by Umm Zakiyyah
“Well,” Will said, doubtful humor in his voice, “I don’t know if this is rape culture or a bad marriage, but Cassie Studios has provided us with those ‘hot’ photos from Dr. Bivens’s photo essay. Editors,” he said with contrived seriousness as he looked into the camera, “get ready to display that parental warning because these babies are hot.”
The screen faded to a picture of Deanna wearing a business suit, her hijab pushed back displaying half of her hair, her lips in a pout, shiny with red lipstick. There was a roar of laughter from the set as similar pictures were displayed.
When the camera returned to the discussion desk, the guests were still recovering from laughter. “Crazy hot,” Will added, an amused grin on his face as they transitioned to a commercial break.
***
“I just don’t think that’s the right attitude though,” Reem said as she and Aliyah stood on the sides of the tennis courts holding their rackets, waiting for a court to open Saturday morning. Mashael had called to say that she and Nora wouldn’t be able to make it that day. “What people think does matter. You just can’t let it run your life.”
“But I can’t change how people think,” Aliyah said. “So all I’m saying is I’m no longer expecting anything from friends or imams, and definitely not men. How is that being negative?”
“But you should expect things from people. That’s the purpose of a community.”
“Ideally, I agree with you, Reem,” Aliyah said. “But we’re working from two very different realities. I’m an American convert with no Muslim family, so I don’t really have a community. If I were married, it’d be a different story. Because only married couples are welcomed in our community.”
“Aliyah, come on,” Reem said. “I don’t think our community is that bad. They might post offensive stuff online, but it’s just a bunch of talk. It might be hurtful, but they’re not saying they don’t want you around.”
“Reem,” Aliyah said, a lighthearted grin on her face, “can you step out of teacher mode for just one second? This is not a tafseer class. I know what I’m talking about. For the past ten years, I practically lived in that masjid, so I’m not guessing. If you’re not married, you’re not welcomed. Yes, people tolerate you because they have to. But outside community gatherings like Jumu’ah and Eid prayer, they practically have official rules that divorced women can’t participate.”
Reem laughed. “I don’t believe that.”
Aliyah shrugged, a pleasant expression on her face. “Denial is a luxury that only the privileged can afford.”
Through the wide slit of her black face veil, Reem’s eyes narrowed in hurt and confusion as she looked at Aliyah. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Reem,” Aliyah said, a knowing smile on her face, “all I’m saying is, I live a reality that you can’t understand.”
“Don’t forget I’m part of this community too.”
“You’re active in the community,” Aliyah said. “But you’re not part of it. There’s a difference. You don’t even bring your son or daughter around. I’m not saying you have to, but the fact that you don’t means you have the privilege of another community. I don’t have that privilege.”
“Everyone has options.”
“I didn’t say I don’t have options,” Aliyah said. “This whole conversation started when I said I’m pursuing other options for myself instead of depending on other people. But I’m saying I don’t have the privilege of another community.”
“That’s not true though,” Reem said. “You have the privilege of any community you want to be part of.”
A shadow of a smile lingered on Aliyah’s face. “When the Arabs get together,” she said, “do you invite Americans?”
Reem narrowed her eyes in confusion. “They’re speaking in Arabic. Why would we invite Americans? You wouldn’t even understand what we’re saying.”
“That’s my point,” Aliyah said. “The Arab community is an option only for you, not me. So if I took your advice about being proactive in participating even when I think I’m not welcomed, I wouldn’t even understand the conversation.”
“I meant in this community, not with the Arabs.”
“But why are those two different things, Reem?” Aliyah said challengingly. “If we’re supposed to be a united ummah like you said, then why are Arabs excluded from that?”
“We’re not excluded,” Reem said. “I’m just saying there’s no point in inviting English speakers to Arab social events. It makes no sense.”
“We invite Arabic speakers to American social events,” Aliyah said. “What’s the difference?”
“Everyone is speaking English at your events,” Reem said. “But at our gatherings, we only speak Arabic.”
“I hear people speaking different languages at our events,” Aliyah said. “But even if we did speak only English, don’t you all know English?”
“Most of us do, yes. But our events give us the opportunity to relax and bond with other Arabs without the culture or language barrier.”
“And why can’t Americans also bond with Arabs?”
“You can,” Reem said, “when we come to your events.”
“Look,” Aliyah said, “I don’t have a problem with Arabs having their own events sometimes, because I’m sure if I were in a foreign country, I’d want to bond with people like me too. But my point is that the Arabs are your real community. I don’t have a real community. When most Americans convert to Islam, we have in our minds that all Muslims are our brothers and sisters, and we really expect other Muslims to see us that way.”
“And we do,” Reem said.
“But that’s not true,” Aliyah said. “You keep us at a distance and come around only to earn blessings for teaching Qur’an or Arabic and being kind to us.”
Reem’s eyes conveyed hurt. “I don’t keep you at a distance.”
“I don’t mean you specifically,” Aliyah said. “I’m talking about the culture of how Arabs and other immigrant Muslims deal with Americans.”
“I don’t see you as any different from my Arab friends.”
Aliyah’s eyebrows rose. “I think you do.”
“Aliyah, I’m really hurt that you’d say that,” Reem said. “I love you like my own sister.”
There was a thoughtful pause. “Think about it like this,” Aliyah said. “My son is twenty years old and your daughter is nineteen, and they want to get married. Is that okay?”
Reem’s eyes narrowed in distaste. “No. She’ll have to marry someone who shares her culture and language.”
Aliyah grinned and shook her head. “See? That’s what I mean. Then you do see me as different from your Arab friends. And there’s no way I could ever really be your Muslim sister because I don’t share your culture or language.”
“Marriage has nothing to do with what I’m talking about,” Reem said.
“But it has everything to do with what I’m talking about,” Aliyah said. “A real Muslim community should fulfill all our needs, not just Qur’an, Arabic, and Islamic studies. The community should be where we meet new friends, establish bonds of Muslim sisterhood and brotherhood, and where our children can meet their future spouses. If that’s not even a possibility for us, then it’s not a community. It’s a charity project where we’re sent home at the end of the day.”
“That’s why it’s important for you to be more active in your community,” Reem said. “For us, our parents and family help us get married. Americans can do something similar with each other.”
“And why do you assume that Arabs should marry Arabs and Americans should marry Americans?”
“It’s what makes the most sense,” Reem said. “I know in Islam it’s allowed to marry outside your culture, but it’s not encouraged. It can cause too many problems in your marriage and family.”
“I never heard that it’s not encouraged,” Aliyah said, “but I agree it can be a challenge for everyone involved. But that’s not my point. I mentioned marriage because family is t
he foundation of a community. And if we just assume that Arabs and Americans should have their own separate families, then there’s no such thing as the Muslim community you keep talking about.”
“I don’t think it’s fair to expect Arabs and other Muslims to welcome strangers into their families,” Reem said.
“Strangers?” Aliyah said, humor in her tone.
“You know what I mean.”
Aliyah shook her head. “I don’t think I do. You mentioned Arabs and other Muslims as one group and strangers as another. Who are the strangers you’re talking about?”
“Aliyah,” Reem said, annoyance in her voice, “it’s not an obligation for Muslims to intermarry with no care whatsoever for lineage and culture. There’s nothing wrong with preserving your bloodline and traditions.”
“Preserving your bloodline and traditions?” Aliyah said in disbelief. “I thought Muslims married based on personal preference and spiritual compatibility. So I don’t see how lineage and culture should even be mentioned in the context of marriage.”
“That’s why it’s not a good idea for Muslims to intermarry,” Reem said. “Understanding the importance of bloodline and family tradition is common knowledge in Muslim cultures. When they begin to intermarry, these things are lost because others don’t respect our traditions.”
“And they pollute the bloodline,” Aliyah added, sarcastic humor in her tone.
Reem sighed. “Let’s not talk about this anymore. It’s not something I think you can understand.”
“That,” Aliyah said, nodding emphatically, “I agree with completely. I view my Muslim brothers and sisters as a single group regardless of what country they’re from. And from what I read, that’s what the Sunnah tells us to do. So unless it’s based on someone’s personal preference and not a family or cultural rule, the idea of preserving bloodlines and cultures is not something I have the capacity to understand.”
“I think they’re finished,” Reem said, emotion gone from her voice. She gestured toward a court where the man and woman were gathering their tennis balls in preparation to leave. “We should go before someone else comes.”
Aliyah nodded and followed Reem to the court, but her mind was still on the troubling conversation they’d just had.
***
“As-salaamu’alaikum, stranger.”
Aliyah had just finished playing tennis with Reem and was standing on the sidelines of the basketball court waiting for Ibrahim’s group to the finish their last round of drills. She turned at the sound of a familiar voice.
“Why do you look so shocked?” Larry said teasingly, a playful grin on his face. “I still exist.”
An amused grin formed at Aliyah’s lips as she shook her head and turned her attention back to the court. “Wow.”
“Can I at least get the salaams?”
“Wa’alaiku-mus-salaam wa rahmatullaah,” she said with measured deliberation. “Stranger.”
“Man,” Larry said, laughter in his voice, “a brother can’t catch a break these days.”
“A brother?” Aliyah repeated, playful disbelief in her voice. “You’re the one who went AWOL on me.”
“M-I-A, maybe,” Larry said in lighthearted in apology. “But not AWOL.”
Aliyah shrugged, a shadow of a smile on her face. “Same difference. Either way, you have a lot of explaining to do.”
“Okay,” Larry said as if in confession. “I messed up. I hope you can forgive me.”
Aliyah was immediately reminded of Nikki saying something similar. Her smile faded at the thought.
“What?” Larry said, confusion in his voice. “Did I say something wrong?”
“No.” Aliyah shook her head. “It’s just that I seem to be hearing that a lot lately.”
“Hearing what?”
“I messed up,” she repeated. “I hope you can forgive me.”
There was a thoughtful pause. “I take it you’re talking about that social media madness from a few months back,” Larry said.
Aliyah coughed laughter. “No, I haven’t received any apologies for that.”
“You’re serious?” Larry sounded genuinely surprised.
“Dead,” Aliyah said.
Larry exhaled in a single breath. “Wow.”
“You can say that again.”
“Nobody apologized?”
“Well, one, if you count Jacob,” Aliyah said with a shrug. “But he wasn’t even responsible for what happened.”
An awkward silence followed.
“Have you spoken to Deanna or anybody?”
Something in the way Larry asked the question made Aliyah’s heart stop. “What happened?” she said, her eyes wide in panic as she looked at Larry. He was probably here for Younus and Thawab, she realized. “Is Jacob okay?”
Larry averted his gaze. “Insha’Allah.”
“What do you mean, ‘Insha’Allah’?” Aliyah didn’t mean to sound as if she were scolding Larry, but saying insha’Allah wasn’t telling her anything.
“I mean insha’Allah,” Larry said firmly, a trace of annoyance in his voice. “You know who he’s married to.”
“Larry,” Aliyah said, her voice a demanding plea, “tell me what happened.”
Larry shrugged. “I don’t know really. But it looks like Deanna and her mother had a fight or something.”
Aliyah drew her eyebrows together and shook her head in confusion. “So…” she said, unsure how to form the question in her mind.
“So Jacob’s mother-in-law is lying unconscious in some hospital.”
“What?”
“It doesn’t look good, Aliyah,” Larry said, his voice subdued. “Deanna is being held at the county jail. Her bail hearing is scheduled for next week.”
Aliyah felt lightheaded all of a sudden. There had to be some misunderstanding. “I mean, she couldn’t have…you know?”
Larry pursed his lips and shook his head as if to say he didn’t know any more than he’d shared.
“But that’s so…” Aliyah’s face was contorted in confusion. “Are you sure there isn’t some mistake?”
“I’m sure.”
“But Deanna practically adored her fam—”
“As-salaamu’alaikum, Aunty.”
At the sight of Younus and Thawab, Aliyah quickly closed her mouth and forced a smile. Before she replied to the boys’ salaams, Ibrahim appeared at her side.
“As-salaamu’aliakum, Mommy!” Ibrahim said, breathless. “I made a lot of shots today. The coach said I’m really good.”
“Wa’alaiku-mus-salaam, Younus, Thawab, and my cookie monster,” Aliyah said playfully. “I bet he did,” she said to Ibrahim. “Because you are really good, mashaAllah.”
Aliyah placed her hand on Ibrahim’s back as he hugged her, and her eyes met those of Younus, who was looking at her with an odd expression on his face. The look in his eyes made her uncomfortable, and she was tempted to ask what was bothering him. But she forced a smile instead, imagining that he probably knew about his mother. In response, Younus made a poor attempt at a pleasant expression, his lips forming a thin line before turning his attention to his uncle.
“Will Daddy be back soon?” Younus asked.
“I’m not sure when he’ll be back,” Larry said. “But why don’t we go get some ice cream?”
“Ice cream!” Thawab said cheerfully. “I want some.”
“Oooh,” Ibrahim said. “Can we get ice cream too?”
Aliyah’s eyebrows rose in apology, and she started to shake her head.
“Why don’t you two join us?” Larry said before she could refuse. “It’ll be my treat.”
“Yes!” Ibrahim said.
“Larry, I don’t know…” Exhaustion was in Aliyah’s voice as she spoke. She wasn’t in the mood to hang out with Larry. She was still trying to wrap her mind around what he’d just shared.
“Can Ibrahim come with us then?” Younus said, folding his arms over his chest. He still had that odd look in his eyes as he looked at Aliyah.
Aliyah opened her mouth to refuse, but Ibrahim interrupted her.
“Mommy, please,” he said, his face twisted in a pout. “I never see Younus and Thawab anymore.”
The truth of his words stung, and she felt horrible. It had been months since Ibrahim spent time with his friends. “Okay, but I need to—”
“Yes!” The boys sang out the word all together, making Aliyah laugh midsentence.
“—go home and take a shower first,” she finished. “And so do you.”
“I’ll pick up you and Ibrahim in an hour then, insha’Allah,” Larry said.
Still smiling, Aliyah nodded. “Okay, insha’Allah.”
***
She’ll have to marry someone who shares her culture and language.
Reem cringed at the memory. How could I say something like that? she scolded herself, her gloved hands gripping the steering wheel as she drove home. Though it was how she honestly felt about the idea of her daughter marrying an American, it was incredibly rude. She shouldn’t have said that to Aliyah. Perhaps Reem herself was being defensive. She had been offended by what Aliyah was saying about Arabs.
But Reem couldn’t deny that Aliyah was right. It was true that Reem was not fully invested in the non-Arab community, and she did come around only to teach Qur’an and tafseer and to earn blessings for being kind to Americans. But Reem genuinely liked Aliyah. So what did it matter whether or not Reem would want Aliyah’s son to marry her daughter? Why did everything boil down to marriage? Was that really the measuring stick of sisterhood and brotherhood in Islam? Certainly, love for the sake of Allah was not limited to who could marry whom.
Denial is a luxury that only the privileged can afford.
Reem was really hurt by Aliyah’s comment about privilege. All wasn’t well in Reem’s life, and all certainly was not well in the Arab community. Yes, Reem and Sayed preferred that Hana and Muhammad socialize with only family and other Arabs, but that didn’t mean they were privileged. It was definitely a blessing to be part of two different communities and to not have to worry about whom their daughter and son would marry, but life was so much more complicated than that.
