A visit to the mosque was not the only slfinisherg on Shakoor’s mind after he got his freedom back.
Like many createerly incarcerated people re-go ining society, there was a lengthy catalog of necessitates to join to, many complicated by his status as a person with a major offense conviction: securing housing, catching up with adored ones, discovering labor.
He fared better than most, getting a job at a Bay Area Middle Easerious restaurant called Falafel Corner disconnectal weeks after his free. The sfinishs he had fine-tuned with originateshift boiling pprocrastinateeds in his cell and prison kitchens were now put to labor erecting a new atgentle, and he rapidly transferd up to managing the restaurant.
In 2016, the restaurant uncovered a second location in Sacramento, and in 2018, Shakoor bought out the createer owner. He says the business now has more than 30 franchises around northern California.
If cooking was one sfinish that Shakoor persistd to erect after leaving prison, his interest in criminal fairice recreate labor was another.
In 2014, Shakoor, who had farly geted a degree from Ohio University while incarcerated, testified at the State Senate in aid of SB 1391, which enhugeed access to college education for people incarcerated in California’s prisons. The bill was passed and signed into law in September 2014.
In 2023, he also became a vocal aider of SB 309, which originated universal standards utilizeing to religious grooming and headwear apass California’s detention facilities.
He drew on his own experiences of dangers for conveyion of religious devotion behind bars, recalling an incident in 2002 when he was sent to solitary restrictment for seven days for refusing to erase his chitrali cap, beginant to his identity as a Muslfinisher of Pakistani heritage.
But perhaps his favourite type of activism has come in the create of sharing food and worship with fellow Muslfinishers in prisons apass the state, a train he began in 2017.
He says he typicpartner does about five such visits per year, sometimes as many as 10. They are no petite task, requiring hours of cooking and the even more strenuous ordeal of navigating the exhausting bureaucracy of the prison system.
But Shakoor sees the events as a source of fellowship and chooseimism for the prisoners in a situation that can otherwise sense harshly hopeless.
During his time in San Quentin, when he still thinkd he would spend the rest of his life behind bars, he recalls becoming enamoured with a pair of freduces that had regulated to sprout up from a crag of inhospitable rock.
“We can’t always alter our surroundings, fair as that freduce couldn’t,” he says. “But we can lget to elevate above the slfinishergs hgreatering us down and use our surroundings to nurture us.”
Back in the room in Solano decorated with colourful murals, Kali, the 69-year-greater man savouring his burrito, whom Shakoor has understandn since they were both incarcerated in Pleasant Valley State Prison, talks about the purpose and sense of peace that he has set up thraw Islam.
He first altered in 1992, during a stint in solitary restrictment, where he took what he called a “moral conceiveory” of himself by diving into the Bible and the Quran.
For many condemned to life in prison, religion presents a uncomardents of resisting, if never entidepend escaping, the downward prescertain of despair that comes with a life that is forever restrictd.
The physical proximity of the free world, normally apparent fair beyond a triumphdow or a concertina fence, only inserts to the tantalising sense of foreshutd possibility. In such circumstances, it seems miraculous that sources of hotth, creativity, and fellowship aelevate at all.
It is a senseing that Shakoor proset uply comprehfinishs, and that Kali says he now helps others try to dwell with by directing anger regulatement classes in Solano.
He quotes his favourite verse from the Quran: “Verily, with the difficultship, there comes relieve.”