If I were to ask you to tell me when was the first time you’d ever—undeniably believed that there was such a thing as God, would you be able to tell me… do you believe in God?? Have you ever, considering all the shit that goes on in this world—leaving us all to fight our own battles in this vortex of humanity. I never knew when I was a kid, for certain that is… about this “being” that was sitting up in the sky, watching over us all, and what we’d do and think and say.
I must’ve been around seven or eight when it had first happened to me, that something that happens to us all that ends up changing our lives forever, from which we can never go back to being the same… I was only seven when it did, sure—and it might seem inconsequential now, of course, but as it was unfolding then—it was the most profound experience that had ever happened to me, and my whole life depended on the outcome, for better or worse.
My father had decided to buy me a video-game, my first video game that didn’t involve Mickey and Donald putting out the fire in a building (which was kind of like a pretty big deal for me) since it was now going to be replaced by the stupendously sounding music that would spring out of this one whenever I’d switch it on: (((CHIGA-CHIGA-CHIGA-CHIGA-CHIGA-CHIGA-CHIGA-CHIGA—TWEETUH, TWEETUH; CHIGA-CHIGA-CHIGA-CHIGA-CHIGA—TWEETUH, TWEETUH!!!))) If in case I’m doing a horrendous job of bringing back the memories for any of you, who might have played this game back in the day, then here: have a listen.
I loved the game so much, that I would carry it almost everywhere with me when I was at home, well for the first few weeks/days at least… and then I got the bright idea of taking it to school one day, so without telling my mother—I managed to smuggle it out of the house and onto the school bus, and into school… everybody was pretty impressed with what I had, and I was REALLY impressed at having made everybody else so impressed. Good job, I thought.
Well, it was the middle of the day by now and the class was starting to peter out by this time since it was break, and I was pretty much the only one sitting in the room, keeping guard over my Helibattle, when for some reason I thought I’d go and get something from the canteen… a minute later, as I returned to sit down and have my Zaatar Puff and my Suntop, I thought of checking my bag again to see if everything was in order.
And as soon as my lunch was over, I opened my bag—and I can’t even say it now… but, she was gone! Someone.had.actually.stolen.her… my precious. And all of this, from right under my nose. I was furious with myself, no, I was furious with him whoever he was (thinking that he could just come in here and take away my game). Now what would I do… well, the next logical step was to check everybody’s bag as fast as I could since break was almost over and everyone would be making their way back pretty soon.
No luck, I wasn’t able to find it anywhere, not in the desks, or the bags/chairs/or books, and when everyone started filing in and word got around as to what had happened—everyone ended up checking their stuff again to make sure that the thief hadn’t left it in one of their belongings by accident, and so as luck would have it—I apparently didn’t have any. So by the time I left the class that day, it’d already been established by some of the other boy’s that it was “he” who had done it.
And as I was being egged on by all the others to go over to him and check his pants and his shirt to make sure that he wasn’t hiding it on him, I didn’t feel very comfortable doing that, and neither did he from the blank-expressionless face he was giving me. The guy looked like he had it rough, at least that’s what I had heard about him for as long as we’d been in the same class, and I didn’t want to create any more trouble for him. So I asked him if he knew where my game was, and he said no—how could he, and he looked at me with this innocent look on his face, and his eyes staring out at me with credulity… and as I was boarding the bus that day, I wondered if I was ever going to see my game again.
After reaching home (I don’t remember if I’d ever done this before, since I was so young) but people generally start going to mosques since the ages of 5 or 6, even before they know what it is that they’re doing, or supposed to do, which could’ve been the case with me—I’m not sure, but I knew I had to go and ask someone to help me. And so I went with my father for the afternoon prayers that day (the mosque, like all mosques in the Kingdom, are just a stone’s throw away from wherever it is you live—there are that many of them) and then I went for the evening prayers, and I think I was a bit too young to accompany him for the night prayers—either that, or he had to go to work, so I’m not sure.
But what I do remember from that day is how I prayed for a miracle to happen somehow, and for me to be reunited with my game again, and as quickly as possible. The next day, after reaching the school I went and asked if any of the Janitors had found it by any chance, and returned it, but none of them had, and to make matters worse “he” hadn’t shown up today. So the finger of suspicion was clearly starting to point in his direction now—I was such a fool to have not asked him to take off his pants and searched him thoroughly…! A few minutes later, as we’d all taken our seats in class and started the first period, I began to hear murmurs of how Faisal (I was forgetting his name until now, and just remembered it) had come in late to school that day, and that his father was with him.
Oh god, I thought—what if he lectures me for asking his son about whether he had stolen my game yesterday? And as I’m sitting there waiting for the inevitable to happen—Faisal enters the class, walks up to me and gives me the game, and then goes back to his father and tells him something, and then comes back in again. What I would later learn was that Faisal did have my game tucked into his pants that day. And then when he arrived home from school and his father had gotten to know of what his son had done—he was so furious, that he accompanied him to school the next day to make sure he returned what he had stolen…
I’ve had a lot of bad experiences growing up there in the Gulf, that probably wouldn’t even amount up to a hill of beans compared to people who’ve been through traumas that I don’t even know if I can imagine, but this has always been with me for as far back as I can remember—sort of like a touch stone, a Saving Grace if you will… I know it’s stupid to attach some kind of existential, underpinning to the entire ordeal, but what else do you have… I never did like growing up in SA, being hidden away from the rest of the world, or the Saudi Kids who’d pelt you with stones, or hawk on you sometimes, or even worse if you were out alone and ambushed by a whole group of them… or just alone with maybe one of them.
But then you learn to value the good things in life (which is so easy to forget, unfortunately, and it’s at times like this that I remember: I need to remember [god, that’s a dialogue from somewhere, and I have no idea where]) like the good food you’d have in Dhahran, and the ability to travel back and forth between your homeland and SA, and participate in as many of the pilgrimages that your parents would take you on. I know it’s kind of loony for me to attest all of these things (the positives) to God if you’re not much of a believer, but if you are, like me, and if you can blame him for all the bad, then why not the good?
I’m sorry, but yesterday was Friday Prayer day at the mosques, and this new imam/muslim-cleric we had at our local one (there are very few Imams that I’ve seen who are so young ((in their 20’s)) and yet so charming/commanding and resourceful with what they have to say, that it really starts to send a shiver down your spine sometimes) and he was sitting right next to me (the cleric) as a matter-of-fact, although I was too busy finishing up on my initial prayers to even notice. But he then got up and went towards the microphone to start his sermon/khutbah (I’ve noticed that these younger fire-brands don’t mind getting themselves into the mêlée of it all, and showing us the path to enlightenment). And he did just that, and at first I was worried how this was going to play out, because my whole reason for choosing this particular mosque is for the sermons given on Fridays, and the Imam who usually comes here to give them—a very fine, young man, who happens to say things which make sense, instead of just spouting off some histrionics because it’s a Friday and you’re supposed to indulge in something spiritual, supposedly—wasn’t there.
Which is not what the man who’d come that day was doing, thank god, but rather—sticking to the facts, because the topic of conversation was about never giving up hope, no matter what; anything’s possible in this life, you never know. And even when you think all is lost, maybe, someway—the unthinkable might happen… "like the desert traveler who is lost in the dunes without his camel (the ship of the desert, as it’s called) and how frantically he searches for it, to no avail. And then, when he is tired and closes his eyes thinking that all is lost—he is awoken to find her, right there, standing by his side. And he is the happiest person in the world…"
