Footsteps

by Umm Zakiyyah

  She wished Kate had not seen the sign. Then she could ignore it. Pretend it wasn’t there.

  But even as she thought this, Sarah knew Allah would have returned her home anyway. Her family needed her. Aminah. Sulayman.

  And Ismael.

  She needed herself too. She simply wasn’t herself as long as she remained a self-appointed refugee in Kate’s home.

  Sunday. Kate had confirmed a ticket home for her the day after tomorrow. Two days after she was officially a co-wife.

  Ugh. The very thought was depressing.

  But Sarah submitted. Had long since submitted that it would be a reality of her life. Even as her mind refused to accept she had.

  No, polygamy was not her preference. But, she realized, neither was avoiding it her choice. She had thought it was. She imagined that she could say what she did or did not want. And, technically, she could. But that didn’t mean she could decree anything in that regard.

  Allah decreed and none could decree over Him.

  Who was she to question the decree of Allah?

  She had fought this for years, had loathed the very thought. At that moment, she felt ashamed. And she should feel ashamed, she reflected as she completed her ablution. Because it was indeed a shame how she thought herself better, deserving of better, than being “divided in half.”

  Who did she think she was?

  In reality, she was but an impoverished, destitute slave of Allah. If she had known who she was truly, she would have been so grateful to have even been graced with Islam at all. So grateful that it would not matter what her husband did, or did not do. So grateful that she would be willing to eat crumbs from the hands of peasants if it meant the preservation of her soul. Her faith.

  “I do not care in which situation I wake,” the famous companion ‘Umar Ibn al-Khattab had said. “For I do not know what is good for me.”

  What of Sarah, who could not hope for the wisdom and faith of the one of whom Satan himself was afraid? Oh, how she did not want this to be good for her! She was repulsed at the very idea.

  Yet, like a whisper, she was reminded of the Words of her Lord. It may be that you dislike a thing which is good for you, and that you like a thing which is bad for you. And Allah knows while you do not know.

  Sarah felt humbled and humiliated at once.

  She dragged her feet to the bedroom, arms and face wet in wudhoo’, knowing already it would be a long night, the longest night of her life. But she would spend it in prayer. Otherwise, she feared for herself. And her dreams.

  It was as if she could feel Satan flowing through her veins as her emotions swung like a pendulum in a windstorm.

  As she dressed in her prayer garment, she recalled her arrogance. Her insecurity. Her cruelty. And her heart fell in regret.

  She had avoided Nusaybah, barred her from her home, and life. Unless she needed her ends clipped or could use a make-up artist for an event. All because Nusaybah had done what the Mothers of Believers had centuries ago.

  Already the tears were forming before her hands were raised above her shoulders in submission, in surrender. To her Lord.

  Oh, how she had avoided polygamy like a plague, had kept the mention of it from her home. Had treated it like a sin.

  And now, she had the same disease.

  Dr. Faith had made that clear to her.

  Sarah had trusted Faith, as a counselor. A friend. Never had she imagined Faith would become a grim reflection of the ignorance, the heartlessness of her own face.

  Would Aminah suffer for the sins of her mother? Would Aminah lose out on the happiest moment in her life because Sarah had sent forth an evil deed, only to have it come back at her?

  The earth was created round, she once heard, so anything you throw out comes back to you.

  As she recited, she was struck by the implications of that reality. For when you stand on the round earth and throw something, it comes back. And strikes you in the back.

  Sarah praised Allah, regret suffocating her, knowing then what her supplication in her sajdah would be. Though a month, or even a day, before, she would never have dreamed she would ask Allah to open her heart to polygamy. To make her love it. Embrace it. And…

  Join her and Alika’s hearts as sisters loving each other for His sake.

  She cried, begging Allah’s forgiveness, hoping He would not decree Aminah suffer for her sin. Or make Ismael’s heart turn away from her on account of it.

  Oh, how ungrateful she was! How ungrateful was the human soul. How true were Allah’s Words when He spoke of human’s ungratefulness in His Book.

  Cursed is man! How ungrateful he is!

  From what did He create him?

  From a sperm-drop He created him and set him in due proportion

  Then He made the Path easy for him

  Then He causes him to die, and places him in his grave.

  Then when He wills, He will resurrect him

  Nay, but man has not done what He commanded him

  Who had Sarah been when Allah chose her? When he had simply turned her heart to Islam?

  She had been, even in human estimation, of the most ignorant and astray of creation. She had seen in color distinction and distinction in Whiteness. Each Sunday she had worshipped an image of her own face, never questioning her resemblance to her god. She had looked down her nose at blackness and Black people, never questioning her superiority and her ancestors’ right to enslave them. She counted the meager crumbs her people threw from their table as favors to them, even as the superior race had not even inferior sense. The sense to realize that God bestowed favors and granted rights. And it was a sin to withhold or deny them to others.

  Then one day, she woke and decided she had no Creator. And had, in essence, designated herself in his place. She decided good and bad, right and wrong. And continued to look down her nose, thinking herself superior.

  Where would she be now if He had left her on the path she had chosen? What would she do if He hadn’t graced her with Islam? Hadn’t brought Ishmael Morgan into her life?

  It was a simple question. “Do you believe in God?”

  She had no humility then. No sense. None to realize the power of God even in the gathering itself. It was Ismael who taught her. Held her hand. And she remembered thinking she could never show her gratefulness to God for him.

  Oh, how her arrogance plagued her still. Her conceit. She still looked down her nose, not at color, but circumstance. Hadn’t she counted herself as better? Better because her husband was married to only her? An honor, a distinction. And those below, the likes of Nusaybah, had to be kept at a distance or else they disrupt her due.

  What now, would be her case in this world, in the Hereafter, if the Turner of Hearts would turn her heart away from Him? Where would her honor be then? Her distinction? And what would be her worth?

  She would be neither whole nor divided. She would be nothing at all.

  O You Who turns hearts, make my heart firm upon Your religion! Make me amongst Your grateful slaves. Make me amongst Your grateful slaves. O Allah, I beg you, I ask you, I plead

  O Allah, Ash-Shakoor! Make me amongst your grateful slaves.

  Preserve me, O Allah. Preserve my husband. Preserve Sulayman. Preserve Aminah. And, O Allah, Most Merciful,

  the Most Kind, Hearer of all prayers, Knower of the hearts, preserve Alika. Let not the actions of people discourage her.

  Let not the sins of my hands turn her away from You!

  For she turned to You, accepted Your religion, submitted to You. Forgive her. Forgive her, O Most-Forgiving! Forgive her husband, our husband! Forgive me. And join all our hearts in love and mercy for Your sake. Bless for us our family, and make us righteous servants, and pardon us as You have pardoned those before us.

  And remove from me, from her, from us all, anything that will keep us from being under Your shade. For on that Day, O Allah, there will be no shade but Yours. And join us—me, Aminah, Sulayman, and Ismael. And Alika. Join us in Jannah Fir-Daws to d
well as a family forever, rejoicing in the pleasure of seeing Your Face.

  And O Allah, O You Who guides, I implore you,

  I beg You, for You hear and accept prayers,

  Guide my sister Kate to Islam.

  Sarah woke from her nap after Fajr, which was really her night’s rest, when it was just past noon. She walked downstairs to eat breakfast and saw her luggage by the door. She creased her forehead, placing her hands on her hips. She wasn’t leaving until tomorrow.

  “I figured you’d want to pack early,” Kate said, walking into the foyer just then, folding her arms. “We have a busy day.”

  “I appreciate it,” Sarah said, shaking her head and feeling bad that her sister had gone through the trouble. “But I could’ve done it myself.”

  “I know,” Kate said with a wave of her hand. “But hey, today’s your pamper day, and how can you pamper yourself if you’re packing bags?”

  “I can do it when we get home.”

  “Actually,” she said, “we’re not going anywhere.”

  Sarah creased her forehead in confusion. “I thought…”

  “Why not stay home and pamper yourself? Otherwise you’ll wash it all off before we leave the salon.”

  She laughed. “I see your point.”

  “Well, we’ll get started around five, so let’s eat.”

  At seven o’clock that evening Sarah looked at her reflection in the full-length mirror in Kate’s dressing room and saw that playing “dress up” today had paid off. Kate had bought her a black spaghetti strap dress, something Sarah hadn’t worn in years. And the facial and make-up job made her look ten years younger, at least that’s what she wanted to believe as she smiled at herself. She wore Kate’s diamond stud earrings and white gold necklace with a diamond pendant.

  “Wow, Sarah,” Kate said looking at her, still wearing a loose long sleeved shirt and a pair of baggy jeans. “You really look stunning.” She sighed and shook her head. “You mind if I take a picture?”

  Sarah stared at her as if she had lost her mind. “Of course I mind. Now, get dressed so we can have dinner.”

  “I just don’t want to lose this moment. It’s been years since I’ve seen you like this.”

  “Oh, please,” she said with a grin. “You can take a picture in your mind.”

  “Problem is, that kind doesn’t develop so well.”

  “Well, the answer is no.” Sarah sighed as she stared at her sister, smiling.

  “Thanks so much for having me,” Sarah said.

  Kate waved her hand. “It was fun.”

  Sarah laughed. “Yeah right.”

  “It was.”

  “Can you please go get dressed before it’s tomorrow already, and we miss our dinner together?”

  Kate laughed. “Looks like somebody’s hungry.”

  “Well, you would be too if you’ve starved yourself like I have.”

  “Yeah, I suppose. But then I wouldn’t be too antsy because I’d get to look like you do in that dress.”

  Sarah laughed. “Miss Keeping Fit, thanks. But I know I have a long way to go before I deserve a compliment like that.”

  “You’re too hard on yourself, you know that?”

  “Can you hurry up, please?”

  “The food isn’t even here. So what’s the rush?”

  “What?” Sarah’s eyes widened. “You ordered out?”

  Kate stared at her sister with her forehead creased. “You thought I would cook for you?” She laughed out loud, and Sarah felt her cheeks go warm.

  “Sorry,” Sarah said, smiling from embarrassment. “I just assumed.”

  “Trust me, you would be sorry if I did cook.”

  “Well, as hungry as I am, I doubt it.”

  Kate glanced at her wristwatch. “The delivery should’ve been here by now.” She bit her lower lip and shrugged. “I guess I can get dressed while we wait.” She looked at Sarah. “And you… Maybe you should stay upstairs until the delivery guy leaves.”

  Sarah laughed. “You think?”

  Kate grinned. “Well, don’t blame me for thinking a—”

  The doorbell rang.

  “Speak of the devil!” Kate turned, glancing at Sarah for a moment. “I guess I can’t ask you to answer that while I get dressed, huh?”

  “Ha, ha, ha,” Sarah said. “I’ll stay up here—with the door closed until you come for me.”

  Kate nodded. “Sounds like a plan.” She closed the dressing room door and disappeared into the hall.

  Alone in the room, Sarah sighed. Looking at her reflection, she wished she hadn’t agreed to a “pamper day” as a way to cheer up. It was depressing. But she couldn’t tell Kate that. To Kate, clothes determined your mood, and she imagined that an elegant dress would lift Sarah’s spirits, or at least boost her self-esteem. But as an image of herself stared back at her, she was saddened. What did any of this mean if she couldn’t share it with Ismael? Why look beautiful if he couldn’t appreciate it?

  Yes, she heard Kate’s mantra. Look beautiful for yourself. Blah, blah, blah. Whatever. Sarah supposed she should just go ahead and live alone for the rest of her life just to convince herself that Kate was right. Look beautiful for yourself. Sarah didn’t know how to do that. For twenty-six years she never had to. Ismael had always been smiling back at her and telling her, a look of wonderment in his eyes, “You look…amazing.” How was she supposed to forget all of that, sitting in a ballroom dress across from her sister?

  Sarah shook her head, trying to gather the strength to put on an appreciative face before her little sister. Sarah couldn’t ruin tonight, not after her steady stream of depression, with no laughter. Kate deserved at least that much. She had to be a good sport.

  Sarah lifted her gaze to her reflection and smiled, surprising herself with how easy, and therapeutic it was. She smiled again, this time turning her head the other way. MashaAllaah, she thought. I don’t look bad. She laughed, placing a hand on her hip, gaining confidence with that movement. Oh yeah, she could pretend tonight. And have fun doing it.

  Kate knocked at the door.

  “Come in!”

  Sarah kept her hand poised on one hip, and she smiled at herself. “I don’t look bad,” she said with a playful grin. She turned to her sister, but a dozen roses grazed her nose instead. She stared at them in confusion.

  “You didn’t have to,” she told Kate.

  “I know, but I wanted to.”

  Sarah’s eyes widened as the roses were lowered and she found herself looking into the eyes of her husband.

  “Ismael?”

  He smiled at her. “You’re right. You don’t look bad.” He paused as his eyes stared at her in wonderment. You look….amazing.”

  She stared at him, still recovering from shock.

  “How…?”

  “Surprise!” Kate sang out, peeking her head into the door.

  Sarah stared at the roses, at Kate, then at her husband. Then she felt her eyes fill with tears as she shook her head, locking her gaze with Ismael’s.

  “Will you come back with me?”

  Sarah started to speak but couldn’t. Instead, she nodded.

  “Let me load the car,” Kate said.

  “Will you come back to me?”

  Tears slipped down Sarah’s cheeks and she nodded again. “Yes, I will.”

  Ismael exhaled, pulling his wife into an embrace. A second later, she felt his shoulders tremble, and they were crying in each other’s arms.

  “I love you, Sarah,” he moaned into her hair. “I was scared I’d lost you forever.”

  “And I thought I lost you,” she said into his shirt.

  “Please tell me you won’t leave me again.”

  “I won’t,” she promised. “Allah help me, I won’t punish myself like that again.”

  Chapter Nineteen

  After a candlelit dinner and a night spent in a hotel suite near Kate’s home, Sarah and Ismael returned to Atlanta on a flight together, holding hands the entire time. People w
ho didn’t know them would assume they were newlyweds. And in a way, they were.

  Aminah greeted Sarah with a long, warm hug, making Sarah smile, grateful to be home. Minutes later, Sarah followed her husband upstairs, amazed at how new and familiar the house felt at once. Everything was clean, spotless, and Sarah grinned at her husband once they were in the room.

  “Now this is a surprise.”

  He laughed. “You’d be surprised what a broken heart can inspire in you.”

  Sarah sighed, dropping her gaze. “I’m sorry.”

  “I’m sorry too.”

  “I don’t know what made me think I could give all this up.”

  Ismael laughed. “Me.”

  She shook her head. “I meant you.”

  He looked away, smiling.

  Sarah walked over to the window and stared beyond the curtains to the front yard. But her mind wasn’t there. “So how was it?”

  “How was what?”

  “Friday.”

  “The nikaah?”

  She tried to calm her heartbeat at the sound of the word, and its relation to her. Allah would give her the strength to make it from here. “Yes.”

  There was a long pause, and she turned to look at him. He was sitting on the edge of the dresser stroking his beard, eyes avoiding hers.

  “There was no nikaah,” he said.

  Sarah’s eyes narrowed in disbelief. “What?”

  “She called it off.”

  “What?” She couldn’t believe what she was hearing. She shook her head in confusion. “When?”

  “A week ago.”

  Sarah walked over to the bed and sat on the edge of it, facing her husband, afraid to ask the next question. “Are you still married?”

  Ismael was silent. He folded his arms across his chest and sighed. He looked at his wife, a look of exhaustion, and sadness in his eyes. Then he shook his head.

  “What?” She stood, unable to believe any of this conversation was real. “How could you do that to her?”

  “Sarah, I didn’t.” She saw a look of shock behind his squinted eyes, as if he were seeing her for the first time. She realized at that moment what he was seeing, and when she did, her heart skipped a beat. She had just gotten upset with him for leaving Alika. Where had that come from?