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Medina Al Zahra
“MashaAllah, my little Amira, what are you writing?” *** *** *** Amira was a quick-witted nine-year old. She loved to have fun in the family garden. This Andalusian garden was a square mile and held lots of adventure for Amira and her cousins. In it there were pomegranate trees, orange groves, date palms, and sweet sounding birds that seemed to live only in the trees surrounding her home. In the bustan, she chased bees, from flower to flower, trying to see if they smelled different after they had buzzed around them. She lay on the sofa in the gazebo, and searched with her eyes for one of her many cousins who lived on the estate to play with her. She loved to play with Tulaytulia, ‘Tulu’ as her family called her had not changed her beliefs yet. She and her family were practicing Muslims. They prayed five times a day, and refused to give up their Islamic habits. However, Amira’s father was not as strong as Tulu’s. So she felt, that she had to help them. Not with dawah, but with love and support. Although Tulu was only eleven-years old, she understood the times in which she lived. It was the end of time, for Muslim Andalusia and the beginning of time for Espania. Amira and her family were caught in the middle, practicing their Islam in secret. Tulu wondered if they were doing the right thing. Her father trusted in Allah and whatever His plan was he was happy with it. For now the plan was peace and Amira and Tulu had time to play. Despite the two years difference between them, Amira and Tulu were like twins. Both had trigueña colored skin, masses of curly black hair, and dark almond shaped eyes that reminded you of the moon. *** *** *** “Tulu, Tulu, let’s play hide and seek!” “In this forest?” “It’s not good to exaggerate.”Amira warned. Tulu, was relieved that she did not say it was haraam. But she wanted to play another game and said, “Let’s play something else.” “Ok, I will count and you hide.” “I thought that you didn’t want to play.” “I’ve changed my mind.” “Ok, I am going.” Amira dashed off into the orange grove as Tulu began to count. “Bismi’llah, one, two, three, four, five, six, seven…fifty five … Tulu got tired of counting. “Where could she be? She said aloud wondering. “I know I heard her go to the left.” She followed the honeysuckle vine nearest her. There were hundreds of vines that she could have looked in, but thought she would not be there. Oranges. She had to be there, it was Amira’s favorite fruit. She was probably in a tree, eating a sweet, juicy, orange. Tulu began to walk towards the orange grove. She was just about to sit down for a break when she was hit on the head by an orange skin! It was a bird making perfume for her nest. The smell of oranges wafted through the garden and delighted her. She soon found a trail of orange peels. After three or four trees she found her twin sitting high in the branches, sticky, happy, and partially hidden. “Amira! Assalaam-u-alaikum! I got you! Now you have to find me!” Tulu scurried toward the back of the garden that was usually off limits. No one new what was there; perhaps just dense trees and animals. Amira jumped out of the tree, landed on her feet and ran after Tulu. After finding Tulu, they both decided to explore this part of the garden that they had never seen before. They found a building covered in vines, moss, and surrounded by spiky pine trees. Along side of it, like ferocious sentinels stood two jagged barked date palms. Their trunks were fat with layers of rough bark and at the top were huge fan-like leaves, bending under the weight of heavy yellow dates. “Tulu, what kind of tree is this?” “My mama calls it nakheel.” “What are those yellow things?” “They are a fruit that we use in the fasting month” “The ones that we mix with milk and honey?” “Si, let’s find the door.” “Tulu, I’m afraid, it looks peligroso.” “Don’t worry. All of this is our land. There’s no need to be afraid. Ok?” “Ok.” Tulu walked close to the walls, keeping an eye out for a handle, a knob, or a knocker. Everything was covered with something, leaves, moss, bugs; there were birds’ nests on every window sill. The songs of the sparrows signaled that maghrib was coming soon. “Hurry, Tulu, it will be dark soon.” Finally, their eyes rested on a stunning rose bush with lavender and purple roses. The two girls were astonished. It was a sign. Of what? An entranceway! A door was next to it. Tulu, whispered, “Bismi’llah.” “Audhu bilahi mena shaytan nir ra jeem,” murmured Amira. With one hand each clutching one another, their two other hands overlapped on the door handle. They pushed the handle down. The door gave way gently. Soon, they were inside and their mouths opened wide with astonishment. “Allahu Akbar! Hay dios, mios! It was a library full of books! They looked around and saw that many were in Arabic. There were others in languages that the girls did not know. This was a hidden treasure, one that Cisneros and his men had missed. Alhamdulillah! Amira finally knew the meaning of los conversos, the converted. They were sad like the man on the two sticks. This explained the anguish in her mother’s face. The fear that the inquisitors might find out that of the thousands of volumes of Arabic knowledge and Islamic civilization that they set ablaze, some survived. “This is what Jidd was talking about.” Amira whispered into Tulu’s ear while squeezing her hand.” Let’s go, we have to close the door and tell no one, you understand?” Tulu whispered back, “Inshaa’Allah, one day the Inquisitors, will give up on making us los conversos, then we will be free to study Islam. We will teach our children how we suffered under the torment of Castille and Aragon. Inshaa’Allah, they will be prepared to let everyone know that it was Islamic culture, the knowledge of Quran, and its striving in science and art that changed the world.” “How do you know all of this, Tulu?” “My father taught me this. He said it could not happen without obeying Allah, Amira.” The two girls left the library covering the door to protect its secret. As they hurried home they noticed that all the sparrows were gone and that night had fallen. By Maryam Ismail
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