Friday was the best day of the week. I swelled up with so much love for my people and what we could create and maintain without outside forces, it almost tasted like homemade pound cake. We were our own leaders, teachers, and tailors. Even those we called kafirs, the nonbelievers, knew not to mess with us. Jumah was our day to show out, and the Brothers did. Seeing how they moved under the eyes of strangers who followed their every step kept us Sisters going. We loved how dignified they looked, like lions that knew they owned the earth beneath their feet, lions that took so much pride in their
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This is so bizarre to me; that in this cult, the big payoff appears to be that every Friday, the men would walk proudly across the street in white to go pray. The women and children were still left behind, but just watching the men was somehow this joyful, euphoric experience. Why? The women couldn't even see them after they crossed the street!
