What Wren Carried — 01: Faith

Wren’s heart is deeply faithful. when we lived in the same building, I never once saw him miss a prayer at the mosque. not even Fajr. no matter the hour, he was always there.

I met him when I was around eighteen, and we remained friends from that point on. he has one of the most beautiful voices I have ever heard in Quran recitation. our conversations were light. he was gentle, considerate, quiet. a pure soul. he did not have many people around him, at least that is how it felt to me.

We were caught up in the war in Sudan, both of us trying to enter Egypt. we met there again after a couple of months apart.

Hardee’s south park Madinaty in Egypt

After mid 2023, we scattered across the globe. from then on, we only caught up every few months online. were our conversations sums up the months into minutes.

About a year ago, I learned that he had moved to the United States. we stayed in touch for a short while, laughing about American no context politics. he had work to do. A completely new environment. goals to reach. And a mind shaped by being raised in Sudan, a Middle Eastern African Islamic country, suddenly immersed in a Western Christian society. the shift is dramatic.

He was trying desperately not to let go of his core values. values that are easy to trade away in a place defined by freedom. The free world. even if holding onto them meant missing opportunities, engaging less, or standing slightly apart.

A few days ago, he messaged me asking whether I had ever dealt with hypertension. I told him no and asked why. he said he had been diagnosed with high blood pressure and elevated sugar levels. the doctors advised him to start antidepressants.

He laughed as he told me. he said he used to think people who relied on medication and supplements just were not as strong as we were. he did not know how a fast moving world, shaped by capitalism and constant pressure, could do this to a person.

I told him I understood. I once made jokes like that too. About cultures that leaned on pills to keep going. until one day a doctor prescribed me the same kind of medication. until I realized it could happen to me.

There is a quiet ignorance most of us carry. At some point, we believe we are special. If not outwardly, then inwardly. we believe we are stronger than others. smarter. More resilient. more faithful. life has taught me otherwise.

I am not as strong as I thought. I am not as intelligent as I once believed. And I learned that making light of others, their struggles, their cultures, or their coping mechanisms is a kind of blindness.

Every culture tells its people a story. that they are good. that they are chosen. that they are doing something right. these stories give weight to what is noble, sometimes so much weight that we become blind to what they hide. they exist to preserve the group, to maximize a shared sense of meaning.

But when someone crosses oceans carrying those stories alone, the weight can become heavier than faith itself.