When the first half of dawn had shown itself, she had already prayed. It was one of those mornings when she couldnt wait to go to the orphanage which she had established. Her children had been waiting for so long. They didnt want her gifts, to see her smile made them overcome their loss of maternal love. She was a childless mom, single, with only her children to lighten up her world...
I had heard so many good things about her, the eldest sister of the family. How she was so beautiful, so smart, so strong and a hijabi. I was actually quite nervous about meeting her now, all of a sudden without any warning. Shed be coming in an hour to meet us for lunch. I became more aware of what I was wearing, and breathed a sigh of relief, it was as conservative as a non-hijabi could get...
The sisters’ side of the Masjid was suddenly empty. Sabeerah was the only one left inside of it. She apparently dozed off after the last prayer during the Imam's lecture. Embarrassed and disappointed in herself, Sabeerah stood up to offer the last extra prayer of the night. Facing east, she raised both of her hands up to her shoulders and audibly praised God, the great. Saabeerah took her time and really prayed this prayer. She concentrated on every Arabic word she uttered and tried to beautify it the best she knew how. Arabic wasn’t her first language. In fact she really couldn't claim it as a language she knew at all. Outside of the 10 or so short prayers from the Qur'an that she had memorized when she became Muslim years ago and the customary Islamic phrases that are common to most Muslims, Saabeerah knowledge of the language was bleak...
Just like everyday after school, I make my way over to Blunt park's track. Coach Ali yells for 45 minutes at all 12 of the guys on our team. The harder I push, the louder he yells. The fire inside me is real, I will make it across the finish line first. I'm always first. I'm the fastest on this team. I gonna make it out of high school with a track scholarship Insha'Allah. I just don’t know what else I'm going to be taking.
"Yo, Jay! What are you doing man? Get out ya' head boy and go give me another lap! Mooove it!" Coach Ali yelled.
"Alright coach, I got it. No sweat."
Around the track I go. Every day it's the same thing. This is easy. I feel comfortable and safe out here. It's what goes on off the track that seriously worries me. Time to go home.
I got a backscratcher because I guess like my back scratched. The little girl who sold it to me was about 8 or 9 years old. With her unkempt hair tied up in a ponytail, skin tanned from the sun, and ragged clothes, she is used to carrying such a bundle of useless items. She is also used to inhaling the gas fumes around the gas station where she sells to people who stop for a refill...
Stories 
