I clenched my teeth in anger, feeling the darts of his preaching pierce every part of me. I wanted so badly to scream and shut him up, to tackle him with my own arguments against his (and our collective) religious dogma. A dew of sweat trickled down my armpit, a testament to the uneasiness I felt as I sat on the rug in the mosque, sandwiched between two heavily-bearded and obvious Islamic radicals who nodded in agreement to all the imam was preaching, occasionally whispering “Allahu Akbar” and “Adhusubillahi” respectively to whenever God’s grace and blessings and abominable actions were mentioned by the imam. It was as though that elderly man at the front had me in mind when he chose the topic for the day’s jum’at service sermon.
“THE HORRIBLE ABOMINATION CALLED HOMOSEXUALS…”
My hands intermittently and instinctively clenched into fists, itching so badly to smash the jaws holding the thousand strands of long facial hair on the imam’s chin.
“Homosexuals would on the day of judgement be lined at the very bottom of the pit of hell,” he railed. “Right there, they shall suffer a very great torment, my brothers and sisters in Islam.” Continue reading