Thoughts

My Longest Day

The day was looking like it was going to be a good one. The sun was shining. My family had been living in South Africa for two and a half years, and we had settled into a routine. It was the weekend. My husband was out watching our son play cricket.

June 28, 2024

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The day was looking like it was going to be a good one. The sun was shining. My family had been living in South Africa for two and a half years, and we had settled into a routine. It was the weekend. My husband was out watching our son play cricket.

I was arriving home with our other children after their activities when I noticed an unknown  car in the driveway. There were two men casually carrying out our television. The next few minutes were a blur – another couple of men appeared and aggressively confronted me and the children. They grabbed my handbag, forced me to drive away, then quickly left the scene.

Friends soon heard what had happened and came home to check on us. Policemen and detectives turned up in quick succession. Later, a fingerprint expert appeared. He dusted the television table to look for evidence. He found just one set of handprints – and the handprints were tiny. With a smile, he turned to our 5-year old daughter Amaani. ‘’It wasn’t me’’ she said quickly and defensively. “I never went to the table. I didn’t do it.”

As a Muslim, I believe in the day of Judgement, the day which will be the longest day, the day when all our deeds will be laid before us so justice can be done. In the Book Muslims turn to for Guidance, the Quran, God says that among the parts of our body that will bear witness that day to how we have lived our life will be our hands. I consider the justice system to be both evidence-based and administered with wisdom.

During that one long day of the burglary, I witnessed a lack of conscience and an absence of heart yet I also witnessed great kindness and compassion. And I saw best efforts to make sure all evidence was gathered and considered carefully  before justice could be done.

By the `end of the day, my 6 year old son suggested an alternative approach to justice: ’Those men should have  come to my cricket match, so I could have whacked them with my cricket bat” he announced. I’m pretty sure violence isn’t the answer, and thought to myself "God knows best.”