Before the Wedding, August 2005 -Part 17

During the first week of July, Lacy had hosted a small, informal engagement party for Mary Anne. Only Sorayah, Lacy and Mary Anne herself, and Rebecca and her three newly 'reverted' friends, Esther, Tarsha, and Sarah, were invited, due to the secretive nature of the upcoming marriage. Lacy had prepared an elegant meal, mainly of recipes she had invented herself. No one left the party without a copy of her recipe for:

RICOTTA PESTO SPREAD

1 cup fat-free ricotta cheese
4 Tablespoons sun-dried tomato and garlic pesto
4 Tablespoons finely minced fresh basil
A little freshly ground sea salt
1 loaf mini cocktail rye bread
Mix all ingredients together with a spoon or fork. Serve the spread on cocktail rye bread.

The other big hit was:

VANILLA YOGURT and BERRIES

1 container of Danon Vanilla low-fat yogurt
1 pint of fresh blueberries, washed
1 16 0z box of fresh strawberries, washed and cut in fourths
1/2 to 3/4 cup of walnut halves and pieces
1/2 cup of coconut chips

Layer these ingredients in a clear, glass bowl and serve over 4 to 6 individual size Angel food cakes, or 1 regular size Angel Food cake cut into single serving pieces.

Besides eating, the women had burned incense, decorated Mary Anne's hands and feet with henna and listened to recorded recitations of Hadith Al Kisa'a, Sura Yasin, and Du'a Al-Tawasul. Sorayah also read Ziyarat Bibi Zaynab in Arabic, since she was the only one with the ability to read Arabic; her parents had made sure she got Arabic lessons when she was still a child, living in Iran. Rebecca then read the translation.
After the others had gone Mary Anne and Lacy had gone shopping, on the internet. They selected the items below.




Mary Anne's maroon Wedding Abaya fits loosely over this white caftan, for a very simple, yet elegant style.
Credit for the picture of the maroon abaya goes to: alhediya.

Credit for the picture of the white caftan goes to: desert store.




A pair of gold slippers from her favorite shoe store in the mall, a pair of flesh-colored trouser socks, and the shayla section of a white two-piece milfeh style scarf over a maroon underscarf layered with a white lace tube headband, a pair of white extension sleeves and gold jewlery completes Mary Anne's bridal ensemble.

Lacy had ordered a light blue butterfly On-Top Abaya, as well as a light blue linen Nadeen linen abaya to wear underneath, and a pair of white dantella arm covers . A color coordinated 3-piece hijab set and a pair of white Liz Claiborne flex-slippers from the mall add the finishing touches to her outfit. Lacy's order had arrived three weeks after the order was placed. Mary Anne's on the other hand, was delayed! She had been so nervous, she had just started to consider going to the mall to see if she could find something at the last minute, when the package finally arrived. It was beat up and looked like it had been opened, but luckily nothing had been missing.


Rebecca had opted to buy her outfit at the mall, it consisted of a purple and white skirt paired with a solid white top, and a matching purple scarf, complete with white slippers and a matching white clutch and gold jewlery.

All three of the women used Hashmi Kohl Aswad powder to line their eyes.

Jamal decided to go with traditional Arab clothing.
Credit for the picture of the dishdasha goes to: alhediya.

Jamal's friends, Hurr* and Mukhtar**, have taken on the task of catering the small event. They plan to serve yellow rice, lamb tikka, red lentil marika, salad, rice kubba, yogurt sauce with cucumber and mint in it, hummus, pita bread, and black chai with hale.


*The name of a very bad man who repented of his wicked ways, and was forgiven, during the tragedy that befell the Prophet's Household in Kerbala.

**Chosen, authorized, empowered, independent, selected

The Guest List:
Lacy, Muhammad, children (Adam Muhammad, Sukayna and Ro'qaiya)
Sorayah, Hosein, children (Parvaneh, Parisa, Shirin)
Rebecca's friends (ex-Amish girl, Esther; ex-Black United Methodist, Tarsha; ex-Jehoveh's Witness, Sarah)
Rebecca and her children (Fidha and Ali)
Jamal's buddies, (Hurr and Mukhtar)

Sorayah, January, 2002 - Part 16

Credit for the picture goes to: Arts Work.

Sorayah* herds her three daughters, eight-year-old Parvaneh***, five-year-old Parisa****, and three-year-old Shirin***** into the library for their weekly rendezvous with the quiet and studious atmosphere she has loved so much ever since she can remember. Her entire life revolves around her children, she is determined to raise her three little girls to be intelligent, independent women. She worries about their futures in the aftermath of the attacks on the world trade center, and she believes their destinys lie in the quality of their education; not only that, she expects that their blond hair and blue eyes will help them fit in. That's what Hossein** always says, too. They're grateful that the girls inherited the fair hair and complexion of Sorayah's genes. She helps the girls select their books and they sit down at their favorite table to read.

"Mommy, I want to go to McDonald's after we finish reading." Parisa grins across the table.

"I guess it is about lunch time, but let's read for half an hour first," Sorayah replies.

"I want a cheese burger with pickles and fries," says Parvaneh.

"McNuggets! McNuggets!" Shirin exclaims.

"OK, McNuggets; but let's finish our books first," Sorayah's hand touches her heart as she smiles at the three-year-old's excitement.

After a long and exhausting Saturday out with the girls they finally go home. Sorayah begins fixing a nice Iranian family dinner. Hossein works long hours at the clinic and is always happy when he comes home to find a steaming traditional meal waiting for him, surrounded by the loves of his life. At about 4:00 o'clock she hears pounding on the front door. "FBI! Open up! FBI! Open up!" Dread seizes her heart and freezes her feet. She knows what this means, she has heard the horror stories circulating through her group of friends and extended community. The girls were watching cartoons in the living room, but now they run into the kitchen to find her, alarmed at the sounds coming from every side of their massive house. The fear in their eyes releases her from her frozen position and she moves mechanically towards the front door. Her body like ice, she picks up Shirin and the other two cling to her skirt and accompany her. Just as they turn the corner into the vestibule the door crashes open and a swarm of men in black jackets with the word FBI printed on their backs invade her house!

"Ma'am, ya'll are going to have to come with me," a rough voice growls, and suddenly glinting guns appear on every side. The girls begin to cry and Sorayah can not stop herself from shaking. She keeps hugging Shirin's quivering little body tightly in her arms as three of the men shove them into the living room and line them all up on the couch. It seems like hundreds of men have been dispatched all over the house, turning over furniture, dumping contents of drawers out on the floor, emptying closets. When she hears glass shattering she knows they're systematically smashing all of her treasured china dishes and porcelain picture frames, with the beautiful caligraphy designs, that Hossein had brought from Iran on his trips back home to visit his aging parents.

She begins softly reciting surah fatihah when one of the men pokes the barrel of his pistol in her face and snarls, "Speak English, lady!" She gasps and swallows the sob in her throat. If only she could crawl into her mother's lap and feel safe again! Like she did back in Iran, when she was a child and the bombs from Iraq were falling on their village near the border! She watches mutely as the men confiscate both of their computers and all of her disks with Iranian recipes and her poetry and all of her undergrad homework projects disappear out the door. They even take their wedding video and the videos of the girls' births and Birthday parties! Suddenly she smells food burning and knows her plans to have biryani rice ready for Hossein when he comes home have been dashed.

"Do you smell that?" says a loud voice, full of malevolence, from the kitchen. "Imagine eatin' food that smells like that! Damn sand niggers; eat food a pig wouldn't touch!"

When they finally leave, after what seems like eternity, the girls all crowd onto her lap still whimpering. Finally, after huddling together for several minutes, Sorayah speaks softly, "Girls, let's go check the front door." The door knob is broken, but the deadbolt still works, and so does the chain.

"Mommy, why did they break everything?" Parvaneh asks tearfully.

"Because they're no better than dogs!" Sorayah shouts, then seeing the girls' shocked and tearful faces, she realizes that shouting would scare the girls more, she lowers her voice. "I don't know why they did that, sweetheart, we're just going to have to clean it up; aren't we?"

"Where's daddy? Why isn't he home?" Parvaneh asks. "He's late."

"He probably just got held up at the clinic, baby."

"Mommy, look! They broke Shirin's dolly!" Parisa picks up the headless barbie from the floor of the vestibule. "Those men are really bad!" The wisdom in her five-year-old eyes astonishes Sorayah. Shirin simply stares at the doll, her eyes wide with fear, she hasn't spoken a word since the moment the men barged into the house with no explanations what-so-ever.

Shirin continues to cling to her neck and refuses to be put down, and the other girls hover nearby, still shaken. Sorayah tries, in vain, to reach Hossein on his cell phone or at the clinic. Where could he be?

Finally, at 3:00 AM, when Sorayah is nearly beside herself with panic, the phone jingles. "Sorayah jon, I have been arrested. I haven't been told why yet and I'm not even sure where I am. They gave me one phone call and they're listening to everything I say. They trashed the office too. Just stay at home and don't open the door for anyone."

"Oh, Hossein! They were here to! They broke everything and they stole our computers and all of our disks and home videos! I don't even know what else they did. They kept me and the girls on the couch at gun-point and now the babies are so scared they just cling to me! I don't know what to do."

"O-o-oh! Sorayah, I didn't know," Hossein pauses for a beat. "Are you all right? Did they hurt you or the girls? Call Jamal and Rebecca and see if they can take you and the girls to their house until these people let me come back home."


*Princess
**Good
***Butterfly
****Like a fairy
*****Sweet

Hebbatullah, January 2006 - part 15

Hebbatullah* is yanked out of a deep sleep by the sound of shattering glass, the house is shaking to the point that she thinks it is coming down around her. The noise is deafening. The babies, the babies, she must get to them! Their screaming guides her through the blackness to the other side of the room. "Allah, Allah, when will the madness stop?" her heart cries as she sits on their make-shift bed on the floor and gathers the hysterical boys in her arms, feeling their arms and legs to make sure they aren't seriously hurt. Mustafa** is five years old, Walliyullah***is three and little Hani**** is just over a year old. Her seven year old daughter, Kawthar*****, had been crushed when their previous house had been destroyed by the missile that hit their street on the other side of Sadr City, a month ago. She tries to stifle her sobs of relief as she reassures herself that the boys are unhurt. The memory of Kawthar's cold and broken little body looms in her mind, but she chokes it back and focuses her attention on comforting the boys and hugs their warm little bodies close. She has been a widow since before Hani was born, her husband, a cab driver, had been shot by American soldiers who claimed they mistook him for a terrorist.

Suddenly the door bursts open, "Hebbatullah! Hebbatullah!" her parents voices sound frantic.

"We're over here, nothing happened to us, alhamdulillah" she answers, "are you OK Yuma and Buhyah?" she had stayed with Bassam's****** sister even after he was murdered by those blood-thirsty beasts; but after the house was destroyed and Kawthar was killed, she and the boys moved back in with her parents. Somehow her mother manages to grope around and find a candle and some matches on top of the dresser by Hebbatullah's bed.
By now the thunderous noise of explosions has stopped, only to be replaced by the sound of a frenzy of footsteps running through the alley outside the house and their neighbors crys and shouts. They all leave the room and move slowly through the house with the feeble flame of the candle, to find the others. Her grandfather and her mother's older sister are shaken, but unhurt. her own older sister and her twelve-year-old daughter also appear frightened, but unhurt. Her two younger brothers are already dressed and, after checking to make sure everyone is fine, they leave the house to see if they can help any of the neighbors. Buhyah finds a broom and starts sweeping the glass up from the floor, while Yuma lights the gas burner under the single-burner camp-style stove to heat water for chai. Habbatullah settles on the cusions on the living room floor with her boys, hoping to comfort them enough so they'll go back to sleep. Walliyullah and Hani start to dose in a few minutes, but Mustafa remains wide-eyed. "Yuma, what happened? Did the Americans want to kill us too?"
Hebbatullah looks into his eyes, too wise for his five years. How does one explain such atrocities to such a small child? She pulls him into her lap again and tries to find the words, "Mustafa, some people in this world are very bad, and they want to kill other people. They don't care who we are and they don't care what happens to us; but we know who we are and we know that we are good people. We must pray to Allah and have Faith that He can protect us from anything, if He wants too."
"They killed my Baba and they killed our Kawthar, oh Yuma, when will they stop trying to kill us too?" fresh tears roll down his face.
"Ensha Allah, Mustafa, ensha Allah, they will not kill us, no matter how much they try." He wraps his little arms trustingly around her neck, and lays his head on her shoulder. Hebbatullah hugs him tightly as tears squeeze out between her eyelids.





Gift of Allah*
Chosen one**
Ally of Allah***
Delighted, content****
River in Paradise*****
Smiling******

Meet the People -Part 14

Jamal (teasingly called 'Sheikh' by his buddies); math professor


Rebecca; first wife of Jamal; mother of two children from her previous marriage; community service worker




Mary Anne; second wife of Jamal; graduate student; librarian



Lacy, barefoot and pregnant home-maker; friend of Rebecca and Mary Anne

Another Discussion - Part 13

Credit for the picture goes to:Bigfoot Market.


The next day Mary Anne and Rebecca decide to go out for coffee and a chat at the local Donut Hole. Mary Anne orders her favorite, a Grande Mocha Latte, with whipped cream but no sugar. Rebecca orders a Razberry Swirl Capaccino with whipped cream and extra sugar, the raspberry and cream colors of her beverage matches the marbled swirls in the design on her scarf.

"I like your scarf, the solid color of the tube piece looks very sharp with the tie-died effect of the outer piece." Mary Anne says admiringly, "It's a very cheerful color, and it even matches your jacket. Contrasted with the blackness of your skirt; it's very stylish."

Rebecca toys with the brass buttons on her taylored-cut, deep raspberry colored jacket, "It's ma favorite color combination; raspberry, cream and black." For a few minutes they sip their coffee in silence. "Ah lak yer abaya. Navy blue is a classic color, and that style makes ya look so ta-all. The shayla style scarf's a flatterin' look fer you."

"Thanks, I guess my taste is a little on the classic side. I can tell your taste in clothes is very trendy," Mary Anne responds, then asks, "Do you want to be REALLY bad and share a donut with me?"

"Oh, wha not? We mat as well live a little oncet in awhile," Rebecca says with a grin. "Which kand d'you lak?"

"I usually eat the plain, raised and glazed ones, but I'm open to adventure."

"Ah lak the long johns, have ya ever eat one o' them?"

"I've never heard of it. Let's go for it," Mary Anne says and gets up with a laugh.

"No, Ah'll git it, it'll be ma treat," Rebecca leaves their booth and goes to the counter.

When Rebecca sits back down, Mary Anne says, "So that's a long john? Well, it resembles an eclair. It's long, with chocolate frosting on the top, and filled with custard. I can handle that." They seem to be getting along well. Mary Anne had expected to be a little uncomfortable; but, much to her surprise, they are very relaxed. "Jamal told me you work at a shelter for women and families. How did you become interested in that?"

"When Ah wuz eighteen, ma family kicked me out o' their house. They called me a heathern and they didn't want nothin' more to do with me, because of the fact that Ah wuz a Mooslim. So Ah had to live in this shelter for a long tam. The people in this program helped me so much that Ah wanted to help other women that has hard tams, too. At the shelter they offer a lotta different classes an' opportunities to the residents fer free, to help them improve theirself. When Ah wuz a resident there, Ah went to some classes and they trained me to work fer them. Ah'm so proud o' what Ah do. You'd never think there wuz so-o many battered women in this country; but let me tell you...it's aster-nomical! Ah see it every day o' ma life," Rebecca slaps her chest emphatically.

"That is really shocking, considering all of the negative media coverage Islam is getting these days; you would think Americans would have higher standards than that. It's like the pot calling the kettle black. Domestic violence and problems must be a problem every society deals with in some context," Mary Anne shakes her head.

"Wha sure, o' course it is. An' so is hypocrisy. Like demonizin' other cultures. No nation's a-all good and no nation's a-all bad neither."

"We've got to think outside the box," Mary Anne muses. "Speaking of which, I just wanted to ask you how you honestly feel about sharing Jamal. He's your husband, after all."

"To tell you the truth, Ah have been through too much, an' Ah have seen too much to be selfish 'bout that, now. If there's one thing Ah'm sure of, most men have more than one woman in their lives, either secretly or openly anyway. Ah'd ruther he wuz honest and public about it than to keep another woman behand ma back. An' we are Mooslims, so he's allowed to have more than one wife anyway. Jamal is generous an' he's the greatest neegotiator Ah have ever met. He's always tryin' to make peace b'tween peeple. Would you believe, he's the one who neegotiated with ma ex, to let me have ma keeds on the weekend. We never had to go to court over it." Rebecca pauses to take another long swig of her capaccino. "You know, in Islam, a woman's diginity and reespect ain't defined by her husband, an' a woman does not need a husband to make herself a complete human bein.' We don't ca-all our husbands our 'other halves', or worse, our 'better halves,' like so many Christians do. We're complete human bein's a-all by ourselves. It makes no difference if we share a man. SO WHAT! If he's good to the both of us, sharin' ain't a bad thing."

"I totally agree with you," Mary Anne responds, "You know, the impossible standard of monogomous marriages just breeds jealousy and control scenerios anyway. I was very jealous with Hakim and I tried to control him to the point where I sometimes think that the biggest reason why he started running around with strange women was to prove to me that I can't control him. My mother was also very controlling of my father, and he did the same thing, he always had a mistress behind her back. My mother made his life miserable sometimes, she was so selfish. She used to scream at him and she was always nagging him. Nothing he did was ever right, or good enough to please her. I've come to the point where I'm ready to 'think outside the box.' It may not always be easy, and I expect we'll have our share of difficulties, but I believe we can work them out."

Rebecca laughs softly, "It ain't funny, but it's really ironic. Did you ever think, when you first became a Mooslim, that you would one day change the way you think about everything you were ever taught by your family?"

Mary Anne's laughter blends with Rebecca's. "You know, I didn't just wake up one day and become a Muslim, after I recognized the path I must take and took my shahada, my life became a journey into Islam. I feel closer to God every time I succeed in overcoming another obstacle in my path. I believe God puts difficulties in front of us so that we will become stronger and more spiritual after we get through them. My divorce with Hakim was that kind of obstacle, in fact, maybe my entire marriage to him was part of the obstacle I had to overcome, in order to reach the point I'm at now."

Rebecca studies Mary Anne's face for a few minutes, "Welcome to ma family," she says, "We're goin' into this with our eyes wide open. You'll be ma co-wife, that makes us closer than seesters, you know that, don't you. Ah expect we'll fight sometimes, but we'll have our own halves of the duplex, so when we fight you can stay in yers, an' Ah'll stay in mine. Rat?"

"Right," To Mary Anne's dismay tears sting her eyes, "I'm so grateful to God for bringing me this far in my life. There's no way I could have known my life would turn out to be this revolutionary. I mean, I couldn't have know the direction politics have taken in the past few years, just after I became a Muslim. I had no way of knowing I would be called upon to represent Islam to my own people. In fact, I had no idea how narrow-minded most of us Americans really are! We all think we're so open-minded and tolerant, when really, we're not. Not really, at all. Why else would so many of our people support going to Iraq or any another country and trying to cram our notions of freedom and democracy down their throats? If you have to throw bombs at people and kill them and injure them and scare them in order to force them to accept it, it's not democracy. It's a lie, supported by liars."

Rebecca stares at Mary Anne, her blue eyes wide, "She speaks the truth, she speaks the truth," she says over an imaginary microphone. They both giggle and then sit in silence.

"So, what do you do besides work at the shelter?" Mary Anne finally asks.

"Ah shop on the innernet, an' Ah cook, an' Ah have meetin's with some women Ah met at the shelter to discuss Islam. Ah b'lieve three of 'em is pretty close to becomin' Mooslims, one's a what lady who used to be a Jehovah's Witness, one's a black lady who wuz a United Methodist, an' the other one's a gurl who used to be Amish."

"Amish? That's really amazing! Imagine that. Why was she in the shelter in the first place?" Mary Anne asks in astonishment, "I thought Amish were peaceful and religious people. How did she end up in Kentucky? I thought they all lived in Pennsylvania."

"Oh, there's Amish in most states now, Esther wuz even born an' raised rat here in the hills of Kentucky." Rebecca continues, "Esther wuz molested an' raped by her brothers an' cuzins fer many years before she ex-caped from her tribe. The police brought her to the shelter about seven years ago; she's got her own place now, an' she's gotta job as an LPN at U of L Hospital."

"Subhanallah! That's quite a switch, from little country farmer's daughter to big-city LPN!" Mary Anne exclaims, "she must be a tough little cookie."

"She ain't no cookie; let me tell ya! Esther's got guts. She had no high school diploma, no social security number, no driver's license; the girl litterally walked outta her old life with NUTHIN'."

"And she's an LPN now? I'm impressed! How did she go to college without a high school diploma?" Mary Anne says, "I'm perplexed."

"She got her social security number an' GED while we had her at the shelter, an' went from there." Rebecca checks the clock behind the counter, "Ya Allah, Ah had no idea it wuz gettin' so late, ma ex's bringin' ma keeds to ma house in thurty minutes. It wuz great talkin' to you, but Ah've gotta go now."

"Ma'asalaama."

"Ma'asalaama."

Discussions - Part 12

Three days after the surprising proposal, Mary Anne approaches Lacy, "We have known each other for a long time and we have both been through a lot; and I anticipate a lot more will happen in our lives before we get old. I really appreciate all of your and Muhammad's support through the rough time of breaking up with Hakim." She pauses to collect her thoughts for a second, "I've decided I'm willing to give Jamal a chance to tell me what he expects and I also want to tell him what I expect, if I decide to marry him."
Lacy grins, "I'm glad you're ready to talk to him; I'm sure he would provide you with a stable life. Muhammad knows him well and if we didn't trust that he has good intentions we would never have let him near you, you know that, don't you sis?"
"Of course, I would trust you with my life, if it ever came to that," Mary Anne sits on a bar stool by the kitchen counter, cutting up salad while Lacy makes falafel for dinner. Um Hadi taught her to make falafel years ago, back in Jersey.
"How should we arrange the official meeting?" Mary Anne finally asks. The twins and Adam Muhammad run, shrieking and giggling through the kitchen. Their toys are scattered all over the place.
"We could invite him to come over for dinner on Friday night," Lacy flips the falafel in the sizzling oil. "I don't think we should have Rebecca here for your first meeting with him. If you decide to go through with it, then you should also talk to her, but for the first visit it should be just you and him, besides us. Muhammad and I won't even be in the same room with you guys if you don't want us too. But we'll be around the house, of course, to keep your meeting halal."
"I wouldn't want it any other way," Mary Anne grabs a warm falafel from the plate and bites into it, "M-m-m-m, mash Allah, these are the BEST, Lace, you're a genius!"
"No, I'm not, I just had a good teacher," they both laugh at the thought of Um Hadi's clever tricks in the kitchen. "If it wasn't for Um Hadi I'd be feeding Muhammad and my kids macaroni and cheese or Chef Boyardi or worse every day of the week! I tell Muhammad all the time that he should thank his Aunt, not me, when I cook something he really likes."
"You should take some credit, girl, Um Hadi didn't teach you how to make waffles," she pats her friend's back, "You learned that one all by yourself. So you really do have something of a culinary genius within yourself."
"Thanks, that's nice of you. You know my mother and most of my step-moms never really cooked," Lacy finishes fishing the last batch of falafel out of the oil. "Oh, that reminds me, I should really call both of my parents again. Alhamdulillah; I'm so lucky they're cool with the path I've chosen. I just can't imagine what I'd do if they gave me a hard time, like so many other 'convert's' families do."
"Did you ever notice that the parents who are the most dedicated Christians are the ones who treat their children the worst after they convert? My parents are devout Catholics and Rebecca's parents are die-hard Southern Baptist and they've never accepted our choices, while yours are very unreligious and they took your conversion the best!"
"Hmm, it is kind of ironic, isn't it?" Lacy bites her lower lip as she considers this perplexing dilemma. "I think my parents are actually grateful that I didn't end up like them, in fact, they've told me they're proud of me for taking such good care of my family. I really think they did something right in the way they raised me. Allah only knows what it was though. Maybe it was just the simple fact that they taught me not to judge other people; regardless of their lifestyle. Yes, I'm sure that must be it."

On Friday evening the doorbell rings and the butterflies in Mary Anne's stomach flutter faster. She has been nervous and excited all day, and now she really wants to act calm, in front of Jamal. Shortly after the salaams are exchanged everyone gathers round the dining table. She can barely eat the roasted chicken and biryani Lacy prepared while she watched the children. She keeps her eyes on her food and wishes the meal would end. For once the children are quiet, they're usually very noisy at meal time. They're usually noisy, period. They must sense the tension in the atmosphere. After what seems like an unbearably long time dinner is over.

"Don't worry about the dishes. I'll clean up. Muhammad will take the kids downstairs and they'll play down there," Lacy grabs her hand. The two men have already gone into the living room. "You and Jamal can sit in the living room to talk. Come, I'll go with you and we'll try to help break the ice...and then we'll leave you guys alone." Lacy leads the way, "Jamal," she says, "Mary Anne wants to ask you about your drum."

After a moment of hesitation, Mary Anne says, "I didn't know Shias play drums on Ashura."

"Well, actually, it's a Punjabi tradition. My mother's family is from Punjab, Pakistan and I spent many vacations with them when I was younger. Punjabis always play a drum when someone dies and, since Ashura is a funeral, we also play drums for that; nay?"

"Oh, that's cool. I didn't know that," after thinking for a second, she continues, "Rebecca tells me you can speak four languages. How did you manage to learn that many?"

"My father was Iraqi, and I grew up in Iraq and went to school there, so that's where I learned Arabic. I learned Punjabi from my mother and from visiting her family in Pakistan. When I used to visit Pakistan my uncles sent me to Urdu classes, because they wanted me to be a proper Pakistani boy," Jamal chuckles, "It's hard for a mixed boy to fit in as it is, so they were just doing their duty to make it easier for me."

"And of course you learned English after you came to America," Mary Anne points out.

"Actually, I had an English class in my refugee camp in Saudi Arabia after America accepted my application to come here as a refugee. After I got here I studied for my GED by using an electronic Arabic English dictionary, and I also took ESL classes. After I got my GED I went straight to college with a scholarship I got from the Free Iraq Foundation. The Chamber of Commerce sponsored my education. I was the only person who got a scholarship this way. Of course, I continued to study English for a long time after I started college. I also had a lot of tutors."

"Most Arabs can't pronounce the 'p' sound; how did you learn that?"

Jamal laughs, "Actually, Urdu and Punjabi both have the 'p' sound, so I didn't have a problem with the 'p' when I studied English." Silence descends and hovers for several minutes.

"Well, we know you guys want to have a serious discussion, so we'll just leave you guys alone now," Lacy starts gathering the kids and helps Muhammad get them down the stairs and then disappears into the kitchen.

Jamal clears his throat, "If you like me and I like you we can get married. If you don't like me, don't be shy to tell me 'no.' It's normally."

"My biggest question is: would you mind if I continued going to college?"

"Not at all. Go for it; actually, I wish Rebecca would like to go to college too, but she doesn't like to," Jamal shrugs, "She's happy with her job at the shelter, where she helps women and families who have a hard time."

"What if Rebecca and I fight? What will you do then?"

"I'll send you each one back to your own side of the duplex and you will not speak to each other until you finished being angry," Jamal grins boyishly. "It's normally to have some arguements and disagreements."

"Where will you go if both of us are angry at you at the same time?"

"Well, I will sleep in the garage, in my car," they both laugh.

"What about my money?" Mary Anne asks. "How do you and Rebecca work your finances out?"

"I pay for everything what she needs, the house, furniture, food, electricity, things like that. Rebecca, she buy her own car and mostly her own clothes, her cell phone and personal things, with her money. Is this same thing acceptable for you?"

"It sounds fair enough," she pauses, "aren't you going to be disappointed not to have children from me?"

"I don't care about that. I saw too many things during the war and life is hard enough without having children. Anyway, Allah will take care of that, if I'm going to have any children or not. Anyway, I was married long time ago, before Desert Storm, and my wife and her baby died when she was giving birth. My wife, she cheated on me and she told me the baby was not mine too. She was sleeping with my best friend. I wanted to kill my friend, but I only chased him away from Najaf, where we used to live."

"In Iraq? She cheated on you in Iraq? I thought Muslim women aren't like that?"

"They're not supposed to be, but some of them do it anyway. People are people, you know that, some of them good, some of them bad in any country."

"Hakim used to act like Arabic women are PERFECT, and never do anything wrong!"

"Anyone who tells you that is a liar. Hakim is crazy, no nation is all good and no nation is all bad," Jamal's fingers worry the bright yellow tasbih beads in his hands for a few minutes.

"Mary Anne," Lacy calls from the kitchen doorway, "I made some chai, do you guys want some?"

"Sure, if you have some made, that would be nice. Excuse me, Jamal, I'll go get the chai."

In the kitchen Lacy whispers, "How's it going? Do you like him?"

"He's really nice, I'm thinking of going through with it," Mary Anne's face glows. "I mean, what's the worst thing that can happen? If it doesn't work out, I'll come back to you again. If you don't mind, that is."

"Don't be silly, you know we're always here for you!" They hug each other.

Over chai Mary Anne asks, "What about the house? What if something happens to you, who will inherit the house?"

"Actually, I named Rebecca as the benficiary, but if we get married too, I'll name you both as beneficiaries."

"What about health insurance? Does Rebecca get that from her job?" Mary Anne nibbles on an almond-stuffed date.

"Yes, the shelter she works at belongs to big organization, so she gets her benefits from them," Jamal takes another sip of chai, "This is beautiful chai, it tastes exactly like my father's mother and sisters used to make in Iraq. They put hale in it."

"Hale, that's cardemom in English, right?"

"Yes, that's right," Jamal sets his empty cup in its saucer. "Do you know a lot of Arabic words?"

"Not too many, but I understand a few," Mary Anne touches the edge of her bright laavendar scarf self-consciously. "OK, so, let's say, for example, that we get married and one month, three months or six months later we decide, or I decide I'm not happy? What then?"

After a moment of contemplation, Jamal says, "Look. We going into this with our eyes open. We know there is always a chance it won't work out. All marriages are like this. You don't know on the day you get your niqah if it's going to be forever or not; only Allah knows that. You don't have to worry, if we have a big, big problem, or you or I decide it's not working, we can divorce. Islam does not mean you are stuck forever if you not happy, in your marriage. You been married before, I been married before, we know what is it. We are not children. We must be honest with each other from now if we hope to make it work, and if you wake up tomorrow morning and you don't want to do it. Just tell me. Nobody is going to force you to do anything you don't like to do."

"Alhamdulillah," Mary Anne says, "I have one more question. If I write a contract, will you read it and sign it, if you agree to my conditions?"

"Sure, no problem. I will do that. It is your right to ask me to do that," Jamal looks at his watch and gets up from the couch. "It was nice to talk to you, but I must be going now. Probably the kids are tired and they need their house."

"Thank you for coming. I will let you know what I've decided in three days."

"Alhamdulillah."

Mary Anne steps over to the basement door, "Lace! Muhammad! Jamal is ready to go. Do you guys want to come up and tell him 'goodbye,' before he goes?"

Lacy; September, 1995 - Part 11

Credit for the picture above goes to Web Gallery of Art.

She yawns and rolls over to look at the alarm clock. Eleven AM! Her dad will be here to pick her up at any minute! She leaps out of bed and hurriedly yanks her jeans and T-Shirt on, grabs her tote bag stuffed with coloring books and Crayola coloring pencils. She stuffs some of her school books on top of the coloring books to conceal them; she would just die if anyone knew of her secret addiction! She's seventeen years old and spends every free moment coloring in her room; partly to escape the chaotic perdicament of living between two families. She stays with her mom and older brother during the week and goes to school from her mom's house. Weekends she usually stays with her dad and his fifth wife and three other kids so her mom can have her privacy with her endless slew of boyfriends. Lacy has never really had a serious boyfriend, partly to avoid the emotional roller coaster both of her parents were perpetually stuck on when their relationships didn't work out. Besides, she had never really met anyone who interested her much beyond platonic friendship status. Lacy is confused, she has no idea what she wants or expects from life, all she knows is that she doesn't want to go down the road her parents have taken. She believes the habitual pot-smoking and chronic alcoholism is also part of her parent's problems. She tried drinking once, when she was about fourteen, but she was violently sick for two days afterwards. She supposed that was what cured her of any desire to repeat that experience. She doesn't feel like staying at her dad's house all day today, she might ask him to leave her at the library behind his house for awhile.
At the library Lacy finds a book with pictures of Italian Renaissance art and flips thoughtfully through the pages, looking at pictures of plump, fair-skinned Madonnas and their babies like cherubs with dimpled buttocks, surrounded by angels. Their long, silky gowns look romantic and ethereal, compared to her own jeans and T-shirt. Her family is not religious, in fact, the only time she's ever been to church was when her maternal grandmother was still alive; she had taken her to the Christmas and Easter services every year and then she had been too small to see it as more than a chance to wear a pretty dress and spend time with Grammy. She sighs, she misses her Grammy, it's been eight years since Grammy died in that terrible night when she was hit by a drunk driver in Newark. The only time she can remember ever feeling any degree of stability was when she was with her grandmother. Now her life is nothing but a constant shuffle, school and her coloring books being her only escapes. Lacy gasps, out of the corner of her eye she thought, for a split second, that she saw one of the Madonnas from the book walking towards her! She stares across the room at the lady in the long, loose robe-like garment and the shawl that covers her head, pinned on the left side of her face with a little clasp shaped like a rose. The robe is the most beautiful purple color she has ever seen and the shawl has a border of roses to match. The lady's face looks serene and peaceful. All of a sudden the woman is surrounded by what appears to be her children, four of them, and the biggest one is a girl dressed just like her, only her outfit is a deep forest green. Lacy watches them out of the corner of her eye. She would love to ask them where they are from; would she dare do that? They're sitting at a table, each one reading a book, she hates to disturb them. The next thing she knows she is standing next to their table, "I'm sorry to interrupt, but I'd like to ask you a question," she says to the woman.

The lady turns and smiles "Ask anything," she says, much to Lacy's surprise. She doesn't know what she had expected, but the woman's friendliness bulsters her confidence.

"I just wanted to ask you where you're from," Lacy smiles back.

"We from Bagdad," the lady says, "We been in America one year now. Cattolic Charities bring us New Jersey. I go school for learn English now."

"Are these your children?" Lacy sits on the extra chair at their table.

"Yes, my children," the lady answers, "We go liber-airy every Saturday for study homework, me and my children. School too much important for us."

"My name is Lacy, what are yours?"

"Uh, your name Lacy?" The woman puts her hand on her chest, "My name Um Hadi, this my daughter, name Hebba, my old son Hadi, my second son Haidar, and my small son Laith." The children look up from their books and smile.

"It's nice to meet yas. Do you live far from here?" Lacy is beginning to feel really chatty, "I live near here."

Um Hadi looks at Hebba, "Shinoo?" After a brief discussion in Arabic Hebba says, "We live in abartment. You see abartment beside liber-airy?"

"Oh, you mean the Willow Brook apartment complex?"

"Yes, Willow Brook," Um Hadi grins.

After a few moments of silence Um Hadi says, "I'm sorry, we go home now. I'm cook Filafel for my family. You like it? You know what is Filafel?"

"Never heard of it. I bet it's good though," Lacy watches as the children collect their books and backpacks. "It was really nice meeting yous. Bye."

"Bye," says each of her new friends.

After that day Lacy made a habit of going to the liberary every Saturday in order to talk to her new friends.

Reflections - Part 10

For several days all Mary Anne can do is think and meditate about the decision she is preparing to make. She realizes her position as a young American Muslim woman in America; and the fact that she has chosen her journey as a revolutionary of potentially Ghandian proportions. When she had first become a Muslim she had no idea how enormous the implications of her decision would turn out to be. Initially all she knew was that she had found answers to some cosmic questions that every human being asks in some form, at some point in their lives, some people end up brushing their questions aside and forgetting about them or simply choosing the path of least resistance, like water does. She knows that only a few people are actually capable of questioning and seeking for answers behind answers and continuing to seek until it seems that the path of questions and answers can only be taken one step and one day at a time and reveals a new twist with each new day. She believes, from the bottom of her heart, that Allah reveals His Greatness to every seeker one bit, one second, one reflection, one epiphany at a time; otherwise it would just be too much and the seeker would become overwhelmed and exhausted with too much knowledge to handle at once. She supposes that if it ever comes down to it, the logical place to begin would to organize lobbies to agitate the government to change its laws concerning polygamy. The best states where such activities should begin to take place would naturally be the ones that have already passed legislation allowing same-sex marriages based on gay rights. Then there is also Utah, the predominantly Mormon state, the Mormon church could be approached to see if they are interested in joining the cause to help orchastrate lobbies to approach politicians and agitate them for changes in the legislation. They might want to take back the rights that their forefathers were forcibly coerced into giving up over a century ago. Anyone who uses the brains God gave them should be able to recognize that anti-polygamy laws are unconstitutional, because they violate the religious freedom elements at the foundation of our country! But she imagines that the states that allow same-sex marriages would still be the best bet, because it's a modern issue that's already in the spotlight. "All we want is to have our rights, like everyone else," Mary Anne sighs, realizing she spoke the words aloud. She looks around the Library to see if anyone noticed and is relieved to see all of the patrons appear lost in their own little worlds. She continues the little train of her thoughts. If everyone simply accepted the little boxes they were born into, afraid to step across the edges, who would be left to fight oppression, hunger, tyranny, and injustice? The solution, for the time being however, is that her marriage doesn't have to be registered, if she decides to go through with it. In fact, Islam does not even require witnesses in order for a niqah to be considered valid in the eyes of Allah. The requirement of witnesses to render marriages valid was something invented by human beings; ask any local sheik or maulana. Jamal's marriage to Rebecca isn't registered either, they simply called the closest sheik, in Nashville, who recited their niqah over the phone. Lacy told her that much. In America it's not illegal to live with one's 'significant other' or any number of co-ed roommates at one time, regardless of their official marital status, so that takes care of that dilemma, at least for now. So what if the state sees them as roommates or whatever, they're not breaking any laws this way; either Islamically or otherwise. Of course there are plenty of people who could come up with numerous arguements against it; but that's why Muslim women were given the right to write a contract containing a list of conditions for their prospective husbands to agree to and sign before the niqah is recited, over fourteen centuries ago.

Rebecca, March 1993 - Part 9

"Get outta ma house with yer heathern religion! Don't ever set foot in the grass o' ma ya-ard agin!" Her mother was shaking a copy of the bible in her face. "Y're no longer ma daughter; Ah'm yer muther in name only! And y're never to speak to yer brother'n sister ever agin, neither!"
" Well, Ah'm sorry ya feel that way muther; Ah'll be just fan, Allah's gonna look after me. You just wait 'n see if He don't!"
"Now don't you sass yo' mama, young lady! If she says you ain't welcome in air house no more, why, Ah'm behand 'er wun hunnert percent! Now git! Yer a disgrace to air family an' a heathern in the sight o' the Lord Jesus Christ! An' if He don't want ya, we don't want ya neither," the heavy stench of alcohol permeates the air around her father.
Rebecca has a part time job at McDonald's and a little yellow 1983 VW bug, she packs a few clothes, including the new scarves that have upset her mother. The scarves had been a gift, sent to her by her childhood friend, Maryam. Maryam had moved to New York with her family long ago, but the two girls had stayed in touch, so when Rebecca had asked her friend to send her some scarves, Maryam had been only too happy to oblige. She carefully removes her Islamic books and her prayer rug from their hiding place beneath her mattress and stashes them into her duffle bag as well.
It's been two years since the time when her parents had committed her to that dreadful Christian boot camp for troubled teens, Camp Redemption it was called; she was sixteen then. Rebecca doubts she'll ever forget that dreadful experience! It was second only to this experience of being thrown out of her family. At the camp she had been placed in an isolation room with nothing but a bible, no furniture, no bed, no nothing. All they would bring her to eat was pork, which she refused to touch, until she began to believe that she was starving to death. Finally, one day, when she was sure she couldn't keep on breathing much longer, the campus director came and told her guards to get her things packed; within minutes she was standing in the parking lot watching her parents pull into the driveway. They were as angry as a nest of hornets, too. Her parents had locked her in her room for a month after that, only letting her out twice a day to go to the bathroom. Little did they suspect that she had managed to hide her extra copy of the Qur'an by taping it to the bottom of her chest of drawers. So she had spent her days as a hostage in her own house comforting herself with the Holy Book; at least they had never tried to force her to eat pork after the camp experience. Rebecca had no idea where she was going now. She reckoned she'd have to sleep in her car, for a while, at least, until she found a better place.
"La illaha illallah, Ya Allah, Ah know you will protect me, for Ah have no other protector to watch out for me rat now!" she whispers as she pulls out of her parent's driveway, for what she is sure will be the last time in her life. At the moment she is too numb to feel anything, in fact, she feels like she's watching herself from a long way off. She decides the best thing to do would be to stop by the McDonald's and talk to Susie, an older lady who has, in the past, listened sympathetically to Rebecca's woes. Susie suggests calling the police or going to a doctor or hospital and letting them know she is homeless.
By the time she arrives at the hospital she's crying so hard she can barely park the car. She rests her forehead on the steering wheel and sobs, great, wrenching sobs. Finally she pulls herself together enough to go inside. When Rebecca explains her problem to the receptionist at the information desk the woman tells her to have a seat and she'll call a counselor to come and talk to her. She waits and cries for at least an hour and a half before a short, heavy set middle-aged woman walks into the lobby, a kind expression on her face. "My name is Mildred, come with me and then you can tell me what happened, honey."
Rebecca tells Mildred the whole story, from the day she declared her new Faith, through her time at the boot camp until today, when her parents kicked her out of her home. It was almost 10:00 o'clock at night when Mildred said, "Well, I'll make a few calls and see if I can make some arrangements for you." The woman disappears for about forty-five minutes and when she returns she is all smiles. "I found a bed for you at a shelter near here. If I give you the address, do you think you can find it?"
Rebecca nods, speechless, swallowing hard in an attempt to stop the fresh river of tears from bleeding out of her eyes. She throws her arms around the woman's neck and sobs. "Thank you so much for helping me; God bless you!"
"The people at the shelter actually like people like you," Mildred says, "you don't have any children, and you have a part-time job. You will do well there. All they care about is that you don't bring in any drugs or alcohol or weapons of any kind."
"They won't have to worry about anything like that with me," Rebecca dries her eyes with the tissue Mildred handed her and ventures a brave, but wobbly smile.

Questions - Part 8

They come home from the picnic and the children all go to bed early from the exhaustion of their antics in the park all afternoon. Lacy warms three cups of milk, she knows that a serious conversation is coming up and nothing is more calming than warm milk and honey.
They settle in the living room in front of the TV, but no one pays attention to the constantly moving pictures on the screen. Finally Mary Anne clears her throat, "Well, what do the two of you think about this proposal?"
Looking at Lacy for reassurance, Muhammad begins, "Well actually, Jamal is a nice guy. I'm sure he will deal with you in right way. He has a wife already, but that's not always bad thing. Our religion allows this thing, there's nothing broblem for that. You have to decide inside yourself if you can handle it. Would you be too jealous to share your husband with another woman?"
"Honestly, I never entertained the idea seriously before now, but I'm actually thinking that it has as much of a chance of working as my last marriage had, and maybe more. Jamal is definitely more stable then Hakim will ever be," Mary Anne gazes thoughtfully into space, "the thing that worries me though is Rebecca, things are usually easy to say, but when it comes to actually doing them...well that's another story. I mean, I know she's the one who presented the proposal, but, still, what if I go through with it and she and I end up hating each other and fighting?"
"I would suggest that you talk to them separately before you decide to try it or not," Lacy offers, "but you know we will support your decision, no matter what. We trust you to keep your decisions within the guidelines of Islam."
After a period of sipping milk and honey in silence, Mary Anne finally says, "I keep going back and forth in my mind. Sometimes I think 'yes', and sometimes 'no'."
"One thing for sure," Muhammad downs the last of his beverage, "if you decide you do it, you must write out a contract for him to sign front to witnesses before you married him."

Jamal - August, 1988: Part 7

"You what!?" he shouts, "Say that again!"
"I love your friend, Hamza," she giggles giddily, "I loved him since the first time I saw him, on our wedding day. I never loved you; never!"
For what seems like an eternity Jamal stares into his wife's face, trying to figure out what she's up to. Is she joking? They're sitting on the cushions in the room they've shared, at his parents house, since they got married a year ago. The angel he married seems to have flown away. Departed. The woman sitting in front of him now appears to be a stranger. "I'm pregnant, and the baby isn't yours. It's Hamza's, and I don't care who knows. I love him."
A stealthy, white wrath creeps from the soles of his feet and up through the pit of his stomache. Slowly it's flames come roaring out of his mouth, in a tiny squeak, "Get your clothes together right now! I'm taking you back to your parent's house," the full force of his rage climaxes, "I'M TAKING YOU BACK TO BAGDAD TONIGHT! YELLA, IMSHY!" Those were the last words he ever spoke to her. He rushes out of the house in search of Hamza, blindly running through the allies of Najaf. When he reaches the store where Hamza works, he stops and gazes at the boyish face he had once trusted. Hamza looks up from the customer he's helping and freezes, his customer continues talking about the cheese she wants, for a few minutes, before she notices she's being ignored. She sniffs, clutches her chador a bit tighter at the neck, and leaves, perceiving an insult. Without looking at Hamza, Jamal simply asks, in a flat voice, "So, it's true, you've turned my wife into a W-H-O-R-E?!" Hamza bows his guilty head as Jamal says, in a stone-cold voice, "Don't you EVER let me see your face again; or you're a dead man!"
He hails a taxi just as it comes around the corner in a cloud of dust, makes a deal with the driver and returns home to pick up Jamila, with her black chador billowing in the wind, for their last ride together. At 1:00AM he dumps her off on her family's doorstep in Sadr City, let her do her own explaining! A few months after that Jamal receives a phone call in which he learns that Jamila and the baby both died in childbirth. Hamza never has the guts to show his face in either Najaf or Sadr City again. Jamal's parent's try several times to encourage him to remarry, but he refuses every offer. Jamal enrolls in the hawza where both of his grandfathers studied, before becoming validated as religious teachers. In the 1960's his maternal grandfather had come all the way from Punjab, Pakistan in order to study and then his beautiful Punjabi daughter had been married to his Iraqi, Arab father who became a fifth-generation religious teacher, following in the footsteps of his father, grand father, great-grandfather and so on. Jamal studies with every intention of taking the same path his forefather's had taken before him.

When the Gulf War occurred in 1991, Jamal found himself fleeing for his life, because Sadam Hussein's soldiers were shooting all hawza students and teachers on sight, or capturing them. At the border of Iraq he was picked up by a bus carrying a load of refugees to a camp in the desert of Saudi Arabia. He lived in that dreadful tent prison for three years before being approved to enter the United States as a refugee.

Hopes and Thorns -Part 6

One day in June that year Lacy and Muhammad and the children; Jamal and Rebecca and her two children and Mary Anne all go to the Waterfront Park on the banks of the Ohio River, for a picnic. It's a beautiful cloudless day, with a pleasant breeze blowing in, from the river. Boat motors roar up and down the river and the Belle of Louisville chugs by slowly, it's old paddle wheels churning the water as it goes, to take the gamblers into an area where gambling is legal. The children shriek and run around in their delight at having a place to run free for a few hours. The twins toddling behind them as fast as their chubby little legs can carry them, each one taking a tumble every now and then, only to get back up and continue toddling with gleeful grins on their round faces.
Mary Anne decides to go for a walk by herself, while the others relax and keep an eye on the children. She lights one of her mini Swisher Sweets to puff on while she walks at a slow pace. The chronic pain of her endometriosis prevents her from doing strenuous exercise, but a leisurely stroll actually helps to relieve it somewhat. She should have brought a book to read when she gets back from her walk. Oh well, next time. The paper work came through and she is definitely going to start her graduate work at the University of Louisville, this fall. She feels both anxious and excited. She wants to become a computer programmer and also maybe teach graphic design at a high school level technical school. She is grateful for the companionship of Lacy and Muhammad and the children. She was the one who was watching the twins the day Ro'qaiya took her first step, and two days later Sukayna took her first step for Lacy. Adam Muhammad will surely grow up to be some kind of orator, he never shuts up for two seconds. She thinks he'll do more than drive a UPS truck, like his dad, God willing; he certainly has more opportunities to look forward to. She is well aware that for a man to come to this country as a refugee, from any non-English speaking country, learn to speak English and land a dignified job in a few short years, is a huge accomplishment. Kudos to Muhammad anyway, he did much better for himself than Hakim will ever do. She'd like to forget that part of her life she wasted with him, if she only could. All of a sudden a burst of rage hits her, like a boulder falling off a mountain. She picks up a handful of rocks and flings them, with all her might, one by one, into the river; God help any poor fish that might happen to be swimming by. Finally, relieved of her emotions, she walks back to the others. They appear to be in an animated conversation, but abruptly fall silent when they realize she's back. They must have been talking about her.

Jamal gets up from his place at the picnic table, "Mary Anne, I want you to know I'm very, very angry with your ex-husband for what he did to you!" He pauses for a second before plunging on, "Islam forbids what he did. Pickthal's translation of Sura number sixty, Ayat number twelve in the Holy Qur'an says like this: 'O Prophet! If believing women come unto thee, taking oath of allegiance unto thee that they will ascribe no thing as partner unto Allah, and will neither steal nor commit adultery nor kill their children, nor produce any lie that they have devised between their hands and feet, nor disobey thee in what is right, then accept their allegiance and ask Allah to forgive them. Lo! Allah is Forgiving, Merciful'."
Mary Anne is taken aback at his fury on her behalf, but he isn't finished.
"In Sura sixty, Ayat number ten, Pickthal's translation also says: 'O ye who believe! When believing women come unto you as fugitives, examine them. Allah is Best Aware of their faith. Then, if ye know them for true believers, send them not back unto the disbelievers. They are not lawful for them (the disbelievers), nor are they (the disbelievers) lawful for them. And give them (the disbelievers) that which they have spent (upon them). And it is no sin for you to marry such women when ye have given them their dues. And hold not to the ties of disbelieving women; and ask for (the return of) that which ye have spent; and let them (the disbelievers) ask for that which they have spent. That is the judgment of Allah. He judgeth between you. Allah is Knower, Wise,' every translation I have read says something similar to that. There is no excuse for his behavior with strange women, and no excuse for him to divorce you because you can not have a baby. Especially because you agree to let him have second wife so he can get a baby if he wants too! Your family is not Muslim and he has never any business tellin' you to go back to them." Breathless from his tirade he sits back down.
Mary Anne realizes that the others are all watching her, waiting for her to say something. Not coming up with a reply she simply lowers her gaze and sits on the blanket, with the other women. Rebecca is the one to break the silence, "We live in a duplex and no one lives in the second side rat now. If you'ud like to think about the possibility, Jamaal is a very generous man, and he would like to marry you as well. You don't have to answer rat now. He knows you can't have babies, but he doesn't care a bit, Ah can't have any more either. Ah had an emergency hysterectomy after Ah gave birth to Ali. All he wants to do is take care o' you, accordin' to the guidelines of Islam. He also feels responsible fer us because our families are non-Mooslims; and it's also hard for us to fand husbands when they fand out we can't have childern."
At length Mary Anne finds her voice, "Well, I'll definitely have to think about that for awhile. Can I let you know in a few days?" her face is as red as the stripes on the flag. Not a sound can be heard at the table, except for the laughter and shouting of the children, and the boats passing by on the river. Some birds are chirping in the bushes nearby, they must be some kind of finches. Suddenly it hits her! She must think outside the box!

The Drummer -Part 5

Credit for the picture below goes to Musical Instruments.

As the weeks go by, Mary Anne recovers most of her composure; playing with the children helps a great deal. She finds a part-time job at the public library downtown, on third and broad, which meets most of her financial needs for the time being. Most of her patrons are well mannered and friendly, however, once in a while when she greets someone with her friendliest "Hello," they return the greeting and look right past her, moving on to the next Library clerk. By experimenting with alternative greetings like, "May I help you?" she gradually eradicates the former reaction to her scarf-clad appearance almost entirely.
Muhammad and Lacy invite a house-full of their friends over, on Ashura, to re-enact the funeral of Imam Hussein (a.s.). "All of our religious ceremonies are conducted at someone's house because we don't have a local mosque yet," Lacy explains, "the men will recite latmayat downstairs, and we ladies will do ours up here, in the living room."
The mourners begin arriving before dawn, in order to offer their fajr prayers as a congregation. Throughout the day the house seems to pulsate with the grief of the crowd. At one point, in the late afternoon, a very fair-skinned lady approaches Mary Anne, "Salaamun alaikum, seester."
"Walaikumun Salaam, how are you?"
"Alhamdulillah. Are you American?"
"Yes. My name is Mary Anne, what's yours?"
"Am Rebecca. How long have you been a Mooslim?" Her southern accent seems surprising, coming from her scarf-framed face. All of the other women, aside from Lacy, have a very limited command of the English language, even though some of them are highly educated in their native Arabic.
"I've been a Muslim for seven years. It's nice to meet you."
"Nass to meet you too. D'you hee-yer that drum downstairs? The man playin' it 'n' recitin' the men's latmayat's ma husband, Jamaal, he's half Arabic and half Poon-job. His father is from Iraq and his muther's from Poon-job, Pakistan. He also speaks four languages Poon-jobi, Arabic, Urdu and English. He's ma say-cund husband. Ma Furst one divorced me an' trad to tak ma keeds away frum me, but Jamaal neegotiated with him till he agreed to let me have'em on the weekends. Hamdillah, we didn't have to go to court about it. A've gotta boy 'n' a gurl."
"That's an amazing story about Jamal and your ex. What are your kid's names?"
"Ali and Fidha, d'you see that gurl over thay-er, by the winda? That's Fidha, she's twelve 'n' Ali's eight."
"That's nice. How long have you been a Muslim?"
"Twenny-fav years," Rebecca squeezes into a spot on the floor between Mary Anne and the room full of weeping mourners, their Arabic lamentations, accompanied by the muffled sound of Jamal's drumming, sound so tragic. "Jamaal is a math professor at U of L, he went straight to school when he furst came to America, he ain't no bum. Lacy told us a little about your story, Am sorry about what your ex-husband did to you. There's good 'n' bad in aall nations," After a few moments of silence she continues, "What were you before you became a Mooslim, and how d'you meet your ex?"
"I was Catholic, I went to Catholic school all my life too. I spent my life trying to make two and two equal four, but according to the law of blind faith in a mystery, things just didn't add up. I had questions that just couldn't be answered by Catholicism. Like, how could God, the Creator of the Universe, have a human Mother? I also had issues with the concept of the trinity. I mean, how could Jesus be God's son and be 1/3 of God Himself?" She pauses to catch her breath, "I was twenty when I found a copy of the Qur'an at the Newark Community College Library and I met my ex at the Arabic store he worked at, when I went to see if I could find out where the local mosque was, in New Jersey. My father disowned me after he found out I became a Muslim, but I still talk to my mom on the phone sometimes. How did you come to Islam and how did you meet your husband(s)?"
"Ma family's Southern Baptist. They don't believe in the treenity that much, but they believe that Jeesus is actually God. When Ah was twelve years old, Ah knew Ah did not believe that. I took my Shahada before I was thirteen. My best friend at the time was a Mooslim, actually a Sooni, but Ah learned about Allah from her, and Ah got a copy of the Qur'an from her. When Ah got a leettle older, Ah started reading Shia sources, Ah wuz 'bout seventeen then, and Ah met ma ex when Ah went to Meechigan to meet some peeple that Ah met on the innernet when Ah wuz 'bout twenny-three. Ah met Lacy at one of our ceremonies at someone's house here in Louisville, after ma divorce. She was beeg and pregnant with Adam Muhammad then. Lacy and Muhammad knew Jamaal and innerduced us."
"You have the most beautiful accent," Mary Anne remarks, and pauses to listen to the rhythm and crescendo of the mourning rituals. "How do your parents treat you?"
"Well, at first they thought it wuz just a phase and they never took it serious, but when they realized Ah wuz serious, they got mad and burnt all of ma books. Then they sent me away to a Christian boot camp for trubbled teens; but when Ah refused to eat the pork they trad to force me to eet, Ah wuz kicked out of the camp. Ah found ways to had the books Ah got after that," Rebecca pauses, tears forming in the corners of her bright, sky-blue eyes. "Ah can't let ma keeds stay at their house because A'm afraid mom'll give 'em pork. Jamaal's steel tryin' to neegotiate with ma parents to reespect ma decision; but it seems so hopeless."

A New Kentucky Home - Part 4

Mary Anne barely sleeps that night in her unfamiliar bed, and her mind won't stop racing. A heavy feeling of uneasiness invades her thoughts. Her new surroundings seem intimidating. What if it doesn't work out? What if she can't find a job quickly? She can't stop crying. She hopes Lacy and Muhammad can't hear the sobs she can barely control. She is angry at Hakim for ending their marriage when they found out she can not have children. She had offered him the option of taking a second wife, an Arab wife even, but he had refused, saying that there was only a forty percent chance that would work. He had started drinking, gambling, and having strange women calling the house before it was over. He even told her to go back to Christianity, the nerve! Mary Anne wants to scream, to break something, to throw something; to do anything but accept her fate and go quietly into the vaccum that appears to be her future. She longs to trust God fully, but at the moment she feels far away from Him.
She does not want to get out of bed in the morning, her face is swollen and puffy and she doesn't feel like answering sympathetic questions about it. Suddenly she hears a little knock on her door and the next thing she knows Adam Muhammad is climbing onto the bed next to her, "Salaam Alaikum Auntie!" His excitement at seeing his adored Auntie is contagious, "It's time to pway. Do you want to pway? Mama and Baba pwayed alweady. Do you want bweakfast? Mama's making waffles!"
Mary Anne can't stop the giggle rising out of her, from where, she knows not, "OK sweetie, give me a minute, I'll be right out!" After offering her prayers she prepares herself to face her first official day as a resident of Louisville, Kentucky.
"Salaam Alaikum, Lacy," Mary Anne yawns as she greets her friend.
"Walaikum salaam, how are you this morning? Are you hungry? I'm making waffles." Lacy busys herself over the kitchen counter.
"Thanks, Lace, I appreciate that, I could use a good breakfast after the night I had. Can I help you with anything?"
"Well, you could go get the babies, I just heard one of them squeak." Day one and she's already changing diapers. Life is ironic. Mary Anne may not be able to have her own babies but there are always plenty of babies around who need their diapers changed and bottles washed, only these babies are both breastfed. That must be why they're so chubby.
The moment Lacy hears her friend cooing and giggling with the babies, she feels like a very clever woman. She knows Mary Anne had a bad night and she knows Mary Anne loves little children; let her cheer herself up playing with the babies.
With the babies in their highchairs, Adam Muhammad in his booster seat and Muhammad, Lacy and Mary Anne all intent on their waffles with maple syrup, the breakfast turns out to be an amazing event. Mary Anne had forgotten how Lacy and Muhammad made a point to make breakfast time family time.
"Mary Anne, you are our sister," Muhammad adds sugar to his chai as he talks, "Hakim is like my brother and I am taking responsibility for you because of what he did to you. Islam does not allow him to behave this way, you know that, don't you?" He chews another bite of waffle before he continues, "It makes me very angry what he did and I want you to know we are here for you; if you need anything, you let us know. We don't accept you being shy. Do not worry about anything. You are our guest, take your time, we know you hurting right now. Take two, three weeks like vacation, then you lookin' for a job. You are not worry about a job first thing."
Mary Anne looks from Lacy to Muhammad and back, "I appreciate everything you're doing for me, I really do," tears flood her eyes again, "Thank you."

Finally There! - Part 3

Throughout Mary Anne's journey from New Jersey to Kentucky, she is emotionally numb. Just trying to get there. She knows that when she sees Lacy and Muhammad she will be safe; able to relax and sort through the shattered pieces of her self. Until then she must stay aloof in order to make it through Wheeling, West Virginia and onward through Ohio and into Kentucky. Far away from Hakim, physically as well as mentally, she hopes. At one point she stops at a rest area to offer her prayers, concealing herself behind some bushes in the little park surrounding the facilities. The pain of her endometriosis nags in her lower back and lower abdomen from the inflammation and scar tissue that rendered her sterile forever. She wishes she were genderless. That she were neither female, nor male. But she knows God had a reason for creating her a woman; other than for the purpose of having babies. She must think outside the box.

Upon her arrival in Louisville she is greeted by an energetic four-year-old. "Auntie, my name is Adam Muhammad, Mama says she and Baba gave me a big name, 'cause Allah cweated ev'wy pwophet fwom Adam to Muhammad!" His eyes shine and he buffs up his little chest with childish pride at his mastery of this magnificent recitation.
Mary Anne picks him up and hugs him tightly, "That's a very big name for a young man like you to live up to," she replies. He wiggles out of her arms and bounces into the house ahead of her.
"Come and see my sisters!" he squeals.
"Salaam Alaikum, sister, you made it, mash Allah!" Lacy greets them at the door. The two women gravitate towards each other for a lengthy hug that speaks volumes. It's been a year since the last time they saw each other.
"Walaikumun Salaam! You have two little people to introduce me to around here somewhere, don't you?" Mary Anne shakes her finger jokingly at her friend, "You were as big as a house the last time I saw you!"
"They're in the living room, this way," Lacy says, laughing, "This is Sukayna, and this is Ro'qaiya," she beams with matronly pride as she points each one out, respectively, as they peep over the sides of their playpen. The twins look like typical fat little ten-month-old babies. Sukayna has straight, dark hair and full lips while Ro'qaiya has dark, curly hair and a wider mouth with thinner lips, more like Adam Muhammad.
"They don't look alike at all, Lace!" Mary Anne exclaims.
"Nope, we don't have to worry about getting them mixed up," Lacy responds, "would you like to crash in this chair while I make you some chai?"
"Sure, I am ex-hausted," Mary Anne sits, "I don't even think I can unload the car tonight."
"Oh, don't worry about that, Muhammad will do it for you tomorrow, he's at his friend's house tonight, observing the wake of his uncle who just passed away in Iraq this morning," Lacy says through the kitchen door.

The Next Day - Part 2

The sound of the tires whirring against the pavement nearly lulls Mary Anne to sleep the next day, in spite of her heavy fatigue she hadn't slept well all night; thanks to that huge latte she had at 7:o0 o'clock last night. With a shake of her head, she rolls the window down for some cold winter air. She plugs in the cigarette lighter then lights up a mini Swisher Sweet. She had quit smoking when she first became a Muslim, however, after she and Hakim decided to divorce she had resumed that old habit to calm her nerves.
Mary Anne's thoughts are in a jumble. She's not sure how she feels about her plans to move in with Lacy, they've been friends for several years. They liked each other from the moment they met, her husband was a friend of Hakim's and the two couples had spent a lot of time together, traveling and sight-seeing, until Muhammad and Lacy made the decision to move to Kentucky, where two of Muhammad's brothers live, that is. Mary Anne plans to work on a Master's degree at the University of Louisville; she's sure she will, God Willing, after she finds a job so she can pay Lacy and Muhammad some rent. She doesn't know how she will handle living in a house with three small children. Lacy had a boy soon after they moved and now she also has twin baby girls. Mary Anne grins through her cloud of smoke at the thought of meeting the babies. She can't have any herself, she has severe endometriosis, plus her ovaries plant her eggs on the outside of her uterus, as opposed to inside.
All of a sudden Mary Anne is yanked back to the present by the sound of loud honking and two guys with long oily hair and plaid flannel jackets yelling through her open window, "Go back where you came from you Arab whore!" for a split second she contemplates showing them her naughty finger, then remembers the scarf on her head and opts to ignore their ridiculous behavior. She lifts her chin a little higher and stares straight ahead. The two young men continue yelling but she tunes them out. Finally they rev their old truck for emphasis and take off, leaving behind the stench of exhaust fumes. Mary Anne's heart races and she decides she needs a break, she starts watching the signs along the Pennsylvania turnpike, the next service center is thirty miles down the road, the last one before Pittsburg.
Mary Anne picks up the cd case in the console and flips through it, finding
what she's looking for, she inserts it into her cd player.

Mary Anne, January 2005 -Part 1

The car slides through the intersection, nearly colliding with an oncoming Mack truck. It's headlights nearly blind her as she yanks on the steering wheel in her determination to avoid an accident. Braking would be useless under these slushy and icy conditions. By this time the snow is so thick in the evening light that it's hard to see the road, much less navigate the car on one side of the road. "That's it! I'm taking a break," she mutters, still trembling from her narrow escape. She carefully navigates her 1994 Buick Lesabre into the Donut Hole's parking lot and sighs in relief once she finally gets it safely parked near the door.
She is the only customer in the dingy little place, never mind that the tables are all littered with crumbs and used napkins. She has arrived in one piece.
"I'll have a grande mocha latte," she tells the old Indian woman behind the counter. 'Mina,' reads the name on her badge.
"One minute," says the old lady, "You cold, nay? Snow coming too much just now, nay?" she continues coversationally, "My son coming for me 10:00 o'clock, he has drive four-wheel," she babbles on as though she hasn't spoken to anyone all day. Mary Anne just smiles, not wanting to be rude, but uninterested in chitchat.
When the ancient card reader finally accepts her card and churns out the receipt Mary Anne signs the slip and takes a seat at the cleanest looking table in the corner farthest from the counter, hoping to escape from Mina's endless comments. She takes a deep breath and removes the lid from the coffee in an attempt to speed up the cooling process. A shuffling sound indicates that the old woman did not take the hint, she comes shuffling around the corner, a roll of paper towels and a spray bottle in her hands; too-friendly smile on her face. "Where you from?" Mina asks.
With a plastic smile Mary Anne says, "I'm from America."
"No, no, you no understand, where your mother, father from? Pakistan, Saudi Arabia, Iran, where?"
"I'm a white girl from America, my parents are American, so are my grandparents and my great-grand parents and my great-greatgrandparents."
Mina glares at her and shakes her head. "Americans no like this," she says, indicating the scarf on Mary Anne's head.
Mary Anne heaves a sigh of resignation, knowing that she is compelled to explain herself for the third time that day, "I'm a Muslim, my family are all Christians, and I became a Muslim," she gathers her purse and the last half of her latte, preparing to make a hasty exit. Enough with the grilling already!
"I'm sorry, I don't know this," Mina realizes her blunder and apologizes.
"It's OK, no problem, 'bye," Mary Anne gives the stuttering woman a little wave as she shoves the door open and leaves the Donut Hole to the jangling sound of the dusty old bell that hangs on the door.
Back in her car Mary Anne locks the doors and starts the engine for heat. She digs through the console looking for her cell phone then dials her friend Lacy's number.
Lacy picks up on the seventh ring. "Salaam Alaikum, where are you girl? I've been worried about you!"
"Wa alaikum Salaam, Lace. I'm stuck in Harrisburg. There's a heavy blizzard going on here. I'm going to see if I can make it to the Super 10, across the street from where I am now, and spend the night here. It's just too dangerous to try to continue tonight," Mary Anne chuckles a bit, "this has been the longest day of my life! It took me six hours just to make it this far, and it's normally only three hours from Jersey. "
"Be careful, and take your time," Lacy responds, "The township will probably have the roads cleaned up by sometime tomorrow."
"Right, ensha Allah. Look, I'm so tired I can hardly see straight but I just drank a huge latte, how idiotic is that? Now I won't sleep till 2:00 or 3:00 in the morning! Oh well, it's typical," Mary Anne yawns into the phone, "I'll probably call you when I get into my room."