r-u-q-a-y-y-a-h

i went to grade school with this little muslim girl names ruqayyah. she was a little black princess (indeed, the embodiment of all things sacred). she was humble, kind. the spiritual equivalent of an apache helicopter. she had a keen understanding of not just muslim holy texts but several others as well. at that time, i was living in the bible belt and a young muslim was not the most welcomed thing in town, let alone in the public school system. i often remember her sitting alone, reading the koran, quietly. she had a way of looking through the pages of the book, absorbing it in a way that only now would i refer to as sensual. she was in love with it.

as a child i was fascinated by her. by her religion, it's practises. her fasting periods, her quiet humility at being forced to swear fealty to a nation that had only sinister eyes for her and her family. her desire to know and understand everything. i was even fascinated by her name. to the point that i spent time memorizing the spelling of it, because it was so unique (as was she) that i couldn't help but admire her. interestingly, it wasn't the other children that gave her trouble. i suspect at that age children are more accepting of differences. it is an age before the world has taught them that sides must be chosen as to who is okay and who is not. her trouble came from other parents and the teachers who looked at her with a strange and baseless disdain. but ruqayyah never seemed affected. she never even seemed to notice to be honest with you. i remember watching one day during a parent/teacher night some of the parents asking the teacher to move their children away from sitting next to her so she would not corrupt their children. as if her existence was some sort of disease. it is one of the most transfixing moments of my life watching her mother's eyes fill with tears as she listened to the other parent's complain about her daughter, listened to them vocally ravage this sweet, innocent girl who indeed at that time and age opitimized what jesus meant when he talked about the innocense and beauty of children. i remember watching her father's hands clench in rage, ready to wage mental war with the other parent's over it, then hold himself back. violence is not an accepted behavioral trait in islam any more than it is in christianity or buddhism.

looking back, it isn't her father's rage i remember so keenly as it is the look on her mother's face, the desolation, the helplessness of watching her daughter be the focus of so much hatred that she could do nothing to stop. in my life since then, whenever i am in a situation where i see another person in pain that i know i can do nothing to avoid, i feel a little peice of what she felt that day, a little bit of the desire to just wash the sadness and abuse away by sheer force of will.

i am reminded daily of the insurmountable affection a mother holds for her children, and i think (having been raised predominantly by a single father) that ruqayyah's mother is my basis for all judgments since. the easiest things to regret in life are those that you have no control over and sitting here, i wish that i could go back and remove all the loathing directed at that sweet girl and take it into me. of course, as is so often true with children, ruqayyah moved through her days with a grace that showed she was completely immune to anything that went on around her. she was saint among sinners, so to speak.

it's funny how now, after all these years, every so often, i'll be sitting here, doing whatever it is am doing and i'll hear in my head "r-u-q-a-y-y-a-h" in my head, the way i used to repeat it to her to make sure i had it down, and hope that wherever she is, she is at least half as well as i hope her to be.

2004-06-15 | 10:14 a.m.
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