Eternal Torch [Two Eulogy Poems]

Eternal Torch (V1)

Poem II by Sidi Najee dedicated to Ricki (RhA) on the fourth month of her voyage to the afterworld!

In the days of madness

In the nights of sadness

Only your light shows the way

Light the path, oh Eternal Torch!

In the weeks of noise

In the months of mispoise 

Only your radiance makes us calm

Light the path, oh Eternal Torch!

In the seasons of embers

In the years of scorched timbers

Only your calmness bathes us in coolness

Light the path, oh Eternal Torch!

In the centuries past and

In the centuries to come

Only your spirit can shine a light, so

Light the path, oh Eternal Torch!

In the torch a jewel shines

In the torch a name is inscribed 

Only you and your name therein

Let it be known that only Ricki

Is my incessant Eternal Torch

That shines with love

That brims with hope

That glows with so ever happy thoughts!

RhA ya Ummal Baneeni wal Banat!

Eternal Torch (V2)

Poem I by Sidi Najee dedicated to Ricki (RhA) on the fourth month of her voyage to the afterworld!

Love is light

And, light never ceases to exist.

Love is sight

That never goes blind and shall always resist.

Love is a beat

And, it never fades away in the cacophony of life.

Love is a breath

That keeps us alive despite all the suffering and strife.

Your love, Sweety, is the Eternal Torch

That shall forever guide my heart and revive it henceforth!

Note: These two poems were finished back in 10/13/20. 

Derivatives of Life & Integrals of Death (Act 2)

    My late father (RhA) teased me for bucking trends that most young man my age would take. He told me, "People start a family with two but you started one with four!" 

    What would a new immigrant do when the duties of fatherhood literally materialize overnight to care for a family and in a brand new country where the INS is not the friendliest of governmental agencies one would ever want to deal with? 

    A string of jobs had to begin, a fight for citizenship had to commence, and of course the drudgery of life renders all of us oblivious to the fact that death is grinding its way a picosecond at a time in an inevitable indefinite integral. For the uninitiated, the seconds we live add up to seconds we approach death. This summation that has no definite known boundaries is what math geeks would drily call an indefinite integral. 

    Heh, what a newlywed couple like us is to worry about? Ricki (RhA) and I were like teenagers then; we were approaching things as immortals. Sure we were from the get-go poor; a jobless immigrant Physix student and a special education student who just happens to be a supermom of two beautiful children. We were typical idealistic hippies who were determined to enjoy life and raise a family one way or another! Luckily for us, the grand parents generously allowed us to live in the home Ricki was living in at the time without rent to pay. So, odd part time jobs that deal with cash only were possible for me to undertake beside my PhD studies at MSU. The stipend I got as a TA coupled with the paperboy delivery and the carwash jobs, we were barely managing as a family. Love and unflinching belief in the goodness of fate were the antidotes that kept us moving forward. Love of one another, love of children, and love of life, as bitter and as harsh as it was for us then, did not stop the sensual lovemaking nor the childbearing! We were a children-making machine and a positivity-churning engine! 

    Yacin was born, a definite new inflection point and onto Act 3...

Note: This act was completed on 07/06/20.

I thought I had it all under control!

I thought I had it all under control! 

Written on 11/16/20 by Sidi Naajee 

I thought I had it all under control! 

Until a house anniversary knocked 

On my mind's door, a deluge of "what ifs", 

Of missed opportunities, of more pleasures, 

I could have showered my baby with, slammed 

Me so hard against the walls of the dam of new 

Realities, new normals, new times of sorrow!

I thought I had it all under control! 

Until our 34th wedding anniversary 

 Followed days later and the flow 

Of sadness came at the heels of the 

Ebb of regret for not doing enough 

To free my Sweety from the shackles 

Of cancer, the fangs of pain, the 

Bitterness of malady and side effects! 

I thought I had it all under control! 

Until her birthday rang its hollow bell. 

No candles to be lit today! 

My baby, The mother of my babies, her very 

Candle lost its wick, all melted in 

The world of eternal silence! 

I thought I had it all under control! 

But I fully resign myself to accepting 

That the hole in the heart is here to 

Stay, the jolts to the rational brain 

Are forever going to trigger tremors 

In the sediments of many years of 

Lasting sweet memories, full of 

Imaginable and unimaginable events, 

Experiences, and exchanges of our 

Forever intermingled, intertwined souls! 

I thought I had it all under control! *

Until Mother's Day sprang upon us. 

No wishes to be gifted and no gifts to be shared, 

No messages to be sent and hollowed hearts abound, 

The mother of all mothers left the mothership 

To an uncaptained crew lost in the shears of sorrow, 

The tears of grief, longing, loss, and unspeakable void! 

I thought I had it all under control! 

Until the first Ramadhan without my fasting twin came 

And the first Eid, without the most Eidful of ladies, dawned 

The mind had to wrestle with the inevitable, 

The soul had to swallow the pill of bitter 

Reality; my lady (RhA), my woman 

Is waiting for me, for us, for all 

Humanity in heaven, in Eden 

In a realm where love 

Never withers 

And peace 

Never 

Dies! 

 RaHimaki Allah (RIP) ya ummal banini wal banaat!

* These and what follows it were continued and added on 05/14/21

Derivatives of Life & Integrals of Death (Act 1)

Sixty-one days passed since the departure of my beloved wife (RhA) from this ephemeral world to the eternal one. May she rest in peace (RIP)!
To honor her memory and to attempt to wrestle with the void her departure had forever etched in my heart, I shall post milestones from our life together in a series of vignettes (also referred to as acts) titled, "Derivatives of Life & Integrals of Death". Below is Act 1!


       Differentiation and integration are at the heart of calculus, the math field that was the brainchild of two physicists of repute. Differentiation involves the use of derivatives, which are, at the heart of it, mere rates of change or slopes of curves and straight lines. Integration involves integrals, which are essentially summations of areas under curves and lines.
       So you might ask, "What does any of this relate to life and death?" Well on the face of it not really. But, this is what popped in my bewildered head in one of the dreams I had recently. I interpreted it as a means my brain was trying to rationalize and eulogize the recent death of my beloved wife, Ricki Rae Babcock Nadji (Rahimaha Allah [RhA], may Allah engulf her in His Mercy, which is in a sense the Muslim version of RIP). There must be a significance to the title and there has to be some hidden meaning to it; otherwise why would it just pop up into my head, and in a dream? Ricki (RhA) and I lived a life together that accepted fate as a norm. Espousing such a mantra in one's life means that things happen for a reason and as such one must trust that they would deliver them goods in the end. Thus, I decided to accept the title of this tribute and run with it and see where it would lend me in the realm of homage and grief writing.
       When dealing with derivatives, especially those of curves, one encounters the idea of inflection points. Those are points where the rates of rates of change undergo a change from positive to negative or vice versa. The first inflection point in our case was set in the fateful evening that Ricki and I first met. I was at a dance club on a Sunday evening, oldies night, when two women approached me. The song was "Surf City" by Jan and Dean and it meant that I would dance with the two of them. I love dancing; I happily accepted the offer but one of the two beauties definitely showed interest in me more than the other. The song ended and the following song was a slow one. Ricki signaled to me to remain on the dance floor to continue our dance; the interest was confirmed, the spark of passion was kindled, and the torch of love was forever lit!
       The encounter grew into encounters, the dance offer flowered into multiple dances, and the sparkle of love turned into a raging brilliance of sweetest of emotions. New Year's Eve party celebration, which Ricki arranged and planned throughout, marked a new inflection point in the burgeoning relationship. It became clear then that our love relationship was on a positive first derivative trend for good. The following summer I had to leave for Algeria to straighten my governmental paperwork. The three-month separation was atrocious and the relationship underwent a negative slope were it not for the letters; yes, old fashioned snail-mail letters! Ricki and I penned a flood of love letters back and forth. Ricki's were monsoonish while mine were pendular. I was miserable and so was she; the Atlantic separation felt like a galactic one, no a universe-wide separation was more like it. A pivotal moment of both of our lives, the mother of all inflection points, came in a marriage proposal that witnessed its birth within two lines in betwixt two of those summer romantic letters. Destiny took its course, life etched its fate, and our lives became forever intertwined!
       The wedding was swiftly set and Islamically blessed in the Masjid of Lansing as soon as I returned to the US. The celebration was not extravagant, the cake was delicious but humble, and the atmosphere was charged with love, tenderness, and the sweet company of closest of family members and friends. But as soon as the reveling subsided, the realities of life hit us with a new inflection point.

Act 2 shall follow...

Eulogy to The Mother of All Kids*

Mothers come and mothers go

But how can The Mother of All Kids ever go?

Women rise and women fall

But how can cancer subdue The Womanest of them all?

She fought The Fight of All Fights

For thirteen years and thirteen nights!

Never complained and never did she whine

The Mother of All Kids toasted it all as a sip of halal wine!

If humanity had half her patience 

Peace would paint the whole earth with its fragrance!

Thirty days ago I bid farewell to my beloved wife

To The Mother of All Kids, the partner of my full life!

No tears can help, no sadness can suffice

For how can one put a price 

On losing not just the mother of my kids

But also, The Mother of All Kids?

🌹🌷💐❣️🙏🏽❤️☮️💚☮️💙🙏🏽❣️💐🌷🌹

Rest In Peace Sweety & 

May Allah (SWT) Engulf you in His Infinite Mercy!

* My beloved wife (RhA/RIP) ran a daycare and as such she was The Mother of All Kids, not just the mother of our lovely eight kids!

Uber Dad!

Rest in peace dearest of fathers, coolest of teachers, and surest of companions!

The Proud American: An Immigrant Story

Nine young men, it is shame that there were no young ladies amongst them, set foot on the sidewalk of a greyhound bus station in Davis, California. The befuddled looks of newcomers were written all over their youthful aspiring faces. The bewilderment that accompanies people when they land on a new continent where the language is not their mother tong, where the culture is one hundred eighty degrees differently-oriented from their own, and where the belief system is beyond hyper-foreign to theirs defies descriptions and paints their brown faces with the darkest colors of the void.

But, as soon as the masks of the unknown sculpted the shapes of their weary faces, car after car started pulling in front of their frail bodies that endured miles of pressurized air and hours of tightly seated conditions to pick each one of them at a time. The car drivers were like valets but without the uniforms, without the expectations of payments, and without even the thought of being showered with thanks in return.

A skinny curly night-haired and bicycle-moustached fellow was greeted by the gentlest and wisest of gentlemen to enter a sports car that beamed with opulence and fanciness. The gestures did the speaking, the smiles did the greeting, and the beyond-obvious kindness did the reassuring that care, love, and peace are to ensue. The drive was brief, luscious with green sceneries, and featured roads that were spacious beyond belief.

The car pulled into the driveway of a beautiful house. The ever-so-kind gentleman signaled for the traveler to enter to be greeted by the classiest and gentlest of women. The beaming eyes, the genuine Mona Lisa like smiles, and the healing gestures did the talking for this fairest and sweetest of women any human being can ever dream to encounter.

The intellectual fellow, in his fifties, disappeared for a while to return with a whiteboard that he set on an easel-like tripod. English lesson one began in a flash. Names were established; he was Dr. Burt Butler and his beloved wife became known as Mrs. Butler. The travel-wary foreigner became known to the two of them as Taoufik Nadji (me); the Algerian young man who came to Davis to learn English at the ExtensionCenter (EC) for three quarters before embarking on a masters degree in theoretical physics in the United States of America.

I stayed for a week, I believe, during which more English lessons ensued and more of my EC matters have wonderfully been sorted out. Dr. Butler also assisted me with my housing rental arrangements and with the bank account opening. At the house, Mrs. Butler made sure I was fed because my skinny body then suggested possible lack of nourishment (this was not the case at all; I was just a skinny dude whose dietary habits were unusual and riddled with allergic reactions to a variety of foods.)

Once I settled in my rental apartment near the campus of UC Davis with three other Algerian classmates and as soon as my English classes began, Dr. Butler would come every two weeks or so. He would pick me up and take me to spend the weekend with his family. As my English improved, our conversations became more extensive and more of our respective personal lives unfolded before our dreamy eyes and curious minds. The bond strengthened to the point that they began taking me to some of their friendly social functions, openhearted religious events, and exceedingly welcoming opulent parties.

I can never forget the Christmas party where the guests were local dignitaries, politicians, and hotshot business people from the greater Davis area. The glamor and the breathtaking extravagant nature of the party never distracted Dr. Butler from his self-imposed generous host duties. He walked with me along the long table that was adorned with all kinds of cuisine delicacies. He pointed to each of the food items to let me know which ones were halal (that a Muslim can consume) and which ones were not. He and Mrs. Butler did not miss any single opportunity to introduce me to their acquaintances and friends with full pride despite my simple-kid look.

My studies at the EC in Davis ended and I had to go back to Algeria for the summer to get ready for my next American stop the fall of that year. While in Algeria, the Butlers and I exchanged letters and did so for three or so more years. The last letter that I had gotten from them before I regrettably lost contact with them was dated July 27, 1986. This letter was the epitome of how people of various cultures ought to establish bonds of humanity, kindness, and genuine selfless love with one another. It along with the way the Butlers, my American parents, have welcomed me in their fold and embraced me as a member of their family defined, in my mind, what America is truly all about. No events since and no scheming of any over-zealous politicians afterwards were, are, or will ever be going to efface this image of America that I have become part of its essence, its fabric, and its sublime set of grand values, all thanks to this most caring and most generous of couples.

This story of mine is not unique nor singular. Numerous other immigrants must have enjoyed the generosity of my fellow Americans throughout the ages. It is sad that in the name of hollow patriotism, some heartless politicians decided to stoop so low as to separate immigrants from their children or mistreat immigrants as if they were a burden on our country. Nope, these sheepish un-American acts are not going to be carried out in my name, under my star spangled banner, and above all not on the pure soil of our land of the free and our home of the brave. America’s generosity and her beatitude are not going to be effaced by the acts of the few amongst us. The orientation of our moral compass is steadier than ever.

Update and Eulogy:

In my attempts to try to connect with the Butlers, I sadly found out that Dr. Butler passed away in 2017. My grief and my sadness are immeasurable on many grounds:

(i)                    Loosing such a noble human being before I was able to re-re-re-thank him and his beloved wife for their welcoming me in their lives is a grave loss in and of itself.

(ii)                   Not knowing about the passing away of Dr. Butler soon enough so that I would have paid my respects and attended the funeral to share his wife and his family their grief and their grave loss was beyond describable and sad. My biological father (RhA) passed away three years earlier back in Algeria and this new loss only compounded the feeling of emptiness and void these two great individuals left behind. 

(iii)                 I did not known that the Butlers resettled in Sacramento. I visited this very same city back in the summer of 2016 as a presenter at the American Association of Physics Teacher (AAPT). Had I known that this was the case, I would have loved to connect with them then. But, what can one do when fate takes a course different from some of one’s own wishes.

Rest in peace, dear American father, and may Allah (SWT) [God] reward you for all the wonderful things you have done for me and for the countless great deeds you have showered upon individuals whose life paths crossed yours. God bless you and bless your whole family for eternity.