Trouser
"Truth be told, Iman, I am disgusted by men who wear trousers. The likes of them never stop cheering for the West, acting as if they were its slaves."
Maryam said this while gazing out the window. It was clear her eyes were hiding a hint of sorrow.
"God only knows how they can bring themselves to do it..."
Iman didn’t get to finish her sentence, interrupted by the start of her favorite show. Here, I must clarify that this Iman, a mother of three boys, religiously watched Sheikh M.'s program every day at 3:00 PM. She hadn't missed a single episode in the past four years.
The program began with an introduction from the host, Maher:
"Welcome, Sheikh M. How are you?"
"In the name of God, and peace and blessings be upon the Messenger of God. As for what follows, I would like to tell you that I am well, praise be to God."
The host was slightly annoyed, as usual, by the length of this customary phrase repeated every episode, but he concealed it and continued:
"Sheikh, what is your opinion on those who imitate the West in their attire, wearing trousers and shirts—some even going so far as to wear ties and other such things?"
At this, the Sheikh's face reddened slightly, and his frown deepened into a scowl so prominent it was almost repulsive.
He shouted, as was his habit: "God’s curse upon such people! How has the world come to this? These are the signs of the End Times becoming a reality..." He spent the next three hours cursing and damning, explaining every sign of the Day of Judgment in excruciating detail. He even culminated his rant by recounting the end of the world, the emergence of the Antichrist, and other thrilling apocalyptic events that usually only happen in movies.
Iman, however—unlike Maryam, who was brimming with an enthusiasm akin to the excitement one feels during a movie (despite Maryam having never watched a single film in her life)—sat silently, weeping bitterly. Her tears pooled on the dilapidated table like the winter rains upon our city.
I should probably point out that rain has become unnaturally rare here. Some sheikhs—whose opinions and dictates are all that people around here seem to care about—attribute this drought to declining morals, particularly to women abandoning the hijab. In fairness—and I prefer to think this way, at least—their talk about the hijab does not mean they are actively restricting women's freedom; they view it merely as offering advice.
On this subject, a funny conversation once took place between my friend Moaz and me. As we were walking out of high school, he told me: "These people do nothing but accuse and gossip about others. I'd swear to you, Omar, that bribery, fraud, and swallowing up people's money is as easy as drinking water for them."
"As easy as drinking water?" I asked.
He laughed and replied, "More like breathing! They constantly spout garbage. I genuinely believe that most of them don't even hold a Baccalaureate diploma, yet they preach to the masses, speaking as if they were great scholars or literary giants. I utterly despise and loathe them."
"Didn't get their Baccalaureate? You're definitely exaggerating."
"I'm certain of it. But let's play along, just for the sake of argument, alright? Tell me, for God's sake, do you really believe that someone who only studies theology, completely ignoring all other sciences, is qualified to discuss complex societal issues? And to do so with such absolute certainty, as if they understand everything and possess the definitive ruling of God on the matter? With that narrow mindset, they can't even truly comprehend the Quran itself, considering the Quran discusses various scientific concepts. Honestly, talking about this reality we live in just makes me nauseous. I'll simply leave you with Pascal's famous quote: 'The number of monks far exceeds the number of minds.' Yes, Omar, there are far more of them than we can even imagine. Anyway, we've reached your house. Don't forget to look at the problem in the math book. It took me four hours to solve it; it's a brilliant example of integration without a formula."
My friend Moaz said his goodbyes, and I walked toward my house, mulling over that phrase: The number of monks far exceeds the number of minds. But I didn't dare utter it aloud as I crossed the threshold of our home.
...
"What's wrong, Iman?"
"I'm frightened, Maryam. Frightened. You know my son, Omar. Even though I'm his mother, I have to admit he possesses an unusual degree of foolishness and naivety. I'm terrified he's being influenced by some unknown person. My suspicions grew so much that I even did some digging into his friend, Moaz. I asked one of the sheikhs about him, and he assured me that Moaz is one of his brightest students—very polite, and he has even memorized several chapters of the Quran. That put my heart at ease. But lately... lately," she said nervously, "I just can't control him anymore. Not too long ago, he started wearing trousers, completely indifferent and carefree. I confronted him about it more than once, but all he had to say was, 'It doesn't matter anyway.' Can you believe that?"
"Omar is only seventeen. He's a teenager, and I've heard that boys at this specific age love to rebel and disobey."
"But he could set a terrible example for his two brothers! Would you believe that the other day I went into his room—just to clean it, mind you—and guess what I found?"
Maryam gasped and asked in astonishment, "What?"
"I found a book tossed on his bed titled The Demons."
"What did you say?!" Maryam cried in shock.
"Yes, Demons. Should I tell his father? You know my husband's temperament. He's a man of few words, but the second he hears about this, he'll throw him out on the street. My husband is deeply religious; he will never let something like this slide."
"If you ask me, it would be better to take him to a sheikh to perform an exorcism (ruqyah). I guarantee you, the boy is possessed."
"Which sheikh? Do you happen to know anyone?"
Maryam smiled, a subtle, barely noticeable malice in her expression, and said, "Of course I know someone. My husband. And I'll definitely make sure he gives you a discount, seeing as you're my friend and neighbor."
*The Demons (Demons/Devils) is a novel by Fyodor Dostoevsky.
