If I Should Speak

by Umm Zakiyyah

“But they believe that God came in the person of Fard Muhammad and that Elijah Muhammad is the messenger of God.”

  “They do?”

  “Yeah, and that the white people are devils and black people are gods.”

  Tamika had heard bits and pieces about them, but she did not know what they truly believed.

  “They have absolutely nothing to do with Islam at all,” Dee stated emphatically. “Their beliefs are more like reverse Christianity than Islam.”

  “Reverse Christianity?”

  “Yeah, because they believe a man is god and that he’s black instead of white, like most paintings portray Jesus as being.”

  “But we don’t look at him as having a color.”

  “I’m just saying how they portray him.”

  “Oh.”

  “But, in any case,” Dee continued, “Jesus was a man, so he was necessarily of some race, whatever race it was, only God knows.”

  “But it doesn’t matter.”

  “I agree,” she told her, “but only when we look at him as a prophet, as prophets were various races, but when people look at him as God, then,” she nodded her head, “that’s when it begins to matter.”

  “How so?” Tamika had never heard that assertion before.

  “Well, for one, it can be used to further racism if God is this color and not that color.”

  She nodded, understanding. “But God isn’t really any race anyway.”

  “I know,” Dee told her. “That’s what Muslims believe, that God is not a man, and thus not any race or culture. In fact, we believe He’s nothing like His creation at all.”

  “So you don’t believe we were created in God’s image?”

  She shook her head emphatically. “Not at all, because creation and God are entirely separate. Nothing can compare to God.”

  Tamika nodded. That made sense.

  Dee stood, noticing the time and also not wanting to argue. “I didn’t mean to divert you from studying, but I did want to apologize.”

  “That’s okay,” Tamika assured her, not caring anymore.

  Dee walked over to a shelf and removed a pamphlet. “Here,” she said, handing the papers to Tamika, who read the title.

  What Is Islam and Why You Should be Muslim

  Dee shrugged. “Just something to look over when you have time.” She added, “Aminah thinks you might like it.”

  Tamika nodded, but she was not offended by the gesture. She knew the roommates were only trying to be friendly.

  “What are you doing tonight?” Dee inquired, changing the subject on purpose.

  “Tonight?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Uh,” Tamika had nothing planned, having told Makisha she was not going out tonight. “Nothing really.”

  “You wanna go shopping?”

  “Shopping?”

  “Yeah,” Dee replied, excited.

  Tamika smiled and shook her head. “I don’t have any money.”

  “Don’t worry,” Dee told her, waving her hand. “It’ll be fun.”

  “I hate going shopping without money,” she told her, chuckling. “What are you trying to buy?”

  “A dress.”

  “A dress?” Tamika was suddenly interested. “For what?”

  “The formal.”

  Oh yeah, Tamika had wanted to buy a dress, but she could not afford to.

  “Wanna help me pick one?”

  Actually, Tamika liked that idea. She shrugged, smiling. “Why not?”

  Chapter Six

  The drive to Atlanta was usually a long one for Tamika, but Friday evening had passed quickly. The ride was filled with laughter and friendly conversation with Dee, whom Tamika learned shared a lot of her interests. Tamika enjoyed the cozy atmosphere of Dee’s warm car, which smelled of artificial strawberries, a pleasing scent coming from the small car freshener that was clipped to the soft gray of the passenger side sun visor, the atmosphere a comfortable contrast to the cold weather of the darkening evening.

  “I always wanted to write songs,” Dee told Tamika, sucking her teeth, eyes on the road. “But I could never think up anything.” Her hands were covered by leather gloves, which gently gripped the steering wheel, her neck covered by the large collar of her thick coat.

  “I guess I never really thought about it,” Tamika confessed, shrugging. “I’ve been writing them since I was little.”

  “Songs?” Dee raised her eyebrows, glancing sideways at Tamika, impressed.

  Tamika chuckled. “Well, they started off as poems, but I would always end up singing them,” she shared, “and I guess that’s when they became songs.”

  “Sing one.”

  Tamika shot a disbelieving glance at Dee, an uncertain expression developing on her face. “What?” she asked, almost laughing.

  Dee laughed, nodding, looking at Tamika and back at the road. “Sing one,” she told her again, laughter in her voice, but her seriousness was evident.

  Tamika chuckled uncomfortably. “You’re playing, right?”

  “No!” Dee exclaimed playfully. “I’m for real. Go ahead.”

  “You’re crazy,” Tamika told her jokingly.

  Dee considered the comment then nodded. “That’s true,” she stated finally, still grinning. She widened her eyes and looked at Tamika expectantly. “I’m waiting,” she announced, almost singing the words, which made Tamika laugh more.

  “You really want me to sing.”

  “Of course.”

  “Then you have to too,” Tamika offered, making a deal.

  “Fine.”

  Ugh! Tamika thought good-naturedly. Why did she say that? Of course Dee would not mind singing, having been accustomed to singing in public, whereas Tamika had only sang in front of others at home and church. “Okay,” she agreed, her kind displeasure apparent in her voice. “But,” she said, making a condition, raising her index finger, “you can’t laugh.”

  Dee closed her lips, exaggerating the gesture, then motioned her gloved fingers across her lips as if zipping them closed, but Tamika could see she was about to laugh.

  “Girl, you better not laugh at me!”

  Dee burst out laughing. After she calmed herself, she stated accusingly, still chuckling, “You’re making me laugh.”

  “I’m not!” Tamika protested, laughing herself.

  “Just sing,” Dee told her sternly, tinted by an increasingly jocular tone.

  “You’re gonna laugh.”

  “No, I’m not,” she said, eyes widening innocently, as if to say, Who me?

  “You will.”

  “If you don’t sing,” Dee warned her playfully, “I’m gonna pull over to the shoulder of the road, and we won’t go anywhere until you do.”

  Tamika laughed. “Yeah, right,” she said, waving her hand, knowing Dee was only bluffing.

  “You think I’m joking?” Dee asked, biting her lip, eyebrows raised as if welcoming the dare.

  “I know you’re joking.”

  “Sing.”

  Tamika shook her head while looking out the window, grinning, enjoying the moment.

  “Sing,” Dee dared, glancing to her blind spot on the right, then going to the interstate’s right lane, slowing the car.

  Tamika chuckled, still shaking her head, knowing that the slowing of the car was only a deception.

  “You better sing.” The car slowed.

  She laughed, refusing. “No, ‘cause you’re gonna laugh.”

  A moment later, Dee was on the shoulder slowing. Then she stopped.

  Tamika stared at her in disbelief, jaw dropped and eyes wide as Dee turned on the emergency lights. They could hear the sound of speeding cars passing. Dee turned off the engine.

  “Sing,” Dee demanded, trying to keep a serious face but failing.

  “You’re crazy,” Tamika commented, shaking her head, giggling, covering her mouth at the crazy scene.

  “I’m not going anywhere till you do.”

  She paused and glanced at Dee, whose expression was unch
anging. Dee was actually not going anywhere until Tamika sang. Tamika laughed, amused by her roommate’s sense of humor.

  “I’m waiting,” Dee announced, a grin still on her face, as she tapped her fingers on the steering wheel.

  “Fine, fine,” Tamika gave in, realizing there was no winning with Dee. “But you first.”

  “Me?” Dee asked, surprised.

  “Yeah, why not?”

  “Okay, okay,” Dee agreed, her expression playful, bold, as if saying, I’m not scared. “What do you want me to sing?”

  “Anything.”

  “Okay, um —” Just then it came to her, and she began singing, “You are my sunshine...”

  Tamika listened, and although she knew Dee was not doing her best, she was amazed at how beautifully she was able to sing, especially with such a simple song.

  As Dee finished, she glanced at Tamika, turning slightly to face her, folding her arms in the small space between the wheel and the back of her seat. “Now, sing.”

  Tamika frowned good-naturedly, sucking her teeth, then laughing at how ridiculous they must seem, parked on the shoulder of the interstate, emergency lights flashings, singing songs. “I guess I have to then, huh?”

  “Thaaat’s right,” Dee nodded, smirking.

  “Fine.” Tamika sighed, searching her mind for what she would sing.

  “And it has to be one you wrote,” Dee reminded.

  “Uh,” Tamika thought aloud, the car growing quiet as she tried to choose. Then it came to her. “Okay,” she said finally. “But you can’t laugh, because I made this up when I was thirteen.”

  Dee tucked in her lips and nodded.

  “It’s, um,” Tamika chuckled uncomfortably. “It’s not much, ‘cause I just made it up real quick one day, but it was my favorite.” She chuckled self-consciously again, never having sung this song for anyone, not even her family. She cleared her throat, more for procrastination than necessity. She forced a cough, hoping she could get out of it, but the waiting silence told her she could not. She took in a deep breath and began.

  “I don’t know how,” she sang, as Dee calmly listened, “and Lord knows I don’t know why,” Tamika’s powerful voice rose, singing in a spiritual tune, and though shaking nervously, its strength and beauty surprised even herself. “But I can’t stop thinking if I’ll ever have a chance not to cry…

  ...Each day I wake, and it’s the same as before

  And I can’t help wondering, if there is any more

  Is there anything else after this, I want to know

  Because if it is, Lord, I want to go

  So many love life, but I can’t say the same

  Because it hurts too much, oh the pain

  The questions I have no one can tell me for sure

  So I can’t help wondering if there’s any more

  Any more to life than this, the questions, the tears

  So please, I want something else, no more fears

  There must be something else, I need to know

  Because if it is, Lord, please, please, I want to go”

  Tamika’s voice stopped with the words, and the car grew uncomfortably silent. Tamika did not know if Dee was looking at her, too shy to glance up. She gazed out the window as the memory of the reason behind those words came back to her, a lump developing in her throat.

  The car started, its gentle engine jerking them a bit. Then its speed picked up and the car zoomed, suddenly falling in line with the other speeding cars.

  “It’s beautiful,” Dee commented sincerely a few minutes later, still reflecting on what its words meant to her. “What’s it about?”

  “My father,” Tamika told her, immediately regretting the confession.

  “Your father?” Dee repeated, forehead creasing. “How’s that?”

  “I never knew him.” Tamika had already said it. It was too late to take it back. She had not planned to discuss her father. He was a subject that she had never even discussed with Makisha. It hurt too much. She had always imagined how he must have looked, often remembering one of her mother’s old friends commenting on how she was a “spitting image of Craig.” And Tamika knew who Craig was. She used to ask her mother about him, but her mother never told her much, not wanting to discuss him. But one of her aunts on her mother’s side told her about him one day, angry with Tamika’s mother for not being open with her children.

  “I don’t care what Thelma thinks,” Tamika’s aunt had said that day, angrily grasping Tamika’s hand so tightly that it hurt, pulling her along the hallway and down the steps. “Always fretting about her problems, paying no attention to what her kids need.” Aunt Jackie had taken Tamika to the front steps of her apartment building that day when Tamika and her family had come to visit. Her mother was still upstairs arguing with one of Tamika’s uncles about something.

  “Now, what I’m gonna tell you child, you don’t tell nobody.”

  Tamika, ten years old then, listened.

  “‘Cause if your momma finds out, she won’t ever speak to me again.”

  Aunt Jackie leaned back on the cement steps and took in a deep breath. She lit a cigarette, brought it slowly to her lips, and puffed as she spoke. “His name was Craig,” she began, Tamika knowing immediately whom her aunt was speaking about. “Nice man, too, real tall, healthy, you know.”

  Tamika nodded dumbly, listening like she had never listened before.

  “Thelma wanted to marry him,” her aunt remembered, eyes staring off into the distance, gently blowing the cigarette smoke from her mouth. “And he always said he wanted to marry her.” Jackie shook her head sadly. “But one day he just left.”

  Tamika swallowed, scared to ask, but she did, “Wh-why?”

  “Who knows?” Jackie shrugged. “But you were only a little baby then. ‘Couldn’t been more than two months old.” She sucked her teeth. “I think he and Thelma had a big fight, and who knows what got into him, but he just up and left.”

  Silence.

  “Never came back again.”

  That was it? Tamika could not believe it, did not want to believe it. It was too simple, too cold, to be true. There was more to it, there had to be. Had she been too much trouble? The questions remained in her mind for years, and she cried many nights, wanting to know but no one helping her. Her aunt Jackie could not help her, for she only knew what she had shared. And her mother, whatever she knew, she was not telling. The emptiness it brought to Tamika’s life was immeasurable. She often stared at other families, wondering, why not she? Why didn’t she have a father?

  The pain it must have caused her mother, Tamika could only guess, because her mother held it all in, trying to be strong, always giving advice after advice, as if she knew all the right things to do to make the world tilt in your favor. One thing she constantly advised was to never marry.

  “You take care of yourself, child,” she would tell Tamika, “not no man.” She would shake her head. “And if you ever do let one ‘em sweet talk you, you betta have all them degrees behind your name and a good job.”

  The words stuck with Tamika, who took them to heart, determined to establish herself and not wait for a man, except her definition of “establishing herself” was different than her mother’s. Tamika wanted to be a singer, and her mother wanted her to go to college.

  “You ‘ain’t gonna be nothin’ but a statistic, girl, if you tryin’ to make it out there,” she told Tamika, referring to the music industry. “They don’t care nothin’ about no child like you. You got a good voice, yeah, but that ain’t what it’s about. They’ll snatch away your innocence before you can blink.” She would eye Tamika intently, pointing at her, almost threateningly. “And that’s what ‘dat business is all about.”

  “I’m sorry,” Dee’s voice interrupted her thoughts, suddenly reminding Tamika where she was. Dee did not know what else to say. She wanted to relate, but she could not, having grown up with both of her parents.

  “It’s okay,” Tamika comforted. “You didn’t do anythi
ng.”

  “But what happened?” Dee asked, eyes sympathetic. “I mean, if you don’t mind me asking.”

  Tamika sighed. “Nothing really, I guess, except…” She took in a deep breath and heard her voice confessing everything before she agreed to share it. She went on and on, starting with how her mother never told her anything and the conversation with her aunt. She went on to explain her own frustration with her mother demanding so much from her.

  “So she doesn’t want you to sing, huh?”

  She frowned, sighed, and shook her head. “Not as a career.”

  Dee was silent. She could relate to that. “My parents don’t want me to either.”

  “Why not?” Tamika almost mumbled, staring out the window at the passing lights.

  “I mean, I, uh,” Dee tried to explain, searching for words. “You see, they’re Muslim.”

  “Muslims aren’t allowed to sing?” Tamika shot a disbelieving glance at Dee.

  Dee forced a chuckle. “Well, uh, not, well,” she began, fumbling for a good answer, searching for one that was the truth and protected her own faults at the same time. “They can sing, I suppose, but I guess the point is that, um, that women aren’t supposed to sing in front of men.”

  “Really?” Tamika had never heard that before.

  “You can ask Aminah,” Dee suggested, not wanting to discuss it too much. It was too personal. “She can probably explain it better.”

  “What if a person sings, though? Are they still Muslim?”

  “Yeah, yeah,” Dee nodded emphatically. “They’re still Muslim, but it’s just not good to do, um, in public,” she added.

  “But what about you?”

  Dee sighed sadly. What about her? She usually avoided that subject. “It’s what I want to do,” she confessed.

  “What do your parents say?”

  “They don’t really know how much I like it, and they don’t know that I,” she paused, hesitating then decided there was no harm, “that I want to do it professionally.”

  “You do?” Tamika asked, suddenly interested.

  “Yeah,” Dee replied slowly, sadly.

  Tamika nodded sympathetically. “You ever tell them?”

  Dee forced laughter. “No,” she replied. She sucked her teeth. “They won’t agree, so it doesn’t matter.”