Sister Souljah - Life After Death

“I don’t see nothing wrong with being a princess, or feeling like one even if you are not. Look at you, Dr. Amal, you are chilling very hard. Somewhere your father or mother or lover or whatever must have treated you like a princess. My father did. I wouldn’t trade it for the world.”

“Therein lies the problem,” she said, standing up from her chair and walking around to where I sat on my own crocodile. She sat across from me on her divan. My eyes fixed on those mean-ass croc stilettos. And her flawless pedicure.

“A child captured by these stories grows up to be an adult who believes that she is always right. That her choices are correct. That her actions cannot be challenged. That everyone else is beneath her, or him in the case of a prince or king complex,” she explained. I was glad she threw in that a man can have this complex too. Even though I didn’t give a fuck, really.

“The problem is that these stories do not convey the proper order to life. Allah is ONE. That’s first. If children are taught by their parents to know and understand this, and to read Quran as the main book that is repeatedly read, and to make their prayers properly, then their minds would not be in a state of disorder and chaos and confusion. Once you know that Allah is ONE. Once you read even the first chapter of the Holy Quran, you, no matter who you are, will learn your position in all things. Allah is ONE, Allah is the only ONE to be worshipped. If you knew this, you would never worship anything else or anyone else, not even your mother who birthed you or your father who raised you. And, most importantly, you would not waste your entire life wanting, expecting, and organizing others to bow down and worship you.” She said it sweetly, but I could feel the kick in it. I was ’bout to swerve around all of this religious talk.

“Is there an express line?” I asked again calmly and sweetly. I even threw a smile on it.

“There is!” She caught it. She leaned forward and said. “But allow me to caution you. I, Dr. Amal Janebi, am nothing but a warner. The express line as you call it, is usually used by souls who already know that there is no God but Allah. Souls who already have read Quran, who were born into the Faith, practiced the Faith, and somehow chose an evil detour and ended up at the Last Stop Before the Drop. Since they knew the truth all along, and knew they were wrong for each and every misstep, their return to the truth makes it possible for them to advance swiftly.” She stood up. Walking gracefully around her office as she spoke more to me.

“The question for you, Ms. Santiaga, is do you believe and think that you can properly self-reflect, which is mandatory, before advancing directly to submitting your prayers of sincerity?” she challenged. And she had used the word I hate, mandatory. Of course I know what that means. I did fifteen mandatory years on lock. Self-reflection is mandatory to pray my way out. I want to self-reflect, make one sincere prayer and be gone, either way. I had decided that last night after all the bitches stopped talking in the dark so I could think.

“So are you saying that if I complete today’s session with you and give you my essay assignments and the group vocabulary sentences, that completes my self-reflection?” I asked.

“No. I will of course collect those from you right now. In order to bypass completion of the self-reflection period, or full term, you may request to advance directly to the Truth Booth, which is the final test of the Self-Reflection Center. Inside of that booth alone, you will face yourself. You will face all of your good, bad, and evil. You will be questioned. If you pass, you will advance beyond the six academies. If you fail, you will not. Additionally, there is a possibility—if you are unable to confront yourself properly and honestly, and if you deny, hide, cover up, mislead, deceive, or lie—that you may receive an immediate permanent judgment from the Most High. No one else controls what will happen in that booth. It is you facing you, and Allah who is All-Hearing, All-Seeing, All-Powerful, doing as Allah judges and pleases. Allah is swift in all accounts. You will never ever be cheated of anything good of you or evil of you,” she warned.

“I’m ready,” I said, placing my essays and sentences on her tabletop. I stood up.

“I recommend that you take some time to think about your decision. If you attend the academies, you will learn so many amazing truths. You will see yourself clearly. You will understand the Faith clearly. You will be able to sort your rights from wrongs because you will have mastered understanding of the rules and limits set for humanity by the Most High. Your soul will be more at ease in admitting to your errors. Each and every soul can only enter the Truth Booth once. There are no do-overs or makeups. The outcome is final unless it pleases Allah. Otherwise, Allah does as Allah pleases.”

“I am ready,” I confirmed again. It was not a lie. I am ready to get this over with. I am not a study bitch. I am not interested in working my way through, reading my way through, writing my way through or even praying my way through. There is no God but Allah. Worship only Allah. Love my father but do not worship my father or any other man including Jesus or any other woman including Brooklyn Momma. Also, do not worship any other thing including fashion, jewels, money, whips, sex, fame, or material items. The thin line that separates love from worship, I can see it now. I still do not love Allah. I do fear Allah. Because of my fear, I will worship only Allah. I was not lying about it. If I pray and don’t lie, that’s my sincerity. If sincerity was the core requirement, I was betting it all on my sincerity and letting it ride.

“I am ready for the Truth Booth,” I stated clearly and confidently.

32.

Circular, sturdy, made of sparkling white, mountain rocks, single-occupancy booths. They were located in between the Manzil Mutawadie and the masjid—meaning, between the House of Humility and the mosque. There were eleven rows of eleven of these beautiful enclosures that were framed by a garden. I had not known what to expect. However, everything in the City of Mercy was way more than I expected and much more than I could have ever imagined.

As I walked the outdoor path that extended up until and after each of the seven buildings, I paused at the House of Wisdom. There was a fountain there, where some women, also fully covered, were seated. Across what they call the pavilion was another fountain and the walking path for men. There was a small gathering of about seven males, all immaculately dressed in brilliant white long garments and kufis.

A few thoughts occurred to me. I thought it was dope that they allowed all of us souls to move around outdoors without armed or unarmed security guards on post. Moreover, there were no escorts, hand- or ankle cuffs, chains, whips, or monitors. It felt like the City of Mercy was the truest location. None of us had to be tased, tranquilized, shot, roped, chained, beaten, or threatened into submission. We each knew that we were experiencing Allah’s mercy, and that we had to be responsible for ourselves, straighten up and act right based on our own will, and our love and/or our fear of Allah. Whether or not all of us love Allah—because I still do not—I don’t know. However, I do know that we had each done more than enough, had more than enough done to us, and all felt and feared the range of Allah’s power. So nobody made any reckless moves. It was all peace.

As some women ran their fingers through the water, and I stood facing the sun and hoping for a favorable outcome to my Truth Booth experience, I sensed something. My eyes searched. I saw a physique I could never forget. The shoulders, the back, and the ass—or should I say the print or outline of the shoulders, the back, the ass—was all that could be seen beneath the flawless white garment that he wore. But only he had this uniquely perfect physique. And only he wore Timbs on his feet. I waited for him to turn around just to confirm. When he did, my eyes ran across the pavilion where Dat Nigga was standing. It was some seconds before he saw me seeing him. When he saw, he looked only long enough to recognize me. Then he switched his gaze swiftly. He faced front and walked forward towards the men’s path that led to the Truth Booths.