Temple Folk by Aaliyah Bilal

Author:Aaliyah Bilal
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Simon & Schuster
Published: 2023-07-04T00:00:00+00:00

WHO’S DOWN?

Back in the days when my dad (budding freedom fighter that he was) decided he needed a diet to match his far-out politics, he made the choice to become a vegetarian. He gathered the whole family and made an announcement about it like it was some great big event. Everyone cheered him and so did I, but I saw his designs coming undone at the inception. He quickly went off all the hippie spots—places like Green Valley Grocers and the Smiling Buddha—saying that their staff members were always uncomfortable at the sight of “a brother” hanging around all that produce. “Like Black men don’t care about having clean arteries,” he said. After a final visit to another place called Cafe Pangaea, he told us about a confrontation he had with a female patron. She had approached him to say he hadn’t put the bamboo fork he used to eat a tofu curry into the right recycling bin. “That’s when I told her,” Dad said, “when you’re ready to talk about the Native American genocide and slavery, then come bothering me about some damn cutlery.”

About a month into his walk on the healthy side of life, he told me about a new place he recently visited called Lotus on the Nile. It was run by a group of Black Hebrews he’d met long before his lifestyle change—all vegetarian by dictate of faith. It was a grocery store, take-out spot, and a restaurant all in one, with remixed soul-food favorites served hot. I was a rising high school sophomore with a kick-ass metabolism, totally in love with burgers, fries, and milkshakes. I couldn’t see myself on the veggie kick like my dad, but I’d decided that going with him might be the best way for me to sample his new lifestyle. “It’s a real nice place; you’ll like it,” Dad said. “Plus, they are committed to the struggle. They know what’s going on out here and they found a genius way to fight on our behalf, feeding good food to the people to help us survive.”

The shop was located in an old strip mall nestled between a massive beauty supply store and a church called the Alpha and Omega Apostolic Christian Outreach Ministries, Inc. We swung open the door to a scene of patrons milling about and workers locked in rhythm, filling orders for the lunch hour crowd, the savory aroma of southern foods greeting us as we entered. The women among them looked like us. They wore hair wraps and long dresses as they lifted heavy trays of food onto steaming chafing dishes. The men wore what appeared like oversized white kufis, as they tidied display tables piled high with goods—marking the fresh breads, pecan tarts, sweet potato pies, dehydrated kale chips, and bags of dried pulses and grains with price stickers shaped like the Star of David.

One of them paused from dusting a display of ten different kinds of liquid castile soap to greet us.

“Salaam Alaikum!” Dad said back to him with a broad smile.

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