For No Other Reason Than To Teach You About Islam

At a bar after class. Tall candlesticks run down the centre of the table. The flames make the students sweat. They have to look around the candles to see each other’s faces. Hajer’s backpack is very large and having it on the floor between her legs is making her uncomfortable. She is telling her classmates about the novel she’s writing set in Iraq. One classmate tells Hajer to apply for a travel grant. Hajer doesn’t say anything substantial. Just mmms and oh yeahs. The last time Hajer went to Iraq was in 2005, when the American soldiers were still on the ground among the civilians. As her family was leaving Iraq and driving back to Jordan where they had been staying that summer, they got a call that Hajer’s uncle was kidnapped from his home and being held hostage for ransom. He was killed a few days later.

The idea of going back to Iraq has existed in Hajer’s mind like a piece of gum on the bottom of a shoe. Difficult to touch. Hard to remove.

She says none of this to the classmate. 

Hajer and her family finish having breakfast. They clean up and Hajer’s sisters and mother go to their rooms. Hajer’s father asks her to stay. 

BABA: How many textbooks do you have for school? 

Hajer doesn’t respond. She has heard this speech before. 

BABA: How many do you think? Or how many novels? Maybe ten or fifteen? That’s just for this semester. And then how many assignments do you have to do? How many exams?

Hajer hears her younger sisters moving around upstairs. She is trying to avoid eye contact with her father. 

BABA: Around fifteen books? Would you say that’s right? 

HAJER: Yeah. 

The light from the chandelier above the table is reflecting off Hajer’s glasses. She takes them off—not being able to see is more annoying than the glare—and puts them back on. 

BABA: Allah has one book with everything in it. And one test. He has made it so easy for you. School is important but it is not more important than Allah. He has written all the answers in one book. That’s all he wants you to read. He’s making it easy for you.

Hajer watches a cardinal fly off the bird feeder. 

HAJER: They're so beautiful. Oh there’s a chipmunk too! 

Baba stands to get a better look. He sits back down. 

BABA: This is the third time you don’t come to the mosque with us. What is more important than Allah? 

HAJER: I had to write. My story is being workshopped next week. 

BABA: So you couldn’t come to the mosque for just two hours last night? Maybe if you didn’t go out so often you’d have more time for your work. 

HAJER: I haven’t been out since Sunday!

BABA: If you spent that time doing your work you could have come to the mosque with us. Right? 

Hajer nods her head. She will apologise so he can let her go. 

HAJER: Okay I'm sorry. I’ll come with you tonight. 

BABA: That’s not the point— 

The home phone rings. Hajer hopes it will be a business call and he’ll forget the rest of his argument.

Baba is on the phone for less than a minute. He is saying something about an earthquake and that he will call his sister. 

BABA: May! There was an earthquake in Iraq! 

MAMA, from upstairs: What? 

The death toll is over 500, most of the victims from Kermanshah. Hajer does not know this yet. She is fascinated by natural disasters.

Hajer hears her mother’s quiet footsteps down the stairs.

BABA: There was an earthquake in Iraq. Ra’ed just called me. It was in Halabja but I'm going to call Esma just in case.

Hajer searches “Earthquake Iraq” on her phone. The first headline reads: “Magnitude 7.3 earthquake strikes near Halabja, Iraq.” Halabja is near the Iraq-Iran border. The epicentre of the earthquake was later reported to be in the Kermanshah province of Iran. The death toll is over 500, most of the victims from Kermanshah. Hajer does not know this yet. She is fascinated by natural disasters. 

Esma, her father’s sister, lives in Baghdad. He puts her on speaker. She says they felt their house shake and thought there was a bomb. Baba makes more calls to family members and business partners. No one he knows has been affected. 

Mama is now in the living room watching an Arabic news channel. There is live coverage of the earthquake. Hajer and Baba are still sitting together at the table. 

HAJER: I didn’t even know Iraq had earthquakes. 

BABA: They don’t. I wouldn’t be surprised if it wasn’t an earthquake. It’s probably the Americans doing something underground that caused the explosion. 

According to www.earthquaketrack.com, the region along the Iraq-Iran border experiences earthquakes every few days of a magnitude between 4.0 and 4.9. The last major earthquake was 55 years ago, in Salmas, Iran. Magnitude 7.0.

Hajer realises her father has forgotten to be angry with her. She distracts him further. 

HAJER: I doubt it was the Americans. They’re saying the earthquake was felt as far away as Turkey and Pakistan. It’s probably climate change. 

Later research will reveal to Hajer that there is some evidence that a rise in temperature may prematurely induce earthquakes. The evidence is not definitive. But humans are likely making things worse.

BABA: It’s a sign of the end of the world. That’s why you should come to the mosque with us and pray. [laughs]

HAJER: Maybe the world is ending but it’s because of what we’re doing to it. We’re causing climate change. 

BABA: Of course we are. No one cares about the environment. You know, Allah said in the Quran that all living things are praying to Him. Not just living things. Even this table is praying but we don’t understand it. We don’t understand the animals praying or the trees. So we think we’re better than them. We aren’t! We have to respect the environment. And Arabs are the worst. They don’t care at all. The West is corrupt but at least they recycle. They take care of their animals.

HAJER: Not all of them. And I'm pretty sure the U.S. is like the biggest contributor of greenhouse gases. 

BABA: Yes of course. And if this earthquake kills people, they’ll act like their hands are clean. They’ll say it was a natural disaster. They’re the ones who made nature violent! 

Hajer writes that down in her phone. Making nature violent. The death toll at the Iraq-Iran border continues to rise as more bodies are uncovered beneath the rubble.

Hajer’s father is in Iraq. She is sitting in the living room with her mother who has just finished praying. 

HAJER: I’m thinking about going to Iraq. It’s apparently safer now, right? 

MAMA: A lot safer. Everyone says Baghdad is so beautiful now. This blogger I follow, she went to Baghdad and said the mall there is amazing. She couldn’t post anything the first day she went. She was crying the whole time. She hadn’t been there in 20 years. 

Her mother video calls Baba. He is in his office at work. He has a framed photo of Khomeini on his desk. Hajer’s father fought in the Iraq-Iran war for eight years. He has seen the dead body of his brother. Has seen a man’s head on the side of the road. Has been kidnapped by Egyptian gangsters. Has been held in a Syrian prison. Hajer’s father is a real Iraqi.

HAJER: I’m thinking about coming to Iraq. I can get a travel grant for my writing. They’ll give me like $900. 

BABA: You won’t find a ticket that cheap. 

HAJER: I know, but it’s better than nothing. 

Mama’s silhouette against the blue sky. Hajer takes a photo quickly before Mama turns around.

Baba starts yelling at his employees to do something. Mama walks into the kitchen with the phone. The patio door is open. She leans against the frame, enjoying the sudden spike in temperature. She is still wearing her— 

HAJER: Mama, what do you call that? The thing you’re wearing. 

MAMA: Taqmut salat. Iraqis call it makna’a. 

—taqmut salat, prayer suit. Mama’s silhouette against the blue sky. Hajer takes a photo quickly before Mama turns around. 

When Baba returns from Iraq, he brings back the following items: 

1. A pack of perfume oils. The scent is very concentrated. Baba likes to put them on before he prays. They smell like a mosque. They smell like old Arabs. If he cuts a watermelon after applying the perfume, the watermelon slices will smell like the perfume.

2. Six silver rings with white stones. For his wife and five daughters.

3. Strings of dried harmal fruit. They look like dried chickpeas. Inside the fruit are seeds that can be toasted on the stove. As they cook, they create a popping noise. The smoke produced wards off evil spirits, as well as conceals bad smells in the house. The strings now hang near the front door.

When Hajer asks her mom about the strings of harmal fruit, her mom is reminded of the harmal seeds in the kitchen pantry. She takes out a stool to retrieve the seeds and proceeds to toast them. 

HAJER: It smells like my childhood. 

MAMA: Because Bibi used to always toast them. She was afraid of the evil eye. She didn’t want anyone cursing her. 

Mama walks around the house with the pot of harmal, ensuring the smoke reaches every room. She waves the pot over Hajer’s head.

MAMA: You have to recite Surat Al-Falak and Surat Al-Nas when you do this. And make sure you pray for your grandmother. 

4. Sand from the shrine of Imam Hussein. Imam Hussein is the grandson of Prophet Muhammad. Hajer’s father is a devout Shia and works in Karbala, a Shia-majority city in central Iraq. During the month of Muharram, Shias make pilgrimage in Karbala to commemorate the death of Imam Hussein.

5. A metre-long rope of camel hair. Camel hair is also meant to ward off evil spirits and physical pain. If your stomach is hurting, you can tie the rope around your abdomen and the pain will go away. The rope now hangs over a painting in the kitchen.

Hajer feels guilty for knowing immediately upon seeing the camel hair rope that she will use it in a story one day. How could she not? The Iraqi father bringing back CAMEL HAIR ROPE. Arabs. Camels. It’s the diaspora writer’s wet dream! You couldn’t make this up if you tried. Hajer definitely can’t. She has a horrible imagination. 

She hasn’t learned yet that writing transgressively for the sake of being transgressive is the best way to dishonour oneself.

She spends so much time unpacking her guilt and justifying her work. She is unknowingly trapped in the dilemma of representation. Is there a way to represent her reality without pandering to the Western gaze? Is there a way to represent her parents’ realities without capitalising on their trauma? Such boring questions that will preoccupy her for years. 

Hajer searches for answers from other Arab writers. She finds an online listicle of “10 Books By Arab Women Writers That Should Be Translated.” One of the writers is Rasha Abbas, a Syrian short-story writer living in Berlin. Hajer reads one of her stories, “Falling Down Politely, or How to Use Up All Six Bullets Instead of Playing Russian Roulette.” It is transgressive. The character watches hentai. Hajer has never read an Arab writer writing about any type of porn. Hajer decides she will write about porn. She hasn’t learned yet that writing transgressively for the sake of being transgressive is the best way to dishonour oneself. Another trap she must work her way out of. 

The television is on in the background. Hajer is told to sit on the bed. Baba is holding a turba. A turba is a piece of compressed soil or clay. During sujood, prostration, Shias rest their heads on a turba.

BABA: I want you to write this down. There are seven reasons why we use a turba. 

This speech is new to Hajer. She imagines how long her father has been working on it, trying to find seven reasons, refining the explanations in his head until he’s ready to share them with his daughter. 

Baba thinks seven is a very lucky number. He believes it has spiritual value. He tried changing their licence plate to “7777777,” seven sevens, but the request was denied by the Ministry of Transportation. It would be too hard to read. Hajer has pointed out to her father that they are a family of seven. This made him happy. 

BABA: The first reason is that it’s a symbol of death. We do sujood twice during each ruk’a. The first sujood symbolises birth and the second symbolises death. The moment in between is your entire life. You come from and return to the earth, to the soil which the turba is made of. The second reason is it discharges extra electricity from your body. Soil helps to ground you. Also it is a very clean substance. It’s purifying. Okay how many is that? Three? Read them back to me. 

HAJER: One, it’s a symbol of death. Two, discharges extra electricity. Three, clean. 

BABA: Okay so that’s three. There are seven reasons. It’s a souvenir of Imam Hussein. The turbas we have are from Karbala, from clay from his shrine. Imam Hussein is very important to Shias and we need to always remember him. Are you still writing this? 

HAJER: Yeah, I have it here on my phone.

BABA: Okay good. You should publish this after to teach people about Islam. That’s four reasons now, correct? 

HAJER: Yes, four. 

BABA: The turba is also sanitising. It cleanses your body and your mind. 

Hajer thinks this sounds like reason number three: clean and purifying. She doesn’t say anything. 

BABA: And of course it is very simple and humble. It is to remind us that we are servants of Allah and we are made of what the turba is made of. Clay. We have to remain humble and always remember this. Read it to me now. I think that’s seven. 

HAJER: No, it’s six. 

BABA: Really? Read it back to me. 

HAJER: One, symbol of death. Two, discharges extra electricity. Three, clean. Four, souvenir of Imam Hussein. Five, sanitising. Six, humble. 

BABA: There has to be a seventh reason. I'm sure Allah has seven reasons. 

Hajer waits for her father to come up with something.