A Bachelor’s Degree for Sale

  I offer my degree and my honorable title for sale at cost price (fees and installments).

As for the phosphorus of my brain and the years of my life, I seek no substitute for them—my reward is with God.

Gentlemen, I am a Bachelor of Law, only four days old. I have adorned this beautiful, grand certificate, decorated with ten seals and signatures of dignitaries and officials—of the President of the Republic, the Ministry, the Dean’s delegate, the University Rector, the Institute Head, and myself, the poor servant of God, bearer of the certificate.

I placed it in a fine, costly frame, acquired by means I prefer not to reveal, but I assure readers I did not spend a single penny on it. I hung it in my home, in the room that should have been a reception hall, neat and orderly, but which now is cluttered with books piled like the dunes of the Sahara, overturned whenever I search for one.

I hung it beside its sisters: the Baccalaureate, the Competency, and the Elementary certificates.

I stood before it for seventy-seven minutes, humbled and reverent, recalling the sixteen years I spent earning it—years better spent as a barber’s apprentice, enjoying beauty and money; or as an actor in a troupe, living in luxury and fame; or as a worker in a printing press, until time crowned me “owner of a great newspaper.”

Or had I spent them reading novels and stories, I would have gained pleasure and delight, if not benefit.

I contemplated it with reverence, daring at last to touch it with a foolish smile, as one touches a precious artifact to heighten his sense of it, or a sacred relic to seek blessing.

(Yet in Islam, nothing is sacred to be touched for benefit or harm—even the Black Stone neither harms nor benefits, but is kissed in devotion and obedience.)

Then I sat wondering what to do with it, after the thrill of success and triumph had faded.

I closed the doors, extinguished the lights, lit incense, recited the names of the jinn, summoned the Red King and the Green King, then burned the certificate. From its flames rose a tall genie, who stood before me in awe?

I asked: “What is your name, O genie?”

He replied: “Bachelor, sir.”

“What can you do?”

“Everything, sir.

I can dislodge ignorant men from their chairs so you, holder of the Bachelor, may sit upon them.”

“Are you certain of your power?”

“Yes, sir, provided you protect me from my fiercest enemy.”

“And who is your enemy?”

“A terrifying devil, invincible, called Petition.”

“I cannot protect you from him.

What else can you do?”

“I can bring you the wealth hoarded by swindlers and liars, and deliver it to you and your fellow Bachelors.”

“Excellent! Go, fetch it.”

“But I am afraid.”

“Afraid of whom?” “Of a powerful, depraved devil, blind, with hands of fire. Wherever he strikes, a chasm to Hell opens. Whoever pleases him gains dominion over all he desires.”

“And what is his name among the demons?”

“Luck, sir.” “And what else can you do?”

“I can grant you leadership, snatching it from the ignorant.”

“Splendid! Hurry.”

“But I fear the leaders’ companion—a devil with forty-four men, walking in all directions at once, shouting everywhere: Long live, long live!” “

I seek refuge in God! That is the worst of demons.

What is his name?”

“Propaganda, sir.”

“Then why have you come, O weak, helpless Bachelor? Begone from my sight!”

And so, dear people, what shall we do with this certificate?

I presented it to a lawyer—my former professor at the institute—hoping he would accept me as a trainee. He refused. They say some accept trainees, but give them nothing. Meaning: trainees exhaust themselves, spend their life’s essence, break their heads and feet in office work, while professors reap the fruits of their toil.

Why?

Because they are professors! An honor indeed.

If we seek judicial posts, we find every position occupied, each holder fearing the whim of a superior who may cast him aside like a date pit stripped of its sweetness.

If we leave this country for another, they reject our certificate and institute, and these seals and signatures avail us nothing.

If we humble ourselves to work in offices for free, for God’s sake, while taking another job by night to buy bread, they forbid it. They neither show us mercy nor leave us to God’s mercy.

They imagine the trainee lawyer is fed and clothed, warmed and comforted, whenever the professor eats ten dishes and dons ten suits.

Therefore, dear readers, I offer my certificate and my honorable title for sale at cost price (fees and installments).

As for the phosphorus of my brain and the years of my life, I seek no substitute—my reward is with God.

Who will buy?

Inquiries at the esteemed newspaper Alif Ba.

A large, immaculate, white certificate, beautifully inscribed, with a splendid frame… brand new, fresh!

Who will buy?

From the book “Hadith al-Nafs” (Reflections of the Soul).