His Other Wife

by Umm Zakiyyah

  “Then why do you feel it didn’t draw you closer to Allah?”

  “Because being close to Allah isn’t a feeling,” Salima said. “It’s something only Allah can measure. But if we are close to Allah,” she said, “then we certainly wouldn’t feel comfortable disobeying Him every day.”

  “But none of us obey Allah perfectly,” Aliyah said. “Some people struggle with hijab but are stronger in other things.”

  “That’s true,” Salima said. “So I can’t speak for other women who took off their hijab. Maybe their obedience to Allah increased in other areas,” she said. “But for me, I convinced myself I was taking off hijab because Muslims put too much emphasis on outer appearances. But trust me.” She coughed laughter. “Once I took off my hijab, I started paying way more attention to how I looked. I spent more time styling my hair. I wore more make up. I took more pictures of myself. I even started being more friendly with guys.”

  “But how did you pray?” Aliyah said, reminded of when Mashael had asked to borrow her prayer garment. “Did you keep a hijab or prayer garment with you?”

  “In the beginning I did,” Salima said, her tone reflective. “But of course, over time, I just started delaying my Salaah or skipping prayers altogether. Sometimes I’d go a whole day without praying at all.”

  “SubhaanAllah…” Aliyah said in dismay.

  “But that’s how Shaytaan gets you,” Salima said, referring to Satan. “He makes you feel righteous about doing wrong. For me, I kept thinking to myself, See, I’m not a bad Muslim. A lot of people who cover don’t even pray all their prayers.” She coughed laughter. “Notice how none of my justifications had anything to do with Allah. It was all about what other Muslims were doing. Or were not doing.”

  “But what made you put it back on?” Aliyah asked.

  “It wasn’t one thing in particular,” Salima said honestly. “Things just kept gnawing at my conscience.”

  “Like what?”

  “Like Ramadan, for one,” Salima said. “That’s when I would review my hifdh the most and recite the whole Qur’an from memory. And as soon as I would recite isti’aadhah, I’d feel horrible. But I would try to focus on the tajweed and hifdh and not think too much about the meaning, astaghfirullah,” she said, invoking Allah’s forgiveness. “But it was hard, and sometimes I’d just break down crying because I hated myself so much.”

  “Did you ever put it back on just during Ramadan?”

  “No,” Salima said. “Because I felt like, what’s the point? I’m just going to take it off afterward anyway.”

  “So what was the last straw, the final thing that made you cover again?”

  “Two things,” Salima said. “Seeing how I started getting annoyed every time someone said something good about hijab, and meeting Muslims who believed hijab isn’t obligatory.”

  “Whoa… A’oodhubillaah,” Aliyah said, seeking refuge in Allah.

  “I think that was when I realized that taking off hijab isn’t as simple as not covering,” Salima said. “When you do something wrong, it’s human nature to rationalize, so it almost never stops at the sin itself,” she said. “And when I started socializing with people who said covering your hair isn’t mandatory, I got scared I’d commit kufr.”

  “But you’d still be Muslim,” Aliyah said, confusion in her voice.

  “Not if I started denying clear parts of the Qur’an,” Salima said. “Maybe the other Muslims didn’t know what Allah says about hijab in the Qur’an. But I knew. So I had no excuse to believe something like that.”

  “I see what you mean,” Aliyah said thoughtfully.

  “But I did start philosophizing about the exact meaning of hijab,” Salima said, embarrassed humor in her tone. “But even as I tried to convince myself that hijab was just dressing modestly, I knew it wasn’t about Allah. It was about making my life easier. So I had to walk away from that and get myself together.”

  “MashaAllah,” Aliyah said. “Maybe that’s how memorizing the Qur’an saved you.”

  “Maybe…” Salima said noncommittally.

  Aliyah paused thoughtfully. “Can I ask you something?” she said hesitantly. “Why do you wear a head wrap instead of a khimaar?”

  Salima forced laughter. “Oh, let’s not go there…”

  “Why not?” Aliyah said, embarrassed laughter in her voice.

  “I have a no-comment policy on that one,” Salima said, humor in her tone.

  “Really?” Aliyah said good-naturedly. “Why?”

  “Because it reminds me too much of what I went through before I took off my hijab,” Salima said. “All the your-hijab-is-wrong nonsense.”

  “You don’t think there’s a wrong way to wear hijab?” Aliyah asked curiously.

  “I didn’t say that,” Salima said. “I’m just saying I’m not interested in justifying myself to anyone. The way I see it, everyone should do what they believe Allah asked them to. I may or may not be wearing hijab properly. But I’m just Salima, not the Prophet, sallallaahu’alayhi wa sallam. So what difference does it make why I do what I do? I’m not your example.”

  “Ouch,” Aliyah said playfully.

  “I didn’t mean you specifically,” Salima said. “I just have a pet peeve about Muslims pretending to care why I dress like I do, when their question is really just an underhanded attempt to tell me I’m wrong.”

  Aliyah creased her forehead. “But why do you assume they think you’re wrong? Maybe they’re just curious about something they’re unfamiliar with,” she said.

  “Maybe you’re just curious,” Salima said. “But trust me, most Muslims take one look at me and think they have to save me from the Hellfire.”

  Aliyah frowned thoughtfully. “But is that a bad thing?” she said. “I know it can be offensive, but aren’t we supposed to try to save each other from Hellfire?”

  Salima huffed. “Judging someone and sincerely caring about their soul are two different things.”

  Aliyah was quiet momentarily as she considered what Salima said. “But how would you know whether or not someone sincerely cares?” Aliyah said. “I don’t mean any disrespect to you. But isn’t that the very definition of judging to claim to know someone’s intentions? If it’s wrong to judge someone for how they dress, isn’t it just as wrong to judge someone for trying to help?”

  There was an extended silence. “You make a good point,” Salima admitted. “I just wish we could find a new topic, you know? I’m tired of talking about our clothes.”

  “I know how you feel,” Aliyah said. “But I try to remind myself that obeying Allah is a topic that we should never get tired of. Though I do think we need to be more balanced when discussing women’s issues. Women have a spiritual existence outside the context of hijab.”

  “If only the Muslim world realized that,” Salima said reflectively.

  “If only…” Aliyah agreed.

  “But girl, let me get back to what I’m supposed to be doing,” Salima said. “Just make du’aa that Allah preserves our new sister in Islam and guides Larry to do what’s best.”

  “I will, insha’Allah.”

  “Then I’ll see you Friday insha’Allah,” Salima said.

  Aliyah was confused momentarily. “Friday?”

  “Muslim Marriage Monologues,” Salima said.

  “Oh yeah…” Aliyah said, chuckling at her forgetfulness. “But my aunt and uncle just got back from their trip a couple of days ago, so if I don’t have to visit them, I’ll come insha’Allah.”

  ***

  Reem was sitting hunched over on the floor of the living room of their home when Sayed came home from work. Hana and Muhammad were running back and forth, chasing each other, seemingly oblivious to their mother’s despondent state. Sayed wondered what time Reem had returned home. She was still wearing the black shoulder abaya from early that morning, and her khimaar sat on her neck like a loosened winter scarf. For a moment, trepidation gripped him as he wondered if his wife was conscious. But when he offered the salaa
ms and closed the front door, she started, turning her head toward him.

  As their gazes met, she smiled weakly and lifted a hand in a halfhearted wave. “Wa’alaiku mus-salaam,” she mumbled.

  “You okay?” Sayed said, his voice etched in concern.

  His question seemed to bring life back to her, and she got to her feet and walked toward him, a tired but pleasant expression on her face. She embraced him without responding, and Sayed held her close for several seconds.

  “As-salaamu’alaikum, Baba!” Hana and Muhammad called out cheerfully before they zipped out of the living room again.

  Sayed smiled and replied to his children as he loosened his embrace in preparation to change clothes and prepare for Asr prayer. But Reem tightened her grip. Confused, he embraced her again, his heart aching for the pain she felt right then. Maybe it had been a bad idea to hire a driver to take Reem to and from her appointment. Sayed should have been there as emotional support. But Reem had insisted that she didn’t want him to adjust his work schedule while he had insisted that she not drive herself.

  “Do you love me?” Reem’s muffled voice said, speaking into Sayed’s neck.

  “Of course,” Sayed said. “More than anything.”

  “How is your love for me?”

  Sayed smiled, relieved that even in her melancholic state, his wife had not lost her sense of humor. Whenever Reem was feeling sentimental or playful, she would ask Sayed the question that the Prophet’s wife Ayesha would ask the Messenger of Allah. “Like a knot,” Sayed replied, his voice soft as he mimicked the answer that the Prophet would give.

  “Okay,” Reem muttered. “Just checking.”

  Sayed brushed the top of her head with a kiss, his lips cushioned by her mass of hair. “I love you too much,” Sayed said, playfully mocking the way some of their Arab friends who weren’t proficient in English used the word too in place of very or so.

  Sayed heard Reem chuckle, her shoulders moving rhythmically as she laughed. A wave of compassion swept over Sayed from how much he cared for his wife, and he pulled her closer and kissed her head again. Seconds later Reem’s chuckles turned to whimpers, and Sayed felt the moist tears on his neck as her body trembled with the sobs.

  “It’s okay, habeebti,” he said, pulling his head back just enough to meet her gaze. “It’s okay.” He wiped away her tears with the flat of his fingers then kissed her moist cheeks. “Allah is with you,” he said as he held her close again. “And I am with you.”

  ***

  Aliyah was overcome with dread as Jacob and Deanna’s house came into view and she slowed her car to a stop in front of the mailbox. When she put the car in park, she felt a shortness of breath, and her chest constricted in anxiety.

  Ever since we met, Aliyah heard Deanna’s voice in her head, that’s all I’ve ever done: listen to you and help you. I helped you get a husband. I helped you get a job. I help pay your bills. I listen every time you stress over your stupid, childish problems. But when will you listen to me?

  Guilt and shame choked Aliyah as she recalled telling Jacob it was okay to talk to her uncle about marriage. Was she out of her mind? What was she thinking? She couldn’t marry Jacob. Everything about it was all wrong.

  You and Bailey are not going to do this to me!

  In her mind’s eye, Aliyah saw the angry, contorted face of Deanna as she lunged at her. Aliyah leaned back in her seat and shut her eyes, waiting for the painful squeezing in her chest to subside. To steady her breathing, she inhaled through her nose and exhaled slowly through her mouth. Gradually, the anxiety loosened in her chest.

  A shrilling sound caused Aliyah to start, and her eyes shot open. Heart thudding forcefully, she realized the cell phone next to her was ringing. Instinctively, she picked up the phone and looked at the display.

  Larry Bivens

  “As-salaamu’alikum,” Aliyah said, speaking into the wire mouthpiece as she set the phone back into the compartment next to the driver’s seat after accepting the call. “I’m outside.”

  “Wa’alaiku mus-salaam,” Larry said. “I can see that…” Lighthearted teasing was in his tone. “I was just wondering if there was any particular reason you didn’t call to say you were here.”

  “I’m sorry. I was just—”

  “It’s fine,” Larry said good-naturedly. “I’ll send Ibrahim out now.”

  “Larry?” Aliyah said quickly, hoping to catch him before he hung up.

  “Yes?”

  “Will I be picking up Ibrahim here from now on?”

  There was an extended pause. “Why?” Larry said.

  “No reason,” Aliyah said, her voice awkward in its forced cordiality. “I was just trying to…um, plan my schedule.”

  “Most likely,” Larry said. “I’m not always at the same place with the boys each day, so Jacob and I thought it’d be easier if I bring them here each afternoon and stay with them until he got home.”

  “That makes sense…”

  “But I can make other arrangements if you need me to,” Larry said. “I’m flexible.”

  “No it’s okay,” Aliyah said, feeling self-conscious for having even asked. “This is fine.”

  “Okay…” Larry said, doubt in his voice. “Then I’ll send Ibrahim out now.”

  Aliyah ended the call and bit her lower lip as she stared distantly beyond the windshield. Beggars can’t be choosers, she told herself. It wouldn’t be fair to ask Larry to disrupt his nephews’ routine just to save her the discomfort of coming to Deanna’s house every day.

  The front door to the house opened, and Aliyah turned to see Ibrahim running out, an excited grin on his face. As he approached the car, a grin spread on her own face.

  “Mommy!” Ibrahim said, breathless as he opened the back car door and climbed into his seat. “Uncle Larry said I run fast!” He closed the door and buckled his seat belt.

  “Wa’alaiku-mus-salaam, Himy,” Aliyah said, playfully teasing her son for not giving her the salaams.

  “Oh, sorry, Mommy,” Ibrahim said, giggling. “As-salaamu’alaikum.”

  “So you run fast, huh?” she said, glancing at him in the rearview mirror as she put the car in drive and eased forward.

  “Yes,” Ibrahim said eagerly. “And I kick the ball high!”

  “MashaAllah,” she said. “I bet you do. You have strong legs.”

  “Uncle Larry says I can be the best soccer player ever!”

  “I think Uncle Larry is right,” Aliyah said, glancing in the mirror again. Ibrahim exhaled a sudden breath before leaning his head on the back of the seat and looking out the window. She smiled to herself. He was tired, but he was still wired from the exciting day. She silently prayed that Allah would bless and preserve Larry for helping with her son.

  Her phone rang, and instinctively she glanced to the compartment next to her. Larry Bivens. Concerned, she answered immediately by squeezing the button on the wire that was still snaked to one ear. “Is everything okay?”

  “Yes, it’s fine,” Larry said, apology in his tone. “I just forgot to mention that Jasmine called to say she took her shahaadah.”

  “Oh, mashaAllah,” Aliyah said, hoping she sounded genuinely surprised. But she couldn’t help wondering why Larry thought it was important for her to know the news.

  “And she asked if you could teach her how to pray.”

  It took a few seconds for Aliyah to register what Larry was saying. “Me?”

  “Yes, you.”

  “But…”

  “She says you seem like a good Muslim, mashaAllah.”

  “But why not Salima?” Aliyah said. “Jasmine and I don’t even know each other.”

  “I asked her the same thing.”

  “And what did she say?”

  “That you seemed knowledgeable about the religion and that she felt she could learn a lot from you.”

  “But…” Aliyah didn’t know what to say.

  “I guess you must have made quite an impression at the mall,” Larry said, lighthea
rted teasing in his voice.

  “But we barely spoke,” Aliyah said as if genuinely confused.

  There was an extended silence. “I can’t say for sure…” Larry said, his tone suggesting that he was uncertain if he should share the information. “…but my hunch is that she put two and two together.”

  Aliyah creased her forehead. “About what?”

  “Remember that family dinner you went to at my family’s house months ago?”

  Aliyah’s heart sank. She had completely forgotten about that. Oooooh, Aliyah could still hear the voices of Larry’s family in her head. It looks like Larry finally got over Jasmine! “Yes…” Aliyah said tentatively.

  “My guess is that she’s curious about the mystery girl my family thought had stolen my heart.”

  Aliyah’s stomach churned. “Larry, I…” she said, apology in her tone. “I’m sorry, but I can’t…”

  “I know, I know,” Larry said good-naturedly. “I’m just passing on the message.”

  “Thanks,” Aliyah said.

  “But before she mentioned you,” he said, “she asked whether or not it was her Islamic right to have her Muslim sisters help her learn everything.”

  Aliyah felt weak with dread. “SubhaanAllah,” she muttered.

  “Jasmine’s done her homework,” Larry said, humored admiration in his voice.

  Aliyah was silent for some time. “Can’t she just go to the new Muslim classes at the masjid?” she said weakly.

  “I’ll mention that to her, insha’Allah,” Larry said as if the idea hadn’t occurred to him.

  “But don’t say I suggested it,” Aliyah said quickly.

  “Of course not,” he said, laughter in his voice. “But don’t be surprised if she calls you up herself in the next couple of days.”

  Aliyah groaned. “Please don’t tell me you gave her my number.”

  “I wouldn’t do that,” Larry said. “But Jasmine is very resourceful, so I thought I should give you a heads-up.”

  Aliyah was suddenly overcome with guilt and shame. It was wrong to purposely avoid her new sister in Islam, especially if all she wanted was to learn how to pray. Perhaps the phone call with Salima had prejudiced Aliyah against Jasmine. “If she calls,” Aliyah said, exhausted obligation in her voice, “then I’ll do what I can, insha’Allah.”