“When I was at my barest, my ugliest, my weakest, you took me out to the open square, to be pelted upon with stones by yours. My tears cloaked me – buffered the pain – for in the tears, my God was crying along with me. And flowers grew over my wounds instead.”

The road to the Haji Ali dargah is paved with sweet offerings to a beloved saint, doorways to zakat, human suffering, and faith. Continue reading →