To the Man In a Yarmulke
fiction by Kọ́lá Túbọ̀sún
at the 'One Love' movie
I've wondered often about the physical representation of faith in the United States. A hijabi on the streets of Minneapolis, a priest on the bus, a Sikh at the Mall of America, a nun in Times Square, someone in a burqa at the airport. There has never been one instance where the sight hasn't moved me to contemplate the strength it must require—where the action is voluntary—to take the risk of public identification. Do they fear, welcome, enjoy the conversations or stares it invites? Is it like a striking tattoo on a prominent body part, a challenge to prejudice?
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