Once Upon an Eid

by S.K. Ali

“You are Black American and Mandinka. Both are strong cultures. Love all of you, Hawa.”

“You said it to me, and you all laughed, and she heard you! At least we don’t have a bajillion kids in one little apartment!”

The thing about brownies—I pulled my pan out of the fridge—was they didn’t need to look pretty. They tasted great just the way they were.

“Well, lots of people won’t have an elaborate Eid celebration like we will,” Mom said. “Maybe that money can bring some happiness to another family.”

“You know,” Teta continued, “when you’ve gotten old like me, you realize the things you give away make you happier than the things you keep for yourself.”

“Anytime you share something you love, it comes right back to you like a boomerang. You never lose it. Just wait and see.”

Anytime you share something you love, it comes right back to you.

I nod. Kareem’s laughing voice comes into my head: Don’ut ever break Eid tradition.

Special days start when you run toward them.

“There are a lot of ways to show our faith and love to Allah subhanahu wa ta’ala. You pick the ones that are right for who you are right now.”

“Yeah, kinda. Also because no one’s saying anything nice. Except you. They’re not saying anything at all, so it makes me feel like they’re saying bad stuff about it instead. And at my mosque we learn that it’s super not about what other people think. We learn that it’s about what we think and what Allah thinks. And I just expected to feel a little different. More, like, full, I guess? I don’t know. I expected to feel the way I always feel on Eid day.”

With the rows so close together, I guess a head-to-butt collision was inevitable. My head, the guy in front of me’s butt.

I KNOW THE PAIN LMAOOO.

I throw myself into the little things to make up for it. And I do extra chores to earn money so I can buy my own Eid gifts for them.

For the past few months, my parents have been preparing for the Hajj pilgrimage—a once-in-a-lifetime journey to Mecca. Baba actually started going to the gym to get in shape.

“You guys.” Mama’s face clouds. “Please? Please, can you get along? I need you to behave.” Ayla and Ismail start to sniffle. “Please? I know it’s hard, but it’s how you are helping Baba and me so we can do this, right? So we don’t have to worry about you?” “Fine,” Ayla concedes. “I guess we can . . . sacrifice.”

“You see, blue doesn’t appear much in nature. There are few blue animals or foods, and blue eyes are pretty rare. If you read ancient texts in Sanskrit, Chinese, Hebrew, or Arabic, there is no word for blue. It’s as if people back then couldn’t recognize the color.”

“always look beyond what your eyes initially recognize and find out what is real, what is possible, and what is the truth.”

Bassem clenched his fists. Home. His heart tightened as he remembered his family’s comfortable apartment in Syria, golden sunlight flowing through its many windows. He’d stood at the living room window and watched thousands of protestors march by, demanding freedom, equality, and a fair government. In response, President Assad had sent in rockets, bombs, and the military, turning Bassem’s city into a battlefield. Then a graveyard.

His grandparents’ home was gone, reduced to rubble, his grandparents trapped inside.

Always look beyond what your eyes initially recognize and discover what is real, what is possible, and what is the truth.

“It’s hard to see the beauty in things when you can’t see past your insecurities.”

But lontong is Eid. And lontong is home, and lontong is Mama, even if Mama can’t be here. So lontong is what I’ll make, and lontong is what we’ll have.

Aya no longer felt like the classroom expert. Aya felt as if she were on display at a museum.

She knew that whatever celebrations her family had, they did not rival Amanda’s family’s elaborate Christmas. Aya’s parents rarely took the day off for Eid, and her family didn’t really belong to a Muslim community anymore.

she was showing Amanda without having to say it that she did not care to carry on the conversation.

In my old school there were at least thirty Muslim kids, and some were Shia, so don’t worry.

“That’s so messed up, Aya! That would never happen at our masjid where I used to live. It’s a totally mixed community—and not just Sunni and Shia mixed, but cultures and languages too. You have to come with us. We’re driving back up for Eid.

Hana and Aya moved into sujood, pressing their foreheads to the floor, and Aya wondered why she had ever wanted to be her classroom’s only. It was so much better being an only together.

“We are made anew every day, beloved. And tasting sadness changes us,”

Joy and sorrow follow each other endlessly like moon phases, Maya Madinah. There are times of shining fullness and times of emptying out. Sometimes, before we can welcome joy in again, we need to acknowledge the sadness in our hearts—as you did so courageously tonight, my love,”