One day in this life, insha’Allah, I want to leave the train in Marrakech or Istanbul and listen to the adhan as it soars from morning minarets. I want to sleep with the city in the day when the shops are shut on Ramadan time and wake with her when the night begins to shake hands and sing — to pray for peace and give thanks for three sips of water and a date. I want to kneel shoulder to shoulder with sibling strangers and put my forehead to the masjid floor, grateful for a chance to be better and a path to walk on my journey home. I will give salaams to the people in the street, to the pilgrims and porch cats sitting below windowsill flowers. Until then, alhamdulillah, I will be here at the other end of this world with my hands in the rain-blessed soil of this garden mosque, content to praise Allah by watching the snow peas spiral towards the top of the fence post, or heaven.