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[ I prayed two rakah salah before writing this – I wrote it after her sentencing but honestly
have not had the guts to publish it. I have been scared by friends and relatives – paranoid
in these times of guilt by association –‘Don’t write they will come after you too.” For
what? Writing a blog entry. Fear is a strange thing...Allah
ٰ
یلاعت و ہناحبس
; may I never be
fearful of anyone but You. Ameen.]
She set up the table and pressed play. Tugging at her floral scarf,
she instructed me to let the video run until the end. It was a documentary on
the atrocities being committed in Bosnia. Her kind, confident voice soothed my
anxiety. It was my first time manning the booth in Slater Hall on the Wellesley
campus. Next to us was a Native American lady selling silver jewelry. She
handed us some extra pamphlets and waved goodbye.
Sister Aafia, the sister I remember was the heart behind the MSA of Greater