Sahara in the City

“Assalamualaikum sisters.”

The general hubbub of the women halted upon hearing the unfamiliar voice greeting them. Turning round, they faced a young twenty-something year old women, their eyes scanning the loose way in which her scarf draped on her head showing strands of hair, and the type of jeans she wore resembling those they forbade their daughters from wearing.

“Walaikum salam,” they muttered, before turning away to resume their conversation once again. The Friday prayer had finished, and the women congregated together to talk about their lives; tales of demanding husbands and disobedient children, aching bones and how tiresome they were; and how God Willing, in their old age, God would show mercy and make their life easier. These women were immigrants of a land far different than where they were now and immersed in a culture they struggled to identify with, and in their meetings at the mosque, they found a familiarity to remind them of home. They gossiped and joked and judged in the same way their mums, and aunts and grandmas did back home, in their too hot kitchens making halva and ladoo to satisfy their sweet tooth. The youngsters today, they did not understand their culture and their religion, and so, in their meetings at the mosque, sat on the rough burgundy coloured carpets and the scent of Akhtar wafting in the air, they found their own little haven within their small community.

“If it’s not too much of me to ask sisters, may I sit with you? My name is Sahara, and I just moved into the area.” She enquired, a hopeful smile on her face.

“Did your parents not teach you to respect your elders and not interrupt conversations child?” One of them replied sharply; Noora was the oldest of them and did not enjoy mingling with people she did not know.

The shorter lady nudged her, giving her a look.

“Forgiver her please, she has been having aches and is not in a good mood. Unfortunately, we are just heading off but maybe another time. Have a good day sister.” Sahara felt her face flush, before muttering her dues and turning on her heel to leave.

She’d struggled with loneliness having just started her PhD in a foreign city and hoped maybe going to a mosque would help her find some friends, give her a sense of home but it wasn’t meant to be.

“Why so rude to the poor girl?” Kala grumbled to Noora. Noora simply scoffed before steading her walking stick and ambling towards to the door. Kala sighed and began gathering her things alongside the rest of the women.

“You know, girls like them, pretty girls with skinny jeans, and short tops and their hair showing from their scarf like that. What is the point? They follow the western types and do not care about our religion or culture, and what we are supposed to do. Encourage them? Astagfirullah Kala, may God help them.” Most of the women nodded, and added their input agreeing with Noora’s words. Kala shook her head slightly, but today was not the day for an argument with Noora.

The sun was shining high in the sky, and though they were used to it, they still felt the stinging heat through their abayas. They eventually separated and went about their ways once they bid their goodbyes.

Kala walked at a leisurely pace, taking in the cool breeze on her face which was a relief to the sweltering heat. She was 56 and stopped working two years back when her arthritis got too much to deal with at work, and usually had little reason to leave her house. Most of her friends still worked, and she occasionally saw them but everyone was so busy with their own lives. Her husband still worked as a dentist and had opened his own practise a couple of years ago but spent a lot of time there. Too much time Kala thought, and for a man his age.

As she turned a corner, she noticed the same girl who’d approached them earlier slightly ahead of her, the caramel coloured scarf drooped around her neck and flowing lightly in the wind. Sara, she thought her name was. Before she put too much thought in it, she called out her name.

The girl swivelled her head around, confusion etched on her face before her eyes settled on the familiar face. She stopped and waited for the older woman to watch up. Upon meeting, they hugged and kissed each other’s cheek, as was customary for a greeting.

“My name is Sahara, not Sara.” She quietly stated, facing Kala.

With the close proximity, she could clearly see Kala’s face, the wrinkles that were beginning to set in, and though there was nothing particularly memorable about her face, Sahara couldn’t help but be captivated by her eyes. They were light brown, with grey rings circling her iris betraying her age, and dark khol roughly outlined them. And more importantly, they looked kind. Sahara could do with some kindness.

“Ah forgive me, that was my mistake.” Sahara simply smiled in return, before a second silence descended.

“Sahara. That’s an interesting name. Like the desert” Kala continued.

“You mean it’s not considered a traditional muslim name.” Kala opened her mouth to speak but Sahara continue. “It’s fine, a lot of people are usually surprised but my parents just really liked the name.”

“I meant no offense.”

“I know.”

The women walked at a languid pace, silences often descending inbetween their sentences. Sahara suited her, Kala thought to herself. There was something serene about her presence, and she gave a warm aura.  

“It’s funny you know. You’re called Sahara and yet here you are, moving somewhere new in the big city.”

“Some of the biggest cities came from deserts.” Kala chuckled.

“And so it is.” Kala hesitated for a second before continuing.

“I just wanted to apologise for my friends, and Noora specifically. She is old, and I know that is no excuse, but she hasn’t quite adjusted to this country even though it has been a long time. She does not do well with new people or change in general.”

Sahara turned to her surprised, the reaction she received was nothing unusual having dealt with criticism from her older family members, but it was strange to see someone apologise for it.

“I understand, but it still doesn’t feel good. I know I don’t exactly dress the way people would want but surely, my belief and connection with God is more important than what they see.”

“It is.” Kala replied. “But we are humans, and when you grow in a certain environment for so long with certain judgements, it is hard to break out of it and see beyond that.” Sahara opened her mouth to object but Kala continued. “And it is a fault of Kala’s, not of yours. It is not your job to make her see that.”

Having reached the end of the road, both women made a turn to go in opposite directions before realising, eliciting a small chuckle from both of them.

“I turn this way and should get home soon.” Sahara said, motioning to the left. She then paused, unsure of what else to say.

“No worries. I’m heading the other way.” Kala hesitated before continuing. “But next Friday, please do come sit with me. Don’t worry about Noora or anyone else, and you can tell me a bit more about yourself.”

“I would really like that.” Sahara replied, smiling. Kala liked her smile; it was the first genuine one she’d seen on her face, and it was a familiar one, resembling that of her own daughter.

Sahara turned on her heel and with a final wave, she began walking home with a small spring in her step that wasn’t there before. Kala smiled to herself and she continued her journey home. Though short, her conversation with her new friend was like a breath of fresh air, and in a strange way, it gave her a sense of purpose and the more she thought about it, she decided. Maybe this was Gods way of allowing her to use her gift even though she was no longer a teacher by sending Sahara her way, and with this, she concluded that she would be Sahara’s new friend, and mentor.