His Other Wife

by Umm Zakiyyah

  The meaning was deceptively obvious, and like so many basic truths in life, the depth and complexity were often lost in the simplicity. It was like the saying, “All I really need to know I learned in kindergarten.” Aliyah had never read Robert Fulghum’s book by that title, but she could imagine what it would say. Or at least what it would convey. It was what she was embracing for the first time, in her thirties. She’d been estranged by her family, suffered an emotionally abusive friendship, and had gotten a divorce. It had taken all of this before the fundamental reality of life sank in.

  You are alone on this journey of life, if for no other reason than no one can take your journey except you.

  Perhaps she should pen that realization in a journal, she considered. In one of the self-help books she’d read about broken friendships, the author suggested journaling to help with healing from toxic and abusive relationships. Maybe Aliyah should give it a try. She wasn’t much of a writer though she’d occasionally enjoyed writing poetry and personal essays when she was in high school. She wondered if there was a voice tucked away inside her that needed only emotional safety to find release.

  A lot of things happened to me when I was a child. And I think it just got too much for me to keep holding inside…

  At the reminder of Reem’s words, Aliyah felt a lump in her throat. It was as if the words were being spoken from her own heart.

  For a moment Aliyah sat in puzzlement at her emotional reaction. It made no sense for her to feel connected to those words. Nothing traumatic had happened to her when she was a child. There was no dark family secret that lurked in the shadows of her past. The Thomases had always been the good family. They were the ones whom everyone at church and in the neighborhood wanted to emulate. They were the ones parents mentioned when scolding their children. “Do you see the Thomases acting like that, huh?”

  “I might be looking at the world from my vantage point,” Reem had said, “but whenever I see someone like Deanna, it reminds me of myself…I wasn’t mean-spirited by nature; at least I don’t think I was. I just felt so pressured to be this perfect Arab girl that I couldn’t take it anymore. My family was constantly comparing Arabs to Americans to show how we were better. Yet no one spoke about all the bad things we did behind closed doors. It was almost like it was our Arab duty to have a double personality. All that mattered was that we upheld our family’s honor and image. It didn’t matter who we were on the inside, or if we were suffering in silence about anything. So in the Arab-Muslim community, I acted like a meek, perfect Muslim girl. But at school, I was crying out for attention. I think I wanted somebody to see through all my rebellion and say, ‘I can tell something’s wrong with you. How can I help?’”

  Aliyah stood and walked toward her bedroom door as sadness weighed on her. She had no idea why, but she was fighting back tears when she stepped into the hall and flicked on the light before heading to Ibrahim’s room to check on him.

  “You should be grateful you have a mother and father in the home,” her parents would often say whenever Aliyah was upset about something. “Do you know how many people don’t even know their parents?” The shame these words had inspired in Aliyah would make her forget her troubles. Who am I to be upset about anything in my life? she’d say to herself. I have a safe home and food every day. I have a family who love and care for me. I can go to school. I don’t have to worry about stray bullets or bombs falling on my head. None of us are addicted to drugs or alcohol. No one is in prison... “You think you have problems?” her parents would say, berating her or her siblings for complaining about their petty troubles. “You have no idea what a problem is.”

  Aliyah carefully turned the handle to Ibrahim’s door and slowly pushed it open until a rectangular glow of light spilled into his room and illuminated part of his face. The love and protectiveness she felt for him at that moment nearly choked her. She couldn’t fathom what she’d do if something ever happened to him.

  Show him the love you never got.

  The determination came to her so strongly that it was overwhelming. Before closing the door, she whispered to Ibrahim the prophetic supplication for placing children under Allah’s protection. As she walked back to her room, she was reminded of something Jacob had said.

  “Guilt and obligation. I swear, those two feelings have been in the driver seat of my life for too long.”

  In her bathroom, Aliyah performed wudhoo’ in preparation to pray Qiyaam al-Layl, the voluntary prayer before dawn. As she rubbed the water of ablution on her hands, face, and arms, she realized that she too had been driven by feelings of guilt and obligation. But it wasn’t for the reasons that she’d thought. Though attending Islamic classes had definitely contributed to these feelings, her Islamic teachers were not responsible for making Aliyah believe that her individual needs and desires didn’t matter. Her parents were.

  Her relationship with her mother and father hadn’t been built on love and compassion. It had been built on guilt and obligation. That was why it had been so easy for them to ostracize her when she became Muslim. Because Ally as a person with individual needs and desires never existed in the Thomas household. The only things that mattered were the good Thomas image and the Thomases’ responsibility to save the world. Everything in Aliyah’s upbringing had been about her family’s obligation to some greater cause. Feeding the hungry. Helping disadvantaged youth. Being there for those without parents in the home.

  You should be grateful you have a mother and father in the home. Even as a child, Aliyah felt the sting of those words. But she had been too young and inexperienced to fully understand and articulate why they hurt so much. But now she understood their underlying message.

  You don’t matter.

  Face and arms glistening from wudhoo’, Aliyah left the bathroom and walked toward her closet, grieving the thought of any child—or adult—actually believing that their suffering didn’t matter simply because someone else was suffering too.

  As Aliyah pulled the prayer garment over her head, she recalled reading a story about how Prophet Muhammad had comforted a boy whose pet bird had died. He even helped the boy bury the bird and offered condolences. Something like that could have never happened in the Thomas home, she reflected.

  Who are you to be upset about anything in your life? That was the question her parents would ask if she shed a single tear over her “petty troubles.” Years ago, Aliyah would have interpreted this question as a reminder to be compassionate towards others and grateful for her blessings. But now she understood it as a form of haughtiness. The Thomases were superior to everyone else, so they had an obligation to help everyone else. And if their children displayed even the slightest sign of neediness, they were scolded into guilt and shame. Because the Thomases were not needy. The Thomases helped the needy.

  Aliyah unfolded her prayer mat and laid it in the direction of the qiblah. Guilt and obligation. Yes, they had been in the driver’s seat of her life too. Like Jacob had said, these feelings certainly had their place. But without an environment of love and compassion—in which no one’s pain or suffering was trivialized—guilt and obligation were merely tools of control and means to deny someone their rights. Telling a child that she had no right to be upset over her troubles because others had it worse was like a doctor denying a patient treatment for a gunshot wound because in a hospital on the other side of the world, patients had lost limbs after a bomb blast. “Who are you to be upset about a silly hole in your limb,” the doctor might ask, “while others don’t even have all their limbs?” But generous people did not view themselves as above needing generosity themselves, and they didn’t see themselves as having the right to dismiss the legitimacy of another person’s pain.

  “What hurts her hurts me.” When Aliyah had first read these oft-repeated words uttered by Prophet Muhammad whenever he sensed even the slightest distress in his daughter Fatimah, Aliyah was overcome with emotion and awe at the Prophet’s compassion. She couldn’t fathom that level of love and con
cern existing in her childhood home. Aliyah’s father had “greater causes” to tend to than comforting and pampering his daughter. Alfred Thomas, along with his wife, was too busy feeding the hungry, helping the disadvantaged, and being there for those without parents in the home. Meanwhile their own daughter went hungry, became disadvantaged, and learned to survive without her parents. Yes, Aliyah had food to eat, enjoyed an advantaged lifestyle, and saw her parents every day. But emotionally and psychologically, she was starved, disadvantaged, and parentless.

  And because Aliyah had been taught that guilt and obligation always superseded love and compassion, she had lived in self-flagellating denial, even going as far as to marry a man she did not love because she had convinced herself that it would fulfill some “greater cause.”

  ***

  Kerri Michaels is in a coma.

  Jacob sat on the carpet of the living room and turned his head to the right then the left, signaling the end of Fajr prayer. “As-salaamu’alaikum wa rahmatullaah,” his sons recited in unison, repeating after Jacob as they sat behind him next to each other. “As-salaamu’alaikum wa rahmatullaah.”

  Jacob turned his body until he was facing his sons and then recited the dhikr after obligatory prayer, his sons reciting with him. But his mind kept wandering to his mother-in-law who was lying in the hospital right then—and to his soon-to-be former wife who was being held at the county jail, pending an investigation into attempted manslaughter.

  Barry Michaels had called Jacob late last night in such an unintelligible rage that Jacob had difficulty making out what his father-in-law was saying. “You people are responsible for this, you know that?” Barry spat through the phone. “So no, I’m not going to pay a single penny for that girl’s bail. When she was in the church, she didn’t have any problems. Everything went downhill when she joined the Muslims. And now my wife has to pay! You better hope she pulls through this, boy. You better hope!”

  Though it had perplexed Jacob at the time, after he finally comprehended what his father-in-law was telling him, he felt a trace of peace in his heart. Perhaps hearing the horrible news and listening to Barry blame him for something that had absolutely nothing to do with him helped clarify for Jacob that he had made the right decision by divorcing Deanna. Jacob could no longer bear the laborious responsibility of saving and healing Barry and Kerri Michael’s daughter, at least not in the role as Deanna’s husband. As her Muslim brother and the father of their children, Jacob would always be connected to Deanna. But he could no longer subject himself (and potentially his sons) to daily emotional, psychological, and physical harm. His responsibility first and foremost was to protect his own soul (and the souls of his children), and remaining married to Deanna was pulling him away from his responsibilities as a Muslim and a father. Yes, men were the maintainers and protectors of women, but men could fulfill that role only if they were in a spiritually healthy environment that allowed them to first maintain and protect themselves.

  It wasn’t until Jacob woke up that morning about a half hour before Fajr that the gravity of his predicament weighed on him. Before praying Fajr, Jacob stood in Qiyaam al-Layl and supplicated to Allah for Kerri’s recovery and for Deanna’s psychological and spiritual healing. And he also prayed that Allah would help him and his sons during this difficult time.

  “Your uncle Larry is going to be taking you to basketball this morning,” Jacob said to Younus and Thawab after they finished reciting the prophetic supplications after Fajr.

  “When is Mommy coming home?” Thawab said, his expression pained.

  Jacob started to respond, but Younus spoke before he could. “She’s not coming home for a while, okay?” Younus spoke with compassion, his eyes conveying insight and understanding as he looked at his younger brother.

  “Why not?” Thawab said.

  “She’s really sick and needs to stay with her mother and father for a long time.”

  Taken aback by the maturity of his nine-year-old, Jacob creased his forehead in confusion. “She’ll be gone for a while,” Jacob said tentatively. “We’re not sure how long though, little man. So let’s make some cards and pictures for her. What do you think?” Jacob’s eyes met Younus’s briefly, and in that fleeting glance, Jacob saw that Younus was aware of at least part of what was going on.

  Thawab shrugged noncommittally. “Okay.”

  “You want something to eat?” Jacob offered.

  He shrugged again. “Okay.”

  “I’ll get you some cereal,” Younus said as he got to his feet. “Come on,” he said, gesturing to Thawab, who stood and followed his brother to the kitchen.

  Jacob leaned against the doorway to the kitchen and watched as Younus poured Thawab a bowl of cereal and milk, a reflective smile on Jacob’s face. “But go to sleep after you eat,” Younus said. “You don’t want to be tired when it’s time to go to basketball.”

  “So what was that all about?” Jacob teased Younus good-naturedly after they both left the kitchen.

  Younus folded his arms over his chest, his expression troubled as he looked down, as if trying to figure out the best way to respond. “Are you and Mommy divorced?”

  Jacob drew in a deep breath and exhaled. This was a conversation he had hoped he would never have with his sons, at least not for some time. Deanna’s ‘iddah would be ending in a couple of weeks, and Jacob had decided that during the Islamic waiting period for divorce, he would persuade Deanna to go with him to marriage counseling. However, all of Jacob’s attempts to convince her to accept professional or religious intervention were to no avail. She consistently maintained that she and Jacob were fully capable of solving their marital problems on their own (though she was adamant that Jacob was the only one with a problem).

  “Not yet,” Jacob said, deciding that honesty was the best approach with Younus. “But we might be soon.”

  Younus nodded. “Can we live with you then?” he said after a thoughtful pause.

  Jacob furrowed his brows. “You already live with me, Younus. There’s no need to worry about that.”

  “I mean, if we have to choose.”

  “You don’t have to choose.”

  “Isn’t that what the lawyers make you do?”

  “Lawyers?” Jacob said, pulling his back in confusion. “What lawyers?”

  “Divorce lawyers.”

  Jacob’s eyebrows rose in understanding. “There won’t be any divorce lawyers insha’Allah.”

  Younus nodded, but he didn’t look convinced. “I saw Mommy on TV,” he said after a few seconds had passed. “Why is she saying bad things about Aunty Aliyah?”

  Jacob was overcome with concern. “What bad things?”

  Younus’s arms dropped to his sides as he turned and walked toward the computer in the den. Jacob followed, dreading learning what Deanna had done this time.

  ***

  “I’m telling you folks,” the host of Will’s Truth Hour said as he looked into the camera toward his television audience, “this story has inspired me to change the title of my show from W-T-H to W-T-F.” He shook his head in disbelief, a smirk on his face. There was chuckling from the set.

  Will turned to the two guests present as the camera zoomed out. “Remember that ‘crazy Muslim woman’ story from months ago?” The guests nodded knowingly, grins on their faces. “Well, that crazy Muslim woman has just gotten crazier. We’ve just gotten word that she approached Cassie Studios, a photography company, asking the owner to take pictures of her and tell the media, and I quote,” he glanced at his notes before looking up, “‘I’m the hot wife, and she’s the crazy mistress.’”

  There was laughter from the set. “But that’s not all,” Will said, humor in his tone. “She specifically requested that the photographer lie to the media. As it turns out, that ‘hot Muslim mistress’ she assaulted, who we’re told goes by the nickname Aliyah, wasn’t her husband’s mistress at all. She was her best friend.”

  “Unbelievable,” one of the guests muttered.

  “
But our crazy marriage guru, Dr. Deanna Janice Bivens,” Will continued, “author of You Can Have Him All To Yourself, wanted everyone to believe that her best friend was the mistress so that Aliyah would look like a crazy woman.”

  “That definitely puts a new spin on the blame-the-victim attitude that’s really prevalent today,” the female guest said as her name and the title Feminist Lobbyist appeared across the bottom of the screen. “One thing I speak about in my workshops is that women are often the first to blame the victim. Women put an enormous amount of pressure on other women to live up to sexist standards.”

  “What I want to know,” the male guest said as the title Relationship Psychologist appeared beneath his name, “is what provoked the original assault. I mean, if Aliyah was this so-called marriage guru’s best friend, and not her husband’s mistress, then what on earth was she assaulting the woman for?”

  “That’s where the story gets really interesting,” Will said, grinning hungrily. “Sources tell us that Dr. Bivens’s husband actually wanted to marry Aliyah when they were in college, and after ten years of marriage, Dr. Bivens was still filled with jealous rage.”

  The guests nodded in understanding. “That makes sense,” the feminist lobbyist said. “It’s the part of blame-the-victim mentality that forms the foundation of rape culture. If a man finds a woman attractive, it’s the woman’s fault. So if she is attacked by a jealous woman or raped by a frustrated man, the logic is that she provoked the crime by being attractive.”

  “Or in this case,” the relationship psychologist said, “Dr. Bivens may have been insecure due to a bad marriage and shifted blame to the symptom instead of addressing the cause. In my practice, I tell my patients that it’s impossible for someone other than the spouses to create a bad marriage, even if one or both of them are having an affair.”