I nod with a smile as I gently push away from the railing. I unfold my cane and follow her towards our tour group waiting in a huddle. Today we are off to Tangiers Morocco for a day. We have been traveling for a while throughout Spain and today would be an adventure.
Nancy my good friend, takes my arm as we walk down the creaking ramp and onto the ferry. I settle down onto a chair and pull out my headphones. As I fold my cane and lean over to set it under the chair, Nancy sits down next to me.
“Would you like to walk around with me?”
“No thanks,” I respond as I gesture to my headphones. She nods and smiles as she stands up and walks away.
It takes us about an hour to arrive to Tangiers. Nancy comes over to me as everyone starts to get ready to leave. Walking over to our tour group, I unfold my cane once again and follow everyone out. The sun feels even hotter as I exit the boat. Sounds of cars honking their horns, birds screeching, people talking in many languages, smells of food cooking attacks my senses. This is great. I hurry forward as I am eager to start our tour. We all climb onto a small rickety bus and watch as a tall, thin man wearing white from head-to-toe boards. He has long black hair and a bushy beard. Smiling and holding his arms out to his sides he exclaims, “Welcome to Tangiers! My name is Ali and I am your tour guide for today. Please, sit back and relax while I tell you about our beautiful city!” He settles himself across the isle from me and begins his dialogue.
I watch him curiously. Even with the little amount of vision I have, I am fascinated in his clothing. It looks like a long robe he is wearing and around his neck is a thick chain of sparkly stuff, not exactly shore what it is. After a while, I turn towards the window and watch the desert pass us by.
“Here is where we will stop, there are camel rides and small items for sale. Get out, stretch your legs and enjoy yourself,” Ali says as he steps out. I follow eagerly catching up with him outside.
“What are you wearing?” I ask as we stand next to the bus.
“This is called a thobe. It is a traditional piece of clothing we wear here,” Ali responds smiling.
“I want to ride a camel,” I say as a camel passes by.
“Shore, let’s go get you on one,” Ali says as he walks over to a man holding a camel’s rope.
“What religion do you practice?” I ask as I follow behind.
“I am Muslim, therefore I practice the religion of Islam.”
Interesting, I thought to myself as Ali speaks to the camel man in a different language, then takes my hand and places it on the camel’s back. “Abdullah will take care of you,” Ali says as he moves away.
I climb onto the massive camel’s back and settle onto the saddle. I have ridden horses before so was very curious on how this experience would be. All of a sudden, the camel lurches forward and I let out a scream. Panic fills my body, does the camel not like me? Did I hurt it in some way when mounting? I grasp the rope frantically, then realize the camel man Abdullah is chuckling. “Camel needs to rise. He on knees. No worry. You are safe.”
I realize, once calming down, that the camel is indeed rising and now we are moving smoothly. I thought it might throw me off at first, I had no idea it was kneeling. Feeling embarrassed, I close my eyes and savor the ride. It felt like riding in a boat and come to find out later, camels are called ships of the desert.
“What is Islam?” I ask Ali as we head back to the bus.
“Belief in one God and prophet Muhammad was the last messenger,” Ali responds simply as he steps back so I can climb the bus stairs. Pondering this over, I settle back into my seat.
We arrive at a carpet shop and head up to the top floor. Piles and racks of brightly colored rugs cover the walls from floor to ceiling. Isles are cluttered with rolls of rugs piled high. Our group emerges onto the roof, and we gather around some men who go over the making of these rugs, how they are made, what materials, and who makes them. Once the display was over, we head back down to the ground floor and browse around the many different items. I find a display of small drums and smile as I start to play them. A man comes over and we talk about the drums. I smile as I turn around to ask my grandma if I could purchase these drums and freeze. No one is here anymore; the whole tour group has disappeared!
Taking a deep breath, I calmly turn back around and tell the man I will have to return to buy the drums. Then gripping my cane tightly, I step out onto the narrow street. Immediately I am accosted by sellers thrusting out baskets of jewelry and souvenirs.
I need to find my tour group and fast. Holding my head up high, acting like I know where I am going, when in reality, I have no clue, I move down the street. I ignore the men following me, asking what I could afford and buy. I kept on moving. Scared if I stopped, I would not be able to continue. As I hustled around a donkey and cart, I heard a beautiful voice singing. I slow down and stop in front of a small alley way. It was much quieter here. Less people and traffic. I tilt my head slightly to the side as I continue to listen to the singing. It was amazing. Somehow hearing the voice, I felt immediately at peace, a wash of relief swept over me and at that moment I knew I was going to reunite with my group soon.
“There you are!” exclaims a voice from behind me.
I slowly turn around and smile as two men from our tour group approaches. “Where have you been”” they ask.
“Where have you been?” I respond.
“Glad we found you, we need to move fast to catch the ferry.”
“What song is this person singing?” I asked gesturing towards the sound.
“That is not song. That is someone reciting Quran.”
“What is Quran?”
“The holy book that us Muslims read.”
“What language?”
“Arabic.”
We emerge onto the ferry port and Nancy runs up to me “So glad they found you! I thought you were with your grandma, until we arrived here.”
“Nope. Yal left me at the carpet shop.”
“I thought you were with Nancy, so glad you are here now,” my grandma exclaims as she hurries over to me.
Smiling, I shake my head and slowly follow everyone back onto the ferry and back to Spain we go. What is Islam? What is the Quran? What are Muslims? Who is Muhammad? All these questions flew through my mind and throughout the rest of our trip across Spain and Portugal. Once arriving back in the US, I laid on my bed, with my laptop next to me and started to google all the questions I was asking myself.
From January 2008 to December 2008, I researched extensively on Islam. I asked all these questions and more. I was very happily surprised when my questions were answered with proof and explanation.
Now, up until this point, I was never really religious, not following a particular faith, I really tried, however, when I would go to the preacher/pastor/minister, whoever it was heading the churches, they all smiled and said, “This is just what we believe, you cannot question this.”
This did not settle well with me, so when I started asking about Islam, I was floored at how nicely and promptly I was receiving responses.
Now it was summer 2008, I sat leaning back on a chair as my beautician lady waxed my eyebrows. “I have been researching the religion Islam,” I say conversationally.
“Really? Unfortunately, my daughter has converted to Islam, you don’t want to do that,” she grunts as she applies more wax.
“Why? What happened to your daughter?”
“She is no longer Catholic. Became Muslim, covers herself head to toe, and doesn’t love Jesus.”
This didn’t sound too bad to me, however, to each there own. “That isn’t so bad, except not loving Jesus of course,” I say carefully.
All my beautician does is grunts. “Can I talk with your daughter please?” I ask as I stand up to leave.
“Shore,” is all I get in a response, however, a few hours later I receive a text message with her daughter Charity’s number.
I contact Charity immediately and ask if we could meet up.
“Yeah, shore, come over to my house,” she says.
One Saturday afternoon, my grandma and I drove over to Charity’s house and was welcomed with smiles and open arms. She served us tea as I started to pepper her with questions about Islam and why she converted. I came to find out, she does love Jesus, more than anything, she said Islam taught her to respect Jesus a whole lot more. Intrigued more, I asked about her hijab, clothes she wears, and does she get hot in this Florida heat. Laughing, she shakes her head and simply says, “There are many types of breathable fabrics and anyone, no matter what you wear, will be hot in this heat.”
Arriving home I jump back on the computer and research more about the clothing Muslim women wear and Jesus’s position. December arrives with Christmas happiness and a trip to New Jersey to visit my uncle Doug, grandma’s son for the holidays. A few days before Christmas, as I sat on my bed, petting my dog and looking outside onto the snow covered yard, I just knew I wanted to be Muslim. This is the right way for me. I pick up my phone and call Charity to inform her of this and ask how I can convert to Islam. Excitedly she tells me all I have to do is say the declaration of faith. That seems easy enough.
“I bear witness that there is no God but Allah and that Muhammad is his final messenger.”
A wash of happiness and goosebumps floods over me as I stand there at the window with the phone to my ear. Am I really Muslim now? Was that it? Smiling I grab my dog’s harness and decide it is time for a nice walk.
The Dappled Odysseys 