Last week Simon Heffer wrote a piece for the Spectator, a British Tory-associated news and opinion magazine, alleging that the politician Enoch Powell, an MP from 1950 to 1987 (with a break in 1974, at which he switched from the Tories to the Ulster Unionists and took a seat in Northern Ireland) who is best known for an inflammatory, racist speech against the admission of family members of Asian immigrant workers in the late 1960s although he had been responsible for some progressive policies and speeches including one in 1961 advocating reform of Britain’s mental health services which set in train the move away from asylums. Heffer claims that Powell came to be associated with “one utterance” and that “long after his death he found himself, in contemporary parlance, cancelled”, noting that his own biography of Powell was withdrawn from publication after the death of George Floyd in the US. He then compares the rejection of Powell with the erasure from history of people deemed to be “Unpersons” in the novel Nineteen Eighty-Four by George Orwell. Having read the book, I can say that the comparison is ludicrous.

In 1984, an Unperson was someone who had been killed by the regime and whose name and deeds were erased from the records. The central character, Winston Smith, worked in the records department, rewriting history by simply making up stories to overwrite the real stories of people he had been informed were ‘Unpersons’. This could be because of a trivial faux pas — some expression of dissent that could have been said in his sleep, as happened to one of Smith’s colleagues. It was the Stalinist practice of airbrushing out of official pictures politicians who had fallen victim to Stalin’s purges taken to its logical conclusion. The comparison of Powell with this treatment is consistent with the way right-wingers claim to have been ‘cancelled’ despite enjoying columns in national newspapers and even seats in parliament. Enoch Powell remained a Tory MP for six years after this incident, and then secured a seat with the Ulster Unionists in Northern Ireland, and remained in parliament until being defeated by the nationalist SDLP in 1987, declining a life peerage because he had opposed their introduction in 1958.

It’s true that Powell’s career was more than the 1968 Rivers of Blood speech (reproduced as a PDF here), and he supported some liberal positions and others commonly associated with the Left (such as unilateral nuclear disarmament) and criticised MPs who justified abuses of Kenyans during the so-called Mau-Mau uprising and called them subhuman, but that speech was heinous. He repeated claims from an anonymous letter about a woman in Wolverhampton, in a street that had declined from the moment the first Black person (or ‘Negro’ as he called them) moved in (a common racist trope), who had impoverished herself by refusing to rent rooms to immigrants and was told by the council “racial prejudice won’t get you anywhere”. When she went out, she was followed by the immigrants’ children, who taunted her with the only word of English the anonymous writer claimed they knew: “racialist”. He quoted a comment from a constituent who told him that he was making sure his children would resettle overseas because immigration made the UK not worth living in; “in this country in 15 or 20 years’ time the black man will have the whip hand over the white man”. The speech was blamed for a rise in violent attacks on Black and Asian people, but decades later the phrase “Enoch was right” was heard when a Black or Asian person appeared anywhere that was not one of “their areas”. When the Radio 4 soap opera The Archers began to feature an Asian family, I heard a letter being read out on the same station’s Feedback programme, expressing scepticism that an Asian family would actually be so warmly received; when Asian families dared enter village pubs, the writer said, it was common for them to hear “Enoch was right”. Even in the 2000s, Muslim women commented on this blog that they did not feel safe walking in the English countryside.

It’s not uncommon for a politician to be remembered for one ugly speech or one bad policy if its effects on people were particularly bad. Tony Blair introduced many progressive pieces of legislation, especially in his first term in office, such as the Freedom of Information Act, the Human Rights Act and various anti-discrimination bills, but he is generally reviled in many quarters for getting us involved in the Iraq war. He still makes a good living from his think-tank and his services to politicians, including many dictators, the world over. He is in no sense ‘cancelled’ nor an ‘Unperson’ and neither was Powell. His Water Tower speech, for example, is often mentioned in articles about British mental health care and has been played in documentaries about it. But anyone who’s ever walked into a shop or pub and heard people say “Enoch was right” will remember him for one thing and that’s only to be expected.

Image source: Bill Peloquin, via Wikimedia. Licensed under the Creative Commons Attribution-ShareAlike (BY-SA) 4.0 licence.

Not all of us will stand on the plains of Arafah this year. Not all of us will circle the Kaabah or feel the weight of “Labbayk Allahumma Labbayk” rise from our chests into the sky. Some of us will be in our homes, in unfamiliar cities, in places that don’t feel sacred at all. And yet, somehow, these days of Dhul Hijjah still reach us.

Dhul Hijjah has felt different for my family and me since everything we went through. There was a time when the word sacrifice felt distant to me: a story we told our children before Eid, a lesson wrapped in history about Prophet Ibrahim, his obedience, his trust. We understood it. But we hadn’t lived it. Not in the way that changes you.

After living through the Gaza war, the meaning of words shifts. Sacrifice is no longer something symbolic. It is no longer a concept you reflect on from a safe distance. It becomes something you recognize in the quiet details of life—what was lost, what was taken, what had to be rebuilt from nothing.

We have seen what it means for homes to fall, for entire lives to unravel in moments. We have seen people lose parts of themselves and still hold onto Alhamdulillah. We have said goodbye to people we never imagined we would lose. And even now, after time has passed and we have moved forward, those moments do not really leave you. They settle somewhere deep, reshaping the way you see everything.

Sometimes Allah does not ask you to sacrifice one thing. Sometimes, He allows you to experience what it means to lose much more—and to still remain.

I remember sitting with my children—my daughters, 16 and 14, trying in their own way to make sense of things beyond their years, and my 8-year-old son, still holding onto a kind of softness that asks questions without hesitation. We were not speaking about Eid that day. We were speaking about loss.

“What does Allah want from us?” one of them asked.

It was not a theoretical question. It was not something you answer with memorized words. And I found myself pausing, not because I did not believe—but because some questions deserve to be held before they are answered.

Because when you have lived through something that changes you, you do not rush to simple explanations.

And yet, Dhul Hijjah still came. As it always does. Quietly. Gently. As if to remind us:

“Allah does not burden a soul beyond that it can bear.”
[Surah Al-Baqarah, 2:286]

What you have lost is seen.
What you have endured is known.
And what you are still carrying…matters.

We found ourselves returning to the story of Ibrahim , but this time it did not feel like a distant story. It felt close. Personal. Real.

It was no longer just about a father who was asked to sacrifice his son. It was about trust when nothing makes sense. About surrender when your heart is heavy. About saying yes to Allah —not because it is easy, but because you believe there is meaning beyond what you can see.

“And when they had both submitted and he laid him down upon his forehead…”
[Surah As-Saffat, 37:103]

My son once asked me, “Did Ibrahim feel scared?”

And the answer came more honestly than before: yes. Of course he did.

Because faith is not the absence of fear.
It is choosing Allah even when fear exists.

This Eid, when we speak about Udhiyah, I no longer think about the act alone. I think about what has already been given—the comfort that once existed, the sense of safety that felt permanent, the life that was carefully built and then quietly taken apart.

And I remember Allah’s Words:

“Their meat will not reach Allah, nor will their blood, but what reaches Him is piety from you.”
[Surah Al-Hajj, 22:37]

It brings a different kind of understanding; that what matters is not the outward form of sacrifice, but the state of the heart within it.

Not everyone will go to Hajj. But everyone is called to something.

To patience:
                                               “Indeed, Allah is with the patient.”
                                                           [Surah Al-Baqarah, 2:153]

To trust.

To letting go of what we thought we needed.

To holding onto Allah when everything else feels uncertain.

 

The Prophet ﷺ said: “How amazing is the affair of the believer. Verily, all of his affairs are good for him…” [Muslim]

There was a time when this hadith felt comforting. Now, it feels grounding.

Because understanding it is different when you have lived through both ease and hardship and found that Allah was present in both. Not always through immediate relief, but through the strength to keep going, the people He placed in our path, the prayers that carried us, and the quiet mercy that appeared in moments we least expected it.

There were moments when my children asked me, “Is Allah still with us?” or “Why is this happening to us?” And each time, I would tell them that yes, Allah is always with us — in moments of ease and in moments of hardship. We may not always understand the wisdom behind what we go through, but we trust that Allah sees us, carries us through it, and teaches our hearts through these experiences in ways we may only understand later.

I realized then that faith is not only taught during times of comfort and stability. Sometimes it is taught in the way we hold onto one another during uncertainty, in the way we continue praying through fear, and also in the way we keep returning to Allah even when life feels unbearably heavy.

Our home is not perfect. There are still moments where memories return quietly. There are still traces of what was lived, even as life moves forward in a new place, a new routine, a new beginning.

But there is also something else now.

A kind of steadiness.
A kind of faith that is no longer theoretical.

My daughters do not just hear about sabr—they have experienced it.
My son does not just say Alhamdulillah—he is learning what it means.

And I no longer see Dhul Hijjah as just ten blessed days. I see it as a continuation—a reminder that what we go through is not separate from our faith, but part of how it is shaped.

Because maybe Hajj was never only about a place.

Maybe it was always about the heart.

About reaching a point where you can say:

Ya Allah… I may not understand everything. But I trust You.

The Prophet ﷺ said:

“There are no days in which righteous deeds are more beloved to Allah than these ten days.” [Bukhari]

And perhaps the greatest of those deeds are not always visible.

Perhaps they are found in quiet endurance.
In rebuilding….In continuing.
In holding onto faith, even after everything.

And maybe… just maybe…this, too, is a form of answering the call.

 

Related:

– When Allah Chooses Something: The Blessings Of Dhul Hijjah

– The Bigger Picture: Understanding Loss, Sacrifice, and Purpose in Dhul Hijjah

 

The post Not Everyone Goes To Hajj…But Everyone Is Called: Gaza, Gratitude, And Dhul Hijjah appeared first on MuslimMatters.org.

Israeli forces shoot, kill Palestinian child in West Bank.

Ahmad Salem sentenced to four years in prison.

A supposedly landmark report boosted by mainstream media rests on familiar debunked witnesses and discredited sources.

State-sponsored march through Muslim quarter of Old City saw protesters waving flags and chanting ‘Death to Arabs’ on anniversary of city’s annexation

Israeli nationalist demonstrators chanted “Death to the Arabs”, “May your villages burn” and “Gaza is a graveyard” in a state-sponsored march through Jerusalem to mark the anniversary of the city’s capture and annexation.

The annual assertion of Jewish control over Palestinian East Jerusalem has grown more extreme in recent years, and Thursday’s event culminated with the national security minister, Itamar Ben-Gvir, unfurling an Israeli flag in front of the al-Aqsa mosque, the holiest Islamic site in the city.

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When Malcolm X arrived at Sheffield University in December 1964, it was a young Pakistani student activist, Ghayasuddin Siddiqui, who had arranged his passage. That detail tells you much about my father, who has died aged 86.

Ghayasuddin went on to co-found the Muslim Institute, one of Britain’s earliest Muslim organisations, and the Muslim Parliament of Great Britain, of which he became leader in 1996. Upon taking this role he threatened a campaign of civil disobedience unless the government passed legislation protecting British Muslims. The new Labour government of 1997 took on and implemented many of his demands – funding Muslim state schools and passing equalities legislation.

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Australia Palestine Advocacy Network says criticism of Israel is routinely misrepresented as antisemitic – and that Palestinian voices are being excluded from debate

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Palestinian voices are being excluded from the debate on social cohesion, the peak body for Palestinians in Australia has said after it was refused leave to appear before the royal commission on antisemitism and social cohesion.

The Australia Palestine Advocacy Network (Apan) made detailed submissions on the issues of antisemitism – including how it is defined – as well as on racism and social cohesion, but was told it did not have a “direct and substantial” interest in the public hearings, which are under way in Sydney.

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Brussels officials pave way for future crimes against humanity.

Last week local elections were held in the UK, mainly for district and unitary authority councils in England but also for the Welsh and Scottish parliaments. For the second time, Reform UK gained majorities on a number of county councils as well as several large metropolitan boroughs in Yorkshire and the West Midlands. Last year, they gained majorities on a number of county and large unitary authorities in the Midlands: Lincolnshire, Nottinghamshire, Derbyshire and both halves of Northamptonshire as well as Kent, Lancashire and the metropolitan borough of Doncaster in South Yorkshire. This time they gained Suffolk and Essex counties (both formerly Tory), two met boroughs in the West Midlands and, crucially for Labour, three more met boroughs in South and West Yorkshire: Kirklees (Huddersfield), Calderdale (Halifax) and Wakefield. The map on the right shows the county and metropolitan boroughs according to current dominant party, and the turquoise areas show Reform UK held councils. Labour have been scoring poorly in opinion polls ever since 2024, when they won with a lot of help from a right-wing vote divided between the Tories and the rapidly growing Reform UK, formerly the Brexit Party led by Nigel Farage who was formerly the leader of UKIP. As a result, there have been a lot of calls for the prime minister and Labour leader, Keir Starmer, to resign. Starmer’s supporters are variously calling it idiocy or madness, comparing it to “changing pilots in mid flight”, and pointing to everything Starmer’s government has done for us.

It’s true that on previous occasions when a governing party has suffered local election losses, they have neither changed leaders nor called a general election: John Major in 1995 and Tony Blair in the first term of his government have been mentioned. However, both of these had won majorities on the basis of more than 40% of the vote; Starmer won 2024 on the basis of less than 34%, a smaller share than Blair won in his last election, in 2005, or Jeremy Corbyn’s share in 2017. (John Major’s government, which was losing safe seat after safe seat in parliamentary by-elections, went down to defeat two years after those council elections.) Starmer won seats that Labour had never won before, including in their 1997 landslide; as with some of those seats, these are unlikely to be won again and the winning candidate won less than 30% of the popular vote and benefited from a split Tory vote. For much of the time since, Labour has been polling around 20%. While opinion polls have their flaws, it’s unheard of for a governing party to show this poorly, or anything like it, consistently over months or more than a year. Mid-term blues are a thing, but they are never this bad for a newly elected government which should be riding high. Council elections are not referendums or votes of confidence on the government, but voters often treat them as such.

As the resignations mounted earlier today, someone on BlueSky mentioned by way of a historical parallel a challenge to Gordon Brown’s leadership in June 2009, supported by three ministers (James Purnell, Hazel Blears and Jacqui Smith). In fact, the two women had resigned for reasons connected with their expenses. None of the three, they point out, are still in Parliament: one is in the Lords, one has retired and one is now a CEO of a company. Yet Gordon Brown lost the election the following year, so it does not really strengthen their case for Starmer remaining leader.

These results, in other words, are dire. Labour’s leaders should be painfully aware of the ephemeral nature of the 2024 result and some of the particular constituency results, that Labour won by the skin of its teeth, but it seems they are not. They should be worried about the flipping of former safe Tory county councils to Reform, because it points to the end of the split Tory vote that Starmer benefited from; they should worry about the fact that people are undeterred by the Council Tax rises and other broken promises, poor attendance, recurrent resignations and defections at Reform councils since last year; can we really assume that the immediate resignations this year, or the revelation that one of their winning candidates was a made-up name and an AI-generated picture, will put people off in future? I see his supporters flattering him on social media, appearing blind to his faults as Corbyn’s fans back in the 2010s were to his. They also keep sharing lists of Labour’s achievements since returning to power. These are mostly good things, but in politics “if you’re explaining, you’re losing”. People should not need to have the benefits of a Labour government explained to them; they should be able to feel it, otherwise it will be like the benefits of the EU: we will miss them when they are gone and it is too late. So, stop praising Starmer’s “steady hand” and “boring” or “unflashy” policies. This is not the time for that. People have to know about what they are doing, and feel the benefits.

The country is in dire danger. A party of incompetents and racists is growing rapidly, gaining control of councils from both Labour and the Tories that were considered safe ten years ago, exploiting the failures of both of those parties. Labour have neglected its working-class base for decades, treating them by turns as an embarrassment and as having nowhere else to go. It treats other people’s lives as just bargaining chips, things to calculate over, though these are millions of people and millions of votes. Disabled people, immigrants and their British families, the white working class, the Asian working class. They have just alienated too many major groups for their current strategies to stand a chance of winning another election. I once read a description of the last native prince of Wales, Llywelyn ap Gruffudd (Griffith), that he “simply fumbled his way to disaster” and this, as Jess Phillips’s letter shows, describes aspects of Starmer’s leadership. I am not convinced a new leader will change much; whoever wins will probably be much like Starmer in terms of policy, maintaining the attacks on disabled people’s welfare supports and harsh, unfair changes to immigration law, the attachment to Israel while it wages war on its neighbours and continues the genocide of Palestinian natives, but they might just be able to connect with people in a way Starmer cannot (experience in the US shows the danger of that); what the party needs is not just new leadership but new ideas, fast, to prevent a defeat in 2029 that will make 1983 and 2019 look mild (not least because the winning party was nowhere near as extreme) and allow the wretched Farage to drag this country into the abyss.

Image source: Open Council Data.

Starmer's staunch support of Zionism and his cabinet of pro-Israel loyalists will not save him from court of public opinion.

At his grandmother’s opulent riverside estate, Darius finds himself judged not for who he is, but for whose son he is.

Read Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7 | Part 8 | Part 9 | Part 10 | Part 11

* * *

Self-Controlled

The colorfully dressed doorman opened the gates before we even reached them.

The Chen residence did not resemble any home I had ever seen. Calling it a house seemed absurd. It was a walled compound of white stone and dark wood, with curved roofs layered one behind another like overlapping wings. Red lanterns hung beneath the eaves despite the daylight, and narrow streams of water crossed the inner courtyards beneath little carved bridges. Bamboo rustled softly in the winter breeze.

I slowed, taking it all in. It was like something I might have conjured in a dream.

Haaris, walking beside me, whispered proudly, “Big, right?”

Indeed. “What does Master Chen do for a living?”I whispered.

“He owns a foundry that makes weapons.” replied softly.

Servants moved everywhere, silent and efficient. One swept fallen leaves from the stone paths with a long reed broom. Another carried folded linens across the courtyard. Two men unloaded crates from a wagon near a side gate while a woman directed them sharply.

Something unsettled me immediately. After a few moments, I realized that no one here was comfortable. No one laughed or joked as Haaris and I did when we worked. Everyone was carefully self-controlled, as if they thought they were being watched at every moment.

I felt the absence of my dao acutely. Not that I thought I would need it here. But ever since I’d left it wrapped in cloth beneath the wagon seat in the stable yard, I’d been worried about it. What if someone stole it? It was a gift from my father – the only thing I had from him.

Before we entered the inner residence, an elderly servant approached and bowed stiffly, saying, “I will take your coats and travel packs, honored guests.”

We all handed over our bundles, including my travel pack containing the gifts I had bought in the marketplace. The old servant stacked everything carefully into a lacquered cart beside the entrance, then wheeled the cart away through a side doorway.

A servant girl in pale green robes then led us through a covered walkway into the main receiving hall.

The room was enormous. Dark beams crossed the high ceiling overhead. Silk wall hangings embroidered with Quranic calligraphy hung between painted landscape screens. One scroll depicted mountains rising above misty forests, with tiny travelers crossing a bridge far below. Another showed a river crowded with merchant barges beneath wheeling birds.

Tall porcelain vases stood in carved wooden alcoves, painted in deep blue with scenes of scholars, horses and flowering trees. A bronze incense burner shaped like a crane released thin trails of scented smoke into the air, giving the place a sweet and musky scent. Low tables of carved rosewood stood beside cushioned chairs lacquered black and gold.

Strangely, while I admired the beauty of this place, I was not intimidated. My clothes were new and clean. I had nothing to be ashamed of. And I had seen my father put wealthy merchants on their knees in the highway at the point of a sword before robbing them. They wore fine clothes, but they wept and begged like anyone else. A few wet themselves. I think my father had enjoyed humiliating them. As for me, I had merely felt embarrassed for them.

Furthermore, Zihan Ma had taught me that one of the meanings of laa ilaha il-Allah was that all men were equal before Allah, regardless of caste, color or clothing. Only their – what was the word? Taqwa. Only their taqwa differentiated them.

As a result, I never thought that the wealthy were better than me. Nor was I better than them. People were people. They were either honest or dishonest, kind or cruel. They were street thugs like the men who had tried to rob me – or indeed like my father, who I had no illusions about – or honorable men like Zihan Ma. I had never met the emperor of our land, nor would I, but I knew he was either a good man or a bad one, no matter what trappings of wealth surrounded him, and I knew he could not be a better man than my uncle.

Come Closer

At the far end of the hall sat an elderly woman in layered robes of soft blue silk. A pale gray scarf covered her hair. Beside her sat a thin older man with narrow shoulders and sharp features. His beard was trimmed short and precise. He wore a white robe of fine linen with silver embroidery, and jade rings gleamed on his fingers as he sipped from a porcelain tea cup.

Zihan Ma bowed respectfully toward the older man. “Master Chen.”

“Ma.” The man inclined his head slightly.

His eyes shifted toward me.

“This,” Lee Ayi said carefully, “is Darius Lee.”

I bowed deeply. “As-salamu alaykum Nai Nai and Master Chen.”

His eyes narrowed. “Were you taught to greet the women first?”

Before I could answer, Nai Nai smiled gently and said, “Come closer so I may see you.”

Haaris and I both went to her. Haaris hugged her, then I did. Her hands were warm and soft as she touched my face lightly, studying me with moist eyes. “You have your father’s eyes,” she murmured.

Master Chen snorted quietly into his tea. “An unfortunate inheritance.”

The room fell silent.

Lee Ayi crossed the room quickly and knelt beside her mother, taking both her hands. The warmth between them was immediate and genuine.

“We brought gifts for your birthday,” Lee Ayi said. She opened her bundle and carefully removed a folded silk shawl embroidered with tiny silver flowers. I had seen her making it over the last few weeks, but had not known it was for her mother.

Nai Nai touched the fabric reverently. “It’s beautiful,” she whispered.

Haaris eagerly produced a folded note written in his uneven handwriting. “Mine too!”

Nai Nai laughed softly and accepted it at once. “A letter?”

“A birthday note,” Haaris said proudly. “Baba helped me shape some characters.”

She opened it immediately, smiling as she read.

Then everyone looked at me.

I suddenly felt awkward. My own letter, though heartfelt, seemed childish now compared to the grandeur of this house. Still, I handed it to her. Nai Nai unfolded it slowly and read it in silence. I had written:

I am very happy to meet you, Nai Nai. My father had good qualities and bad, but I am sure that whatever good he possessed came from you. Whatever has befallen me in life, it brought me here to meet you. That is a barakah. I wish you a happy birthday and many to come.

When she finished, she pressed the paper briefly against her chest. “Thank you, Darius,” she said softly. “I will treasure it.” Her sincerity was real, and it moved me.

“Could you not even buy a gift for your grandmother?” Chen sneered. “A paltry letter? That’s fine for Haaris, but you are a young man.”

Nai Nai lowered her hands slowly. “Husband…”

“I merely speak the truth.” His gaze remained fixed on me. “Yong Lee was a troublesome boy long before drink rotted what remained of his judgment. No doubt this child is the same.”

I lifted my chin and met his gaze. I spoke calmly. “My father was more than that.”

Chen set down his tea cup abruptly, the tea spilling onto the porcelain dish beneath it.

Lee Ayi spoke softly. “Master Chen, Darius has traveled far. Let us welcome him peacefully.”

“Peacefully?” Master Chen replied. “Was Yong peaceful? I seem to recall gambling, fighting, drinking and theft following him from one province to the next like stray dogs.”

Haaris shifted uncomfortably beside me.

Zihan Ma’s expression remained calm, but I noticed his jaw tighten slightly.

Lee Ayi had told me to remain silent, but I would not keep my mouth shut while my father was reviled. I would never forget him coming home from prison, finding me half-starved, and weeping as he embraced me. That moment was engraved on my heart.

“My father,” I said, perhaps a little too loudly, “joined the army to fight the invaders. He died in defense of his country. What could be more honorable?”

Servants entered carrying tea for the rest of us, along with trays of candied fruits and little sesame pastries arranged in perfect rows.

Master Chen took a pastry, and Haaris followed suit. I thought Chen might insult or berate me, but instead he spoke softly: “There is a saying. When the roots are crooked, the branches grow twisted.”

Nai Nai touched her husband’s hand with one finger. “I beg you. Let us have no more of this.” It was the voice of someone pleading for a small mercy she was not certain would be granted.

Master Chen finally looked away from me and sipped his tea.

The Accusation

“We must pray Asr,” Zihan Ma said. “It is getting late.”

One by one we performed wudu’ in a large bathing room with a skylight and a live bamboo tree in a pot. Master Chen then led us to a dedicated prayer room. There he led us in salat. He could not kneel, so he sat in a chair as he prayed. When lifting his head from ruku’, he said, “Sami Allah lamaw zhamidu.” The salam at the end was similarly garbled.  No one corrected him, of course.

After prayer we returned to the sitting room. Now Haaris and I did indeed remain silent as the adults spoke of the war, refugees, the farm, and other things. Master Chen’s armaments business was booming. There was no warmth in these conversations. In the time that it took to drink a single cup of tea, Zihan Ma rose.

“It was wonderful to see you both,” he said. “We must leave. We have a long trip ahead and we do not want to be on the road late at night. It’s not safe.”

“You must stay,” Nai Nai protested. “We have plenty of room. Please, for my sake.”

“We cannot,” Zihan Ma replied firmly. “The cows must be milked in the morning, and the gate opened for the farm hands.”

I knew this was not strictly true. The foreman had the key to the gate, and the men could milk the cows, feed the chickens and let the donkeys out. But I too wanted to be away from this oppressive place, and I was worried about Far Away. I wanted to hear his protesting meow when I picked him up and nuzzled him. I even missed Bao Bao, for her kindness toward Far Away had warmed me to her.

Master Chen gave a derisive laugh. “Cows.”

I wanted to say, “Didn’t you put milk in your tea?” But I held my tongue. I did not like this man at all.

The elderly servant wheeled the cart back in, and we picked up our packs and bags. Good byes were said, and final embraces given. Nai Nai hugged me with her thin arms, and I gave her a half-hearted embrace in return. She was my grandmother, and I would like to say that I loved her, but I did not know her.

A female servant opened the door for us and bowed. As we were about to leave, the elderly male servant leaned in toward Master Chen and whispered something in his ear.

“Wait,” Master Chen said. “I am told that certain items have gone missing. A pair of gold bracelets.”

Zihan Ma frowned. “That’s unfortunate. May Allah return them to you. As I said, we must be going.”

“You misunderstand,” Master Chen said sharply. He pointed at me with one rigid arm. “The boy has stolen them. He was seen taking them.”

For a moment I thought I had misheard him.

Zihan Ma said, “That is impossible. He was with us the entire time.”

“He was gone a long time when he went to make wudu. Let him open his pack.”

Zihan Ma’s jaw tightened. “This is unacceptable. Darius is my apprentice, and works hard on the farm. He’s a good boy. You have no cause to suspect him.”

“His father was a thief,” Chen said flatly. He turned to me. “Isn’t that true?” His eyes held a cunning gleam, and I felt the first stirrings of unease in my stomach. Something strange was going on here.

“Yes,” I said honestly. “Though he changed in the last year of his life.”

“And you?” Chen asked, a thin smile on his lips. “Did you steal?”

I considered. I would not dishonor Zihan Ma by lying. My reply was truthful: “When my father was in prison, and I was alone on the farm, I stole food from neighboring farms to survive. A few potatoes here, a cabbage there. Only that.”

At that, Zihan Ma shot me a troubled glance. He had not known that about me.

“You see?” Chen declared triumphantly. “Once a thief, always a thief.”

Zihan Ma began to protest, but I waved him off. “It’s okay, Uncle,” I said. “I have no objection to opening my pack.”

I set the pack down on the floor, untied the strings, and opened the top flap. Inside were the few items I had brought from home: a towel, a spare shirt, and the sabha Zihan Ma had given me. On top sat the three cloth-wrapped gifts I had bought in the marketplace.

Chen’s eyes narrowed. “Take everything out.”

The room had gone utterly silent.

I frowned slightly but obeyed. First I removed the wrapped gifts and set them carefully beside the pack. Then the towel. Then the shirt and the sabha.

Something metallic glimmered at the very bottom of the pack.

For a moment my mind refused to understand what I was seeing.

Then I reached down slowly and picked them up.

Two gold bracelets rested in my palm.

* * *

Come back next week for Part 13 – The Long, Dark Road

Reader comments and constructive criticism are important to me, so please comment!

 

See the Story Index for Wael Abdelgawad’s other stories on this website.

Wael Abdelgawad’s novels – including Pieces of a Dream, The Repeaters and Zaid Karim Private Investigator – are available in ebook and print form on his author page at Amazon.com.

Related:

As Light As Birdsong: A Ramadan Story

Kill The Courier – Hiding In Plain Sight

The post Far Away [Part 12] – Accused appeared first on MuslimMatters.org.

Muhammad Shehada discussed how the Iran war is frustrating the US-Israeli push to disarm Gaza resistance.

Exclusive: Push to register unaffiliated party with identical name to grassroots group follows Avi Yemini’s plan to use ‘Free Palestine party’ to funnel votes to One Nation

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Muslim Votes Matter (MVM) has complained to the Victorian Electoral Commission over an anonymous bid to register a political party under the same name ahead of the state election, accusing it of deliberately misleading voters.

MVM was established before the 2025 federal election as a grassroots advocacy and lobbying movement, responding to concerns about the lack of political representation for Muslim and minority groups in Australia.

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Muhammad Shehada tells EI how a stormy meeting in Cairo exposed the real agenda behind the latest Gaza “peace” proposals.

Auntie Aisha Answers

“Auntie Aisha Answers: The Tween Muslim’s Ultimate Guide to Growing Up” by Shaykha Aisha Hussain Rasheed is an absolutely fantastic resource unlike any other books out there on the Muslim market. 

This book is for tweens and teens, written in a genuinely age-appropriate way, and covers a wide range of topics that are so necessary for young Muslims to be exposed to (that they often aren’t). From information about puberty (the physical and emotional bits), to understanding diversity and disabilities, to a spiritual understanding of healthy boundaries and what that looks like both religiously and in friendships/ relationships, to big emotions like anxiety and grief… Auntie Aisha really does give amazing answers! 

This book is also not just for girls; the content applies equally to both genders, and also covers male issues with regards to puberty and more.

Shaykha Aisha’s expertise as both a scholar and someone who understands the right way to bring up sensitive issues with kids really shines through this book. 

Buy your copy here: https://bookshop.rabata.org/products/auntie-aisha-answers-the-muslim-tween-s-ultimate-guide-to-growing-up 

Muslimah Mukallaf: A Muslimah’s Guide to Puberty, Faith, & Personal Care by Jenna bint Hakeem

I’m always on the lookout for solid resources for kids that discuss puberty and related matters from an Islamic perspective, in an age-appropriate way. When the author Jenna bint Hakeem offered me a copy of her book “Muslimah Mukallaf: A Muslimah’s Guide to Puberty, Faith, & Personal Care,” I was intrigued… but also skeptical at first (I feel a type of way about most self-published books!). 

I’m happy to say that this book far exceeded my expectations. The author does a fantastic job doing everything from discussing the biological and Islamic aspects of puberty, how to properly take care of one’s hygiene (down to a detailed shower routine!), understanding emotional changes and managing them, and even tackling heavy topics like sexual abuse, porn, mental health, and more. There’s even an entire section on skincare and haircare!

I really appreciated that she also spent time talking about spirituality in an age-appropriate way, connecting it to the journey of growing up as a young Muslimah. I was impressed that she mentioned the fiqhi opinion of touching the mus’haf while menstruating (albeit this is a minority opinion) and also reminds readers to be respectful of elders who have the other opinion.

A couple of caveats: I wish she’d clarified in an intro about what fiqhi approach she is using. There were also a couple tiny things that could have been included or elaborated on. I would like to see a proper publisher reprint this with necessary improvements around typesetting and an editor.

As always, parents should read before giving to their kids, and be open to discussing differences of opinion and sensitive topics.

Buy yours here: https://bookshop.org/p/books/muslimah-mukallaf-jenna-bint-hakeem 

“The Muslim Girl’s Pocket Guide to Growing Up” by Yasmin El-Husari

This book is exactly what it says it is: a pocket-sized booklet that reassures Muslim girls that everything they’re going through is totally normal! From acne to greasy hair (and hijabs!), periods and vaginal discharge, a brief primer on how and when to do ghusl, and even how to do a bra fitting, this little book packs in a lot of information. 

It is quite concise, so there’s not tons of detail in terms of fiqh, and unfortunately no sourcing provided or mention of which madhab/ fiqh opinions the author is sharing regarding maximum/ minimum days of menses. 

However, this book really is fantastic and laid out in a simple, easy-to-understand, age-appropriate way for girls 9 and up.

Buy yours here: https://www.amazon.ca/Muslim-Girls-Pocket-Guide-Growing 

My First Period by Nur Khairunnisa Iskandar

My mom and I teach a girls puberty workshop, but we’re always on the lookout for good books on the subject – and we finally stumbled on one of the best ones so far! 

This book does make it clear that it’s based on the Shafi’i madh’hab, so fiqh details are oriented accordingly. There are also random bits that are more culturally contextual e.g. a page on how common abandoning babies is in Malaysia (which I did NOT expect).

I’m very impressed with how much content this book covers, from the process of puberty to self-care to how babies are made to the (basic) fiqh of haydh. I’d say this book covers about 85-90% of what we cover in our workshop. I did have a couple mild quibbles (like calling female ejaculation ‘semen’) but by and large this is really well written, age appropriate, and visually great to navigate for younger readers.

I have no idea where international readers can purchase this from, but it is available for sale in Malaysia! Buy here: https://mphonline.com/products/my-first-period

What books do you recommend on this topic? And more importantly, what books on puberty are there for Muslim boys?

Related:

Muslimah’s Guide to Puberty: How to talk to your daughter about Adolescence

My Dear Muslim Son

The post From the MuslimMatters Bookshelf: Puberty Books for Girls appeared first on MuslimMatters.org.

According to the Australian National Imams Council, a man entered Masjid Taqwa mosque claiming to have an AK-47 firearm in his vehicle

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Australia’s peak Islamic body has condemned growing “anti-Muslim sentiment”, after a man allegedly threatened worshippers at a Brisbane mosque on Sunday, falsely claiming to have a gun.

The man is alleged to have attended the Masjid Taqwa in Bald Hills, Brisbane at about 10.46am on Sunday and threatened worshippers who were praying in the mosque.

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Prisoner linked to Palestine Action has spent many months in detention without trial.

A monthly digest of key developments in Palestine showcasing powerful images by photojournalists.

Israeli soldiers shoot man in head in Nablus while his wife gives birth to their son.