Footsteps

by Umm Zakiyyah

  Studying privately in the holy city distracted her from his questionable activities, but it wasn’t long before his insecurity disrupted even that. First, he questioned her on her friends, then her teachers, then sought to forbid her from the study sessions themselves. Her ability to freely perform ‘Umrah and Hajj were the only things that kept her from nullifying the marriage before she did. But it was more than three years before the official marriage dissolution that she knew she would not stay with him. It would be a week before she was officially single that she understood the wisdom in Allah allowing her to live through the madness that she had.

  Good character and humility, she learned, formed the foundation of knowledge. Without them, any knowledge gained would count against a person, not for him, on the Day of Judgment. Of course, she had no idea how Allah would judge her husband in the Hereafter, but because the brother had given her the opportunity to go to Mecca and Madinah, she continued to pray for his forgiveness, even long after the divorce. He was a good man, she believed, like others she had met while overseas, brothers and sisters who suffered from the same insecurity and confusion he had. They were merely, for the moment, entrapped in their own envy and pride, two sins that alone could destroy one’s religion.

  Guarding the tongue, she also learned, was the sign of a good Muslim, regardless of his or her level of knowledge in the religion. Staying silent unless it was necessary to speak was something that all religions and belief systems taught. And seeing the personal demise a loose tongue caused someone close to her made her fearful of talking too much. Speaking only with knowledge was also food for thought, and it was something she took to heart and back with her to America.

  Back home, she located her first husband and asked him to marry her again. Fortunately, he agreed, but not before telling her that she would be a second wife. Nusaybah didn’t mind the sacrifice. She would have done almost anything for Allah’s sake if it meant that, in the end, she could have her first husband, her true husband, back again. She was wiser and more mature, which allowed her to value what was most important in a marriage, even if she would not be his only wife. He too had changed and matured and was more studied, making their reunion all the sweeter. And from it all she learned one simple virtue that she had been unaware that she lacked—patience. Allah took care of things in good time. If you only had faith and put your trust in Him.

  Undoubtedly, there were things that she and her husband would never agree on. But she, like he, took it in stride and savored the “second chance” to be with a man who truly strived to practice “the Sunnah.” From the heart.

  “Du’aa,” she told Sarah. “Faith, patience, and, most importantly, prayer.” She smiled. “If nothing else, polygamy teaches you to love for Allah’s sake and to be grateful for His favors. Without either one of these, we have no hope.”

  Seeing the name “Ismael Ali” under the “from” column in his e-mail account made Zaid smile. Aminah had finally replied. In the past month, he imagined that she had forgotten about him, or worse, decided to never reply. His heart raced as he pressed the virtual arrow to the message and tapped his fingers on his desk at work as he waited for the mail to open. As it did, he leaned forward, noticing, with a sense of relief, that it wasn’t as short as her last one, and he counted it as a good sign.

  As-salaamu’alaikum, Zaid

  I’m sorry I haven’t written in a while. But like I said in my last e-mail, I had some things to reconsider. I’ve had a lot of time to think, and after talking to my father, we both think it’s best for us not to continue talking...

  Zaid’s heart sank, hoping she was not saying what he feared she was.

  It’s clear that you and I have different perspectives on things, and there’s too much to consider with your family’s opposition and the cultural differences to keep trying to make this work. What you said about me never being Black to you made me look at things in a way I never did. Although I think everyone is beautiful in her own way (I know it sounds clichéd), I cannot accept feeling beautiful at the expense of someone else, especially an entire race of people, my people, even if you don’t see it like that. I have my reasons for that, too much to go into right now, and given that we won’t be getting married, I think it’s irrelevant to explain. But, suffice it to say, I don’t ever want to feel like I have to hide in my skin, and marrying you will make me do that.

  I’ve been reading a lot on the history of America in terms of race, and it’s depressing to say the least. I don’t know the history of Pakistan, but I don’t think I’m reaching to say you can benefit from researching the Hindu influence and British colonization to gain some perspectives on the color issue for yourself.

  As-salaamu’alaikum wa rahmatullaah

  Aminah

  Zaid stared at the screen a moment more, overcome with disbelief. It was as if he’d been smacked in the face. All this time. And this? He couldn’t believe what he was reading. What was she talking about? None of it made sense. He read the e-mail again, this time vaguely recalling their conversation on the phone.

  To him, it had been uneventful. Yes, he had said she would never be black to him and that she was beautiful. But what did she mean about having to “hide” in her skin? He shook his head. Maybe this was what Zahra was warning him about. Then another thought came to him, and he felt himself growing upset.

  Maybe Zahra was the one who caused this. Had she talked to Aminah too?

  The more he thought about it, the more he convinced himself that this was his cousin’s doing. But why? Why would Zahra do something like this? What had she said to Aminah to make her think he needed to research the history of his country? He was offended. He would pay his cousin a visit after work.

  Then again, maybe this wasn’t Zahra at all.

  Maybe all of these things about being black and everything being beautiful and hiding in her skin, were actually going on in Aminah’s head. It was like a riddle, and he was reminded of a group of people he sometimes saw in college. They would walk around campus with “Black is beautiful” T-shirts, complete with photographed heads of women with various shades of dark skin and protruding, puffy hair. He thought they were joking, and he actually found it humorous. Like a pun. If they were not joking, he remembered thinking, they were certainly living in a world of their own. Was it possible they actually believed what their shirts said? If so, it was weird. And he couldn’t help feeling a little sad for them. He never imagined people actually contended with obvious aspects of beauty.

  And Aminah? It made no sense. She had no reason to contend with facts that had more to do with human nature than any history of America, Hindus, or Pakistan. Was it possible that Aminah was really that confused? If so, it was a good thing he had said what he said. Otherwise, he would have never known the things going on in her mind. And to think, he was determined to marry her. He couldn’t imagine, years later, how their children would be.

  Perhaps his family had been right all along. “It cannot work,” they kept telling him. “They are too different from us.” He read the e-mail again, unable to help thinking, They are right.

  Sarah pulled into the driveway of their home, noticing her husband had already arrived from work. He was home earlier than usual, and she imagined he was wondering where she was. After turning off the car, she opened the door, the conversation with Nusaybah still playing in her head.

  Undoubtedly, Nusaybah’s was a beautiful story, if one could call it that, but Sarah knew her story wouldn’t end in the happily ever after as Nusaybah’s did. Sarah knew the sister would not agree with the label of “love story” or “happily ever after,” but that’s how it seemed to Sarah. What better position for a woman than to be first and second wife at once? She had the advantage of the shared history of a first wife, and as a second, she had the advantage of newly wed bliss, made all the more blissful by having the shared history in the first place.

  But there were things Nusaybah said that made Sarah fearful she couldn’t handle it. The pendulum
of emotions, the constant insecurity, the three nights here, three nights there. Just listening to it was inciting the beginning of a migraine. It all seemed so unstable, so unsure. How could she survive like that? Nusaybah had said everyone’s situation was different, and perhaps the one night here, one night there, would work better for Sarah. At the mention of any of this relating to her directly, Sarah was offended. But she masked her emotions with a laugh, saying “None of it will work for me.”

  As Sarah slipped the key into the door, she could not shake the feeling that she was better than this, and she felt herself growing upset with her husband. She deserved more. She was a whole woman, a complete woman, worthy of a one-woman man. She was not a desperate widow or a divorced woman with five children. So why should she have to divide her nights with a man she had been married to more than half her life? This was insane. She couldn’t really be considering this.

  The image of Alika and how beautiful she was at the walimah appeared in her mind, and she felt incensed as she forced the thought from her mind at the same moment she yanked the khimaar from her head. This had gone on for too long. She needed to put an end to it. Her husband said he wanted her opinion, said he wanted her to be open. Well, now she was going to be. If he wanted to live in a fairytale, well she wasn’t going to sit around and play Cinderella, scrubbing the floors until a magic pumpkin arrived to carry her off to a better life. She would not allow him to marry Alika, and that was that. She didn’t have to support this, and she would not. Nothing in the religion required that she even approve of his marriage, let alone that she sit around and play the good wife while he did what he wanted. Ismael said he couldn’t do it without her, and now she was going to take him up on that.

  Sarah tossed the head cover and outer garment into the living room, not caring that neither landed on the coffee table or the couch. She grew more upset as she remembered Nusaybah recounting the tug of war of it all, never knowing whom he loved more. At that moment, she had felt so powerful, so in control of her life that she actually felt sorry for Nusaybah, and the man’s first wife. And right then, Sarah knew. She couldn’t be like them. Wouldn’t be like them. She respected herself too much for that.

  She marched up the steps remembering her inquiry to Nusaybah, “Didn’t you want to meet the first wife?”

  Nusaybah had shaken her head. “I wasn’t marrying her.”

  Then the other question, “His first wife didn’t mind?”

  Nusaybah had smiled, that wise, all-knowing smile that now made Sarah sick to even think about, and said, “It wasn’t her decision. It was ours.”

  It was as if someone had punched her in the stomach as Nusaybah’s meaning settled over her. But she had remained calm, even as Nusaybah went on to explain that, in her view, it wasn’t wise to have the first wife heavily involved. Yes, it was best to tell her before the marriage, but only after the man was sure this was something he would definitely do, inshaAllaah. Nusaybah recounted how her second husband would tell her every time a sister had inquired about him or every time he had a “sit down”, which was at least three times a month. And it drove her crazy. Nusaybah always wanted to know everything she could about the woman, her age, her race, her height, her weight, everything. She even met several of them in person and talked to countless others on the phone. In retrospect, Nusaybah said, it wasn’t worth it. None of the marriages worked out, and, in the end, all Nusaybah was left with was dizzy exhaustion, as if she had been on a long roller coaster ride that wouldn’t switch off.

  The story was Nusaybah’s way of telling Sarah not to blame her husband, and that perhaps there was some wisdom in him keeping her uninformed in the beginning. What good would it have done, except guarantee that her current stress would have been endured that much longer?

  As Sarah sat in Nusaybah’s sitting room, the tray of crackers and juice before her, she had been convinced of the wise woman’s words, even if only momentarily. Sarah was surprised at the thought that had come next. I wish he never told me. I can’t take this anymore. But she scolded herself for thinking like that and knew it was only her desperation for reprieve talking then. In her right mind, she would want what he was trying to give her right then, though he was a bit late. Openness and honesty.

  “Where were you?” Ismael asked, looking worried, standing up suddenly, still dressed in his work clothes as she entered.

  “Nusaybah’s.” She ran a hand over her flattened hair as she sat on the edge of the bed.

  “Why didn’t you tell me?”

  “I thought I’d be back before you.”

  “You could’ve called me on my cell or at work.”

  “I didn’t think about it.”

  “Sweetheart,” he said, waiting until she met his gaze. His voice held an edge of upset and frustration. “I was worried about you.”

  She stifled laughter. “I thought you’d be too busy with your young, beautiful wife-to-be to notice me.”

  He sighed, scratching at his beard as his gaze went momentarily to the ceiling. “Sweetheart, please don’t do this to us.”

  Sarah narrowed her eyes as if daring him. “Do what, Ismael?”

  “Go on like this.” He took a deep breath and exhaled. “You can’t let this destroy our family.”

  “What?” She could hardly believe her ears. “If anyone’s destroying the family, you are.”

  His shoulders slouched slightly, as if too exhausted to argue right then, and he walked over to the dresser and sat on the edge of it, his arms folded. His gaze was down, as if he were in deep thought. But still, he said nothing.

  The silence was awkward, and Sarah started to say something, but stopped herself. She was afraid of a repeat of the day he had walked out. She needed him home today, because she had something important to say to him. She knew it would be difficult for him to accept. But she could no longer live a lie. She was nobody’s co-wife, and she would never be. She was Sarah. Okay, almost fifty, but she wasn’t as unattractive and outdated as he was making her feel. Alika may have her beat in youthful beauty, but the girl couldn’t hope to compete with Sarah in… In what? Her inability to complete the thought upset her more, and she couldn’t sit here allowing him to look wounded any longer.

  “I came home early, Sarah,” he said, “because I really need to talk.”

  “And I need to talk to you.”

  “Do you mind if I go first?”

  “Yes, I do mind. But since nothing that I mind has really mattered lately,” she said sarcastically, “I think you should go on.”

  He was silent again, and he rubbed a hand over his face, clearly drained from whatever was on his mind. One arm was folded over his chest, and he toyed with his beard hair with the other. He was not looking at her but at something in the distance on the floor. His silence unnerved Sarah, and she didn’t know what else to do but talk.

  “I guess that means you want me to go first.” She drew in a deep breath before exhaling, deciding to cut to the chase.

  “I’m not going to support you in this,” Sarah said, apologizing in her voice. At that he lifted his head and furrowed his brows as he met her gaze, still pulling on his beard hair. She looked away then stood, folding her arms, her gaze on the landscape painting hanging behind him on the wall. “I’m sorry, Ismael. But I’m not wiling to be a co-wife.”

  His expression didn’t change, and he continued to play with his beard, saying nothing. Their eyes met, and he held her gaze. Sarah felt awkward, and she gathered her eyebrows and shook her head slightly, as if saying, What’s going on with you? But he did not respond, and his stilled expression made her feel as if he were seeing her for the first time. It was a look that told Sarah, whatever he was seeing, he didn’t like, but accepted because it came with the package. All the while, he continued to pull at his beard hair, and Sarah couldn’t take it anymore.

  “What did you want to talk about?”

  At first she thought he hadn’t heard her, but a moment later, she saw the slight shake of his head. �
��Nothing,” he nearly mumbled. “Nothing that matters now.”

  For a few more seconds, he continued to look at her with furrowed brows as he played with his beard. Then he stood, walked over to the nightstand and picked up his keys.

  Sarah’s heart sank at the realization of what was about to happen—again. Inside, she felt the heat rising in her chest, and she refused to let him treat her so cruelly. She walked behind him, as if daring him to walk out the door.

  “Where are you going?”

  “Out.” He didn’t even turn around.

  She followed him down the steps.

  “Where?” she demanded.

  “Out,” he said louder, still not turning around.

  “I have a right to know where you’re going, Ismael. That’s the least you could do.”

  His left foot had just landed on the foyer floor when he turned around suddenly, a look of disgust in his eyes. Sarah halted her descent nearly running into him from where she now stood on the last step, her head slightly above his, her eyes still narrowed in her demand.

  “Funny,” he said, glowering, and she could feel the warmth of his breath on her face, “that’s the same thing I thought when I came home an hour ago. And since you’ve been asking me to play fair lately, let’s call it even. You’ll find out when I get back.”

  With that, he slipped on his shoes and was out the door. Less than a minute later, Sarah heard his car start and the sound of it fade as he drove away. For a moment, she couldn’t believe what had just happened. As it settled on her, she felt the familiar panic in her chest and welling in her eyes. But she refused to breakdown. If he wanted to act like a spoiled child, let him. She wasn’t going to play along. He was not going to get to her like that. No, she would not cry. Not tonight. She would find an old movie to watch, maybe ask Aminah to join her, and they would have a ladies’ night out.