The ball flew high up into the clouds and landed out of sight. It’s probably on the steps behind the trees, I thought. Suad and I ran up to get it. Sure enough, there it was, on the second step of the winding staircase. Suad ran and picked it up. She was always faster than I was. I followed her back to the playground. Suddenly she stopped and stared at me.
‘Are you Muslim or Christian?’ she asked.
‘What’s a Muslim?’
‘It means you believe in Muhammad.’
‘My dad’s name is Muhammad,’ I replied. But because my uncle’s name is also Muhammad, I wondered which one she meant.
‘So what are you?’
‘I don’t know!’ I yelled.
‘How can you not know?’
Suad has been my friend for a long time. We do everything together. ‘What are you?’ I asked.
‘Muslim.’
‘Then, so am I.’
‘Good. Let’s play.’
Suad was positioning the ball for another kick when the bell rang. We rushed to the old school building to get our stuff. As I packed my schoolbag I wondered whether mummy or daddy would pick me up today. My mum was at the door waiting. Normally I’d run to her for the customary hug and kiss. Not today though. I couldn’t wait to give her my bag, which seemed heavier than usual. She gently placed my backpack over her shoulder and we walked towards the dreaded staircase. As always I got up on the ledge and drifted into my fantasy world where the mud beneath the ledge was treacherous quicksand. In this fantasy world balance must be maintained no matter what.
As usual mum asked me about my day. I loved to tell her about it because she always listened enthusiastically. Not today though. I just didn’t feel like it.
We finally reached the last step. Every day we stop here to catch our breath. Most of the other kids and their mums do too. This is the spot where the mums meet and talk. Sure enough, Suad and her mum were waiting. The mums greeted one another and chitchatted. Usually, I’d take advantage of this opportunity to jump around in the puddles of rainwater with Suad. Not today though. Today there would be no jumping in puddles.
Saud’s mum was a big lady. She talked very, very slowly. With her white hair and big glasses she didn’t look very much like all the other mums. In fact she didn’t look like a mum at all but I didn’t tell Suad that. I didn’t want to make her cry.
Suddenly the sky lit up. My mum and I ran towards the gate. We had to get home before it started to rain. We walked past the bakery. The sweet smell of hot bread lured me inside every time. Not today though. I just wanted to get home.
The moment mum opened the front door I rushed in to get ready for lunch. I was already sitting at the dining room table when she came in with my soup bowl. I was deep in thought: does mummy know if we’re Muslim? Of course she does. Mummy knows everything. When she finally placed the hot bowl in front of me, I asked her. I couldn’t wait anymore. I had to know.
‘Mum. Are we Muslim?’
She turned around, shocked.
‘Why do you want to know?’
Her avoidance annoyed me.
‘I want to know. Are we?’
Hesitantly, she answered. ‘Yes, but it shouldn’t matter to anyone but you.’ Her words after that just faded into the background like a soft hymn as she patiently explained what it meant. Mummy warned me that, if anyone asks, I shouldn’t tell. It was no one’s business but my own. She spoke angrily about how so many people do bad things to good people just because they’re different. I didn’t understand everything she said, but I could see that those people made mummy really angry. That day I knew I never wanted to be like them.
Mum talked and I listened. Now, thirteen years later, I can still hear her words.
Suad continues to be a good friend. Neither she nor I ever talk about that conversation we had so long ago. I’m pretty certain she does not recall it. But I do. Although Suad did not grow up to be the sectarian fanatic one might have imagined she would become, I sometimes wonder whether things would have been different between us if my reply had been different.
When I think back to that cold, rainy day, a day I shall never forget, I feel no anger or hatred only sadness, the sadness that comes with the mature knowledge of life’s grave imperfections. On that day a little girl’s innocence faded. She was robbed of the bliss of ignorance. Her tiny shoulders carried the burden of a nation’s prejudices. Still, as the little girl matured, she tried to follow her mother’s advice – not to judge people by their religion – but as her shoulders grew wider and stronger the burden grew too. On that day a little girl discovered that there were walls in her playground and that, no matter how hard she tries, there are some she may never be able to tear down.
Maybe mum doesn’t know everything after all!