by Umm Zakiyyah
***
“You don’t have to apologize,” Reem said when she called Aliyah back as Aliyah drove to Salima’s gathering Friday evening. “I was offended,” Reem admitted, “but you didn’t say anything wrong. I am privileged. I have options that you don’t have, and I shouldn’t trivialize that.”
“I could have chosen a better word,” Aliyah said regretfully, conscious that Ibrahim was in the backseat. “I was angry, and I shouldn’t have taken it out on you.”
“No,” Reem said. “You had every right to say what you did. I don’t believe in micromanaging people’s pain. I went through that with my family when I was in high school, and I vowed to never do it to anyone else. So if you feel I’ve done something wrong, then say it. No matter how upset I get, we’ll get through it insha’Allah.”
Aliyah was quiet as she recalled Reem alluding to a rebellious stage she had gone through when she was a teenager. “A lot of things happened to me when I was a child,” Reem had said. “And I think it just got too much for me to keep holding inside.”
“Why do you believe it’s okay to choose who your children will marry?” Aliyah said after careful thought. If she and Reem were going to have an honest friendship, Aliyah needed to believe that Reem saw her as a full human being who was no less than an Arab.
Aliyah heard Reem exhale as if in exhaustion. “I don’t think it’s something you can understand, Aliyah,” Reem said apologetically, her words reminding Aliyah of their conversation on the tennis court. “I know Americans have this idealistic view of Islam, but it’s not necessarily what Allah asks of us. We can marry for culture and lineage if we want to.”
“But you weren’t talking about for yourself,” Aliyah pointed out. “You were saying that about your daughter, and she’s only four years old. How do you know what she’ll want fifteen years from now?”
“We don’t always know what’s best for us,” Reem said. “Allahu’alam,” she said, acknowledging that ultimately God knew best. “But I don’t see how Hana would have any idea what she needs when she’s nineteen, or even twenty-five. That’s why she has parents. There’s a reason Allah requires a wali for marriage.”
“And Muhammad?” Aliyah asked, referring to Reem’s son, Hana’s twin brother.
“And Muhammad too,” Reem said. “But of course he has more rights to disagree with us.”
The word us stung, making Aliyah feel as if Reem’s entire family and circle of Arab friends were united against her and other Americans. “What about the hadith telling fathers to accept the proposal of a man whose character and religion pleases them?” Aliyah said.
“It’s not as simple as that,” Reem said. “It’s like what you said about marrying Matt. You needed someone you were compatible with. And Hana and Muhammad will need the same thing.”
But I was talking about the need to make the decision for myself, Aliyah responded in her mind. And you’re talking about making that decision for your children. Aliyah decided against speaking her thoughts aloud. She already knew that Reem would have a logical explanation implying that Aliyah didn’t have the capacity to understand her point of view. But to Aliyah’s ears, it sounded as if Reem were justifying cultural discrimination under the guise of “I know what’s best for my children.” Aliyah couldn’t comprehend how Reem’s position was any different from the Arabs in pre-Islamic times.
“Sayed told me about Deanna,” Reem said, her voice subdued. “Laa hawla wa laa quwwata illaa billaah.” Sadness was in her tone as she acknowledged that nothing happens except by the permission of God. “I pray there’s some misunderstanding. I don’t think she would harm her mother intentionally.”
“Intentional” is relative, Aliyah thought to herself. She didn’t believe Deanna would set out to physically harm anyone, especially her own mother, but Aliyah could see Deanna lashing out in anger. However, it was difficult for Aliyah to fathom an argument with someone’s parents escalating to the level of physical violence. The thought was inconceivable. “All we can do is make du’aa,” she said reflectively.
“Will she be out on bail until the trial?” Reem said. “Sayed said they just have to pay ten thousand dollars.”
Just? Aliyah repeated in her mind. That’s a lot of money. “I don’t know,” Aliyah said, her thoughts immediately going to Larry, whom she’d been avoiding for the past four days. She wondered if it would be wrong to ask him for an update. Asking about Deanna couldn’t be the same as asking for advice, could it?
But just as soon as the idea came to her, she disregarded it. “If you can’t help him with what he needs, don’t expect him to help you with what you need.” Offense stabbed Aliyah at the reminder. Though Larry had texted and called to apologize for what he’d said, she refused to speak to him. It had taken some time for Aliyah to pinpoint why Larry always managed to get under her skin no matter how much she enjoyed his company. But after spending the last few days nursing her hurt over his words, she realized that Larry carried himself with a sense of entitlement.
Larry was intelligent, attractive, and wealthy, but none of these things inclined Aliyah to consider marrying him. But he was so accustomed to being sought after that it must have baffled him that Aliyah was not flattered by his company. “Most women I date practically throw themselves at me,” he’d said to Aliyah once. “I like it when women play hard to get.”
But Aliyah wasn’t playing. She really wasn’t interested in Larry, or any man for that matter.
As Aliyah slowed the car in front of the house that her navigation system had directed her to, she glanced back at Ibrahim and saw that his eyes were slowly closing though he was trying to stay awake.
“I think it’s getting a bit too much for Nikki,” Matt had said when Aliyah called him four days ago when he was on his way to the airport. “And I’m worried that she won’t be able to manage the baby and Ibrahim after the pregnancy.”
Aliyah sighed in exhaustion as she put the car in park. Naturally, she agreed to take care of Ibrahim full time once Nikki’s baby arrived. After all, she had always wanted to spend more time with her son. But Aliyah was unsure how she felt about this sudden change of plans. She had a full-time job now, so she wouldn’t be able to pick up Ibrahim from school each day. And if he stayed at school until she got off work, what would he do for three whole hours after school? Should she enroll him in an extracurricular activity? But he was only five years old and would be in kindergarten. Was it right to keep someone that young stuck in school from morning to evening each day? And then there was the question of financial support. Currently, she didn’t receive any because, technically speaking, Matt had full custody while she had only visitation rights. But the arrangement was not legally binding. It had been mutually agreed upon after the divorce. At the time, Aliyah hadn’t known if she’d have a place of her own, let alone a place for her son.
Aliyah’s phone chimed and vibrated in her handbag as she walked to the front door of the home. Still holding Ibrahim’s hand, she withdrew the phone and looked at the screen.
That’s how it is, huh? Larry had texted. Now that Jacob’s divorced, you don’t have any use for me? smh
Hand trembling slightly, Aliyah locked the screen and dropped the phone back in her purse. Jacob’s divorced?
Distracted by the news, Aliyah lifted the knocker and tapped it against the small metal frame on the door. She glanced down at Ibrahim and flashed a quick close-lipped smile before she stared straight ahead, thoughts distant.
“Who are you?” a tenor female voice said moments after the door opened. Aliyah found herself standing opposite an imposing woman with closely cropped hair who folded her arms authoritatively, waiting for an explanation.
“I’m…um…” Aliyah found it difficult to gather her thoughts.
“You straight, female by birth, and Muslim?” the woman asked as she narrowed her eyes at Aliyah.
Aliyah drew her eyebrows together, worried she’d knocked on the wrong door. She squeezed Ibrahim’s hand tighter and pu
lled him closer. “Is this the poetry night club for married people?” she said, realizing immediately that she had completely botched the description.
“No, it’s not.”
The woman started to close the door when Aliyah heard someone call out, “Wait, Carly, I think that’s the sister I invited.”
The door opened again, and Salima peeked around the woman, and Aliyah’s shoulders dropped in relief. “As-salaamu’alaikum, Aliyah!” Salima said, stepping around the woman to hug Aliyah. “I’m glad you made it.”
“So you know her, I guess?” the imposing woman said, an arched eyebrow rising doubtfully.
“Yes, I do,” Salima said, playful defensiveness in her voice. “Now chill with all the security detail.”
“Is she str—”
“Carly,” Salima interjected, her voice more serious. “I invited her. She’s cool.”
“I hope you’re right,” the woman said, huffing in annoyance as she walked away.
“Excuse her,” Salima said apologetically as she ushered Aliyah inside and closed the door. “Carletta is just being extra careful. We’ve had some bad experiences in the past.”
“Bad experiences?” Aliyah’s voice rose in concern as she glanced at her son. “What do you mean?”
Salima’s gaze went to Ibrahim, and a wide smile spread on her face. “Is this your son?”
“Yes.” Aliyah smiled, a bit taken aback by the sudden shift in subject. “His name is Ibrahim.”
“Ibrahim!” Salima exclaimed in the exaggerated excitement that adults often reserved for conversations with children. Salima clasped her hands together gleefully. “Ibrahim, I’m Sister Salima. And I have a son named Haroon. He’s five and named after a prophet, just like you.”
Ibrahim smiled, glancing up at Aliyah uncertainly. “Okay.”
“Would you like to play with him? He has some really nice cars and action figures.”
Ibrahim broke into a grin, and he looked at Aliyah. “Okay,” he said tentatively, waiting for his mother’s approval.
“That sounds good,” Aliyah said, nodding politely.
“Carly,” Salima called out, glancing behind her, “can you take Aliyah’s boy upstairs to where Haroon and the other children are?”
Aliyah felt a tinge of discomfort at the thought of the rude woman accompanying her son up the stairs. “As-salaamu’alaikum,” Carletta said in forced cordiality after she returned to the foyer. She offered a tightlipped smile to Aliyah and an extended hand to Ibrahim. “Welcome to my humble home.”
Salima laughed and shook her head as Ibrahim took Carletta’s hand as they headed toward the stairs. “Sorry about Carly,” Salima said. “She’s not exactly a people person.”
“I see,” Aliyah said, her eyes following Ibrahim as he ascended the stairs alongside Carletta, excitement in his eyes.
“She hosted the monologues in her home about a year ago, and she said she wasn’t going to do it again,” Salima said as Aliyah slipped off her shoes, immediately realizing that she hadn’t told Ibrahim to remove his.
“Why?” Aliyah said as she followed Salima down a hall.
“Because she went through something similar to what happened to you.”
Aliyah creased her forehead. “What do you mean?”
“Name-calling, slander.” Salima shook her head. “It was ridiculous.”
“But why?”
Salima shrugged. “Who knows? We’re still trying to figure that out.”
“But what happened?”
“She hosted an open-mic with the topic ‘Relationship Woes Among Judgmental Muslims,’ and she made it an open invitation to all the sisters in the community,” Salima said. “She wanted to start an open dialogue about how Muslims can be more understanding of diverse family make-ups. Like single-parent homes, blended families with stepbrothers and stepsisters being raised together, half-brothers and sisters living together after a parent divorces and remarries, things like that.” Salima frowned and shook her head. “But it didn’t turn out too well.”
Aliyah grunted in understanding. “I could have told her that. This community only accepts homes that look like Leave It To Beaver and The Cosby Show. One mother and one father for all the children,” she said. “And one marriage per person, preferably thirty years and counting.”
“Well…” Salima said tentatively, turning to face Aliyah before entering the main room. “It was more than that. Some LGBTQ Muslims caught wind of it and came to the event.”
Aliyah’s eyes widened as she brought a hand to her mouth.
Salima shook her head. “Of course, it was a disaster. They used the open-mic session for all these lesbian Muslim poems and how so-called traditional Muslims are extremist and homophobic because they consider same-sex relations a sin.”
“SubhaanAllah,” Aliyah said. “I never heard about this.”
“That’s good to know,” Salima said, a half smile on her face. “Because, I swear, it felt like the whole world was against us at the time. Even some of our friends got online and said we shouldn’t exclude them in our sessions, otherwise we’re hypocrites since our group is about relationship problems.”
Aliyah rolled her eyes. “Some Muslims never cease to twist the message of Islamic sisterhood and brotherhood for their own purposes.”
“Plus-minus Islam,” Salima said in agreement.
Aliyah met Salima’s gaze in confusion, a half smile lingering on her face. “Plus-minus Islam?”
“It’s when Muslims add or take away things in Islam to suit their own purposes.”
Aliyah nodded, understanding.
“The people who were slandering us believe in adding things to the religion,” Salima said, “and the people who were slandering you believe in taking away things in the religion.”
Aliyah huffed, an amused expression on her face. “Plus-minus Islam, huh?”
“Add LGBTQ practices,” Salima said, “and take away polygamy.”
“Because we live in different times,” Aliyah said, mocking the commonly held argument to defend these changes. “And new times require new rules.”
“Exactly,” Salima said, smirking and shaking her head. “But we’re not trying to go to Hellfire up in here. We’re just a group of sisters trying to help each other strive for Paradise. And we don’t put a footnote where Allah puts a period.”
Aliyah smiled, nodding. “MashaAllah,” she said. “I like that. We don’t put a footnote where Allah puts a period.”
“Good,” Salima said, a grin spreading on her face. “Because that’s the title of the poem I wrote for tonight.”
Salima turned and walked into the main room, gesturing for Aliyah to follow. “Come on,” Salima said. “Let me introduce you to everyone.”
***
Deanna played the scene over and over in her mind. But the details remained jumbled and foggy. In her mind’s eye, she saw her mother coming close to her, palm raised, threatening an attack. “No,” Deanna’s heart cried in frenzied anguish. “I will not let her hit me again!” Deanna lifted a hand to stop her mother and furiously gripped her mother’s arm. That was when Deanna felt her own feet slip beneath her.
For a moment, Deanna thought she would fall. But she propelled herself forward and steadied her disoriented stance…
Then found that she was at the top of the stairs holding onto the bannister. Alone.
Chapter 17
Muslim Marriage Monologues
“I’m not sure what you think your test in life is,” Salima said as she stood in front of the crowd of sisters reciting the poem she’d written for the Muslim Marriage Monologues gathering that Friday night, “if you don’t have to follow any rules…
I’m not sure what you think faith is
If there’s absolutely nothing you have to do.
Why even claim Islam at all
If you’re not going to submit?
Why even call yourself Muslim
If you can just call it quits?
No, I’m not jud
ging you.
Okay, well, maybe I am.
But you can’t deny this is all confusing
If you’re standing where I am
I thought Islam was a complete religion
Established for all time
I thought Islam was Allah’s religion
A gift to all mankind.
I thought the whole point of submission
Was that it requires a lot of work
I thought the whole point of faith
Was that you never give up
What happened to humility?
What happened to ‘We hear and we obey’?
Or is that only when Allah says something you like
And otherwise it’s ‘We hear and we disobey’?
So, nah, I ain’t feeling you
With all this love who you want to sh*t
If you wanna roll like that,
On the real, I ain’t feeling it
We all got skeletons and ghosts
Stuff that’s better left alone
You ever heard of hiding your sins?
Seeking refuge from Shaytaan?
So don’t think you got a test so big
It can change Allah’s Word
He knew what He was going to give you
Before you were even on this earth
So don’t play that feel-sorry-for-me card
It’s really getting old
We all got sob stories, girl
Some are just better left un-told
So if you want Paradise
You’re going to have to get serious
And you can’t put a footnote
Where Allah puts a period.”
The crowd of about twenty women erupted in applause. “Tell it!” some shouted.
Smiling, Aliyah brought her hands together, clapping along with the crowd as her gaze followed Salima leaving the front of the room and joining the other women.
“I’m not much of a poet…” a soft voice said, prompting Aliyah to turn her attention toward the source of the sound. A tall, thin woman stood hesitantly in front of the crowd and held three sheets of paper worn with creases. A face veil sat under her chin like a bib, as if she were uncomfortable completely unveiling in front of the all-female crowd. “…so I hope you don’t mind if I just read from the paper.”
