Sunday, October 4, 2009

The Customer



Editor's note: This poem was an actual conversation I had with one of my customer back in September 09. She seemed really proud of her ability to speak French, seemed slightly embarrassed of her African Identity and VERY embarrassed of her Islamic Identity



She screamed from the door “do you speak French”
With a fatigued smile, I informed her, no ma’am but we have someone who does.
As I made my way to find, my French co-worker, she tapped my shoulder.
African?
Uncertainty of her inquires, I said, excuse me?
She said, “are you African” with a tone that conveyed a deep message.
A message of betrayal,
Long struggle and sadness,
I sensed the nostalgia behind her voice,
The agony of being a refugee,
I swear, every wrinkle on her face had a story of their own.
Are you African?
She asked again…This time with firmness in her voice
Yes! I am an African.
She came closer, and with a smile on her face she asked in a whispery tone
“are you a Muslim”
I said in a voice louder than hers when she asked “do you speak French”
Yes, Alhamdulilah…I am a Muslim.
As if my hijab has failed to make that statement,
Or perhaps the long black dress I wore
Alhamdulilah, I am a muslim.
With sadness in her voice,
And a drop of tears from her eyes,
She said…”.It was a beautiful faith”
Before, fate forced me to abandon my faith…
Her tale was compellingly sad and confusing,…
But my manager demanded, I get back to work….
As I sit to pray Magrib now,
I look forward to that old customer of mine,perhaps tomorrow or the day after..,
Who screamed with pride“do you speak French”
Asked in a soft tone “African”…”Are you African”
And in a whispery tone..said “are you Muslim”

Halima A Ahmed
Copyright © 2009

No comments:

Post a Comment