Oh Cairo, Ya Qahira
All of Egypt expands in my lungs
So heavily laden is your scent -
It is both noxious and obnoxious
Exhilarating and exalting
Addicting and sensuous as my husband’s cologne -
So complex is your corporate perfume

The warm grassy smell of fresh donkey dung
Permeates the carbon monoxide
And the alcoholic scent of rotting grapes
And the spicy sweet smell of sticky dried dates
And fish in all stages of life to decay
And the flowery scent of the golden guava
Whose smell tastes better than her flavor

It is an intoxicating, toxic perfume
Of donkeys and horses, sheep and men
All equally common in this congestion
Equally carrying his own right of way
Even on the busiest highways and byways
Spewing forth fumes from huge diesel trucks,
Minivans, motorcycles, taxis and buses

Wooden donkey carts painted brightly with flowers
Hauling mountains of pungent manure
Vying with tour buses, bikes and cars,
Pedestrians and tourists on scooters
And horse carts stacked with crates to the sky
Stuffed with cucumbers, lemons and tomatoes,
Oranges, persimmons, peas and beans, peppers and potatoes

And little boys tapping their sticks on the street
As they guide their huge herds of sheep
Claustrophobically close in musky huddles
Travelling like moving piles of dust
Transporting flies as they shuffle
Obliviously precariously bleating and crying
Through the chaotically crowded streets

Everything exudes its own special smell
Contributing to the corporate perfume
Of millions of closely-knit families
Of millions of husband’s colognes
Of musks and lavenders, jasmine and rose -
The incense of life burns day and night -
Burning trash, burning fields, burning passions

Burning tears in a poor child’s eyes
His clothes smell bad and he opens his hand
Begging for money, and speaking to me
I tell him by Arabic that I don’t know Arabic
And he looks at me like I am crazy
I haven’t a coin to my name at this moment
And I look back like I can’t explain

If I could speak his language
What would I say?
I would probably be just as speechless
I stand dumb-founded trying to imagine
What could possibly make a difference
Then my husband appears and shoos him away
With a coin and a word of encouragement

I link my arm in his arm and I smile
At his gentle face, his heart full of kindness,
His mastery of tough situations,
A smile of gratified satiation
It’s the smile of a love-struck bride
And then with a grin of uncanny understanding
He guides me off into the night

The life that clings to the lifeless.
The tender quivers of a last breath.
The gentle letting go.

Falling.

The vapor that is left behind.
The clutching of moments.
The evaporation.
The faded existence.

Gone.

August 13 2011 Emma Apple. Inspired by raindrops and the East Africa famine. The title describes the circumstances of the inspiration and the division between the power and the powerless that has contributed to the disaster in East Africa.

If we are a reflection of each other then why cant I see you?

How long she was waiting
To taste his fingers on her lips!
And now that the waiting is over,
Tell me what tastes better –
The fingers or the food?

And which is more exquisite –
The fingers or the lips?
Everything is a gift from Allah
Who Was, and Shall Be, and Is

Close your eyes and food is exquisite
After a few weeks of fasting
Open your eyes and look outside
The rosy fingers of Mahgrib
Are offering us morsels of love

-Aisha Abdelhamid

As local communities, the media, politicians and the government deal with the aftermath and question the causes of this social unrest, it is perhaps inevitable that many will feel a sense of hopelessness and pessimism about the future of the young generation, and society as a whole.

But amidst all the chaos of last week, there was a moment that I hope inshallah (God willing) will be a turning point for the image and portrayal of Muslims and Islam. For in the face of adversity, one man in particular demonstrated the ultimate virtue of patience (sabr).

I am referring to the widely acknowledged dignified and graceful speech given by a British Muslim father in response to the murder of his son. Haroon Jahan was one of three men knocked down by a car as they tried to protect their local community in Birmingham. Rather than venting his anger and revenge, Haroon’s father, Tariq Jahan called for peace and an end to the riots. I watched his response, and it was an extremely moving and heart-rending moment. This man had lost his son in such a shocking manner, yet he showed such restraint and humanity. It was a profound moment, made all the more so when he spoke of his deep faith. When asked if he blamed the government or the police for his son’s murder, he said he did not, and replied simply,

“I’m a Muslim, I believe in divine fate and destiny, and it was his destiny and fate, and now he’s gone. And may Allah forgive him and bless him.”

A faith, which is so vilified by certain parts of society and the media, appeared to be a source of comfort and inspiration for this man as he grappled with the death of his child.

Naturally, Tariq Jahan’s simple and heartfelt appeal for calm attracted praise and sheer respect from the Prime Minister in his statement to the House of Commons, the Chief Constable of West Midlands police, to even Twitter paying homage. I even read in The Sunday Times that the leader of the anti-Islamic English Defence League (EDL), Stephen Lennon, was amazed by Tariq Jahan’s response, and declared he would hold a minute’s silence at one of their meetings in honour of Haroon Jahan.

What I found remarkable was reading some comments from members of the public who had felt ashamed of prejudiced attitudes towards Muslims and were now experiencing a change of heart. Even if it was only one person, it is better than nothing.

This is a powerful reminder of how behaviour breeds behaviour; we should constantly be aware of how our actions will in turn influence people’s actions and beliefs. The fact that a British Muslim has inspired thousands, changed attitudes and been held up as a role model is for me one of the most incredible moments from last week.

(reprinted from In Search of the Crystal Stair by R. Abdur Rahim 2004)

Part 4 (Read Part 1, Part 2 & Part 3)

Here, Fatimah was now, in another country, sitting with people from different parts of the world and from all walks of life. The people in between their prayers began to interact with one another. One family turned towards   Fatimah, and welcomed her warmly. Smiling and gesturing her to speak. They had been born into the lives that they lived as Muslims, here was a woman in their midst, who had come a different route to get to this point in her life. They were all ears as they listened to her story, so different from theirs, and yet, so similar. Their curiosity about how Fatimah came to be a Muslim drove the whole conversation. Through an interpreter, a small dark woman who spoke perfect English, Fatimah haltingly told her story. They gently prodded her with questions about her life. Fatimah shyly and haltingly answered their questions, then, gaining more confidence she plunged into the story of her conversion to Islam.

She told them of her youth, her discovery of Islam through family friends, Beverly, her mentor, and the struggles Fatimah went through to hold on to her own identity as a Muslim youth at home and in her community. She told the story of how her mother finally accepted Islam, only a year before her death.  She finally took a deep breath and continued, “So I’m here today to make Hajj for my mother. She was never able to make it.” As she gazed around the tent, it was silent, and she saw tears in the eyes of each and every person. They all seemed to acknowledge the reason and beauty of Fatimah being there with them that day, sitting in a tent , on the plains of Arafat, so far away from home, and yet, truly at home. Tariq spoke to Fatimah , cutting into her meditations, “ Mom, we’re going to leave at sunset to go to Muzdalifah.” At Muzdalifah they would pick up tiny pebbles which they would use to complete the last parts of the Hajj rights.

The last few days went by in a whirl, soon the pilgrimage was over, and the pilgrims headed home. It was on her return home from the Hajj that Fatimah broke down, shedding tears of gratitude, to Allah (God). She had completed her journey and she hoped it would be accepted by Allah. It was then, that she finally realized that her personal life had been marked by many treks, trials and tribulations, and yes, triumphs. Weren’t these ups and downs all a part of the crystal staircase? Life wasn’t meant to be easy, was it? It was a testing ground, a stopping off place for man wasn’t it? A temporary abode for sure.

Fatimah said a prayer of thanks to Allah for permitting her to travel this sometimes rocky road. She gave thanks to Allah for her mother who had given birth to her, and supported her through the years with her love and her optimism. Her mother had always seemed to be climbing the crystal stair. Had she found the peace and tranquility before she departed this life?

“I think so,” smiled Fatimah to herself as she sighed out loud.

(reprinted from In Search of the Crystal Stair by R. Abdur Rahim 2004)

Part 3 (Read Part 1 & Part 2)

It was now the ninth day of the month of Hajj. It was the most important day of Hajj for the pilgrims, It was the day of Arafat. This was the day that all of the pilgrims gathered on the flat arid desert plains called Arafat, and offered their prayers, asking for forgiveness from their Lord, reciting many verses from the Quran, listening to inspiring lectures and sharing large plates of steaming hot rice and lamb. Fatimah was so happy as she said to Tariq with a smile, “Son, this is the first time that I have come this far without getting sick.”  Tariq smiled and gently patted his mother’s hand.

White tents spread all across the desert plains. Each tent housed people from different parts of the world. When Fatimah and Tariq entered the tent that they shared with several other families, Tariq greeted the inhabitants “As salaam u Alaikum” peace be on you, “My name is Tariq, and this is my mother Fatimah.” “Wa alaikum as salaam, ahlan, ahlan,” returned an old man who was dressed in the traditional garb of a pilgrim. He wore two white pieces of cloth. One piece was wrapped around his waist and fell to his lower calves, the second piece was draped around his shoulders. On the floor in front of the opening to the large tent were many pairs of thongs (sandals), belonging to the inhabitants of the tent. Tariq was dressed in identical clothing. The Muslim men were gathered at one part of the tent, and the women were together at another section . The exterior of the tent was a plain white canvas, but the interior was a rainbow of beautiful colors trimmed with beautiful Arabic calligraphy depicting verses from the Holy Quran. The oriental carpets were soft under their feet.

The pilgrims sat with heads either bowed low or lifted upward in prayer, hands open and stretched palms reaching out  towards the heavens. Their faces shone with peace, and their lips moved in barely audible prayers. Fatimah’s voice joined in with the others as she whispered softly, “My Lord, Allah, please grant me Your forgiveness and Your mercy, please accept my Hajj.”

The hot, dusty air gently blew the flap of the tent to and fro in a lulling sound, and Fatimah’s heart was filled with peace. In this sacred place it is believed Adam and Eve met each other again , many years after being expelled from the gardens of paradise.

Check back for the final Part soon inshaAllah!

(reprinted from In Search of the Crystal Stair by R. Abdur Rahim 2004)

Part 2 (Read Part 1)

When Fatimah and her son arrived at Jeddah’s International Airport, she felt the hot, humid wind blowing against her long dress. She looked up at the star filled sky as she descended the airplane steps, and felt the thrill of being in Saudi Arabia once again. The airport transit bus was loaded with people from all over the world, speaking many different languages. This was her son Tariq’s first visit to Saudia, and he was watching everything with amazement. Never had he seen so many people crowed into buses like this before. His eyes were wide with amazement. The people in turn stared at him. He was tall, handsome and impressive looking in his sparkling white thobe. In their minds they were wondering if he was a dignitary from abroad.

The lines moved snake like through the customs booths. On the street outside of the airport, many men with moving carts hawked their trade. They were independent porters. Though the crowds were large, they were well controlled by the security police moving among them. Even the police seemed religious as they asked the crowds to move here or there. They interspersed their conversation with the words “BismiAllah, Humdulilah and Allah u Akbar.” “In the Name of God, All praise is due to God, and God is the Greatest.”

Finally Fatimah and Tariq were through customs and outside in front of the airport. People sat and laid on the ground outside the airport, waiting for rides or just resting after their long trip. This was the journey of their lives , a journey that they were required to make once in their lifetime, if they could afford it, the Hajj.

Fatimah and Tariq rode in a small air conditioned minibus on the crowded road to Mekka. She gazed in wonderment at the trucks pilled high with people of all ages and nationalities, many were barely clinging to the tops and sides of the crowded buses. Some of the pilgrims were so old that their bodies looked as fragile as delicate straws. Yet they clung to the sides and backs of the many buses that lumbered along the roads, passengers clinging on for dear life.

On the bus beside the mini van, sat one very frail looking , elderly man. He sat atop the bus on a large bundle of belongings, his eyes were closed as though he were asleep, every now and then his body would jerk into wakefulness. . The bus swayed from side to side and Fatimah was certain that the man would tumble off of the bus, he never did.

Everywhere people were reciting the traditional prayer of Hajj “Labaika la huma Labaik” “I am coming to serve you O Lord, here I am” The beauty of seeing so large a mass of humanity gathering in one place to worship their Lord was overwhelming.

>> Go on to Part 3

(reprinted from In Search of the Crystal Stair by R. Abdur Rahim 2004)

Fatimah and her son were prepared to leave for a pilgrimage to the Holy City of Mekka. She had made three previous pilgrimages to the Holy City in Saudi Arabia. She realized that Hajj was an obligation and a goal for all able bodied Muslims to fulfill at least once in their life, if they could afford the journey. Fatimah intended to perform this Hajj for her mother, who had never made Hajj.

Her mother had been dead nine years now, and Fatimah decided  to make this (her fourth Hajj) for her mother. Somehow, Fatimah felt that this would be her final Hajj. She had prepared for this pilgrimage very carefully. She put all of her personal affairs  in order . She had made out her will, paid her bills, and made sure that any other problems had been taken care of. In her suitcase, along with other items for travel, she carried a white cotton dress, large white scarf and a pair of simple white shoes. She also carried her medicine which she now had to take daily for her blood pressure.

Fatimah wasn’t sure if she would be as physically fit as she was when she had made her last Hajj almost twenty years ago. She sighed as she remembered that she had gotten sick the last time and almost had to remain in Jeddah. She had gone to Saudi Arabia with a group of Muslims from America and Canada. It had been exceptionally hot that year, and the heat had to taken its toll on her. She wasn’t  able to quench her thirst no matter how much water she drank. Fatimah had heat exhaustion. Her temperature had risen quickly though she swallowed the warm water in big gulps, and even though it was warm, she didn’t care. Fatimah was unable to cool off. The guides finally put her in an air conditioned room at the lodging hall, and a wonderful Chinese Muslim sister  from Canada, who was also a nurse, had volunteered to sit with her. The sister, Kareema, sat all through the day encouraging Fatimah, to drink liquids and helping her get up to walk to the bathroom to throw up. “That sister  was really like an angel, I think I would have died if she hadn’t helped me,” remembered  Fatimah.

So, this time, Fatimah wondered if her health would hold up for the rigorous rituals of the Hajj. The walking in the hot sun, moving from place to place at appointed times and foods that she wasn’t accustomed to. She would just have to put her trust in Allah (God) to help her.

>> Go on to Part 2

That last one especially makes me chuckle a bit inside, although I try not to be rude when confronted with it, because really: we were blessed with twenty four hours every day by Allah (God) so how can praying for maybe three of those (and that’s including Sunnah and Taraweeh prayers) be SO MUCH?

I can understand how others may feel Islam is especially strict in comparison to other religions.  But to put it simply, we do not have any more rules than any other religion; we just still try our best to follow them as the original Muslims did insh’Allah (God-willing), instead of shifting or bending them to fit modern life more easily.

In my last diary entry I talked a bit about fasting and the reasoning behind it.  I attempted to answer a couple of the most common questions I’ve been addressed with by non-Muslims, and tried to clear up a few misunderstandings that seem to persist.  I thought it was only fair after covering one of our five basic “Pillars” or requirements of Muslims, that I should address the other four.

Faith…Prayer…Charity…Pilgrimage

When we talk of faith, we don’t mean faith in a general sense.  Faith when relating to Islam specifically indicates faith in only One God, and the knowledge that Muhammad was His messenger.  When one chooses to revert/convert to Islam there is a statement that is made, usually in front of an imam (head of a Mosque or Masjid) along with another one or two witnesses.  This statement is referred to as the Shahada and is said in Arabic.

Ashadu an la ilaha ila Llah, Muhammad ir Rasoolu’Llah.

There is no god except God (Allah) and Muhammad is His messenger.

To Muslims, especially converts, those simple words can bring tears to your eyes.  Witnessing someone take their shahada is probably the single most uplifting, emotional experience that Muslims can have (other than taking their shahada themselves).  This faith is the first pillar of Islam and is quite simple and straightforward.  Muslims do not believe in a trinity, or the status of Jesus as God’s son.  We believe in one god (Allah) and in the importance of Muhammad as His messenger, the one who received the revelations of the Qur’an.

The second of the five pillars is prayer.  In Islam there are two different types of prayer, the required (fard) prayers that we must say throughout the day, and supplemental prayers (du’a) that we can make whenever we feel the need for support, guidance, or protection as we live our daily lives.  Many non-Muslims have asked me why we pray SO MUCH.  According to authentic (sahih) stories (hadith) that have been passed down by scholars throughout the generations, Allah (God) first commanded His followers to complete fifty prayers a day.  Prophet Muhammad ascended with the angel Gabriel to the heavens to beg on the people’s behalf that we would not be able to complete this number of prayers a day.  After much begging, Allah commanded that we complete only five prayers a day, and we would still receive the rewards as though we had completed all fifty.  (Sahih Bukhari Volume 1, Book 8, #345)  The fact that we are given the reward for fifty prayers, by completing only five shows how merciful Allah is, and is an example of how although the guidelines in Islam may seem more strict, there is great reward in abiding by them.  Five prayers a day may seem to non-Muslims to be a lot of time spent in prayer, but it is also time that prevents a person from falling idle, committing sins, or otherwise wasting time.  It is much easier to spend this time praying than to spend it suffering from the effects of our behavior.

In Islam we are required to give charity to others.  We refer to this charity as Zakaat The purpose of Zakaat is to spread wealth throughout the community, to prevent us from becoming greedy or miserly, and to help us to remember others during times of need.  The importance of Zakaat is revealed in the Qur’an, as well as hadith.  Although the giving of Zakaat may seem to others to be hard, especially in tough economical times, it is shown in many hadith that giving something even as small as a half of a date will be rewarded.

“Save yourself from Hell-fire even by giving half a date-fruit in charity.” (Sahih Bukhari Volume 2, Book 24, #498)

The pilgrimage that Muslims are required to make is called Hajj.  Hajj is a time of symbolically stripping away people’s social and economic standing, by wearing simple garments, traveling to Makkah and completing seven rotations around the Ka’ba, as well as seven trips between Mount Safa and Mount Marwa.  At the end of this journey all the pilgrims join together in prayer, a time that is the most uplifting and spiritually moving experience in a Muslims’ life.  After Hajj is over there is a huge celebration called Eid Al-Adha that includes prayer, and exchanging gifts.   Although Hajj may seem to others to be demanding and difficult, it is only required of those physically and economically able to make the trip.

When asked if it is “hard” to be Muslim, or when confronted with skeptics who view it as too demanding I like to counter with this thought:  Which is harder, to prostrate yourself in front of your Creator five times a day and beg for forgiveness, or to pull yourself out of a life of sin or despair that was caused by too much idle time and a lack of direction?  Which is harder, to share your wealth a bit with others who are worse off than you, or to be one of the “worse off” with no one to turn to because you refused to help anyone when you had the chance?  Which is harder: to stay strong in your imaan and avoid drinking alcohol, abstain from improper relationships with the opposite sex, and steer clear of gambling and cheating; or to lose the respect of your family, your relationships with your loved ones, and your potential for a good future due to alcoholism, pre-marital and extra-marital affairs and  excessive debt?

This is exactly why when someone approaches me with their concerns over the “strictness” of Islam, and pity me that I don’t have any fun in my life I just smile.  You can have your fun.  I don’t need it, I have my faith…my prayer…my fasting…my charity…and my pilgrimage.  And I am happy with that.  Alhamdulillah.