Footsteps

by Umm Zakiyyah

  A week later Tamika walked next to her husband as they rounded the block for a morning exercise after Fajr on Saturday. Tamika had been listening as her husband told her the story of he and Dee in high school and his own torment in blaming himself.

  “But Allah doesn’t hold you accountable for her,” Tamika said.

  “I know that,” Sulayman said. “But I still feel responsible.”

  She shook her head. “But why? You made a mistake, and so did she. She could have repented just like you.”

  He sighed, a distant look in his eyes. “Yes, but…”

  His voice trailed and they walked in silence for some time.

  “You have to move on.” Tamika took his hand and continued the pace. “Sulayman, you have enough to worry about in your own life to blame yourself for someone else’s.”

  He nodded.

  “It’s not going to help or change anything. You can’t think Allah is warning you of a punishment through her.”

  “I know.” He drew in a deep breath and exhaled the words. “I know.”

  “Besides, you have a family to worry about.”

  A look of anticipation and reluctance was in his eyes as he grinned at her, and Tamika smiled back.

  “Positive?” His eyes widened.

  Her smile broadened. “Positive.”

  “You sure?”

  “There were two in the pack, so I checked twice.”

  “Alhamdulillaah.” In his excitement, he picked up his pace until Tamika tugged his hand, reminding him that she could not walk so fast.

  “I’m sorry,” he said with a laugh. “I just—”

  “I know.” She laughed too. “It’s exciting for me too.”

  “I’ll call my mom and find a doctor for Monday, inshaAllaah.”

  She nodded. “I can call Khadijah and see what doctor she used.”

  “Was it a Muslim?”

  Tamika shrugged. “I’m not sure.”

  “Check then.”

  “Okay.”

  They walked in silence for some time, Tamika smiling to herself. She glanced at her husband and saw that his expression had changed to the same look of worry and self-torment he had earlier.

  “Sulayman,” she said, tugging at his hand playfully, “forget it. It’s not your fault.”

  “I know.” He shook his head. “I was just thinking about you.”

  “I don’t blame you, Sulayman. I could never blame you for being human.”

  He smiled at her and held her gaze momentarily. “I know, and I appreciate you for that. I’m really blessed to have someone like you.”

  She grinned and shook her head. “I feel even more blessed to have someone like you.”

  He walked in silence for a long time, a hint of a smile still on his face. As they neared their apartment building, his expression had changed to concern again.

  “Stop worrying yourself about her.”

  He started to smile, but it quickly faded. “I’m not thinking about Durrah. I’m thinking about us.”

  Tamika creased her forehead in confusion. “Us?”

  “Yes.”

  “Why?”

  “I hope I can take care of you.”

  Tamika smiled gently, feeling bad for him. “You already are.”

  He shook his head. “I’m not really. My parents are helping more than they should.”

  “And that’s how you’re taking care of me. And I’m fine.”

  “I can’t go on like this forever. I have to do it alone.”

  “Sulayman, don’t punish yourself more than you need to.”

  “It’s something I can’t help thinking about, especially with a child coming, inshaAllaah.”

  “I know, Sulayman, but I don’t want you to be worried. I’m not.”

  “I know, Tamika. And I’m thankful for that. But I can’t go on making you sacrifice so much.”

  She laughed. “I’m not sacrificing anything. I have more than I can ask for.”

  “Tamika, I can’t even afford to take you for a weekend hike.”

  “And what would I need with a weekend hike?”

  “That’s not the point.”

  They started up the apartment steps.

  “Sulayman, you’re a student. I understand that. And even if you weren’t, I didn’t marry you for money.”

  “But money is important.”

  “Not as important as people imagine.”

  “I have to provide for you.”

  “And you are.”

  They did not speak as Sulayman unlocked the apartment door and they stepped inside, both audibly saying the supplication for entering the home.

  Exhausted, Sulayman sat on the leather couch, and Tamika sat next to him.

  “I’m sorry, Tamika.”

  The sadness in his gaze as their eyes met made her heart ache for him. She wished he understood that she didn’t care about material things. She never had.

  “It’s just that I see Abdur-Rahman and Aminah, and I—”

  “Don’t compare yourself to them, Sulayman. We’re different.”

  “But I should—”

  “You should be patient,” Tamika said with a smile. “That’s what you should do. I don’t want an expensive house with a pool in the backyard.”

  “It’s not the house that he bought her. It’s—”

  “His parents bought the house,” she reminded. “A wedding gift. And I think it’s clear how much money they have. And the average person just doesn’t live like that.”

  “But still, to even maintain a home like that…” He shook his head.

  “Be happy for them, Sulayman.”

  “I am. I just want to be happy for you.”

  “Then be happy for me. I’m with you. That means more than any home you could buy.”

  He smiled at her, but she could still see the doubt, the pain in his eyes. “What if—”

  She placed her index finger over his lips. “I don’t care about what ifs. I care about us.”

  He smiled beneath her finger, giving in. “I love you.”

  She smiled in return. “And I love you more.”

  That afternoon Alika sat in a chair placed a distance from Ismael, who sat directly in front of Imam Abdul-Quddus, who had called Ismael to arrange this meeting in the basement of his home.

  “I’ll make this brief,” the imam said. “I first want to apologize to both of you if my handling of your situation was unsatisfactory in any way.”

  Ismael and Alika listened.

  “After that, I want to address a phone call that Alika made to my office a week ago. In it she expressed some of her concerns, and shared with me the phone call you made to her at the beginning of Ramadan.”

  Alika saw Ismael shift slightly and scratch at one side of his beard.

  “We had a long talk, and I basically would like Alika to explain herself from here.”

  Alika was silent for some time, trying to gather her thoughts. She had had a lot of time to think things over and reflect on everything that had happened. When Ramadan had come to a close, her mind was clearer, especially after spending the last ten nights in I’tikaaf along with Nusaybah and her daughter, who also brought sleeping bags and a Qur’an along with them to the masjid.

  “I called this meeting to apologize,” she said, feeling humbled by her honest words. “First for calling off everything so soon. And also for being so brusque when you called.”

  Ismael nodded, his gaze slightly down, his hands now linked before him, as if bracing himself for the worst.

  “And to say that I was wrong.”

  At that, he looked at her, a look of hope and surprise in his eyes. She smiled inwardly, hoping that was a good sign. But she knew it wasn’t that easy. Even if there were still feelings for her, he still had Sarah to worry about.

  “I shouldn’t have disrespected your family like I did.”

  He furrowed his brows. “Disrespected my family?”

  “By trivializing their significance in our ability
to be together.”

  Alika could tell he still didn’t understand. She narrowed her eyes, trying to gather her words. “What I’m saying is, I did a lot of thinking in Ramadan, and I saw how I had everything wrong.”

  “Alika,” he said, his voice soft and apologetic, “you didn’t do anything. I was the—”

  “Let me finish.”

  He started to say something but nodded, submitting to her request.

  “I thought about how upset I was that everything seemed to depend on Sarah’s approval. And that hurt me. More than you know.”

  “I’m sorry, Alika. I’m really sorry.”

  She shook her head. “Don’t be. I’m the one who should apologize.”

  He looked as if he disagreed, but knowing she wanted to explain, he remained quiet.

  “I thought about how Islam teaches a balance in everything, and how everything is weighed against the harms and benefits. I know now that’s what you were doing. You had a family, a family that had taken twenty-six years to build. Two grown children, and archives of memories I can’t even imagine.” She drew in a deep breath. “It was only right that that took priority. Naturally, Sarah was having a very difficult time with everything, and I was being selfish, refusing to see her side, thinking it an attack on me.”

  He tucked his lips and nodded, his eyes growing intent, thoughtful as he tried to understand what she was saying.

  “I know now that you did the right thing, the Islamic thing. And I’m sorry that I didn’t see that at the time.” She paused, gathering her thoughts. “And if I were your wife, if I am ever blessed to be your wife,” she said, hoping he heard the plea in her words, “I hope you would do the same for me.”

  There was a brief silence, and Alika knew he was digesting everything, wondering if this was something he should pursue or just leave alone. Because she didn’t want to see the answer, she turned her head and said what had been weighing on her for some time.

  “Through all of this,” she said, “I thought about my mother. And I realized how much this was not about me. This was about a family, a woman, a special woman on the other end. That she deserved whatever time she needed to adjust to the idea.” She paused, gathering the strength for her last words. “If she ever adjusted to it.”

  She dropped her gaze to her hands. “And I thought about the promise I made to my mother years ago.” Understand, he’s a man. One day you’ll know what I mean. But for now, promise me you’ll never blame him for that. “And I know now, that I broke that promise with you.”

  He creased his forehead in confusion.

  “You’re a man, Ismael. A human being,” she said, looking at him momentarily before lowering her gaze again. “And I blamed you for that.” She paused then added, “And I’m sorry.”

  The room grew quiet, and Ismael looked as if he would speak but couldn’t find the words.

  “Brother Ali,” the imam said, interrupting Ismael’s train of thought. “If you’re willing to take the sister back, then—”

  “I am,” he said with assurance. “Today, if she doesn’t mind.”

  She smiled under his gaze but shook her head. “Talk to Sarah first, then—”

  “We’ve talked before, and I’m sure she—”

  “Brother,” the imam said, meeting Ismael’s gaze. “Talk to your wife and call me back.”

  Alika lifted her gaze and smiled. She moved her head forward in a nod, agreeing with her wali. “Yes, talk to her. About this meeting.” She paused as her smile broadened. “And I’ll be waiting for your answer.”

  A moment later, Ismael too smiled and nodded. “Yes, I will, inshaAllaah. Expect a call from me tomorrow.”

  Wearing a warm jacket, Sarah sat on a lawn chair overlooking her yard, but her mind was beyond the bare trees. She was reflecting on her life, herself. So much had happened in the last year that it was difficult to believe it was all in a span of nine months instead of years. She felt freer, less stressed. She felt more confident, less insecure. And she felt blessed, and she loathed the ungratefulness that had plagued her the year before.

  Allah was Merciful, she marveled. His mercy was so great that she couldn’t imagine the magnitude of it, especially on the Day of Judgment. She thought of the Day that, before the onset of Ramadan, was a day she had taken for granted, like the eventuality of anything inevitable. It had been a distant whisper, a far off wind, whisking and blowing light years away. A safe distance from her.

  Yet now, it felt as if it were upon her, and nothing seemed to matter except her soul that Day. She wondered at her change in perspective, fearing the inevitable dip in her eemaan. But even as she knew that one’s faith was naturally up and down, she did not worry too much. She had faith that hers would dip on a high. She was a new person, and she intended to keep striving to better herself.

  Her thoughts drifted to Alika, and she halted them there, wondering at the love she felt in her heart for the sister. Although there was still a flicker of jealousy in her heart, it wasn’t the raging fire it had been months ago. She studied the thought as if an anthropological discovery, except she had dug into the recesses of her heart instead of the earth.

  The human heart, and mind, were amazing creations, and her utter lack of control over them inspired in Sarah a sense of solace, of serenity before her Lord. He held the human heart between Two Fingers, and He turned it as He pleased. Like a feather, the human heart was constantly turning. But there were those who, even in the turning, were made firm upon belief.

  Right then, that was all that mattered to Sarah. And it was difficult to comprehend how, as she recalled with distant recognition, the devastation she had felt that sent her to Kate’s, on the verge of breaking up her family. A tremor went through her as she realized the imminence of self-destruction within the human being. So many diseases lurked and plagued a person, sickening the heart, corrupting and exaggerating an otherwise healthy nature. Sarah tried to recall what it was she feared when she learned Ismael wanted to take another wife, but she could not. At least not entirely, and it was even more difficult to remember what she was protecting herself from when she kept even the mention of it from her home.

  No, she had no surety that she could handle it, and no determination to find out. Yet, there was a love for its allowance, a warmth in her heart as she thought of this great mercy from Allah to women. And she knew that, she couldn’t fight it, wouldn’t fight it in her life. She no longer knew how, and she knew even less why she should. Her heart belonged to Allah, and her security was within. No one could take that from her. No one could even threaten it. Not if she were a true servant of Allah. Her peace was in her relationship with Him, not with her husband or children. Or anyone.

  Sarah turned at the sound of the patio door opening and closing. Seeing her husband smiling at her, she stood and smiled too as he drew her in an embrace. They held each other, Sarah reveling in the warmth of being in his arms before she heard him speak.

  “I need to talk to you.”

  At the sound of the words, she merely nodded, continuing to smile, and followed her husband inside, her heart still light with the tranquility she had found amongst so many blessings of Allah.

  Epilogue

  And there are years, I’ve learned, that one simply cannot skip when reflecting on memories of a long marriage together. For me, 1997 is one of those years. I know there will be those who judge me for what I did that year, and for what I did not do. And those who think me a fool. Some because of my willingness to throw away a marriage of twenty-six years, others because I welcomed a new one into my own. But I didn’t leave or stay for Ismael, as some may think. And I did not welcome Alika for him. I did it for me. For my soul. If that makes me a fool, I accept that, and submit. As long as when my soul is taken, it is taken with ease. And that the One above the heavens has forgiven me the foolishness that I lived in truth. My Lord has graced me with tremendous blessings in my life, and I fear ungratefulness more than I fear foolishness in the eyes of men. For I am please
d with Allah as my Lord. Islam as my religion. And Muhammad as my prophet. Yet, I know that my life is not the only way to live out that pleasure. But my life is the only life I know, and as such, I turn my focus within. My prayer is that others will do the same. Let my life be a lesson to you, even if my footprints are not where you choose to rest your soles. Let my pain be a reminder, even if it is a pain you will never feel. And let my choices in enduring both be a sign to you. For you tread the earth as I do, and, surely, one day you will be gone. And your footsteps will be the only ones that do not leave after you are lowered beneath the ground.

  Other Books By Umm Zakiyyah

  If I Should Speak

  Footsteps

  Realities of Submission

  Hearts We Lost

  A Friendship Promise

  Muslim Girl

  Order information available at ummzakiyyah.com/bookstore

  About the Author

  Daughter of American converts to Islam, Umm Zakiyyah writes about the interfaith struggles of Muslims and Christians, and the intercultural, spiritual, and moral struggles of Muslims in America.

  Umm Zakiyyah’s work has earned praise from writers, professors, and filmmakers and has been translated into multiple languages. In 2008, Umm Zakiyyah was awarded the Muslim Girls Unity Conference Distinguished Authors Award. Umm Zakiyyah also writes under her birth name Ruby Moore.

  To find out more about the author, visit ummzakiyyah.com or uzauthor.com, subscribe to her YouTube channel, follow her on Twitter, or join her Facebook page at facebook.com/ummzakiyyahpage.