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A Masjid Where We Belong

A Masjid Where We Belong

Last updated on: October 17, 2016 at 11:53 pm by Hind Makki

A Masjid Where We Belong 2016-10-17T23:53:20-06:00 Hind Makki

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This is Day 13 of Hindtrospectives’ #MyMosqueMyStory series for Ramadan 2015

By Sabina Khan-Ibarra

“Allah created one hundred units of mercy on the day Allah created the heavens and the earth. Each one of them can contain all that is between the heaven and the earth. Of them, Allah put one on earth, through which a mother has compassion for her children and animals and birds have compassion for one another. On the Day of Resurrection, Allah will perfect and complete Allah’s mercy”. (That is Allah will use all the hundred units of mercy on that Day).” -Prophet (SAW)

After my husband was scolded by the imam of the local mosque on my first day visiting for helping me carry our daughter into the lobby of the women’s section, I knew I wasn’t going to feel welcome there.

“I am not going to like this place,” I whispered to Mohammad.

He didn’t say anything, zipping up the baby bag, getting ready to leave.

“At least it is beautiful from the outside,” I continued, thinking of the blue minaret and dome I saw as we walked in.

“Honey, it’s Ramadan and we want our children to love Allah and Allah’s home like you did, right?”

“Right,” I said.

As a convert, Mohammad was fascinated by my connection to God’s home, something he didn’t have growing up as a Catholic, and wanted the same for our children. I had a dreadful feeling that it wasn’t going to happen at this mosque. A place where my husband was berated by the so-called leader before we even had a chance to settle.

“Please, Allah, be with me,” I whispered as I walked into the prayer area.

***

When I see harshness in anyone, I step back and reassess, especially if the person in question is supposed to be some representation of my religion. It is only natural for me to reject these harsh people, because the Allah I learned about is loving and merciful. I was never taught that I had to pray or obey Allah out of fear. I learned that it was important for me to emulate the Prophet (SAW) who was kind and gentle with everyone he dealt with. As I grew up, there were some transition periods, when I learned about the realities of life and figured out that love wasn’t always as pretty as simple as I thought. But even after questioning and deep reflection, I always came back to the conclusion that Allah loved me, as Allah did all of creation.

Growing up, my home and life were filled with Allah and the Prophet (SAW). I woke up daily to my parents’ melodic voices reciting the Quran. My Baba told me that the Quran was Allah speaking to me. I read the Quran with translation from a young age and found the stories fascinating. And when I didn’t have the translation, I read the words, enjoying the sound each word made and how it felt in my mouth and throat, knowing that each word was a divine one and my simple recitation brought me reward. As a grown woman, I still find comfort in hearing my mother’s sweet voice reading out loud Allah’s words. When I stay the night at my parents’, I crawl into Mama’s bed, where she reads, and fall asleep to the familiar euphonious sound.

My parents taught me that Allah was all around me and to be mindful of everything I did because of this. Baba taught us about the different Prophets and their hardships. From these stories, I learned that everyone faces trial and that in the end, Allah rewarded the good- either in this world or the next. Mama told us about heaven, the rivers of milk and honey that flowed freely within.

“Will there be candy in jannah, Mama?”

“If that’s what you want,” Mama said.

“Can I wish for lots of wishes?” My sister, Saira, asked, always thinking of ways of getting more.

“Yes,” Mama laughed.

While Mama cooked dinner, I sat at the dining table drawing pictures of how my heaven looked, complete with rainbows and halal Starbursts (before they were halal). The next world was just as real as the world I lived in.

As a child, I saw Mama and Baba behave as if Allah was always watching them. They never cursed, lied, or hurt others in front of us. There were no mixed messages. It was this reason that made it difficult for me to disobey them or Allah. I knew very early that not only did my parents really believe what they taught me, but they truly valued it.

I have always been very aware of the fact Allah was present everywhere. I acted in a way that I believe would not displease Allah and when I had no one to talk to, I talk to Allah. Knowing I wouldn’t always get a response, I asked Allah for things or even told Allah about my feelings. If reading was Allah talking to me, I found that praying and supplication was me talking to Allah.

My father helped found the local masjid in our neighborhood. Even when he was tired, he would gather all six of his children (MashaAllah) and drive us to help clean the masjid, or the area where the masjid was supposed to be, before it was even built. Our hand prints are still part of the foundation.

“We have to love and respect Allah’s home as we respect ours,” he told us once when I complained that no one else did anything.

Once the mosque was built and I was old enough to pray, I felt a connection so deep, it hurt me when people would abuse the mosque or any mosque. I knew the hard work it took to build and take care of the house of Allah. My prayers were clearer at the mosque where I was able to see my father pray and children playfully wrestle. I was able to focus on my prayer, my dua, my dhikr, and my talks to Allah. In this precious time, only Allah and I existed. There was nothing to keep me from feeling close to the One who created me.

***

After unsuccessfully trying to appease my children by myself, with no help from anyone, and no phone signal to call my husband for help, I walked out of the women’s section and waited on the sidewalk for my husband.

“I never want to come back to the masjid again,” I said to my husband.

Upon seeing his children and wife standing outside waiting for him, Mohammad became just as irritated as I was.

“I don’t blame you, honey. I would’ve taken Musa from you.”

I shook my head.

“It’s not Musa and I’m not mad about the segregation or the women who didn’t help me, but the general attitude of the masjid. This masjid is made for men. And maybe some single women who don’t mind being segregated but it is not very welcoming to mothers and their children… its not welcoming to me.”

Even my prayer was spent hoping the frowning women wouldn’t yell at me or my children.

“I am really sorry, honey. I was hoping that we would find a place like Lighthouse here.”

Lighthouse is the masjid we regularly attended when we lived in Berkeley, CA. It was a masjid that I knew my family could love and grow old in, but we had to move away and start over. Although it is very different from the masjid I grew up in, the sense of community was such a big part of the masjid and made it feel like home – just like the house of Allah should feel.
“Maybe one day,” I turned my back to the beautiful masjid and made my way to the car.

My children are still toddlers; one is three years old and the other is two. We are not sure what we are going to do this Ramadan. Maybe we should wait until they grow up a little? Maybe we should wait until we find a better masjid community?

In the meantime, I spend my days teaching my children about the Allah I learned about when I was growing up and hope that no matter what they go through in life, they have a loving Allah to return to.

“Oh, Allah, I pray that you guide me in raising children who love and honor You- who love and honor Your home and please guide us to the masjid that loves and honors my children back.”

Sabina Khan-Ibarra is a freelance writer and editor. She regularly contributes to her blog, Ibrahim’s Tree which she created after the loss of her infant son in 2011. She created Muslimah Montage as a platform for women to share their stories. Sabina currently lives in Davis, CA and working on her memoir. Follow Sabina on Twitter: @muslimahmontage

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