You Truly Assumed

I wave quickly at the Baba before he enters the men’s prayer room. He’s easy to spot because he’s one of only five Black Muslims in Lullwood, one of them being myself. Because I’ve grown up here, I’ve never had to experience living in a place where I’m the religious majority, and that’s what’s always been the main source of connection in Lullwood. But sometimes that comes at the expense of erasing or minimizing my Blackness because Black Muslims are often overlooked, not only in Lullwood but also the Ummah.

I congregate with the rest of the teens towards the back of the room, all other female-identifying members in front of us. The comforting feeling of home wraps around me as I lay out my prayer rug.

“Make the rows straight and do not differ, lest your hearts differ,” the imam says, beginning the prayer service.

Calmness and peace wash over me, and before I know it, voices begin to float through the room signaling that the prayers are over. I fold up my prayer rug and head out to find Baba and Mama. Unease creeps back in at the relative quiet of the hall, and no one bumps into me and starts to chat like usual. It’s like we’re all stuck in our own bubbles created by our worries about the aftermath of an action none of us are involved in but we’re all connected to because of our faith.

It’s terrifying.