The Garden of My Imaan

by Farhana Zia

  But that hadn’t made me feel any better about Juliana.

  Stinky Lunch

  I didn’t have long to rejoice. The very next morning, just as our bus pulled up to the school, I saw Juliana getting out of her father’s sports car.

  “Winnie, look!” I cried. “She’s back!”

  Winnie leaned across me to peer out the bus window. “Yup. You’re right.”

  “But you said she was moving away! Were you making it up?”

  “I wasn’t. Honest. I guess she isn’t moving after all,” Winnie said. Once we were inside the school, we hurried toward our hall. Juliana was standing in front of her locker.

  I took a deep breath and stepped closer. I simply had to know. Perhaps she was leaving at the end of the week?

  “Oh, h..hi, Juliana.” I tried to make my voice sound casual. “Winnie said she heard you were moving.”

  “Don’t you wish!”

  I emptied my backpack into my locker, just four doors down. “She heard you were switching to Sky Vale.”

  “To where?”

  “Sky Vale,” I repeated. “A private school?”

  Juliana rolled her eyes. “I don’t know where Winnie gets her information. I’m not going to Sky Vale or any other private school. I wish I were, though.” Juliana banged the locker door shut and walked away.

  “Why don’t you go then, if you feel that way?” I muttered under my breath.

  I marched into homeroom and jabbed Winnie on the shoulder. “How could you get it so wrong?” I cried. “You said Juliana was going to Sky Vale!”

  “Oops! Perdóneme. I guess I made a mistake,” Winnie replied. “Maybe she’s going skiing in Vail.”

  “You got me all excited for nothing,” I groaned. “You should have made sure first.”

  “So she’s staying. What’s the big deal?” Winnie started coloring the maps for our project.

  “It’s a big deal to me. She hates me. You know that!”

  “I don’t actually know that, Aliya,” Winnie said. “You’ve got to stop being so sensitive.”

  I tried to sneak past Marwa’s table at lunch, but she saw me. Her hand brushed my shirt sleeve. “Hello,” she said.

  Her lunch box was half open. Inside, I could see the Syrian bread packed with feta, lettuce, and olives. The cheese smelled really strong, like Heba’s lunch at the Islamic Center.

  I couldn’t think of anything to say. “Um … how’s it going?” I asked.

  “It’s going okay.”

  Some kids sitting nearby held their noses and pointed at Marwa’s lunch. She didn’t seem to notice.

  “You dropped some.” I pointed to a white glob by her feet.

  “Sorry,” she said, scooping it up with her napkin.

  “They’re serving chicken nuggets today,” I said. “You should try them sometime.”

  “I can’t. They’re not halal.”

  “Oh.”

  “You don’t mind not eating halal?” She looked at my tray.

  “It’s okay with my family.” I felt a little squirmy, like I’d been caught doing something illegal.

  “We’re pretty strict in our house,” Marwa told me. “I could order on macaroni and cheese days, though. They have that here, right?”

  “Yeah,” I said.

  “Or I could get PBJ or a salad or a baked potato. But this is my favorite lunch. Want to try some?” She scooted her chair over so I could sit next to her.

  Winnie was saving me a seat, but I had promised Mrs. Holmes I’d be nice to Marwa. I sat down. “Doesn’t the smell bother you?”

  “It’s just cheese,” Marwa said, but she closed the lid of her lunch box.

  A long stretch of silence followed. I moved the chicken around my plate with my fork, wishing I could join Winnie and the others. When Maggie and Sarah walked by, it was a perfect opportunity for a getaway. I called out to them, “Hey, you guys. Want to sit here with Marwa?”

  “Sure,” Maggie said, and I leapt up.

  “You don’t have to go,” Marwa said. “There’s plenty of room for all of us here.”

  “It’s okay,” I mumbled as I picked up my tray. “I’ll see you later.” I walked away quickly without feeling too bad. At least she had company.

  “What were you two talking about?” Winnie asked when I sat down.

  “Not much. We don’t have anything in common.”

  “What’s she eating?” Leah waved her hand in front of her nose. “It’s stinking up the whole place.”

  “It’s some Middle Eastern food,” I said.

  Madison peeled the plastic wrap off her sandwich.

  “Ham again?” I said. “You have that almost every day.”

  “You should try it. It’s really yummy!”

  “Marwa won’t eat chicken nuggets,” I said.

  “Why not?” Leah asked.

  “It’s not halal.”

  “What’s halal?”

  Now I sort of wished I’d kept my mouth shut. “It’s got to do with food rules for Muslims,” I explained. “You know— we’re not allowed to eat pig, for one thing. That’s why I don’t bring ham sandwiches.”

  “We don’t eat pork either,” Leah offered. “And we keep kosher in our house.”

  “That’s kind of like us,” I said. “At least some of it.”

  “Mmm-mmm. Pig is sooo tasty!” Madison held up her sandwich. “We can eat just about anything.”

  “I won’t eat sardines and asparagus and artichokes,” Winnie said. “But I love potato chips and I’d be so mad if someone told me I wasn’t allowed to eat them!”

  Leah turned back to me. “You don’t eat ham, but you eat chicken nuggets. But Marwa doesn’t eat chicken nuggets. Does she eat pork?”

  “I bet you anything she doesn’t,” Madison said.

  “Well, who’s right here?” Leah asked. “Marwa or Aliya?”

  I jabbed my fork into my chicken. It was cold and limp and I wasn’t hungry anymore.

  Carly

  At lunch the next day, Winnie, Madison, and Leah were in the middle of a deep conversation when I sat down to join them.

  “‘This year’s party will blow your minds clear to the troposphere!’“ Madison said. “Those were her exact words.”

  “Her parties are the best,” Leah added. “I can’t wait to go!”

  “What are you talking about?” I asked.

  “Are you going?” Madison slipped over to make room for me at the table.

  “Going where?”

  “To Carly’s birthday party.”

  “She’s having a party?” I was completely surprised.

  “Aren’t you going?” Leah asked.

  “I didn’t even know about it,” I said.

  “That’s weird,” Winnie said. “I don’t see why she wouldn’t invite you. She’s known you since third grade.”

  No one said anything. But they were avoiding my eyes; they were probably feeling pretty bad for me. I bit down on my lip so hard, I could taste blood. Winnie was the first one to break the silence.

  “I know what happened,” she said, snapping her fingers. “Remember that day when you left early?”

  I did remember. Mom had picked me up for a dentist’s appointment.

  “Well, Carly passed out the invitations later that afternoon. And you, senorita,” Winnie went on, “you were not there and then she got sick. See?”

  “But nobody told me about it? It doesn’t make sense.”

  “I guess we thought you already knew,” Leah said.

  “Yeah, we sort of forgot about the dentist,” Madison mumbled.

  “I wouldn’t worry,” Winnie said, taking a sip of her milk. “You are invited. Trust me.”

  Winnie always made me feel better. Carly had just forgotten to give me my invitation. I calculated quickly in my head. The birthday party was on a Ramadan Saturday but that didn’t matter. I’d skip the fast that day. Ramadan had thirty days of fasting; one less probably wouldn’t matter too much.

  In social stu
dies, Mrs. Doyle assigned us our independent study project. The theme for this year was “Respecting Ourselves and Others.”

  “Uh-oh! More rainbows and mixed salads!” Winnie groaned.

  “Huh?” I said.

  “Don’t you remember? The usual lecture how we all have our special qualities and differences … blah, blah, blah.”

  I nodded. We’d had assemblies about this kind of thing. We’d made flags from fifteen different countries last year, and they were still hanging in the cafeteria. And we’d even had an International Food Fair; everyone had had the chance to taste Amma’s samosas and Winnie’s kimchee and all sorts of other foods.

  “We live in an increasingly multicultural society and it is important to be sensitive and respectful about our differences,” Mrs. Doyle concluded.

  Winnie gave me her I-told-you-so look.

  I was walking back from the girls’ room when I saw Marwa.

  “Assalam alaikum!” she called.

  “Oh, hi, Marwa,” I muttered. “It’s okay to say hello here at school.”

  “I waited for you at lunch today and yesterday and the day before.” She fell into step beside me.

  I shrugged. The smile on her face flattened a little.

  “I can’t talk right now,” I said. I had already missed some of the math lesson.

  “It’ll only take a second. I was wondering if you’d like to come over to my house,” Marwa said.

  I did a double take.

  “To … to your house?”

  “Yes. To visit and maybe have dinner?”

  “Who else is invited?” I asked.

  “No one … yet,” she said.

  “What about Sarah and Maggie?”

  “I’m asking you. My mom wants you to come. Will you?”

  I scrambled for an escape route. “It depends,” I said. “When exactly do you want me to come?”

  “Anytime, really.”

  “I’m sort of busy for the next two weeks,” I said.

  “How about we have iftar together on the first Saturday of Ramadan?” she proposed.

  I shook my head again. “I can’t.” That day was clearly out.

  “You can’t?”

  “It’s Carly’s birthday,” I explained. “She’s having a party.”

  “Oh. That’s okay,” Marwa said. “I just thought I’d ask.”

  I hurried back to my room. While the teacher wrote our assignment on the board, I told Winnie about my conversation with Marwa. “I can’t believe she asked me to come over. She’s only been here one week. She doesn’t even know me that well.”

  “That’s because you haven’t been spending a lot of time with her,” Winnie said.

  “And when am I supposed to do that? It’s not like we’re in the same classes.”

  “But still, it was nice of her to ask you. Maybe you should have accepted.”

  “Are you kidding?” I asked. “You seem to be forgetting Carly’s party.”

  “Oh yeah, the party,” Winnie said. “Right!”

  I was already planning what I was going to wear and I had a pretty good idea about the gift I wanted to get. I’d probably have to do a little arm twisting at home; it would cost more money than Mom would want me to spend.

  Steps to Success

  I made sure I didn’t spend too much time getting ready on Sunday morning. I didn’t want to be late to the Islamic Center again. Lucky for me, the traffic was light and I got to Religion 2 a little early. The room was empty except for Sister Khan.

  “On time today,” she said, nodding in approval. “Ma’sha Allah!”

  I sat in the last row and waited for my friends. I couldn’t wait to talk to Nafees again. At night, I’d lie in bed and think about her kissing Marcus, the blue-eyed boy with a ponytail. After a while Marcus would change into Josh and Nafees into me. And then I’d get goose bumps all over.

  “Scoot over,” a voice said.

  I jumped. It was Nafees. “Oh, hi,” I said. “How’s your new boyfriend?”

  “Just dandy,” she replied. “How’s yours?”

  “I don’t have a boyfriend.”

  “Yeah, too bad,” Nafees said. “But don’t give up just yet. You might get lucky some day.”

  Amal plopped down beside me, grinning broadly. “Hey, you two!” she chirped.

  “Hey yourself,” I said. “What’s up? How did it go?”

  “What?”

  “You know … that.” I pointed to her hijab. “What did the kids say at your school?”

  “Oh this? It was no big deal.” Amal tucked a stray lock of hair back under her green scarf. “They asked a few questions and then everyone went about their business.”

  Nafees turned to me. “And exactly what did you think would happen?”

  “Oh, I don’t know,” I said. “It’s a big change for them, after all.”

  “For them?” Amal exclaimed, frowning. “I’m the one in hijab, remember?”

  I let that sink in. “You’re right. Weren’t you the tiniest bit nervous?”

  “Oh boy!” Nafees grunted, obviously impatient with my question.

  Amal stared her down and looked back at me. “A bit,” she confessed. “But by the end of the day my friend said she wasn’t even paying attention anymore!”

  “You mean she got used to it?” I asked.

  “Uh-huh,” Amal said.

  Sister Khan rapped on her desk, and we all faced front.

  I managed to keep my mind off blue-eyed boyfriends and hijabs by concentrating on the lesson for the day: the importance of the five daily prayers.

  Ten minutes before the end of class, Sister Khan told us about the Steps to Success assignment.

  Everybody groaned. We had enough going on at school without additional Sunday school work.

  “This sounds just as confusing as the independent study project I have to do for Mrs. Doyle,” I grumbled.

  “I don’t get it,” Sehr said. “Grown-ups are always thinking they can change kids by giving them stupid projects like this.”

  It was getting noisy in the room and Sister Khan rapped on her desk again. “What’s the big problem, people? Why such high drama?”

  “This is too hard, Sister Khan!” Heba said. “Why couldn’t we write about Prophet Yusuf and his brothers who threw him in a pit or—?”

  “People! Enough!” Sister Khan held up her hand. I could tell she was getting impatient. “This is Ramadan, no? And in Ramadan, we must ponder on how to make ourselves better human beings, no?”

  “Yes, but—”

  “No buts! So, back to the assignment. First step: You will think … hmm … how to make myself new? How to improve my old self in the month of Ramadan? Second step: When you know, then you will act upon it. Third step: When you finish acting, then you will write a full report. Okay? Sufficient explanation?”

  Amal, Heba, Sehr, and I exchanged uncomfortable glances and Nafees rolled her eyes. Sister Khan’s English was pretty good, but sometimes it was hard to understand what she meant.

  “Can you maybe give us an example?” Amal ventured.

  “Eh? Oh, she wants example. Okay. In Ramadan, what we do? We communicate with Allah, no? We try to get closer to Him, no?”

  Everyone nodded.

  “Accha! Good, good!” Sister Khan said. “So—”

  “I think I get it!” I blurted out. “It’s like prayers. They’re a form of communication with Allah, right?”

  “Of course, but—,” Sister Khan began.

  “Do you want us to keep a record of how many times we pray?” I pressed.

  “Yeah!” someone said. “We could make some graphs or something.”

  “Graphs?” Sister Khan frowned. “No. No. No graphing. Listen to me, people. I ask for something … something … umm … a little bit deep, no?”

  “Deep?”

  “Yes! Deep and meaningful,” Sister Khan said triumphantly. “Tcha! It is not only about numbers and counting and graphs, no?”

  So, keeping a quick
checklist was out.

  “Please give us a clue, Sister Khan,” Amal begged.

  “She needs another clue?” Mrs. Khan was beginning to sound annoyed. “All right, all right. Hmm. It is like this … like a trip to a place where it feels good when you are there. No?”

  That was a clue?

  “Huh?”

  “Like going to the movies?” Nafees snickered.

  “Like going to get your nails done?”

  Sister Khan rapped for silence. “People, people. You must get serious for a change, please?”

  Someone asked if we could ask our parents for help.

  “Okay. Okay. You will need all the help you can get, it looks like,” Sister Khan conceded. “But first, read these instructions.” She handed out sheets of paper with directions printed on them.

  “How long do we get to do this?” I asked.

  “You start today, maybe tomorrow. In March, April you finish up. In between you improve all the time. Plenty time to improve!” Sister Khan replied smugly.

  “I’m not doing this,” Nafees growled under her breath.

  I described Sister Khan’s project to Badi Amma and asked her to help me figure it out.

  “Hmm,” she mused, pulling on her chin. “It makes me remember the nice man on TV.”

  “What nice man?”

  “You know him.” Badi Amma deepened her voice. “Make the clothes nice and clean. Buy New and Improved Tide!”

  “What?”

  Badi Amma laughed. “I learn a lot from TV,” she said.

  “Get serious, Badi Amma!” I cried. “What does TV have to do with this?”

  My great-grandmother smiled. “It is simple. This teacher wants a new and improved you. Very smart lady, that one!”

  “She’s not that smart,” I grumbled. “She’s not even a real teacher. She’s only a volunteer. Besides, what’s wrong with me? I’m fine the way I am!”

  “What you want me to tell you then?” Badi Amma asked.

  “Oh, I don’t know. Sister Khan said something about communicating with Allah. Maybe you can help me with that.”

  Badi Amma hawked and spit into the disgusting can she kept close to her bed. I understood she needed to clear her lungs, but I still thought it was gross.