The danger of unsegregated food lines
It’s mid afternoon and the scheduled MSA dinner is supposed to be taking place, but the only people present seem to be the organizers, and a few invited suspicious white people no one really knew or talked too.
Within forty-five minutes, the majority of the guests funnelled into hall decorated with curtains that they have at home. A high ranking brother, who goes by Abdellah Rahman Kareem Abu-Abdullah the Second, dramatically flailed as he prepared to keep this dinner Halal and orderly at any cost.
With his stern bushy, full and shapely eyebrows furrowed and his beard sharply trimmed, Abu-Abdullah the Second adjusted his authentic Saudi imported thobe and whipped out the list.
The brown conservatives are spaced far away from the rest of the crowd with their token white friends. Check.
The Barca and Madrid fans were separate. Check.
Anyone who did watch hockey would be guilt tripped into supporting Kadri from the leafs out of solidarity with a fellow Muslim. Deen (religion) before anything else, even if it meant supporting the worst hockey team in the league. So hockey allegiances wouldn’t be a problem.
Now the atmosphere. Abu-Abdullah the Second stroked his beard, a stroke which he had perfected to give a pondering yet subtly judgemental aura to his authority.
Music was properly islamic as music could possibly be. Check.
“There won’t be any female singers, drums or non Arab music playing today,” he smiled as the ink made a decisive slash through the halal music box.
Next Abu-Abdullah the Second surveyed the tables for gender distribution.
Tables with more than one gender were all Muharram, wouldn’t want any flirting. Check.
A total of 3 black people were spread out through the crowd.
“Wouldn’t want to look too unislamic, nor would we want them to start any trouble with those Black women…always asking too many questions, so aggressive”, he thought as he shook his head. Another check graced the face of his holy list.
Lastly, non hijab wearing women were rare and endangered in this jungle. Not to mention the majority of the Hijab wearing women had dressed modestly and not a single wrist or ankle was peeking out into daylight.
Abdu-Abdullah sighed in relief, God had spared him and the rest of the men from uncontrollable fitna.
He was almost done, but the hardest parts remained. An austere grimace worthy of the Day of Judgement settled on the exec’s face. It was time for the food lines.
Of course Mr Abdu-Abdullah had the Ummah (brotherhood) by his side to remind the ladies that they needed to avert their smoky kohl enhanced gazes.
The vigilant president patrolled the men’s side, averting any transgressing women with the power of his brooding three piece suit and on fleek pocket watch.
On the other side, the vice president adjusted her blazer with more precision then Vladimir Putin’s photo- ops.
Before the dinner, Mr Abu-Abdullah had agreed to a rare interview explaining his most enlightened reflections and reasoning on the danger of unsegregated foodlines.
“Assalaamu-Alaikum dear reporter, I must make it imperatively clear that before this event I took preventative measures by asking the chef to place the buffet tables across the room after last dinner’s incidents,” Adbu- Abdullah promptly straightened his thobe’s wrinkles.
“I must say the last dinner was absolutely awful. A salacious woman handed a plate of food to a brother and their hands touched! Ya Allah, we cannot have this! It is a slippery slope, what happens next?! The dangers of fitna cannot corrupt the sanctity of our MSA, Astaghfirrullah.” Abu-Abdullah shuddered.
Back in the dinner lines, a couple of other brothers voiced their concern with unsegregated gender lines.
An older student Mo, peered across the room where the women’s clothing faded into blurs from the distance.
“Abdu-Abdullah has done a great job, Masha Allah man. If he didn’t then who would prevent grinding in lines? The distance is great because I don’t have to see hijabis peeling oranges,” he paused to squint in the women’s direction.
“Like God forbid that these women unwrap candy. Men’s minds don’t work the same. Hijab is like the wrapper to sweetness, all we can do is visualize them unwrapping it. I’m so glad we didn’t have mayonnaise or whip cream on the menu, imagine that dribbling down chins, Astaghfirrullah. ” Mo broke his serious facade and smirked slightly.
Ali, a first year desi student in Science who goes by Al, was thankful for Abu-Abdullah’s hard work.
“He honestly helps us so much, Al Hamdullilah, like bruh, this guy, Wallah, my nigga, just bless him. He prevents so much Haram from going around. He protects us, man. I don’t even know what I would do without him,” Al said.
After starting a small Takbeer (cheer) for the duty bound Abdu-Abdullah, he elaborated on his specific concerns.
“Oh My Allah, I can’t handle girls eating. It’s just too much. I just visualize them and their sexy kohl eyes cooking chicken for me the morning after”, Al shook his head and broke down a little. A cushion of brothers prevented him from collapsing, handling him water bottles and fanning him with mosque pamphlets.
Across the room, Stephanie Smith, an invitee scowled at the segregation. She didn’t understand why the women wouldn’t help themselves to food on the otherside.
“I honestly think this is so oppressive. Like, ugh, these women don’t even see how unequal this is. I’m thinking on ways to liberate these Muslim women. My friend are blinded, helpless to the patriarchy, they deserve food on the other side of the room.” She scowled, shouting over Sophia an actual Muslimah trying to speak.
After a series of photographs and well seasoned chicken, the guests at the dinner went their separate ways. Smith went on to brainstorm an initiative called WFHOMW (White Feminists Help Oppressed Muslim Women) while Abdel Rahman Kareem Abu-Abdullah the Second congratulated himself on an uneventful, mediocre dinner.