My last evening in Paris
In the Name of Allah,
the Compassionating, the Compassionate
Allah is all-knowing of it's hidden things and all-ruling and all-honoured and all-giving and all-gracious and all-merciful.
And afterwards.
My last day in Paris coincided with the last day of the Hadj. I thought my journey to Paris was just a vacation, but the longer I stayed, the more I felt that it was not just any journey, but a pilgrimage. A pilgrimage of love:
thanks to the hospitality and love of the normal people of Paris I collected 400 euro for the girls of Sierra Leone!
Paris proved for me to be truly the city of love, not because of it's religious institutions, because eventually I received no hospitality and no money from none of the churches that I had visited. The imam of the Grand Mosqueé of Paris sent me away with the words that it was not his job to care about the orphan girls of Sierra Leone. The female director of assistance of the Grand Mosqueé asked me to write her the request in a mail that she provided, but she never wrote me back, not even after she met me face to face weeks later during Aid celebrations. She excused herself: ''I am busy".
The Rabbi of the Synagogue des Tournelles was friendly and gave me his email, but I never got a reply back.
The Eglise Amour de Dieu, which was the church of my dear friend Will Smith had the most caring Pastor, who even called me his sister and wanted to give the money of the churches alms, food, hospitality and much more. But he referred me to his deacons and the deacons failed to provide me with what their pastor promised. They also didn't want to give me the contact information of their pastor. So in the end even the most loving pastor failed, because he had put his trust in young people who were not able to execute their pastor's goals.
The Sikh temple had a phone number that I called more then ten times, but nobody picked up the phone, so I couldn't make an appointment. (They also didn't call me back.)
The Notre Dame had a reception that told me a nun would come for me at the entrance, but I never saw her. Instead I met Maria de Betlehem who was at the entrance asking for alms for the Maison Mére that was run by Franciscan nuns. After going to her church I also went home empty handed. Then lastly the Algerian church was very friendly and open to provide help, but it's pastor was more occupied in trying to change me into a christian then with the girls of Sierra Leone. The visitors on the other hand, did come to me and offered to provide bibles and to collect clothes for the children.
But Paris was more then it's churches. The Eglise Amour de Dieu had a visitor who donated 100 euro for the children. I met artists, ex-supermodels, and even a beggar who gave love! Normal every day people who had sent their love to the Girls of Sierra Leone, either by offering me a place to sleep, a meal or something else (and sometimes even money, although I didn't ask for that).
I had sent more then a hundred emails to the Dutch and the French press about my love project for the girls of Sierra Leone. None of them called me back.
I even went to visit the Le Monde newspaper with a bouquet of roses for the journalists, but none of them gave a reply, not even a thank you note for the roses.
So even the official press took no notice, but the unofficial press did find me in the guise of GODJO TV, the legendary underground Parisian TV network.
And the famous Moroccan HESPRESS found me too! I happened to make friends with a guy from Morocco in the hostel who offered me to send my press release to his brother who happened to be a famous Moroccan journalist and directly offered me an interview for his newspaper.
I stood there, close to the Notre Dame eating my ice-cream in the shape of a rose, looking over the Seine and thinking about my journey to Paris. It had been the journey of my life, it was a pilgrimage. And I only know that now, looking back. I finished the full month of Hadj, which is the muslim month of pilgrimage and also is the month in which we think of the poor. Whatever you do this month, it counts a thousandfold. I learned that Allah was not just in the mosque, but everywhere, in all churches and temples, because Allah was not in the buildings, but in the hearts of people with compassion in their hearts. I learned that the most generous muslim was a woman who begged at the mosque, and not the ones who had money, like the institute of the Mosque which was supposed to have millions. Love was not a question of money. It's a question of love. And Paris proved to still be the city of love.
And afterwards.
 |
| My last day, at the Notre Dame |
thanks to the hospitality and love of the normal people of Paris I collected 400 euro for the girls of Sierra Leone!
Paris proved for me to be truly the city of love, not because of it's religious institutions, because eventually I received no hospitality and no money from none of the churches that I had visited. The imam of the Grand Mosqueé of Paris sent me away with the words that it was not his job to care about the orphan girls of Sierra Leone. The female director of assistance of the Grand Mosqueé asked me to write her the request in a mail that she provided, but she never wrote me back, not even after she met me face to face weeks later during Aid celebrations. She excused herself: ''I am busy".
The Rabbi of the Synagogue des Tournelles was friendly and gave me his email, but I never got a reply back.
The Eglise Amour de Dieu, which was the church of my dear friend Will Smith had the most caring Pastor, who even called me his sister and wanted to give the money of the churches alms, food, hospitality and much more. But he referred me to his deacons and the deacons failed to provide me with what their pastor promised. They also didn't want to give me the contact information of their pastor. So in the end even the most loving pastor failed, because he had put his trust in young people who were not able to execute their pastor's goals.
The Sikh temple had a phone number that I called more then ten times, but nobody picked up the phone, so I couldn't make an appointment. (They also didn't call me back.)
The Notre Dame had a reception that told me a nun would come for me at the entrance, but I never saw her. Instead I met Maria de Betlehem who was at the entrance asking for alms for the Maison Mére that was run by Franciscan nuns. After going to her church I also went home empty handed. Then lastly the Algerian church was very friendly and open to provide help, but it's pastor was more occupied in trying to change me into a christian then with the girls of Sierra Leone. The visitors on the other hand, did come to me and offered to provide bibles and to collect clothes for the children.
But Paris was more then it's churches. The Eglise Amour de Dieu had a visitor who donated 100 euro for the children. I met artists, ex-supermodels, and even a beggar who gave love! Normal every day people who had sent their love to the Girls of Sierra Leone, either by offering me a place to sleep, a meal or something else (and sometimes even money, although I didn't ask for that).
I had sent more then a hundred emails to the Dutch and the French press about my love project for the girls of Sierra Leone. None of them called me back.
I even went to visit the Le Monde newspaper with a bouquet of roses for the journalists, but none of them gave a reply, not even a thank you note for the roses.
So even the official press took no notice, but the unofficial press did find me in the guise of GODJO TV, the legendary underground Parisian TV network.
And the famous Moroccan HESPRESS found me too! I happened to make friends with a guy from Morocco in the hostel who offered me to send my press release to his brother who happened to be a famous Moroccan journalist and directly offered me an interview for his newspaper.
I stood there, close to the Notre Dame eating my ice-cream in the shape of a rose, looking over the Seine and thinking about my journey to Paris. It had been the journey of my life, it was a pilgrimage. And I only know that now, looking back. I finished the full month of Hadj, which is the muslim month of pilgrimage and also is the month in which we think of the poor. Whatever you do this month, it counts a thousandfold. I learned that Allah was not just in the mosque, but everywhere, in all churches and temples, because Allah was not in the buildings, but in the hearts of people with compassion in their hearts. I learned that the most generous muslim was a woman who begged at the mosque, and not the ones who had money, like the institute of the Mosque which was supposed to have millions. Love was not a question of money. It's a question of love. And Paris proved to still be the city of love.
As I was eating my ice-cream I received a call. Tonight Startrotar!
It would become my unofficial farewell party. PARIS, I LOVE YOU!
& peace,
& love,
Salima el Musalima
Avant - Garde Imam
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