Masjid Lovers

Chapter 1: The Fart During Maghrib

I looked at the clock on my phone for the 7th time in the past minute. 8:43. Only 3 minutes until Maghrib prayer.

I put plastic gloves on my hand ready to serve food for iftar. I usually like serving food during Ramadan because I like to see the beautiful Muslim elderly women light up when I give them their first meal of the day. After the children were served, it was time for the women and lastly, the men.

Alhamdulillah there was plenty of fresh salads and fruit for everyone. Typical pakistani rice, bread, soups, spinach, and more delicious food to feast on with our Muslim Frederick community friends. The outside was filled with laughter, joy, and happiness from everyone. Children playing in the playground- *THUDDDD* A loud noise caught everyone's attention to the slide that was attached to the playground. An ugly broccoli haired fetus had broken the slide.

The kid began to cry and yell for his baba Ezedine. A group of teenagers began to cry from laughter at the poor fetus who fell and hurt himself.

After 10 minutes, the Imam made the prayer call for everyone to go inside for salat. All the boys and girls rushed into the bathrooms for wudhu. The bathroom started to flood in with people racing to be the ones who got to wear the shlakas. First come first serve for the toilets. ⅔ of the toilets were clogged. Women had to wait in lines. 2 minutes until salat, and more and more elderly woman rushed in and out. I waited patiently for all the elders to finish wudhu before taking my turn. My patience was sadly rewarded with the ripped shlaka. By the time I finally finished washing my feet and drying them with paper towel, the Imam had already started on the first rakaa.

I quickly ran in tripping on my way to the spot. Luckily everyone was doing sujood so they didn't see me. I crawled to an open spot and followed the lead of the imam. Two rakaats down was when trouble came. The hummus was getting a hold of my stomach. Grrrrrr. Beads of perspiration started to slide down my face as I held down the gas that had started to trickle down my stomach and with all my will I tried to hold it in.

To my avail, I failed to keep my carbon dioxide in my stomach and a large toot emitted from my buttcrack.

I looked around wearily to only meet the eyes of a brother across the prayer room. I quickly avoided his gaze and immediately left and rushed straight to the bathrooms. To my horror the one toilet that worked was taken. I was left with the decision of using a clogged one or possibly sharting. I decided that stinking up the bathroom was the better idea. I briskly went into the stall and slammed the door. As soon as my cheeks touched the toilet seat, it was as if Mount Vesuvius had erupted. I held on for dear life as all my stomach was emptied of all the ethnic food I had eaten.

An old woman of which I had always sent my salams to walked in and knocked on my stall. I internally screamed of embarrassment but I kept my cool.

"Beta, are you okay?" She asked carefully.

I tried to reply with a "yes, sister", but it didn't come out right. It came out as a grunt when more of my innards spilled into the toilet. Once I was at a low point, I asked her shyly, "can you fill up my wadhaya... and could you make it so it's filled up to the rims?"

Even inside the stall, I was blushing harder than ever. Nothing more embarrassing has ever happened. Before this incident, the most embarrassing thing that had happened to me was doing my tajweed wrong in front of the entire Sunday school.

"Beta of course I will, can you tell me if you're okay in there?" She inquired concernedly.

As soon as those words left her mouth another wave of spillage occurred. It was also safe to mention that the bathroom, previously smelling of saffron and orange, smelled like the farm we slaughter our Eid sheep at.

"Yes, I'm quite alright." I squeaked.

She slid the wadhaya under the toilet stall door. And quickly rushed out, most likely from lack of oxygen.

After I spent the next ten minutes making sure I emptied my rectum. My large intestine ached from the consistent pressure inflicted upon it.

After I finished cleaning up the mud war also known as my buttocks, I stood up and reached for the flush, when I remembered that it doesn't work.

Looking at the mess that could easily be considered a natural disaster, I started to have a panic attack. Stupid, stupid, stupid.  I mentally screamed at myself. I had no clue whether to flee the scene or clean it up. I decided like the good Muslim I am, to stay and find a solution. I decided to fill up the water bucket and pour the water into the toilet, the Arab way. To my dismay, the poop was not going anywhere, in fact it had rose to the brim of the toilet bowl and threatened to spill out. I thought to myself us arabs never stop trying after giving it a second try, it still failed and all of my feces spilled out upon the tile floor.

Knowing it was best to leave, I washed my hands, my face, and made wudhu again for the coming prayer later on. As a woman, I liked to be as prepared as possible. Therefore, I did so. I walked out after adjusting my then messed up hijab, and to my horror, I met my eyes with the same brother that heard me fart. I almost forced myself to run back into the bathroom, but I kept my cool and continued to walk. I went to gather some dessert, such as cantaloupe and watermelon to settle my now empty stomach. Most of the people were getting ready to clean up. Teenage boys were playing basketball down at the court and children were running around the playground. Women were sitting in tables laughing and enjoying their Ramadan night drinking tea and coffee and sharing cultural sweets.

Having finished my plate and still having room for some more food, I got up for seconds.

All that was left was a spoonful of kheer and a gulab jamun before I was stuffed. After my rough (and exhilarating) night, I walked to my 1997 Tercel and drove home. Alhamdulillah this night didn't get any worse than it had already been.