by Umm Zakiyyah
A soft knock at the door startled Aminah. For a moment she doubted that she had heard it, but seconds later, she heard the knock again. Who would be visiting at this time of night? She stood, her mind back to reality as she walked curiously to the door. She asked who it was, but the reply was too faint. Aminah asked again, but still, she could not make out anything, except that she heard the voice of a woman.
She hesitated. She normally did not open the door unless she was certain who it was. She unlocked the door and cracked it, peeping through. After recognizing the face, she opened it wide.
Tamika forced a smile, her weakness apparent on her tired face. Her hospital wristband was still fastened on her thin wrist, a couple of inches below the white bandage that covered the place where her IV had been. She walked slowly, appearing older than when Aminah saw her last, her make-up no longer visible, now replaced by slight paleness on her face, and her hair was pulled back, slightly disheveled.
Tamika made her way to the couch and sat down. Aminah did not know what to say to her roommate. Both were at a loss for words. Aminah shut the door and locked it, these the only sounds heard at the moment. Aminah stole a glance at Tamika whose gaze was now toward the blinds, Tamika staring past them, although what was beyond them was only darkness. Aminah had heard that Tamika had made it through the accident with barely a scratch and that the hospital had held her more for precaution than necessity, but she appeared to have been through a lot.
Tamika had not known about the tragedy until a couple of hours before, and it was still surreal to her. The hospital workers had told her visitors not to tell her, at least not then. Tamika had constantly inquired about how Dee was doing, having been told, “She’s fine,” each time. But for some reason, the answers had not been enough, and she sensed they were not telling her the whole truth. Tamika could not shake the feeling of intense concern for Dee. The last thing she had remembered before waking in the hospital was a piercing shrill from her friend as bright lights filled the car, the sudden impact shocking them both. The scene was somewhat like a movie, except it had been real.
Tamika had had no idea, no clue, that Dee had died until the information was revealed to her by Makisha, who had taken Tamika home after she had checked out of the hospital earlier that day, when the doctors saw no need to keep her further.
After informing Tamika of her friend’s death once they arrived on campus, Makisha had taken Tamika to the school’s chapel for a program that evening that had been dedicated to Dee. The ceremony had been filled with eulogies, the choir singing, and the playing of some of Dee’s songs. Slides had even been shown of some of Dee’s performances, while video clips were shown of some of her shows, each clip followed by the playing of one of Dee’s songs from her tapes, her singing tapes, likely supplied by Kevin. Kevin sat on stage, face firm, strong, then breaking finally, tears gushing from his eyes, setting off sobbing from the audience, many who were moved by this phenomenal young woman whom they had not even known.
“How would you describe yourself?” the man asked Dee during a beauty contest on one of the video clips.
“Hmm,” Dee had said, her humor detectable even with that small sound, as she looked into the camera, a perfectly polished fingernail tapping on her chin and a grin developing on her smooth face, her dimples creasing, illuminating her beauty as she smiled. “Am I supposed to reply honestly or just tell you what you want to hear?” she inquired jokingly, tossing a glance at the questioner, who laughed.
“Whichever you choose.”
“Well, I’m perfect, what can I say!”
The audience on the tape roared with laughter as the chapel audience roared with tears, as many remembered Dee’s down-to-earth personality that would easily win hearts, even from foes.
“So is there any word to describe your perfection?” he had asked. The other contestants had chosen perfectly scripted responses that they had given, and he patiently waited for Dee to do the same.
“No,” she replied simply with her confident smile, as if that were a satisfactory answer.
“No?” the man repeated, chuckling. “What do you mean?”
“Words can’t describe me!” she joked, throwing up her arms, the reply more indicative of the comedian in her rather than any conceitedness.
Then they played the clip of her singing, her strong voice rendering even the chapel audience speechless as she sang the seemingly simple song, “You are so beautiful…”
Even Makisha’s eyes had become flooded at that point, her hands covering her face in sadness, in shame, Tamika only able to imagine what her best friend was feeling, thinking at that moment. Tamika’s mind was elsewhere, her tears spilling down her face for a different reason, remembering what Dee had been doing before the shrill and sudden crash. Dee had been singing, being silly during the song, letting her voice deepen for the man’s part and singing squeakily for the woman’s part, when that suddenly ended with a bang, and a shrill so piercing that Tamika could still hear it then.
“Aminah,” Tamika said just above a whisper, her eyes still staring off into the distance, intent.
“Uh, yes?” Aminah, who had made herself busy in the kitchen, replied, now appearing in its doorway.
Tamika then met Aminah’s gaze. Tamika’s eyes were serious, no smile even faintly traceable on her face, her expression causing Aminah discomfort, her eyes dancing, unsure if she wanted to meet Tamika’s gaze. “Can you tell me what to say?”
For a moment, Aminah was thrown, unsure what Tamika was referring to, but when her eyes met her roommate’s, she understood. Tamika’s vulnerability, her fear, her desperation, were detectable behind her softened eyes.
Aminah took in a deep breath, having never done it before but knowing how, “Ash-hadu...,” she spoke the Arabic words.
Tamika repeated slowly, her voice weakening with each word, sensing their meaning, although she did not understand the foreign language.
Then Aminah translated, Tamika repeating the statement in English, “I bear witness.”
“I bear witness,” Tamika repeated softly, firmly, determined.
“That none has the right to be worshipped but God alone.”
“That none has the right to be worshipped but God alone.”
“And I bear witness.”
“And I bear witness.”
“That Muhammad is the Messenger of God.”
“That M-m-m,” Tamika tried to say, but her voice cracked, interrupting her, tears filling her eyes, her voice now more a whimper than intelligible speech. She pulled herself together. “That Muhammad,” she said through tears, pausing to sob, “is the Messenger,” she cried, covering her face in shame, as she began to feel free, not caring about anyone or anything else except the enormity, the power of her words. “That Muhammad is the Messenger of God.”
No one spoke, and Aminah too cried, tears flooding her eyes, her mind on what had pushed Tamika to do it then. Both of them knew, but neither spoke about it. It was understood. Their sobs filled the house, their crying likely heard by neighbors, but right then they did not care. A moment later, Aminah felt a hand on her, and she looked up to find Tamika before her, as if asking for something. A moment’s gaze told her, and she complied, embracing her roommate, each of their shoulders shaking, trembling as they cried.
That night Aminah led Tamika in prayer, the first in many of their prayers that they would pray together. The days and months following, Tamika surprised Aminah a great deal. On her own, Tamika began to cover in Islamic garb and memorize Qur’an. She even gave up public singing and made her newfound faith the subject of most of her songs, intending to one day sing for Muslim women.
But the day Aminah never forgot was the Monday following Tamika’s entrance into Islam, the day of Tamika’s presentation, which Aminah had been invited to attend. Dr. Sanders had given Tamika the option to delay it, he being sensitive to what she had gone through during the accident. But Tamika had insisted, having come to class prepared, more prepared than
Dr. Sanders or any of the students would have expected. She was wearing a khimaar and abayah, and the teacher and students thought she was wearing it for effect, a mere costume for her report. But Tamika had been clever, having only mentioned that she was wearing the dress of Muslim women. She had gone on to deliver a thorough and insightful presentation on Islam, one that even Aminah immensely benefited from. And Aminah could tell that she was not the only one impressed with the speech. Both Dr. Sanders and the students were deeply engrossed in Tamika’s powerful words and beneficial information on a religion that was foreign to most of them.
After she had completed her speech, Tamika stated, “As we can see, Islam, the fastest growing religion in the world, is a holistic religion, its teachings affecting every aspect of the Muslim’s life. Its roots reach back as far as Adam, and given its followers strict adherence to its original teachings, it holds an authenticity that no other religion can rightfully claim. History shows that other religions have changed tremendously, their teachings having been adapted and compromised over time. And although, as we saw earlier, some heretical groups of Muslims seek to adapt the religion, Islam is the only religion that remains in its orthodox form. The teachings of Islam are profound and its message convincing.” She paused then added matter-of-factly, as if a logical clincher for her speech, “Which is why I chose the religion for myself.”
Other Books By Umm Zakiyyah
A Voice
Footsteps
Realities of Submission
Hearts We Lost
A Friendship Promise
Muslim Girl
Order information available at ummzakiyyah.com/bookstore
About the Author
Daughter of American converts to Islam, Umm Zakiyyah writes about the interfaith struggles of Muslims and Christians, and the intercultural, spiritual, and moral struggles of Muslims in America.
Umm Zakiyyah’s work has earned praise from writers, professors, and filmmakers and has been translated into multiple languages. In 2008, Umm Zakiyyah was awarded the Muslim Girls Unity Conference Distinguished Authors Award. Umm Zakiyyah also writes under her birth name Ruby Moore.
To find out more about the author, visit ummzakiyyah.com or uzauthor.com, subscribe to her YouTube channel, follow her on Twitter, or join her Facebook page at facebook.com/ummzakiyyahpage.
