TIGblogs - Salma

I think to describe myself as feisty would be an understatement. Especially for my husband, who I am sure dread my moments of creative, and not so creative outbursts. It is a huge understatement, in fact. No one knows me better than A, (maybe my sister), but I believe they also see different sides of me.

At times there is a dramatic, crazy, whining girl, who just cannot accept and be thankful for Allah's mercy. Other times, it seems to come out of nowhere, and hit me like a ton of bricks. It is in these moments that my husband, and friends will agree I am most humble. We are not perfect, (I am no where close) but insha'Allah, our journey will continue to take us one step close to Jannah (ameen).

I worked with the homeless, mentally ill, drug-addicted population for years. I saw sides of humanity I thought only existed in books, and possibly Hollywood movies. How sad and overwhelming these times were for me. But also, how strong and resilient these individuals were. These young men and women who were deemed as untouchables or undesirables, eventually touched my life in a way I never expected. Wahalli, I began to see the world as it was, not from my rose coloured alternative space I called denial, where I spent most of my days locked away feeling sorry for myself.

Over a period of five years I saw strange, dramatic and wondrous aspects of personal growth among the people I had come to truly care for. This growth, this progression was sometimes over-looked, or cast aside, because it simply was not deemed to measure up to "our" standards (although even I am unaware of just what our standards were).
The bittersweet moments in which I was forced into a cobweb of life's mysteries and realities...dying, living, reintegrating ...striving...coping and recovering, truly helped me decide that I would rather walk amongst these people, than strive to be above them. I learned that we do not measure our strength by what we have never struggled for, and that we can NEVER make a difference, when we look at "others" and label them as different. Thus, when I finally emerged from the labyrinth of endless possibilities I was aching to do something...anything that would be positive.. a broad definition, isn't it? But it was a start.

I first met M, in my second year at the shelter. We closed the dorms and general facilities every morning, approximately half and hour after I got into the office, and re-opened at lunch time..11:30 actually. M, a 20 year old Somalian refugee would come in every after-noon, needing to use the facilities (washroom) and our Chapel. M, was not only a refugee, but a victim of torture in the war. He was deeply psychologically affected and I was warned that although he had never committed an act of violence, there was a possibility. I attempted to follow the rules..."No clients in the shelter between this and that hours..).

However, M, was persistent. Well, I too was a persistent little thing. I was always in the line of fire, trying to stay one step ahead of the possible moments manipulations that could, and did occur. I argued with M many times telling him the same rules, in a million different ways, with various examples, and possibly a hint of a split personally. After all, how many times can you say the same thing, to the same person, be faced with resistance and not go insane. I don't even want to know...

Finally one afternoon I could not help but articulate in a different manner that I could not go along with the continuous charade. I was not prepared for what happened next. I invited M to sit for a minute and speak with me. We were constantly in a state of conflict, thus I can say blankly that I believe he hated me. Reluctantly, he sat down in a burgundy leather chair on the opposite end of the room (laugh :). I asked him why it was so important that he bother me every day, at approximately the same time, with the same tired excuse.
No answer. I sat there, looking at the ground thinking, this will be the last time I will have any conversation with this man, this is simply too stressful. After a few more minutes of silence I gave him my conclusion...he did not have a valid reason to come into the shelter, therefore, I would simply not respond to him when he asked my permission. "From now on", I told him, "I don't want to see you here after lunch." He nodded and left.

Guess who showed up the next day? I was about to lose my nerve when he gently handed me something in a paper bag. I did not open it, but handed it back to him. I wanted him out of my sight. He told me that he had thought about how he could make a deal with me...HUH????? I wondered, what is he talking about?! I thought, "NOW I WILL TRULY LOSE MY NERVE.."

Sobhan'Allah, that day, he shared the story of the prophet (S.W.T), with me. He told me that his mother had raised him to practice Islam but he had not followed her wishes, (she was tortured and killed in front of him), but when he came to Canada, (as a young refugee with no family), Islam was all he had. Isn't that beautiful and true? I was so overwhelmed, I was at a loss of words. He explained to me that there were five pillars of Islam...Al-Salat, being one of them. Thus the reason why he came everyday was to wash himself and pray. Sobhan'Allah, what faith, what perseverance he had.

After this discussion, I spoke with my boss and came to a mutual agreement that would be beneficial to all, and would not disrupt our daily services. M, no longer had to jump through hoops to pray, or reflect on his faith. I would have never, wanted this. Note: I worked for a Catholic organization at the time. Many times I hear Muslims speaking about the ignorance of other communities. The chapel, in which daily masses were held, also served as a quiet space for not only M, but other brothers who came to feel more comfortable there. Thus, we should attempt to not only look at the dark side of religious differences. I believe this was one the defining moments, that led me on a path to Islam. I still have his book, Mohammed: The Last Prophet [S. Nadwi].

Years later, I have flashbacks of the distance that I had traveled and the new possibilities that greeted me...Islam, a wonderful husband, friends...hope...the bounties are endless. Thus in my conclusion, I believe that Beauty is Truth. We take so much credit for the things we have not achieved, or don't even deserve. We indulge in our beauty, and confront and dismantle the things that we do not understand.

We often think ourselves deserving of praise, and find it hard to choke up kind words and encouragement to others, even when they have done nothing but dare to "interrupt" our lives and occupy our space.

We think we have earned, with our skill, energy and hard work:
Fill in the Blank !

a) ___________________________________________________

b)____________________________________________________

c)____________________________________________________

& d)__________________________________________________

We feel honoured by of the praise bestowed on us simply because we have money in the bank, nice homes, designer clothes, and OUR selfish version(s) of Islam. ... In reality we deserve only a trifle, a pittance of what we have, and Allah's gifts are his and his alone. How dare we reward ourselves by boasting and displaying vanity as if it were a piece of art?! Who are we to even attempt to justify why we are more deserving than others.
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If we open our eyes, ears and hearts, every single day of our lives, insha;Allah we can make a positive impact on someone's life. Or perhaps, they can show us something we never knew before.