An Eid Read

As-Salaamu ‘Alaikum wa Rahmatullahi wa Barakatuh!

Hopefully, this pre-scheduled post goes up on the right day. If today is Eid, yay, Eid Mubarak. If tomorrow is Eid, or you are reading this days, weeks, months, or years later then just reread the salaams and move on past this.

Before we begin, I want to once again invite everyone to check out my review for the Once Upon An Eid anthology, co-edited by S.K. Ali and Aisha Saeed. And, if you haven’t already ordered a copy (or more) of the book, go check that out here.

I was inspired to write the short story you are about to read by that book and some of its wonderful tales. I know I said that much before in my review, but I want to make it clear not only to express my sincerest appreciation of the works I thoroughly enjoyed but also because I don’t want this piece taken as stepping on anyone’s toes or anything like that. I’m not trying to steal anyone’s shine or what have you, I just want to share my own excitement in homage and another piece of joy and relatable experience for our shared celebration of Eid.

With that said, these characters are 100% fictional and brand new to me (in fact, Idt I’ve ever even written in this young of a bracket but this is what I felt most appropriately in line with OUAE. Also, wow, I just realized right now the title initials are all vowels. Not relevant but whatever, I’m writing this at 1:29am still in Ramadan). I hope you enjoy the story, please be sure to leave some comments below, feel free to share your own Eid experiences, real or fiction, and I’ll be happy to read them! And seriously, go check out OUAE and tell me about your favorites from there too!

And now, without further ado:

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Aiding On Eid

Twas the night before Eid, and the news spread with cheer. The moon had been sighted somewhere near. Ramadan was over, and though that much was sad, there was joy for the celebration now to be had.

In one small apartment in one rural California city, one Muslim family prepared with overwhelming excitement. Nine-year-old Mansur Shakur saw his father, Abu Ubadah, off as he left the home in a hurry. He was off to deliver the zakat-ul-fitr almsgiving of his family to one of the less fortunate families in the neighborhood. Mansur had learned years back that such a charitable deed after a month of fasting really helped spread the holiday cheer for those in need.

As he shut the door, waving salaams to his father, Mansur turned back to his sisters who were waiting for him to join them. Safa and Maymoonah were just two of his five siblings. He had two older brothers, Ubadah and Thabit, and three younger sisters, including baby Saba; but none of the others were participating in this tradition of theirs.

Every Eid, Mansur, Safa, and Maymoonah would gather at the kitchen table on the night before the holiday and draw up dozens of festive cards for their relatives. Mansur had the best drawing skills, so his sisters often relied on him for help with their art and he gladly assisted them. It was all part of the fun.

Together, the children drew up pictures of their favorite masjid, decorated with balloons and banners and ribbons. They wrote fanciful greetings and messages of love and joy to their family members. Mansur helped Safa draw the masjid’s minaret, and Maymoonah asked him to spell her name out for her.

While Mansur and his sisters were busy drawing, their mother, Umm Ubadah, was busy putting the final touches on their Eid outfits. All month long she had worked tirelessly to sew everyone in the house new clothes for Eid. The boys and their fathers got matching white thobes, perfectly tailored to their sizes and fitting with their black pants, white kufis, and black turbans. The girls would have beautiful white and gold dresses that would shimmer and shine in the morning sunlight. The last of the white material went into little hijabs for Safa and Maymoonah, so Umm Ubadah went with black and gold for herself.

From the table, Mansur could hear his mother calling Thabit for help with something, but Thabit didn’t respond. Mansur looked down the hall towards the bedroom the boys all shared. The door was shut, so he probably couldn’t hear. Mansur got up to help his mother, and when Thabit finally came out, he thanked him for helping him too.

Later in the night, after dinner and Isha prayer, the children were all sent to bed. Mansur could hardly sleep though, as he imagined up all the fun and exciting things that awaited the next day. Wearing his new clothes. Seeing his favorite cousin, Anas. Getting new toys and giving out the Eid cards he and his sisters had drawn up.

When he finally did fall asleep, he had a beautiful, yet strange dream. Everyone was cheerful and celebrating. Family and friends, even strangers had gathered with glee. The biggest moment of excitement came as he was given a gift in the dream.

He didn’t know who it was from, and he could only see light in it, but when he took it, it brought him happiness and warmth inside. Looking up, he saw that everyone was smiling, thanking him before he could say thanks to anyone. The light was radiant on all their faces, but especially from one child whom he didn’t recognize. All he knew was that the light inside himself was connected to the smiling child.

And then he woke up.

It was Eid morning. The big day had arrived. Shortly before Fajr, Abu Ubadah woke everyone up and the house was in a hectic hurry. With one shower and eight people, there were a lot of people to be bathed and there was a lot of waiting to be done.

His father had gone first. Then Umm Ubadah made sure Maymoonah bathed. Ubadah was next, and when he came out, he was told to call the adhan for Fajr prayer. Thabit rushed into the shower while everyone else made their sunnahs.

While Mansur eagerly awaited his chance to shower and get dressed, he realized it’d be more helpful to his mother if Safa went next. So he decided to wait. Abu Ubadah led the boys in prayer while Safa showered.

After Fajr, Mansur was commended for his helpfulness and that made him happy. Then he finally got his turn to shower. The hot water was almost all gone by then. Still, the pleasure of helping had brought him at least a little warmth.

When he stepped out of the bathroom, he was wearing his newly sewn black pants, new socks, and a plain white t-shirt. He’d brushed his teeth and now had to comb his hair and eat something quickly.

Thabit and Ubadah ate cereal. Mansur helped himself to some dates and figs instead. It helped make less of a mess to clean and plus, there was more cereal for his sisters to have if he didn’t eat any. He had a quick bite to eat and went back to getting ready.

While he was putting on his shoes, also new and very comfortable, Mansur heard his mother calling for assistance. His father had gone to get gas before their trip. Ubadah and Thabit were still eating. And so Mansur alone went to her aid.

Umm Ubadah just finished fixing up Maymoonah’s braids, and while she was sending the two oldest girls off to go and eat, she needed someone to feed baby Saba her milk. Umm Ubadah had to shower and get dressed to go. Though Mansur wanted to finish putting on his new clothes and feel that Eid giddiness, he knew it would be more helpful to care for his sister like his mother needed. And so he did.

He was thanked once again, but that wasn’t his only delight. Soon, when they’d finished eating and getting dressed themselves, his two older brothers arrived to help him. Ubadah brought him his thobe and his kufi, even helping him wrap his little black turban over it. Thabit offered him some attar, the pleasant fragrance making him feel fresh and ready for the Masjid.

Soon, the whole family was out the door and packed into their father’s van. Mother and father up front. Safa, Maymoonah, and Saba in the middle. Ubadah, Thabit, and Mansur in the back row. Everyone was buckled up before they pulled out of the driveway and into the morning fog.

It was like the clouds hadn’t woken up yet. In fact, most of the city was still asleep. Those who weren’t were either on their way to work or on their way to school. They had no idea what a special day it was. But Mansur sure did. Sitting between his brothers, he held his Eid cards lightly and gazed out the window.

As they drove over a bridge, rising with the golden sun, they saw fields of green grass to their left, blue mountains to their right. In the fields were cows and horses, on the mountains were trees and boulders. All at once, the children’s faces lit up, and almost in unison, they pointed out the animals to one another. Despite knowing they’d all seen them, there was an irresistible, almost traditional, urge to say it.

“Horses.”

When they arrived at the Masjid, the air was filled with echoing chants of praise to Allah. The grand building was packed with hundreds of congregants of so many different faces and races, wearing so many different colors and cultural clothing styles, but all gathered for the one purpose, praising Allah and celebrating the joyful day of blessings.

Finding a parking spot was tough, but Abu Ubadah managed. Then, Umm Ubadah took the girls and went to the women’s section while he took the boys to where the men had poured outside. Thankfully there was enough space on the rugs and mats that had been rolled out to accommodate the excess congregants.

Mansur sat with his brothers and their father. It was almost impossible to escape the joyfully infectious sounds of everyone’s united takbeerat, but Mansur focused on saying it alone to himself. The words he knew were few and simple, but they were sunnah and he loved them.

“Allahu Akbar, Allahu Akbar, Allahu Akbar, la ilaha ilAllah. Allahu Akbar, Allahu Akbar, wa lillah il-hamd.”

God is greater, God is greater, God is greater, there is no one worthy of worship but God. God is greater, God is greater, and to God belongs all praise.

After a month of fasting, after so much helping and doing good deeds, it was still important to remember that Allah was greater than it all.

And that much was touched on in the imam’s brief sermon following the special Eid prayer. Everyone sat attentively while the imam reminded them of Allah’s blessings to them and congratulated them on their joyous holiday. He called on them to remember Allah in their good times and bad, to be helpful to one another as they expected Allah to help them, to spread cheer and happiness as much as they could.

“In these trying times, with as much suffering and oppression as we see going on in the world around us, this message is more important now than ever before,” he said in closing. “So may Allah bless you all and your families, May He bless and protect the ummah worldwide, Eid Mubarak, everyone, and have a happy celebration!”

Everyone got to their feet, congratulating one another, shaking hands and giving hugs. Almost immediately the noise levels shot up past even the original hum of their adhkaar. Conversations left and right in a multitude of diverse languages and accents. Among the crowds, Mansur spotted his younger cousin, Anas and his father Rasheed.

“As-Salaamu ‘Alaikum,” he greeted him. “Eid Mubarak!”

“Eid Mubarak.”

Mansur handed Anas the card he’d made for him and the two hugged. While their fathers began to talk, Anas asked if Mansur would help him get in line for a free toy. He was shy to stand in line by himself. Mansur himself had wanted to go and play until the line went down, but he agreed now to go with his cousin right away.

They passed through the parking lot where already the mini-train was loading up passengers for a ride. There were tables for the men and women, decorated with banners and balloons, all holding boxes of donuts and dispensers for tea and coffee. Beyond those, at the window of the Masjid library, there was the line for the kids to get toys and goodie bags full of candy.

In line, Mansur spotted his sisters and his other cousins, Amatullah and Amatur-Rahman. He gave salaams to them and gave them their cards too. When it was their turn to get toys and candy, Amatullah was too short to reach, so Mansur lifted her up to get her gifts from the woman behind the window. She thanked him for his help and thanked the sister for the gift.

Now that Anas had gotten his toy, a dollar-store action-figure, and Mansur got a knockoff beyblade, the two were off to the play area. Bounce castles had been set up for the boys and girls in a small grassy area just beside the basketball court. While some kids were busy tossing the frisbees they’d gotten or flying their spin toys, many were already piling in to jump around in the inflated playhouses.

That was where Mansur wanted to be. “Come on, let’s go!” he urged his cousin. He’d already taken off his kufi and his turban to set them on a nearby table. His shoes were off next, placed just outside the ladder to climb into the bounce house. Anas followed suit, taking off his glasses and his shoes and he joined Mansur inside.

There, with all the other kids their ages, they jumped and they bounced. Mansur and some of the other boys even did flips and tricks. It seemed like everyone was having a blast playing around and screaming, turning somersaults and tossing foam balls to each other.

But there was one kid who wasn’t having a good time. One kid who was neither bouncing nor screaming. Not even playing at all.

Mansur noticed her only after he’d landed from a backflip that sent him crashing into one of the inflated pillars. He fell down laughing but just before he got back up, he saw a little girl curled up in the corner. She was closer to Maymoonah’s age than all of the bigger kids. And, she was crying about just that matter.

“I c-an’t jump a cause- a cause all the bigger kids keep knocking me down and bouncing me away,” she whined.

Mansur noted the heavy excitement with which most of the other kids bounced. If they were sending even each other flying, he could only imagine what’d happened to the poor girl who was only half their size, if that. Mansur tried to see if the girl would fit in better at the other bounce castle that’d been set up, but that one was being used by even older kids.

While he tried to figure out what to do, the little girl continued crying into her knees, occasionally being bounced up by an unwitting jumper. He thought to ask everyone not to jump, just for a few minutes so that the girl could have a turn, but he knew they would say no. That would ruin their fun and no one would be happy.

Then, when he saw someone else jumping lightly before another kid bounced him up high, he got an idea. Instead of everyone jumping to their fullest and sending each other flying, they could all just jump a little less. They could still have fun but on an equal level to one another.

He shared the idea and brought the little girl out to jump with the other kids. When they saw that she’d been crying after being excluded, they agreed to let her jump equally with them, and while it was less exciting than before, everyone was happier for it. Amidst the sea of young faces, black, brown, white, and everything in between, the smiles were universal.

“Thank you for helping me,” the girl exclaimed to Mansur. She was laughing and smiling with brightness on her face, no more tears.

And just like that, Mansur felt a light and warmth inside. Eid was a special day for everyone. The joy and happiness was shared all around. With due thanks and mutual enjoyment, he was glad and felt blessed to have helped.