Here’s a little story to put a smile on your face on this blessed 4th day of Ramadan. Twitter user @lemonslip shares how -when he was 12 years old- he learned not to concern himself with why ladies aren’t praying or fasting:
Okay so let me tell you about how I learned not to ask a woman why she doesn’t pray.
Peep this, it’s 2007, Avril Lavigne’s Album is number 1 in the charts. I was an edgy 12 year old big man just started secondary school.
It’s the first week of Ramadan, and my entire family are at my Chacha’s house. The whole crew, my cousins and their spouses all here.
I’m a good lad, keeping my fasts. Iftaar was at like 6pm. Those were the good old days. I’m helping the aunties out in the kitchen.
I peep my Bhabi scran a whole samosa whilst everyone else wasn’t looking. A WHOLE SAMOSA. LIKE R U D E MANNA NOT EVEN FEARING ALLAH.
But I ain’t no snitch so I let it slide. I glared at her so she know that i know wagwan. I feel like I got some A grade dirt on this woman.
So the rest of the evening is relatively uneventful. I’m there with an empty stomach and a parched mouth. This shit is hard for a tubby kid.
This is me around that age. So you can imagine what life is like for me rn. I get put on the kiddie table. Smh there’s no biryani here.
I’m triggered. I’m fuming. My mum sees this and brings my fat ass some biryani before I made a fat kid scene.
Anyway, I’m there eating iftaar with the peasants (my younger cousins). The adhan drops from this radio thing my Aunty had. Pre iPhone days.
I go into salafi police mode. I jump out my chair, knock my drink off the table and run to do wudhu.
I come back and see everyone is lining up for salah. Except for one woman. Guess who.
At this point I go ape shit. I go up to her and start screaming like “HAVE YOU NO SHAME?” “YOUR FAST ISNT EVEN ACCEPTED AND NOW U DON PRAY?”
My mum is turning bright red. She tells me to shut up. I’m still a triggered lil fat shit. I keep going in: “DO U EVEN KNO HOW TO PRAY?”
My mum pulls me away by my lil fat ear into the side room and slaps me up. Life is deep. Mans just trying to get his fam on the manhaj.
No ones explaining to me why this lil kuffar got away with this. The car journey home is silent.
My parents stage an intervention for my lil salafi ass. All the way up until terawih my parents are telling me about the female body.
To this day I’m scarred. I can’t even look at that Bhabi in the eyes.
Moral of the story is. Chill man. Don’t concern yourselves with other people’s Islam.
The entire encounter is downright comical. It’s also relatable to many of us. We’ve either been the bhabhi, trying to score a samosa while no one’s looking, or we’ve been the salafi police judging people around us without taking the time to learn and understand what their situation is.