Living in Germany: My Syrian Roommate
I have a flatmate, from an Arab country. A real piece of work.
I call him a piece of work because once, late at night, I very eagerly cooked chicken roast — and since I’d ruined my appetite snacking on chips while cooking, I went to sleep without eating. I woke up planning to have it for brunch, went to the kitchen, and the roast was gone.
In its place, raw meat.
Later this piece of work came and said, “Sorry I was very hungry, but I bought meat for you.”
For obvious reasons, I don’t really hang out with him.
But today we talked for a while. Watching me do wudu, he asked, are you Muslim?
Yes.
Sunni or Shia?
Sunni.
Alhamdulillah, brother. You weren’t here for about six months — during that time I ate all the tea, coffee, rice and lentils in your drawer. Sorry about that. I’d been a little unsure whether the food was halal. Now I feel good knowing you’re Muslim. It means all the food was halal.
I just stared at him, blank.
Since when did theft become halal?