The Garden of My Imaan

by Farhana Zia

  Winnie looked at me like I was crazy.

  “Well?”

  “What’s gotten into you?” she asked.

  “Tell me, Winnie.”

  “I don’t remember. I never thought about it. Okay?”

  “Okay.” I smiled. I was happy with her answer.

  We swung back and forth in perfect timing, the creaks of our chains perfectly synchronized. Our jackets billowed out on every forward swing.

  “You’ll never guess what Marwa just told me,” I said, pumping with my legs. The cold air lashed my face and made me catch my breath.

  “No, but I bet you fifty dollars you’re going to tell me.”

  “You know the project we’re working on for Mrs. Doyle? Marwa thinks I should do something about Islam. Can you believe that?”

  Winnie let her swinging slow down a beat. She seemed to be turning this idea over in her mind. “You know, that might not be such a bad idea,” she said, excited now. “You could do that because that’s the Muslim part of you and you could also do something on India because that’s the Indian part of you and I’ll do something about the Korean and the Jewish parts of me and Buddy Ma will help you with your part and I’ll write to my Halmunee to help me with mine.”

  “Are you serious?”

  “I’m completely serious,” she said. “As a matter of fact, I love the idea! And you can tell that brilliant Mar-wuh girl that I said so!”

  “What about the lefty project?”

  “This one’s a lot better,” Winnie said. “Trust me.”

  I told Amma about Marwa’s idea when I got home from school. She thought it was a wonderful plan.

  “You could do a whole display,” she said.

  “Of what?”

  “Of all the things that make you who you are,” she replied.

  “And what’s that?”

  “A tasty concoction of American and Muslim and Indian and sugar and spice and everything that is very nice.”

  Tuesday, November 19

  7:30 p.m.

  Dear Allah,

  Winnie’s really into M’s idea! She’s already written to her Halmunee in Seoul. She says Adam’s pretty mad he doesn’t get to be interviewed. I told her he’d get over it. I’m putting ideas together for my part. I’ve asked Baba to film me praying at the Islamic Center. I think the kids may be interested in how we do our prostrations together, shoulder to shoulder and in straight rows.

  Yours truly,

  A.

  PS I hope there won’t be too many tough questions. I’m keeping my fingers crossed.

  PPS I hope M’s dad is right about conversations opening doors.

  Important Decision

  Nafees seemed even grumpier Sunday morning. I figured we should stay a mile away from the subject of Marcus, so I asked about everyone’s Ramadan and told them about mine, without mentioning the Funyuns and the pepperoni.

  “You fasted on a school day?” Sehr asked. “Whatever made you change your mind?”

  I thought I detected a little sarcasm. “I didn’t change my mind,” I said. “I made up my mind, actually.”

  “Same difference,” Sehr said.

  “No way. There’s a huge difference.”

  Amal turned to me. “It’s all about mind over matter, right?”

  “Exactly!” I said. “And a positive attitude.”

  “Yeah!” Amal agreed. “It’s all in the head. A lot of people don’t realize that.”

  We traded Ramadan stories for a while, but Sehr didn’t join in.

  “What’s wrong, Sehr?” Amal asked. And then Sehr told us a story about her sister that made us forget all about suhurs and iftars. The news was so horrible we didn’t know what to say.

  “Someone pulled the hijab off her head?” Amal sputtered. “Are you kidding me?”

  “In broad daylight in the middle of campus. And trampled it on the ground,” Sehr elaborated. “She’s so upset, she can hardly sleep.”

  My stomach twisted up into a knot. “That’s terrible!”

  “She says she’s giving it up. She’s too scared to wear it in public now.”

  “It’s not right!” Amal said. “It’s simply not right!”

  “What’s not right?” Heba asked. “That she’s scared? Or that she’s given up the hijab?”

  Amal shook her head. “It’s not right that the whole thing happened in the first place. She wasn’t hurting anyone, was she?”

  I thought about Marwa. Was she scared when kids pointed at her and made fun? Had she seen the graffiti? I turned to Amal. “You should be careful. It could happen to you too.”

  “I don’t think so,” Amal said. “People at my school are very respectful.”

  “She gave up too quickly,” Sehr muttered.

  “What did you say?” I turned, not believing what I just heard.

  “My sister gave up too quickly,” she repeated more forcefully. “She should have stuck to her belief.”

  “She’s giving up wearing the hijab, but she’s not giving up being a Muslim, is she?” Amal asked.

  “Nobody’s saying that,” Sehr snarled. “Still …”

  It took me a minute to process everything. “But what if not everyone is that brave?”

  “I don’t care. I would have stuck to my guns,” she replied.

  I tried to imagine myself in her sister’s shoes. Or Marwa’s. “It’s easy to say now,” I told her. “You can never tell until it happens to you.”

  Nafees had been quiet until now. “Hijab, hijab, hijab! Bo-ring!” she declared, thrusting her shoulders back and crossing her arms. “I’m changing the topic. Tell me you don’t want to know about Marcus and I’ll tell you I have three heads.”

  I spun around on my heel.

  “You’re still going out with him? I thought your parents—”

  Nafees cut me off. “Hmph. My parents!” she growled.

  “I don’t know …” Heba looked around at the rest of us. “Are we even allowed to talk about boyfriends during Ramadan?”

  “I wouldn’t lose sleep over it,” Nafees said. “And anyway, it doesn’t matter. He’s history.”

  “What?” I couldn’t believe my ears. “But …”

  “You heard me. He’s out of my life.”

  “How come?” I asked. “Did your father put his foot down?”

  “Nah. Marcus turned out to be a total jerk, that’s how come.”

  “Don’t stop now. Go on!”

  “I caught him red-handed at the laundromat with another girl. The two of them were making out right there next to the washing machines. When I yelled at him, he looked through me like I wasn’t even there. But do I look like I care? No sir! She can have him because I don’t want him. Bye-bye, Marcus!”

  “You must be so bummed!” Amal said.

  “Oh, don’t worry about me,” Nafees said breezily. “I’m fine.”

  “You do seem to have recovered rather nicely,” Heba observed.

  “What can I say? Life goes on,” Nafees replied. “Boys! Who needs them?”

  “Did you tell your parents?” Sehr asked.

  “Do you think I’m nuts?” Nafees snorted.

  “Was she really pretty? This other girl? Is that why he picked her?”

  “I’m not wasting my time thinking about either one of them, but since you asked, she’s uglier than a toad with knobby warts and probably dumber than a doorknob—and he’s the biggest loser there ever was!”

  It was hard for me to decide which news delivered the greater punch. Sehr’s story had been disturbing, but Nafees’s story had been, well, sort of thrilling.

  Nafees didn’t have a boyfriend anymore. She was back to square one, just like me.

  I couldn’t stop thinking about Josh, but I knew he wasn’t thinking about me. When he wasn’t playing basketball, he was hanging out with Juliana; when I saw them together on the court, my heart sank even further. How could I compete with that? I couldn’t even toss a crumpled sheet of notebook paper into the wastebasket with
out missing by a mile. To make things worse, Josh was running for student council president and Juliana for fifth-grade homeroom rep. Now the campaign would throw them together even more.

  “Josh would make a great president,” I told Winnie. “I’d campaign for him in a snap if he asked me.”

  “He probably doesn’t need any help.”

  “Everybody needs help,” I said. “I’d need help if I ran for office.”

  “Would you? Run, I mean?” Winnie asked.

  “Not in a million years.”

  “I’d be your campaign manager,” Winnie said. “I’d help you win.”

  “Run for president? Are you out of your mind?”

  “What about secretary, or homeroom rep?”

  “No thanks.”

  “I mean it. You should run against Juliana.”

  “Why? So I can make a fool of myself?” I asked. “Juliana is hugely popular. I’d get crushed like a bug.”

  “Not true. She only hangs out with Nicole and Morgan,” Winnie said. “Haven’t you noticed?”

  “That’s only because she doesn’t bother to talk to anyone else.”

  “Exactly. And if you don’t take the time to talk to others, then how can you make friends with them?” Winnie asked.

  “What’s your point?”

  “My point is you should run for our class rep too. You’d definitely have my support.”

  “Why don’t you run?” I asked. “You’d get lots of votes.”

  “Nah,” Winnie said. “Politics don’t interest me. I’d make a great campaign manager, though!”

  “I don’t know, Winnie …”

  “Just think,” Winnie said. “If you won, you’d get to spend more time with Josh. Then he’d notice you for sure. One hundred percent guaranteed!”

  Wednesday, November 20

  6:00 p.m.

  Dear Allah,

  Today’s fast was fine. As usual, Amma went overboard with my iftar.

  While I was saying my evening prayer, Winnie’s words kept popping into my mind and I couldn’t really focus on You. Sorry.

  I thought about what she said all the way home. Maybe I should take a risk, like Winnie says. But the thought of running against Juliana is scarier than that pause at the top just before the steep plunge on the Rocky Roads Roller Coaster. It’s the part that Zayd loves the most, but I hate it. I really do! He always says that no one is forcing me to go on the roller coaster, but how can you go to an amusement park and not go on the roller coaster? Zayd tells me to close my eyes and keep them shut for the whole ride, but it works better for me to keep them wide open and scream at the top of my lungs all the way down. When the ride is over, my throat is sore but I have survived. I’m too chicken to hold my hands up like he does, though.

  Lately, I’ve been feeling that I need a makeover, like the ones you see on TV. Ever since I saw M lay into Austin, I have thought about it. I’m getting tired of sweaty palms. I am! I want to be fearless like Winnie and Amal and Nafees, and … most of all like M.

  Yours truly,

  A

  PS I’m taking a little break from fasting tomorrow. I told Amma I felt kind of woozy, and she got all worried and said I should skip a day or two to get my strength back for school. I hope You don’t mind terribly. I’ll start up again real soon, I promise.

  “I’m thinking about running for my homeroom rep,” I said at dinner.

  “That’s great, Aliya,” Baba said. “Getting involved is so much better than standing on the sideline.”

  “We need more of our young people getting involved in politics,” Mom said. “We need bright kids speaking up for us.”

  “Mom, it’s only grade school.” I didn’t quite see how the Glen Meadow Student Council was going to solve the problems of American Muslims. All the council did was stuff like fund-raisers and spirit days.

  “It doesn’t matter that it’s just school,” she said. “The important thing is that your voice would be heard, no matter how big or small the issue.”

  “Yes, yes, you should do it,” Badi Amma said after Amma explained everything to her. “When I was your age, I was captain of the basketball team.”

  “You played basketball?” Zayd asked.

  “Yes.” Badi Amma laughed. “And I was such a tall thing, everyone said, ‘Oh oh! All is lost! Lumbu has the ball, Lumbu has the ball!’“

  “What’s lumbu?” Zayd asked.

  “Tall person,” Badi Amma explained. “It is Urdu for tall person.”

  “But you were in high school then, Badi Amma,” I said. “You told me last time.”

  “It doesn’t matter, the age. But it matters that I was captain and I threw the ball in the hoop.”

  “Yes, Badi Amma,” Baba said, looking at my great-grandmother with a big grin. “You are absolutely right!”

  “She certainly is.” Mom turned to me. “Age doesn’t matter and the issue doesn’t matter either. What does matter is that you put yourself right in the middle of things with your head held high.”

  “Yes, yes,” Badi Amma agreed.

  Then my mother told me about Iqbal Massih, a Pakistani kid who spoke out against child slavery, and about an eighteen-year-old who got elected mayor somewhere in this country. I think she was trying to inspire me.

  But more than anything, I wanted to feel good about myself around Juliana.

  Marwa

  I think I’ll do it,” I told Winnie on the way to homeroom. “I’m going to run for class rep.”

  “Great! I’ll start working on our campaign plans right away,” she said. “Juliana had better watch out.”

  “It would be so great to beat her.”

  Winnie gave me a sly look. “I like this new you a lot. I bet Josh will too.”

  I grinned. Running for class rep was sounding better and better. “I’ll ask Mom to buy poster board for our signs.”

  “Fluorescent,” Winnie said. “And I’ll think up some great slogans. We’re going to beat the pants off Juliana.”

  “Woo hoo!” I shouted.

  Mrs. Doyle kept us pretty busy all morning. We had to write definitions of difficult words and include textual evidence in our literary responses. I was so focused on my work, I didn’t fully catch the message when Mrs. Holmes’s voice boomed over the intercom.

  “What did she say?” I asked Winnie.

  Winnie giggled. “The boys’ bathroom is off limits!”

  “He’s done it again!” I said.

  “Who’s done what again?”

  “It’s Austin. He doesn’t give up, does he?”

  “How can you be sure it’s him? It could be anyone.”

  “It’s definitely Austin,” I insisted. “Only he is mean enough to do this.”

  “Shh!” Juliana hissed. “Some of us are trying to work.”

  I clamped my mouth shut, but I was pretty sure she had overheard our conversation.

  “I hear someone’s going for class rep,” Juliana sneered as we left the cafeteria after lunch.

  “Aliya can run against you if she wants to,” Winnie said. “The last time I checked, this was still the home of the free and the land of the brave. I’d say you’ve got plenty to worry about!”

  “Do I look the teeniest bit worried? But who said anything about her anyway? I was talking about Maar-waah.” Juliana extended Marwa’s name so far I was sure it’d snap.

  “What could she be thinking?” Nicole piped up.

  Marwa was running for student council? The new girl? The girl in hijab? That was pretty unbelievable.

  “She’s never going to win, not in a million years,” Juliana scoffed.

  Nicole rolled her eyes. “I’d never vote for her if I were in her homeroom.”

  “Me neither,” said Morgan.

  “Come on,” Juliana said to Morgan and Nicole. “Let’s go see what you-know-who thinks about all this.” They turned on their heels and walked away. I thought they were going to talk to Josh, but they headed toward Austin, who was chucking stones at the ch
ain-link fence. My heart sank.

  “Oh, by the way,” Juliana called back over her shoulder. “Good luck with your campaign, Aliya. You’ll need it.”

  “Not as much as you!” I shouted.

  “Atta girl!” urged Winnie. “You tell her!”

  But that didn’t help much. Juliana’s smirks were bad enough. Now it appeared I was headed for trouble once Juliana finished tattling to Austin.

  Suddenly I didn’t want to be bothered with any of it.

  “I don’t know, Winnie. Maybe I shouldn’t run after all,” I said.

  “Excuse me? You can’t be getting all wishy-washy on me!” Winnie cried. “You’ve got to stick to your commitment.”

  “I didn’t commit. I said I was thinking about it.”

  “I’m not going to forgive you if you chicken out now,” Winnie said. “I’ve already made a list of plans I was going to discuss with you.”

  Austin cornered me before the bell sounded.

  “Hey, you! Alien! Think you can escape?”

  “My name is Aliya, not Alien,” I said with my heart in my mouth.

  “Aliya … alien. Same difference,” he growled. “You’re probably illegal too!”

  “I am not! Why don’t you just leave me alone? What did I ever do to you?”

  “Spread lies, that’s what!”

  “What kind of lies? I don’t know what you’re talking about.” I didn’t like the way this was going.

  “Did you, or did you not say I backed up the toilets?”

  My mouth went dry. Juliana had squealed. I clenched both my fists. “I …”

  Austin stepped closer. “You are dead meat!” he snarled.

  “I’ll tell the teacher if you threaten me,” I said backing away.

  “Oooh, scary,” he snorted. “Look at me. I’m shaking in my boots.”

  I turned and walked quickly toward the other side of the school yard.

  “Yeah! Run and hide, chicken!” he yelled. “Alien!”

  As I darted by the picnic bench, Marwa called out, “Aliya, are you okay? You seem sort of—”

  “I’m fine,” I replied, mostly to convince myself. I looked around to make sure Austin wasn’t following me.

  “Are you fasting today?” she asked.