The Holy Man & His House Servant

(Based on a true story)

Scene: A coffee shop in Canarsie Brooklyn. Three Arab men sit together, sipping tea, nodding at their own wisdom. One of them—let’s call him Sheikh Mahmoud—leans back, shaking his head dramatically.

Sheikh Mahmoud: (sighs deeply) Wallahi, my wife… she doesn’t even try anymore. She used to look nice for me. Now? (shrugs) She just comes home from work and does nothing.

Friend 1: (concerned) Astaghfirullah, brother… but do you tell her what you need? Maybe she doesn’t know?

Sheikh Mahmoud: (scoffs) Of course I tell her! I tell her, “Look nice for me, dress well, make yourself attractive for your husband.” But she just… (shakes head in disappointment).

Friend 2: (thoughtful nod) Miskeen. This is why the women are becoming more corrupt. No femininity anymore.

Just as Sheikh Mahmoud takes another sip of tea, a fourth voice cuts through the air.

Kadija (overhearing): Ah… so she doesn’t look good enough for you? Tell me something, Sheikh. When exactly should she make time for this “beauty regimen” of yours? Before or after carrying the heavy grocery bags you refuse to help with?

Silence. The other two men shift uncomfortably in their seats.

Sheikh Mahmoud: (clears throat) I— I was in the middle of giving a lecture…

Kadija (mock surprise): Ohhhh, I see. You were so busy spreading wisdom that your wife—your partner in life—had to drag those heavy bags alone. And let me guess, when she got home, you didn’t even speak to her. Just sat down, put on your YouTube lectures, and waited for her to make your tea, hmm?

Ahmed shifts in his seat, gripping his teacup tighter.

Kadija: And now… now you have the audacity to complain? You sit here, with your full stomach and your self-righteous lectures, talking about how she doesn’t “please you enough” with her looks?

Friend 1: (quietly) Uh… brother Sheikh, maybe—

Kadija: No, no. Let’s break this down. She works. She pays half the rent. She feeds you, serves you, and runs your home. And yet, here you are, whining that she isn’t some exotic dessert for you to feast your eyes on at the end of the day?

Silence. Sheikh Mahmoud looks down at his tea. Friend 2 clears his throat, trying to change the subject.

Kadija: You know what’s funny, Sheikh? If she did dress up, if she did spend all her time focused on her beauty, you’d be the first one complaining that she was “too worldly.” You’d say, “Why are you always focused on looks? Women need to be modest, not vain.”

Sheikh Mahmoud: (muttering) That’s not what I meant…

Kadija (leaning in): But that is what you meant. You don’t actually want a wife. You want a servant.

Silence. The other two men suddenly find their tea very interesting.

Kadija (crosses arms): And tell me, Sheikh Mahmoud… how does a man of God—a man who has memorized the entire holy book—live like this? Because surely, as a religious leader in your community, you must know that your actions speak louder than your lectures.

Sheikh Mahmoud: (nervous chuckle) No, no, I don’t know… God just gives me these blessings… I see people change because of what I say, and it’s like, subhanAllah, God just—

Kadija (deadpan stare): You’re trying to convince me? Or yourself?

Silence. The mask is cracking. His performance is failing. His friends exchange awkward glances.

Kadija: Because a man who truly walks with God doesn’t need to shout it from the rooftops. Just like a man who truly has money doesn’t need to say “I’m rich” in every conversation. You don’t see people walking around saying “I’m a human! I’m a human!” because it’s already obvious.

Friend 1: (coughs into his tea) That’s… a very good point.

Kadija (smirks): Next time, Sheikh Mahmoud… carry the damn bags.

Kadija stands up, adjusting her coat. She drops a few bills on the table and walks out, leaving Sheikh Mahmoud completely speechless. His two friends glance at him, shaking their heads.

Friend 1: (slowly) …so, uh… what was the lecture about again?

Friend 2: (sips tea) Doesn’t matter.

End scene.