He danced the same dance every night, alone. In a cubicle of steel, like the rest bordering the food court. A square parade of picture frames with family recipes within. 

Imagine a world where wudu is sexy. Not the soothing, somewhat impractical habit we know and love, but real come hither performance of ritual ablution.

Morocco, the land of bougainvillea, snow-capped mountains, ochre pise’ walls, water sellers in hats with fuzzy red guy-ropes, sticky black soap, pointy shoes and leather trilbies, is perhaps unique in the Muslim world.

Zehra has not written much for many days Although during those days she has seen everything But if she writes, what should she write? And if she thinks, what should she think? Thought has dimmed a little, her hand trembles a little Zehra has not written much for many days She is not so naive… Read more »

A spectre is haunting Muslims—the spectre of fatwas. All the powers of old Islam have entered into a holy alliance: to issue more and more fatwas, each as ridiculous as the other, and thus drown the Islamic earth in a pestiferous flood of fatwas.