Keith looked around, confused as to what the people around him were doing. They did this weird action thing with their hands, and kept on changing positions, not like when you got to church, where you just stay in one position asking for whatever you want. And even when they were in these weird positions, they kept on whispering things three times in Arabic. What on earth are they saying? He thought to himself, frowning at how hard he found it.
He just followed the movements, copying the man beside him. When the prayer finished, the Muslims made another prayer, this time a bit like the Christians, cupping their hands together, and asking for what they need.
He stood up to go, and as he made his way to the door, he found a lot of people staring at him, some in wonder- mostly the younger kids, some eager to talk to him- mostly the teenagers and men in their early twenties, and some looking at him in utter disgrace – mostly the oldies.
He nearly felt obliged to turn back and stay at the mosque when he saw the teenagers’ reaction, but frowned and turned the door handle when the saw the looks of disgrace.
“Ya Akh!” he was approached by a boy who looked about seventeen. “Where are you going? Come and stay, so we can give you some Da’wah.” the boy’s face glowed reassuringly when Keith had frowned, and he beckoned Keith towards him.
“What’s…Da’wah?” he said, pronouncing it completely differently in an English accent, rather than the well tailored Arabic one that the boy had.
“What?” the boy looked confused.
“That thing that you said to me in Arabic.”
“Ohhh, Da’wah!” his face broke into a smile, “That’s when you preach Islam – as in teach it to some one who doesn’t know.”
“Right, OK.. So what can you teach me?” he said, rubbing his hands together. The boy was about to start, and opened his mouth to speak, but no sound came out. “What?” Keith asked, waiting for the explanation.
“Your phone is ringing.” the boy pointed out.
“Yes, I can see that, but it’s only my girlfriend. I’m sure she can wait.” he said, carefully pronouncing every word.
“There are three things wrong with that.”
Keith sighed. “Really? What?”
“Number one: Your ring tone has music in it. Music is haraam – forbidden – in Islam. Number two: You said it was your girlfriend. Any relationship with the opposite gender is forbidden before you marry that person. And Number three: Your phone should either be off or on silent when you enter the Masjid.”
“Oh, OK.” after doing all these things, Keith looked back at the boy, and asked if he could be excused.
“Why?” Came the response.
“Because I’ve been dying for a ciggie ever since I entered this place!”
It was the boy’s turn to sigh. “Wow, We have got a lot to get through…” he muttered
Amatullah growled at the TV screen as she put her popcorn down, and paused the programme she was watching very intently: Bones.
“Coming!” she screamed as she ran upstairs to her room to get her jilbab that was hanging on the back of her door. She hurriedly put it on, and raced back downstairs, opening the door slowly to check who it was, then swinging it wide open when she found out it was Asiyah.
“Asiyah!” she screamed, annoyed at her little sister who interrupted her faithful watching of Bones.
“Yes Amatullah, my dear sister?” she cooed sarcastically.
“Don’t you have your keys? Eh?” Amatullah demanded, stomping back to her nice warm spot, which made her dismayed that it had cooled down.
“You know I lost them. You don’t have to rub it in my face…” she huffed slopping her bags and herself in the space next to Amatullah
“Ok, sorry…” Amatullah bent down to pick the remote of the floor, when she saw a figure outside their front door. She got up and made her way to the door, shivering as she passed down the hallway. When she saw the figure, she gasped, unable to speak.
“Well, hello Amatullah.” the figure said, “Nice to see you again.”