Footsteps

by Umm Zakiyyah

  “It’s the guilt that bothers me the most,” Alika said.

  “You can’t continue like that though. The guilt comes from growing up here. We’re taught that monogamy is natural and good, and polygamy is unnatural and shameful. It’s considered illegal here, and, to some, sinful. But it’s only natural that Muslims follow this thinking.”

  She laughed. “I wouldn’t call that natural.”

  “I didn’t mean natural in that sense,” Nusaybah said. “I meant that we’re human, and naturally, if there’s something that’s hard for us, we avoid it, and sometimes that means we cross the line. Even in our purest nature, Alika, women are jealous. Imagine how hard it would be for you if Ismael took a third wife.”

  Alika nodded, understanding. “I see what you’re saying.”

  “Don’t let it upset you,” Nusaybah said. “Life is too short.”

  She went on, “But understand that living in this society makes it difficult for all women to distinguish between their natural feminine jealousy, which is how Allah created them, and hating polygamy itself, which is a sin.”

  “I think the difference is obvious.”

  “It’s not obvious to everyone though. There are some things that are obvious to you that aren’t to me, and vice versa. That’s why we need each other, all of us. If you suspect that a sister hates polygamy, don’t hate her. Then you’re no better.”

  Alika nodded.

  “And know that there are some sisters who really don’t have a problem with it, but they just cannot handle it as a reality in their lives. And we have to accept that, like someone will have to accept the same in us on a different issue.”

  Nusaybah added, “But you should know that there will be others who think of polygamy like a disease, and although this is not right, you should be patient with them too.”

  Alika gathered her eyebrows. “A disease?”

  “Yes.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “They won’t invite you to their homes. Or they’ll try to prevent, or even sabotage, any meaningful relationship between your husband and theirs.”

  Alika’s eyes widened. “Muslims do that?”

  Nusaybah sighed. “Unfortunately, yes.”

  She added, “This is a very dangerous feeling they’re struggling with, but you can’t let it get to you. We’re all human, Alika. And we’re all in need of Allah’s mercy, even you and me.”

  “I thought you couldn’t be Muslim without accepting polygamy.”

  “You can’t.”

  “Then are these people really Muslim?”

  “Yes, they are, Alika. Only when a person consciously hates something from the religion, or when they express open disagreement with something from the Qur’an or Sunnah, does a person leave Islam.”

  “But their actions show open disagreement.”

  “They believe in the Qur’an and Sunnah though, ukhtee.”

  “But polygamy is in the Qur’an.”

  “Alika, there’s more than polygamy in the Qur’an, and we’re fooling ourselves if we think we’ve mastered it all. Allah is Merciful. He holds us accountable based on our intentions. The sisters who ostracize you don’t intend to disagree with Allah’s revelation or even hate what Allah revealed.”

  Alika shook her head. “But then why treat it like it’s a sin?”

  Nusaybah sighed. “That’s just one of the many contradictions you’ll see in Muslims, and even within yourself. None of us are free from hypocrisy. But your focus is on your soul, not theirs.”

  “You make it sound so easy.”

  “And it is, with the help of Allah. But only when your focus is within. The Muslim is the mirror of another Muslim, this is what the Prophet, sallallaahu’alayhi wasallam, taught. So when you see someone struggle with any part of Islam, then fear for yourself, and them. But never judge them or think you’re better, even as you hate what you see.”

  They were silent as Alika pondered what Nusaybah had said.

  “But shouldn’t this be normal?” Alika asked, still searching for answers. “I mean, everyone knows women outnumber men.”

  Nusaybah drew in a deep breath and exhaled. “Yes, this is true. And I hear what you’re saying. But marriage is such a selfish pursuit that you can’t expect people to look out for anyone but themselves.”

  “But isn’t that wrong?” Alika narrowed her eyes. “What happened to do unto others as you would have others do unto you?”

  “Yes,” Nusaybah agreed. “The Prophet, sallallaahu’alayhi wasallam, taught us that we don’t truly believe until we love for our brother or sister what we love for ourselves.”

  “That’s what I mean. What happened to basic things like that?”

  “Ukhtee, it’s only basic in theory. But living it, that’s a completely different story. For all of us.”

  “But even if you’re not perfect,” Alika said, “I understand that. But just logically speaking, how can you expect to expunge the entire world of polygamy?”

  Nusaybah laughed. “I don’t think anyone’s doing that.”

  “That’s what it seems like.”

  “It only seems like that because you’re on the other side. But most people are just trying to survive day to day. And they react on instinct when they think something will disrupt that. You’d be surprised how little attention polygamy actually gets.”

  Alika exhaled. “All I want to understand is how everyone’s supposed to get married if it’s so taboo to even mention.”

  “I know what you mean,” Nusaybah said. “But I think in this world, polygamy is going to become a fact of life for Muslims, like it or not. The good men are few, and the women are many, and it’s only getting worse as we approach the Day of Judgment. The reality is, times are becoming such that, if you want to get married at all, it’s in your best interest to at least ask Allah to open your heart to it. And this is also true if you want to stay married. But we can’t be so naïve as to believe every woman should be open to it, or, worse, every Muslim man should do it. I can’t imagine the nightmare women would live if every Muslim man tried to do it, even if we narrow it down to the ones with monetary means. It’s not a free-for-all institution, and, believe me, you don’t want it to be. Most Muslim men don’t have the spiritual or emotional sense to handle more than one woman, despite their polygamous nature. And the world’s a better place if they realize this before they go and ruin women’s lives in the process.”

  Alika was silent. “I don’t know, Nusaybah. I don’t think Ismael can handle this.”

  “That’s not your decision, Alika.”

  “But all he talks about is Sarah.”

  “This is still new to him. It’s only natural.”

  “And it’s new to me too.”

  “So you’ll learn together, bi’idhnillaah.”

  “But when is it my turn?”

  “Whenever he’s next to you.”

  “Even if all he’s worried about is Sarah? I don’t have the energy for that.”

  “You’re going to have to have the energy for it, Alika. That’s his wife. You’re all in this together.”

  “What about me?”

  “If he’s talking to you, Alika, it is about you. Don’t forget that. If you do, you’re ruining your chance to make a place for yourself in his heart.”

  “I feel like I’m invisible.”

  “Turn him away when he needs to talk, and you will be invisible.”

  “But it hurts.”

  “Let it.”

  “I don’t know how.”

  “Be a woman, Alika. Women have made lemonade for centuries with the lemons in their lives. Don’t be any different.”

  “But when is our chance to build our own relationship if I’m saving his other one?”

  “Everything you do or say now is either laying a brick for your relationship or removing it. Right now, Sarah can remove fifty bricks from hers and still have a castle. But what about you, Alika? You don’t even have a foundation.”

  Ali
ka rolled her eyes to the ceiling in realization of her mistake. “O Allah, what have I done?”

  “It’s not too late, Alika. Take this opportunity to be there for him. Listen to him. Let him cry on your shoulder if you have to. But you’re right. This isn’t about Sarah, so you shouldn’t focus on her. But you don’t do that by preventing the mention of her. You make his life so wonderful that he has no choice but to move on, even if only for a second each day. So make him laugh.” Nusaybah grinned. “And have some fun. But right now, no matter how hard it is, never complain or have a tantrum. You don’t have enough bricks for that.”

  She nodded, but Nusaybah could tell Alika was not convinced of her ability to pull it off.

  “I know this is a lot to digest, but this is something you should do, even if you aren’t married to a married man.”

  “Why do I get the feeling I’m getting more than I bargained for?”

  Nusaybah grinned. “Welcome to life, Alika. This is what it means to keep your eyes on the prize.”

  Alika laughed. “We shall overcome?”

  “Someday,” Nusaybah finished with a smile. “InshaAllaah.”

  Kate sat next to Sarah on the porch swing that was on her unfinished wood balcony that overlooked her backyard. Kate’s hair was still wet from taking a shower, as was Sarah’s although the only evidence for Kate’s sister was water stains bleeding through the light gray head cover that Sarah now wore. Beneath them, the grass glistened under the sun, and they could see the remnants of a garden that Kate had been too busy to tend. But neither Kate nor Sarah was enjoying the view. Kate was staring distantly beyond the trees that stood like tired soldiers surrounding her yard, some using the fence to rest their leafy arms that had grown more than they had expected or could maintain. Sarah was nervously rubbing the base of her ring finger although no ring was there, and her eyes held tears that Sarah was too stubborn to let loose in front of her little sister. After all these years, Sarah still imagined Kate saw her as immortal. Or perhaps she imagined Kate would get a negative impression of Muslims if she showed through more than her words that she was scared. But all Kate could think about right then was how, regardless of age or faith, humans were all joined by the painful and confusing reality of life, the center of which was the mysterious relationship between man and woman.

  For a second, Kate glanced at her sister, unable to keep from feeling sorry for her. But she couldn’t tell Sarah this because Sarah’s mind was so befuddled that she would imagine Kate was looking down on her relationship or religion. But neither was true. In fact, it was the exact opposite. Sarah had everything a person could hope for in this grim life, and she couldn’t see it. She was too absorbed in self-pity to see what was right in front of her eyes. In reality, Sarah had no dilemma, a challenge maybe, but no dilemma. What Kate would give to switch places with her sister right then.

  Kate had heard people talk about their relationship problems, and rarely did she have the luxury of being an advisor to someone, especially a married woman. After all, who would confide in her? But it struck her how, regardless of the problem, it was as if women were reverted back to little children in trying to figure out basic sandbox problems. But Kate couldn’t blame Sarah. Had she been blessed with everything Sarah had, she imagined she’d take her husband and children for granted too. Perhaps in the end, everyone was the same. The more you have, the more you think you deserve. The less you have, the less it takes to make you grateful.

  “Sarah,” Kate said with a hesitant grin. “You weren’t the kindest sister in the world, you know that?”

  It took a second for Sarah to lift her head and meet Kate with a tired look in her eyes. A smile tugged at one side of her mouth. “Yes, I remember.”

  “So consider the reason I say what I will twofold. One, I love you despite all that. And two, you were always my role model in the kindness department.”

  Sarah’s tired eyes narrowed slightly as she tried to read in Kate’s eyes what she was getting at. Kate grinned.

  “I’ve only one thing to say to you, big sister.”

  Sarah pursed her lips and dropped her gaze to her ring finger again, where she rubbed it.

  “I think you’re the blindest and dumbest person I’ve ever met.”

  Sarah’s head jerked up to meet Kate’s eyes. There was a look of hurt and disbelief in her eyes, and her eyes looked like they would overflow any second.

  “To prove that reason number one for saying that is truer than number two, we’re going to take a little field trip.”

  In the quiet of her home, Dr. Faith Anderson-Blackman felt her selfish cruelty. It would have been better for her to remain the psychologist when Sarah had sought her advice. She didn’t know how to be a friend. What had fifty-two years of life taught her if she were going to throw it away in a desperate attempt to save herself?

  She had foolishly called Sarah a week after their meeting to let her know that she would be asking Teddy to discontinue his relationship with Aminah. She had apologized and explained her perverted logic, so perverted that she could barely remember it right then, except that it all came down to her fear that Ron would do the same to her as Ismael had done to Sarah.

  At that moment, Faith thought of the streams of patients that had sat opposite her and how she would be amazed at the similarity of thinking among women. Women seemed to always be in fight or flight mode when it came to a problem. But what struck her as odd was that the women who really needed to run didn’t, and the ones who really needed to stay ran.

  That she had contributed to the latter category made her fear that she had, once again, cheated herself out of a precious moment in life. This time she cheated someone else in the process.

  Faith’s only solace was that she never followed through in her plan to talk to Teddy, and for now, she could count her blessings. But not before finding Sarah somehow and telling her she should stay with Ismael and revel in the beauty of a loving relationship that was more akin to a phenomenon than a fact of married life.

  Chapter Seventeen

  “And He gives you of all that you ask for.

  But if you count the favors of Allah,

  never would you be able to count them.

  Verily, man is given up to injustice and ingratitude.”

  —Qur’an (Ibraheem, 14:34)

  Sarah lay awake early Monday morning after Kate had gone for work shortly after dawn. Sarah heard the front door of her sister’s home open and shut, but she couldn’t hear the car start or Kate drive away although Sarah knew she had. Kate had to be on the anchor desk at six AM, and she wasn’t going to be late, even on the account of Sarah, whom she had not seen since yesterday evening although Kate knew Sarah was only a flight of steps and a knock-at-the-door away.

  Sarah had refused to speak to Kate since they returned from their “fieldtrip” yesterday, and although Sarah knew Kate was only trying to help, she hated her sister for taking her to a women’s shelter. If that weren’t bad enough, Sarah’s sister was on a first name basis with the three women who ran the home, having sacrificed their lives to save abused women, each having a room at the end of a hall in the three-level home. All three had been in abusive relationships or marriages and had escaped, and one had even escaped shortly before joining the shelter.

  Kate had introduced Sarah as her big sister and then had the audacity to give them a summary of why she had come to visit. She did all that while sharing grins, chuckles, and shakes of heads with her friends, as if Sarah was a spoiled rich kid whose biggest worry was that her daddy had given her a million dollars instead of ten million for her birthday. Even though Sarah was seethingly angry at Kate, it had struck her as odd how the women’s expressions showed not even the least bit of shock or disturbance at the mention of Sarah’s husband taking another wife. It was as if they viewed its occurrence as trivial. And although she was a fire of fury inside, a tinge of curiosity and admiration pinched Sarah’s heart as she realized she was not being judged.

  Natalie
was a dark-haired heavyset woman who had spearheaded the project, her distinguishing traits the smile that never left her face and her calm reserve even as she detailed the gruesome details of her twelve-year nightmare with an alcoholic husband. Delores was a strawberry blond whose thin hair was overshadowed only by her small frame that made her appear like a toothpick beneath her clothes, her youthful face making her no more than twenty-five years old. She had left an abusive three-year relationship after spending six weeks in intensive care. Antoinette was a mahogany brown African-American with hair cut so low that the brown of her scalp could be seen beneath the fade of natural hair on her head. Buxom with the smooth complexion of a girl and the defined arms of a basketball athlete, her age was hinted only through the sprinkles of gray in her hair, and Sarah had a difficult time imagining how any man could terrify Toni as much as her husband of nine years had.

  “Muslims come here too?” Sarah had asked hesitantly.

  “We don’t discriminate,” Natalie said.

  “Are any here now?”

  “No. We don’t see a lot of ‘em here, but then again, we don’t ask.”

  “Ronnie’s Muslim,” Toni had interjected, and Natalie creased her forehead as she looked toward Antoinette.

  “She is?”

  “Real name’s Rania.”

  “Oh,” Nattie said with a smile. “I guess I’m wrong.”

  “But her husband wasn’t Muslim,” Toni said turning to Sarah as if reading her mind, “if that’s what you’re wondering.”