Friendships in Gaza are tested by genocide and distance.

Our radiant friend would not want us to feel pain when mentioning her name.

Cryptocurrency is Deek’s last chance to succeed in life, and he will not stop, no matter what.

Previous Chapters: Part 1 | Part 2

 

“If you want to find out what a man is… give him power. Any man can stand adversity — only a great man can stand prosperity.” – Robert G. Ingersoll

“Anything I do to elevate myself in the eyes of others is hollow.” – Wael Abdelgawad

Tentacles Slithering Up

As he walked out of the hospital, the Jumu’ah prayer alarm sounded on his phone. Man, he’d forgotten it was Friday. The crypto world operated every moment of every day and night, so one day was no different from another. He’d often missed Jumu’ah when trading crypto, but he wanted to attend today. He felt like he’d been a prisoner in a tiny cell for five years, and had just been liberated. Plus, he owed it to Allah, to thank Him for this long-awaited success.

It was too late to go to Masjid Madeenah, where he usually attended. Instead, he caught an Uber to Masjid Umar, the mostly Arab masjid in north Clovis. He wasn’t fond of Masjid Umar. The community was insular and wealthy, and although Deek himself was Arab, he never felt like he fit there.

In the Uber, he checked his crypto wallet. Solana was up 15%, and New York Killa was up 29%. His net worth was now $80 million. If he’d kept the bulk of the New York Killa, rather than selling, he would have much more. But what did it matter? He would never be able to spend $80 million anyway.

On impulse, he cashed out some of the Solana and initiated another transfer to the joint bank account, sending $80,000 this time. His only regret was that these funds had not yet arrived in the account. He would have liked to go shopping before prayer, so he could show up wearing something snazzy. An Armani suit maybe, and Italian leather shoes. And perhaps some jewelry and a new haircut. As it was, he was wearing his same old jeans and Hawaiian shirt that he wore every day.

Deek was aware that all these thoughts – divorcing Rania, keeping the money secret, showing off for the people – were like tentacles slithering up out of a dark sea that swelled inside him. He was not a fool. He knew how Shaytan could whisper in a man’s ear. When he was a boy in Iraq, he’d learned the Quran at his father’s feet, as well as studying Hanafi fiqh with the local shaykh. He had a good understanding of Islam and had not forgotten it.

The Crusher

His family came to the USA when he was nine years old. He did well in school, but after high school, he rebelled and went to art college, and became a fine art painter, much to his father’s chagrin. He was talented, and put on a few gallery shows. But when he married Rania he gave that up and took a more respectable job teaching elementary school. Until, sick of laboring in the lower middle-class echelon, tired of being poor, he quit that in turn to risk everything on the crypto revolution.

His parents were both gone now, which was a blessing in a way, as they had not been around to see what a failure he had become.

He still remembered much of the Quran he’d learned as a youth. Obviously he still knew Juz ‘Amma, and could recite Surat Al-Humuzah:

Woe to every backbiter, slanderer,
who amasses wealth and counts it ˹repeatedly˺,
thinking that their wealth will make them immortal!

Not at all! Such a person will certainly be tossed into the Crusher.
And what will make you realize what the Crusher is?
˹It is˺ Allah’s kindled Fire,
which rages over the hearts.

It will be sealed over them,
˹tightly secured˺ with long braces.

The surah painted a stark portrait of an evil man hunched over his money, counting it obsessively. Someone who, perhaps, had accumulated wealth through the cheap labor and suffering of others, or a leader who stole the resources of his own people. Such people crushed the spirits of others in order to enrich themselves, and so Allah would crush them in turn.

That was justice. Deek did not consider himself such a person. He’d earned his money lawfully and through his own study, dedication, and sleepless nights. He hadn’t robbed anyone.

Yet still he was frightened. He had to find a way to avoid being eaten alive by this wealth.

The Blockade of Bani Hashim

Masjid Umar was encircled by tall palm trees, and as the Uber pulled up Deek saw that three of them had been torched. They still stood, but they’d been badly burnt. The whole area stank of charcoal and ash. He wondered what had happened, but there was no time to speculate, as he was late. He hurried into the masjid.

The prayer area was small and crowded. There was no room to sit, so Deek stood at the back. The Imam told the story of the mushrikeen’s boycott and blockade of Bani Hashim during the Makkan period, and the extreme hardship and even starvation it had caused. The Imam spoke about how this boycott ended. Namely, five of the disbelievers, who in spite of their rejection of Islam were fair men, agreed to speak against this injustice.

At the same time, the Prophet had a dream in which he saw that the agreement the mushrikeen had signed to impose the boycott had been destroyed. The document had been stored in the Ka’bah, and the Prophet saw that all of the paper had been eaten by ants, except for the words Bismillah.

It was a fascinating story, and was yet another example of how Allah never abandoned the believers. Though the Prophet and his family and followers had gone through a period of extreme hardship, Allah the Most High engineered events that brought them out of hardship, though not immediately, as the most terrible blows of all still awaited the Prophet . His wife, Khadijah, and his protector, Abu Talib, both died. With Makkah having become unsafe for him, he walked to Ta’if to preach to the leaders there, but they rejected him and ordered him stoned.

It was only after all of this that the people of Madinah began to embrace Islam, and the hijrah began – finally ending the oppression of the Makkan period.

To Be Sincere

Deek felt that it was destiny that he had come to this particular masjid today, as he needed to hear this message. Problems end, he thought, but not immediately. Sometimes you go from the frying pan to the fire, and only then, if you are patient, do you escape to the garden and the cool river running through it.

I must do better, he thought. I must not let the wolf eat me alive. I mustn’t lose myself. I have to do good with this money. I have to be sincere.

These thoughts were like an intellectual exercise, however, or like trying to solve a problem of color or texture with a painting. Wasn’t it all subjective? He had no idea what it meant to be sincere with money, since he’d never had money. All he could think of was that he should donate. Donate to the poor, orphans, the masjid, and so on.

The opportunity presented itself sooner than expected. The salat ended, and people began to file out of the masjid. Deek found a chair to sit in to put his shoes on. He’d gained a lot of weight during the crypto years, and it was difficult to bend over enough to put on socks and shoes. When he was finally ready to go, most of the crowd had dissipated.

A Detested Countryman

Outside, a group of five middle-aged brothers stood beside the burnt trees, gesturing and talking animatedly. Two of them he recognized immediately. One was Dr. Zuhair, a classically handsome Egyptian engineer with a thick mustache, who looked like he could play Gamal AbdelNasser in a movie. Zuhair sat on the boards of many local Islamic organizations and was said to be very wealthy.

The other man he recognized was Dr. Ajeeb, the former principal of the Islamic school Deek’s children had attended for many years. The tall, thin Iraqi wore a loose black suit with a white shirt and red tie, which made him look like a flagpole from which the Iraqi flag hung limply. His face was thin and brown, while his teeth were cigarette-stained.

Deek remembered now. Ajeeb had been fired from the principal job a few years ago and was now the program director for this masjid. He was not a medical doctor, but rather had a PhD in Islamic Sciences from the Islamic University of Najaf in Iraq.

In spite of being countrymen, Deek and Ajeeb had never gotten along. Back when his kids had attended the school, Deek had complained many times that the Islam, Quran, and Arabic programs were hidebound by Middle Eastern tradition. Everything was rote memorization, and the teachers were recent immigrants who could barely speak English. Some still thought they could discipline students by shouting or hitting their hands with rulers. It was disgusting.

Furthermore, the only organized sport at the school was soccer, rather than the baseball, basketball, or American football that were more popular in this country. It was as if they had used a thousand cranes to lift a school out of the Middle East and drop it into the USA. Deek would have pulled his children out, except the thought of sending them to public school terrified him. He himself had attended an American public school, and he knew what a moral cesspool it was.

Deek had actually gone to the board and complained about Ajeeb, but they hadn’t been interested. Deek was poor and could barely pay the monthly school fees. He certainly was not a financial supporter or donor. His opinion carried little weight.

He’d been happy when Ajeeb was fired, but disappointed that one of the local masjids hired him.

An Offer To Help

Deek walked up to Ajeeb and put a hand on his shoulder. “Doctor,” he said. “What happened here?”

Ajeeb turned and smiled thinly. “Brother Deek. Someone tried to burn the masjid.”

“Who?”

“We don’t know.”

“Doesn’t look like they tried very hard. These trees aren’t even close to the building. Someone wanted to make a statement, maybe. Or kids.”

Ajeeb made a tut-tut sound with his tongue. “This is very serious, brother. It’s not for joking.”

“Why,” demanded a portly Egyptian with curly hair and thick glasses, “aren’t there security cameras?”

“We have been meaning to do it,” Ajeeb replied. “We didn’t have the funds.”

“I could help with that,” Deek offered. “I’ll cover the whole thing, cameras and installation.” It felt incredibly strange to say these words. A voice inside him, representing a persona still stuck in the past – and in his case, the past meant yesterday – protested, What are you doing? You can’t afford that! Rania will kill you. Having money was a strange sensation, like being alone in a room for forty years, then suddenly finding a beautiful woman sitting on the bed with you. It would take him a while to believe it was true.

Ajeeb turned only partway to face him and held up a hand. “This will take more than your $100 donation, ya Deek. But thank you.”

The portly brother snickered. A few other men in the group smiled. Only Dr. Zubair did not share their amusement. He frowned disapprovingly at Ajeeb, but said nothing.

An Incident From The Past

Deek felt himself go cold with rage. Ajeeb’s mocking comment was a reference to an annual school fundraiser several years ago. It was a banquet, with almost 500 local Muslims in attendance. Ajeeb had the microphone and was asking for $5,000 donations, having worked his way down from $25,000. Teenage boys and girls walked the floor with pledge cards, ready to take pledges. Deek, who was there with Rania and the girls, waved a girl over to his table. Most donors filled out the pledge cards with promises of large donations. Deek couldn’t do that, but he always tried to give something, so he handed the girl a hundred dollars in cash.

Apparently the girl was confused, not knowing what to do with the cash. Dr. Ajeeb said, “I’m looking for one more $5,000 donation. Ask yourselves what you can spend for the future of your children and this community.” At that exact moment, the girl, still standing beside Deek, raised her hand and called out, “One hundred dollars?” A few people laughed, while Ajeeb waved an irritated hand toward a table beside the dais, where three college students were collecting the pledge cards.

It was humiliating. Later, as he drove the family home, Rania rubbed his shoulder and assured him that the girl had not intended to embarrass him. But as she said it, she smiled. Deek never forgot that smile. He could forgive people their trespasses against him, though not easily. But he was not the type to forget.

A Dark Fantasy

Deek stood beside the burnt trees, beside these men, but not among them. The men stood in a circle and did not move to admit him. The nonverbal message was clear: You are not our equal. Let the important people talk. A vision came to Deek’s mind. Ajeeb would be walking at night, perhaps out for an evening stroll after dinner. Deek would steal up behind him and sedate him with a chloroform-soaked cloth. He would drag Ajeeb into a van, drive him down to the San Joaquin River, and drown him. The river would carry his body away, and it would never be traced back to Deek.

It was only a dark fantasy. He’d had such thoughts many times, about various people, but would never do it. But what could he do in the real world to spoil things for Ajeeb and make his life harder? He was a man of resources now. Money talked, and BS walked.

The Dashing Dr. Zuhair

He approached Dr. Zuhair and took his arm. The man’s muscles were firm beneath Deek’s hand. MashaAllah, Zuhair was probably sixty-five years old, yet Deek could picture him in a camo vest and carrying an AK-47, pursuing bandits in the Sinai. Deek led the handsome man away from the group and toward the back wall of the parking lot, which butted up against a residential neighborhood on the other side. Orange and lemon trees stretched their branches over the wall.

Deek said, “Doctor, are you on the board of this masjid?”

“Yes,” Zuhair replied cheerily. “I’m the board president. Why?”

“I’m serious about paying for the cameras. Actually, I want to make a large donation to the masjid.”

“Pardon my frankness,” Zuhair said, “but how can you afford that? Don’t take me wrong, I respect everyone regardless of financial status, but you are not known to be wealthy.”

Deek pursed his lips, considering. If he wanted to be taken seriously, he would have to give something up.

“Are you familiar with cryptocurrency?”

“I own a little Bitcoin. I am far from an expert.”

“Well, I am an expert. And I have done very well with it, alhamdulillah.”

“Okay… How much would you like to donate?”

Deek licked his lips nervously. “One million dollars.” Even to his own ears it sounded like a jest, so he was not surprised when Zuhair laughed, punched Deek’s shoulder, and said, “Okay, you got me brother. That was a good joke.” Zuhair reached up to one of the overhanging branches, snagged an orange, and began to peel it.

Providing Proof

“How is your family these days?” Zuhair asked as he popped an orange wedge into his mouth. “You have two daughters, yes? They attended school with my daughter when they were young.”

“They’re good, alhamdulillah.”

A pigeon landed in the parking lot and strutted by, cooing.

“I’ll show you something,” Deek said. “Give me a minute. But I need your word that this stays between me and you.”

“Okay, no problem,” Zuhair said, eating more of the orange. “I give you my word. This orange is amazing, mashaAllah. You should have one.”

“Aren’t those the neighbor’s trees?”

“Yes, but the branches are on our side. They can’t pick them over here.”

Deek took out his phone and held it at an angle where Zuhair could not see the screen. Opening the Phantom app, he saw that Solana was holding steady, but Killa was up a bit more. His balance was 81 million and change. He quickly created a new wallet and transferred $3 million in Solana to it. There was no point in letting Zuhair see the full extent of his wealth. That was not for anyone to know – not the government, nor even his wife.

The whole process took only a minute. Then he turned the phone to show Zuhair the screen.

Zuhair gave a long, low whistle. “You made three million dollars in crypto. That is very impressive, brother. You should teach me how to do that!” A sly look crept across his face. “Tell the truth. Is this a prank? Am I on a hidden camera show?”

“It’s real. And I want to donate one million dollars.”

Two Conditions

“Allahu Akbar!” Zuhair tried to clap his hands but ended up clapping the orange. “This is wonderful. You are giving one-third of your wealth. That is so generous.”

“Yeah. I guess so.”

“Allah barik feek, may Allah bless you. There are many things we can do with this money. We have been wanting to build a proper basketball court for the youth, and an outside wudu’ area for when the main building is locked, and -”

“I have conditions, though.”

Zuhair lifted an eyebrow. “Most people do not impose conditions. They donate fee sabeel-illah.”

“Most people don’t donate a million dollars.”

“True.”

“I want a seat on the board, and I want Ajeeb fired.”

Zuhair shook his head and waved his hand dismissively. “The position on the board is not impossible for a donation of this magnitude, but as far as Doctor Ajeeb, this request is beneath you. It is inappropriate. Even if I already wanted to fire him, I would not do it for money.”

“I’m giving you a million dollars.”

“You could give a hundred million, I would still say no. It’s a matter of integrity. We simply don’t do things that way. Please. Just donate the money with a pure heart, with no conditions. It will bring you great rewards from Allah.”

Deek glared. He was pretty sure that if he gave a hundred million, Ajeeb would be out on his skinny behind in a hot minute. Everyone had a price. It sounded like Zuhair already wanted to fire the man anyway. So what was this talk of integrity? As if Deek was trying to corrupt him somehow.

The Traits of the Noble

“What if I make it a million and a half?”

“Wonderful, ma-sha-Allah.” He pocketed the orange peels and reached up to pick another. “SubhanAllah. These oranges are so juicy.”

“But,” Deek said pointedly, “with the same conditions.”

“Then no.”

Deek’s voice rose. “What if I buy the whole masjid then? I could do whatever I want after that.”

Zuhair laughed softly. “You’d need a lot more than three million for that.”

“I have a lot more than three million.” As soon as he said this, he chastised himself for letting his ego get the better of him.

“Ah.” Zuhair wagged a finger at Deek. “It’s clever to be discreet with your assets. But still no. The masjid belongs to a non-profit organization. You cannot buy a non-profit org, there’s no provision for it under the law. It’s an interesting intellectual problem, though. You could try to buy the organization’s assets if they were willing to sell. As I said, you could perhaps negotiate for a seat on the board if you donated enough. Or you could always start your own masjid.”

“That’s not the point. Ajeeb is not a good person. He’s not good for the community.”

Zuhair sighed as if Deek were a recalcitrant pupil, then ate another orange wedge. “There is a poem,” he said between bites, “by Mufti ʿAbd al-Latif bin ʿAli Fathallah. He was a Lebanese poet from the eighteenth century. He wrote:

العَفوُ مِن شِيَمِ الكِرامْ

وَالصّفْحُ مِن شَأْنِ العِظامْ

وَأَخُو الشَّهامَةِ مَن عَفا

عَن قُدْرَةٍ عَلَى الانْتِقامْ

“That means -”

“I understand it,” Deek broke in. He recited:

“Forgiveness is among the traits of the noble,
And pardon is the mark of the great.
The truly gallant is he who forgives
Even when he has the power to retaliate.”

Zuhair nodded, impressed. “Very good.” He reached up and plucked another orange from the tree, and held it out to Deek.

Forgiveness did not come easily to Deek. His homeland was a nation of ancient feuds and brutal dictators. Even though he’d come to America quite young, the scorching blood of his people blew through his veins like the desert winds. Or maybe that was a cop-out. Maybe he was fully capable of being a better man. But did he want to? He wasn’t sure. Money was what he had always craved, and he had it now.

Without a word, and without taking the proffered fruit, Deek turned and walked away. He’d tried to do the right thing. He’d tried to give away a million and a half dollars, and they didn’t want it. How was he supposed to use his money for good when the people on the other end wouldn’t cooperate? He was done with that. It was time to think of himself and his own needs. Everyone else could get out of the way, or get run over.

***

[Part 4 will be published next week inshaAllah]

 

Reader comments and constructive criticism are important to me, so please comment!

See the Story Index for Wael Abdelgawad’s other stories on this website.

Wael Abdelgawad’s novels – including Pieces of a Dream, The Repeaters and Zaid Karim Private Investigator – are available in ebook and print form on his author page at Amazon.com.

 

Related:

Asha and the Washerwoman’s Baby: A Short Story

Pieces of a Dream | Part 1: The Cabbie and the Muslim Woman

 

The post Moonshot: A Short Story [Part 3] – The Traits Of The Noble appeared first on MuslimMatters.org.

A little over a week ago, in council elections across the UK and a parliamentary by-election in a historically safe Labour seat, the so-called Reform UK party, whose leader is Nigel Farage who previously ran the Brexit Party and before that was leader of UKIP and is notorious for bringing everything down to immigration, gained control of a number of provincial county and unitary councils which neither that party nor its predecessors have ever done before, as well as gaining the seat of Runcorn and Helsby on the outskirts of Liverpool from Labour, a by-election triggered by the resignation of the old MP who was convicted of assaulting a constituent in the street last October. Keir Starmer, the prime minister, penned a piece for the Times (paywalled, but archived here) which contains a lot of platitudes but very little substance other than a warning not to rip up fiscal rules and a mention of “reforming the out-of-control benefits bill left by the previous government” which started its period in office with an attack on disabled people’s allowances, but a major response has been that Labour should focus more on “stopping the boats” than on anything that might improve anyone’s standard of living, least of all the threat of cuts to disability allowances, something Labour freely condemned when they were in opposition and the Tories were doing it.

One of the loudest Labour MPs favouring an over-emphasis on immigration is Jonathan Hinder, a former police inspector who is now MP for Pendle and Clitheroe in Lancashire, one of the counties Reform gained control of (from the Tories) last week. His Twitter feed is full of “culture war” talking points, accusations of Labour being dominated by a “liberal elite” out of touch with Labour’s ‘traditional’ (read white) working-class base. Hinder wrote an article for the Daily Telegraph, a paper heavily associated with the Tory party and probably read by few working-class people, which starts with a claim that “the engines of the liberal establishment are revving up to explain why Reform’s success is not down to the one thing we know it definitely is: immigration”. He makes a brief statement of three examples of his support for what is commonly thought of as Labour policy, but then proclaims that “immigration is fundamentally an economic issue as much as it is anything else, and working-class people are generally the losers”. He demands that Labour pursue a “net-zero” migration goal, of one person entering for one leaving.  He has also called for ‘reform’ of our human rights rules on the basis that a number of deportations have been blocked on “right to family life” grounds, as if the HRA did not guarantee rights to British citizens also (for example, the right of disabled people to live in their own homes rather than institutions).

There is a tendency for ‘populist’ right-wing politicians to talk of immigration, and sometimes ‘identify’, as codewords for race. Judging by Hinder’s recent posts, I suspect the same is true of him. When the Telegraph reported that an 18-year-old Muslim council candidate won a seat on Burnley after giving an interview to PoliticsHome in which she advocated separate public spaces for women, such as gyms, because Muslim women were not comfortable sharing spaces with men, he proclaimed: “we have to put our ‘cultural sensitivities’ in the bin and sort this out. Intolerable”. He also retweeted someone who called this “proper sectarian stuff”. Two weeks earlier, when the Supreme Court gave its ruling on the meaning of ‘woman’ in British equality law (i.e. that it excluded trans women), he gave it his enthusiastic support, sharing among other things Blue Labour’s tweet calling it a “common sense and definitive ruling” based on “biological reality”. This ruling was partly about the circumstances in which one sex can be discriminated against, such as in crisis spaces such as women’s shelters and rape counselling centres, as well as more mundane women’s facilities such as toilets and, yes, gyms. But as soon as Muslim women want spaces away from men, this becomes ‘intolerable’.

An important aspect of these results that has been glossed over in the debate over what lesson Labour should learn from them is that the biggest loser in terms of seats was the Tory party who lost 674 council seats in the authorities in which elections were held (which was by no means all of them) compared to Labour’s 187. Reform gained 677 (from nothing), the Lib Dems gained 163 and the Greens 44. Many of the county councils were rural counties whose urban centres have been excised to unitary authorities since the late 1990s: Nottingham, Leicester and Derby are all unitary, and aren’t governed by the new Reform (or Reform coalition) county councils. The Lib Dems also gained control of three councils: Oxfordshire, Cambridgeshire and Shropshire (the last from the Tories, the other two from hung councils), while both Labour and the Tories gained no councils between them. The dissatisfaction with Labour is clear, but what also appears to be happening is that the former Tory vote is moving to Reform, and that depending on the performance of Reform councillors around the country, Labour at the next election may not have the advantage of a divided Right anymore. It has been reported that many candidates stood for Reform not expecting, or even wanting, to win and have no idea how they will juggle their council commitments with work. How this situation will be resolved remains to be seen, but it could result in some quicker than expected council by-elections.

But as for why Labour lost so badly in places they should have won, just a year into a Labour government, perhaps immigration played a part but there is no denying that people are angry at Labour continuing Tory policies of targeting the welfare system and those who need the support it provides while spouting rhetoric about “working people”. Imposing means-testing on winter fuel payments is pure political folly, even if a lot of the recipients can afford it, because pensioners are far more likely to vote than younger people, but targeting disabled people who bore the brunt of fifteen years of Tory austerity policies and the demonisation that went with it, behaving as if even more people are getting support to live with disability who “don’t need it” than the Tories claimed, simply betrays everything many of us thought Labour stood for. Labour have touted reforms (read cuts) to PIP (Personal Independence Payment) as a means of getting people back to work; PIP is not an out-of-work payment but rather a way of meeting the cost of being disabled, by paying for things like wheelchairs, vehicles, adapted computers and software and the like. By continually harping on the virtues of work, they ignore the fact that many disabled people could not work reliably because their condition requires medical attention often, because of relapses or crises; it ignores the fact that a lot of workplaces are physically inaccessible to wheelchair users and many employers are unaccommodating, even if the job could be done by a disabled person.

When Kamala Harris lost the US presidential election last year, some of her supporters blamed the loss on ‘woke’ or her perceived closeness to trans rights, despite these issues having been present four years ago when Joe Biden won. All the immigration issues we have now were present less than a year ago when Keir Starmer won a large majority in parliament, and progressive parties won a combined majority of the popular vote. What’s changed is Labour’s stance towards pensioners and the disabled. The people insisting that the turnaround could only be because of immigration are those who already have an anti-immigration bias. Labour have to understand that if they do not serve the needs of the working class, Reform will step in and cater to the prejudices of some of them. They cannot beat Reform at their own game because Reform will always proclaim that it is not enough or find another scapegoat. Labour need to get to work at repairing the damage caused by fifteen years of Tory government, restoring the fabric of society — social care, social housing, youth clubs, libraries, schools — rather than boasting that they will make people’s lives harder, not easier. They have a substantial majority in parliament and four more years to make a positive change. If they spend their time making it a meaner place with more clampdowns on disability benefits and work visas, they will produce the conditions for Reform to sweep to power in 2029.

Possibly Related Posts:

• Axel Rudakubana is guilty, and nobody else
• They weren’t protests
• The ‘elitism’ of mere thought
• Hong Kong migrants: where will they live?
• Essex truck tragedy: why the driver is probably innocent

Mom, Anne, Mutti, Daye – I have said “mother” in all of the four languages I grew up with. 

Yet, it was only after I became a mother myself that I truly understood the depth and the meaning of what motherhood entails. It continues to be the most transformative experience of my life. Becoming a mother has been the most physically, emotionally, mentally, and spiritually challenging transformation of my human existence. It seems as mothers are growing, guiding, and nurturing a human being, they equally evolve and change forever through their children. For those who are not parents, the capacity to nurture and guide the next generation remains within every human’s nature.

Motherhood, with all of its joys, can also be a terribly lonely and sad experience: the pain and exhaustion of your body, the postpartum blues and mental strain, the sleepless nights, the tears, the constant worries and the never-ending questioning and guilt to make sure that you give your best to this new human being. As a society, we acknowledge and honor the hard and selfless sacrifices of mothers, especially on Mother’s Day. Yet, we still fall short in offering holistic support and care in many areas of life. 

In those moments in which I feel alone and overwhelmed by the endless demands of motherhood, I turn to the spiritual resources of my Muslim faith that continue to sustain my heart and strengthen my soul. Our Prophet Muhammad’s teachings on maternal care and his own expression of love towards his mother even after her death offer me comfort in times of distress. A few of them are particularly close to my heart:

Every motherly hardship is rewarded as highlighted in many Qur’an passages that were delivered by Prophet Muhammad to his community:

“We [God] have commanded the human being to be good to his parents: his mother struggled to carry him and struggled to give birth to him – his bearing and weaning took a full thirty months. In time, when the child reaches their prime at the age of forty, they pray, ‘Lord, help me to be truly grateful for Your favours to me and to my parents; help me to do good work that pleases You; make my offspring good. I turn to You; I am one of those who devote themselves to You,’” [Surah Al-Ahkaf; 46;15]

“And We have commanded people to ˹honour˺ their parents. Their mothers bore them through hardship upon hardship, and their weaning takes two years. So be grateful to Me and your parents. To Me is the final return.” [Surah Luqman; 31;14]

“Paradise is beneath her feet.” [PC: M T Elgassier (unsplash)]

These verses make clear that devotion to God entails love and care for parents, particularly for mothers who experience so much hardship. Such honorable statements felt uplifting to me in moments in which I felt unheard, and my struggles were invisible to others. They reminded me that raising a child is a profoundly spiritual act. A Prophetic narration that speaks also to motherhood as an act of worship states, if a pregnant woman dies during childbirth, she attains the highest state of martyrdom.

The Messenger of Allah ﷺ said: “In that case the martyrs of my nation would be few. Being killed in the cause of Allah is martyrdom; dying of the plague is martyrdom; when a pregnant woman dies in childbirth, that is martyrdom; and dying of drowning, or burning, or of pleurisy, is martyrdom.”

The mother is most deserving of good treatment, as expressed also in this song, which I often sang with my daughters.

According to this narration, a man came to Prophet Muhammad and asked, “O Messenger of God, who among the people is most deserving of my good companionship?” He said, “Your mother.” The man asked, “Then who?” He said, “Your mother.” The man further asked, “Then who?” He said, “Your mother.” The man asked again, “Then who?” He said, “Then your father.” 

Paradise lies under the feet of mothers. Probably the most well-known narration within the Muslim community, this statement by our Prophet Muhammad highlights the utmost importance of motherly care, respect, and attention.

It was narrated from Mu’awiyah bin Jahimah As-Sulami, that Jahimah came to the Prophet ﷺ and said: “O Messenger of Allah! I want to go out and fight (in Jihad) and I have come to ask your advice.” He said: “Do you have a mother?” He said: “Yes.” He said: “Then stay with her, for Paradise is beneath her feet.”

What greater encouragement can be mentioned than the kind treatment of mothers being a gateway to personal eternal bliss and happiness?

In seventh-century Arabian society, marked by misogyny in which women were degraded, these sacred narrations were revolutionary. They still ring true today and present a call for action on an individual and collective level. Many mothers – and by extension fathers – long for quality connection and regular time with their adult children, who can be caught up in the business of life. Widespread neglect and social isolation of the elderly, particularly among women, is now well-documented. Needless to say that abusive and harmful parent-child relationships are outside of this discussion and deserve an entirely separate treatment. 

In times of migration and mobility, biological parents may live far away. However, we can still spend time with motherly and fatherly figures around us who yearn for company. Prophet Muhammad’s teachings call us to implement positive life changes and policies in which mothers, parents, and by extension, all those who are the most vulnerable, feel more fully seen and supported by love and care.  

 

Related:

– Mothers: Honoring The Longing, The Losses, And The Love

– Difficulties Are Our Biggest Blessings: Notes From A Bereaved Mother With Three Calls From Jannah

The post On Motherhood: Finding Fortitude In The Prophet Muhammad’s Teachings appeared first on MuslimMatters.org.

We speak to Donya Abu Sitta about trying to survive famine, David Sheen about Israel’s 7 October lies, the activist who climbed Big Ben and we discuss plans to send US mercenaries to Gaza.

“Alarming levels” of child mortality as siege enters third month.

We hold the sacred treasures of the dunya within ourselves. The grand wonders, rare gems, and precious natural resources that we see as the riches of the world do not compare to what has been bestowed upon us. Amanah is an invisible yet powerful gift — something we hold, use, and share every day. It’s reflected in how we speak, what we listen to, how we see the world, what we do with our hands, and where we choose to go. Even our breath exists by Allah’s Will. This sacred trust, given only to humans, is often forgotten and taken for granted, left unused like a treasure gathering dust.

The word “Amanah”, like many words in Arabic, holds multiple profound meanings, among which are trust, loyalty, and responsibility. These qualities are intrinsic to every believer—woven into their very being, breathed into their soul.

 

“Truly, We did offer the Amanah (trust) to the heavens and the earth, and the mountains, but they declined to bear it and were afraid of it; but man bore it. Verily, he was unjust and ignorant.” [Surah Al-Ahzab; 33:72]

Ibn `Abbas explains in Tafsir al-Qurtubi that this Amanah refers to the responsibilities and obligations that Allah has entrusted to humanity, including acts of worship, obedience, and moral duties. The heavens, earth, and mountains, despite their vastness and strength, refused this burden out of reverence for Allah’s Command. Yet, mankind, often heedless and reckless, accepted it. This highlights both the great potential of human beings to fulfill divine commands and their tendency to neglect responsibilities.

As time moves forward, kingdoms are built, conquered, and fall. Though the meaning of Amanah has shifted slightly with each era, its core remains unchanged. History has recorded eras built on collective responsibility; wars fought to protect dignity, societies created to nurture community, and ideas brought forth for the benefit of all. These moments form the tapestry of inherited connection and shared duty, illustrating how individual acts of trust and responsibility woven together can strengthen society.

The Decline of Amanah in Our Communities

In the modern world, however, the gradual but rampant rise of individualism has led many to neglect this divine trust.  As Islam continues to grow in the West, uniting hearts and forming new communities, we witness a shift in how faith is practiced compared to traditional societies. Many Muslims have migrated seeking opportunity and freedom, and while some have found both, the challenge of maintaining Islamic values within highly individualistic cultures remains. Traditional societies emphasize collectivism, familial duty, and shared responsibility—values that naturally reinforce Amanah. What may be perceived as intrusive in the West is often seen elsewhere as communal care and commitment.

Yet, after migrating, many face cultural shock not only from the broader society but from within the Muslim community. The realization that fellow Muslims may view you as a burden rather than a source of barakah is deeply painful. Navigating a new culture is already difficult, but without the safety net of communal responsibility, it becomes even harder.

The influence of Western autonomy and self-focus has slowly crept into Muslim communities. Masjids often form social cliques, making newcomers feel alienated. Marriages are restricted to narrow circles. Muslim consumers may bypass Muslim-owned businesses, and some business owners exploit their community, assuming loyalty will justify price hikes. More troubling is the growing disconnect in immigrant communities themselves; by the second generation, the collective spirit their parents knew begins to dwindle. Children raised in the West may not inherit the same bonds of mutual duty, leading to fragmented communities and a decline in the practice of Amanah. In trying to adapt, we risk building communities shaped by cultural convenience rather than Islamic principles.
“The believing men and believing women are allies of one another. They enjoin what is right and forbid what is wrong and establish prayer and give zakah and obey Allah and His Messenger. Those—Allah will have mercy upon them. Indeed, Allah is Exalted in Might and Wise.” [Surah Tawbah, 9:71]

The Prophet [saw] established mu’akhah (brotherhood). [PC: Masjid MABA (unsplash)]

This verse reminds us of the mu’akhah (brotherhood) the Prophet established between the Muhajirun and the Ansar. When the Prophet and his companions migrated to Madinah, the Muhajirun left behind everything. To ensure their well-being, the Prophet established this bond of brotherhood between them and the Ansar, pairing individuals together. The Ansar embraced the Muhajirun with unparalleled generosity, sharing their homes, wealth, and resources without hesitation, embodying the principle of believers as allies. This brotherhood reflected true Amanah. As seen in Al-Sirah Al-Nabawiyyah, pairings like Bilal and Abu Ruwayhah -a former African slave and a renowned Arab poet- shattered societal barriers, proving that Islam is founded on taqwa, not race or status. Such examples are timeless lessons on how to build communities grounded in trust and responsibility.

The Rise of “Self”-Culture

“Self-made,” “Self-owned,” “Self-sufficient” — Western ideals often idolize self-reliance, but in doing so, they risk idolizing the self above all else.  The concept of the self has pandered to the innate greed we all have; one of our fatal flaws. In individualistic societies, the sense of Amanah can sometimes weaken, making it essential for believers to consciously uphold it.  In such societies, Amanah becomes optional, not instinctive. Being a resource to others is a burden; hands are rarely extended in fear of responsibility being pressed into them, and contacts are spoken to only when in need of a favor. Clinical networking has replaced friendships, connections made superficially, quickly dropped when their usefulness has expired. In this climate, Amanah is commodified, leading to emotional disconnection not only from community, but from our very purpose.

Amanah also extends beyond human relationships. Our duty to Allah’s Creation is often forgotten. Western industrialism, in its relentless pursuit of progress, clears forests, pollutes skies, and destroys ecosystems. Consider trees: Allah has created them to serve as carbon sinks, converting harmful carbon dioxide into oxygen, but also to act as natural protectors or barriers, shielding the land from erosion, floods, and extreme temperatures. Yet, in the race for industrial expansion and urban development, many societies have prioritized human invention over nature’s wisdom, clearing forests to make way for highways, commercial centers, and corporate infrastructure.

When we fail to honor our responsibility to the natural world, we risk losing a fundamental part of our humanity: our ability to care, to protect, and to recognize that true progress is measured not by what we build, but by what we preserve. This pattern goes beyond environmental damage; it reflects a deeper moral and spiritual crisis—the gradual erosion of Amanah in our hearts.

The Loss of Amanah

The Prophet Muhammad warned:

“A man may sleep and Amanah will be taken from his heart, leaving nothing but a trace like a blister left by a coal… Then people will buy and sell, and hardly anyone will be paying attention to Amanah, until it will be said that among such-and-such a tribe there is a trustworthy man.” [Sahih al-Bukhari and  Sahih Muslim]

“When we fail to honor our responsibility to the natural world, we risk losing a fundamental part of our humanity.” [PC: Hasan Almasi (unsplash)]

This hadith of the Prophet Muhammad about the gradual erosion of Amanah warns that trust, honesty, and moral responsibility will slowly fade from society, so much so that finding a truly trustworthy person who upholds all the qualities of a believer with Amanah becomes rare. The hadith further describes how Amanah will be taken from people’s hearts step by step, much like a person sleeping and waking up to find it gone. The Prophet illustrates this process using the metaphor of a blister left by a burning coal—a painful incident that then leaves a mark that eventually disappears altogether. This warning is deeply connected to the ayah from Surah At-Tawbah and the mu’akhah, reflecting a time when Amanah was central to the early Muslim community, where believers were bound by mutual support, honesty, and moral duty. However, the Prophet warns that over time, Amanah will no longer be a defining trait of society. In commerce, governance, and daily interactions, honesty will gradually erode until trust becomes so rare that a truly trustworthy person is seen as an exception rather than the standard. This warning is for more than just financial dealings—it speaks to a broader decline in moral responsibility, ethical leadership, and the sincerity of human relationships. When trust diminishes, communities weaken, and the very fabric of society is compromised. The Prophet’s words serve as a timeless reminder to uphold Amanah in all aspects of life, ensuring that integrity remains the foundation of both personal and collective well-being.

The Qur’an further warns:

 “So that Allah will punish the hypocrites, men and women, and the idolaters, men and women, while Allah will pardon the believers, men and women. And Allah is Ever Oft-Forgiving, Most Merciful.” [Surah Al-Ahzab 33:73]

Here, neglecting trust is linked to hypocrisy. Upholding it earns Allah’s Mercy. Amanah is not just moral—it is spiritual, essential to our standing with Allah .

How to Strengthen Amanah

To strengthen Amanah within ourselves, we must commit to living with integrity, accountability, and care in all aspects of life. This includes how we treat others, how we manage our responsibilities, and how we connect with Allah and the world around us. To get started, below are a few practical ways to uphold and nurture Amanah within ourselves and our communities:

• Embrace honesty and integrity.
  
• Keep promises and speak truthfully.
• Fulfill responsibilities with sincerity.
• Engage in ethical financial conduct.
• Deepen spiritual connection with Allah .
• Foster inclusive, collaborative communities.
• Support Muslim businesses ethically.
• Protect the environment.
• Teach the next generation about Amanah.

Conclusion

Amanah is a sacred trust that extends beyond our individual relationships to all of Allah’s Creation. Upholding it requires us to live with integrity, responsibility, and care. By nurturing trust in our actions and relationships, we can rebuild stronger communities grounded in Islamic values. This return to Amanah will help us build a society that reflects the mercy, justice, and unity that Islam commands.

 

Related:

– Rethinking Work-Life Balance Through The Lens Of Amanah

– Make your Deen Green: Muslims and their Responsibility to the Environment

 

 

The post Reviving Amanah: Trust And Responsibility In An Age Of Western Individualism appeared first on MuslimMatters.org.

Hossam Shabat's documentation dispelled Israel's lies about its atrocities.

Abdaljawad Omar discusses the future of the Palestinian Authority and the Palestine Liberation Organization leadership, which are deeply unpopular among its own people and irrelevant to outside actors.

Rooster drone has been tested in Gaza.

New PA “vice president” Hussein al-Sheikh is endorsed by Israeli spies.

The walls of a tent barely divide space, let alone protect dignity.

I created the hijabi mom character in #1 Happy Family USA. How she wears it is part of her personality – so I knew I had to get it right

If you’ve seen a hijab on a screen – animated or otherwise – it’s likely that this Islamic head covering was one specific style.

Think Princess Jasmine in the 1992 movie Aladdin, Claire Danes in the series Homeland, or the Zamins in the animated show The Proud Family:

Continue reading...

Hundreds of women forced to confess to ‘moral crimes’ they did not commit have been publicly lashed in Afghanistan

Three Afghan women who were brutally flogged in public by the Taliban after being accused of “moral crimes” have bravely spoken out about the cruelty they endured.

More than 1,000 people – at least 200 of whom were women – are now known to have been humiliated in public floggings since the Taliban’s return to power in 2021, according to court records and media reports. The true numbers are probably much higher.

Continue reading...

We speak to Gaza filmmaker Ruwaida Amer and director Kei Pritsker, cover resistance operations in Gaza and the Red Sea, as well as new Harvard reports on racism on its campus.

A monthly digest of key developments in Palestine showcasing powerful images by photojournalists.

A liquidity crisis is affecting everyone with old notes falling apart, commissions skyrocketing, and merchants refusing electronic payments.

Cryptocurrency is Deek’s last chance to succeed in life, and he will not stop, no matter what.

[Read Part 1 here]

 

The Messenger of Allah ﷺ said, “Beware of greed, for it was only greed that destroyed those before you. It commanded them to be miserly and they did so. It commanded them to sever their family ties and they did so. It commanded them to behave wickedly, and they did so.” – Abu Dāwūd

A Rich Man

The trade went through! Deek Saghir stared at the phone in his hand. The trade had finalized. This was not a scam or a mistake. He now had $176,000 worth of USDC in his account. He could not hold actual dollars in this wallet, as software wallets like this could only hold cryptocurrency, not fiat currency. But USDC was a type of crypto called a stablecoin. Its value was pegged to that of the U.S. dollar, and it was backed by Coinbase, its creator, with actual dollars and securities. So it was essentially the same as cash.

He really had 1.7 million dollars. He…he was rich. “I’m rich,” he whispered, and the words felt strange in his mouth, like chewing gum made out of wet cement. That word, rich, with its heavy r sound – he hardly knew how to enunciate it. He feared he might choke on it if he tried to say it more loudly.

Again, he pushed his chair back and hit the wall. Then he leaped up, like a volcano that has been dormant for fifty thousand years suddenly spewing lava and ash. He pumped his fists into the air and shouted, “I did it! I did it! I did it! I did it!” He dropped his arms and tilted his face to the ceiling, mouth open and eyes closed, and lowered his voice to a speaking tone. “I did it,” he said. “I did it I did it I did it I did it…” He might have continued like this for many minutes, like a bullfrog calling in the night, if Rania had not stopped him.

Rizq Comes From Allah

“What is going on?” His wife was at his side, gripping his arm. Her face was white. A smidge of cheesy potato clung to the corner of her mouth. “Baby, are you okay?”

Deek. “I had a really good trade, honey. A really good one.” He shook his head in happy disbelief. “This is what I’ve been working and waiting -”

His petite wife smacked him in the chest, interrupting his dialogue. “A trade? That’s what you were screaming about? You scared me! I thought you were having a heart attack or something. What on earth?”

He laughed. “Sorry. It’s just that it’s a really good one, you won’t believe – ”

She put a finger on his lips, silencing him. Her face had gone from white to flushed red with anger. “I’m happy that you had a good trade. But I’ve heard that before, and we haven’t seen a red cent of real money. So please.” She removed her finger and took a step back. “Our electricity bill hit $500 this month, because of all this.” She waved a hand at Deek’s computers and fans. “I don’t know what to do anymore. I’m not telling you to stop. I know this is important to you. But I don’t know what to do. I can’t keep funding this. I can’t afford it. Our family can’t afford it.”

Deek could not remember the last time he’d seen his wife so angry. She was getting angrier by the second, to the point that she was almost shaking.

“But Rania -”

She held up a hand. “And if you had a good trade, then how about saying alhamduillah, rather than this mindless shouting and muttering like a crazy person? You didn’t do anything. Whatever rizq we are granted comes from Allah. Everything that we have, everything that we are, we owe to Allah. A Muslim always acknowledges that.” With that, she turned and stalked away.

Liquidity Bot

Deek stood, still feeling the sting on his chest where Rania had smacked him. He was frustrated that she had not let him speak. But he understood. It was one of his great shames that he’d made money before and lost it all, not even keeping a little to benefit his family. And every time he lost it all, he had to draw from the joint account to get started again. Since he had no income, that money came right from Rania’s paycheck. From her perspective, this was folly. She would not believe it was real until she had cash in hand.

She was right. He should thank Allah. He went down on hands and knees in the closet and made sajdah. He was not overwhelmed with emotion, but he felt this was what he should do as a Muslim, to show his gratitude. One of those grand gestures that a person should do at such a moment.

Rising and sitting in his computer chair, he considered his next steps. Meme coins were unpredictable. There was no way he would leave all those New York Killa tokens untouched. On the other hand, if he dumped it all, it would crash the price.

He would use a liquidity bot. He’d read about these. He set up a Telegram crypto wallet using a service called Trojan, then downloaded a bot that offered a number of services, including controlled token liquidation. He followed the steps to begin the process, then sat back. Every time someone bought New York Killa, the bot would sell 25% of that amount. So if someone out there bought $60K worth, the bot would sell $15K worth of Deek’s tokens. And it would continue to do so until it had sold everything in the wallet. This would allow him to liquidate without trashing the chart.

Of course, if the token price crashed in the next few days, Deek would lose a lot of money. But if it held steady or continued to rise, this would work out well.

Conductor Eric

That still left $176K in USDC. Theoretically, he could transfer it to a centralized exchange, such as his Coinbase account, swap it for U.S. dollars, and transfer that to his bank account. Within a day, his family’s financial problems would be solved. Then Rania would understand what he had accomplished. He could buy gifts for the kids too, as well as fix the broken side gate, the leaking bathroom faucet, the dry rot in the roof overhang, the cracks in the driveway, and many other things.

But…$176K was not a fortune. It would only go so far. On the other hand, if he invested it in another crypto, he could double or triple it.

Conductor Eric

There was a brother in the community who had created his own token, called Conductor Eric, based on the concept of a good-hearted monkey who traveled the world on a magical train, helping the poor and standing up to injustice. At one point, Conductor Eric had gone as high as a $1 million market cap, but had subsequently fallen all the way to $20K. If Deek began making regular, controlled buys, the activity might catch people’s attention and could stimulate buying. In other words, he could manipulate the market on this token to drive the price up and make a profit. He’d always known that crypto whales did this, but had never had enough money to do it himself.

The opposite could happen as well. As he drove up the price, long-term holders might take the opportunity to dump their tokens. It was a risk.

Ah well. No guts, no glory. He set it up using another bot. It would make periodic buys, varying the amount and frequency. $50 here, $200 there, and so on, until it had spent $150K, at which point it would alert him via text message.

He was hungry, but more than that, he was exhausted. He hadn’t had a proper sleep in weeks. His eyelids felt raspy, as if there were beach sand trapped behind them, and his mouth tasted like a trash can. Rania often complained about his physical state, and she was right. Shutting down the computers, he brushed his teeth, showered, put on pajamas, and tumbled into bed, where he slept the sleep of a man shot down in the street, unaware and uncaring of all that he had left behind in the world of the living.

Higher and Lower

Something woke him at 4 am. He wasn’t sure what. There was pressure on his ribs, and his skull felt like someone had taken out his brain and replaced it with tapioca pudding. He blinked rapidly, trying to clear his thoughts.

He was in his bed. The pressure on his ribs was Rania’s arm draped over him as she slept. His phone buzzed and lit up. Squinting against the glare of the screen, he saw that it was an alert from the buy bot. That was what had awakened him.

He removed Rania’s arm, grabbed the phone, and stumbled sleepily into the closet. Closing the door, he turned on the light and fired up the computers.

He discovered that two things had happened. One, his plan for Conductor Eric had worked. The token had soared to a $4.5 million market cap. His $150K was now worth $1.9 million.

Two, the Fatality bot had sold 50% of his New York Killa tokens, but New York Killa was still rising in price. In fact, it was going parabolic. The tokens he’d sold had netted $2 million, but the ones he still held were worth $4,116,822. Over four million dollars!

His net worth was now eight million dollars. Quickly, not letting himself think about it or second-guess, he sold all the Conductor Eric. He was aware that this would crash the price of the token, at least temporarily, but he didn’t care. With the extreme slippage his $1.9 million netted $1.2 million. Then he deactivated the Fatality bot and sold 80% of his remaining New York Killa tokens.

High on his win, his blood thrilling like jet fuel in his veins, he had to make another trade. He went to a crypto monitoring website called Birdeye and checked the bubble map to see what was hot. An AI token called Alpha101 was up 132% today alone. It represented a company that had invented some kind of swarming AI agent technology. Deek studied the chart. After so many years of trading crypto day and night, he could read a chart the way a kid could read a comic book. Alpha101 was at a $15 million market cap, which was a crucial level. If it continued higher it would begin to attract whales and institutional buyers. Feeling lightheaded, as if he’d inhaled helium and might burst into high-pitched laughter, he bought $2 million worth.

Hitting the BUY button, he did indeed let out a bark of muted laughter. He’d just spent two million dollars on a new and unverified crypto token. It was insanity, but it was also a heady feeling, like taking a selfie on a ledge over a sheer drop.

Money Management

He shut all the devices off, turned off the light, and sat on the living room sofa in the dark. What was happening? How was this possible? But he knew the answer: he had worked for it. He’d done the research, put in the time, tried scores of different strategies, and he was beginning to figure it out.

And Allah, of course. Allah had blessed him. Still, it bothered him what Rania had said. What had been her words? You didn’t do anything. She was saying that Allah had done it all. Taking all the credit away from Deek, who had worked like an indentured servant to make this happen.

Now he faced the problem of how to manage all this money. If he simply transferred it to his bank account, he’d face a massive tax bill. No, he needed to be smart, like corporations and rich people. He would create an offshore corporation, with a corporate account in the Caymans or the Turks and Caicos. He’d transfer all the USDC to the corporation, which would then sell it, and pay him a monthly salary. The corporation could also buy a house, a new car, and so on. Deek himself would be immune from taxes and liability, except for the salary the corporation paid him.

He didn’t know if he had to go to the islands in person to set it up. His passport had expired, so he’d have to renew it. That would take time. The bottom line was that for now, he would lay low. He would permit himself to transfer only $20K in cash to his bank account, to pay the bills that were burdening Rania. He went ahead and initiated it, moving $20K in USDC to Coinbase, swapping it for USD, and transferring it to the joint bank account.

With these plans spinning in his mind like a dozen tops on a table, he went back to bed. He could not sleep, however, and ended up tossing and turning until morning.

Numb

He must have fallen asleep at some point, because he awoke to find the room full of light and the house empty. It was 11 am. Rania had gone to her job at the hospital, where she worked as a nurse. Sanaya and Amira would both be at school now.

For a moment, he stood in the living room scratching his head, then he remembered the AI token. The two-million-dollar gamble. What was it called? Alpha101. Not wanting to wait for his computer to start, he thumbed the phone and checked the wallet.

Two things had happened. One, Alpha101 had tripled since he bought it. His share was worth $6 million and change. Two, New York Killa had become a monster. It was up massively. Like Pengu and Fartcoin before it, it had hit a $1.5 billion market cap. The tokens he’d kept, which had been worth $800K, were now worth $88 million.

Numbly, he sold 90% of both the Alpha101 and New York Killa, swapping them for Solana, and letting the rest ride. With the slippage, his net worth was now $68 million dollars. He could have retained more of the value if he’d spaced out his sales, but he didn’t care.

He felt nothing. No, “I did it,” escaped his lips, nor “alhamdulilah.” He was empty, not like a cup waiting to be filled, but like one that had fallen and shattered, and now could hold nothing. Perhaps he was in shock. He needed Rania. He needed to share this with her. She would help him make sense of it.

He checked his bank account. The 20K transfer was pending, and would clear by tomorrow, inshaAllah.

A New Idea

They only had one car, and Rania had taken it, so Deek got dressed and ordered an Uber. A half hour later, he strode into Kaiser Permanente Medical Center and took the elevator to the fourth floor.

Rania was seated in front of one of the computers at the nurse’s station, updating records no doubt. She saw him and gave him a quizzical look.

“Hey, baby,” she said. “Are you okay? How did you get here?”

Deek smiled, feeling happy and relieved to see her. “Honey, something has happened. I need to talk to you about it.”

Rania’s face fell. “What? Something with the kids?”

Deek shook his head. “No, nothing like that. It’s about the crypto.”

Rania’s face went white with rage. Deek had never seen her like this and had to take a step back. “You come to my workplace,” she seethed, “to bother me with this? I told you I don’t want to hear any more about it. I don’t believe in it, I don’t care about it. It’s not real. When will you understand that? It’s all play money. But the money you lose is real money.” She threw her hands up. “I can’t talk about this now. Just…” She exhaled loudly. “We’ll talk when I get home.”

Without a word, Deek turned and walked out. He felt like he’d been slapped.

It was at that moment that a new idea began to germinate in his mind. It was one he’d never allowed himself to contemplate, even when he and Rania had argued and fought. It was this: maybe it was time for him and Rania to separate. Not because he had money now, though perhaps that was part of it. One of the things that had kept him bound to her was that he couldn’t afford to live on his own.

More importantly, though, she didn’t believe in him and respect him anymore. You didn’t do anything, she’d said to him. Deek didn’t like that at all. And she’d hit him. He would probably have a mark on his chest from where she’d slapped him.

Another idea crept like a wolf into his mind and sat on its haunches, looking at him: maybe he should not tell Rania the full extent of his crypto windfall. She didn’t believe in it anyway. Maybe he would keep it to himself for now.

***

[Part 3 will be published next week inshaAllah]

 

Reader comments and constructive criticism are important to me, so please comment!

See the Story Index for Wael Abdelgawad’s other stories on this website.

Wael Abdelgawad’s novels – including Pieces of a Dream, The Repeaters and Zaid Karim Private Investigator – are available in ebook and print form on his author page at Amazon.com.

Related:

The Things He Would Say – [Part 1] – The Call to Hajj

A Hassan’s Tale Story: No Strings On Me

The post Moonshot: A Short Story [Part 2] – A Rich Man appeared first on MuslimMatters.org.

Israel destroyed a family's home within a matter of minutes.