by Jean Sasson
Now, remembering Lawand’s temporary and unhinged obsession with unhealthy fundamentalist fervor, I attached great significance to my daughter’s extreme infatuation with our religion.
While I believe in and honor the God of Mohammed, it is my contemplative interpretation that the masses of humanity who are engaging in loving, struggling, suffering, and enjoying are living life as God intended. I have no desire for my child to turn her back on the rich complexity of life and reaffirm her future through the harsh asceticism of a militant interpretation of our religion.
I ran to my husband and said in a rush of words, “Amani is praying!”
Kareem, who was quietly reading the Koran, looked at me as though I had finally lost all reason. “Praying?” he asked, his voice tinged with disbelief at my extreme reaction to another’s communication with God.
“Yes!” I cried. “She is exhausting herself with prayer.” I insisted, “Come! See for yourself!”
Regretfully, Kareem laid his Koran on his desk and, with an expression of incredulity, humored his wife by following me from the room.
As we entered the hallway leading to Amani’s door, we could hear the sound of her voice, rising and falling with the intensity of her words.
Kareem left my side and burst into Amani’s room. Our daughter turned, displaying a face lined with pain and haggard with sorrow.
Kareem spoke softly. “Amani, it is time for you to take a small rest. Go to bed. Now. Your mother will wake you in an hour for the evening meal.”
Amani’s expression appeared stricken, and she did not speak. But still bound to Kareem’s influence, she lay across the bed, fully dressed, and closed her eyes.
I could see my child’s lips as they continued to move in silent prayer, uttering words that were not meant for my ears.
Kareem and I quietly left our daughter. Drinking coffee in our sitting room, Kareem confessed that he had a small degree of concern but was skeptical of my exaggerated fear that Amani was sinking into a medieval passion, darkened with thoughts of sin, suffering, and hell. He sat quietly for a short while and then announced that my apprehension was directly linked to Lawand’s unhinged denunciations of human wickedness. He told me that Amani’s religious revival did not result from insanity, but was essentially linked with the overpowering joy of Haj.
“You will see,” he promised, “once we have returned to the normal routine of life, Amani will lapse again into the habit of accumulating wandering beasts, and her religious fanaticism will soon be forgotten.” Kareem smiled and asked a small favor. “Sultana, please, allow Amani some peace to turn from her daily problems to a oneness with God. It is a duty of all Muslims.”
With a grimace, I nodded my head in agreement. Somewhat relieved, I hoped that Kareem was right.
Still, not leaving such an important matter to chance, in my prayers that evening I indulged in long hours of pleading with God that Amani would once again be the child she had been prior to our attending Haj.
I suffered nightmares throughout the night: I dreamed that my daughter left our home to join an extremist religious organization in Amman, Jordan, that doused gasoline on the clothing of working Muslim women, setting afire and burning to death those whom they deemed nonbelievers.
Haj
“Arab lands will now go the way of Iran. Egypt will not be the first to fall, nevertheless it shall fall. The women will be the first to suffer loss of human rights. We women were offered our rights as human beings first by Nasser then by Sadat. The courts have already struck down the humane law giving women the right to divorce husbands who take second wives. Egyptian women cringe to think of what is yet to come, often joking that soon we shall share the unfortunate fate of our Saudi sisters.”
—Comments of an Egyptian feminist pilgrim as spoken to Sara Al Sa’ud during the Haj of 1990.
I believed that God must have heard my stirring appeal, for the following morning Amani seemed her usual self. It was as if sleep had erased the apotheosis of human suffering I had witnessed on my daughter’s face the day before. She giggled and joked with her sister, Maha, as they ate their breakfast of fresh yogurt and melon and munched on pieces of kibbeh left over from our evening meal.
Our driver delivered us to the Valley of Mina, which is approximately six miles north of Makkah. We would spend the night in Mina, in an air-conditioned tent Kareem had arranged. By sleeping in the Valley of Mina, our family would be ready for an early morning. The children seemed quite excited at the prospect, since we had never before slept in the valley.
Along the way, we passed what seemed to be an endless line of buses, all transporting pilgrims. Many thousands of others were slowly walking the six-mile journey from Makkah to the Valley of Mina.
Thinking that Amani had returned to normal, I once again found myself glad to be part of this wonderful gathering of the faithful, and I happily looked forward to the last days of Haj.
*
It was while we were in the Valley of Mina that Kareem met with an old friend from youthful days spent in England. The man, Yousif, was from Egypt. One moment Kareem was standing by my side, and the next he was heartily embracing a man none of us had ever seen.
Looking at the man from a distance, I saw that he had a long, slightly curving nose, projecting cheekbones, and a curly beard. What most caught my attention, however, was the indisputable and concentrated scorn that blazed in his eyes when his gaze fell upon the females in Kareem’s family.
Kareem called out the man’s name in a loud voice, and I remembered hearing of this person from my husband. Thinking back, I recalled some of what Kareem had told me about this particular acquaintance. During the years of our married life, each time we had visited our villa in Cairo, Kareem’s memories of his Egyptian schoolmate had been stirred. Each time, he planned to look up his old friend. And on each occasion the fullness of our family life had prevented his doing so.
Now, after a quick view of the man, I was glad Kareem’s plans had never materialized, for I felt myself instantly in conflict with this malevolent character who, to my eye, had been conspicuous in his dislike for women.
I wondered what had produced such changes in the man’s life, for I distinctly recalled Kareem having told me Yousif had such attractive manners that women found it hard to resist him and he never slept alone.
Kareem and Yousif had known each other during their student days, when they were both living in a land not their own. While in London, Yousif was a carefree, happy individual who was interested in little more than merrymaking with Western women in gambling casinos. Kareem said he was brilliant, with little need to study his lessons, and that was a good thing, for Yousif introduced Kareem to a different girlfriend each week. In spite of Yousif’s insatiable lust for female company, Kareem had predicted a great future for his friend in the legal and political system of Egypt, for Yousif had a quick mind and a pleasing manner.
Yousif graduated from law school one year ahead of Kareem, and they had not seen each other since that time.
As Yousif and Kareem began to share their news, my daughters and I stayed in the background, which is our way when the man is not of our family, but we could overhear all that Kareem and Yousif were saying.
Apparently Yousif had changed radically from his years as a student, for after a short conversation, it was evident that he and my husband no longer enjoyed much in common.
Yousif was strangely reticent regarding his career, and when Kareem pressed him on his profession, he would say little more than that he had changed from the youth of Kareem’s memory and had become more attached to the traditional ways of Islam.
Yousif proudly told Kareem that since they last met he had married and divorced one woman, who had given him two sons, and had married a second woman, fathering five sons in that union. The man delighted in boasting about the joys of having seven sons. Yousif also mentioned that he had full custody of the first two children, and that the boys had been forcibly taken from the influence of his first
wife, a modern woman who insisted upon working outside of the home. She, Yousif said, with ill-concealed disgust, was a teacher with new ideas about women and their station in life.
Yousif spat on the ground when he mentioned his first wife’s name, and said, “Praise to God, Egypt is returning to the teachings of the Koran. Egyptians will soon have the law of Mohammed ruling their lives, rather than the unsettling system of secular law that encourages our women to come out of purdah.”
At this bit of information, I began to come to life and was about to intrude on their conversation and tell the man some of my thoughts, when I was struck dumb by further revelations from Kareem’s friend.
Yousif proudly told Kareem that his greatest blessing from God was that neither of his marriages had been cursed with the birth of daughters, and that truly, women were the source of all sin. If a man had to waste his energies in guarding women, Yousif said, he had little time for performing other, more important duties in life.
Without waiting for Kareem’s response to these shocking comments, Yousif launched into the story of a man he had met while in Makkah. He said that the man was an Indian Muslim and that this Muslim was planning to remain in Saudi Arabia because there was a warrant out for his arrest in India. The authorities in India had discovered two days after his departure for Saudi Arabia that he and his wife had murdered their baby daughter by pouring scalding water down the child’s throat.
Yousif asked for Kareem’s opinion on the matter, but before my husband could speak, he resumed his loud, rude speech and said that he, himself, thought that the man should not be punished, since he was the father of four daughters and had desired a son to the point of madness. While Yousif acknowledged that the Prophet had not condoned such practice, he thought the authorities should not intervene on a private matter that had harmed no one but the baby girl.
Yousif wondered if Kareem could offer assistance obtaining a work visa for the man, and possibly give him a job in Saudi Arabia so he would not have to return to his country and face trial.
Yousif had not bothered to discover the sex of Kareem’s children, and Kareem had begun to breathe heavily. Knowing Kareem’s thoughts on such matters, I thought that my husband might strike his old friend and fling him to the ground.
The back of Kareem’s neck turned red, so I knew that my husband blushed in anger. I decided that he had eyes in the back of his head, for he motioned with his hand for me to stay away. Kareem curtly informed his old friend that he, himself, had been blessed with two beautiful daughters and one son, and that he loved his daughters as he did his son.
A man with thick skin, Yousif gave his condolences to Kareem, saying that it was too unfortunate he was the father of daughters. Without taking a moment to breathe, Yousif then began to argue the benefits of sons, and wondered why my husband did not take another wife. Kareem could, after all, allow me to keep the daughters, and he could raise our son.
Kareem responded with the calm of a man who is very angry by reminding Yousif of the teachings of Mohammed. “Yousif,” he asked, “you say you are a practicing and good Muslim. If so, do you not recall the words of the blessed Prophet when a man entered the mosque and approached the Prophet?”
I knew the story well, since I have always quoted the fairness of the Prophet with regard to women, when fighting the extremists in my land.
Yousif listened with a blank face, and it was evident to my eyes that he was a man who had no interest in the words of the Prophet if those words did not agree with his own thoughts on life.
Kareem plunged ahead, a man intent on making his point by using intellect, and the teachings of a man anointed by God to spread his word, instead of by resorting to brute force. Frankly, I desired to see Yousif beaten and bloodied, but I did have a moment of pride when Kareem spoke with the passion of a muezzin reminding the faithful to come to prayer, as he told the true story of Prophet Mohammed’s reminder to all fathers about the equal value of their children, regardless of sex.
*
A man entered the mosque and approached the Prophet. He sat down and began to talk. After some time, the man’s two children, a boy and a girl, followed their father into the mosque. The boy came in first, and received much praise and a loving kiss from his father. The boy settled on the man’s lap, while the man continued talking to the Prophet.
Sometime later, the man’s daughter arrived at the mosque. When she approached her father, he did not kiss her or put her on his lap, as he had done with his son. Instead, he motioned for the little girl to sit in front of him, and went on talking to the Prophet.
The Prophet was greatly concerned when he saw this. Why, he asked, do you not treat these children equally? Why did you not kiss your daughter as you kissed your son, and let her, also, sit on your lap?
The man felt ashamed when he heard the Prophet say those words. He understood that he had acted in an improper manner toward his two children.
Sons and daughters are both gifts of God, the Prophet reminded him. Both are equally great gifts, and so they should always be treated equally.
*
Kareem glared at Yousif, his expression seeming to say, now, what do you have to say to that!
This Yousif fellow was a rude man. Ignoring Kareem’s obvious discomfort and the message of the Prophet’s words, he started his tirade against women once again, quoting remarks from the Green Book, written by President Qaddafi of Libya, a man who was known to cling to the strictest interpretation of the proper role of women in Islam. Seeing that he had not won over Kareem to his way of thinking, he concluded his efforts by reminding my husband of the breakdown of the family unit in Western countries, stating, “God has assigned a specific duty for men and for women. Women are created for procreation, nothing else! Kareem, come now, who can deny that by nature all women are exhibitionists? This tendency cannot be changed, but it is a man’s duty to keep her away from all men, otherwise, she will squander her beauty and give her charms to any man who asks...”
Furious, Kareem turned his back and walked away from his friend. His face was an ugly mask as he led his women from the scene. In a loud voice he said to me, “That Yousif has become a dangerous man!”
I glanced back at Yousif. Never have I witnessed such evil in a man’s face.
Kareem called his brother-in-law Mohammed on his portable telephone and asked him to make some delicate inquiries about Yousif’s activities, telling Mohammed that the man was extremely radical and possibly an instigator of violence.
Within hours, Mohammed returned Kareem’s call and said that Kareem was on the mark, that the man was a skilled lawyer whose clients were members of the Gamaa Al Islamiya, an Egyptian Islamic extremist group formed in the early 1980s that was responsible for militant violence in Egypt.
Kareem was astonished. Yousif represented men who were attempting to overthrow the Egyptian secular government! The Egyptian internal security authorities had told Mohammed that there had never been charges lodged against the man, but when in Egypt, he was kept under careful surveillance. Mohammed added that he had placed Saudi Security around Yousif to ensure that he did not cause problems while in Saudi Arabia.
A little less than a year later, Kareem was saddened but not surprised at the news that Yousif had been arrested in Assiut, in southern Egypt, as a principal leader of the Muslim extremist group. While watching a news program, Kareem spotted Yousif’s face—his old friend was looking out on the world from a cage. Kareem followed his case closely and seemed somewhat relieved that Yousif had not been sentenced to death, while I thought the world was a more dangerous place with such men among the living and would have welcomed his demise.
In spite of the fact that we were at Haj and knew we should not concentrate on worldly matters, the man Yousif had made such an impression on our daughters’ moods that Kareem thought it best to talk the matter through and give Amani and Maha the comforting knowledge that men like Yousif were only a passing phase in a long Islamic history.
; After the dinner hour, our family sat and discussed the man Yousif and what he represented in the Muslim world.
We asked each of the children their thoughts on what they had heard that day.
Abdullah was the first to speak. Our son was plainly disturbed, saying that Islam was on the move and that it would affect each of our lives, for the extremist groups were calling for the downfall of the Saudi monarchy. He envisioned Saudi Arabia going the way of Iran, with a man like Khomeini leading our country. Abdullah predicted that his generation of Al Sa’uds would live out their lives on the French Riviera, and such a thought was distressing to him.
After hearing what the man had to say about females and their value, Maha was spitting mad and wanted her father to have Yousif arrested and charged as a spy. She thought she would like to see him beheaded, even if it was on trumped-up offenses!
Amani was reflective and said that the Arabic love of all things Western was allowing men such as Yousif to gain power in Muslim countries.
Kareem and I looked at each other, neither of us liking our youngest child’s turn of thought.
Maha pinched her sister, accusing her of supporting the man’s words.
Amani denied the charge but said that she did consider the possibility that life was more simple when women’s roles were more defined and not open for discussion and change. She mentioned that in the bedouin life prior to the building of cities, men and women were not so confused as they were today.
It was as I had feared! My daughter’s thoughts were taking her back in time. She seemed to be losing pride in her femaleness, and I wondered what I could do to reinforce her sense of worth as a modern woman in an advancing civilization.
Abdullah did not understand and began to laugh, asking Amani if she longed for the time when female babies were buried in the sand! It was not too late to take up the practice, he said, Yousif could introduce us to a man who had recently killed his own daughter!
