His Other Wife

by Umm Zakiyyah

  “I don’t know,” Salima said, exhaustion in her tone. “I haven’t heard from her in a while. But Jasmine and Jamil are definitely not an item.” She offered Nikki a tightlipped smile. “But you might want to ask Juwayriah since she seems to know more about this than I do,” Salima said, and Aliyah heard the slight sarcasm in her words.

  “Why don’t we play Lessons Learned?” Aliyah said, her voice rising awkwardly as she tried to sound chipper.

  “That doesn’t sound like a game,” Carletta said with a grunt. “Sounds like some type of confession.”

  Aliyah smiled at Carletta, grateful that she’d come tonight to support Salima even though she no longer participated in Muslim Marriage Monologues for whatever reason. “Well…” Aliyah said, relieved that they had moved on from discussing gossip about Jamil. “I guess you could call it that. But you’re right. It’s not a game. It’s more like an icebreaker.”

  Carletta chuckled, her sonorous tone seeming to come from deep within her throat. “We’ve been here for two hours already,” she said. “Don’t you think it’s a little late for that?”

  “I like the idea,” Salima said, enthusiasm in her voice. “If we’re going to be here all night, I say let’s do some bonding.”

  “This is a slumber party?” Nikki glanced at Aliyah in confusion.

  Aliyah shook her head. “Only for whoever wants to stay,” she said. “But Jacob is staying at Larry’s tonight and Salima is staying here with me.”

  “Kalimah’s flight arrives at eleven o’clock tonight,” Salima clarified. “And she didn’t want to miss my party, so we turned it into an all-nighter.”

  “Oh okay…” Nikki sounded relieved. “Because I have to get Bushra to bed soon.”

  “That’s fine,” Aliyah said. “But you’re welcome to stay,” she said. “We set up beds for the boys in the playroom, so it’s no problem for you and Bushra to sleep in the empty bedroom.”

  Nikki wrinkled her nose and shook her head, but her expression remained pleasant. “Matt texted saying he should be here soon,” she said. “But thanks.”

  “It’s no problem,” Aliyah said before turning her attention back to the group.

  “I’ll start,” she said, offering a wide smile. “Here’s a lesson I learned, and I guess it’s something you probably already got from my poem. But family is a connection of the heart more than of the blood.”

  Tina nodded emphatically, the cloth of her veil creasing beneath her chin. “I agree one hundred percent. After I became Muslim, my mother is the only person who even bothers to talk to me.”

  Aliyah shook her head knowingly. “And my mother had pretty much forbidden everyone from talking to me.”

  “What are they so scared of?” Mashael frowned from the chair she sat on next to Aliyah’s because their pregnancy made it difficult to sit on the floor and because the couch made it difficult to sit close to everyone. “Do they think all Muslims are terrorists or something?”

  “I think they’re just scared to face themselves,” Tina said. “Lori and I were talking the other day, and she said something that really made me think.”

  At the mention of Lori, Aliyah felt happy for Tina. When Tina had shared her story at Muslim Marriage Monologues the year before about losing her best friend to polygyny, Tina and Lori were no longer in touch.

  “She said that people fear the truth most,” Tina continued. “And the closer that truth is to their heart, the less they can deal with it.”

  “Or they just have a guilty conscience,” Carletta added. “When you learn about Islam, you know it’s true,” she said with emphasis. “And people don’t like to be reminded of what they gave up when they rejected Islam.”

  “But some people are just ignorant,” Nikki said, lighthearted disagreement in her tone. “And they’re not trying to be mean or anything,” she said. “When Matt became Muslim, I refused to have anything to do with him. But it wasn’t because I felt guilty or scared. I just thought he’d lost his mind. I didn’t know anything about Islam except what I’d seen on TV.”

  There was a thoughtful silence.

  “But why didn’t you research for yourself?” Mashael said in genuine curiosity. “You can’t believe everything you hear on the news.”

  Nikki shrugged. “Why research something you already think you understand? It wasn’t like I was consciously trying to be ignorant and Islamophobic,” she said.

  “I know, but…” Mashael’s expression was troubled, and it was apparent that she was having a difficult time articulating what she was trying to say.

  “But look at how you called it ‘the news,’” Nikki said to Mashael. “Why?” she said challengingly. “It’s not even something we think about. But those shows are not ‘the news.’ It’s just what they call it.”

  “I second that,” Carletta said, lifting her hand as if she were in church. “I’m a teacher, and I swear to you, the most ignorant people, from the students and the teachers, are the ones who sit in front of that television every day and night in the name of, quote, ‘keeping up with what’s happening in the world.’” She grunted. “I’m beginning to believe you learn more about the world the less television you watch.”

  Some sisters huffed in agreement.

  “I don’t care what they call it,” Carletta added with a shrug. “The news, a documentary, or a sitcom. It all has the same purpose,” she said. “And there’s a reason they call it all a program.”

  Salima nodded. “TV is definitely the plug-in drug,” she said, “programming you to think and feel a certain way.”

  “And believe,” Carletta added in agreement.

  “But what’s the solution?” Reem said, her voice conflicted. “We can’t just sit around and be ignorant.”

  “I don’t have a TV,” Tina said, “and I haven’t had one for almost two years. And I feel like I know more than I did before. I read books and interact with people,” she said. “And I even feel less stressed, especially walking around with my face covered.”

  Tina shook her head. “I swear,” she continued, “when I used to watch TV, I was always upset about all the crazy things they’d blame on Muslims, and I’d constantly feel judged.” She shrugged. “Now I don’t even think about it anymore. The only time I remember that most people think TV is real life is when I talk to Muslims about how scared they are for their safety. Or when some nutcase comes up to me and starts yelling at me to go back to my country.”

  “But it’s important to at least know what other people are saying about us,” Reem insisted, “even if it’s not true.”

  Tina chuckled. “I think I have a pretty good idea,” she said with humored conviction. “It’s the same thing they were saying when I got rid of my TV two years ago.” She lifted a shoulder in a shrug. “But I know many Muslims think it’s more important to keep up with talking heads and anti-Muslim propaganda than they do with their prayers and Qur’an,” she said in light sarcasm. “I’m just not one of them.”

  Reem frowned, and Aliyah could tell Reem took offense to Tina’s words. “Knowing what’s happening around you doesn’t keep you from your prayers and Qur’an.”

  A smirk creased one side of Tina’s mouth. “Like I said,” Tina remarked, “I think you know what’s happening around you by actually interacting with what’s around you, not by listening to someone else tell you what’s there.” She lifted a shoulder in a shrug. “In my opinion, watching TV and obsessing over their so-called news distracts us from Allah and our spiritual responsibilities.” She paused then added, “At least it does for me. If you think all of this Islamophobic media is good for you and your children, then more power to you. I just don’t agree.”

  Reem looked as if she wanted to respond but decided against it.

  “I’ll tell you a lesson I learned,” Salima said, her upbeat tone a sharp contrast to the slight friction of a moment before. “Or I should say, a lesson I’m learning,” she clarified.

  “Speak, girl,” Carletta said. “You always have
some wise nuggets, mashaAllah.”

  Salima laughed self-consciously. “Now I don’t want to share it,” she said jokingly. “People are going to expect something really profound.”

  “The most powerful lessons are the simplest ones,” Carletta said. “So I’m listening.”

  Salima pursed her lips. “It’s nothing groundbreaking,” she said apologetically. “But I’m learning to not compare myself to other Muslims.”

  Carletta huffed in agreement. “Amen to that.”

  “I guess I’m realizing there’s no point in trying to understand why they do what they do,” Salima said. “So I’m just making peace with the fact that not all Muslims experience Islam in the same way.” She coughed laughter. “They don’t even believe in it the same way.”

  The women nodded, listening. “That’s so true,” Aliyah mumbled.

  “To me, Islam is just about believing in Allah and doing what He commanded and staying away from what He’s forbidden.” Salima spoke as if lost in thought. “And if I die as a Muslim with all my sins forgiven,” she said, shaking her head to underscore how much this meant to her, “then I don’t care about anything else.”

  The room was silent for several seconds, as the women seemed to be reflecting on what she’d just said.

  Salima sighed. “But I’m learning that this isn’t what Islam means to everyone else,” she said, sadness in her tone. “I can’t even begin to understand what would make someone want something else from this faith.” She shrugged as if in reluctant humility. “But I’m learning that it’s not for me to understand,” she said. “They have their qadr, and I have mine. So I just have to focus on the path Allah put in front of me and not worry about why what other people see in front of them is so different, even though we call our faith by the same name.”

  Chapter 40

  His Only Wife

  “Larry and Salima,” Jacob sang out playfully after he recited the supplication for entering the home as he stepped into the foyer behind Aliyah and the boys. They had just returned from the waleemah Saturday night. “Who would’ve thought?” He smiled and shook his head before closing the door and turning the bolt.

  Distracted, Aliyah frowned as the boys ran ahead of her and rushed downstairs to the playroom. “Ibrahim!” she shouted, frustration in her voice.

  Jacob gently squeezed his wife’s arm. “It’s okay,” he said. “It’s not a school night.”

  Aliyah sighed as she rested a hand on her swollen belly. “But I’m tired,” she said. “I can barely keep my eyes open.”

  “Then go on to bed,” Jacob said, his voice soft in compassion as he gestured his head toward the stairs. “I’ll make sure they shower and put on their pajamas.”

  Aliyah slapped a palm to her forehead, as if remembering something just then. “Oh my God,” she said. “I don’t think we packed Haroon’s toothbrush.”

  “Do you need me to go back to Larry’s?” Jacob said.

  Aliyah shook her head. “It’s okay,” she said with a wave of her hand, exhaustion in her tone. She slipped off her shoes and stepped into the living room. “I only want to use the key again if we absolutely have to.”

  Jacob set his keys on the front table then kneeled to pull of his shoes. “Larry says to tell you thank you for offering to keep Haroon for the weekend,” Jacob said as he aligned his and Aliyah’s shoes on the rack.

  “It’s fine,” Aliyah said, swaying slowly to the right and left as she waddled to the stairs. “It’s the least we can do after all the times he’s watched the boys for us,” she said sincerely. “Besides, what’s the point of him spending all weekend alone with Jamil when he can be with Ibrahim, Younus, and Thawab?”

  “True.” Jacob fell in step next to Aliyah and placed a hand on her back to guide her up the stairs.

  They were silent as they took the steps one at a time, Aliyah gripping the banister with one hand.

  “I’m really happy for them, mashaAllah,” Aliyah said once they reached the hallway and started walking toward the newly renovated master bedroom.

  “I am too,” Jacob said, still walking in step with Aliyah, a hand on her lower back.

  “And Reem’s family too,” Aliyah added. “I would’ve never thought her parents would offer to host an American’s waleemah at their house.”

  Jacob chuckled. “You make it sound like we’re contagious or something.”

  Aliyah chuckled too, hearing her words from her husband’s perspective. “I just mean they aren’t exactly the intercultural mingling type.”

  Jacob shrugged. “And we are?” he said skeptically.

  Aliyah considered his question and was momentarily reminded of her and Benjamin’s conversation about Americans’ own struggles with cultural Islam. “I guess not…” she said, uncertainty in her voice.

  Jacob reached ahead of Aliyah and opened their bedroom door. “I think it’s only natural that people feel most comfortable around people they can relate to.” He waited for her to enter then followed behind her.

  Aliyah frowned as she made her way to the king-size bed they’d recently bought. “But her parents gave Mashael a really hard time about marrying Sheldon,” she said.

  “And your parents gave you a really hard time about everything,” Jacob said with a shrug. “And my parents aren’t exactly thrilled to have a divorced son in the family.”

  “But we’re Muslim,” Aliyah said.

  “And we’re also human,” Jacob said, reiterating his point from an earlier conversation. “I can’t imagine how I’d feel if our daughter wanted to run off with some boy from a strange country who wasn’t even raised Muslim.”

  Aliyah’s hand immediately went to her stomach as she felt a wave of protectiveness at the scenario. She had never thought about it like that. “I guess that would be kind of hard,” she admitted.

  “At the core, I think most parents just want what’s best for their children,” Jacob said.

  Aliyah nodded as she lowered herself onto the edge of the bed and slowly let it receive her weight. “And what’s safest,” she added.

  “Especially when it comes to their daughters,” Jacob said as he sat next to Aliyah and gently rubbed her back with the flat of his hand. “It’s human nature,” he said. “You can’t fault anyone for that.”

  Aliyah pursed her lips thoughtfully. “But isn’t that just an excuse to shirk our responsibilities as Muslims?”

  Jacob shook his head. “No,” he said. “I’m sure it wasn’t an easy decision for Reem’s family to welcome a stranger into the family. But what’s important is they did the right thing in the end,” he said. “Allah is Al-Ghafoor Ar-Raheem, and we’re all in need of His forgiveness and mercy.”

  Aliyah sighed. “That’s true,” she said. “Astaghfirullah.”

  “But how are you and the babies?” Jacob said as he reached up and gently clamped Aliyah’s shoulders with both hands.

  Aliyah relaxed under his touch. “Alhamdulillah,” she said, slowly closing her eyes as his hands moved in the beginning of a massage on her shoulders.

  “Have you thought of any names?” Jacob said.

  Aliyah was silent for several seconds as she kept her eyes shut, wanting to delay thinking about anything other than Jacob’s gentle touch. “Hmm…” she said finally. “I was thinking Ismail for the boy and maybe Juwayriah for the girl.”

  She heard Jacob chuckle. “Are you joking?” he said as he continued the massage.

  Aliyah opened her eyes and offered him a smile. “No, I’m serious,” she said. “You don’t like the names?”

  “Ismail is fine,” he said tentatively. “I’m more than happy to have another son named after a prophet.”

  “But…” Aliyah said, egging him on, lighthearted teasing in her voice.

  “But Juwayriah?” He wrinkled his nose and halted the massage as he regarded her, a disbelieving smile on his face. “You can’t be serious.”

  Aliyah laughed out loud. “See?” she said. “That’s exactly why I’m thinking
to keep the name. You’re thinking of the sister who’s always starting fitnah, right?”

  “It crossed my mind,” Jacob said, a self-conscious grin on his face.

  “Well, I’m thinking of Juwayriah bint Harith, the wife the Prophet, sallallaahu’alayhi wa sallam,” Aliyah said with a grin. “May Allah be pleased with her.” She shook her head. “And I refuse to let anyone pollute her legacy so much that I wouldn’t want to name my own daughter after her.”

  Jacob nodded guiltily. “You have a point.”

  “Imagine if Muslims did that with the names Abdullah and Abdur-Rahman,” Aliyah said good-naturedly. “Or even Muhammad and Ibrahim.” She raised her eyebrows as she regarded Jacob. “And how many men do you know with those names who aren’t living how they’re supposed to?”

  Jacob leaned over and kissed Aliyah on the cheek. “I stand corrected,” he said with a smile, resuming the massage.

  “Juwayriah bint Harith was one of the most beautiful wives of the Prophet,” Aliyah said. “When Ayesha, radhiyaAllaahu’anhaa, first saw her, she was really jealous. And I want my daughter to be that beautiful,” she said, “physically and spiritually.”

  “Ameen,” Jacob said as he lowered a hand to rub Aliyah’s lower back.

  “But I’m still undecided,” Aliyah said with a thoughtful frown. “I also like the name Asiya,” she said.

  Jacob raised his eyebrows in approval. “Now that’s a powerful woman, mashaAllah,” he said. “If our daughter can have emaan like the wife of Pharaoh, that would be a huge blessing.”

  “I know…” Aliyah agreed, a half smile on her face as she shook her head in agreement.

  “My vote is for the name Asiya,” Jacob said. “And not because of that sister named Juwayriah,” he clarified, humor in his tone, as if anticipating Aliyah’s disappointment. “But because Asiya was one of the four greatest women to ever live.”

  Aliyah nodded. “That’s what I keep thinking,” she said thoughtfully. “But I really like the name Juwayriah though.”