Who's the Boss?

(Writer's note: I got lots of feedback on this story when it was first published years ago. Hopefully it will still be able to touch others the way it did then...)

Julie and I arrived far later than we earlier anticipated. I checked with my friend in Salford and found out that Maghrib would end in about 40 minutes after our arrival. Knowing fully well that no bus or cab would be able to race us to her place in that amount of time, I persuaded Julie to pray on the bus. First though, we needed to use a restroom.

Both of us were not quite familiar with Manchester's Picadilly area, but I felt more responsible to guide Julie, being the senior she looked up to. We quickly entered a fast food restaurant to ask for direction to the nearest lavatory.

The man behind the counter flashed a kind grin and greeted us with a salam upon our entry. It was obvious that he was not originally from around England, perhaps of African in origin. Nevertheless, he was a Muslim and I was quite relieved, thinking he would be more emphatic to our plight…

At first he seemed rather uncertain whether or not to let us know that there was a private restroom in the restaurant, which was ‘strictly for the employees’ use’. I tried to look as desperate as possible and told him that we needed to use one badly as we were in a race against time to pray Maghrib.

Upon hearing that, he immediately invited Julie and I to use a small room at the back of the shop to pray. It was meant to be a store but the management never actually used it for that purpose, so he used it as a praying room instead. "Don't worry," he told us, "the restroom is just next to the store."

Trouble came in the form of his supervisor. No, the supervisor told us sternly - customers were not allowed to use either the toilet or the store. Allowing us to do so would mean a breach in their duty to the management. The first guy talked to his supervisor in a foreign language. I supposed he was trying to explain the grave situation we were in.

Then he left his superior, quickly ushered us to the back of the restaurant, showed us where the toilet was and he went to face his supervisor once more. Julie and I tried to make the most out of the situation - quickly took wudhu’ and prayed. Every single second counted.

The good man returned after what seemed like a heated argument. “Take your time sisters,” he said. “I’m more afraid of God than my boss. If I don’t help you now - how will I answer to God in hereafter?”

His statement touched me to the core. Here was a simple man, defying his boss for the sake of two unknown persons (for all he knew, we could be two terrorists in disguise trying to plan an attack using the restaurant as a base or something) - because of his faith in Islamic ‘ukhuwwah’, all in the name of Allah.

We don’t come by his kind easily nowadays, do we?