I was at the masjid yesterday praising the Maker for awarding me Jannah in the dunya and the akhiro. Let's face it playboys, it is uncool to be detached from the heavenly choir, even if your whiskey cabinet is well stocked as mine. I was sporting a scented robe with gold trimmings like crown prince Abdullah, wearing black eyeliner after the tradition of the Salaf in the vain hope that nobody mistook me for a qowmu luut, and trying to cultivate a sujuud mark on my bidaar by the novel method of diving head first from an elevated platform.
Life was good. Until I heard the sheikh with the beautiful daughter I was too ugly to marry fulminating against the Shia and the Alawis of Syria. Wallahi I got mad as hell. "You takfiri bastard" I shouted, forgetting I was there to feel up his young dhoocil, "take your sectarian bull and shove it up the hole that dare not speak its name".
I rose up manfully to go beard to beard with him. "I won't let you stand in the House of God and slag off my Shia brothers in Islam. You are not paid for your insight into politics. Shut your pie hole and just lead the salaat"
Wadaadka waa ka naxiya.
Puzzled, he asked "asxaabta shiicada ma ka geybsantahey? Toloow maalintaan ka hore Somali noocaada indaha ma saarin".
No, I said. I'm not Shia. I just don't care for Takfirism in the masjid when I'm trying to get my khushuuc on. Maa ka joogtid aflagaadka markaas iyo ilaahay ka cabsatit.
The sheikh was sixty-five and cross eyed as Dajjal but not one to be easily intimidated. "Why don't you make me, doonfaryahow indaha xun?" was his reply. It was well played.
I was ready for a Holy Brawl, but next thing I know, I was jumped by ten fat guys screaming "takbeer". I thought they were saying "take beer" and got excited. Free drinks in the worship zone, could it be? Sad to say, it was the imam's posse covering his back like a true gangster and, in the process, covering mine with bruises. All in all a bad night for the cause of an inclusive and big tent Islam.
Was I right to call him out?
Life was good. Until I heard the sheikh with the beautiful daughter I was too ugly to marry fulminating against the Shia and the Alawis of Syria. Wallahi I got mad as hell. "You takfiri bastard" I shouted, forgetting I was there to feel up his young dhoocil, "take your sectarian bull and shove it up the hole that dare not speak its name".
I rose up manfully to go beard to beard with him. "I won't let you stand in the House of God and slag off my Shia brothers in Islam. You are not paid for your insight into politics. Shut your pie hole and just lead the salaat"
Wadaadka waa ka naxiya.
Puzzled, he asked "asxaabta shiicada ma ka geybsantahey? Toloow maalintaan ka hore Somali noocaada indaha ma saarin".
No, I said. I'm not Shia. I just don't care for Takfirism in the masjid when I'm trying to get my khushuuc on. Maa ka joogtid aflagaadka markaas iyo ilaahay ka cabsatit.
The sheikh was sixty-five and cross eyed as Dajjal but not one to be easily intimidated. "Why don't you make me, doonfaryahow indaha xun?" was his reply. It was well played.
I was ready for a Holy Brawl, but next thing I know, I was jumped by ten fat guys screaming "takbeer". I thought they were saying "take beer" and got excited. Free drinks in the worship zone, could it be? Sad to say, it was the imam's posse covering his back like a true gangster and, in the process, covering mine with bruises. All in all a bad night for the cause of an inclusive and big tent Islam.
Was I right to call him out?
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