฟ๐—ฎ๐—ธ๐—ฎ๐—ต ๐—ฑ๐—ผ๐—ฒ๐˜€๐—ป’๐˜ ๐˜€๐˜„๐—ถ๐—ฝ๐—ฒ!

(A thought provoking analysis summing up our life compared to our elders’ lifestyle – as shared on some social media platforms)

Our grandparents built homes with ๐—ผ๐—ป๐—ฒ ๐—ถ๐—ป๐—ฐ๐—ผ๐—บ๐—ฒ. But they also built lives with one intention: to stretch what they had, not chase what they didnโ€™t.

 

They didnโ€™t ๐˜€๐—ถ๐—ฝ ๐—ผ๐—ป ๐—ฅ๐Ÿณ๐Ÿฑ ๐—น๐—ฎ๐˜๐˜๐—ฒ๐˜€ ๐—ผ๐—ฟ ๐—ธ๐—ฎ๐—ฟ๐—ฎ๐—ธ ๐—ฐ๐—ต๐—ฎ๐—ถ in cafรฉs with imported cinnamon. They boiled ๐˜๐—ฒ๐—ฎ ๐—น๐—ฒ๐—ฎ๐˜ƒ๐—ฒ๐˜€ till the pot stained, poured it into chipped cups, and called it enough.

 

They didnโ€™t ๐˜€๐—ฐ๐—ฟ๐—ผ๐—น๐—น ๐—บ๐—ฒ๐—ป๐˜‚๐˜€. They opened cupboards, found onions, lentils, maybe a tomato; and made a meal that ๐—ณ๐—ฒ๐—ฑ ๐˜๐˜„๐—ฒ๐—น๐˜ƒ๐—ฒ. Because the house was full – of children, cousins, neighbours who popped in โ€œjust for teaโ€; and stayed for dhal and roti.

 

๐—ข๐—ป๐—ฒ ๐—ฝ๐—ผ๐˜. No measurements. Just instinct, barakah, and love. Somehow, everyone ate, even the uncle who arrived late with a story and no warning.

 

They didnโ€™t have ๐—บ๐—ฒ๐—ฎ๐—น ๐—ฝ๐—น๐—ฎ๐—ป๐˜€. They had sabr. They didnโ€™t count calories.

They counted blessings.

 

๐—ฃ๐—ต๐—ผ๐—ป๐—ฒ๐˜€ didnโ€™t unlock with a face.

They hung on the wall or the sat atop the sideboard cupboard in the diningroom.

 

There was ๐—ผ๐—ป๐—ฒ ๐˜€๐—ฐ๐—ฟ๐—ฒ๐—ฒ๐—ป…in the lounge; and if your father chose the channel, you watched – even if it was news in a language you didn’t understand.

 

Now every room has a screen. The toddler has a tablet. The tween has a phone with more ๐—ฎ๐—ฝ๐—ฝ๐˜€ ๐˜๐—ต๐—ฎ๐—ป ๐—ฑ๐˜‚๐—ฎ๐˜€, and we wonder why we canโ€™t afford rent.

 

We race through ๐—๐—ผ๐—ฏ๐˜‚๐—ฟ๐—ด in ๐—•๐— ๐—ช๐˜€, Jeeps, and Land Rovers – chasing time, chasing status, chasing silence.

But Nana drove a simple Nissan bakkie, the kind with a bench seat in front, and children packed in the back like joy itself – no seatbelts, just wind, laughter, and a packet of Nik Naks passed around.

 

We say weโ€™re broke, but our carts are full. We say weโ€™re tired, but our calendars are self-inflicted.

 

We say weโ€™re ๐—ฑ๐—ถ๐˜€๐—ฐ๐—ผ๐—ป๐—ป๐—ฒ๐—ฐ๐˜๐—ฒ๐—ฑ, but we havenโ€™t prayed maghrib with the family in weeks. We say weโ€™re overwhelmed, but we havenโ€™t touched the Quraan since last Ramadhaan.

 

We give thousand-rand ๐—ฑ๐—ฒ๐˜ƒ๐—ถ๐—ฐ๐—ฒ๐˜€ to children. We eat meals delivered by Uber Eats or Mr D, from places we didnโ€™t visit.

 

We ๐—ฐ๐—ต๐—ฎ๐˜€๐—ฒ ๐—ฐ๐—ผ๐—บ๐—ณ๐—ผ๐—ฟ๐˜, but forget that comfort was once a mattress on the floor, a fan in summer, and your duas before sleeping.

 

Dada didnโ€™t have 47 debit orders.

He had one bank card, or a post office savings account; and a wife who reminded him to pray Esha salaah before bed.

 

Nani didnโ€™t have bhakoor or scented candles labelled โ€œTranquility.โ€ She lit lobaan and let the scent ‘carry’ her prayers.

 

Barakah doesnโ€™t swipe.

It doesnโ€™t stream.

It doesnโ€™t arrive in a branded paper bag.

 

It lives in the quiet.

In the cracked mug.

In the walk to the masjid.

In the meal made from memory.

In the dua whispered before sleep.

So donโ€™t ask why the elders could build. Ask what they didnโ€™t waste.