When we were back home, we used to go to a school that was all Muslim; not an Islamic school, but due to apartheid, all the students in the school were of the same “type” and thus, our public school was in some ways also an Islamic school. So, the school board integrated Islamic studies into the curriculum, and every day for an hour we would learn to read the Qur’aan, memorize short surahs, and learn basic Islamic history. One of the ustaadhs (religious teachers), was this man Q.
He was youngish (mid-30’s perhaps), always smiling, always happy and always joking. Everybody loved him, and really looked forward to the hour when he would walk in, replace our regular teacher, and proceed to do his thing…and every time I read about an ustaadh, or “molvie” or whatever they are called, being a dreadful bore, I feel so bad for the people who never knew our Ustaadh Q.
But how I dreaded that ruler he would rap our knuckles every time we made a boo-boo. He would kind of regret it too, giving us this look like “there is no other way now, I let 5 mistakes go by and didn’t do anything. Sorry. *Whack*” 😆