“This isn’t about being comfortable. You’re here to work hard and suffer in order to benefit in the future.”
The mothers had been right. Mustafa really was out of the ordinary. When he held forth, Islam became exciting, even appealing. He created a private place where only they were in the know, a room with space only for them. Others remained outside, unaware, uninitiated.
The Koran teacher told them about the life of the Prophet in a way that brought him to life, he taught them hadith and iman—belief in Allah, belief in the angels, belief in the prophets, belief in judgment day, belief in destiny.
Fate was divided into three, Mustafa explained. “Everything that is written for you from the day you are born. Everything that happens in the Koran. The destiny you make yourself.”
His voice would put you in mind of Morgan Freeman, Ismael thought. No matter what he said, you would believe it.
Ayan made notes in round, slightly untidy writing in an exercise book: “Intention is the foundation of every action. Three things are required for an intention to be pure: 1. Reverence for Allah. 2. Timidity toward Allah. 3. Desire for Paradise.”
To live in accordance with true Islam required that you give thought to many practical matters. They learned when you should brush your teeth and perform wudu—the ritual washing before prayer. In the Koran it said, according to Ayan’s notes, “You who believe, when you rise to prayer, wash your faces and your forearms to the elbows. Wipe over your heads and wash your feet to the ankles.” “Remember the correct order,” Ayan commented in the margin. She wrote rules for visits to the lavatory, like how you should not be facing Kaaba, the sacred shrine containing the holy black stone in Mecca, while seated on the toilet. Preferably, you sit with your back toward Kaaba, but your back must not face the sun or the moon. If you inadvertently “scratched your bottom through your clothes” or brushed against a man from outside the family, drank alcohol, smoked, came in contact with your privates, fainted, or slept, you were to cleanse yourself anew. It was important to use your right hand when eating because “if you eat with your left hand you are eating with the devil.” Furthermore, the food eaten with the left hand gave only half the nourishment.
Mustafa hammered into them what was halal—permitted—and what was not, and could lose himself in detailing the punishment for the forbidden. The Juma children knew most of this from before, but some things were new to them. “Kitchen utensils in gold or silver are not allowed!” was written on a line by itself in Ayan’s exercise book. The pages were filled with exhortations and rules about what was Correct! Proper! Clean!
Sometimes Mustafa’s rules for living were based on the Koran and sharia, other times on traditional belief. When one of the boys tripped over a shoe in the hallway, causing it to lie upside down, Mustafa shouted, “Turn it over! A shoe must never lie with the sole upward!” When he was asked why, he told them you must never show the sole of your shoe to Allah. The sole is dirty, you never know what you might have stepped in. If a shoe lay that way, angels would not enter the house, leading Allah to ignore it.
Mustafa was strict about pronunciation when they read verses of the Koran, picky and exacting when it came to reading aloud Arabic words. At each session, he chose some pupils to recite the week’s lesson to the others. The three Juma siblings had been fairly average when their father was teaching. Now Ayan and Leila were studying with a newfound intensity, which pleased their mother, while Ismael was beginning to lag behind, which bothered her.
As the weeks passed, the pupils were introduced to several of the central concepts of Islam, such as the different types of holy war: the internal jihad al-nafs—jihad with the soul, the struggle against evil ideas and desires, where you strive to live as God wants; and the external jihad bi’l-sayf—jihad with the sword, where you do battle against the infidels. There was jihad against hypocrites, traitors, and oppressive leaders. It could be waged in different ways—with the heart, the tongue, the hand, the pen, money, or your entire being. The highest form of jihad was to risk your life fighting.
“Those who wage this last type of jihad,” Mustafa said, “are allowed to sit beneath God’s throne in paradise.”
Ismael began to dislike the Koran teacher. He thought he took himself too seriously and that his wispy beard that refused to grow looked ridiculous. Ayan and Leila’s fascination grew.
Death was a major theme for Mustafa. In the texts he chose, death was beautiful; martyrs died with a smile on their faces and a scent of sweet musk upon them.
“We Muslims view death as the start,” he said in his dulcet voice.
Only then did life begin.
Ismael was critical. “He’s romanticizing death!” he said to his sisters.
They united in ignoring their brother’s protests. The tenets in Ayan’s notebooks were adorned with beautiful trimming. One sentence in particular had been carefully decorated: “The prophet said we are instructed to kill all people until they make Shahada [the Islamic declaration of faith], until they pray, and to continue until they give zakat [alms], and only then to let them go.”
Ismael thought what they were learning was becoming increasingly unpleasant. He asked Mustafa, “Do you mean you should kill those who are not Muslims?”
“It is a quote from the Prophet,” Mustafa responded. “It was recounted by Abdullah bin Umar, brother-in-law of the Prophet, and later written down. He is a reliable source.” He went on to quote Abu Hurayra, one of the Prophet’s companions: “The people before us asked too many questions and were opposed to their prophet.”
Ismael took this as a reprimand.
He had stopped taking notes. These men, born in the seventh
