SUGAR OVERLOAD
Looking at my right shoulder I sent peace and blessings to the invisible angel that keeps a record of all my good actions, and then did the same to the angel on my left that writes down my wrong ones. My eyes flicked up to check if Dad had finished his Eid prayer too. His hands were cupped in front of his face asking God for stuff … for our car to start … probably.
‘Dad, can I go now?’ I said, shuffling towards him on my knees, feeling tiny under the huge, white marquee roof.
Dad took a moment to finish, then turned to me. ‘OK, but son, stay with Sulaiman and Sameera, and meet us back outside the prayer tent at half past ten.’
‘OK,’ I said, now standing. The whole tent was buzzing with the chatter of hundreds of people. No one was listening to the Imam’s closing speech.
‘Have you got enough money?’ Dad grabbed my hand as I passed him.
