I did not learn all of these details at the ijtema, nor did I need to. In fact, most Muslims do not know these things. They know Islam to the extent that they practice it, and these are matters for the learned. More than anything else, the ijtema and other gatherings like it caused us to grow deeper in love with Islam and deeper in community with one another. They reassured us that we had religious leaders who had answers that we might not have. By meeting together regularly and discussing matters of our faith, we became a strong community.
Chapter Nine
DREAMS OF THE FAITHFUL
IT WAS AFTER A SIMILAR GATHERING one night when we were driving back from Glasgow to Dunoon that Ammi and Abba were obviously worried about something. Our family had lost track of time, and the ferries over Holy Loch had stopped running for the night. To make it back home, we had to drive around the loch, which took no less than two and a half hours.
But that had happened a few times in the past, and Ammi and Abba had never been worried before. The next day was a Sunday, so Abba wasn’t concerned about missing work. They were sitting in the front seats, not speaking loudly enough for us to hear in the back, but Baji and I could tell that their speech was pressured, and a shadow of concern was growing between them. Something was amiss.
Baji spoke first. “Abba, what’s wrong?”
“Nothing, beytee. Check your seat belt, make sure the door is locked, and go back to sleep. It’s past your bedtime. We’ll be home soon, inshallah.” Ammi turned a distraught glance toward Abba. They said nothing.
After a moment, I prodded them again. “What’s going on, Ammi?”
“Did you hear Abba? Do what he says.” Whatever it was, Ammi and Abba were not about to share it with us, and there was no way we could fall asleep now. But we didn’t want to get in trouble, either, so Baji and I pretended to be asleep.
After a few more tense minutes, Ammi had made up her mind about something. She turned to Abba and said, “Does it still look the same to you?”
“Yes, it looks the same. Actually, it looks even more like it.”
“Then let’s turn around! Let’s go back! Challo, this is enough!”
This seemed to be all the prodding Abba needed. He turned the car around and started heading back toward Glasgow. Still, Baji and I knew not to ask any questions. The tension was fading, but the mood hadn’t improved.
“Should I find a hotel?” Abba asked.
“No, we can stay at the Maliks’ home. They will understand.”
If Ammi could have said one thing to instantly transform my fear into joy, that was it. The Maliks were the one family from the masjid that we were especially close to. I called Mr. and Mrs. Malik “Uncle” and “Aunty,” not just because that is standard terminology in Pakistani culture for elders but also because they were like a second set of parents to me. Whether I was carrying myself with the utmost propriety or plumbing the depths of my mischief, they received me with warmth and love.
Uncle and Aunty had five children who were our good friends. The oldest son in their family was thirteen, and he was my childhood role model. I was thrilled at the prospect of spending time with him. For the time being, the unnatural ride home was forgotten.
What made this turn of events even more exciting was that this would be my first time spending the night at a friend’s house. Unless we were traveling or visiting family, we rarely spent the night anywhere but our own home. Sleepovers were unheard of, not only because you need friends for that but because Ammi was uncomfortable with the idea of leaving us beyond her supervision overnight.
We spent the night utterly elated, playing board games and watching movies. When our parents went to sleep, my friends decided to pop a new scary movie into the VCR: Predator.
When I said I lived a sheltered childhood, I meant it. A few moments into the film, I was utterly terrified. Even my friends’ teasing would not coax me back to the television. I went to my bed and tried to fall asleep. My dreams that night were fitful, full of manhunts, red dots, and unbearable Austrian accents. I woke up more tired than when I had gone to bed.
The next morning, after a Pakistani-Scottish breakfast fit for kings, Ammi thanked Aunty as she stood by the door. They waited until Abba and Uncle were out of earshot, speaking furtively. Ammi didn’t mind me being nearby because she knew I hadn’t had much sleep, and I always clung to her when I was out of sorts.
Aunty spoke while looking toward the street, her tone very matter of fact. “It’s daytime now. You can tell me what he saw.”
“Some dreams you don’t share even in the daytime.”
So this was the answer to the riddle. Abba had seen a dream. In our culture, dreams are carefully considered because, as a well-known hadith teaches, “The dreams of the faithful are prophetic.”13 In fact, dreams are the only means I know of by which the average Muslim expects to hear directly from God.
There is good reason for this expectation: dreams often did come true. Abba had many prophetic dreams. One example was when he was enlisted, he had to take a test for purposes of promotion to petty officer first class. The day of his test, he had a dream that he and five of his friends were in a battlefield under heavy fire. There was a fence in the distance, and they had to make it over the fence to be safe. All six of them took off running. Abba made it over the fence first, and another friend made it over after him. The other four didn’t make it.
A few weeks later, when he got his successful test scores back, he found out that the same five friends had all taken the test, and the only other one who passed was the one who made it over the fence in the dream.
Nani Ammi once had a recurrent dream about her father shortly after he passed away and was buried. He was knocking on her door and asking her for help, totally soaked by the rain. After having the dream on three successive nights, she decided to visit his grave. When she arrived, she found that an animal had burrowed a hole into his grave, and the monsoon rains had flooded it.
In my family alone, people have had clairvoyant dreams of sicknesses, miscarriages, births, deaths, and a host of other events. A dream was no matter to take lightly, especially one that might portend an avoidable calamity.
Aunty could tell Ammi needed to share Abba’s dream with someone, so she asked again. “I want to give sadqa and pray for you. Tell me what he saw.”
Ammi relented. “Okay, I’ll tell you, but I’m not sure what it means, and don’t tell anyone else. Two nights ago, he had a dream. We were all in the car, driving down a dark road. The road was very narrow, and there was fire on both sides. It was a dark fire, one that emitted no light. He couldn’t see anything at all. When he turned around to check on Wajiha and Nabeel in the back seat, they were gone.”
Sadqa: A voluntary offering, often to prevent misfortune
Alhamdolillah: A Muslim formula meaning, “All praise be to Al1ah”; it is the Islamic analogue of hallelujah
Ammi fell silent and watched Abba and Uncle as they stood by the car. Still matter of fact, Aunty asked, “What do you think it means?”
Ammi responded “Astaghfirullah, I don’t want to think about it!”
“Then what happened on the road last night?”
Ammi hesitated before sharing. “The long road to Dunoon is a treacherous drive, even in the daytime. We didn’t think anything of it, though, until we were halfway home, when the streetlights went out. It was dark and too much like the dream. That’s when we turned around. Whatever the dream meant, I think Allah saved us from it.”
Finally, Aunty turned to Ammi with a smile. “Alhamdolillah. Let us thank Allah, do du’aa before you leave, offer sadqa, and think no more of this. Call me when you arrive home so that I know everyone is safe.” Ammi smiled in return and hugged her. Aunty was a true friend.
As we gathered around the car, both families offered du’aa together, silently praying for our safe and swift return home. Although this was standard procedure, it took on added meaning that morning.
When we were in the car and out o
f the city, I asked Abba if he’d had a bad dream. He glanced at Ammi, but she didn’t say anything. “Yes, beyta.”
“I had a bad dream last night too, Abba jaan. It’ll be okay.”
Abba chuckled. “There are different types of dreams, Billoo.”
“What makes them different?”
“When you have one that is from God, you will know.”
“Does Allah give you dreams a lot?”
“Yes, beyta. Too many.” That was the last we spoke of it. A few days later, Abba decided to pray to Allah and request that he stop seeing prophetic dreams.
It has been over twenty years since then, and Abba hasn’t received many dreams. I, on the other hand, would reach a point in my life when I spent many prostrate hours begging Allah for guidance through dreams. And as it turned out, Abba was right. When I got one, I knew it was from Him.
Chapter Ten
THE MONTH OF BLESSING
MY YEARS IN SCOTLAND were enchanted. My heart was captivated with the land and the people. Our home was situated on a hillside that often resounded with distant bagpipes on cold mornings. The mountains around Dunoon seemed to be carved for that very purpose. Blackberry bushes grew around our yard, just out of the reach of sheep grazing beyond barbed wire fence. I started my formal education at Sandbank Primary, the only school in our part of town, and I developed a few close friendships at the mosque. On more than one occasion, we were invited to dinner by strangers while stopped at a red light. I loved Scotland, and my affirmations of fondness for the country came with a thick Scottish accent.
The Cold War was ending, however, which meant the nuclear submarine base was no longer needed. It was time for us to move again, and there was only one positive aspect to leaving Scotland that I could think of: Ramadhan would be a lot easier.
Ramadhan is the Muslim holy month. For thirty days, Muslims fast from sunrise to sunset, not allowing any food or water to pass through their lips. This practice is obligatory for all able-bodied Muslims, which is why it is the fourth pillar of Islam. At the end of the thirty days, Muslims celebrate one of their two main holidays, Eid al-Fitr.
Eid al-Fitr: One of two major Muslim holidays; it marks the end of Ramadhan
Ramadhan was awfully difficult in Scotland because of the length of the days. Scotland is so far north that it is just south of Iceland. During Scottish summers, the sun rose as early as four thirty in the morning, and it set as late as ten o’clock at night. If Ramadhan happened to fall during the summer months, as it did while we lived there, then Muslims had to fast for about eighteen hours a day. Not being able to eat for that long is bad enough, but the prohibition from drinking water is the most difficult injunction. To endure that for thirty days in a row is a test of fortitude and faith.
But Islam is often not as rigid as some perceive it. For instance, there are exceptions to the fasting requirements. If a Muslim is sick, traveling, or otherwise incapable of fasting, he has options. One of them is to provide a meal for a poor person to meet his obligation, and then when he is able, he can make up the missed fasts.
As important as fasting is, it would be an unfortunate misunderstanding to think only about fasting when considering Ramadhan. To Muslims, the holy month means much more. It is a time to build community, restore broken relationships, strive for purity, and above all, strengthen one’s faith. Relatives are invited, gifts are purchased, parties are prepared. Like a monthlong Christmas, it is an extended time of celebration in Muslim lands around the world.
The Islamic calendar is lunar, and it is difficult to predict exactly when Ramadhan will start. There is usually a night of uncertainty. Every year I stood outside the house with Abba, staring at the sky with anticipation and excitement, hoping for the clouds to clear so that we could catch a glimpse of the moon. If there was a new moon, we bowed our heads and recited a memorized du’aa. Abba would then go to the kitchen and tell Ammi the verdict. I cannot recall a time when she waited outside with us, because she’d always be preparing the next morning’s food. There was a lot to prepare.
We usually woke up an hour before sunrise. After wudhu, we prayed up to eight rakaats of optional prayer before sitting down to eat. The meal before sunrise was called sehri, and it served the dual purposes of giving us energy for the day and starting our day in fellowship. Ammi would be singing in the kitchen while preparing our food, usually praise songs for Allah or Muhammad. She would have the table set with our food: yogurt and eggs were a sehri staple, but we could also expect chickpeas, lentils, chicken kebab, cereal, milk, juices, and whatever else Ammi felt would complement the morning meal.
Sehri: The meal Muslims eat before fasting
When we came into the kitchen, she would start making roti or parattha, Pakistani flatbreads. She would insist that we eat our flatbreads fresh and warm. Ammi always loved serving food, but never was she happier than when she was serving her own family the sehri. She wouldn’t sit down to eat until we were almost done, and she was sure there was enough fresh bread for everyone.
Throughout the sehri, we had our eyes on the clock. We placed on the refrigerator a Ramadhan calendar that had the exact times for sunrise, so we knew when to stop eating. Just before it was time for the sun to rise, I would go to the prayer rugs and call out the adhan. Our family would continue eating and drinking until the adhan was finished.
One morning, when it was time to give the adhan, Ammi half-jokingly said, “Billoo, call the adhan slowly today, I need more time to eat!” Even though the adhan is supposed to be solemn, I started it off as fast as I could, taking delight in Ammi’s amused yelp from the dining table. “Nabeel! You should be ashamed of yourself, doing this to your mother!”
During the course of the day, Baji and I would be in school, and if Ammi had even the slightest concern that the fast would interfere with our schooling, she didn’t allow us to keep it. When we pointed out that our Muslim friends were fasting at their schools, she’d answer, “Am I their mother? You don’t have to fast until you’re old enough, and you’re not old enough. You’re just practicing. Maybe their mothers think they are old enough, but never compare yourself with other children.” Even if she pretended she was angry, we knew Ammi was never actually upset with our desire to fast.
This was especially true because, like most Muslims, she made an exerted effort to be happy during Ramadhan, and it worked. Ammi spent her days during Ramadhan reciting the Quran and praying, and that always seemed to revitalize her. She often read through the entire Quran twice during Ramadhan, reading two of the thirty parts during the course of a day.
In the evening, our family would often go to iftar dinners at the homes of people from our mosque. Iftar is the breaking of the fast, and this is the time when the whole community gathers and celebrates. In books of hadith, it says that Muhammad used to open his fasts by first eating a date, so Muslims all around the world do the same thing. Of course, we usually ate our dates in the car on the way to the iftar, because we were running late.
Iftar: The meal Muslims eat after fasting, often in large gatherings
Taraweeh: Voluntary prayers offered at night during Ramadhan
Hafiz: A man who has memorized the entire Quran
After opening the fast with just a date, the community prays the maghrib prayer before eating the full meal in communion together. After some time for socializing, the adhan is then called again for isha prayer, and after isha, there is often a series of optional prayers that people pray during Ramadhan called taraweeh. Iftars at the local mosque usually have as the imam a hafiz, a man who has the entire Quran memorized. It is the goal of the imam to recite the entire Quran over the course of Ramadhan during these taraweeh prayers, and so these prayer sessions can sometimes last an hour or two per night. During the majority of the session, the worshipers stand silent, hands folded, listening to the recitation. When taraweeh is over, everyone goes home, planning to wake again in just a few hours.
In many places, Muslims go to a different home for ifta
r every night of Ramadhan. It is generally the host’s job to provide the meal, and that means that there will be more food than everyone can eat. The irony of Ramadhan is that, after binging on buffets every morning and every evening, people usually gain weight during the month of fasting.
It wasn’t until after we moved away from Scotland that I was allowed to start fasting regularly during Ramadhan. We left Scotland in 1990 for a submarine base in Groton, Connecticut. There was no community mosque in Groton, and it never felt like home for me. I didn’t make any good friends, and the most noteworthy occurrence was the tragedy of losing my Scottish accent. Scotland was where I learned all about being Muslim and where I had fallen in love with my Islamic faith.
We moved again three years later, this time back to Virginia. Abba was about to become Lieutenant Commander Qureshi, and he was never to be moved by the military again. Virginia Beach is where I made lasting friendships, where I came of age, and where I decided the direction of my future. It is where I first felt the sting of my Islamic culture clashing with my American environment. It was where I ultimately decided to leave Islam and everything I knew.
To read an expert contribution on growing up Muslim in America by Abdu Murray, a lawyer, apologist, former Shia Muslim, and author of two published books on Islam and other major worldviews, visit contributions.NabeelQureshi.com.
Part 2
AN AMBASSADOR FOR ISLAM
Surely You are the one who sent Muhammad as the final messenger for mankind and the Quran as our guide . . .
Chapter Eleven
THIRD CULTURE
IN SEVENTH GRADE, I finally made lasting friends. David, Ben, and Rick were like brothers to me, and we did everything together. Ammi reluctantly realized that I was getting older, and she gradually let me spend more and more time outside of our home. Usually, I was out for some kind of extracurricular activity, and sometimes she’d let me go to a friend’s house for a few hours.
Seeking Allah, Finding Jesus: A Devout Muslim Encounters Christianity Page 6