The azaan had already been called when she entered the mosque with her mother. I am taken aback at her innocent beauty. I have not seen her in three years. She is vivacious with her curly brown hair hanging almost to her waist, tied in a ribbon, twirling her hijab in her hand and skipping into the mosque as if it belonged to her. Completely at home in the surroundings.Some of the ladies have started to pray Sunnah. She is asking questions and chatting. I place my finger on my lips gesturing her to be silent. “Why?” she asks, I point to the praying ladies. “They are praying” she leans closer to me and whispers, “what are they praying?” I smile, “They are making their own personal phone call to Allah, and if you talk it disturbs them” I reply. I am elated as I think I have come up with an ingenious explanation.Her eyes light up, the curls bounce “ what is Allah’s phone number “ she asks, her intelligent brown eyes turned on me in full attention for the answer.I am stumped for a moment………..and then making a quick recovery I say “ Alhamdullillahi rab il Alameen………” She interrupts me “I know, I know” and proceeds to recite the Surah Fatiha.She hurries to the door to go tell her father, when one of the ladies who has completed the Sunnah asks her “what is your name?” She stops in her tracks, stands up straight, holds her head up regally and says, “ My name is Amira and it means Princess”She again turns to go to the men’s prayer room. I try to delay her “Where are you going” I ask. “ I am going to make my phone call to Allah.” She replies.
Not even five yet and she has His number.