Reset-Act 2

Act 2

Chapter 8

God is greater, God is greater! God is greater, God is greater!

"Ughhh, it's time for the dawn prayer already? I'm still tired," Hamza mumbled, his hand rubbing his forehead in exhaustion. For a moment a part of him considered ignoring the sound and going back to bed, its warmth lovingly embracing beckoning him to stay behind. Had he been weaker-willed he might have actually done so. But a weak will was not a part of Hamza's personality, so instead of plugging his ears he said, "No, rules are rules. When it's time to pray, it's time to pray."

Tossing around in his thatch cot on the floor, he could feel his eyes tingle as he opened them, each eyeball not wanting to be disturbed at such an early hour. Despite their pleas Hamza kept waking up anyway, moving one leg off the bed, then another, until finally he was sitting up face down. He sniffled a little as he tried to suck in his loose mucus, the familiar sandy scent from his room tickling his nose as he did so. Even though it was early in the morning the summer air was still hot and dry, and all the while the call for prayer was still reverberating throughout the village of Deir Matrouh in the Nile delta.

"Alright, here we go," he said, pushing himself off his cot and dusting off his beige robe. He then slid into his leathery sandals and meandered out of his room, placing his hand on the mud-brick walls for support and direction. As he made it into the main hallway there was no trace of activity from either of his parents, which meant that they were still in bed sleeping.

"Not again," Hamza said, shaking his head in disapproval. Changing course from the front door to his parents' bedroom, he tiptoed inside and saw his mother and father comfortably at rest, seemingly oblivious to the loud cries from the mosque. Approaching his parents he poked first his mom and then his dad before whispering, "Mama, Baba. Wake up, it's time for the dawn prayer."

"Mhmm, Hamza sweetie we know, we hear the prayer call loud and clear," Hamza's mother said, her voice betraying no sense of urgency.

"Then what are you guys still doing in bed, we should all be going to the mosque together," Hamza replied.

"Your mother and I will pray before sunrise, we promise," Hamza's father said. "You can still go the mosque by yourself if you want though."

"You guys," Hamza protested, stomping his feet to the ground in frustration.

"The longer you stay here the more late you're gonna be," Hamza's mother said.

"Ugh, fine, I'm heading out now. But promise me you'll at least try to go tomorrow."

"Yes sweetie, we promise. Now run along then."

As Hamza left the room he knew that despite his mother's assurances the same story would repeat itself tomorrow, with him trying to coax his parents out of bed but ultimately failing to do so. It wasn't like they were doing something strange and not praying at all, Hamza thought to himself; it was just that they could be doing even more by coming to the mosque and praying with the whole community. So he kept on trying to convince them every day, hoping for a change of heart.

Leaving his home and walking onto the main village street he could see that a couple of neighbors were already on their way to Deir Matrouh's largest house of worship, Masjid as-Salam, the mosque of peace. It wasn't a lavish building by any means, barely more extravagant than most of the village's houses. It too was made of mud-brick, with palm leaves covering it up as a roof. The only things that made it particularly unique were the indigo calligraphy strokes streaming across the walls and the minaret tower from which the prayer call echoed throughout the land. At this hour the tower was illuminated by the full moon shining behind it, the rest of the sky also shimmering with the light of thousands of stars. Like a beacon the minaret guided everyone to the confines of the mosque, so that no one would get lost trying to practice their beliefs if they chose to.