TALES FROM AROUND THE WORLD

You aren’t more difficult to see than a black ant, scampering over a black rock, under the cover of the darkest of moonless nights. You aren’t more difficult to hear than Yoonus (as) was when he cried out in the belly of a whale, in the darkness and depth of the night sea. What is inside you isn’t harder to know than every single leaf that changes colour and falls off of every autumn tree. Allah (swt) sees you, hears you, and knows what is hidden so deep within yourself that it may still be a mystery even to you. He can distinguish your quiet whispering voice from the voices of billions of others. The bustling of marketplace shouts and arguments do not drown you out. The roaring of stormy oceans do not drown you out. Your voice doesn’t crackle or get cut off when you’re calling out to Him. This isn’t a long distance phone call. Your suffering isn’t unknown to Him. Your anger isn’t unknown to Him. That which you’ve suppressed and controlled within you isn’t unknown to Him. The truth of ...

In the police station from which the street got its name the inspector’s stomach was telling him it was Lunch time. He wiped his fat face with his handkerchief for the tenth time that afternoon, wishing he could crawl out of his damp skin, he looked up at the pathetic excuse for a ceiling fan that groaned as if it hated its job and sighed in frustration, he couldn’t wait to get out of his office. “I was on my way out so you would have to make this fast. Who are you and why did you ask to see me?” he asked the man sitting from across his desk. “I was told you are the man in charge here.” Trying to hide his impatience the inspector nodded. “Yes how may I help you?” “I want to make a confession.” For a moment the inspector wondered if he looked like a reverend father to the man. “You do realise this is a police station” “Yes sir.” “All right Mr…” “Patrick Attah.” “Patrick Attah I am Inspector Gabriel Annum. What is your confession?” he asked trying not to sound impatient. If this was one ...