It was on a Sunday afternoon that I first met Blind Fatimah and greeted
her with _Salaam aleikum_ and she answered _aleikum es salaam!_ "Peace be
to you and on you be peace." I asked if she could read. She said she could
"read by heart," but could not see anything. She at that time could repeat
twenty-six chapters of the Koran, the sacred book of the Mohammedans. Now
I think she can repeat it nearly all; it contains one hundred and fourteen
chapters. Some are very short and others are very long; some parts of the
book are very good, but most of it is a jumble of events and of things
that never happened--all mixed up topsy-turvy.
A slave woman was Fatimah's teacher and now she is helper in the school of
this teacher. She is the prompter, and always begins each sentence of the
recitation, and the other children follow on. If any mistakes are made,
she will instantly correct them.
She is a peculiar looking girl and she is not pretty. Her clothes consist
of cast off garments given her by others. Her head is generally covered
and wrapped up in a black muslin veil; then she has an _abba_ or Arabian
cloak of very green-black cashmere; then under that a many coloured
garment called a _thobe_; it is square in pattern with armholes and
sleeves nearly a yard wide. The ends of these wide sleeves are deftly
taken and thrown over the head to form a sort of tight-fitting cap.
Underneath this garment is a kind of dressing gown with tight-fitting
sleeves. Such is Fatimah's wardrobe. She wears no shoes, not even sandals.
Would you like to walk in the hot sand with no covering for your feet?
Sometimes I visit the school where Fatimah teaches the smaller girls A, B,
C. It is a topsy-turvy school indeed. The object seems to be to make as
much noise as possible; the pupils sit on the floor with a small stand or
trestle (like a saw-buck!) in front of each one to hold their Korans out
of which they read. The first pupil begins a sentence at the top of his,
or her, voice and then in a sort of refrain it is taken up by all the
others. The teacher sits outside the school very often sewing or preparing
a meal or entertaining visitors; for the schoolhouse is an ordinary mat
hut dwelling. If however a pupil makes a mistake in reading she hears
instantly and corrects it.
When the hours of prayer come around (the Moslems you know pray five times
a day) lessons are dropped. One day I called at the school at the time of
afternoon prayer. All the children had run down to the sea, to wash their
faces and hands and feet, so as to be quite pure outwardly, when repeating
Mohammed's prayers.
In the accompanying picture of a Moslem boy praying you will see what
those forms are and how much _form_ there is to go through. Blind Fatimah
stood with her hands clasped, looking upward with those sightless eyes,
her lips moving. Then she fell on her knees, with the little, thin hands
spread out; then she bowed down until her forehead touched the earth,
continuing in that position for a little time; then she got up, and with
another upward look and motion of the lips, the devotions were ended.
[Illustration: HOW A MOSLEM BOY PRAYS.]
I prayed there, too, that her eyes might be opened to see Jesus as her own
Saviour, and that she might know Him as the _Son of God_, and not merely
as one of the many prophets mentioned in the Koran. It seemed such a sad
sight to see this blind child, doubly blind because her religion is false,
and she is resting on a false hope.
She always listens when I tell her, or read to her about God, and Jesus
Christ the Saviour. And if you would help together by your daily prayers,
perhaps soon God will give the answer. Would it not be blessed for you and
me if some day blind Fatimah should have opened eyes; not to see the date
groves, and the sea, and the beautiful sunsets of Bahrein, but far
more--to see Jesus' face and to follow Him by leading others to Him?
"For thousands and thousands who wander and fall,
Never heard of that heavenly home;
I should like them to know there is room for them all,
And that Jesus has bid them to come.
I long for the joy of that glorious time,
The sweetest and brightest and best,
When the dear little children of every clime
Shall crowd to His arms and be blest."