by Sidney Wood
Just before stepping outside, Maria took the loose end of her hijab and covered her face. She showed Jena how to do the same and they walked out into the sunlight together.
Stepping through the front doors, felt like a dream to Jen. From the paved streets and sidewalks, to the multi-story buildings and groomed trees and shrubs, everything was different from what she knew for the last year. As they walked on a sidewalk parallel to the hospital, Jen noticed armed guards in all directions. She began to notice that although the area they were walking through was quite large, especially in comparison to her former compound, there were definite boundaries. Some streets were blocked with concrete barriers and others had iron gates or razor wire. All of the blockades were guarded or patrolled by soldiers in black. Unlike the guards inside, these men had their heads and faces covered in black masks. “ISIS,” thought Jen. “They look just like the Jihadis from TV."
One thing that made Jen uncomfortable as they walked was that everyone seemed to stare at her. “I don’t think the white dress was a good idea,” she said quietly to Maria. “Everyone is staring."
Maria laughed and said, “You will have to get over your insecurities Jena. You are a new face, that is all."
They were approaching what Jen recognized as a mosque. The two women walked beyond the hospital grounds and past another large single story building before coming to the front of a stone building with a pointed arch doorway and a domed roof. She recognized the Islamic architecture from history class. She followed Maria up the steps to the large wooden door. Maria knocked and they waited.
A middle aged man opened the door slightly and obviously recognized Maria. He nodded and, speaking softly in Persian, told them to wait. The door closed and Maria took Jen to sit on a stone bench nearby. Maria explained that the man they were waiting on was named Imam Hassan.
A few minutes later, an old man with white hair and a neatly groomed white beard came out of the Mosque and joined them. Jen followed Maria’s lead and stood when he approached. They exchanged greetings and blessings before sitting again. The Imam was dressed in a long black robe over a white tunic and wore a warm smile on his weathered face. He wore silver glasses and an expensive looking watch. Somehow he reminded Jen of a grandfather; although she had never known hers, and she felt completely comfortable speaking with him.
“Jena, has the meaning Little Bird. Did you know that?” he asked in Farsi. His voice was gentle and soothing.
“Yes,” she answered shyly. “My mother and father called me that when I was younger.”
The old man smiled and nodded at Maria. Jen’s companion touched Jen’s hand and walked away. Jen started to rise and follow, but Imam Hassan laughed warmly and said, “Stay for a while and speak with me, Jena. I have many questions for you. I am curious about your family, your life, and your faith."
Jen awkwardly sat back down with the Imam and did her best to answer his questions. She was limited by her ability to speak and understand Farsi, but he was patient. He had a knack for understanding her even when she had trouble articulating a clear answer. They spoke at length about her family and growing up in America. Jen could tell there were many things he didn’t approve of, but he was not directly critical or judgmental. He would sit an consider what Jen had answered and then pose a thoughtful question. He had a way of making her question things she had long taken for granted or believed blindly. After some time, the conversation turned toward faith, and Jen became uncomfortable.
“Jena, have you studied the Holy Koran?” he asked. She fidgeted in her seat. Noticing her discomfort, he asked a different question. “Did your father teach you in the ways of Islam?”
“My father introduced me to Islam, and he practiced it when he could…but I have never attended a Madrassa, or studied the Koran diligently." She bowed her head, feeling sorry for disappointing such a nice old man.
“Do not feel shame daughter,” he said kindly. “Allah has brought you here for a reason. Perhaps this is the most important. Jena, you will come here to this very spot every day at this time and you will learn." He smiled at her and she couldn’t help but respond in kind.
“What is wrong with me?” she thought as she looked into those kind eyes. “I am a captive! I am their prisoner, and a even worse I am a Christian!" Jen struggled internally and had to look down. “I have to get home! I have to be strong and remember I am not their friend!”
“Jena?" he asked. “Is something wrong?" He looked legitimately concerned.
Jen looked up met his querying gaze. Her mind raced to find an explanation that wouldn’t give her thoughts away. “I…,” she said. “I just miss home. Will I be allowed to go home soon?”
Imam Hassan looked truly sorry. “That is not something I can promise, daughter. It is better if you think of this as home for now." He gestured around them.
Chapter Fourteen
Fouzia and Najid sat uncomfortably in Congressman Seaver’s Dallas office. They sat near each other, but to Fouzia they were as distant as they ever were. It was late September and despite the encouraging report of Jena being alive last June, Najid was still acting cold toward her. Each time they met, Fouzia did her best to be patient and kind. She wanted to remind him of the girl who he fell in love with so long ago, but he simply couldn’t keep his temper. Each time she thought they were making progress, he would find some reason to get upset and storm out. Their meetings often ended with him shouting and Fouzia crying once he was gone.
“What I am trying to say is that the team that went in…they found evidence that she had been there, and we think we might know where she was taken next." The congressman sat back and waited for that to sink in.
“Are they trying to rescue her right now?" Fouzia asked. She was sitting forward in her chair, eagerly waiting for his answer.
The congressman looked at Fouzia, and then turned his gaze to Najid. Najid had his head down and sat quietly detached. He looked terrible. His clothes were wrinkled and he had not shaved. Looking back to Fouzia the Congressman Seaver said, “It’s not that simple, I’m afraid." He leaned forward and put his elbows on his desk. “We believe she is in one of ISIL’s strongholds in Iraq. An American girl was taken about three months ago, from the compound our men raided in northern Syria, by a Pakistani biochemist reportedly working for ISIL in Mosul."
“Can’t we just bomb them? Or send the Navy Seals in? Or the CIA? Can’t we do something?" she rapidly fired at the congressman.
“Mrs. Ahmadi, I wish it were that simple. I really do. We have…well, it’s complicated. Iraq is a sovereign nation, and our relationship with them is fragile. The current administration…theirs and ours…well, they are not making things easy. I am pushing the issue, and I am working deals behind the scenes, believe me. But I can’t promise anything. The good news is that the State Department is actually at work in Iraq, so we have resources in country. Those resources have their eyes and ears open. Thats the best we can do right now.”
Najid began to laugh quietly. Fuze looked at him angrily as his laughter grew to hysterics. She was about to say something when the laughter turned suddenly to sobbing and he completely broke down. Fouzia’s heart melted and she went to him. Najid took hold of her around the waist as she bent over and hugged his shoulders. He held her tightly as months of denied grief finally released. Congressman Seaver graciously left his office quietly and gave them a few moments of privacy.
“Fouzia, my love,” he finally said. “I am so sorry!" He looked into her eyes and asked, “Can you forgive me?”
“Of course Najid,” she said compassionately. “I am sorry too. Will you come home to me? I am so lonely, and everything in the house reminds me of Jena." She took his face in her hands and said, “I need my husband.”
Najid dropped his head again and sighed. “Fouzia, I want to. I do." He looked up at her with red-rimmed eyes full of tears. “It’s just that…every time I look at you, I see her." He touched her face gently. “I look at you and I see our Little Bird, and I
feel so ashamed.”
Fouzia buried her face in his shoulder and they cried together. “Just come home with me, Najid. Please, come home." Najid didn’t say anything, he just nodded and hugged her tightly.
That evening, Najid and Fouzia sat on the couch in their living room. “I promise, I will be a better father and husband,” he said. “Do you believe me, Fouzia?”
She leaned against him and replied, “I know you want to Najid. Yes, I believe you,” she said and she kissed his shoulder. There was a long silence.
“Najid?” she asked. “I don’t want to start an argument, okay? I just need you to explain something to me." She felt him stiffen, and she took a calming breath. “If now isn’t a good time, I understand.”
Najid sighed. “No, Fouzia, I am sorry. You can ask me anything. I promise I won’t get angry.”
“Thank you, Najid,” she said. She took another breath and let it out slowly. Feeling more relaxed, she asked, “Can you explain why the men who have Jena I mean, now that we know she is being held by ISIS, or ISIL, or whatever we’re supposed to call them; can you explain why they can kidnap our daughter and say they are following Allah?" She held her breath, waiting for the inevitable blow-up. Instead, there was thoughtful silence and then Najid answered.
“Fouzia, my love,” he said. “I…,” he paused and took a deep breath. “I wonder the same thing. I went to the Imam and I asked him, and do you know what he said?" Fouzia shook her head. “He said…Masha, Allah." Najid ran his hand through his hair and sighed again. “Masha, Allah. That is it? I asked him if the Holy Koran actually justifies the kidnapping of children. Fouzia, he chastised me for questioning the actions of the faithful. He said he was sympathetic, but after all, we should be thankful that the child we lost was a girl and not a son. Masha, Allah? How could Allah will this?”
Fouzia covered her mouth to hide her look of surprise. “Najid!” she exclaimed.
“I know, I am sorry for seeming weak and unfaithful.”
“No! Not at all, my love! I am excite to hear you say that because I have been thinking the same thing!" They each sat up and turned to look at the other. “Najid, I need to tell you something. Remember how Jena started to act differently, in a good way, when she was eleven or twelve? We used to comment on it." Najid nodded his head slowly. “I’ve been thinking about that, and then I remembered some of the odd things she said over the years since then. She also asked a lot of thought provoking questions, remember?" He nodded again. “Najid, I asked her once where the change had come from. I asked what was making her different. Do you know what she said?" Najid shook his head.
“I’ve been washed clean." Fouzia stood up, excited and then knelt in front of her husband. “At the time I passed it off as a weird thing kids say. I don’t believe that anymore! I believe she was trying to say that she was washed clean by the blood of Jesus." She bit her lip and waited for his response. “Say something!” she thought.
Najid sat like a statue, staring through her. It was unnerving, but Fouzia waited patiently for him to process what he just heard. “Jena is a Christian,” he whispered, finally. His eyes focused on his wife’s face and he looked at her questioningly. “What does that mean?”
“I believe it means that God,” and she pointed upward. “A merciful and loving God, is watching over our daughter. I believe it means that there is hope and salvation for all of us. Najid, I prayed to Allah for nearly forty years and felt nothing. I held on to anger for the injustices I saw and guilt for questioning the faith you held on to, but I never felt peace until three months ago when I made this discovery. I prayed to the God that Jena believes in, and I asked him to save her. I prayed with all my heart to save our Little Bird, and I offered my own life as payment. Then I remembered that Christians believe that Jesus is the son of God, and that he died to pay for the sins of the world. I fell to my knees and cried out that I am a sinner and asked him to save me too! Do you know what I felt? Peace! Najid, I felt grace and power flooding over me! I know what Jena felt because I too have been washed clean!”
Najid’s face turned dark and he pressed his lips together. Fouzia cringed, thinking he was going to explode in rage. He furrowed his brow and closed his eyes tightly. His hands were clenched in fists and Fouzia could see he was holding his breath. Suddenly he reached out and took hold of her shoulders. She gasped and tried to get away until suddenly he opened his eyes, and instead of rage she saw deep sorrow. His grip on her shoulders softened and he pleaded gently, “Show me how." He slid forward off of the couch and knelt with her on the floor. “Show me how to pray to the Christian God, Fouzia. I want to be washed clean too!" He took her in his arms and embraced her.
Fouzia cried tears of joy and relief as they knelt together. Then, still on their knees, she led her husband in the prayer of salvation.
“This house,” Najid said after asking Jesus into his heart. “This is your house, God. Please, bring Jena home to us." Fouzia and Najid leaned their heads together and said, “Amen,” together.
Chapter Fifteen
Two days after the initial blood draw Maria brought Jen to the clinic again for a much larger blood draw. This time the doctor drew 250 milliliters.
“Jena!” he said when she arrived in his laboratory. “Come and sit. I am so excited to tell you that your blood is exactly what I have been looking for." He immediately began checking her veins and had the blood draw supplies already laid out on the counter. “You are very special indeed, Jena. Your blood is going to be the vehicle though which I develop a very powerful and effective vaccine." He grinned and waited for a response, as if he just told her wonderful news.
“I’m sorry, doctor. My blood is going to be used for what?” Jen asked. She was suddenly feeling unsure about cooperating with the doctor.
He looked her directly in the eyes and said, “A vaccine. Jena, you are going to help change the world." He took her arm and began wiping the area above her most prominent vein with an alcohol swab. This time he used a larger needle with a much larger draw tube attached. Once he filled the first tube, he unscrewed it from the needle and set it aside. He quickly fastened another draw tube to the needle still in Jen’s arm and slowly pulled the plunger. “I am going to do this once a week for the next few weeks. Based on your body mass, you should not feel any side effects from weekly blood draws of this size. Let me know immediately if you do feel any side effects, okay?"
“Okay,” she said. Jen held a cotton ball to her arm while the doctor applied a piece of white tape. Maria was standing next to Jen with a hand on her shoulder for support. Like the last time, as soon as the doctor was finished drawing her blood, he dismissed Jen and began working. “See you next week,” she said as Maria led her out of the lab. The doctor raised his hand and waved without looking up from his microscope.
“I have a surprise for you, Jena” said Maria as they each adjusted their hijab in the lobby.
“What is it?” asked Jen while they walked outside. Maria reached inside the purse she carried with her and pulled out an eyeliner pencil and a small compact of eye shadow.
“For your beautiful eyes,” she said and handed them to Jen.
“What?” exclaimed Jen. “No way! Thank you Maria,” she said and gave her a hug. “I can’t wait to try these out." The two young ladies laughed and talked while they walked the rest of the way to the mosque where Jen would have her daily lesson with Imam Hassan.
Today was a different experience for Jen with the Imam. As they spoke, he was openly critical for the first time about western thinking and religion. Jen tried to be respectful and appear open to his point of view. It was clear that someday soon she would be forced to openly admit her beliefs and face the consequences, or save herself by denying her Christianity.
That night in her room, Jen prayed, “Dear Heavenly Father, please give me strength and wisdom. Help me choose the right path. Help me choose to do your will…"
Her prayer was interrupted by a shrill scream followed by shouting and sev
eral gun shots. “That sounded close!” she thought. “Was that inside this building?" She listened carefully for a few minutes and then stepped to her door. She tried the door knob and found it locked as it always was at this hour. The door locks were on a timer. When she came inside for the night the door locked behind her and would not open again until morning. “At least no-one can get in,” she thought.
Jen climbed back into bed and curled into a ball. “Please keep me safe, Jesus."
The next morning there was a haze of foul smelling smoke lingering in the air around the hospital.
For the next three weeks, Jen’s routine stayed the same. Each day she woke up, did a few exercises, showered and put on a fresh white dress, and was joined by Maria who accompanied her throughout her day, from breakfast to dinner. Most of her mid-day was taken up by walking and talking with Maria and lessons with Imam Hassan. The Imam did his best to indoctrinate Jen during their meetings, and Maria helped Jen with her Farsi during their walks. After dinner, Jen return to her room and spent time alone with her thoughts. A new clean and starched white dress and hijab were always laying on her bed for her to wear the following day.
On some nights she felt particularly stir crazy and she exercised vigorously. She had watched a bunch of body-rock videos on YouTube with Sarah, and they memorized some of the best abdominal and core work-outs. Her room was small and that type of interval training was perfectly suited for it.
On other nights she sat quietly and contemplated her position in this world. “Maybe God is letting me be here because of the doctor’s work. Maybe he will do something amazing like finding a cure for cancer, and I will be a part of it. On the other hand, maybe this has nothing to do with me." On these nights her thoughts always drifted towards her parents, and how terribly she missed them. On many nights she cried herself to sleep.