Salaam, Love

by Ayesha Mattu

  Ayesha required treatment every fifteen months; it couldn’t be delayed without risk of relapse. Her treatment consisted of a chemotherapy infusion that could not be used on pregnant women. In addition, the medicine had to have three months to clear her system before we could try to get pregnant.

  Attempting to have children seemed reckless after our hard-won reprieve from death. Just the thought of it triggered an emotional backslide; once again she was fragile in my eyes, a patient in recovery, and I was her protector . . . not her lover.

  My fear was consuming; if Ayesha became permanently debilitated or worse because we opted to try to have a baby, I would never forgive myself. After all we’d been through early in our marriage and after all the suffering she had endured due to Devic’s, there was no fucking way I was putting her well-being at risk.

  We talked it through, and decided that we’d wait until the following year and discuss it again, as we were too late in the current treatment cycle to do anything about it. I hoped she’d forget about it. She didn’t.

  The next year, I reiterated my concerns. Her neurologist—an outstanding doctor whom I trust completely—informed us that women with autoimmune conditions often have symptom-free pregnancies.

  I was still terrified.

  “I want to say this now, because I don’t want it to be an issue later,” I said.

  She nodded and waited for me to continue.

  “If we do this, and your health comes into question, YOU come first. I don’t care how far along we are, if there ever comes a time where we have to make a choice to protect you or our unborn child, we protect you. We didn’t go through all that to put your life back on the line.”

  “Okay” she said, as she held my hands.

  “I don’t want to swap you for a baby. I won’t. I’ll be alone with a baby that I’ll resent for no fault of its own, but because it represents a selfish, reckless decision. That’s how I’ll feel. I’m not even sure that I want a child, but I know that I need you.”

  She held me and reminded me that we had struggled through the past several years precisely so that we could live our lives, and we ought to do so to the fullest.

  Her courage and hope inspired me to take the biggest leap of faith in my life.

  In some ways, I was totally prepared for the pregnancy. Compared to the years of Devic’s exacerbations, this was a piece of cake. Nausea? No problem. Aches and pains? Sleepless nights? Temperature fluctuations? A walk in the park. Even the unplanned C-section didn’t rattle me; I was so used to being in the hospital to fend off illness that being there to bring forth life was a welcome change.

  Ayesha was nervous, but I was at her side assuring her that the C-section was going just fine. Then one of the nurses tapped my shoulder and pointed in the direction of the surgeons. I stood slack-jawed as they lifted our baby from her abdomen.

  “It’s a boy,” said the surgeon.

  While Ayesha was being closed up in the operating room, I sat with him in the nursery—skin on skin—rocking slowly back and forth. Having this baby was the most optimistic and hopeful act of our lives.

  I had never loved so fiercely and uncompromisingly in my life; our son had me wrapped around his tiny fingers. My heart felt as if it had grown three sizes, and I had the strength of ten Randys, plus two. Although my religious adherence was pushed to the brink with Ayesha’s illness, I felt a spiritual connection like never before: feeding, loving, protecting, guiding, and teaching this little person who was wholly dependent on me. This provided the ultimate metaphor for my relationship with God. I felt blessed.

  And then, doubly blessed. For years, I loved Ayesha as a guardian, caregiver, provider. I needed that persona to cope with her pain and suffering and my fear of losing her. That persona defined me and my love. Being a parent reminded me what it was like to love without baggage, without boundaries. With Ayesha back on a routine treatment schedule with no postpartum complications, I lowered my guard, put aside the caregiver, and became her husband again.

  I don’t recall the specific day or time, but the sensation was unforgettable. I looked at her and saw my wife—my beautiful, vivacious, inspiring, sexy wife. I felt a love coupled with yearning that I hadn’t experienced since those magical days when the workday was a minor purgatory to be endured until I could see her again in the evenings.

  Nearly a dozen years later, my professional travels and late afternoons in the office once again are filled with an eagerness to be home.

  Glossary

  abu (also, abbu or abba): Father.

  adaab: A respectful gesture of greeting.

  al-Fatiha: The first chapter of the Qur’an, literally “The Opening.”

  alhamdulillah: An expression of gratitude, literally “Praise be to God.”

  ammi (also, amma): Mother.

  Api: Respectful address for an elder sister or elder female relative.

  asr: Daily late-afternoon ritual prayer.

  Assalaamu Alaykum/Salaam: Colloquially, “Hello”; literally, “Peace be upon you”/“peace.”

  ayah: Verse of the Qur’an; a sign of God.

  baba: Father.

  beta: Daughter or son; also used as a term of endearment.

  bhai: Brother.

  bilkul: Absolutely.

  biryani: Pakistani/Indian rice dish made with spices, meat, and/or vegetables.

  Bismillah Al-Rahman Al-Rahim (also, bismillah): “In the Name of God, the Compassionate, the Merciful”; the first line of the Qur’an, often used as an invocation of blessing on people, events, and actions.

  budha bhais: Old men.

  Bukhari and Muslim: A collection of Prophetic sayings or traditions.

  chacha: Uncle, specifically the younger brother of one’s father.

  chokri: Girl.

  chulo: Stovetop, gas range.

  daal: Lentils.

  dars: Religious lesson.

  deen: Way of life or faith.

  dhikr: A devotional act, typically involving the recitation—mostly silently—of prayers.

  dholki: Celebration leading up to a wedding in which the bride and her female family and friends sing and dance to the accompaniment of the dholak, a small, two-sided drum.

  dua: Personal supplication to God.

  dunya: Temporal world.

  dupatta: A long scarf.

  Eid (also, Eid-al-fitr): Muslim holiday that marks the end of Ramadan, the month of fasting.

  fajr: Daily, predawn ritual prayer.

  fiqh: Islamic jurisprudence.

  fitra: Disposition or nature.

  gharara: A pair of wide-legged pants with a tunic and scarf worn by women in the Indian subcontinent.

  ghotok: matchmaker.

  habibi (also, habibti): Sweetheart; a term of endearment.

  hadith: A saying of the Prophet Muhammad.

  halal: Religiously permissible.

  halaqa: Religious study circle.

  Hanafi: One of the four schools of law in jurisprudence within Sunni Islam.

  haram: Religiously proscribed.

  hijab: Headscarf.

  hijabi: Colloquially, a woman who wears a headscarf.

  iftar: Meal to break fast during Ramadan.

  iman: Faith.

  inshAllah: “God willing.”

  isha: Daily nighttime ritual prayer.

  jaan (also, jaanu): Darling; a term of endearment.

  jamat khana: Place of worship for Ismail’i Muslims.

  Jumma: Friday congregational prayer at the mosque.

  khaddar: A coarse, homespun cotton cloth.

  khoobi: “Good” or “nice.”

  Khuda hafiz: Colloquially, “good-bye”; literally, “May God be your Guardian,” a parting phrase.

  khutbah: Religious sermon.

  kibbeh: An Arab dish made of bulgur or rice and chopped meat.

  kulfi: Ice cream eaten on the Indian subcontinent, often including rosewater and pistachios.

  lehnga: A long skirt worn under a top and scarf, worn by women
on the Indian subcontinent.

  lungi: Sarong.

  mahram: A person to whom you are unmarriageable because of blood ties.

  mashAllah: Expression of appreciation, joy, praise, or thankfulness for an event or person just mentioned; literally, “As God wills.”

  masjid: Mosque; a Muslim house of worship.

  masoor ki daal: Orange lentils.

  maulvi sahib: Colloquially, any bearded, religious man; literally, a religious scholar who is trained to teach people how to read the Qur’an in Arabic.

  meem, hah, dal: Letters of the Arabic alphabet (M-H-D) used to spell “Muhammad.”

  memsahib: Colloquially, a fair-skinned woman; originally referred to British women in colonial India.

  mehndi: Henna; also a celebration generally held the night before a wedding in which the bride and her female family and friends are adorned with henna, and everyone feasts, sings, and dances.

  mubarak: Blessed; may also be used as a congratulatory term.

  mukhabarat: Spies or informants; vice squad.

  munnu: Little one; a term of endearment for a young child.

  murid: A person who pledges to follow and learn from a spiritual scholar.

  naan: Leavened bread baked in a clay oven.

  namaaz: One of the five ritual daily prayers, or additional prayers.

  Navroz: A festival on the first day of spring, the new year of the Persian calendar. Literally, “new day.”

  nikah: Islamic legal marriage ceremony.

  pakoras: Pieces of vegetable or meat dipped in a spiced batter and deep fried.

  rakat: One complete cycle of the ritual prayer.

  Ramadan: Sacred month of fasting. The ninth month of the Muslim year, during which strict fasting is observed from sunrise to sunset.

  rishta: Marriage proposal.

  roti: Unleavened bread, made from stone-ground wholemeal flour.

  sabr: Patience.

  Sahabah: Companions of the Prophet Muhammad.

  salat: One of the five ritual daily prayers, or additional prayers.

  sari: A strip of unstitched cloth, worn by women, that is draped over the body.

  shaatir: “Smart”; colloquially, “good boy.”

  shadi: Wedding.

  Shaban: The eighth month of the Islamic calendar, preceding Ramadan.

  shahada: Declaration of faith.

  sham-e-ghazal: An evening of classical poetry recitation, often set to music.

  shariah: “Way” or “path”; code of conduct or body of Islamic law.

  sheikh: Honorific title; Islamic scholar.

  sirat: Path.

  sirat al-Mustaqim: “The straight path.”

  subhanAllah: “Glory be to God”; expression of gratitude or praise upon seeing or hearing something beautiful.

  sura (also, surat): A chapter of the Qur’an.

  Sura al-Fatiha: The opening chapter of the Qur’an.

  tabla: A pair of small, attached hand drums, used in South Asian music.

  tarawih: Supererogatory congregational night prayers during Ramadan.

  tasbih: Prayer beads.

  taqwa: God consciousness.

  tawhid: Oneness of God.

  thobes: Ankle-length garment, usually with long sleeves, like a robe; worn by men in the Middle East and in East Africa.

  umma: Family, community, or global Muslim community.

  wali: Legal guardian or representative.

  wallah: A person involved in some kind of activity, e.g., a chai wallah would be a person who makes and sells chai.

  wudu: Ablution before prayer.

  Ya Ali madad: A supplication for help by calling on a revered Islamic figure or saint; literally, “Help me, O Ali!”

  yalla: “Let’s go” or “hurry up.”

  zina: Sexual intercourse outside of marriage.

  Acknowledgments

  All praise and gratitude begin with the Most Loving and Most Beautiful.

  Thank you to our families—without your love & support this book would not and could not exist.

  Our wonderful agent, Ayesha Pande, and literary fairy godparents, David Henry Sterry and Arielle Eckstut—you are our guiding lights.

  Laura Mazer, for her mentorship and belief in both of our anthologies.

  Our fabulous editor, Amy Caldwell, and the Beacon Press team for being a pleasure to work with from that very first salaam.

  Deonna Kelli Sayed, for stepping in with such grace and vision.

  The Love, InshAllah writers, for bravely lighting the way for others to follow.

  Our dear columnists and guest writers from around the world, who have deepened the conversation at LoveInshAllah.com.

  VONA/Voices, the San Francisco Writers’ Grotto, and our writing groups—you are havens in which we craft words, connect, and dream.

  And, of course, to all of the men who joined us on this journey with courage, wit, and vulnerability. Thank you.

  Contributors

  Arsalan Ahmed (pen name) likes maps, poetry, lost causes, and the films of Satyajit Ray. He lives in Virginia.

  Ahmed Ali Akbar is a graduate student in Islamic studies. He writes about race, class, South Asian and American Muslim history, and the notion of Islam as a vehicle for social justice. He enjoys dreaming about writing comedy, learning to play music, eight-bit punk rock, color, language, comic books, exploring his family history, and cooking.

  Ibrahim Al-Marashi is assistant professor of Middle Eastern history at California State University, San Marcos. He obtained his PhD at the University of Oxford, United Kingdom, completing a thesis on the 1990–1991 Gulf Crisis, part of which was plagiarized by the British government prior to the 2003 Iraq War, otherwise known as the “Dodgy Dossier.” He is currently writing a memoir on his experiences as an Iraqi American during America’s wars with Iraq. He is also the older brother of Huda Al-Marashi, author of the piece “Otherwise Engaged” in Love InshAllah: The Secret Love Lives of American Muslim Women.

  John Austin is African American/Japanese American. He converted to Islam fifteen years ago. He is a graduate of George Mason University and runs a small interactive design company in the Washington, DC, area. When not designing, he writes fiction and essays. “Planet Zero” is his first foray into nonfiction.

  Alykhan Boolani grew up in Berkeley, California. He was a high school history teacher in nearby Oakland for five years before his recent move to Brooklyn, New York, to help found a new school. He loves being a schoolteacher, and never ceases to be inspired by youth, with their uncanny abilities to resist dogma and mindfully labor toward their own truths—all with love and resilience. When not in the classroom, you can find Alykhan writing short stories, listening to Coltrane, or riding motorcycles with caution.

  Arif Choudhury is a writer, filmmaker, stand-up comic, and professional storyteller. In his storytelling program, entitled “More in Common than You Think,” Arif shares stories about growing up Bangladeshi American Muslim in the north suburbs of Chicago and pokes fun at issues of ethnic and religious identity, assimilation, and how we think of one another. He wrote a children’s book, The Only Brown-Skinned Boy in the Neighborhood, and his short film, Coloring, is currently being presented in various film festivals. He lives in New York City.

  Mohamed Djellouli (pen name) is a wanderer who, one day while lost in the desert, stumbled upon a collection of blessed pens. He has since served as their steward through ink drawings, calligraphy, and poetry. Djellouli’s works join the seasonal streams of love and nature. When he is not drawing water for his fellow traveler, he is dancing or practicing law.

  Ramy Eletreby is a theater practitioner, facilitator, artist, and activist. He was born in Los Angeles as the third and youngest child of Egyptian parents. Ramy is committed to using theater as a tool for community dialogue and change. He holds an MA in applied theatre from the City University of New York’s School of Professional Studies. Ramy has collaborated on community-engaged theater projects both domestically, in California and New Yo
rk, and internationally, in Africa and the Middle East. Ramy has worked in prisons, schools, places of worship, riverbanks, forests, and other magical places where one would not expect to find theater.

  Alan Howard is an IT operations manager with a Fortune 100 Silicon Valley company. He resides in Atlanta with his son, where he enjoys mountain biking, hiking, kayaking, and reading. He is an avid traveler and loves finding new and out-of-the-way places to visit around the world.

  Khizer Husain runs Shifa Consulting, a global health consulting practice with a focus on health-care planning, policy, and finance in the Middle East and South Asia. He is also the president of American Muslim Health Professionals. As a 2013–2014 Education Pioneer Fellow, Khizer will provide consulting support to some of the nation’s lowest-performing schools in the Washington, DC, area. Khizer writes Muslim-themed children’s stories for the iPad app company FarFaria. He attended the London School of Hygiene and Tropical Medicine as a Fulbright Scholar and holds degrees from the University of Illinois, Urbana-Champaign. Khizer lives in Alexandria, Virginia, with his wife, Zuleqa.

  A. Khan is completing a graduate degree in religious studies at Harvard University. He is interested in aesthetics, Islamic social history, theories of well-being, ethics, and the lived experiences that bring religious ideals into practice. He is grateful to all his family, past and present, for building an enduring community of love, and to his friends and teachers, past and present, who have helped him become a fuller person. He next plans to pursue some combination of clinical and research training. Long-term, he hopes to continue to be able to write while pursuing his passion for global health and travel. He has lived in the United States, Europe, the Middle East, and North Africa.

  Stephen Leeper is a writer-activist and middle school English and social studies teacher living in Oakland, California, with his wife. He graduated from the University of North Carolina at Greensboro with a BA in psychology. Currently he is an MFA candidate in writing at the California College of the Arts. His primary genres are poetry and creative nonfiction.

  Haroon Moghul’s 2006 novel, The Order of Light (Penguin), anticipated the Arab Spring; in it, a young Arab immolates himself and sparks a Middle Eastern revolution. He’s been published in Boston Review, Al-Jazeera, and Salon. In 2015, Yale University Press will publish his memoir, How to Be Muslim. Haroon has served as an expert guide to Andalucía, Istanbul, and Bosnia, sits on the board of the Multicultural Audience Development Initiative at New York’s Metropolitan Museum of Art and is a senior correspondent for Religion Dispatches. He is a PhD candidate at Columbia University and was a fellow at the New America Foundation’s National Security Studies Program.