Muslim Girl

by Umm Zakiyyah

  “She’s taking courses at a community college after school,” he said, his tone cautious, “so she wants to focus on that.”

  Oh, Inaya thought numbly. So he did ask his girlfriend first. Inaya was only an afterthought.

  Inaya felt drained all of a sudden. She needed to pray ‘Ishaa. It was the oddest moment to desire spiritual connection, but she was so confused lately. She needed a moment to gather her thoughts.

  Inaya wished she hadn’t rushed Rafa off the phone. Maybe Rafa could give her some advice…even if Inaya could never reveal to Rafa why she needed it.

  “I don’t know, Raymond.” Inaya sighed. “I have a lot going on.”

  “I know…” His voice sounded disappointed, and Inaya felt bad.

  “I just don’t think I’m the right person for the job.”

  Raymond chuckled. “Well, that’s where you’re wrong.”

  Inaya’s spirits lifted slightly, enjoying the positive attention, even if only momentary. “I don’t think so,” she said with a smirk.

  “Inaya,” he said, and Inaya’s face grew warm at the sound of his voice saying her name, “I gave this a lot of thought. And there’s really no one else I can think of who’s better than you.”

  “Not even Lyrica?” Inaya teased. At the sound of his laughter through the receiver, Inaya smiled.

  “Think about it, okay?” he said finally.

  It didn’t escape Inaya that he didn’t answer her last question.

  “But I’ll give your name to the Student Affairs Office on Monday.”

  Before Inaya could protest, he continued.

  “Don’t worry,” he said. “It’s not a commitment. Just a suggestion.”

  “Okay,” Inaya said, sighing. “If you say so.”

  “You can turn it down if you like,” he said.

  She chuckled. “Thanks.”

  “No,” he said. “Thank you. You’re truly a lifesaver.”

  Chapter 11

  On Board

  “Who’s the boss?”

  Inaya felt someone nudge her as she walked in step with Mrs. Ford, who, like Inaya, was carrying an armful of binders as they hurried down the hall to the Student Affairs Office.

  Inaya and Mrs. Ford turned and found Raymond smiling at them.

  The Monday following Raymond’s phone call, Inaya had told Raymond during lunch that she would give the student committee position a try. Now it was Tuesday, just over two weeks since her agreement, and she was already overwhelmed. She had decided to stay after school today to meet with Mrs. Ford, the faculty advisor to the student committee board.

  “You’re the boss,” Raymond answered himself, playfully pointing at Inaya.

  Inaya grinned beside herself. “Thanks to you.” She rolled her eyes playfully.

  Raymond nodded then patted Inaya on the shoulder. “We’ll do great things together,” he said before pushing open an exit door and offering a wave.

  “What was that about?” Mrs. Ford asked after the heavy exit door closed behind Raymond and she and Inaya neared the Student Affairs Office.

  “It’s a private joke about us,” Inaya said, smiling to herself.

  Mrs. Ford raised her eyebrows suspiciously as she kneeled in front of her office door to set the stack of binders on the floor. “About you and Raymond?”

  Inaya creased her forehead then laughed as she realized how her response sounded to the faculty advisor. She shook her head.

  “I mean you and me,” Inaya said. “Well, the whole student board actually.”

  Keys jingled as Mrs. Ford found the one for her office and unlocked the door.

  “Really?” A confused grin was on Mrs. Ford’s face as she pushed open the door and met Inaya’s gaze.

  “B-O-S-S,” Inaya said as she walked into the office ahead of Mrs. Ford and let the binders spill onto the front desk. She looked back over her shoulder to smile at Mrs. Ford, who was now entering carrying the stack of binders she’d set outside the door.

  “It’s the unofficial acronym for the name I gave the board,” Inaya said.

  Mrs. Ford’s expression was of thoughtful humor as she tried to grasp what Inaya was saying.

  “Board of Student Statesmen,” Inaya said. “Raymond said it sounds like some sexist, male-dominated political group.”

  Mrs. Ford laughed as she walked around her desk and settled into her office chair. She propped an elbow on her desk and rested a loose fist beneath her chin, intrigued as Inaya explained.

  “He says women are the real bosses in the group.” Inaya sat down on a folding chair against a wall, laughter in her voice. “So every time he sees me, he says, ‘Who’s the BOSS?’”

  Inaya sighed, a smile lingering on her face. “But it’s also his way of saying females make guys think that men are running things.” She folded her arms in front of her. “While women secretly plot to run even the guys.”

  Mrs. Ford’s eyes widened in amusement. “He told you that?”

  “Yes,” Inaya said, her eyes sparkling with laughter, “but not in those words.”

  Mrs. Ford grinned as she reached for a binder and opened it, her eyes scanning its content. “Well, I must admit, he does have a point.”

  Inaya shrugged. “I guess so.”

  An awkward silence followed as Mrs. Ford flipped through the pages of the binder.

  “But I think his little private joke is more private than you think.”

  Inaya creased her forehead, an uncomfortable smile on her face. “What do you mean?”

  Mrs. Ford wore a pleasant expression as she skimmed the last part of the binder then closed it. When she did not respond immediately, Inaya thought Mrs. Ford had not heard the question.

  “Inaya,” Mrs. Ford said as she met Inaya’s gaze, “you do know why I didn’t agree to have Lyrica chair the board, don’t you?”

  Inaya’s smile faded until her eyebrows were knitted in confusion. Inaya parted her lips to form the question that was in her mind, but she realized there were no words for it.

  “I’m not sure how much Raymond told you,” Mrs. Ford said, as if deciding it was better to be frank than polite. She met Inaya’s perplexed expression with a gentle smile. “But it was Lyrica’s idea to start this committee.”

  Inaya’s mouth fell open in shock. “But I thought…”

  Mrs. Ford waved her hand dismissively. “I know what you thought. And it’s partly true.” She nodded. “The school did ask Raymond to help form this committee.”

  When Inaya did not speak, Mrs. Ford continued.

  “But that was only because we knew Lyrica was not the right person for the job.” Mrs. Ford drew in a deep breath and exhaled.

  “Yes, we liked Lyrica’s idea,” she said. “But we had some ideas of our own. And, well…” She smiled apologetically. “Let’s just say, we didn’t think they matched Lyrica’s.”

  Inaya found herself wondering at the faculty advisor’s use of the pronoun we. Inaya shook her head. “I’m sorry. I don’t understand…”

  Mrs. Ford glanced thoughtfully toward the curtain that divided her office and the humble photo studio Inaya had entered to take her school picture. Inaya could tell the faculty advisor was deciding the best way to explain what she meant.

  “Lyrica’s an atheist,” Mrs. Ford said finally. She met Inaya’s gaze sadly. “And frankly, we find that offensive.”

  Inaya nodded slowly, but she had a sinking feeling that she herself had to be careful of offending Mrs. Ford.

  “Yes, this is a public school,” Mrs. Ford said. “But our obligation to separate church from state doesn’t make us sacrilegious. We were originally a private Christian school, and it was only in the last twenty years that it was shut down then reopened as a state-funded institution.”

  Mrs. Ford sighed, her gaze distant momentarily. “We couldn’t afford to keep it private, and we regret that,” she said. “But our mission remains to keep God as a foundational part of the learning experience here.”

  Mrs. Ford smiled at Inaya, a
s if that kind expression would explain everything—as if she and Inaya were on the same page.

  “And that means seeing to it that those who represent us are only God-fearing Christians.”

  “But…” Inaya’s mind raced. “What about the Distinguished Student Award?”

  Part of the role of the student board was to make recommendations to teachers and administration regarding outstanding students who might have otherwise been overlooked. Naturally, student recommendations did not affect the school’s final decision in any official capacity, but Mrs. Ford assured Inaya and the board members that their suggestions would be taken seriously. Was Inaya now to approve only Christian students?

  “We have to exclude other religions?” Inaya hoped she didn’t sound as exasperated as she felt.

  Mrs. Ford smiled, but Inaya sensed the faculty advisor was enjoying a private joke herself. “Of course not,” Mrs. Ford said, but Inaya heard the obligatory tone of Mrs. Ford’s voice. “But that would be ideal.”

  Inaya forced a smile, but she didn’t know what to say.

  “But you have nothing to worry about,” Mrs. Ford said. “As far as I’m concerned, you’re our first choice.”

  Inaya met Mrs. Ford’s gaze with her eyes widened. She opened her mouth to protest, but no sound came out.

  “But no need to worry about all that now.” A grin formed on Mrs. Ford’s face as she handed a binder to Inaya. “For now, we’re just happy to have you on board.”

  Chapter 12

  The Reward

  Saturday morning Inaya stood in front of the classroom full of Muslim children, the Qur’an open in her hands. She raised her voice as she recited from the first chapter entitled Al-Faatihah, the Opening, and in unison the children repeated after her.

  It had taken three classes and many restless nights, but Inaya finally found a way to keep the children’s attention. She would walk between the rows of desks telling them stories and asking them prompting questions. The stories were always related to the part of Qur’an they were studying at the time, and Inaya often supplemented the story with colorful posters and exaggerated hand gestures and sound effects. Sometimes she allowed the students out of their seats to participate.

  “Imagine,” she said after they finished reciting and she returned the Qur’an to her desk. “Imagine your parents said you could have all the toys and treasures you want and you could do whatever you wanted forever and ever.”

  The students grinned. Some whispered in excitement to their friends about what they would do if that happened.

  “Raise your hand if you would like that, if you’d like your parents to tell you that.”

  Hands shot up, and some girls and boys bounced up and down in their seats as they waved their hands in the air. “Me, Sister Inaya! I would like that!”

  “Imagine they said you could eat whatever candy and cookies and ice cream and cake you wanted!”

  “Ooooh!”

  “Would you like that?” Inaya smiled as their eyes sparkled in excitement.

  “Awesome!”

  “And they said you could have all of this,” Inaya said, her eyes widening, “if you do just one thing.” She raised her forefinger for emphasis. “Would you do what they asked you?”

  “Yes!” the class shouted emphatically.

  “But what if…” Inaya frowned as she paced the room in front of them. “What if somebody said no? What if they said, ‘No, I won’t do what you asked me’?”

  “Well, that’s stupid,” one boy said, grunting as he folded his arms in front of him.

  “But why would they say no?” a girl asked, her face tortured in confusion.

  “Well, because they were too tired to do it,” Inaya said. “Or maybe they just didn’t want to.”

  “But it’s just one thing,” the girl said, a plea in her voice.

  “Nobody would say no!” the boy shouted in angry frustration, as if challenging the teacher herself.

  Inaya smiled and shook her head. “Lots of people would say no. Lots and lots.”

  “Nuh uh.” Several children shook their heads. “Not me.”

  “Well,” Inaya said, tilting her head thoughtfully, “Allah promises us more than toys, cookies, candy, and ice cream.” She smiled at them, and they listened attentively. “He promises us Paradise—Jannah.”

  She drew in a deep breath and exhaled. “But lots of people say no,” she said. “And to get this reward, all He asked us to do is believe in Him until we die.”

  ***

  As the children scurried out the classroom, Inaya collapsed into the teacher’s chair in front of the room, her heart heavy.

  “Bye, Sister Inaya!” a girl shouted from the door.

  Inaya forced a smile and lifted her hand in a wave. “As-salaamu’alaikum, Reem.”

  And that means seeing to it that those who represent us are only God-fearing Christians.

  These words stayed with Inaya for four full days, and they kept her awake at night. But it wasn’t until she was reciting Al-Faatihah with the children that Inaya understood her anxiety.

  Inaya had never said to Mrs. Ford that she was Christian. But from the day that Inaya entered Mrs. Ford’s office to take her I.D. picture, she’d purposefully avoided mentioning that she was Muslim.

  When Inaya found herself working with Mrs. Ford for up to three hours after school, it was only natural that they talked about their lives every now and then. Though Mrs. Ford did not open up much when she first met Inaya, over time the faculty advisor began to talk openly about God and the importance of faith in one’s life. It was a topic that appealed to Inaya deeply, and Inaya found herself sharing her own thoughts and experiences—without mentioning Islam.

  It was amazing to Inaya how much she and Mrs. Ford had in common, and Inaya began to look forward to sitting with the faculty advisor after school. It was the only time Inaya actually felt like herself, the only time she almost forgot that she was different. Almost everything they talked about centered on the concept of sincere submission to God—the English translation of the word Islam.

  There were moments that Inaya had been tempted to mention Islam openly and ask Mrs. Ford if she had studied the religion because there was so much that Mrs. Ford was saying that mirrored Muslim beliefs.

  “Are you saved?” Mrs. Ford had asked Inaya once.

  Inaya had laughed uncomfortably. “I hope so. But I think only God can answer that for me.”

  Mrs. Ford nodded. “That’s what my husband and I always say. Being saved is not something you choose. It’s something God chooses.”

  Inaya had not intended to imply that she was Christian. She had only wished to avoid saying that she was Muslim. So whenever Mrs. Ford mentioned Jesus as the son of God, Inaya would remain silent.

  But as Inaya sat in front of her Qur’an class, she realized that there was one conversation where she had gone too far.

  One day, in the midst of preparing notes for an upcoming meeting, Mrs. Ford had asked what church Inaya attended—and Inaya mentioned the name of the church her family had attended when she was a child.

  “But we don’t go there much anymore,” Inaya had added quickly. “After my parents got divorced, church sort of left our lives.”

  “Well,” Mrs. Ford said, “what’s most important is that it didn’t leave your heart.”

  Inaya had felt uncomfortable with the comment, and it had taken her a full minute to think of a proper response. “To be honest,” Inaya told Mrs. Ford, “after the divorce, the only thing that didn’t leave my heart is God.” She smiled at Mrs. Ford. “And He’s not confined to a church.”

  That was the closest Inaya had come to saying that she wasn’t Christian. But Inaya knew that it wasn’t close enough.

  ***

  Inaya glanced at her watch as she sat in the last row of chairs reserved for teachers in the gymnasium at the Muslim weekend school. She hoped her mother wouldn’t be late picking her up. Inaya had wanted to leave immediately after class, but there was an
award ceremony for the students. Inaya knew it would appear rude if she was not present to give her students their awards. But her class had received their awards twenty minutes ago, and her mother had still not arrived.

  “…Inaya Donald.”

  There was a roar of applause, and Inaya brought her hands together as she looked around in search of who’d called her name.

  “She was always a very modest teacher,” a voice said through the speakers. “So I’m sure she imagines this award is for another Inaya Donald.”

  Stunned, Inaya looked toward the front of the gymnasium and saw that Sister Amal was standing in front of the microphone holding a framed certificate.

  “Yes, Inaya,” Sister Amal said, “this award is for you, our most outstanding teacher.”

  But…

  Inaya felt her legs go weak. What was Sister Amal talking about? Inaya hadn’t paid any attention to the program. The voices had become background noise as she counted down the minutes until she could go home.

  “We love you, Sister Inaya!” some of her students shouted.

  Somehow Inaya found the strength to stand, but on shaky legs. She cautiously walked to the front of the gymnasium—to accept an award she knew she didn’t deserve.

  And it did not escape her that some of her fellow teachers, who were all elder to her, felt the same. Though they clapped, their expressions were of resentment, and Inaya did not want to believe the sinking feeling that it wasn’t due only to her young age.

  “Inaya is our youngest teacher here,” Sister Amal said into the microphone, beaming. “And she’s also our only American.”

  Inaya wore a frozen smile as she neared the microphone, her heart drumming in her chest. She felt the beginning of a headache as she saw the scrutinizing stares of the audience.

  “She’s a junior in high school and attends public school. Her parents converted to Islam when she was a child, and she memorized Qur’an at the age of thirteen.”

  There were hoots and cries of Allahu’akbar! But Inaya felt the envious stares of her colleagues.