AL BAYAN
EDITOR IN CHIEF Khadeejah Milhan
VOLUME 10 | SPRING 2022
PRINT EDITORS Sama Ben Amer Asiyah Arastu Noraan Mohamed Sara Muttar Ifra Waris
CONTENTS TRAVEL
FEATURES
POETRY
Refugee Reflections on Returning to Iraq
Health and Nutrition
Unnamed
Ifra Waris 14
Noraan Mohamed 36
Senior Reflections
Original Poetry
Sara Muttar 4
Kadhimayn at Fajr Asiyah Arastu 6
PERSPECTIVES A Lettter to My Fellow Sisters Huma Manjra 7
Dak Nam Khadjia Ahmed 8
Fayzaa Manaa 16
Sara Muttar 37
The Muslim Mental Health Initiative
Collection of Poems
Fardeem Munir 18
LAYOUT EDITORS Tasneem Abdalla Khadija Ahmed CONTRIBUTORS Iman Akram Rama Darayyad Eman Hamed Rwan Ibrahim Fizzah Jaffar Fayza Manaa Huma Manjra Ruba Memon Taymae Mimouni Fardeem Munir Yasmeen Rafee Shoaib Syed
Yasmeen Rafee 38
the girl i once was
A Night with Mohamed El-Kurd
Noraan Mohamed 38
Eman Hamed 20
Asiyah Arastu 39
Qurantine Days
The Festival of Sacrifice Asiyah Arastu 21
Roots Asiyah Arastu 9
Bitcoin and the Quran Fardeem Munir 22
Palestinian Liberation Eman Hamed 10
SPOTLIGHT
A Manifestation of the Divine
Halal House: All Eyes on Us
Khadeejah Milhan 12
Sama Ben Amer 24
Who Wrote the Quran
Shwob Dog Eats
Fardeem Munir 13
Shoaib Syed 26
The Bridge Between Cultures
Black Muslims Tasneem Abdalla and Rwan Ibrahim 28
Eman Hamed 13
A 1947 Ghost Train Iman Akram 30
The Watch List Various Authors 31
Cover Art By Sama Ben Amer Modeled by Ritaj Abdulkadir Abdulquani Photographed by Tasneem Abdalla
EDITOR’S NOTE
When I think of this issue of Al Bayan, the theme that comes to mind is life-bringing. Since the last issue of Al Bayan, before the pandemic, much has changed. The way we interact with one another, the memories we share, our collective consciousness has forever been altered. After a long hiatus, Al Bayan has come back with a renewed sense of life. Since my freshman year, when the last issue of Al Bayan was released, Al Bayan has continued to blossom into a thriving publication. This 2022 edition of Al Bayan magazine has the most number of contributors to date and is unlike any other issue. The latest inclusion of poetry and art compliments the vast experiences that are highlighted in these pages. From a refugee account of returning home to deepening our appreciation of Islam through Bitcoin and everything in between, this issue embodies the diversity and depth within the Muslim students of Northwestern. On a campus where Muslims are continuously silenced, Al Bayan brings Muslims to the forefront and gives many a platform that they otherwise would not have. Al Bayan was a treasure I didn’t realize I needed till I found it. The kind of treasure you keep close to your heart but still want to share with everyone you love. The love I have for the Ummah deepened the more involved with Al Bayan I have been. From being a writer, to head layout editor, to the editor in chief, I have had the privilege to get intimately involved with the stories of each of the contributors of Al Bayan over my four years here. Understanding the complexities behind every contributor has deepened my appreciation for this magazine, the McSA and life in general. It has been my utmost privilege to be the editor-in-chief of Al Bayan. However, this edition took a village and would not even exist without the help of the previous editor in chiefs and all our content editors, layout editors, photographers and writers. Love and dedication radiates from each spread. From the bottom of my heart, I thank each and every one of the contributors of Al Bayan for the countless hours that have been put into this magazine. Fostering relationships with Al Bayan’s staff has been a highlight of my senior year and though sad to leave, I know it will be left in good hands. I have so much love and appreciation for everyone that has brought Al Bayan back to life. InshAllah wishing nothing but the best for this publication and everyone involved with it.
Khadeejah Milhan Khadeejah Milhan April 2022
Art By Tasneem Abdalla
Refugee Reflections on Returning to Iraq
Al-Tarmiya with Khala Sara 12/18/20:
First Day Back 12/12/20
By Sara Muttar When we first landed in Baghdad International Airport, an unassuming junction styled right out of the ‘80s faced me. A place stuck in time, I thought to myself. As my family and I struggled to find our luggage bags on a rusty conveyer belt, I slipped into an altered reality. I am here, I thought, thousands of miles away from the conveniences of a comfortable Midwestern home, dubious of this country’s ability to stand upright. The last time I was in Baghdad, I was not in an airport looking to connect my iPhone to the WiFi. The memories I had of this city were now 14 years old. Few to begin with, they were slowly unraveling, each day becoming more of a fever dream. Faces became more blurry, and events more disordered. There was so little left of this country—of this identity—that I was holding onto. And as much as I hoped that the present reality would be nowhere near the reality of 2005, shaped by the Iraq-American War, a part of me desperately wanted to reconcile the scattered shards of what I had left behind.
The neighbor’s rooster caws the morning away, erasing any chance of indulging jet lag during my first morning at my father’s family home in Baghdad. I climb to the flat terrace atop Jidoo’s house with the help of Maryam and Zahra, my younger cousins to see where the sound is coming from. Here, from the tallest house on the block, the sun’s rays pour onto the facade, carrying a bubbling warmth unknown to the December sun in Chicago. I look out into the distance, peering into terraces across the neighborhood. I spot the local matyarchi— a bird man—letting his flock of doves and pigeons roam around freely in the dusty sky. To my surprise, my uncle, Amoo Naseer, climbs up the stairs and uncovers his collection of birds—a matyarchi himself. I can taste the buoyant blue Baghdad sky, candied with polluted smoke, bitter and enchanting. Amoo’s birds soar and swing around in a circle, in unison, and, as if by muscle memory, or perhaps the magnetic pull of Jidoo’s house, they find their way back.
A few days later, we left Baghdad for Al-Tarmiya, where my mother’s family home is located. Legend has it that the land in this small rural town, running along the northern Tigris river, can turn one seed into one hundred—miya—trees, a testament to its incredible fertility. We rode most of the 55 kilometers to Al-Tarmiya in a white Toyota Crown Royal Saloon. This was Yaba’s luxury car in 2003, the same car I remember vomiting in from motion sickness as a four-year-old. A luxurious car for a luxurious man, the farmer-teacher-leader-businessman, who was my late Yaba. The Royal Saloon was hardly Yaba’s only legacy. As we arrived at our family home, the same palm trees he planted in the ‘70s gracefully peered over the silhouette of the town. The orchards—basateen—surrounding our family land were built almost entirely by him and Yuma, tree by tree, which now bear the continuous fruits of loving labor. It is no surprise that when this free-spirited, honest man was martyred during the War, the impact was immense. One of the perhaps more trivial repercussions of his passing was my family’s need to run for it. A cluster of butterfly effects, one ripple after another, led me and my family on a 14 year run. Only upon my overdue return could I begin to process the regret of being apart from our family, our country, for so long. Two halves that make a whole, that fill a void I didn’t realize existed: Sara and Iraq, Sara and basateen, Sara and Yuma. Passing through the farmland toward Al-Tarmiya, a moment of full-circle closure sweeps across my chest. For the first time, I understand the painful breadth of the forced, rushed, necessary departure that defined my life years ago. I look up from the whooshing window scenery, and I can’t help but think it is Yaba who is driving the Royal Saloon once again.
Khala Sara and Sara’s cousins in the orange orchard, circa 2020
TRAVEL
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Grandpa Yaba’s Toyota Crown Royal Saloon, circa 2020
My days here are spent meeting family: family who have always been there, whom I am just now getting to know. People who were WhatsApp profile pictures for most of my life, who have charisma, humor, candor that I haven’t entirely cracked. People who have always been close nevertheless, whom I’ve asked for dua on my math exams from grade school to college. People whose smell I remember faintly, whose faces I remember looking 14 years younger. And then there is family I never knew existed, of whom I’m learning for the first time: new additions, new old additions, old new additions. One of these people is Khala Sarah, who married my mother’s youngest brother, Khaloo Abdallah, in 2015. She is young, hip, and educated, the strongest support of the household. Because Khaloo Abdallah and his family live with Yuma in our family home, Khala Sarah is responsible for keeping the house upright. She cooks, cleans, raises their young children, and helps my aging Yuma maintain the house and the orchards. Khaloo Abdallah, in return, travels 600 kilometers to the southern city of Basra to work as a petroleum engineer. I doubted this tradeoff when I first arrived, certain it was almost equivalent to a prison sentence for the young, tenacious Khala Sarah. But in due time, I’ve come to feel sorry for myself for ever reckoning with the power of this matriarch. Khala Sarah calls to my cousins and me in the front yard, challenging us to a race so she can prove she is indeed the fastest. She takes us for walks through the vast family orchards. She is wary of the areas in which we may find soldiers that we need to avoid, but she lets us snag a few oranges from the neighboring orchard of Albu-Ghamazi—something every other aunt or uncle would chastise us for. Khala Sarah teaches me how to fold over a kubba, and makes sure that I am fed into oblivion. Through Khala Sarah, and the other incredible women in our family, I am experiencing Iraq in an extraordinary way. The liveliness, the vibrancy of this family’s beating heart.
Sipping sweet black tea with a hint of chamomile. Sweet and thick like molasses, intricate and indulgent. Again and again, the same tea. Sometimes with different people, but oftentimes with the same. The cup of chai—a bottomless abyss that draws us in—is constant, but the stories told over the cup vary. Over many cups of chai, I have heard entire life stories of family and friends: a myriad of funny, lighthearted, nostalgic tales as well as accounts of more difficult times. Often, people told us of their hardest life experiences almost in passing, with an air of quotidian normalcy. People spoke of hiding under rubble in an active war-zone, looking for lost family members after an attack, and so many somber memories with relief. They took almost any chance to share their bone-chilling stories, perhaps out of gratitude for better times, or to ground themselves in their current reality. Sharing their stories was almost always the only thing they had left, the only possibility of justice remaining. And when everyone shares their stories, grave or upbeat, a generation heals. Iraq has not seen the end of the effects of the Iraq war, or ISIS, or any other foreign meddling. Yet the cycle of time continues. With every new story that is told over a cup of chai, a community perseveres. No problem, large or small, can quash the resilience of these people, who always find ways to move forward. My mother spent years overwhelming impassive strangers in America by immediately telling them about our entire life story, from Yaba’s death to our journey to the States. But after returning to Iraq, I finally came to understand the beauty of her storytelling—a way of dealing with grief that is not so common in the West. This is how the Iraqi people have grown to deal with their grief and misfortune: by dealing with it together. There is ethereal beauty in the struggle that is the Iraqi experience. An experience marked by transience, metamorphosis, renewal, and togetherness. An experience that I can no longer fully claim. I traded the right to claim this experience, to grow alongside it, when I left. For me, my life and this experience bifurcated in 2004, becoming a clandestine operation on which updates were few and hard to come by. But regardless of where I go and how far the tide takes me, I take my version of this experience and mold it into my fabric. Grandma Yuma and baby cousin sitting below a palm tree, circa 2020
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Kadhimayn at Fajr By Asiyah Arastu
A simple clock face shows the time. It is early in the morning, barely past four, not yet time for Fajr, the pre-dawn prayer. On a clear night with an unobstructed view of the horizon, you’d be able to witness it: first, a vertical shaft of light splits the darkness, but that is only the false Fajr. When the light begins to spread along the horizon, further advancing on night’s domain, that is Fajr—a foreshadowing of dawn, which will arrive in another hour or two with the coming of the sun. But between the bustle and brightness and buildings of our world, Fajr is an elusive sight only known by a slight blueness in an indigo sky. However elusive it may be, this moment defines the start of every Muslim’s day. It is not yet Fajr, but already, there is movement. People trickle through the gated entrance that seals this stretch of sleepy shopfronts off from the rest of the city. At the end of the wide avenue loom the twin domes of the haram. A glow radiates from within, tracing the contours of arches and minarets with a luminous green. As the haram gate is unlocked, there is a push. People merge into a mobile mass of bodies that has a drive of its own. It convulses; it could have been a stampede, were it not for the murmur of salawat that ripples through the crowd. Shared prayer restores the calm, and the restless energy of the surge subsides. Past the gate lies a courtyard. The crowd now diffuses throughout the vastness of the haram. In twos and threes, people cross the stonepaved floor, seeking the inner halls and innermost sanctuary. The courtyard is a great vestibule, designed for contemplation: a buffer between the world outside and the serenity within. A succession of arches form the wall that encloses it, adorned with fine tilework that is lit by the same pervasive, soft green glow. To most, the arches are a facade, for they are sealed and lead nowhere. But they still are a doorway of sorts for the legions of pigeons roosting above them in the eaves. Though humans seldom linger here, the courtyard is open to the sky—so while the people worship in the resplendent halls within, the winged worshippers congregate here. On the left hand side of the courtyard, rugs are laid end-to-end and serve as a bridge that leads pilgrims to the door and shields their bare feet from the cold stone floor. Their shoes are safely stowed in cubby-holes near the haram’s gate so they do not trail dirt inside; their security ensured through simple trust. Inside, a frigid lunar splendor gives way to warmth and magnificence, to the brilliance of countless chandeliers intensified by vaulted ceilings that scintillate with mirror work. The haram is built like a maze. One hall discloses the next; each door ajar, like an invitation. A marble aisle splits every hall, but the rest of the floor is a great prayer rug unfurled. Yet despite the overwhelming grandeur, a measure of solitude is maintained. There are carpeted nooks stocked with prayer books, Qur’ans, turbahs, prayer beads. Not one place is crowded. Not one group stays together. Each wanders until he finds his own corner, and there he devotes himself to his Lord. This pre-Fajr worship is a private affair, sacred, precious. It is easy to lose oneself in the haram, and some do so deliberately. But for others, it is even easier to lose themselves in the rhythm of prayer, in the penetrating verses of the
A Letter To My Fellow Sisters In the months leading up to college, I was told I would meet my lifelong best friends at University – the kind of friends you keep up with years after college, the friends you travel the world with, the friends that become your bridesmaids, and the list goes on. Although I wanted to believe this would indeed happen, I was very hesitant. Growing up in California, my closest friends were my cousins and other girls my age in our extended family. Aside from a few childhood friends, I didn’t have many Muslim girl friends. At Northwestern, this all changed. But not the type of immediate, drastic change that happens during Wildcat Welcome or even the first year of college. It was the type of change that gradually happened while living with each other, dealing with highs and lows, and experiencing vulnerable moments in each other’s lives. It was a gradual change rooted in trust, security, and understanding that took months to form and years to solidify.
Sketch of Al-Kadhimayn Mosque By Asiyah Arastu
Qur’an, in the heart-rending intimations of a du’a. It’s easy to get lost in the haram, but its core is a magnet that draws every wayward heart. The presence of Imam Kadhim and Imam Jawad suffuses this central chamber that houses their tombs. Devotees cling to the golden grating, tears in their eyes, praise and thanks on their lips. Some prostrate on the floor in gratitude for having made it here. Without warning, a man’s recitation of Qur’an overpowers all other sounds. Through a massive speaker system concealed from view, the depth and richness of his voice makes the air reverberate, while the profundity of the message resonates within. With the start of the Qur’an, once again, there is a surge of movement in one direction as worshippers emerge from their private spiritual retreats to join the ranks of their fellow believers. With their colorful feather-dusters, the ever-patient Khuddam point the way, out a set of doors and into another courtyard. This one is different. There are rows upon rows of carpets lined up—a place for the people to pray. A large swath is left uncovered because the space is shared: there are pigeons that glorify the Lord here, too. It is chilly to be beneath the sky, but as the congregants form neatly spaced rows, they shield each other from the cold. In the last minutes before congregational Fajr prayer, all are engaged in personal worship, standing and bowing and prostrating and raising their hands to supplicate. Against the hum of a hive of prayerful bees, the Qur’an recitation comes to an end. There is a pause, a one or two-line utterance, and then the adhan begins in earnest, resounding through the courtyard and beyond. After the testimony to Muhammad’s prophethood, a thunderous salawat erupts from the gathering and rides spiraling soundwaves up to the heavens. This simple invocation binds together people of the disparate cultures of the world into a single nation. It is an expression of devotion and love that forms the common ground they all share.
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As my time at Northwestern comes to an end and I prepare for the next stage of my life, I am reminded of the words I heard 4 years ago. I am reminded of all my hesitations, the moments of fear and uncertainty of not finding those people to hold you down, support you, and love you without reason. And now, in these moments, I am reminded to say Alhamdulillah and be ever grateful. What I have found at Northwestern are not just lifelong friendships, but a sisterhood rooted in Islam. Friendships that encourage me to be the best Muslim woman I can be. I have been lucky to come across and learn from women from all walks of life, each carrying a different story. I’ve had the chance to experience what it means to sacrifice for your friends, what it looks like to show patience and forgiveness during difficult times, and what it feels like to receive and give genuine love and respect. These women I’ve met embody the tenants of Islam and exude the values that our faith instilled in us. Through them, I’ve found friendships that push me to be the best version of myself and always strive to please Allah. Friendships, built from the best of intentions, that nurture my faith and help me grow spiritually and personally. Most importantly, from these relationships, I’ve learned what it truly means to love, care for, and respect one another for the sake of Allah. To love not for any materialistic reason, but to love simply because they are my sister in Islam and I want the best for them just as I would want for myself. Looking back at the memories and reflecting on this sisterhood, I am overwhelmed with the joy I hold for these invaluable moments. I’ve had the privilege to join a friend for Eid at her family’s house, to try my Sudani roommate’s cooking, to eat home-cooked food from my Chicago roommate's mother, to spend the weekend in the Northern suburbs with a friend and her family, to be present at a dear friend’s wedding, and many more adventures. Some moments replay perfectly in my mind – snowball fights on Deering Lawn past midnight, hammocking at the lakefill in the spring, swimming in South beach during a sunset in the summer, bike rides to Bahai Temple in the fall, late-night talks on the couch thinking about our futures, fasting and cooking Iftar together, exploring Chicago and loving every part of the city, and as usual, the list goes on. I feel privileged to receive the love and compassion they gave me but to also have the opportunity to be the reason someone else feels loved and valued. Alhamdulillah for these beautiful and strong women in my life. Alhumdullilah for this Sisterhood rooted in Islam. Class of 2022 During 2019 Senior Dinner, circa 2019
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Much Love, Huma Manjra, Class of '22
Snowball Fight at Deering Meadow, circa 2022
In the winter of 2018-2019, my family and I traveled overseas to visit the gravesites of various religious leaders and imams. In this descriptive sketch, I attempt to capture the moment in time when I first entered the mausoleum of Imam Kadhim and Imam Jawad in Kadhimayn, Iraq.
PERSPECTIVES
Art By Khadeejah Milhan
ডাকনাম Dak Nam
ROOTS
Identity Through Language
By Khadija Ahmed
A lot of people from Bangladesh often have a dak nam, which translates roughly to “call name.” It means a name they use with close friends and family. Then, they have a bhalo nam which means “good name” and is used in an official capacity. Sometimes the dak nam comes from another part of the person’s official name but sometimes it comes to be in other ways. Below are three people’s stories, including mine, on dak nam. “My parents named me Mim when I was born, like the Arabic letter ()م. In Islam, a baby’s name is given during the akikah. When my uncle and dadu (dad’s mom) gave the akikah, they used the name Khadija instead because they liked Khadija more. So, my parents had to change the name on my birth certificate to Khadija. Still, my parents call me Mim. When I started school, I was called Mim and kept going by that name for 18 years. Coming to college, I decided to go by Khadija because it was less confusing. The timing felt right because my dadu passed away around that time, and I wanted to honor her. I thought it would feel weird to go by Khadija now, but it doesn’t. My family and friends back home still call me Mim.” - Khadija Ahmed (Mim)
মীম
“My story is a bit more interesting in that I have a dak nam but it’s my last name. In Islamic culture, we oppose the idea of having human property. We don’t believe a husband should pass on his last name to his wife or children. Islam encourages that we all have our own name, so my last name is not related to my family at all. In other words, we don’t have a family name; everyone has their own last name. That’s why my last name is my dak nam because it’s not related to anybody but me. I usually go by Mahi with close friends and family, but in a more professional setting, I go by my first name. Everyone’s situation can be different. For instance, my mom calls her sister Lucy because of an American show she used to watch but now everyone calls her Lucy instead of her real birth name.” - Tasnim Mahi (Mahi)
মািহ
“For home and extended relatives, it’s Rubai but everywhere else it’s Fardeem. Fardeem means bright, and Rubai a type of Persian poetry. I have a weird relationship with Rubai because when I was young I had a website called erubai.com but then I thought it was cringe so I go by Fardeem now. Before, I used Rubai for usernames and such as well. Was it confusing? Not really, you get so used to it.” - Fardeem Munir (Rubai)
রুবাই
Art By Khadeejah Milhan
AL BAYAN | 8 | Spring
By Asiyah Arastu
At age three, I spoke almost only Urdu. Now, I can barely piece a sentence together. I am Indian and have never tried to hide it. I wear kurtas to school, eat with my hands at lunch, and love the spicy edge of Indian food. Urdu words have made up my family jargon for as long as I can remember: sajdagah, namaz, lota, chai, dal-chawal. But as proud and open as I am about my Indian heritage, I am afraid a great gulf has grown that bars me from fully embracing this identity. It all comes down to language: Urdu, my ostensible mother-tongue. If my Indian identity is a big patchwork quilt, then Urdu makes up the missing threads. While it has always been a part of my life, I let it fade to a mere shadow of its former self and sometimes even pushed it away. Now, I realize the value of what my parents and grandparents have tried so long to instill in me, and I am resolved to reclaim it. My grandfather’s stories formed my lifeline. A master storyteller, versed in both Shakespeare and Iqbal, his expressiveness and enthusiasm compensated for my inability to understand. Patiently, he would point out new words and help me make connections within and across languages. His eagerness to teach has never changed, but my eagerness to learn has—for the better. In the past, sometimes reading Urdu seemed a chore as I struggled with every syllable, every sound. Gradually, I am finding the rhythm. I used to groan when the conversation over tea and dessert shifted to Urdu. Now, I cling to every word to see how much of the story I can follow. My parents’ and grandparents’ efforts are coming to fruition. They have helped me, over the years, to bridge this gap, sometimes without me even realizing it. As I listen raptly to
my Dadi’s childhood reminiscences over chai, my mother’s persistence in reading stories with us is paying off. As the couplets of poetry my grandfather conjures to life lure me in further, my father’s mini Urdu lessons emerge from the recesses of my memory. When my parents need a code my siblings and I will not understand, they use Urdu, but slowly, we are cracking that code, one word or phrase at a time. My father’s journey gives me hope that it is not too late to learn. Like me, there was a time he was estranged from the language. But one summer he pivoted and dove headfirst into learning it all over again with his older brother as his mentor. After college, when he traveled to India, alone, and crisscrossed the sub-continent to connect with his roots, his Urdu outmatched that of most native speakers. Spending this summer with my cousins from India was the best encouragement I could have hoped for. With a three-year-old and four-yearold, no inhibitions held me back. I could speak in monosyllables with botched conjugations; use simple, repetitive sentences; switch to English when I hit a roadblock and found myself tongue-tied. They didn’t care how broken my Urdu was, so long as I talked with them, played with them and told them stories. In helping me build confidence, they were the best tutors. Now, I am ready to plow ahead using whatever Urdu I know and commit to learning, so that I can return the greetings of the elders in my community in kind. So that I can converse with them and form a bond with them that stems from our shared faith and culture. So that I can join the lively conversation when friends and family are over and understand their stories, jokes, and history. By reforging my link to Urdu, I can truthfully say that I belong to this tradition, that I share in this collective identity, that this is where my roots lie.
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Palestinian Liberation The Struggle and Fight for Justice
I
By Eman Hamed
attended middle school and high school in an overwhelmingly Zionist part of Los Angeles, California, which made navigating an education alongside people who diametrically oppose what you stand for uncomfortable to say the least. Speaking up about the injustices in Palestine was a death sentence. No one in my high school could utter “Palestine” without getting called anti-semitic or being bullied into silence. There was intense anxiety as I felt like I needed to trade off my morals for societal amity. Many students in my graduating class took their post-high school journeys to the Israeli Occupation Force (proclaimed the Israeli Defense Force - the ‘IDF’ - but I reckon there is no such thing as defense when you dedicate everyday to oppressing the Palestinian people). My Zionist peers saw nobility in Israel’s monopoly on violence, saw nobility in blockading over two million people in Gaza (the world’s largest open-air prison), saw nobility in surveiling Palestinians in their homeland, saw nobility in tearing down homes in Sheikh Jarrah, and perhaps worst of all, saw nobility in shooting bullets into the third-holiest place in Islam: Masjid Al-Aqsa. None of that is noble to me. *** Land you kill for is not yours, and certainly land you damage and deface every moment of every new day is not land you really care about. It is a playground where consequences to actions aren’t real, where instating suffering and committing murder becomes a game.
Art by Palestinian Jordanian Painter and Photgrapher Imad Abu Shtayyah
*** In May 2021, as news of the home demolition in Sheikh Jarrah entered the media, the city of Beverly Hills, which is part of the greater, supposedly uber-liberal Los Angeles area, took to their social media to acknowledge their support of Israel and their Israeli constituents, and condemn the Palestinian people fighting for liberation. Zionists across the U.S. would repost tweets from the IOF (crazy that a literal terrorist organization uses Twitter), or those “I Stand with Israel” photos as Palestinian mothers were carrying the coffins of
AL BAYAN | 10 | Spring
their young children. When various news networks in the U.S. stood in support of Israel, I realized that their headlines prove that this nation’s ideals of equality, of uplifting the underdog, have always been secondary to conquest and subjugation. It was at this point where I no longer cared about the bellidgering from my peers. I clashed on social media with soonto-be IOFers and the like-minded, and I discovered the remarkable miseducation and brainwashing that hijacked the Zionist movement. Any mention of the Likud (a right-wing political party in Israel) or the Israeli government’s role in oppressing Palestinians, the immediate response from any Zionist is ‘but Hamas.’After expending this minuscule defense, Israel and its supporters turn to pinkwashing. Pinkwashing is the act of using LGBTQ+ issues, women’s rights, or other minority issues in a positive light to distract attention from the negative actions an organization or government takes. Israel does this in a way to demean Islam and make our religion seem unpeaceful, oppressive, and unwelcoming. They superficially promote LGBTQ+ communities’ rights and the “extensive” rights they give women, using them as pawns in their agenda to convince the world they could do no evil. And it is not that Israel genuinely believes bombing Palestinians would solve homophobia. It’s that they believe their apparent progressive politics mattered more to the world than their war crimes. I once explained to someone that Palestinian families will all sleep in the same room and same bed, so that if they die from an Israeli attack, they at least die together. The response was that “The IOF is the most moral army in the world.” When I asked how, they looked me in the eye and said, “The boots the soldiers wear are vegan leather.” For a moment, I was silent, because somehow, Israeli forces are above killing animals, but not people. In classrooms, we acknowledge and condemn the horrid acts of white colonizers in displacing and murdering Native Americans. We acknowledge and condemn the awful apartheid in South Africa. We acknowledge and condemn human rights
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violations, unlawful imprisonment, and extrajudicial executions in Guantanamo Bay. The entire world rallied behind Ukraine and had no issue labeling Russia as the aggressor. Suddenly, news outlets and people everywhere had the spine to criticize abuse of power. But when it comes to Palestine/Israel, there are no limits to human rights violations. *** But here at Northwestern, I stood up a little straighter and saw myself differently as I learned that my voice truly matters. Northwestern’s chapter of Students for Justice in Palestine (SJP) does remarkable work in educating the NU community about Palestine and the wrongdoings of the Israeli government and its affiliates. NUSJP orchestrates protests and resistance efforts. When infamous politician Andrew Yang, who is known for his impertinent stance against Palestinians, visited campus, students wearing traditional Palestinian scarves (kuffiyehs) and holding Palestinian flags staged a peaceful walkout during his speech to Northwestern students. As students noticed Sabra hummus packages being sold on campus in places like Norris, they took a stand to boycott the Israeli brand and end monetary support to Israeli companies that use their profits to fund genocide and war crimes. And there is a passionate desire on campus to preserve Palestinian culture, as displayed by Northwestern’s Dabke team, which promotes Palestinian dance, music, and style with each open practice they hold. These events gave me a sense of community I had been longing for, a sense of unity I felt was necessary to advance the movement for Palestinian liberation. I feel empowered to stand up for Palestine. My activism no longer feels like it comes with inevitable punishment or ostracization. I am blessed to be surrounded by people who recognize the dignity of others, who possess a conviction in the equal worth of all people, and who know the necessity of dismantling psychological and physical colonialism in the battle for justice.
Kadir Mosque. Courtesy of Umber Waheed, circa 2018.
A Manifestation of the Divine
Who Wrote The Quran?
A Review of Halim Sayoud’s Research on author discrimination between the Holy Quran and Prophet’s statement
By Khadeejah Milhan
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What if our bodies weren’t just a vessel that connects us to this world? What if our bodies were a masterpiece that carries us to the next life? According to Islamic tradition, God created the human form from clay and blew into it His spirit, or ruh. He created each of us perfectly, intending us to be His representatives on Earth. Like every other creation of the ultimate Creator, we are manifestations of the Divine. Of course, while our bodies and souls reflect some of God’s qualities, we are no match for His utter perfection. Nevertheless, I’d like to offer some reflections on how God instilled our bodies with Divine strength, wisdom, and love.
ere’s a Muslim 101 belief: The Quran is the unchanged word of God that came down in Arabic to the Prophet ﷺduring revelation. The speech of the Prophet ﷺis distinctly different from the speech of the Quran, which is the speech of God himself Or so is the belief. However, what would a skeptic say? They would assert that, actually, the Prophet ﷺwrote the Quran. As Muslims we would and should be outraged. But the doubt has been planted and we must return with some answer. How do we truly know that the Quran is the speech of God? The standard issue Muslim answer is that the Quran’s language is so poetic that the Prophet ﷺ, who we knew was unlettered, would not be able to construct it. That argument, however, no matter how backed up by historical data, is also just another belief. Can we do better? In a paper from H. Sayoud from the University of Science and Technology Houari Boumediene, the author generates computer models against the Quran and against the hadiths found in Bukhari. These models, along with some statistical analysis, can be used to check if the Quran and the Prophet’s statements share the same author. The conclusion of the paper speaks for itself: Results of all experiments have led to two main conclusions: - First, the two investigated books should have different authors; - Second, all the segments that are extracted from a unique book appear to have a certain stylistic similarity. Consequently, we can conclude, according to this investigation, that the Quran was not written by the Prophet Muhammad and that it belongs to a unique author too. Some number crunching and machine learning later, the computer comes to the conclusion central to the islamic faith. SubhanAllah his paper, and this line of thinking, underscores the point: Islam has never demanded blind faith from its followers. The beauty of a true religion is the more questions you ask, the more answers you get, and the stronger your faith becomes. The true religion of God is antifragile, growing stronger when subject to attack.
We Reflect the Strength of Al-Qawiyy (the Most Strong)
We Reflect the Love of Al-Wadud (the Most Loving) God’s love for us is evident in every fiber of our beings. His love enables us to use our minds and limbs to enjoy His creation. Love is not just restricted to feelings. Our bodies are mechanisms for all kinds of love. For example, our bodies yearn to love the Creator. It yearns for more than the material world—even though it was made with the materials of this world—because the glue binding it together, the spirit that gives it life, is sublime. It yearns for the Divine. Our bodies gravitate towards one another. We seek other creatures who carry the same longing within them. The desire for the Heavenly brings us closer together. We honor the sacredness of our bodies by loving each other. A simple hand on a shoulder or a hug gives our bodies a jolt of warmth that words cannot describe. When we experience the magnificent mountains and rainforests with which God decorated the Earth, our very beings are consumed with love. Love for the natural world, which is incomparable to anything we can create. Love for the Creator with whom we can never compare. Love for his majestic creation. When we truly experience God’s creation, we can’t help but feel closer to the Divine.
We Reflect the Wisdom of Al-Hakeem (the Most Wise) God built wisdom into your body. If He hadn’t, how could you have survived this long? I am always awed by the way our bodies are able to heal themselves. A simple paper cut will be gone in a day. A fever can be reduced to a few sniffles in a week. Even a broken bone can heal itself in a couple months. From the growling of your stomach that signals you to eat to the drowsiness that tells you to sleep, your body tells you what it needs. Even if our mind isn’t aware of it, our bodies has the wisdom to take care of us. Our hearts beating and our lungs carrying oxygen without command attests to the wisdom that flows through our veins. Our organs are on autopilot, not because we programmed them, but because God did. Like a software engineer that puts his expertise into code for a program, God instilled His wisdom in our bodies. We are simply a reflection of God’s wisdom. The wisdom of the body isn’t limited to physical healing. Have you ever felt your body heal your mind? Has your body propelled you towards harmony? For some, the body demands to run. For some, the body craves to be held by another. For some, the body aches to breathe. Day or night, rain or shine, sleet or snow, our body alleviates stress the mind can’t process on its own. Engrained within you is the wisdom of your mothers. Your movement through the world mirrors theirs: The way you walk. The way you talk. Even the way you flinch. Your body is your version of theirs. Bodies oceans away are the blueprint for yours. People you have never seen mirror your figure and physique. Past generations are reflected into future ones. The wisdom of our bodies forever interweaves us with one another even if worlds separate us. Out of His love and mercy, God imbued our bodies with wisdom the human mind can only begin to comprehend.
These reflections on the body’s strength, love and wisdom are inspired by A. Helwa’s Secrets of Divine Love: A Spiritual Journey into the Heart of Islam. As Helwa puts it, “Every tree, child, star, galaxy, and atom carries a reflection of God’s qualities beneath the limitations of its form”
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The Bridge Between Cultures Understanding Oneself Through Islam
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By Eman Hamed
o one ever talks about how not reading or speaking Arabic makes it difficult to find your Iman and ground your Deen. Born to an Algerian mother and an Afghan father, I celebrate and enjoy two cultures and two identities. But despite being half Arab, I never learned my mother tongue of Arabic until I came to Northwestern. I never read the Quran in Arabic, I made all of my dua in English, and for so long I felt like a failure -- I felt like part of me was missing. I felt like less of a Muslim. For years, I felt stuck in the crosshairs of two identities where the languages, traditions, and customs deviated from one another far too much. I was from everywhere and nowhere at once, a combination of ill-fitting identities. I would recognize later that there was no single way of being Algerian or Afghan: just trying to be a good person and Muslim was enough. Because I did not feel assimilated into culture, I felt like, by extension, I was not immersed in Islam and its teachings. But I soon realized the major similarity in my two identities was religion, and I need to use Islam as a tool for peace and finding who I am.
In essence, my dedication to Islam really started as I searched for a place to fit in, a way to discover the intricacies of my mixed heritage. Islam increased my presence in culture as I learned Islamic history in both Turco-Mongol empires (what some present-day Afghans originate from) and in Arab empires. As I read the Quran with focus to detail, I could see the references to race and ethnicity and how Islam empashized piety over racial distinction. The Quran shows that races and tribes were created with a purpose of getting to know one another, and to make Islam a religion not just for one group or person. I understood Islam’s message as intended to encompass all of humanity, and that Islam is the bridge between my two halves.
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Eman and her parents, circa 2021
Every woman who preceded you remains by your side—rather, every woman who preceded you lives on within you: a factor of your being, woven into your DNA. You draw from their strength: their strength to leave family behind and start a new one in a whole new world; their strength to stand alone and start anew; their strength to fight battles both seen and unseen. You are an accumulation of their resilience. God imprinted his strength within you. The strength He gave our mothers has passed from one generation to the next. In a world where healing is a privilege and survival is accompanied by trauma, your mothers survived so that you can continue to heal yourselves. They gave you power you didn’t even know you had. Even if your legs shake and your hands tremble, your body is a living artifact of their struggles and victories. They work so hard for you to be in a world where you can heal the generations to come. Use their strength to flourish and heal old wounds. Remember: only through God’s Mercy will we have the strength to overcome obstacles. You are an accumulation of God’s Mercy and reflect His strength.
By Fardeem Munir
FEATURES
HEALTH & NUTRITION The Islamic Perspective on a Healthy Living
By Ifra Waris
Among the many blessings Allah (SWT) has bestowed upon us, our body is one of His greatest gifts. How remarkable is it that the human heart beats without fail 60 to 100 each minute, in a rhythmic “Al-lah, Al-lah?” Or that the eye blinks an average of 10 times per minute, and our kidneys filter 150 quarts of blood? Just within our bodies, there is a myriad of overlooked miracles occurring in every moment. *** In Islam, there is a repeated emphasis on balance — to practice moderation in everything that we do. Prophet Muhammad (PBUH) once asked Abdullah ibn Amr (RA), “Have I heard right that you fast every day and stand in prayer all night?” Abdullah ibn Amr (RA) answered, “Yes, O Messenger of God (PBUH).” The Prophet (PBUH) replied, “Don’t do that; fast for a few days and then give it up for a few days, offer prayers and also sleep at night, as your body has a right on you” [Sahih Bukhari]. This Hadith teaches that we are not meant to exert ourselves beyond what we can physically bear. Within this concept of balance, nutrition and health are critical in the life of a believer. As Muslims, keeping ourselves physically healthy allows our souls to strengthen their relationship with Allah (SWT). There are numerous daily practices in Islam that have a divine intention to keep us healthy. Take Salah, or prayer, for example. According to a study done by the Journal of Physical Therapy Science, Salah “not only improves spiritual well-being but also mental and physical health, improving muscle strength, joint mobility and blood circulation, when performed correctly and with the right posture.” Of course, the primary basis of Salah is to worship Allah (SWT), but the health benefits we acquire from our worship are astounding and undeniable. In the case of Wudhu, or ablution, not only are we cleansing and purifying ourselves for Salah, but Wudhu has also been scientifically proven to promote blood circulation and prevent a multitude of diseases. Cleanliness is half of our faith [Sahih Muslim]. It is critical to purify ourselves for the sake of Allah (SWT), for our deen is incomplete without cleanliness. Even in maintaining our hygiene, advantages are abundant. As far as dental hygiene goes, Prophet Muhammad (PBUH) advised regularly using the miswak, a natural teeth-cleaning twig often considered to be the first toothbrush, to prevent bad breath, toothaches, and decay and to promote stronger gums.
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Of course, the primary basis of Salah is to worship Allah (SWT), but the health benefits we acquire from our worship are astounding and undeniable.
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This is also recorded to be the first time in the available literature that someone recommended the maintenance of oral hygiene. The fact that the very beginnings of publicized dental care are rooted within Islam only emphasizes how important health is for Muslims. In the past few years, as evident through the COVID-19 pandemic, the knowledge of prevention of disease has become increasingly widespread. While people have emptied stores of masks, gloves, wipes, and hand sanitizer, basic hygiene remains the best way to prevent spreading disease. Drawing back to the earlier mentioned Hadith about the encounter between the Prophet (PBUH) and Abdullah ibn Amr (RA), the believer has to also acknowledge the importance of sleep. In a review conducted by the Annals of Thoracic Medicine, Islamic emphasis on the importance of sleep precedes modern studies by thousands of years. Napping, for example, is a common Islamic practice, and now modern sleep scientists acknowledge the benefits and recommend these same routines. In addition, the specific timings of the Fajr and Isha’a prayers promote a more productive day and healthier sleep schedule. If you go to bed after Isha’a and start your day with Fajr, the body’s natural circadian rhythm is aligned. Finally, another sunnah of the Prophet (PBUH) proven to be scientifically beneficial is sleeping on your right side. Studies have shown that sleeping on the right promotes blood flow to the heart, and decreases stress on internal organs related to digestion. Evidently, the Islamic practices of the Sunnah are beneficial to both our spiritual and physical health. In the final part of this article, the Islamic perspective on nutrition must be highlighted. A balanced diet is essential for us to properly carry out our ibadah, or divine worship, and strengthen our faith. Many of us can recall feeling lazy or weak after overeating or eating something unhealthy. As a result, we might be irritated and lose motivation to pray on time. Eating according to Islamic principles can notably help us grow closer to Allah (SWT). The Prophet (PBUH) would say, “Fill the stomach one-third
with food, one-third with water and leave one-third empty.” In the Qur’an, overeating is strictly forbidden: “eat and drink, but waste not by extravagance” [Al-Araf: 31]. We are encouraged to eat enough food to fuel our body with energy, but not so much that laziness results. When we fast during the holy month of Ramadan, we purify our souls and strengthen our faith through increased sabr, or patience. But beyond the many spiritual benefits, science demonstrates that fasting naturally detoxes our body, improves metabolism and strengthens our immune system, and promotes a healthier brain, leading to improved mental health and cognitive function. Furthermore, the Qur’an has not limited itself in just mentioning what foods are halal and haram, but even suggests a diet that contains many useful ingredients required for the renewal and strength of the human body. Some of these ingredients mentioned both directly and indirectly in the Qur’an include animal protein, calcium, fat, iron, and salts. One specific food mentioned by the Prophet (PBUH) in a popular Hadith is the black seed. Prophet Muhammad (PBUH) stated, “The black seed can heal every disease, except death” [Bukhari]. The black seed, Nigella sativa, is very popular in traditional medicine and has been medically found to reduce inflammation, relax muscles, and act as an antioxidant. Another Islamic superfood is the date. Referred to in the Qur’an as a blessing of paradise, Muslims around the world commonly follow the sunnah of the Prophet (PBUH) and break their fast with dates. Dates are a good source of fiber, iron, natural sugars, and a plethora of vitamins. Additionally, eating dates during pregnancy can help ease labor pains and promote a healthy delivery. And if that isn’t enough, it is narrated in a Hadith that the Prophet (PBUH) said, “He who eats seven Ajwa dates every morning, will not be affected by poison or magic on the day he eats them” [Bukhari]. Other foods mentioned throughout the Qur’an or advised by the Prophet Muhammad (PBUH) include olives, honey, pomegranates, figs, and bananas. All of these foods have their nutritional value and are encouraged for us to incorporate into our daily diets.
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Allah (SWT) has gifted us with our bodies and provided resources for us to flourish and grow. It is up to us to treat our bodies with respect and uphold the Islamic principles in the light of the Qur’an and Sunnah, to attain true physical health for the sake of Allah (SWT). Our faith is perfect guidance not just in worship and spirituality, but in every aspect of our lives.
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Muslim Community Praying Fajr at Lakefill, circa 2021
Class of 2022 at Community Iftaar, circa 2022
Senior Reflections
The Class of 2022 Reflects on Their Time at Northwestern
By Fayza Manaa
Spring 2022 – As we welcome the warm weather, we prepare to say goodbye to our seniors. The community that McSA provides has gotten us through many sleepless nights studying, helped us ponder existential questions over our career paths, and blessed us with friendships that inshAllah will last a lifetime. But before they leave to begin their post-grad journeys, I wanted to ask a few of our seniors to reflect on their time at Northwestern. Here’s what they had to say. I started by asking about their favorite memories at NU. Weinberg seniors Nawar Alhaddad and Ayesha Lat reminisced on their freshman year Ramadan - the first they had spent away from home. They found community and solace in the daily group iftars and taraweeh prayers. Weinberg senior Shoaib Syed commented that his favorite memory was praying salat al-Fajr during his freshman year Ramadan, while Weinberg senior Huma Manjra enjoyed praying together with friends in the parks, and hammocking in the springtime near the lakes. Weinberg senior Fizzah Jaffer says A&O blowouts, such as the
Willow Smith concert, were especially memorable to her. She also says that being pre-med exposed her to new experiences and perspectives that she did not anticipate. McCormick senior Mohammed Issa recounted, “One of my favorites was when my friends and I… woke up early to catch sunrise on the lake…but the funny thing is, it was when they were doing construction on the lake. So then, we didn’t actually get to sit on the lake, and we ran into North beach and caught the last five minutes of sunrise. But other than that, it was really nice.” I then asked who had the most impact on them during their time at NU. Weinberg senior Leen Abdul Razzak said having a diverse group of close friends has been very meaningful to her. She explains, “I’ve been able to learn so much about other religions, because they’re from places I’ve never been, and they have different beliefs than I do, and so it’s been really an educational experience.” Shoaib says the person who’s had the most impact on him outside Northwestern is his little brother, who lives with autism and cerebral palsy. “Even though he has all these difficulties, he still has a smile on his face. Right? So that’s very inspirational for me,” he says. “It’s really a big driving force for a lot of the things I do. It’s the reason why I went into neuroscience, the reason why I want to go into medicine.” Shoaib also says McSA and alumn, Mujtaba and Madan, who encouraged him to go to events as a freshman, have had the biggest impact on him at NU. Huma, Nawar and Ayesha credited their friends, roommates and the Muslim community at NU. Mohammed Issa gave a shout out to Abdalla Badri as “legitimately one of the smartest people I’ve met here. He’s really passionate about everything he does.” Next, I asked the seniors about meaningful clubs that they have been a part of during their time at NU. Fizzah, Ayesha, and Huma highlighted their involvement with the Muslim Mental Health Initiative (MMHI). Ayesha spoke about how she has been working with them since she was a sophomore as a passion project. “We were just working towards making change where we saw it was needed, and it’s so nice to see how far we’ve come.” Huma spoke of her own experience with MMHI: “As a freshman…I wanted to join because of my experience going through medical leave and not having access to a therapist, or somebody that I could really relate to or feel comfortable with,” she said. “That has probably been the most defining part of being at Northwestern here – making sure that there’s a service that provides care for Muslim students and students with other identities.” Fizzah spoke about rejecting the idea of joining things just for prestige. “We have a weird extracurricular culture here,” she said. “And the clubs make it so exclusive – you have to apply, interview, and might not even get into a club. But I never liked that style, so I always tried to do things that I wanted to do, because I actually cared about them and actually had an interest in them. And these ended up being the most rewarding
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and fun ones for me.” Nawar, Leen and I were exec and founding members of the Middle East and North African (MENA) Student Association. When asked about its significance to her, Leen said, “I couldn’t find people who spoke the same language or were from the same place and it was hard. But knowing that there’s a place for other people like that now, that we made a difference at Northwestern, that’s something that I’ll forever be happy about.” Nawar says being exec for McSA and MENA has taught her a lot about bringing communities together, and also how to manage operations. “I think I was very fortunate to experience it and to continue experiencing it,” she says. “And it’s nice to hear people’s feedback about the events we hold. Both clubs are identity-based, which shows definitely take advantage of that. Because I don’t know how how much I value people having a place to be who they are.” often it is going to be that you’re gonna find so many smart and Finally, I asked them if they had advice for younger mem- caring people concentrated in such a small area ever again in bers of McSA. your life,” says Shoaib. “Be there for others as well. And help Mohammed Issa says it’s important to find a balance be- each other out, because it’s not easy going through four years tween school and a social life. “This is coming from the wrong here. We’re all trying to find a home away from home, so try to person, but try and go to more events…if I can go back and do be a part of that.” it over again I would definitely try and prioritize my social life “I don’t think a lot of people realize how rare it is to have a a bit more.” Muslim community as rich as ours in a college campus,” says Nawar also suggested trying to go to as many events as pos- Ayesha. “Everyone comes from pretty different backgrounds, sible. “The more I attended, the more I realized how much of with so many different perspectives, and there’s so much to an effect it had on me, and not just spiritually. Sometimes you learn from everyone. And it’s so beautiful to see people that just need people that keep you in check as a person in terms genuinely want to get closer to their religion and their spiriof Islamic values and not necessarily the religious aspects per tuality, not because it’s what their family does or because it’s se.” She also said to lean on the community you find: “Hang- what they’re used to, but they genuinely hold a curiosity for ing out with the sisters, especially in times of need…going to something bigger.” somewhere where you know you have a home has been really Huma emphasizes the importance of investing in your menimportant to me, and I would love for the underclassmen to tal, spiritual and physical health. “You’re human first before also have that.” you’re a student,” she says. “Be compassionate to yourself, find Some seniors advised to not a community that can support limit yourself in your friendthat can encourage you, “People are going to give you advice repeatedly, but listen you, ships. that lifts you up, but also chal“Don’t be afraid to not be to yourself. Don’t compare yourself to others – your path lenges you in a way that you around other Muslims or othdon’t stay stuck. You always is your own, trust your gut” er Arabs,” said Leen. “There’s want to grow in the best way value in being in your compossible. fort zone but there’s also value “The one thing that I can really emphasize,” continues in being outside of it, and this is an experience to meet new Huma, “is talk to the upperclassmen because we’re here to suppeople.” Fizzah adds, “I would tell younger people to avoid port you, we’ve been through all of it. We have so much advice cliques, avoid unnecessary drama and definitely try to find that we want to give you guys, and we want to set you up for your interests outside. And people are going to give you ad- success. So reach out through email, even after I graduate -- I’m vice repeatedly, but listen to yourself. Don’t compare yourself sure other seniors feel the same way. Reach out to us even after to others – your path is your own, trust your gut.” we graduate because we’d love to help. We’ve invested in this Other seniors said to take part in the Muslim community community. And so you guys can’t get rid of us.” here as much as possible. We will miss our graduating friends, but we know they are “There are so many people in McSA that have so many dif- off to do amazing things in the world, inshAllah. Goodbye to ferent experiences, and there are so many people who are will- the class of 2022, and good luck to everyone inshaAllah! ing to help you with anything that you could possibly need, so
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The Muslim Mental Health Initiative Sabahaath Latifi on Bringing Islamically Integrated Psychotherapy to Northwestern University By Fardeem Munir
The Muslim Mental Health Initiative (MMHI) was founded in 2019 with the intention of providing an inclusive mental health resource to the Northwestern community and its Muslim students. Recently, MMHI has partnered with Khalil Center Chicago and CAPS to offer “Let’s Talk” hours with Sabahaath Latifi, a Muslim licensed therapist. Sabahaath completed her undergraduate studies in speech-language pathology and quickly discovered her love for working with people. Through a series of personal life events, she realized the importance of mental health and completed her graduate studies in Clinical Psychology. During her internship, she discovered the Khalil Center and has been working with them ever since. We sat down with Sabahaath to discuss Islamically integrated psychotherapy, specific mental health issues she observes in the Muslim community, and how to best break news of your escapades to your parents. TLDR: if you go skydiving without telling your parents, the best time to tell them is right before you jump out of the plane. “Hey mom, I’m skydiving right now. Okay bye!” As some people would say, “ask for forgiveness, not for permission. :)” This interview has been edited for length and clarity A lot of people are fundamentally opposed to the idea of therapy. In their mind, they cannot piece together why talking to someone about a problem will solve that issue. Do you have any particular stories that push back against that narrative? That is the common myth about therapy: that you just go talk and things change for you. That is never, ever true. Therapy is way more than that. Here’s something I see a lot: I get older clients and they’ve been living life for a very long time in a certain way that tends to follow the mantra, “Don’t deal with your problems.” “Anxiety? No, sometimes I get overwhelmed and I deal with it and I move on and I’m fine.” And yet, as they say, these things, they will also say “I feel my heart racing. I sweat, I get nervous” and still end with saying “but I’m fine.” And then we start talking. We’re not just talking for the sake of talking, but rather to explore where this person is coming from. What’s their background? What’s their experience? Who are they? They’re individuals with very rich histories and experiences that have shaped the way that they see the world and deal with problems. And I want to understand that. Of course, we also work on the skills and the techniques to deal with the [issue]. And while we’re doing this exploratory work, we’re also doing lifestyle building. So we talk about nutrition, physical activity, sleep hygiene and spiritual health. We talk about relationships and how they deal with conflict: communication, assertiveness, self-advocacy –- we do all that. Now, maybe something new happens in their life while they’re in therapy. I see the way that they handle that new conflict or that new situation – they’re very much within an awareness of self compassion, recognizing the way that they can communicate or the way that they can handle it. And it looks totally different. It’s healthy, it’s balanced. And they’re able to take on the conflict without it taking them over.
Sabahaath Latifi. Photo via Khalil Center
posed to do. When that is taken care of, we build an alliance, we create an understanding of what therapy can be, and then we challenge the feeling of being stuck. Because whenever we feel stuck, it’s a feeling; it’s not a fact. Feelings are never fact. So you feel stuck because you feel like you don’t have choices. But, we always have choices. The choices can be difficult. They can be painful. In fact, they can cause other kinds of conflict — but they exist. And, so, some people, when you challenge them, they recognize that, “you know what, for me, my parents are a priority, nothing else surpasses that. It’s my job to fulfill this,” and they do it with that intention. Do I think that’s the healthiest way to go about it? No, but who am I? If that’s something that the person realizes is their priority, then that’s important. That’s the thing that we want to work with. Nobody gets to judge them for those choices. Now most of the time, what ends up happening is the person realizes they are really following this path out of fear that their parents won’t accept them, or concern over the fights that may happen at home if they say, “Hey, I don’t want to do this.” That’s the reason that they’re just pushing through. Then, they realize that they can actually advocate for their needs and be assertive. Yes, it’s gonna come with conflict, and yes, it’s going to come with a lot of “fun” emotional blackmail statements and things like that. There are extreme cases, but for the average [parents], if you tell them you don’t want to do it, what are they really going to do? Lots of emotional blackmail. Sure. Lots of yelling. And yes, it sucks to have to go through that. I’m not minimizing having to hear that. Trust me, it’s painful. But after that, what happens? Are they going to really put a gun to your head and force you to sit in on classes? No. The average parent won’t do that. They’re going to be like, “Oh man, okay, fine.” “Whatever, this kid, what a disappointment, time to move on.” And then you move on with your life and you build your career and they realize, “wait, he or she is doing perfectly fine.” Life moved on. So, when you can give the person the tools that they might need to feel secure enough, or as secure as you can possibly feel to face that, they do face it. And I’ve seen people come out on the other end, and I’ve seen them be happier – and because they’re happier, they’re able to deal with whatever things their parents might be throwing at them. Once again, I want to emphasize, I can never speak for every experience, but generally speaking, these parents really just want their kids to be happy. Unfortunately, they believe that happiness is only defined by what they think is happiness. And when they can see that their child is still happy after they choose a different path, they tend to come around and accept that. So it’s really important to recognize that your parents aren’t your enemies. They’re just trying to do what’s best for you. Unfortunately, the efforts are well intentioned, but harmful, and you push through all of that. There is the other end to it, and it’s really great. There’s a lot of happiness and contentment waiting for you there. A lot of people are in situations where they are practically living a double life and then they realize that they want to stop, but that involves having a difficult conversation with either their parents or someone else. What would you advise to those in that situation?
What are some of the issues you see come up with Muslim college students? You mentioned that a common issue you see is students having to study a subject for their parents sake and not because they’re interested in it.
This idea of having honest, assertive conversations with your parents is the most foreign idea in our community. I don’t think there’s any way to do it without damage or without things blowing up. I really do believe it’s about going through it. It’s like having a car stuck in the mud, right? You can’t sit inside the car, all clean and pretty and just rev your car out. No, you got to get in the mud, get dirty, get gross, put in a lot of effort to push that. That’s kinda what you gotta do here. You gotta go through it. You can’t just drive around it or figure it out. You’re going through it. You’re pulling your car out. You’re getting messy. So, I wish I had a pretty answer for you on that. I just don’t.
So we do see that often and the feeling that generally comes up is, “I feel stuck.” First of all, there is no easy answer to that. Whenever somebody comes to me, I challenge that feeling a lot — obviously, after building a relationship and creating a safe space for them and doing everything we’re sup-
--Sabaahath Latifi is available for consultation hours for the academic year. You can drop in for sessions every Monday at the MCC. You can book a time with her at https://bit.ly/nu-teletalk.
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A Night with Mohammed El-Kurd In November 2021, Chicago’s chapter of Student for Justice in Palestine welcomed Mohammed El-Kurd, Palestinian poet and journalist from East Jerusalem, to speak at the University of Chicago. From reading from his debut poetry collection, Rifqa, to talking about activism, violence and the law, El-Kurd inspired many to fight against oppression and for liberation. By Eman Hamed
H
e mounts at a podium on a small wooden stage, red drapes drawn behind him. With a single spotlight illuminating his face, Mohammed El-Kurd fills the room with his presence as he stands and reads poems from his collection, Rifqa.
He shares the stories of untapped potential, of ruin and destruction, but what makes him so memorable is his blatant honesty. “I hate my oppressors,” he said, taking a deep pause, “I hate them and it’s ridiculous that people tell me I should feel otherwise.”
I have never seen so many people captivated in my life. Everyone’s eyes, filled with admiration and hope, set attentively on El-Kurd as he speaks about the experiences of growing up in Occupied Palestine. His storytelling is inherently entrancing, with each word having enough emotion to move a mountain.
This much-needed expression of how those oppressed should not have to “play nice” with their oppressors is not the only lovable attribute of this experience. What I value so much about this event is the remembrance of what was and what could be. El-Kurd reassembles a picture of an unoccupied Palestine, of a Palestinian society before colonization and ethnic cleansing. Beautiful architecture and pristine buildings, acres of olive trees and greenery, bustling street markets, mesmerizing beaches. A Palestine where the sun shined a little brighter.
He brings to life the pictures and videos and stories we read in the media. We all know those stories: the posttraumatic stress disorder little Palestinian boys and girls suffer from seeing their homes get blown to bits and pieces, Palestinian activists’ faces getting pounded into concrete by an Israeli soldier’s foot while they’re being arrested, the sorrow of a Palestinian parent as they carry a two or three foot coffin holding their child.
The saying that “One day, it will be Palestine’s time to be free,” has always been my beacon of hope. In retrospect, after listening to Mohammed El-Kurd, I recognize that the time is now. There is so much in life we take for granted, so much ease and privilege we as Northwestern students have in our day to day lives. I encourage everyone to educate themselves, to enlighten themselves the same way Mohammed El-Kurd enlightens me and an audience of hundreds, and fight for the Palestine that once was, because there is still time where it could be. To find ways to be on the right side of history and support Palestinian liberation, join Northwestern’s chapter of Students for Justice in Palestine (SJP) and, by extension, Students for Justice in Palestine Chicago, where you can learn about events, protests, and more.
Mohammed El-Kurd. Photo via Haymarket Books
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The Festival of Sacrifice By Asiyah Arastu
We live in a world of growing vegetarianism. As the cruelty in the meat industry is exposed, people recoil in pity and horror. Many vow to never eat meat again. Some swear to convince the rest of the world to follow suit. For some reason, many tend to overlook the simplest solution: moderation. It’s true—the treatment of animals in the meat industry is inexcusable. But this happens partly because of the demand for meat: the need for meat at every meal, quick and convenient, processed and packaged to please the masses. To sustain this lifestyle, the frenzied butchering must continue, far from the public eye. The connection that once existed between man and animal is gone. In Islam, the profession of a butcher is highly discouraged for this very reason: killing as a profession hardens one’s heart and severs the connection between the one who is fed and the one who feeds. We consumers become indifferent to the meat we consume, neither knowing nor caring where it came from. We are unable to appreciate the blessing because of how removed we are from the source and provider. This apathy is the antithesis of the spirit of Eid al-Adha, the Festival of Sacrifice, during which we remember Abraham, Ishmael, and their sacrifice. For many, this story is shocking, but there is indescribable beauty at its heart. Abraham dreamt of God’s order to sacrifice his son—his firstborn, a gift in his old age, whom he loved more than his own self. It was not an easy choice to make, but he did not make it alone. He asked Ishmael what he thought. There was no struggle, no coercion. The two had firm
faith in their Lord: utter trust, selflessness, and devotion. Ishmael calmly urged his father to fulfill his Lord’s command, and his father mirrored that resolve, despite his heavy heart. In the end, of course, God did not want his prophet to shed the blood of his son. Both father and son were overjoyed when their trust in their Lord in the face of such a trial was rewarded by his infinite mercy. In his son’s stead, Abraham sacrificed the ram God sent down with Gabriel—an act of obedience and sincere gratitude. We Muslims aspire to that level of submission to the will of one who is infinitely wiser than ourselves. On this Eid, we, too, strive to sacrifice—not because God is capricious and bloodthirsty, or because he needs another creature’s blood to sustain himself. The purpose of this act is to give thanks, to earn God’s pleasure, and, as an added benefit, to connect with those in our community: it is highly recommended to offer a third of the meat to those less fortunate than us, distribute one third to friends and relatives, and keep one third to feed our own families. There is a certain bond that arises from partaking of food from the same source, and that bond is strengthened through this act. Of course, sacrificing an animal is not meant to be easy. Just as it was for Abraham, it is a test, especially for those who carry it out far from home during Hajj. There is the price of the animal—a small sacrifice on our part. Then there is the sheer physical exertion such a task requires. And, for all who have compassion, there is the emotional tug felt when taking the life of a fellow creature. A few years ago, my brother and I had the opportunity to sacrifice a lamb to-
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gether. After the experience, people peppered us with questions. What was it like? Was it hard? Did you feel bad? To tell the truth, I felt a whirl of complex emotions. Most confidently, I can say I did not “feel bad.” Islam places great emphasis on treating the animals with as much dignity and kindness as possible until the end. We led each lamb away from the rest before sacrificing it, and to each one we offered water in its final moments. I felt the weight and solemnity of the occasion, but I did not feel bad. Even if others were coarse and unfeeling in the background, even if the surroundings were not as clean and pristine as they should’ve been, I did it for the right reasons and in the best manner possible. I try to think of it as a sacrifice on the animal’s part as well as on our own. I remind myself that God knows what is best both for the animal and for us. On Eid al-Adha, we renew our appreciation for the blessings God bestowed on us in the form of cows, goats, and sheep. However, we shouldn’t limit this appreciation to a yearly basis. The key is to maintain this connection throughout the year whenever we choose to consume meat so that it does not devolve into something that we take for granted. We don’t need to completely forgo meat if we remain mindful of where our food comes from. When a sacred relationship is drowned in thoughtlessness and mass production—that is where the trouble starts.
Bitcoin and the Quran By Fardeem Munir
Crisp winter air swept through San Francisco and I found myself in the office of a posh Silicon Valley cryptocurrency company. Tech bros filled the air with mentions of blockchain and something about uprooting the world’s financial system. Ah, techno optimism - how I love thee. I had spent the previous summer immersed in blockchain technology, the underlying system that powers Bitcoin, Ethereum and all other cryptocurrencies so I felt at home. After a restless night, I began to doze off during a presentation about how their blockchain system works when it suddenly occurred to me: Oh my God, the Quran and Hadith sciences are blockchain based systems very similar to Bitcoin.
Wait, what is Bitcoin again? Most people treat bitcoin as a trading instrument. You buy it for some price and hope the price increases so you can make a profit . In this sense, it’s a lot like gambling. However, the existence of Bitcoin is much deeper than that. Just like the dollar is the currency of the United States, Bitcoin is the currency of the Internet. The Making of a Currency There is one key thing any currency needs to get right: the double-spending problem. If you give Willie the Wildcat 10$, you should no longer have that 10$. This is easy if you are transacting using cash. The physical piece of paper actually has to change hands. Over the internet however, Money, like all other data, is just a string of 1s and 0s. You can copy that a bunch of times over and make yourself a millionaire. “But how does Venmo do it?” Ah, Venmo. Venmo or any other bank, solves the double spending problem by introducing themselves as a middlemen. They solely exist to be a central authority to make sure when you send money to Willie, it moves from your account to Willie’s But, central authorities suck! Why can you talk to someone across the world but not freely send them money? Your bank will block transactions and freeze your account if they think the transaction seems fishy. Why can they slap you with obscene fees any moment they can? Oh you want a new card, here’s a fee. You want a new account, yeah $20 for that. It’s ridiculous how much you have to deal with a bank’s wishes and desires considering the money is yours! On 31 October 2008, Satoshi Nakamoto published the paper titled “Bitcoin: A Peer-to-Peer Electronic Cash System”. With that Bitcoin came to life. To this day no one knows who or where Satoshi Nakamoto is. In 2010, he disappeared from the online bitcoin scene never to be heard from. On 3 January 2009, the first transaction on the bitcoin network took place. Bitcoin runs the blockchain, and each transaction is known as a block. This first block had the following message embedded in it: “The Times 03/Jan/2009 Chancellor on brink of second bailout for banks”
Bitcoin began with the instability of modern finance and a desire to build a better world. Double Spending on the Blockchain Through a set of rules and systems, The blockchain allows people across the globe to send money to each other without a central authority. Instead of having a central authority, in the blockchain everyone is a central authority. Everyone gets a ledger of transactions and every single transaction on the blockchain network is propagated to everyone’s ledger. The ledger might look like this:
You to Willie the Wildcat You to Northwestern. Satoshi to Vitalik.
10$ Obscene tuition fees 400$
Every transaction is public information. As you can see, double-spending is impossible because anyone can tally up all your transactions and know if you have enough money. But what if I add a line to the ledger like “you give me all your money”? Bitcoin prevents this by using digital signatures which allow everyone in the bitcoin network to look at a transaction and ensure that the sender actually made it. I couldn’t then make transactions from your account. But I still want all your money so I do the following trick: I convince you to give me 10 bitcoins and then I copy that line in the ledger over and over again! Not so fast. When you want to add a line item to this ledger, the following things takes place: 1. You announce the transaction to everyone 2. Each person in the network is constantly listening to new transactions. 3. When they receive news of a transaction, they first check if the sender had enough funds. Then they “mine” the transaction by solving a hard computational puzzle. This is the heart of the network and is known as proof of work. This will become more important in a bit 4. Once a person mines a transaction and creates a block out of it, they tell everyone about the transaction and everyone adds this new line to their ledger Thus, unless I collude with everyone on the network to steal your money, I wouldn’t be able to do it!
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The key to understanding the connection between the Quran and Bitcoin is the notion of Proof of Work -- the notion that you can’t change this distributed ledger without getting everyone on board with your plan.
Quran on the Blockchain Here’s a thought experiment for you. Let’s say we wake up tomorrow and all the world’s written information whether in print or digital just disappears. All the libraries vanish. Computers, phones, everything:gone. Your beloved books are no longer with you . Your favorite articles and podcasts evaporate out of existence Within the end of day, however, around the world, a copy of the Quran would be reproduced and all of them will be exactly the same. Due to the millions of huffadh, people who memorize the Quran verbatim, even during an informational apocalypse, the Quran will not only be lost but restored in the same way across the world without any centralized communication. Bitcoin wants to be globally distributed and not rely on any central authority. The Quran is all over the world without any central authority controlling its flow of information. The Quran is the same in Japan as it is in Alaska. People who memorize the Quran, called Huffadh, make up the backbone of a “Quran Blockchain”. Being a huffadh is hard and people generally dedicate 2-3 years of full time effort. Similar to the proof of work mechanism employed in blockchain,a hufaddh can’t just change a verse of the Quran because millions of other huffadh are constantly checking their work.
Hadith on the Blockchain When someone says the Prophet ﷺsaid something, how do we really know? How do we know this isn’t something made up? Isn’t it quite a lot like asking if someone on the blockchain network has the amount of money he claims to be paying me? In the blockchain, the ledger keeps track of all the transactions since the beginning of its creation. Every transaction can be traced back to the genesis block. The Hadith tradition has a similar concept: the Isnad. Every single Hadith can be traced back to the Prophet ﷺin a chain of transmitters. Someone who is trained in hadith will be able to tell you their chain: my teacher heard it from his teacher who heard it from their teacher, all the way back to the Sahabah who heard it from the Prophet ﷺ. It’s interesting how the concept of digital signatures comes into play. We didn’t have computers until very recently but the hadith tradition is 1400 years strong. In the blockchain, we verify each transaction by looking at their signature but in hadith when someone says “so and so told me”, how do we really know? The answer lies in the field of Islamic studies known as `Ilm al-Rijāl. At an Islamic Law class at North-
western, we were given a bunch of hadith and asked to classify if they were true or not. Along with the chain of transmitters, we were given biographies of each transmitter: when they were born, where they lived and other information. One example of how this plays out is that if two transmitters next to each other in the chain lived on opposite sides of the planet, there is no reason we should accept the hadith.
The Signs of God This article vastly oversimplifies both blockchain and how Quran and hadith sciences work. You might think the similarities evaporate when you look deeper into both fields. Surprisingly, the opposite is actually true. The more in-depth I have studied the Islamic Tradition and blockchain, I find more and more similarities.
On that chilly day in San Francisco, my realization about the parallels between cryptocurrency and the Islamic tradition shocked me. It took me a whole summer of complicated Math and computer networks to understand blockchain networks. It’s incredible how for 1400 years now the Islamic tradition has been built on a similar network architecture with people all over the world with various levels of education, yet the whole system works flawlessly. There is a reason we call the Quran the book of God. ”The revelation of this Book is from Allah—the Almighty, All-Wise. Surely in the creation of the heavens and the earth are signs for the believers.” [45:2-3]
Halal House: All Eyes On Us
By Sama Ben Amer
Cast of Halal House, circa 2021
At first glance, the small building hosting the staged reading of Halal House bears a resemblance to an abandoned shed, forgotten and hiding in plain sight on the path to other, more frequented buildings. Attendees circle the building, searching for the elusive entrance to Shanley Pavilion.
Over the course of the 90 minute staged reading, the actors took the audience through a multi-generational journey exploring themes of Islamophobia, domestic abuse, toxic masculinity, loss, and so much more, painting a bittersweet image of a realistic Arab Muslim immigrant household in America. Though not autobiographical, Manaa said that her writing was inspired by the stories of women she knew.
Staged Reading of Halal House, circa 2021
The stage lights illuminate the stage and the first actor steps into the light––the show has begun. AL BAYAN | 24 | Spring
Manaa recruited Antabli to play the role of the mother in Halal House, an experience that Antabli said opened her eyes to the experiences of Muslim Arab women in the United States as someone who was more familiar with Middle Eastern culture.
“When I joined theater, I wasn’t entering it with the mindset that I’m a Muslim theater maker. I was just a theater maker, I wanted to study theater. But now, being Muslim is a huge, ever present part of my identity, especially now that I’m visibly Muslim,” Manaa said. Manaa wrote her play, Halal House, as part of her advanced writing sequence over the course of a year. The play tells the story of (blank), a young Muslim woman who escapes an abusive household to return to her family’s home after being estranged from them for many years. Over the course of the play, (blank) rebuilds her relationship with her mother and her sister as past traumas continue to haunt her.
Inside, rows of chairs encircle the modest stage which is empty save for the stands and chairs for the actors. People continue to take their seats and then––the lights dim and a hush takes over the room. Behind the makeshift divider between the backstage and the mainstage, the quiet movement and whispers of the actors can be heard as they prepare to begin the show.
SPOTLIGHT
When School of Communication senior Fayza Manaa arrived at North western, she never thought that in three years she would have written a play centered around an Arab Muslim women, let alone have it be produced as a staged reading.
“I was very impressed by the reflection on the Arab Muslim American immigrant experience, their struggle, the struggle to make a new home, the acceptance of one another, and how the play reflected on the domestic abuse as well, especially having three woman involved,” Antabli said. “That was really what drew me to the play and I thought this was a very rewarding experience.” Behind the stage, Manaa made sure to maintain as much Muslim representation as possible there as well. School of Communication junior Ahlaam Moledina had no idea what a stage manager was when she joined Halal House as a director. Unlike Manaa, Moledina majors in RTVF, which she said is more focused on the framing of projects rather than embracing the vastness of a stage. “It was very interesting to consider the medium I’m most familiar with which is film versus theater, which Fayza is so talented within and is so knowledgeable about,” Moledina said. “The whole time I just kind of find myself comparing them.”
“A lot of the scenarios that happened are scenarios that have happened to people I know and care about, especially moments of violence, moments of joy, moments of feeling and moments of moving up from generational trauma and stuff like that.”
Moledina is used to often being the only Muslim to be in creative spaces and she said her involvement in predominantly white spaces is predicated on the fact that if she isn’t there to represent Muslims, no one will.
In February, Manaa brought her writing to life through two staged readings she produced.
“I think that if any amount of investment was made into communities of color, there would be engagement that existed the way that affinity groups kind of exist within themselves,” she said. “It is not the fault of these communities who sort of stay a bit insular.”
Manaa recruited Muslims, theatre and non-theatre majors alike, for the cast and crew, a process that reinforced the lack of Muslim representation in the performance arts. “There’s no Muslim or Arab plays that go up. And because of the lack of roles, there’s really no Muslim or Arab actors. And because there’s no Muslim or Arab actors, when there is something like Halal House, it’s very, very hard to cast,” Manaa said. McCormick first-year Omar Sharaf said he was involved in theater productions in middle school, yet none of the sets felt as communal as his experience on Halal House. “I think maybe it’s inherent to the fact that we were all brought together by the identity that we shared. It felt very fun, very collaborative and not just with the Muslim cast members,” Sharaf said. “It felt like we were all there to put on a good show but also to enjoy ourselves.” In keeping with the integrity of the story she wanted to tell, Manaa made an intentional effort to incorporate Arabic into the vernacular of the script, and Arabic professor Fadia Altabli said that this inclusion helped to create a more authentic story. “It was the cultural intonation that can only be expressed in that language,” Antabli said. “I loved towards the end: the prayer. Whether we are Arab, or non-Arab, when we pray, we turn to Arabic.” Image: Cast of Halal House, circa 2021
When the stage lights dim for the last time, the crowd erupts in applause for the emotional journey Manaa took the audience on. Before people leave, everyone stops to congratulate and thank Manaa for her story––the wide-eyed adoration on so many faces weren’t just reserved for Manaa, but for a newfound interest in theater. Manaa said she was surprised by the positive response due to her fears of being unable to fully represent every Muslim in her play. “I was actually very surprised by how many people, especially Muslims and Arabs, came up to me saying ‘we really love the story,’ or that it meant a lot to them, or that it evoked some kind of emotion in them because I was really afraid of this being taken as if Muslims are like a monolith. I was scared I wasn’t representing everyone in the most positive light,” Manaa said. “It’s very scary when you’re the only representation there is.” Manaa hopes to provide representation for at least one Arab or Muslim who hasn’t seen their stories told before. “Arabs, Arab Americans and Muslims: there’s so much depth to them and I want Arabs and Muslims to feel represented but also to not feel like this one story is necessarily encompassing all experiences.”
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Shoaib and his dad, circa 2020
ShwOb DoG EaTs
Decadent Omakase
By Shoaib Syed
It’s hard for me to consider myself a foodie. When I think of a food critic, I think of someone nitpicking everything they eat. Too salty. The cow is still mooing. The texture feels weird in my mouth. But when I think of my relationship with food, “critic” isn’t what comes to mind. I was taught to appreciate what Allah gave me. Whatever my mom made, I ate with a smile. When my younger brother wouldn’t eat his vegetables, they were sent my way. I was the resident trash can. So it’s a little strange for someone who has never been picky with his food to run an Instagram page dedicated to reviewing restaurants. There must be a genetic component to my passion for good food. My dad is a notoriously picky eater. It seems like whenever my mom makes any dish, he has some small issue with it. His taste buds are just too sensitive to fool. Or maybe they’re just nostalgic. At the dinner table, he would tell me tales of the food from our homeland: Bangalore, India. He loved the food from Indiranagar, a popular neighborhood for young adults to satisfy their cravings. He would salivate recounting the juicy kebabs, the flavorful biryanis, and the decadent curries. None of the food here in the States can ever compare. Every time he’s brought a dish now, his mind instantly recalls what he used to eat as a kid, a death sentence for the poor meal in front of him. Fast forward about forty years and his son is doing the same thing, traveling across Chicago – neighborhood to neighborhood – in search of halal eats. Trying new cuisines is one of my favorite pastimes. I rarely order the same thing when I revisit any restaurant. The rush I get from unlocking new flavors motivates me looking for new places and I want to share the experience. That is what inspired me to start @shwobdogeats and I hope you find inspiration within it to expand your culinary palette.
Oh My Gourd w/ Vegan Chai Donut Sol Café
The first thing you notice is the immaculate vibes. Sprawling plants adorn the walls. Repurposed coffee sacks dim the ceiling lamps. Old-fashioned lightbulbs and rustic spice jars complete the look. So you can only imagine the disappointment I felt when the coffee did not meet expectations. When the barista explained the drink, I saw the vision. It was supposed to be like an elevated pumpkin spice latte. The drink boasted pumpkin extract and curried spices. I was excited. But when the drink hit my throat, I could barely keep going. The spices assaulted the back of my throat, each gulp leaving a lingering reminder that I made a mistake ordering this. The only thing that managed to save my taste buds from being completely ravaged was intermittent bites of the donut. Full disclosure: whenever I see a vegan version of something, I get a little worried. Normally the flavor is fine but the texture is usually lacking. This vegan donut was no exception, but I actually loved the different texture. It was the beautiful love child of a donut and a cake pop. It was soft and fell apart in your mouth. The flavors were prominent but not overpowering, like the coffee. Would definitely recommend staying away from the Oh My Gourd, but there are plenty of interesting options to try on the menu! I had a few sips of this fig based drink that was a lot better. Maybe you can give that a shot instead. Overall Price: ~$10
Fried Lobster from Roka Akor, circa 2021. Photo courtesy of Shoaib Syed. Robata Grilled Diver Scallops from Roka Akor, circa 2021. Photo courtesy of Shoaib Syed.
Ever since I came to Northwestern, Roka Akor has always been at the back of my mind. Halal meat at a fine dining experience is a rare find. But after a friend got into medical school, we decided to finally look past the prices and check it out. And we couldn’t just try a few things. We had to go all in. We got the decadent omakase with 5 courses and 9 dishes. I’m not going to describe every single one because this would turn into a novel, and if you’re illiterate like I am, you’d quit after the first paragraph. So get ready for a series of random thoughts. First thing I want to highlight is the exceptional service. Shoutout to Leo, my waiter. He answered all of my questions about what is and isn’t halal, and the chef made sure to serve me dishes that did not contain alcohol or non-halal meat. Every time my non-Muslim friends received a dish which used alcohol, I would receive a completely different one to accommodate my faith. Not only that, but the chef often sent us complimentary dishes for our palates to explore. I was blown away by the service. Moving onto the taste: it is an experience. The first was a raw fish and vegetable salad that radiated freshness, accentuated by the ponzu. Next came the scallop bites. The lime in the scallop dish beautifully cut through the caramelization on the top. Since the scallop was perfectly cooked, my teeth sliced through like it was butter. Next came fried toro wrapped in shisho leaves. Toro refers to the rich, fatty belly of the tuna and it was DELICIOUS and incredibly crisp. The accompanying sauce was light but still had a subtle salty, peppery flavor that adds to the tempura. The first entree was the sushi platter. The raw toro tuna actually just melts in your mouth; I’ve never experienced anything like it. You know the accompanying wasabi is made with premium ingredients because it feels like a spice cloud ascending to the roof of your mouth and as it exits your mouth. You feel like a dragon breathing fire. It was absolutely magnificent, even though it was slightly uncomfortable. Next came the lobster tempura. Lobster was just barely overcooked and the hint of truffle in the aioli is divine. The last of the entrees was grilled beef and lamb. The beef was a little more rare than I usually like but the quality of beef is so good that I thoroughly enjoyed it regardless. The gaminess of the lamb was hidden but peeked out every now and then to remind you that you’re still eating lamb. Last came the dessert. The chocolate lava cake wasn’t anything special, but I appreciated the lack of numbing sweetness. The ice cream was fresh but could’ve used a little more sugar, in my opinion. The cheesecake felt like chewing a cloud in the best way. But the ube pot de créme? To die for. Beautifully rich and made me feel like a prince. A must try experience if you can look past the price. Overall price: ~$150 9.7/10
5.2/10
AL BAYAN | 26 | Spring Oh my Gourd Latte and Vegan Chai Donut from Sol Cafe, circa 2021. Photo courtesy of Shoaib Syed.
AL BAYAN | 27 | Spring
Yellowtail, Salmon and Tuna in a Ponzu Sauce from Roka Akor, circa 2021 Photo courtesy of Shoaib Syed.
Roka Akor
“It demonstrates the diversity and inclusiveness of Islam to me.” - Bonsitu K.
“It means seeing the beauty of intersectionality. It means being in community. Even though we face a lot of struggle for each identity, we still see the strength of our solidarity.” - Wala S.
“In my soul, there is strength, resilience, joy, and radical love.” - Djamila O.
“It is an identity I take pride in and one I was born, and will die, with.” - Momodou S.
“It means a lot of pride.” - Mouhamed T. “The intensity of being human and being black twice. I love being a Black Muslim.” - Ritaj A.
“It means being able to see my religion and culture come together in beautiful ways” - Asta C.
“It means having the spiritual framework to overcome and contribute to the reconstruction of limiting structures.” - Aida Z. “It means being resilient, strong, unapologetic, and learning to stand up.” - Abdalla B.
WHAT DOES BEING BLACK & MUSLIM MEAN TO YOU?
Being Black and Muslim means standing at the intersection of two strong, beautiful, identities. However, in a world that sees identity as a fixed dichotomy, Black Muslims are often expected to lay claim to one identity over the other, even though both play a fluid role in their everyday lives. The Black Muslim experience is different for each individual: some grew up acknowledging and claiming their Blackness while others continue to evolve in their racial consciousness. How does this translate to their ownership of being a Black Muslim? Creative Director: Rwan Ibrahim Photographer: Tasneem Abdalla
“Everything. It’s my faith and identity.” - Ahmed M.
“Empowering as I stand a part of two marginalized yet welcoming communities.” - Khadijat K.
“Learning to navigate two different identities, but also being proud to present both facets of myself” - Ahmed S.
“It’s my lifestyle and a defining part of what makes me, me.” - Najma A. “To me, it means being unique.” - Amiin M. “Having pride in my culture” - Osama H.
“The absence of virtue over one by skin, except by favor of righteousness.” - Mustafa I. “I believe in Allah and Prophet Muhammad is the last prophet.” - Ezell W.
“Being a minority within a minority.” - Faris H.
AL BAYAN | 29 | Spring
A 1947 Ghost Train
THE
A Painting of the Partition Between India and Pakistan
WATC H L IS T
By Iman Akram
E
very year, Al Bayan staff puts together The Watch List — a play on the infamous terrorism watchlist that Muslims are regularly (and often unjustly) placed on — that highlights the recent work of Muslims in popular culture. Check out everything we’ve been watching, reading and listening to over the past year!
Hasan Minhaj: The King’s Jester By Eman Hamed
Photo Via Madison Square Garden
Growing up, I heard stories about my great grandfathers who helped Muslims get on the last overcrowded refugee trains going from India to Pakistan during the 1947 Partition. The railway journey should have been a symbol of hope and escape, but it was instead the physical manifestation of death, destruction, and the sheer chaos of the Partition. If a train passed by, everyone knew where it was going, so everyone knew the people inside that train were Hindu, Sikh, or Muslim. That made them easily identifiable targets. Trains would be attacked and passengers viciously murdered, raped, and abducted. Neither side was innocent — oftentimes, trains pulled into new Pakistan or new India silent and full of dead bodies. These so-called “ghost trains” would be scrawled with messages like “A gift from India” or “A gift from Pakistan.” I was inspired by Saadat Hasan Manto for much of my imagery – the canvas is eerie and gruesome, yet the main figures A 1947 Ghost Train , Iman Akram (2022), Oil on canvas , 16 x 20 inches are unidentifiable. It’s unclear what religion, gender, or age the forms are, and the train’s name has been covered with smeared blood. The forms are painted in cold wax, a medium that gives texture to oil paints. This makes them three dimensional and nearly come out of the page, somewhat ironically bringing the forms back to life, contrasting with the background of the train. Every community suffered immensely during the Partition of India and Pakistan, regardless of which side of the border they were on, and this painting is meant to emphasize that.
There are very few places in this world where I feel an overwhelming sense of comfort, familiarity, and peace. This past October, I experienced such a niche sense of community and these emotions at Hasan Minhaj’s King’s Jester show right here in Chicago. I had never seen so many Brown people in one place at once (not even Salatul Eid) - but seeing so many Muslims and people who look like me made me recognize the value of Muslim figures in media like Hasan Minhaj. He does more than make us laugh or make us believe we are relatable: he literally brings us together, unites us and bonds us in ways we cannot cultivate on our own. I don’t plan on spoiling the show, but, if you can, see his show in person (he’s still on tour across different cities throughout the country!) because it’s so much more than a comedy show. It’s a raw account of the discrimination Muslims in America face, a testament of our strength and our dedication to our religion. It was inspiring and heartfelt. If you are unable to see his show live, not to worry, King’s Jester is coming to Netflix in 2023.
Elite By Taymae Mimouni
Different Angles of A 1947 Ghost Train. Photos courtesy of Iman Akram
The popular Netflix show, Elite, does a great job showing the world that Muslims are, in fact, real. Or, well, they managed that for one season. Although the show briefly depicts realistic struggles, certainly those of hijabis in Europe, it still raises the question; why did Nadia take off her hijab? In season two of the show, Nadia is told that she must either take off her hijab or be expelled, a situation that many hijabi girls face in Europe. But we later see Nadia entering a bar, hijab-less, all for the sake of impressing our token white savior, Guzman. After that, Nadia falls away from Islam, and seems happier with Guzman and her brand new “friends.” We even see that her father is immensely disappointed in her behavior, giving viewers the impression that islam, and the hijab, was forced upon her.This show is a wonderful example of harmful Muslim stereotypes, made even more evident once one finds out that there are no Muslim women writers for the show.
AL BAYAN | 31 | Spring
Photo Via Netflix
Adiga Music Band By Rwan Ibrahim Adiga Music Band is a Sudanese trio based in Dubai that formed in 2016. This group produces beats that bring traditional rustic Sudanese sounds to present lo-fi beats. The “classic” Sudani sound is typically composed of melodic song structures played by musical instruments like the violin, accordion, oud, tabla, or bongo drums. Sudanese music is upbeat and dramatic, yet personal proclaiming a story. Adiga Music Band blends the old with the new by taking classical sounds and emotions and reproducing them with a twist—using modern instruments like the acoustic and electric guitar, digital piano, bass, and drums. Their beats are creative and groovy. Not only have they turned into one of my go-to instrumental tracks to put on repeat and either do work to or unwind to, but they have given me a new appreciation towards Sudanese artists that make Sudanese music more accessible to younger generations who may not always feel connected to the “traditional” sound.
Muslim Women Taking Over TikTok By Ruba Memon @zahra Photo Via Spotify Photo Via YouTube
Going viral for her video on relatable college struggles, Zahra, previously known as @muslimthicc on TikTok, quickly rose to fame on TikTok. She uses her platform to make a range of content – from travel vlogs to random TikTok trends to fit checks. Zahra integrates her Muslim identity within her videos without it becoming the whole purpose of her page. In addition to her funny, relatable videos, she has made informational videos explaining Ramadan and used TikTok trends to portray how Muslim women are forced to dress by the West. If you wanna listen to a soothing voice, learn about self-care, watch random vlogs, or just support a Muslim creator, you know what you have to do!
@saharayar
Sahara, known as @saharayar on TikTok, has taken TikTok by storm. After gaining traction for her modest outfit of the day videos, Sahara began making a range of videos as well, such as reacting to popular shows or showing various hauls. What I love about Sahara is exactly what she went viral for – her modest OOTDs. Growing up, fashion has always been something I have loved and it would sometimes be hard seeing a lack of Muslims within the fashion space, but Sahara is everything I have dreamed of and more, and I hope she inspires other young Muslim women to follow in her steps.
@iconiccpinkk
As one of the most prominent Muslim TikTokers, Munera, known as @ iconiccpinkk on TikTok, primarily uses her platform to create comedic videos. Munera went viral after duetting videos where she pretended her hijab was being pulled as part of a TikTok trend; ever since then, she has continued to include her Muslim identity in her videos by joking about hair reveals or posting funny hijab tutorials. Additionally, Munera makes relatable content about having siblings. If you ever need a good laugh, you need to check out Munera’s page!
Photo Via Starsgab
Photo Via The Famous People
AL BAYAN | 32 | Spring
Photo Via ScreenRant
Never Have I Ever By Noraan Mohamed Season two of Never Have I Ever debuts Aneesa Qureshi, a charismatic, attrative, Indian-Muslim student, into the world of Devi Vishwakumar, the main protagonist of the Netflix teen comedy series. As the new student at Sherman Oaks High School, Aneesa’s confidence and radiance pose a threat to Devi but soon they become good friends. As a Muslim, Aneesa demonstrates the intersectionalities of being Muslim, female and the daughter of immigrants. While Aneesa is human and makes mistakes, she has good intentions and looks out for her friends. Though chaotic and a rollercoaster of emotions, Never Have I Ever’s imperfect portryal of Aneesa humanizes Muslim youth and nuances the conversation about expecations on Muslim-American women.
Nehmasis By Rwan Ibrahim A hijabi singer/songwriter?!? Say less. Nemah Hasan, Nemahsis, is a PalestinianCanadian hijabi singer/songwriter on the rise. Some may know her from her soothing and soulful song covers on Tiktok and Instagram, but her single “What if I took it off for you?” and recent debut EP “Eleven Arches” are beautiful bodies of work unlike any other. Never before had I listened to songs alluding to the hard truths, insecurities, and experiences hijabi women face and must overcome. She details the adversity of being the exception and tokenized, as well as the reality of having ambitious music goals as a hijabi woman. In her EP, she pulls heartstrings singing about persevering from internal struggles of understanding her identity as the daughter of immigrants, standing for what she believes in, and worrying about the perception of others. Simply put, Nemahsis’ voice is full of sincerity and emotion as she conveys vulnerable stories through every lyric—lyrics that echo the thoughts of anyone whom has ever felt the need to compromise a part of themselves to fit the ‘norm.’ Her music is absolutely compelling.
Photo Via YouTube
AL BAYAN | 33 | Spring
Hana Khan Carries On By Huma Manjra If you’re a South Asian Muslim woman trying to navigate life, this book is perfect for you. Meet the protagonist of Uzma Jalaluddin’s second novel, Hanan “Hana” Khan. Hana, a 24-year-old Muslim Canadian woman, is juggling an internship at an Indie radio station, waitressing at her family’s restaurant, and running her podcast. When a new restaurant opens up and threatens to sink the Khan family business, Hana finds herself stretched thin as she tries to save the restaurant while chasing her passion for radio broadcasting. To make matters worse, the co-owner of the rival restaurant, Aydin Shah, is annoyingly frustrating… but despite it all a special bond is formed. Join Hana as she navigates family, culture, her career ambitions, and a love interest. With a Halal restaurant rivals to lovers arc, finding one’s voice through podcasting, and growing up as a Muslim woman in the 21st century, Jalaluddin does it all and leaves readers wanting more.
Ayesha At Last By Fizzah Jaffar A Muslim retelling of the literary classic “Pride & Prejudice”, Ayesha at last, by Uzma Jalaluddin centers twenty-something Ayesha, a hard-working teacher and aspiring poet set against arranged marriage. On the other hand is Khalid, a steadfast conservative Muslim man (who even wears a thobe to work), set to marry whichever nice girl his mother wishes – if he could get outspoken Ayesha off his mind. Their story perfectly depicts the struggles of wanting to follow one’s dreams and be independent amid the toxicity of desi family dynamics and Muslim marriage culture. Moreover, the drama that ensues when Khalid is engaged to Ayesha’s cousin Hafsa is riveting, making this novel a fun, cute, and halal romantic comedy.
We Hunt The Flame By Ifra Waris Hafsah Faizal’s We Hunt the Flame is a young adult, fantasy fiction novel, and the first in the Sands of Arawiya duology. Set in ancient Arabia, the novel centers around Zafira, a powerfully skilled hunter who ventures into Arz, the cursed forest, disguised as a man to feed her people. If her identity as a girl is unveiled, all her fame would fade instantly. Nasir, also known as the Prince of Death, serves his father, the corrupt sultan. Unable to escape the confines of his father, Nasir struggles with self-doubt and his underlying compassion. To stop the suffering of her people and the spread of the Arz, Zafira is sent on a mission to retrieve a lost artifact. However, this same artifact is sought by the sultan, who sends Nasir to find it, and kill the Hunter, Zafira’s alias. Things quickly spiral out of control as the two seek their prize, while, unbeknownst to them, an ancient evil arises. With vivid language, rich characters, and fantastical adventure Faizal’s New York Times bestselling novel is a dazzling tale.
Heart’s Turn By Fardeem Munir
Michale Sugich’s Heart’s Turn, is a heart-warming book exploring the act of tawba, or repentance. Through a collection of stories about men and women from different walks of life that have returned to Allah after being astray, Sugich highlights the vastness of God’s Mercy and Compassion. Told through many voices and experiences, this brilliantly written book demonstrates that everyone is on a journey and no matter where someone is today, you never know how they will be guided in the future. A must-read, emotional book for the many of us that face inner doubts and need a reminder of the spiritual power of Islam. Just be prepared with a box of Kleenex because this book is bound to cue the waterworks!
AL BAYAN | 34 | Spring
Sea Without Shore: A Manual of the Sufi Path By Fardeem Munir For many Muslims, their first contact with Islam is religion shoved down their throats with the invocation of only the fear of God and never His love. For those jaded with the strictness of rules and earning for something deeper, Sufism may hold the answer. Sea Without Shore, is an incredible introduction for anyone interested in Sufism or Islamic mysticism. Through a portrait of the Islamic mysticism that spans seven and a half centuries, Sheikh Nuh Keller, conveys a deeper understanding of the Sufi path while tackling wider theological questions from evolution to divine Wisdom and Justice in the face of human suffering. Overall this book will bring a new perspective to your faith while also bringing you answers to questions you may not have realized you had.
Secrets of Divine Love By Ifra Waris
With incredible mastery, author A. Helwa, intertwines Quranic ayahs, hadith, prophetic tales, and beautiful poetry to guide the reader on their journey to discover Allah (SWT)’s Divine love. Secrets of Divine Love approaches the basic practices and foundations of Islam through a lens of characteristic metaphors, scientific evidence, interactive reflections, guided meditations, and of course, Islamic tradition. While discussing Allah (SWT)’s immense mercy, Helwa writes “Allah’s Rahman is like the sky, it covers everything in existence, including us and the worst of our sins. We were created from Allah’s mercy, and the Qur’an was sent like a ladder from Heaven to Earth, so that we could get closer to the Divine. Allah has opened the door for us; it is up to us whether we walk into the palace of His mercy and love.” Written with an open-mindedness for all faiths, the book encapsulates a genuine effort to nurture deep spirituality and provide heartfelt guidance. A. Helwa illuminates the beauty of Islam through her pragmatic guide to finding a deeper connection with the Divine.
Fajr and Noor By Rama Darayyad As s.hukr puts it, “When you start your day with Fajr, your face starts to glow with Noor (light)”. Fajr and Noor is a collection of meaningful quotes, poetry and daily reminders. Filled with Noor itself, this book guides you with words of wisdom, peace and love. It’s a fun and easy read, and it motivates readers to be not only the best version of themselves, but the best Muslim they can be. The author s.hukr is relatable, especially from the Western-Muslim perspective, and I can definitely guarantee that it’ll make you smile one way or another.
Beginnings By Eman Hamed
Jenna Fliesen, a first-generation, Tunisian-American Muslim poet, wields poetry as a tool to share her Arab upbringing and its relationship to her journey of finding purpose and fulfillment. In her beautiful, page-turning debut poetry collection, “ Beginnings”, she gives readers a glimpse into her inner monologue while also addressing the clash between mental health and culture. While all poems are perfectly crafted and amazing, personal favorites include “Arab Enough” and “To God We Return.” Give it a read!
AL AL BAYAN BAYAN || 35 35 || Spring Spring
Photos Via Amazon
POETRY
Original Poems
Tea Time
By Sara Muttar
“It comes as a great shock…to discover that the flag to which you have pledged allegiance…has not pledged allegiance to you.” - James Baldwin By Noraan Mohamed
You pour from an empty cup, Which remains barren, dry, fatigued, Yearning for a drop of tea, Learning to settle for a mere trace of humidity.
At age 7 I sit next to friends at lunch, giggling over our teacher’s silly accent and telling stories about our grandparents back home before walking to Jummah salah together.
Just as you begin to acclimate to the drought, The wisp of a violent wind is drawn. A rutted spiral of leaves lay, Twisting in its wake.
At age 9 I enter my new public school after mama tells me to pronounce my name Nore-Ann and pledge allegiance to the flag for the first time.
A sullen drop of water falls, Followed by a million more. The sky unravels its anguish, Its tears and fury bombard you.
At age 10 I change the way I speak, pronouncing every consonant and vowel The American Way, straighten my hair, sneak shorts to school, and hide it from mom.
Peering through the gloom, hunched over, you sit, Shielding the cup with your silhouette From the torrents of rain— So focused on avoiding the storm, You missed your chance to refill the cup.
At age 11 I sit alone at an assembly Somberly remembering Jummah salah with friends, and fall in love with the sound of the choir as they sing the Star Spangled Banner. At age 12 I walk with friends to performance halls and fell even harder for music— until it became my new religion. At age 13 A white peer calls me a terrorist, something I thought only happened on the news. At age 14 A “friend” rips off my hijab, laughing as she runs down the hall, the fabric in her hand swaying like a flag as I hid and cried in the gymnasium I sat alone in time and time again. At age 17 I stand for the pledge for the last time, finally understanding that I pledge allegiance to a flag that has never pledged allegiance to me. At age 18 I bow in sujood and pledge allegiance to my Lord: the One who challenged me but never let me down.
AL BAYAN | 36 | Spring
The storm recedes as quickly as it came. But before indignant despair surges through you, You realize this is monsoon season. The rains will come again.
beginning,
MIDDLE, end
To start anew is unnerving, Beginnings tease with suspicion, Anticipation that taunts with an ending, I don’t care for a long, arduous plot. I like my movies the way I don’t like my eggs: spoiled. They say the journey is redemption As one laboriously connects the dots, But I’m too afraid to feel and live, So how will I ever journey? Somewhere lurking in the shadows Is the fitna that hinders the beginning of journey But I will never be able to surrender my control. I let trivial things swallow me whole. To forget, to ease, to rescue, To free the mind from control, Is to live from beginning to end Without forgetting the middle
AL BAYAN | 37 | Spring
Art By Sara Muttar
Collection of Poems By Yasmeen Rafee
Quarantine Days A Family Potluck
the dandelion 20200407-1216
Sweetwater 20200311-1555
By Asiyah Arastu
the dandelion sprouts between the sidewalk cracks, yellow petals raptly tuned to his sun’s bloom, drinking in her every dazzling melody and tune, but his sepals, parched, slowly dry to black.
It’s this that I’ve discovered: loving you is like sweet water. It’s the shimmer of sweat upon the brow, a marked tan line tracing across browned skin, gentle wrinkles running down a plaid rayon blouse, unerring warmth blooming within, lily pads floatinglifted upon a stilled lagoon, the richness of the color blue.
as his petals blanch, wither and wane below, he murmurs to his love: my dearest, release me—let me go. though it pains her to relent— to tear her gaze from her cherished lover— the sun recedes behind the clouds’ cover,
and watches her dandelion frolic in the cooling rain, content.
As sunlight filters through winding creeks, my love for you is just as constant and free. It’s droplets of moisture upon cracked lips, fingerprint stains fogging the windowpane, the hint of a smile gleaming through nighttime’s bliss, dunes of sand shifting like the tide, grain by grain, soothing kisses upon freckled cheeks, water that is tenderly sweet.
nightrise 20210216-2330
of day. the night beckoned to me. i obliged.
the girl i once was... By Noraan Mohamed
small in size, yet soul as big as the brain exceeding the confines of my skull that left classmates stunned and relatives impressed. Tiny facial features too big for my face, but an unwavering gaze That stood up for everything I believed in. And I believed in everything. Sketchers that lit up from the force of my steps and my ever kinetic energy that could never be repressed. Even when a wall was built by those 10x my age, I’d push through until my nose was shattered but never my heart and soul. I’ve grown up now Art by Khadeejah Milhan
into a woman, some say, yet I can’t help but look back at that young girl and yearn for her soul as big as her brain, and think that while my brain is the same, my soul has shrunk to the size of my tiny facial features that now fit my face, but slowly form a gaze that begins to waver. Converse scuffed and dirty, gray, though they used to be white, that stop me in my tracks. And I build my own walls now that shatter each and every bit of my soul until there’s nothing left. And it disappears with the girl I once was.
AL BAYAN | 38 | Spring
We’ve kept busy with nightly lecture broadcasts, online classes, Turkish dramas, clan Zoom meetings— but it’s been ages since a good family potluck. Mummy bustled in the kitchen all of yesterday, baking cookies, pizza, pound cake; making ash. “If we can’t invite everyone over for a party, we’ll take the party to them!”
the sun leaped from the horizon and spread its glorious wings across the sky, but i could not lift my head. it sang, but i did not listen. yet as the moon began its gentle croon, i answered its call. i rose and allowed water to wash away the weariness
I was once a girl
Four weeks since a playdate with cousins or friends, since pizza, pakoras, and old photos at Phupi’s house, since biking to Dadi and Dada’s to read Urdu, or cook lunch together: dal and salad, or mend clothes, sipping tea between one project and the next.
Art by Tasneem Abdalla
So this afternoon, we all dressed up. We crammed into our eight-seater van, and we drove: our first family outing in weeks— our second family outing with a bulky infant car seat filling the gap of the eighth seat.
At Dadi and Dada’s, we ventured as far as the front doorstep and even stepped foot in the foyer when the wind egged on the clouds to muster some sleet. Again, we traded goodies: cookies and pizza for vada waffles and lemon cookies. Again, grandmother entrusted my parent with treats for the aunt waiting at the next stop.
At Nani and Nana’s, we clustered on the driveway, reluctantly keeping our distance at first, but the chill wind whispered “huddle closer” as it toppled garbage bins all the way down the street. We exchanged pizza and cookies for gift money in envelopes, and fresh namak para, pakoras, meethi tikiyas saving some for our cousins at our next stop. Upon arrival, we gathered in the garage, and took family photos (with a dumpster on the driveway in the background). We traded cookies and pizza for more cookies and chocolate-chip-date-banana bread, and boasted about how much Ertugrul each set of siblings managed to watch these past few weeks.
This time, we stole a few minutes together in the front hallway and posed for pictures. Then we ushered ourselves back out at the behest of the six-foot-rule, piled into our car —now laden with goodies for home— more satisfied than any trick-or-treaters or Christmas carolers ever could be.
AL BAYAN | 39 | Spring
