He then handed Youssef a piece of scrap paper and a reed pen. “Let us make your printout meaningful. Pick one name.”
Youssef pointed: “ Al-Basir — Le Clairvoyant, Celui qui voit tout.”
Months later, he returned to Hamid. He could recite all 99 names from memory, in order. But more importantly, he had stopped cheating on a test (remembering Al-Alim , the All-Knowing). He had shared his lunch with a hungry classmate (remembering Ar-Rahman , the Most Merciful). And when his grandfather was in hospital, he had whispered Ya Shafi (O Healer) with tears in his eyes. 99 noms d allah a imprimer
He took the printout. It was a simple table: column one had the Arabic name, column two the transliteration, column three the French meaning. Ar-Rahman (Le Tout Miséricordieux), Ar-Rahim (Le Très Miséricordieux), Al-Malik (Le Roi).
In the bustling medina of Fez, Morocco, an old calligrapher named Hamid ran a small, fragrant shop filled with reed pens, pots of indigo ink, and sheets of pearlescent paper. One afternoon, a young boy named Youssef wandered in, holding a crinkled printout. On it were Arabic words in a simple computer font. He then handed Youssef a piece of scrap paper and a reed pen
“See,” Hamid continued, “when someone searches for ’99 noms d Allah a imprimer,’ they are seeking that map. They want something tangible. Perhaps they are a new Muslim, or a student, or a busy parent who wants to place the names on the fridge or by their desk. The printed page is their first teacher.”
“This printed sheet,” Hamid explained, “is like a map of a vast ocean. You cannot swim the ocean with the map alone, but without the map, you will drown in confusion.” He could recite all 99 names from memory, in order
“Now,” said Hamid, “write it ten times. With each stroke, think: Does Allah see me right now? Does He see the ant under the stone? Does He see the kindness I tried to hide? ”