That is how I used to understand the sentence. I imagined we were asking the child whose name was Abdullah to go to sleep putting his trust in Allah. I didn’t know at the time the servant of Allah was me and that my grandmother was herself.
I would fall asleep quickly in her bed. Her thinning hair that exuded the scent of olive oil soap and wood tar, and her clothes perfumed with wild thyme, sumac, and basil, made me feel safe. I would nod off quickly before being pummeled by Aisha’s threats and curses.
“I hope to bury you! I hope you go blind! May your heart be smitten with blindness!”
Blindness and death. I didn’t know which was more terrifying. They were one and the same.
That supplication echoed in the little valley and the dry brook all night long, mingling with the barking of str
