Ayesha At Last(29)

When she entered the conference room, Tarek smiled lazily at her, looking gorgeous in a fitted blue shirt that showed off his broad chest. Khalid didn’t raise his eyes from the table, and Imam Abdul Bari beamed as she settled into her usual spot by the door.

“Sister Hafsa, we need your expertise for the conference program,” the imam said, pointing at a board filled with agenda items.

Ayesha felt irritated and grumpy as she looked at the whiteboard, silently fuming at Hafsa for putting her in this situation again. She scowled at the lineup of events and speakers. “I thought this conference was supposed to engage young people. The agenda is full of boring lectures.”

“Our attendees expect inspiring speeches and big-name speakers, like Sheikh Rafeek. We’re giving them what they want,” Tarek said.

Ayesha frowned. “You mean you’re giving them what they’re used to.”

Khalid looked up from his examination of the table.

“I also see a big problem with the diversity of your speakers,” she continued.

Tarek was confused. “This is a Muslim conference. The speakers will also be Muslim.”

Ayesha shook her head. “They’re all men. Where are the women? Why does 50 percent of your demographic have no representation in your speaker lineup?”

“It’s a question of availability and quality. The more well-known speakers are men,” Tarek explained with a smile. Ayesha looked askance. His Prince Charming good looks seemed less overwhelming today.

“You said this conference was meant to engage young people. This is the perfect opportunity to try something crazy, like maybe inviting the same number of male and female speakers. You should stand behind your name, Muslims in Action. That means you actually have to act.”

“There simply aren’t any women—” Tarek continued, the smile on his face slipping.

“Sister Hafsa is a poet,” Khalid interrupted.

“I don’t mean me,” Ayesha said.

“I’ve seen you perform.” Khalid held Ayesha’s gaze. “You would electrify any audience.”

“An excellent idea!” Imam Abdul Bari said, smiling broadly. “Homegrown talent will be a wonderful addition to our conference. Sister Hafsa is right. We should make gender equity among speakers a priority.”

Khalid went back to his contemplation of the table. Ayesha turned over his words in her mind. Electrify?

“Any other suggestions, Sister Hafsa?” the imam asked.

“You need more of an online presence. I tried googling our conference the other day, and I found no mention of it on your website, not even the date.”

A look of alarm crossed Tarek’s face. “Our website is under construction,” he said.

“You said this conference was being put together quickly. How can you get the word out if you don’t post promo videos on YouTube and information about it on social media? If you want to target youth, you have to spread the message where they live. How did you attract people to your last conference?”

Tarek shrugged and smiled at her. “Word of mouth. News spreads so quickly in our community. Even faster than the internet.”

Ayesha was not moved by his charm. “If you want to attract over a thousand participants, you need a media campaign. It’s already late to really get the word out in a big way. You need to announce details online immediately.”

Imam Abdul Bari muttered, “Excellent, excellent,” as he wrote down her suggestions on the whiteboard. He looked up. “Sister Hafsa, since you have a way with words, can you put together something for the bird and the book to say?”

Ayesha was confused.

“He means Twitter and Facebook,” Khalid said with a sidelong glance.

“And Brother Khalid, you work with computers. Can I ask you and Sister Hafsa to set up things on the worldly computer system?” Abdul Bari asked.

Khalid looked blank.

“I think he means a website,” Ayesha said.

The imam beamed at them both. “You are both so talented. May Allah reward you. Brother Tarek, I have some ideas for female speakers. Would you come with me to my office?” He stood up and motioned for Tarek to follow him outside.

“You don’t look like someone who listens to poetry,” Ayesha said to Khalid when the other men had left.

“I enjoy a well-written turn of phrase. There are many methods of self-expression, Hafsa,” Khalid said carefully. “Or do you prefer to go by Grand Master Shamsi?”

Ayesha flushed. “Why does my name matter? You’re so quick to put a label on my identity. Does an outspoken woman offend you that much?”

“Clearly you have never met my mother,” Khalid said. “I can understand why you use a stage name. It is easier to say some things from behind a mask.”

Ayesha frowned. Was Khalid trying to be funny again? His eyes were lowered so she couldn’t tell. Regardless, he was hitting too close to home. He hadn’t wanted to be introduced to her when he thought she was a boozy Bella’s patron. It was none of his business if she wanted to pretend to be someone else at the mosque too.

Besides, a man who grew a beard that thick knew a thing or two about hiding.

“The last line of your poem was very powerful,” Khalid said. “‘What do I see when I look at you? I see another human being who doesn’t have a clue.’ People are so quick to judge others based on appearance and first impressions.”