"A few months before I was born, my dad met a stranger who was new to our small town. From the beginning, my father was fascinated with this enchanting newcomer, and soon invited him to live with our family. The stranger was quickly accepted and was around to welcome me into the world a few months later.
As I grew up. I never questioned his place in our family. In my young mind, each member had a special niche. My brother, Yusuf, five years my senior, was my example. Samiyya, my younger sister, gave me an opportunity to play ' big brother' and develop the art of teasing. My parents were complimentary instructors. Mother taught me to love Allah and father taught me how to obey Him. But the stranger was our storyteller. He could weave the most fascinating tales. Adventures, mysteries were daily conversations. He could hold our whole family spell-bound for hours each evening. If I wanted to know about politics, history, or science, he knew it.
He knew about the past and seemed to understand the present. The pictures he could draw were so life like that I would often laugh or cry as I watched. He was like a friend to the whole family. He was always encouraging us to see the movies and he even made arrangements to introduce us to several famous people.
The stranger was an incessant talker. Father didn't seem to mind, but sometimes mother would quietly get up, while the rest of us were enthralled with one of his stories of faraway places go to her room, read the Qur'an and offer Namaz.
I wonder now if she ever prayed that the stranger would leave. You see, my father ruled our household with certain moral convictions. But this stranger never felt obligation to honor them.
But the stranger felt like we needed exposure and enlightened us to other ways of life.
He made cigarettes look tasty. He talked freely (probably too much too freely). His comments were sometimes blatant, sometimes suggestive, and generally embarrassing.
As I look back, I believe it was Allah's Mercy that the stranger did not influence us more. Time after time he opposed the values of my parents. Yet he was seldom rebuked and never asked to leave.
You would still see him sitting over in a corner, waiting for someone to listen to him talk and watch him draw his pictures.
Can you guess, who?
