She's My Sister

A true story translated by Muhammad Alshareef

Her cheeks were worn and sunken and her skin hugged her bones. That didn't stop her though, you could never catch her not reciting Qur'an. Always vigil in her personal prayer room Dad had set up for her. Bowing, prostrating, raising her hands in prayer. That was the way she was from dawn to sunset and back again, boredom was for others.

As for me I craved nothing more than fashion magazines and novels. I treated myself all the time to videos until those trips to the rental place became my trademark. As they say, when something becomes habit people tend to distinguish you by it. I was negligent in my responsibilities and laziness characterized my Salah.

One night, I turned the video off after a marathon three hours of watching. The adhan softly rose in that quiet night. I slipped peacefully into my blanket.

Her voice carried from her prayer room. "Yes? Would you like anything Noorah?" I said.

With a sharp needle she popped my plans. "Don't sleep before you pray Fajr!"

Agh...there's still an hour before Fajr, that was only the first Adhaan!

With those loving pinches of hers, she called me closer. She was always like that, even before the fierce sickness shook her spirit and shut her in bed. "Hanan can you come sit beside me."

I could never refuse any of her requests, you could touch the purity and sincerity. "Yes, Noorah?"

"Please sit here."

"OK, I"m sitting. What's on your mind?"

With the sweetest mono voice she began reciting:

"Every soul shall taste death and you will merely be repaid your earnings on Resurrection Day"

She stopped thoughtfully. Then she asked, "Do you believe in death?"

"Of course I do."

"Do you believe that you shall be responsible for whatever you do, regardless of how small or large?"

"I do, but Allah is Forgiving and Merciful and I^Òve got a long life waiting for me."

"Stop it Hanan ... aren't you afraid of death and it's abruptness? Look at Hind. She was younger than you but she died in a car accident. So did so and so, and so and so. Death is age-blind and your age could never be a measure of when you shall die."

The darkness of the room filled my skin with fear. "I'm scared of the dark and now you made me scared of death, how am I supposed to go to sleep now. Noorah, I thought you promised you'd go with us on vacation during the summer break."

Impact. Her voice broke and her heart quivered. "I might be going on a long trip this year Hanan, but somewhere else. Just maybe. All of our lives are in Allah^Òs hands and we all belong to Him."

My eyes welled and the tears slipped down both cheeks.

I pondered my sisters grizzly sickness, how the doctors had informed my father privately that there was not much hope that Noorah was going to outlive the disease. She wasn't told though. Who hinted to her? Or was it that she could sense the truth.

"What are you thinking about Hanan?" Her voice was sharp. "Do you think I am just saying this because I am sick? Uh - uh. In fact, I may live longer than people who are not sick. And you Hanan, how long are you going to live? Twenty years, maybe? Forty? Then what?" Through the dark she reached for my hand and squeezed gently. "There's no difference between us; we're all going to leave this world to live in Paradise or agonize in Hell. Listen to the words of Allah:

"Anyone who is pushed away from the Fire and shown into Jannah will have triumphed."

I left my sister's room dazed, her words ringing in my ears: May Allah guide you Hanan - don't forget your prayer.

Eight O'clock in the morning. Pounding on my door. I don't usually wake up at this time. Crying. Confusion. O Allah, what happened?

Noorahs condition became critical after Fajr, they took her immediately to the hospital ... Inna lillahi wa inna ilayhi raji'un.

There wasn't going to be any trips this summer. It was written that I would spend the summer at home.

After an eternity...

It was one O'clock in the afternoon. Mother phoned the hospital. "Yes. You can come and see her now." Dad's voice had changed, mother could sense something had gone deathly wrong. We left immediately.

Where was that avenue I used to travel and thought was so short? Why was it so long now, so very long. Where was the cherished crowd and traffic that would give me a chance to gaze left and right. Everyone, just move out of our way. Mother was shaking her head in her hands crying as she made dua'a for her Noorah.

We arrived at the hospitals main entrance.

One man was moaning, another was involved in an accident and a third^Òs eyes were iced, you couldn^Òt tell if he was alive or dead.

We skipped stairs to Noorahs floor. She was in intensive care.

The nurse approached us. "Let me take you to her." As we walked down the aisles the nurse went on expressing how sweet a girl Noorah was. She reassured Mother somewhat that Noorah^Òs condition had gotten better than what it was in the morning.

"Sorry. No more than one visitor at a time." This was the intensive care unit. Through the small window in the door and past the flurry of white robes I caught my sisters eyes. Mother was standing beside her. After two minutes, mother came out unable to control her crying.

"You may enter and say Salam to her on condition that you do not speak too long," they told me. "Two minutes should be enough."

"How are you Noorah? You were fine last night sister, what happened?"

We held hands, she squeezed harmlessly. "Even now, Alhamdulillah, I'm doing fine."

"Alhamdulillah...but...your hands are so cold."

I sat on her bedside and rested my fingers on her knee. She jerked it away. "Sorry ... did I hurt you?"

"No, it is just that I remembered Allah's words

One leg will be wrapped to the other leg (in the death shroud)

{waltafatul saaqu bil saaq}

"Hanan pray for me. I may be meeting the first day of the hearafter very soon. It is a long journey and I haven't prepared enough good deeds in my suitcase."

A tear escaped my eye and ran down my cheek at her words. I cried and she joined me. The room blurred away and left us ^Ö two sisters - to cry together. Rivulets of tears splashed down on my sister^Òs palm which I held with both hands. Dad was now becoming more worried about me. I've never cried like that before.

At home and upstairs in my room, I watched the sun pass away with a sorrowful day. Silence mingled in our corridors. A cousin came in my room, another. The visitors were many and all the voices from downstairs stirred together. Only one thing was clear at that point ... Noorah had died!

I stopped distinguishing who came and who went. I couldn't remember what they said. O Allah, where was I? What was going on? I couldn't even cry anymore.

Later that week they told me what had happened. Dad had taken my hand to say goodbye to my sister for the last time, I had kissed Noorah's head.

I remember only one thing though, seeing her spread on that bed, the bed that she was going to die on. I remembered the verse she recited:

"One leg will be wrapped to the other leg (in the death shroud)" and I knew too well the truth of the next verse: "The drive on that day we be to your Lord (Allah)!"

I tiptoed into her prayer room that night. Staring at the quiet dressers and silenced mirrors, I treasured who it was that had shared my mother's stomach with me. Noorah was my twin sister.

I remembered who I had swapped sorrows with. Who had comforted my rainy days. I remembered who had prayed for my guidance and who had spent so many tears for so many long nights telling me about death and accountability. May Allah save us all.

Tonight is Noorah's first night that she shall spend in her tomb. O Allah, have mercy on her and illumine her grave. This was her Qur'an, her prayer mat and this was the spring rose-colored dress that she told me she would hide until she got married, the dress she wanted to keep just for her husband.

I remembered my sister and cried over all the days that I had lost. I prayed to Allah to have mercy on me, accept me and forgive me. I prayed to Allah to keep her firm in her grave as she always liked to mention in her supplications.

At that moment, I stopped. I asked myself: what if it was I who had died? Where would I be moving on to? Fear pressed me and the tears began all over again.

Allahu Akbar, Allahu Akbar...

The first adhan rose softly from the Masjid, how beautiful it sounded this time. I felt calm and relaxed as I repeated the Muadhdhins call. I wrapped the shawl around my shoulders and stood to pray Fajr. I prayed as if it was my last prayer, a farewell prayer, just like Noorah had done yesterday. It had been her last Fajr.

Now and insha' Allah for the rest of my life, if I awake in the mornings I do not count on being alive by evening, and in the evening I do not count on being alive by morning.

We are all going on Noorah's journey. What have we prepared for it?

[By the way, I need to explain that though this blog is not really intended to be just about Morocco, you get a heavy dose of posts written from and about the Moroccan context since I live and work in Morocco.  But I write on topics that have cross-cultural implications.  So here we go again.]  

AP reports that there is a voice within the country of reducing the volume of or even banning prayer calls in more touristic zones in Morocco.  At the outset, this is an interesting debate between the old and the new, the tradition and the reform.  Loud prayer calls at early morning like 4:30 AM is not exactly lullaby to many foreign ears, and it seems to make sense to reduce the volume or even ban it in areas where only foreign tourists are found.  On the other hand, the prayer call or Azzan/Adhan in Arabic is an important part of Muslim faith and practice, and it seems nonsense to reduce the volume or ban it just to please foreign tourists in many Moroccans' views.  After all, these tourists are not in Spain or Portugal.  They are in Morocco.

Personally, I wouldn't mind too much if they lowered the volume of the prayer call a bit in the early morning and in the evening in my neighborhood in Rabat.  There are three mosques in my neighborhood, and their volumes are very inconsistent.  They change, I assume, depending on the imam or the day or the time of the day.  On the other hand, it wouldn't feel like real Morocco without loud prayer calls.  Loud prayer calls are deeply ingrained in my Moroccan experience, and in a sense, I would miss them if I don't hear them. 

However, this issue is exposing a deeper and more complicated issue that involves politics, economic development, and religion.  (You cannot avoid discussing religion and faith together with politics and economics in this part of the world.)  In my opinion, simply put, Morocco is a nation at a crossroad.  Its leadership wants to modernize and develop the country and to join in the ranks of the prosperous nations. The king is said to have been impressed with the development of "Asian Tigers" such as Singapore, Taiwan, and South Korea, and wants to imitate their success, if not exactly the style of development.  Morocco wants to achieve it sooner than later.  A key piece in this strategy is development of tourism and real estate sectors. Naturally, that requires foreign investments and increase of tourists and thus it cannot avoid certain foreign influence in politics and economics as well as religion and culture.  At the same time, Morocco is proud of its Islamic heritage, the history of its ancient empires conquering and ruling a large chunk of Spain and Africa, its moderate form of Islam that embraces tolerance and peaceful co-existence with other religious groups, and its generosity and protection of Jews that fled down across the Mediterranean from inquisitions in Spain and Europe over centuries.  

In the more recent decades, the moderate Islam has been challenged by more fundamentalist/Islamist influence from Saudi Arabia.  A mid-aged Moroccan friend told me that you couldn't see any women wearing hijab or Islamic style of women's headcovering back in the 60's and 70's.  He told me:

"This Islamic style of dress for women is not really Moroccan!  We didn't used to wear those things in Morocco.  It's a new thing that I began to see more and more in the last decade or so."         

It's clear that there are two strong streams going at each other - secularism and traditionalism or modernization and Islamization - sometimes subtly, other times not so.  The biggest question for Morocco in this issue is how these two forces can be integrated together in a peaceful, constructive way.  It's no easy task.  I haven't seen an Islamic country that has made this integration truly successful in the modern times.  A heavy tilt toward quick modernization could lead Morocco in the direction of becoming just another secularized nation along the Mediterranean.  If it goes the other way...  Politically, that's something no one wants.  Even deeply religious Muslim Moroccans wouldn't want it.  In the end, there don't seem to be too many options here, and that is the difficulty of the issue.

Here's a link to a package I produced for Time Magazine called "The Relentless Din of Egypt's Capital".  

Last January, I read an AFP article on noise pollution in Cairo.  The article quoted a scientist from a recent study by the Egyptian National Research Centre, reporting that noise levels in Cairo had gotten dangerously unhealthy.  A couple of months later, I had several friends come to Egypt on holiday.  Overwhelmingly, their first and final impression of Cairo was that it was simply the loudest city they had ever visited.  Horns, traffic, construction, vendors, screaming, the call to prayer.  And in April, the New York Times followed up on AFP's wire with a much more descriptive article on the noise pollution in Cairo.

But I kept asking myself: how descriptive can words be when the subject of your article is noise?  To feel the noise and how big of a stress it can be, you really have to hear it and see the contributers.  That was the real motivation for doing this story.  Well, that and the fact that Cairo has a real problem with noise.

Forget the statistics.  Take last night: Outside my apartment in Sayeda Zeinab, there was a flurry of activity for the upcoming moulid.  Thousands of people were partying in the streets surrounding the mosque, chatting, yelling, and just trying to be heard.  Two operators of competing merry-go-rounds banged wrenches (with no particular rhythm) into the metallic bases of their machines, each hoping to attract more screaming customers.  The traffic couldn't move, so naturally the drivers were honking.  Men and boys were shooting BB guns into tiny, explosive firework-targets that exploded on impact.  The music outside screeched until about 4:00 this morning.  

At one point, I got out of bed, went out to the balcony, and screamed down fifteen floors for them to turn off the racket.  Of course, it was futile - they couldn't even hear me yelling.  

Granted, it is a special holiday and commotion is to be expected.  But much of Cairo is loud, in-your-face, and without a doubt, relentless.  

Don't take my word for it, though.  See, or hear, for yourself.

Masha Allah all adhans are beautiful, they're calling us to our Lord, but subhanAllah when I hear the adhan go off on my computer at fajr time, I fall in love. I wish I could hit repeat lol but when I hit play I get the same adhan that plays during the other 4 salawat.

(sigh)

I miss Mecca & Medina. And I miss hearing the adhan wherever I was and then running to the masjid. May Allah swt bring us all back there soon insha Allah, and give you all the chance of going there if you've never yet been blessed to go.

De tots els estímuls sensitius que la visita a un país musulmà forneix, pocs se'm presenten més subjugadors que aquesta fórmula musical que convoca els fidels cinc vegades al dia. Els muetzins, dalt dels seus minarets i orientats cap a La Meca, reciten la professió de fe que recorda que Al·là és el més gran i Mahoma el seu enviat. Després es giren a esquerra i dreta perquè tots puguin sentir-ho.
Encara que el contingut de la cançó sigui inflexible, cada muetzí té la seva entonació particular, les seves pauses, els seus ornaments. Es tracta d'un cant melismàtic, en la mesura que les síl•labes es poden allargar i contenir diverses notes. En ocasions, escales completes. Els afeccionats al flamenc no podem deixar de sentir un estremiment per la manera en la qual aquesta tècnica recorda als ayeos del cante jondo.

L'habilitat en l'execució de l'adan ha estat motiu de prestigi i orgull per a les mesquites. Tenir a un bon muetzí era tradicionalment el millor reclam per a fer-se amb una abundant parròquia. Existeixen, a més a més, diversos estils, de les prosòdies monòtones de l'islam purità a les exuberants recreacions de certes tendències i escoles. És un patrimoni ric i variat, però que en essència ens ha arribat gairebé inalterat des dels seus orígens i que ens remunta com per eixarm a les acaballes del segle VI.
Observo, malgrat tot, que també això, una de les coses més segures en les darreres catorze centuries, és susceptible de canviar. Si més no, en algunes grans ciutats sarraïnes, tals que Istanbul o Damasc, bona part de les mesquites compten ja amb equips amplificadors, que difuminen la importància de la potència vocal del muetzí. Però encara percebo una altra substitució més insidiosa: l'ús de cintes pregravades. Encara que el seu ús no s’hagi estès completament, és preocupant, car es tracta d'una alta bastida enderrocada. L'estandardització i desnaturalització d’allò que en un altre temps va ser autèntic i original sembla no conèixer límits. I sembla una marea disposada a inundar-ho tot. La vida s'assembla cada vegada més al seu simulacre.

En aquest enllaç hi podeu escoltar alguns recitats d’adans notables. Potser el dia de demà ja només es puguin sentir en aquest format.

Obama: Man of the World

By NICHOLAS D. KRISTOF

Published: March 6, 2007

Mr. Obama recalled the opening lines of the Arabic call to prayer, reciting them with a first-rate accent. In a remark that seemed delightfully uncalculated (it’ll give Alabama voters heart attacks), Mr. Obama described the call to prayer as “one of the prettiest sounds on Earth at sunset.”

Thanks for the tip:

Hawaii Reporter

Barack Obama’s Word Games

By Frank Salvato, 2/29/2008 8:25:48 AM

Salvato furnishes the text of the Islamic call to prayer in context.

For someone who wasn’t “influenced” by his “brief” stint in the Islamic faith, Mr. Obama certainly has command of a difficult language (words) and fond memories of a prayer that translated literally means,

“Allah is the Greatest, Allah is the Greatest. Allah is the Greatest, Allah is the Greatest. I bear witness that there is none worthy of worship but Allah. I bear witness that there is none worthy of worship but Allah. I bear witness that Muhammad is the Messenger of Allah. I bear witness that Muhammad is the Messenger of Allah. Hasten to the Prayer, hasten to the Prayer. Hasten to real success, hasten to real success. Allah is the Greatest, Allah is the Greatest. There is none worthy of worship but Allah.”

One phrase stands out, above the rest, to one who has read the Qur'an: Hasten to real success  what is the meaning of success in the context of Islam?  Two ayat  leap immediately to mind.

9:111 Verily, Allâh has purchased of the believers their lives and their properties; for the price that theirs shall be the Paradise. They fight in Allâh's Cause, so they kill (others) and are killed. It is a promise in truth which is binding on Him in the Taurât (Torah) and the Injeel (Gospel) and the Qur'ân. And who is truer to his covenant than Allâh? Then rejoice in the bargain which you have concluded. That is the supreme success .

Allah made a bargain with the Muslims: they fight in his cause, he rewards them with Paradise instead of the Hellfire for which they were predestined. That bargain; gaining admission to Paradise is success.  The adhan tells Muslims to hasten to it; ie. to Jihad by which they earn their bordello tickets.

61:10...13 O You who believe! Shall I guide you to a commerce that will save you from a painful torment. That you believe in Allâh and His Messenger (Muhammad), and that you strive hard and fight in the Cause of Allâh with your wealth and your lives, that will be better for you, if you but know! (If you do so) He will forgive you your sins, and admit you into Gardens under which rivers flow, and pleasant dwelling in Gardens of 'Adn ­ Eternity ['Adn (Edn) Paradise], that is indeed the great success. And also (He will give you) another (blessing) which you love, help from Allâh (against your enemies) and a near victory. And give glad tidings (O Muhammad) to the believers.

If  Obama is not  and never has been a Muslim, why  has he memorized; why does he recall the Muslim call to prayer?

Mr. Obama described the call to prayer as “one of the prettiest sounds on Earth at sunset.”

What's pretty about this sound?  [Adhan from Mecca,1.3MB Mp3 ] It sounds like the Muaththin's camel died and he has a toothache.