by Umm Zakiyyah
Jacob furrowed his brows. “Your mother?”
“You saw her,” Aliyah said, gesturing a hand toward him. “Does she seem like she’s in her right mind?”
Jacob recalled the disturbing scene that Naomi had made at Benjamin’s house. “Maybe you’re thinking of mental sickness and spiritual sickness as the same thing?”
“No,” Aliyah said. “Because not all mentally ill people are spiritually sick. But I think all spiritually sick people are mentally ill.”
“But aren’t we all spiritually sick on some level?”
“Yes,” Aliyah said, “which means we all have a touch of mental illness to the extent that we voluntarily give ourselves to those sicknesses.”
Jacob was silent momentarily. “But what about people who are possessed by jinn?” he said. “They didn’t voluntarily give themselves to that sickness.”
“Like I said,” Aliyah replied, “this wouldn’t apply to every person with mental illness, but I think it applies to people like my mother.”
Jacob pursed his lips thoughtfully. “I don’t know…” he said. “I think you make a good point, but I think mental illness is much more complicated than that.” He shook his head. “And I don’t think your mother is mentally ill.” He shrugged. “But then again, I’m not sure if there’s anyone who can claim to be one hundred percent mentally healthy.”
“I read a book one time,” Aliyah said reflectively, “and it said we’re all on the verge of mental illness to a certain extent.”
“I hope that’s not true.”
Aliyah shrugged. “Maybe it’s not. But it was written by a famous psychiatrist, and though that doesn’t mean he’s right, I do think he’s on to something.”
There was an extended pause, as it seemed that there was nothing left for either of them to say.
“You think we can meet at your uncle’s house tomorrow?” Jacob said, returning to the subject of speaking to Deanna.
Aliyah was silent as she considered the suggestion. “I guess that could work…” she said. “As long as Uncle Benjamin is fine with it.”
Jacob creased his forehead as he looked at Aliyah, a thought having come to him suddenly. “What were you saying about your mother and sister earlier?” he said. “When I cut you off?”
“Oh yeah,” Aliyah said. “I was saying that dealing with them made me realize that the non-profit you’re trying to do is really important, mashaAllah.”
Jacob felt so uncomfortable with the vote of confidence that he had to fight the urge to change the subject. He wasn’t used to having his ideas praised or supported.
“So many people are dealing with emotional trauma,” Aliyah said, “and they have no idea what to do about it.” She huffed. “We have so many resources to help people who insist on being victims. But what’s out there to help people who are suffering but are just trying to live? Not everyone wants to blame others for their problems and then pay a therapist to tell them they have a right to.”
Jacob nodded. “I just can’t figure out how to start it though,” he said. “I can’t even come up with a name.”
“That’s what I was starting to say earlier,” Aliyah said. “I thought of name that might work.”
A smile spread on Jacob’s face. “You did?” It was heartwarming to learn that she’d taken time to work on his idea when he didn’t even ask her to. This was definitely a new experience for him in marriage.
“But I’m not sure if it’s what you’re looking for…” Aliyah averted her gaze, and Jacob sensed that she was becoming suddenly self-conscious about her suggestion.
“What is it?” he said, optimism in his voice. “So far, I’ve come up with nothing.” He added, “At least nothing worth using.”
“Safe.”
It took a moment for Jacob to register what Aliyah was saying. “Safe?”
She frowned self-consciously. “You don’t like it, do you?”
“Oh, was that the name you came up with?” Jacob said.
Aliyah laughed, embarrassment in that sound. “It’s stupid, isn’t it?” But Jacob could tell she was hoping he disagreed.
“No…” Jacob said tentatively, hoping he sounded grateful and diplomatic. “It’s just… I mean, will people understand what we do? I want the name of the organization to speak for itself, if you know what I mean.”
Aliyah nodded. “Sorry,” she said.
“No, no, it’s fine,” Jacob said, reassuring her. “I’m still racking my brain about this myself.”
“I just thought it was a good acronym…” she said, her voice trailing. She coughed laughter. “But it does sounds silly, huh?”
“Safe is an acronym?” he said, his curiosity piqued just then.
“It’s okay,” Aliyah said, waving her hand dismissively. “We don’t have to use it.”
“But what does it stand for?”
“Surviving Abuse and Family Estrangement.”
Jacob’s spirits lifted immediately. “You came up with that?”
An embarrassed grin creased one side of her mouth. “Yes, but I know it could be better. So we can think up something else.”
“No, no, no,” Jacob said, a smile in his voice. “I like it.”
Aliyah’s expression showed childlike excitement. “You do?”
“SAFE.” He nodded, as if getting used to the name. “I like it,” he said sincerely.
“It doesn’t sound stupid?” Aliyah wrinkled her nose, humored doubt in her expression.
“Absolutely not,” Jacob said. “I just didn’t know it was acronym at first.”
Aliyah laughed out loud. “Oh yeah, that could be a problem.”
“But it could definitely work for what I’m trying to do.”
There was a thoughtful pause. “And you don’t mind the family estrangement part?” Aliyah said doubtfully. “I know you were mainly focusing on abuse, but I think emotional trauma goes beyond that. That’s why I mentioned my mother and sister,” she explained. “I could use an organization like this myself. It’s not easy being estranged from your family.”
“I definitely don’t mind,” he replied. “Like I said, I’m still vetting out everything myself, and I think the addition of family estrangement allows us to reach more people in our work.”
Aliyah nodded. “I like how your proposal was speaking of helping people overcome their abusive tendencies instead of only helping people who’ve been abused.”
“The funny thing is,” Jacob said reflectively, “they’re actually the same people. It’s just that it’s more in style, so to speak, to say you were abused instead of admitting you have abusive tendencies yourself.” He shook his head. “My father used to always say, ‘Hurt people hurt people, son. And show me one person in this world who hasn’t been hurt at least once in their life.’”
“Wow, mashaAllah,” Aliyah said. “He sounds like a wise man.”
Jacob shrugged. “Or just a man with a bit of wisdom,” he said. “Anyone who’s lived and learned has wisdom to impart.”
“But some people are wiser than others,” Aliyah said.
Jacob nodded thoughtfully. “True. But it’s hard for me to think of anyone as wise who’s heard of Islam then turned away from it while knowing it’s true.” He shrugged. “So like I said, to me, he’s just a man with a bit of wisdom. I could respect him more if he at least accepted his purpose of life.”
“I know what you mean…” Aliyah said, and Jacob sensed that she was thinking of her own family.
“But we’re SAFE now,” Jacob said in lighthearted humor. “So insha’Allah, we can help people with a bit of wisdom get a bit more help in life.”
Chapter 33
The Marriage Announcement
Early Sunday afternoon Salima pulled her car into the driveway of her parents’ home. She was unable to keep from grinning from the excitement she felt. Losing her husband and eldest children in a car accident years ago had left her numb with shock and grief. But the suffering was nothing like she had read about in book
s or had seen in movies. While the tragedy certainly inspired deeper appreciation for the time they had together, the death of a loved one didn’t erase from your mind and heart all the troubles you’d faced while they were alive. It didn’t even erase the anger and frustration you felt toward them.
But the truth was, Salima realized, grief wasn’t something that could be explained or shown to you. There were no words you could read or film you could watch that could make you understand. Fate knocked your legs right from under you just when you stood firmly on the ground. It punched the wind from your lungs just when you were breathing freely, full of life. But grief wasn’t all tears and anguish, she reflected. It was also delirious laughter, immeasurable silence, and feeling nothing at all.
The one thing the books and movies did get right, Salima thought, was the difficulty of starting again. But it wasn’t because your heart was so attached to the one you’d lost that it was unimaginable to move on. It was because every limb and vein in your body was paralyzed in fear. It felt like a single step in the wrong direction could cause someone else to tumble from your life. And at times, your suffering even felt like divine punishment, payback for every sin you committed and every careless word you’d spoken.
It felt like what you deserved.
But more than anything, Salima reflected, sudden tragedy was the violent removal of the veil of pretense. And though that was the most painful part, it was also the most blessed. Because it forced you—if you had even the slightest remnants of faith and common sense—to look at the life of this world from the vantage point of your purpose of creation, instead of from the vantage point of fulfilling your desires.
“I’m glad I met you,” Larry had said to Salima once. “No matter what happens, I think it’s a blessing that we crossed paths.” A smile twitched at her lips as she put the car in park. She was almost embarrassed for how giddy she felt, but she couldn’t help it.
Salima liked Larry more than she had been able to fully admit. His frankness and confidence might be interpreted as rudeness and false machismo to some, but Salima liked these qualities. She admired a man who wasn’t ashamed to be a man. In this age of increasingly effeminate and emasculated men, it was refreshing to connect with someone with obvious masculine qualities. That he was not afraid to disagree with her and call her on her own contradictions only made her admire and desire him more. His straightforwardness could be offensive at times, but it was comforting to know she would be marrying a man who wasn’t afraid to lead.
Mikaeel had been an absolute sweetheart, but it wasn’t until Salima got to know Larry better that she realized that Mikaeel, though sincere in his role as husband, had too often bowed under pressure. That he had allowed Salima to create a rift between him and his sister was evidence enough that he could have done a better job at being the man of the house.
“You shouldn’t blame yourself for that,” Larry had said after Salima told him about her refusal to have Kalimah and her husband around. “I’m sure your husband was a good man, may Allah have mercy him and give him Jannah, but if the only reason he didn’t see his sister often was because you made a fuss about her being a second wife, then that’s on him, not you.” Taken aback by the new perspective, Salima had listened, intrigued that there was a kinder explanation for her wrongdoing.
“Women are women,” Larry had said. The comment stung, but Salima remained quiet as she tried to hear him out. “They’re irrational and emotional when it comes to things they don’t want to deal with. That’s why it’s a man’s job to head the household.”
He clarified, “I’m not saying you were right for what you did.” He huffed, proud humor in that sound. “Because I sure as hell wouldn’t have let any wife of mine act like that. You would’ve been put in your place real quick,” he said with conviction. “There’s no way I would’ve cut ties with my sister, especially when my sister was doing something good.”
“I wouldn’t call marrying another woman’s husband good,” Salima had muttered, feeling defensive. “Maybe it wasn’t haraam,” she said. “But it definitely wasn’t good.”
Salima heard Larry laugh out loud through the phone. “Girl, you can try that female sob story on someone else,” he said. “Marriage is a good thing. And you’re smart enough to know that doesn’t only apply to yours.”
“But we should love for our sister what we love for ourselves,” she said, offended. “I know I shouldn’t have treated Kalimah like that, but that doesn’t mean she wasn’t being a bit selfish when she married that sister’s husband.”
“You mean when she married her own husband,” he corrected.
“But he was already married,” Salima said, voice tight.
Larry huffed, humor in his tone. “And why shouldn’t that sister love for Kalimah what she loved for herself?” he asked rhetorically. “I just find it funny that you all use that statement to argue what someone should do for you, when the whole point of the hadith is to tell us what we should be doing for someone else.”
Salima didn’t know what to say to that.
“Look,” Larry said, apology in his tone, “I get that this whole polygamy thing is hard for women. But I just don’t understand why you all have such a hard time telling the truth.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” Salima said, indignant.
“You’re just jealous and insecure,” he said. “There’s nothing wrong with that.”
“Are you being sarcastic?” she said, her voice teetering between disbelief and outrage.
“Sarcastic?” Larry spoke as if it were the most ridiculous suggestion in the world.
“I don’t see how jealousy and insecurity are positive traits,” Salima said, an edge of haughtiness in her tone.
“I didn’t say they were positive traits,” Larry said. “I said there’s nothing wrong with them. They’re human traits.”
“But you said they only apply to women.”
“I did?” There was amusement in his tone. “That’s where you’re wrong. I mentioned them in the context of women. I didn’t say they applied to women exclusively.”
“But you said—”
“Every unflattering observation of women isn’t a sexist insult,” he interjected. “But since we’re on the subject, yes, I think men are jealous and insecure too. And if you ask me, they’re more jealous and insecure than women,” he argued. “The fact that Allah gave you all the ability to share your husband without killing each other is a miracle, if you ask me. That kind of arrangement would never work the other way around.” He huffed, humor in that sound. “Trust me. Most men I know can’t even handle the idea of their former wife or girlfriend being with another man.”
“Women have a hard time with that too.”
Larry laughed again. “So now you want the negative traits to apply to you? I swear, I’ve never been able to figure out why all the feminist movements and anti-sexism campaigns even claim to be about supporting women, when almost all of them seem to have as their underlying theme hatred of anything female.”
“That’s not true,” Salima said, hurt in her voice.
“Yes it is,” Larry said. “Look at what just happened with us. I mention the real reason women have a problem with polygamy, and you get all upset and defensive. But when I mention those same traits as connected to men, you want equal representation.” He coughed laughter. “Women have a serious inferiority complex if you ask me. And it’s rooted in self-hate.”
Larry’s words had infuriated Salima, but she could think of no intelligent response.
“Nothing is good enough,” he continued amidst her silence, “unless you can be sure it’s good enough for men too.” He grunted. “And everything negative about you, you deny unless you can apply it to men too. And when we leave you alone and describe only the negative traits of men, you want those too.”
In her parents’ driveway, Salima turned off the ignition. She pulled down the visor and checked her appearance in the mirror. She was wearing her favored African-sty
le head wrap today. If this were any other visit, her parents would likely be proud to see Salima in the traditional Muslim hijab she’d begun wearing occasionally. But because she was coming to talk to them about remarrying, the khimaar that was often associated with Arab and South Asian Muslims would probably rouse their concern. She had already told them that Larry was an American convert, but seeing what appeared to be a drastic and sudden change in her appearance could lead them to believe that Larry was spiritually abusive.
“As-salaamu’alaikum, baby!” A broad smile spread on her mother’s face as Salima stepped into the foyer of her parents’ home. The sweet aroma of food and baked dessert tickled Salima’s nostrils and made her realize how hungry she was after the three-hour drive.
Before Salima could respond, her mother drew her into a warm hug, and Salima returned the salaams as she embraced her mother, her voice slightly muffled. She noticed that her mother had put on weight since they’d last seen each other, but it suited her. It often worried Salima whenever her mother would get excited about the latest diet or weight-loss regiment touted as revolutionary on television. Her mother had recently developed heart problems, and Salima was worried that the diets would only make the problems worse.
“As-salaamu’alaikum, sweetheart.” Salima heard her father’s voice just as her mother released her, keeping an arm around Salima as if she feared her daughter wouldn’t stay long.
“Wa’alaiku-mus-salaam, Abi,” Salima replied, offering her father a hug too, her mother’s hand still on her shoulder.
“You hungry, baby?” her mother asked, immediately guiding Salima to the dining room.
“I’m starving,” Salima said with a grin, her eyes eagerly surveying the array of food laid out on the table. “But I want to pray first.”
“Is it time yet?” her mother asked, looking toward Salima’s father.
“We still have a half-hour before Dhuhr is in,” he said. “So we have time to eat and catch up.”
“Oh, when was the last time you were here?” her mother said as they settled into their seats at the dining room table.
