It’s as easy as buying a ticket. Not for the lottery, but for the flight halfway across the globe to a place you’ve long wanted to go.
Layla believed in the truth. She found it in the pages of a book. Her ancestors were once enslaved. Not slavery as the human condition, but slavery as a man-made institution. She wanted to visit the place of their suffering to search for redemption. She fled her home, the one she had built with hopes and dreams. She boarded a flight. A woman of few languages, she found sound musical or accented. If you could talk, you could sing. She had confidence, but she needed explanations. When did white supremacy begin and when will it end?
Her flight landed on an island. It was an island where travelers wrote poetry as history. It was a land where everything was written.
Slaves were not allowed to read or write. They were only allowed to fight. They fought wars that the higher ups conjured up.
Layla could read from left to right and right to left. There were so many history books on her shelf. When God spoke, she listened. She imitated his rhythm. She opened her eyes and memorized. His light, His vision. She discovered prayer beads and meditated with complete submission.
Prayer is a language. The slaves were taught religion was off limits. They couldn’t so much as see their mirror image to self-correct through a lens, through a prism. Surrounded by water, and the irony is that they were not deemed worthy of reflection. Layla entered a debate: what is the goal of white supremacy? Is it to siphon resources? To profit off misfortune? Does racism serve a purpose? How do we seek justice?
Layla was in love with her oppressor. She begged for forgiveness often on his behalf. The color of her skin a source of apologetics. She was plagued by an inferiority complex. She wanted good hair and a beautiful complexion. She wanted to be desired and worth mention.
On this island, she found books published by slaves who somehow obtained an education despite oppression. She baked in modest clothing under a blazing sun. She carried love with her of the one true God. There was only one. She compared poetry and saw similarities within texts of wars with those who would rape and pillage.
The people of the island were every shade from light to dark. They embraced their hair and the crashing waves over time.
Slavery was the path of yesterday. The shackles were removed. Layla could dance. She never answered her question: when did white supremacy begin? She caught a glimpse of the consequences of arrogance in the Holy Quran and Hadith. For example, Shaytan, who was made of fire, would not humble himself before Adam Alayhi salaam when Allah Subhanahu wa ta'ala commanded the angels to prostrate before Adam, Allah's creation: the first man made of clay. Shaytan was resigned to Jahannam for being unwilling to obey Allah, The Creator, and bow before the new creation. Arrogance is a major sin in Islam.
Layla was humble. She was busy writing poetry. Clearly, race was encapsulated in words on many pages. But on this island, she found inspiration. The key to unlock her creativity was to write poetry.
She loved predictability—flights that leave on time and land just fine. What did melanin have to do with punctuality and professions and precision? Her people obeyed God and feared their slave master. Layla’s politics were a disaster, but her art was something she would leave behind when her soul was in the Hereafter.
In one word, she was Black. She was content. She was sharp. Her mind open. Had she been born at a different time, how she would have suffered. The human family—sisters and brothers—burn in the heat of the sun. They sink in the sand. They all want to love—to be chosen. This vacation began and ended. Her ancestors trembled in their graves. Were their sons and daughters still slaves? Were they still on the island? Did governments perpetuate violence?
Life does not begin and end. It is continuous. Layla became a friend of the philosophers. She gave birth to new rumors. White supremacy had ended. Only piety distinguished us, according to the Prophet Muhammad, peace be upon him. Layla was no longer a victim. She received her liberation. It just takes great patience to accept revelation. Islam has spread throughout the nations. We are no longer on islands of separation. Hidden within us is a noble soul and a pure heart. Faith is the start.
