Anti-Muslim Walk Naked for America
A Muslim girl doesn’t fall in love. She sort of glances down and realizes she is mired in it. She knows she loves a man when her family tells her who he is and she looks ten years into the future and sees the same man standing beside her, with three other wives.

“Where have you been?” my mother asked. “Your father has been looking for you.”

If she knew where I had been, going on AWOL was the least of my sins. For the first time in my life I was making my own decisions, and as the cliché goes, choices have consequences.

There was no doubt that my family was going to shun me. Were I Sudanese I would be sentenced to death. I was walking a very tight rope.

Well, I did not expect anything short of Kafir. Except that I was turning my back on a family that ‘loved’ me. The strange life, the unpronounceable name of heathens, my relation with a kafir – they could not take it.

I knew that the moment I said it was the very minute I died in the eyes of my adamant, unforgiving father. ‘And give not (your daughters) in marriage to Al-Mushrikun till they believe (in Allah alone)…’ the Quran tells him in Al-Baqarah 221.

I just hoped that he would not rally his sons, my brothers, make me undergo their version of Spanish Inquisition before killing me like that Pakistani girl,Farzana Parveen, who was attacked and killed by her father and brothers for marrying the man she loved. The man was Muslim, what about me who had run into the arms of the heathens of the Quran?

When I saw Solomon, the world spun from beneath my feet. I saw in his soul the things I was missing in mine. Love came slow and sure.

That’s what I was going to tell my father. Automatic excommunication. Well, thank God for the constitution of Kenya. I was not going to be jailed for denouncing Islam. Though Kenya maintains diplomatic ties with Sudan, what happens in Khartoum stays in Darfur. However, Kafir is Kafir whether it’s in Sudan or Eastleigh. The problem is Islamic fanatics and extremists like my father have reduced Prophet Mohammed’s (PBUH) simple talk to a babble of personal convictions and extremism.

I stood before my male-dominated family, five brothers and my father, and felt like Jesus before Pontius Pilate. Surprisingly, the tight knot in my stomach loosened. I stopped trembling and lips formed words I had never dared address my father and brothers with before.

“I do everything you say. Actually, I squirm when you cough.” I shook my head. “I don’t have to say it. I’m sure you believe in your believe, but not like most of the free world. If I repeat that I love a Christian man I won’t utter another word. But I am. It doesn’t matter I am dead to you, I already know the consequences. I am kafir, and I am going to marry my kafir man…”

If I took off my cloths now they wouldn’t be surprised, I knew. But that’s what I did.

The burqa peeled off me layer by layer until I stood in front of my father ‘naked’ – taut hipster pants and a tank top that barely covered my stomach.


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