the Moors are coming
I get on the bus and notice how the bus driver’s
dark eyes eyebrows beard features
are speaking to me.
I know that what will come out of my mouth next is based
on my own stereotypical assumptions. I might offend.
I find myself willing to take that risk
and I greet him:
“salaam aleikoum”
“aleikoum salaam”, he answers back without hesitation.
He recognizes.
I promise myself that from this day this is the way I’ll greet
eeeeee-ver-y bus driver
our men own public transportation anyway
even when they do not own these roads
In the meantime, I hear them scream nervously:
the Moors … THE MOORS ARE COMING!
When I, later during the day, step inside a clothing store
I see how a girl I vaguely know is rushing from floor to floor
working like she owns the place and while our women own these spaces,
they do not own the numbers
she looks different.
by the time I finished my shopping, she is helping at the register
the two white ladies in front of me have no idea about
how conditioned her presence is
how she had to choose between providing
or putting faith in practice like she prefers
how she feels being undressed
with every second spent
here
how she’s less exhausted from the long hours,
more from the conflicts in and about her head.
When it’s my turn, I put two sweaters on the counter
“salaam aleikoum,” I say
“aleikoum salaam”, she answers back barely holding back a sigh of
relief.
In the meantime, I hear them scream:
THE MOORS ARE COMING!
They are speaking truth. For once. They are so very right.
While trying to ban us from everyday life,
we are coming
we are preparing between cracks unnoticed
they would rather have us be silent or soft spoken
rather see us unwilling to fight or defeated
because they confused a religion of peace with a pacifist religion
when they hear those gentle words, they shouldn’t comfort themselves
they should remind themselves that power lies in our greetings
they should remind themselves until they hear themselves screaming:
THE MOORS ARE COMING!
We are.
With each salaam we exchange
we break every law, word or thought that opposes Us,
our Being
we lock into each other’s arms, we are passing the ammunition
in these streets that they will soon not recognize.
THE MOORS ARE COMING!
They hear us knocking on their doors and they try to ignore the loud noise:
fetal position while anxiously searching for their
comforting blankets of privileges.
as if
this generation will keep asking nicely
will keep knocking softly
will
keep
knocking.
THE MOORS ARE COMING!
And they fail to realize we are already here
putting in weight until we bust down doors,
throw in windows,
break down houses
until we’re face to face
and hear the shaking in their voice
“n…no hea-headscarves all-allowed here
and ca-can you be less black pl-please”
while they hold on to their little minds
and remain blind for the weak position they’re in:
there is no room for demands in between the space
of our faces nearly touching each other
while we can still
hear the shaking in their voice
see the fear in their eyes,
see the sweat rolling down their foreheads.
be fearful, the Moors have arrived.
Salaam aleikoum.
picture by Zara Samiry