The Keeper

Prizren, Kosovo - June 2024

I leaned against the masjid wall, staring ahead of me at the intricate pattern on the wooden divider, reciting dhikr (devotional words of remembrance) and dua (supplication). There was an occasional breeze that came through the window like a refreshing treat.

To a passerby, I was resting in the shade on the hot, summer day. Internally, a storm was brewing, the waves were strong and I was preparing myself for the ride.

I gripped my oars and rode the waters as my life-to-date manual taught me. The manual didn’t contain anything about this specific situation but, thankfully, I’d seen this general pattern before so I knew how to steer my boat to get me to shore. I closed my eyes. Row, row, row - only a little bit left.

My rowing was interrupted by the Keeper of the masjid. I reached land. The Keeper, an elderly, Turkish lady looked at me with kind and concerned eyes, like I was a person washed ashore, in need of shelter, food, and comfort. I started to get up and she put her hand with a slight pressure on my shoulder and said “Dinlen!” (“Rest!”). She scurried away and I return my eyes to the wooden partition when I felt her move my upper body forward. She placed a folded prayer mat as a cushion behind my back and then moved my upper body to its original position. She then stroked my shoulders and said, “Dinlen.” “Yorgunsun (you are tired).” She repeated these two phrases and moved her hand to my head before leaving my side.

The lightning could be seem in the distance like a twinkle of a firefly, the waves, mere water moving its course. The thunder was silenced to a distant rumble.