shifted on my feet then, feeling bare and exposed in the crowded prayer hall. How are you supposed to respond to a statement like that?
But Dad didn’t seem to be having any problems. He answered the brother’s questions about our family, where we were living, what we thought of the khutbah – totally unlike his usual reserved self.
Although I wasn’t at all comfortable with the upfront disclosure that was going on, I found myself warming to Usamah. He seemed laid-back but had a serious, focused look in his eyes; his manner was confident but humble, in that spiritual sort of way that you read about but seldom encounter. I decided to suspend judgement.
Somehow, we found ourselves talking about sports and, once he heard that I had been on the school rugby and basketball teams, he laughed. ‘No wonder you’re so pumped up, bro!’ And he invited me to play basketball with him and some other Muslim brothers the next morning.
‘I’ll introduce you to the brothers,’ he said, full of confidence. ‘It will make settling in easier.’
And then he was gone, off to greet the imam of the mosque and get himself some fried chicken from the food trailer parked outside the mosque.
‘Mashallah,’ said Dad, with a smile, ‘he seems like a nice brother…’
Umar scowled. ‘What’s with the wacky dress sense?’ he growled, then kissed his teeth and went to sit on the low wall outside the mosque, his hood over his head, his hands stuck deep in his pockets.
He stayed there, detached, not responding to anyone’s salam or attempts at conversation, until it was time to go.
‘He’ll come round,’ Dad had said.
‘Inshallah, Dad,’ had been my response.
***
By the time I reached the basketball courts on the other side of the park, the brothers were already there, messing about with the ball, shooting hoops, showing off to no one in particular. When I came the first time with Usamah, things were a little awkward but everyone relaxed once they saw that I could play. Now, it felt like I’d been playing with them forever.
I tossed my bag onto the nearest bleacher and called out, ‘Hey!’ My feet were itching to feel the heat of the court, my hands eager for the ball’s rough surface.
The three of them – Usamah, Zayd and Mahmoud – all turned and returned the salam, ‘As-salamu ‘alaykum, bro.’
Usamah’s face broke into a smile.
‘About time, akh!’ he laughed. ‘We thought you had bailed out on us!’ And he did a little jump and flipped the ball into the net with a flick of his wrist. ‘Ready to get your behind whupped?’
I grinned back at him. ‘I’m going for 50 hoops today,’ I laughed, buoyed by the bravado that came from hanging with ‘the brothers’. That was how they rolled. So that was how I was going to roll, too.
‘Nah, man,’ jeered Mahmoud, ‘never!’
‘Watch me!’
‘I’m watching, akh,’ called Usamah, ‘and I don’t see nothin’ but talk. Don’t aim too high, you might fall hard!’
‘That’s right, my man!’ called Mahmoud, getting ready to throw the ball to Zayd. But, just then, something caught his eye and he turned towards the bleachers.
Two girls sauntered across the bleachers and paused, posing, preening, looking out on to the court.
Mahmoud let out a low whistle from between his teeth and nudged me, a crooked smile on his face.
‘Hey,’ he said softly, ‘have a look at that. Now that is hotness…’
In spite of myself, I glanced over at the girls and caught a glimpse of skin, glossy hair and flashing eyes. Fitnah. Straight up.
‘Now, wouldn’t you like a taste of that?’ Mahmoud was still staring, a slow fire burning in his eyes.
‘No, not me,’ I mumbled, studying the ball in my hands. ‘I’m not into all that.’
Mahmoud looked at me, curious. ‘Hey, a man’s got needs, right?’
I swallowed hard. ‘Yeah, that’s right…’ I avoided Mahmoud’s gaze and looked up at the net. ‘But that’s why I fast… and play ball.’ I needed to ease the tension, to stop all this talk about girls and needs, all the stuff that made life complicated and left you frustrated. I took a run up to the net and slam dunked the ball, sweet as anything.
‘That’s one!’
The game was on.
***
Well, after that my mind emptied, the intensity of the game sweeping all other thoughts aside. I didn’t stop for a moment: running, reaching, twisting, springing, leaping, thrusting, driving the ball into the net again and again and again.
The others were like shadows on either side of me, a blur, merging with one another. But I was aware of everything else: the hard slap of my trainers on the ground, the grainy texture of the ball, slick with nervous sweat, the strain in my calf muscles, the tension in my forearms, the sweat soaking my scalp, trickling down my back.
I lost myself in the game and left the others floundering, panting, struggling to keep up, to slow my flow.
But none of them could match my focus.
Not today.
Then came the moment of truth: I held the ball in my hands, my fingers splayed, my palms burning. The others hovered around, breathless, their shoulders heaving. I got ready to shoot my fiftieth round. Victory was within reach.
Then – ‘Zayd!’
A clear voice rang out across the court, a girl’s voice, cutting the air like a knife, a cool wave over the hot tarmac, and I felt the tiny hairs on the back of my neck stand up. Stupidly, I turned to look. And the world stood still.
It was a girl, but not like any I had ever seen. Her black hijab and abaya were stark against the sun-drenched colours of the bleachers. A fresh breeze came and whipped her long hijab up and it swirled around her like a cloud, like a dream, like a spell.
She brought her hand up to move the fabric away from her face and, in that moment, I froze as if a bucket of ice had been poured over me. My breath caught in my throat.
I noticed everything: the tiny hands, the pale fingernails, the cleft in her chin, its defiant tilt, the nose ring, the piercing eyes, the long eyelashes. I noticed it all in the space of about 3.5 seconds, the time it takes to have one look, and in that moment I smiled without meaning to, an involuntary smile, the kind you get when your heart leaps for no reason, when it skips a beat. Then I looked down. And I saw her trainers. Red Converse trainers, just like mine.
Woah
My breath came back to me and the world began to move again.
I didn’t
