Iman smiled as Sam squirmed in his seat after asking his question. He wasn't sure how she'd react and subconsciously gnawed on his bottom lip. The young woman reached for a candy dish on the desk and offered Sam a lollipop.
"An icebreaker of sorts," Iman explained.
"Oh. Thank you," Sam nodded before taking a blue lollipop.
"You are very welcome, Sam," Iman responded before picking out a red lollipop for herself.
"You don't have to answer my question if you don't want to," Sam said unsurely.
"You don't have to be so fidgety when asking questions, Sam. Even if you ask a difficult question that I may not know the answer to, I will point you in the right direction. Questions are there to be answered," Iman pointed out. "The terrorists in the Middle East are a horrid and strange group. One could spend an entire lifetime studying them and still be at a loss about their thought process. I always say that they are barbarians in husks, posing in skins labeled "Muslim." Their entire drive is to spread their political belief system of oppression and tyranny. They claim to be Muslim because that's the religion so many associate with in that region, but they lack one great aspect of actually being Muslim."
"What's that?" Sam asked in intrigue.
"Empathy. Empathy is a core element of being a practicing Muslim. We are told never to look up at those that are more successful than us. Instead, we are told to look down; to see those that are less fortunate than us. We must embrace the pain and struggles of our sisters and brothers as our own. Our entire essence of Islamic community is to help one another," Iman explained. The woman paused and studied Sam for a minute. "You're a smart young man, Sam."
"Why do you say that?" Sam asked in surprise. Why would the professor say that out of the blue? Did he have something on his face? Was she poking fun at him?
"You asked me why the terrorists CALL themselves Muslim, instead of asking why they ARE Muslims. That means you understand that there is a difference. I have preached and preached to many of my students, that Islam, Muslims, and terrorism can never coincide. Grown men and women have told me to my face that I lie to hide the "true nature" of my faith and here you are, a teenager, understanding that there is a difference between a Muslim and a terrorist calling himself Muslim," Iman discussed with the teenager.
"I didn't realize that I did that," Sam admitted timidly.
"Which is an even more admirable aspect of your personality. You subconsciously realize that there is a difference between a practicing Muslim and a terrorist posing as a Muslim. Your father must be very proud of you," Iman praised.
Sam's cheeks colored at the compliments. He tried his best to maintain his composure while gnawing on his lollipop. He didn't realize that there were so many people out there that did equate Islam with terrorism. College students, who should know better, equated terrorism with Islam. He had seen his father pray five times a day, sometimes half asleep because he forgot to set his alarm. He had watched him calculate the yearly required charity on their minimal savings because there was always someone out there, "who needs it more than us." That was what he believed Islam to be, people striving to be good human beings. Never had he seen anything that would make him afraid of the religion or afraid of his father.
Before Sam could compose himself and find another question to ask Iman, a group of girls walked into the community center. The girls were aged from seven to thirteen and their leader had to be no more than fourteen. With annoyance etched on their faces, they marched towards the reception desk in unison. The leader approached the desk and huffed before crossing her arms across her chest. She didn't wear the hijab, that was the first thing Sam noticed. He had seen many women in the mosque, but had yet to meet someone who didn't wear a hijab. That could be a question I can ask the professor, Sam thought.
"Assalam alaykum, Shaylah," Iman smiled at the girl.
"Oh, right. Walaikum assalam, Sister Iman. You know this isn't fair, right?" Shaylah asked with another huff.
"Well, why don't you explain to me what isn't fair, but without the attitude," Iman suggested with slight smirk.
"Ugh. Sister Iman, this is ridiculous. How do the boys sign up for the football field every single day? Where's the sign-up sheet? You can't keep letting the boys take over. That field is for everyone," Shaylah protested.
"Sign-up sheet? What are you talking about, Shaylah? There is no sign-up sheet for the field. As you said, the field is shared space," Iman replied in confusion.
"There isn't?" Shaylah asked in surprise. "Wait, but Kassem told everyone that since his dad paid for the field, that had automatically signed up the boys to use the field everyday. He said there is a sign-up sheet. He also said that girls shouldn't be on the field because they should sit somewhere and look pretty. They're playing soccer and he says we can't play because girls can't play soccer."
"Let's go have a talk with Kassem," Iman declared and stood up. She motioned for Sam to follow her and led the way out the door and towards the football field. Sure enough, there were a group of boys playing soccer on the field. Sam observed Iman, who had now stopped at the outer perimeter of the field and simply studied the boys. She glanced at the group of girls that were following her and said,
"Shaylah, come with me."
Iman marched out to the field and called out,
"Kassem Abdul Wahab!"
A rather tall boy of Arab descent, nearly seventeen or eighteen years old, paused in the center of the field. He looked at Iman in surprise before picking up the soccer ball at his feet and walking over.
"Sister Iman? Do you need something?" The young man asked.
"Did you tell these girls that they can't play here because your father paid for this field? This field is mosque property," Iman asked irately.
"Yeah, but my dad donated the money for it. Sure, I lied about the sign-up sheet, but they're girls. They shouldn't be out her to begin with," Kassem shrugged.
"Oh, is that what they are? Here I was thinking that they were intelligent young women. Your father donated money to the mosque. Now, there are two reasons he has done so. One, he donated it for a tax break or two, he donated to please Allah. Now, I don't know which he aimed for, but both reasons have nothing to do with you. There's narcissism and then there's you, Kassem. Why is it that whenever there is misogyny in the ranks of the youth, you're behind it? Must I have a word with your father? Dr. Abdul Wahab won't be too pleased being put on the spot like that," Iman asked.
"You can do whatever. We think alike. Women don't have the same abilities men do. Soccer isn't what they should focus on," Kassem said in dismissal.
"Then let's do this. Let's have a match. My team versus yours. Winner gets the field and doesn't bring this up anymore," Iman decided.
"And when you lose?" Kassem grinned.
"I leave you and your glorified friends alone. Play as much as you like, but when you lose, I'll have a word about your behavior and disrespect with your father, mother, and the imam present," Iman smiled.
Sam had quietly watched the entire spectacle from the sidelines. He didn't like Kassem. The boy embodied everything that was wrong with the world. It was sad that in the 21st century, there were still kids out there that thought they were better than others just because of their gender. Kassem quickly accepted the deal, his overconfidence oozing from every orifice. Sam winced at Kassem's cocky demeanor. He was rude, arrogant, and an overall jerk when it came to talking to Iman, even though she was much older than him.
"Yo!" Sam heard a voice call out from behind him. Sven smiled and stood next to Sam while Daehan decided to stand on Sam's other side.
"Imam Nedim told us about you. It's pretty cool that you're hanging out at the mosque because you want to learn more about us. I gotta say though, don't look at Kassem and think we're all like that. He's an ass. Excuse my language, but that's all I can say that really describes him. Now he's gone and picked a fight with Sis Iman? Bad move, all around. All of us love her. She's the big sister that you always wanted," Sven explained.
"When I first moved here, we were the only Korean American Muslims in the city. I didn't really know where we belonged. The Korean community is nice and all, but the majority is mainly Catholic or Buddhist. Sis Iman welcomed us with open arms and I love it here because of her," Daehan added.
"Does she know how to play soccer?" Sam asked in worry. He didn't want the woman to bite off more than she could chew. She seemed to be a central pillar for the youth of the mosque and personally, he was liking her as well. She exuded an aura of calm and peace. It reminded him a great deal of his own mother.
"Sis Iman doesn't walk into anything halfway. If she suggested a match, that means she's probably Beckham or Ronaldo herself. I'm actually kind of looking forward to this," Sven grinned and gave Iman a thumbs-up once the woman glanced towards them.