The Faith of my People : A Love Story
My faith …
I learned it from my mom, from my grandmother, from my cousin, from the old man across the street and from my neighbors’s kid.
I fell in love with it at school, at summer camp, at the mosque and at the park.
I used it as a kid to get free candy from the gift shop by reciting the few verses I had just learnt, and I use it today, to seek shelter when the waves of life throw me to unsought shores.
My faith is one that’s very often misused, and time after time, misunderstood.
But I understand …
They haven’t met the humble but fierce women in my family, and for sure they never sought advice from the old man, always reading a book, at the corner of my street.
They haven’t been to the gift shop that always smelled like fresh mint, they haven’t sung around the fire in my summer camp.
They haven’t been to my school, to my park .. they didn’t run around the chanting walls of my mosque, nor did they sleep at the soothing voice of my mom’s stories about the prophets.
But yet again, they didn’t ask …
I would have told them that my faith is one that taught me about peace, unity and inclusion.
It taught me to greet everyone with a smile.
It taught me to never sleep with as much as a grain of resentment towards someone.
It taught me to be respectful of the elder and affectionate to the younger.
It taught me to educate myself, to work hard to get what I want from this life, to be fair, to lead with kindness and to be patient, always.
It taught me to be grateful for everything good in life, for nothing is to be taken for granted. And it also taught me to be grateful when the worst occurs, for there is no happiness nor growth without pain and suffering.
Had they asked …
I would have invited them for lunch at my mom’s, and for tea afterwards (it’s a rite of passage). I would have taken them for a walk in the old city, and we would have listened to the passenger, the trees, the walls and the echo of the “Athane” (the call for prayer), speak the truth about my faith.
