After a heavy night’s rain, today’s trek to the local mosque was even more challenging than last week. Though thankfully we didn’t get soaked through this time, we nevertheless had to contend with roads mostly turned to rivers.
If we hoped the council might repair the road outside our house, this journey provided some context. Most of the roads from here to there had been washed away, squishy underfoot. Still, we made it to our destination in about a quarter of an hour.
Jummah prayer was pleasant. Three rows of congregants in this small village mosque, young and old, elderly and child. We prayed our sunnahs, listened to the khutbah and stood for the fard. And then the unexpected: in the garden outside the mosque, they had prepared a lunch for everyone as they left.
What an amusing turn of events, for on a steep incline on the way I had been telling our lad that I wish I had had a proper breakfast. I was starving, I told him, recalling that while I had made the rest of the household a hearty porridge, I had sufficed with two slices of bread.
What a surprise, then, to have a fresh doner wrap thrust into my hands by kind brethren when we emerged after Friday prayer. “See,” I told our son, “it’s not all bad. You never know the blessings you’ll reap when you make an effort.”
With this thought we set off back for home. Verily after difficulty comes ease.
Last modified: 21 September 2024
