Land of the Unknown
Apr 26th, 2010 by Ensar
It was Sheikh Ibrahim’s wise instructions that brought me back here. I did not imagine that for one single moment I’d return. Sometimes life can take an unexpected turn. It is mid-afternoon when I arrive. Wearily, I clamber inside an old taxi outside the airport. I ask the driver to make a stop at the nearest Mosque. He smiles at me through the rear view mirror. He is also a Muslim and glad of the excuse to stop and pray while working.
Praying in the mosque is a breath of fresh air. I find solace in being far from the chaos and distraction of the outside world. I turn my inner thoughts into needy supplications. With eyes closed I implore the Divine to shower His Mercy on all of humanity. I pray for Sheikh Ibrahim, my family, my friends and then for myself. I utter my final ‘amen’ as the driver coughs politely by my side. He is eager to leave and earn his daily bread.
A downpour of heavy rain beats the windscreen with a fierce insistence. ‘Welcome to the rainy season’ says the driver shaking his head. I recite the Orison of the Sea. I can almost picture myself sitting opposite Sheikh Ibrahim as he leads the recitation. At the words ‘subject us to this sea’, I ask Allah to protect me from any harm and to give me strength. ‘Tightly packed buses and cars inch along through the narrow streets. There isn’t a trishaw or bicycle in sight. When I took the Sheikh’s blessed hand that day, I knew that my life would be different.
Situated in the heart of the bustling market is the guest house. An open ended sprawl of vendors and shoppers stretch out as far as the eye can see. There is something strangely familiar about it all. I pay the driver, thank him profusely and ask that he place keep me in his prayers. Deep in thought I stroll into the guest house.
The owner, a short balding man in his fifties, takes me to my room at the top of the stairs. A small single bed dominates the wall by the door. A once beautiful credenza sits under the dusty window, and a single wardrobe stands alone between them. The room is uninviting and cold. I think of leaving but something stops me. I think of Sheikh Ibrahim spending his entire lifetime teaching us how to purify our hearts. I feel saddened by my lack of humility. I thank the owner and tell him that I’ll be back after a stroll and a bite to eat. He is pleased to hear this and accompanies me back downstairs.