Hai, Maulanas / Hai, Shaam

Hai, Maulanas / Hai, Shaam

Hai, Maulanas / Hai, Shaam 150 150 Comfort Aid International

I’ve tried to visit the school/orphanage for 200 orphan children that CAI donors support in Damascus, Syria, twice last year, but something or another mars the trip. The impending one in November is also doubtful, given the violence in the region. It would not be nice if I went and could not leave due to violence or, worse, get myself blown apart. So Guru Abdulkareem in Najaf and I will play it by the ear again. I have my doubts, however, since two guys were blown up recently by a fighter jet near the orphanage I want to visit. So I wait to see what’ll happen in the next few days. So frustrating!

Dar es Salaam’s summer is heating up, and I can’t sleep all night without the air conditioning. All of us doing this is already causing issues at TANESCO, with prolonged load shedding in the last two days. I shudder to think what’ll happen in the peak summer from December to March. Summer fruits reaching Dar from the interiors are a nice compensation – colorful mangoes are one of them. 

I’m debating if I should pack something warm for my trip to Najaf and Dimashq tomorrow, as their winter is now setting in when my cell phone goes off. I see Mullah Mchungu’s name flash on the screen, and I shudder. What does he want now? But I answer, full of apprehension.

Salaam Mullah Saheb, how are you?

Not well, ghadhero. I’m about to burst a vein and need to go poop assisted; you care to come and help? Why do y’all ask me mundane questions that waste my time, Kisukaali? If you see it’s me calling, assume I’m still alive and kicking.

If the crow can dole out these responses, he must be in reasonable health – I smile despite the insult. Before I can ask why he called, he is all over with his predictable tirade.

I saw you at the mosque for maghribein yesterday – you can look beyond your nose sometimes and notice people you know and greet. My son Ali is visiting town and forced me to come to pray at the mosque. What a pain, coming down and up the stairs with my wheelchair. Poor Hameesi, he almost dropped me…

Hameesi is Mullah’s long-term caretaker, who has spent his lifetime at the grouch’s service. I must have missed seeing them both; otherwise, I would indeed have said salaam.

I’m sorry, Mullah Saheb. I did not see you… I begin apologizing, but he cuts me off.

Yeah, sure, sure. Spare me the apology and excuses, ghadhero. What’s up with the Imam?

Imam? What the hell? This guy is so bloody abrupt. Is he asking me about the prayer leader, Imam, or the awaited Imam (a)?

The one day I came to pray, I get an earful about Ismailis and Bohra and if I could do mut’ah with them… These maulanas, I tell you. They never have enough of the bomba…

I impulsively burst out in laughter. Bomba, a Kiswahili word, is slangily translated to mean the microphone.

What is it that you find so funny, Kisukaali? What has salaat of Allah (s) got to do with Ismailis and Bohras, or is it permissible to do mut’ah with them? Hai, hai, these Maulanas. This dude gets almost 75 days of continuous access to the bomba during Muharram/Safar, all the wilaadats, all the shahaadats, all the Juma’a khutbas, Ramadhan, the Thursday lectures… it’s never enough. He should use these opportunities to speak about such matters – if necessary. But no, he must make us listen to irrelevant mumbo-jumbo between magreeb and ishaa here in Dar es Salaam. He makes it sound as if there is a long line of maidens just waiting for us to do mut’ah with. Come on, yaar, where are we going with this? I’m unsure if it’s the love of his voice or the Jamaat authorities that allow this baloney with impunity – at this time. There may be a place and time for this information. Perhaps. Is it a wonder people don’t come to the mosque for jamaat salaat and prefer praying at home? A community of over 7,000 musters no more than 200 people for maghribein, less than 3%! That’s because they realize that maulanas love bombas and have much free time. Salaat is for Allah (s), His worship only.

I don’t know what to say except grin into the space between me and the fan hanging from the ceiling. This Mullah is impossible. While I do not mind the few minutes the Imam takes to impart his ideas, I think the topics are insensitive at best. Attendees from other sects could have been in the audience; talking about such matters in a setting for worship is so unwarranted.

Be a man and speak up, Kisukaali. Go tell these maulanas to stick to the basics of Allah’s worship and not have an opinion on every matter under the sky. That’s their problem; they think they are experts in everything.

When I cautiously, politely inform the guy that it is not my place to do that, he curses and hangs up on me.

I finish packing and fret about my trip to Najaf and possibly Dimashq tomorrow. When I land in Najaf, Abdulkareem informs me we are not flying to Dimashq tomorrow; the building next to the hotel we are supposed to stay in is bombed out this morning.

Hai Shaam.

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