Footsteps

by Umm Zakiyyah

  Alika heard the phone ring as she sat in her prayer garment reading from an English translation of Qur’an, hoping to get a head start on completing the fifth thirtieth of her reading to correspond with the fifth day of Ramadan. She had just finished reviewing the notes Nusaybah had given her on the supplications to be said after prayer before she opened the Qur’an. Sighing, she stood, imagining it to be her mother or father calling this early although they usually called at this time only on weekdays in hopes of catching her before class.

  “Hello?”

  “As-salaamu’alaikum.”

  She grew silent at the sound of Ismael’s voice. She exhaled audibly and carried the cordless to the couch of the living room, knowing this was not a call she could take standing.

  “Wa’alaiku-mus-salaam.” She let the sound of her voice express her displeasure. She should have been excited to hear his voice after the heartache she had nursed the night before. But she was looking forward to having Ramadan to herself, and she didn’t want any distractions, especially of this magnitude.

  “I apologize for calling so early…” His voice trailed, as if trying to gather his words, or waiting for her interjection to assure him it was okay.

  She refused, remaining silent on the other end.

  “But I just wanted to…say I’m sorry.”

  “Ismael,” she said, placing her forehead in her palm as she leaned forward, “please don’t call here anymore.”

  “Alika.” His voice was a plea, and she bit her lower lip to keep from saying something she would regret. “Please hear me out.”

  She pursed her lips before she brought herself to speak. “I’m listening.”

  Alika heard him draw in a deep breath and exhale, as if he were nervous, or realizing this was his only chance.

  “I’m sorry for the way things ended. And…” She heard his voice go for a moment. “And I’m just asking you to reconsider.”

  She tucked in her lips, too exhausted to go through this right now. This was a month of patience, of guarding the tongue. Of mercy. So she would keep her less polished comments to herself. “Reconsider what, Ismael?”

  “Us.”

  She felt laughter at the back of her throat but it came out as a humph. “Us?”

  “Yes, Alika.” He sighed. “I want to marry you.” He paused. “Again.”

  She leaned back against the soft of the couch and rubbed her forehead. “No, Ismael. I can’t.”

  There was silence on the other end of the phone, and she heard him suck his teeth, apparently upset with himself.

  “You don’t have to give your answer now,” he said.

  “Ismael, I just gave my answer.”

  “Can you at least think about it?”

  “There’s nothing to think about.”

  “At least give it some thought.”

  At that she was silent, realizing it was better to remain quiet than say what was on her mind, at least without reminding herself that she would have to answer for it. She narrowed her eyes and shook her head. “Ismael, can you please tell me what I need to think about?”

  “I made a mistake.”

  “Yes, Ismael,” she apologized, “you did. And I did too.”

  “But why not try again?”

  Alika shook her head and rolled her eyes to the ceiling. Where she should begin? There was so much that he couldn’t understand, and she didn’t have the energy to explain it to him. She considered saying nothing, or at least giving an answer that would allow them to hang up and never speak again. But she remembered how she had felt when he had said he would never leave her, when he was really saying he wanted her to leave so he could sleep with a clear conscience. She imagined him convincing himself that it had actually been too much for her, instead of the other way around.

  “Ismael, you know why this can’t work, no matter how much you or I want it to. You’re not ready for two families, and you made that clear.”

  “I never said that, Alika. I was say—”

  “You didn’t have to say it, Ismael. You showed it.” She shook her head. “I refuse to play second fiddle in a marriage. It’s clear that whatever Sarah says,” she said, feeling her patience leave her, “whatever Sarah does will determine what you say or do. If she’s okay, then you’re okay. If she has a bad day, you, we have a bad day. If she cries, you want to make it better. And, really, I think that’s beautiful, I do. Really moving, and romantic,” she said sarcastically. “Except you want to wipe her tears away by throwing me away. And that’s what you were doing. That’s all you were doing. She got what she wanted. You got what you wanted.” She shook her head again. “So I really don’t know what I can do for you right now.”

  “But Alika, did you get what you wanted?”

  Alika grew silent, feeling the familiar pang in her heart. She felt the tears gather in her eyes, and she refused to break down. She would not allow this to get to her.

  “Yes, Ismael,” she said, hoping he could not hear her short breaths. “I got want I wanted.” She took a deep breath. “I have Islam.”

  Ismael hung his head after hanging up the phone, feeling the weight of his ignorance, his insensitivity. He wished he had been wiser. More patient. He had not even prayed Istikhaarah before allowing Alika to go. Now he wished he had consulted Allah. At least then he could relax, know that he had done the right thing, that they were not meant for each other.

  Sarah sat up in bed when he walked into the room. As he undressed, she rubbed her eyes and glanced at the clock.

  “I need to talk to you,” she said.

  “I think you should marry Alika.” Sarah felt as if a weight had been lifted from her shoulders as she spoke. It hurt to say the words—and she was amazed that she could even say them—but she knew she would not be able to live with herself if she did not.

  She looked at Ismael, who creased his forehead and looked at her, but she was unable to read his expression. It was neither shock nor pleasure. He was just looking at her, as if he saw a vague familiarity, but his mind was elsewhere.

  “What?” he said, as if confused.

  “I know it sounds crazy coming from me, but I feel responsible for,” she sighed, “you know, everything.”

  He shook his head, sitting down on the edge of the bed. “You weren’t responsible, Sarah. I was.”

  “Ismael,” Sarah said, trying to find the right way to explain what was on her heart, “I know you blame yourself. And I think it’s only natural. But I fought it, and I know now that I went too far.”

  “Sweetheart, you have no obligation to come to me and make amends. I messed up, not you. If I had been—” He stopped himself. “Well, jazaakillaahukhair, sweetheart, I appreciate it.”

  Sarah looked hesitantly at him. “Will you marry her?”

  He lifted a shoulder in a shrug. “Sarah, I wish I could.”

  She creased her forehead. “What do you mean?”

  “It’s not up to me, Sarah. If I could have it my way, I’d marry her tomorrow.”

  Sarah felt a twinge of jealousy and looked away. The words hurt more than she could measure, or ignore. Yet, still, it somehow hurt more to know Alika would not marry him. She felt guilt-ridden for sabotaging something so beautiful. Sarah couldn’t comprehend the change of heart. But she knew the Source.

  “But she said no, and really,” he sighed, “she means no.”

  “It’s because of me?”

  He forced laughter. “If you’d have asked me that two months ago, Sarah, I would say yes. But now,” he said, rubbing a hand over his face, “I know it has nothing to do with you.”

  She felt a sense of relief, but she was still doubtful, a tinge of guilt still in her heart. “How do you know?”

  With his eyes squinted in deep thought, he smiled, a smile of wisdom, of manly wisdom. And Sarah noticed he appeared as if he’d aged ten years. “I know, Sarah. I just know.”

  Chapter Twenty-One

  On Friday, February 7th in the year 1998, Abdur-Rahman and Aminah w
ere married in a formal ceremony in the party room of the Blackman home. The walimah was the following evening at a Dunwoody hotel ballroom. Both events were attended by family and friends of the bride and groom.

  Earlier that day the Ali and Blackman family attended Jumu’ah as did more than three hundred Muslims and guests who had come to Atlanta for the ceremony and party. Chairs were set up along the side and back walls of the prayer area so that onlookers were not on the carpeted area used for prayer. Men were seated next to the men and women next to the women and behind the men to decrease discomfort when the Muslims would prostrate before Allah.

  Imam Abdul-Quddus dedicated his khutbah to the topic of Muslims’ obligation to Allah following the month of Ramadan. He discussed the importance of patience, perseverance, and continually seeking forgiveness for one’s sins through sincere repentance.

  “Let us not forget that Ramadan is not merely a month,” he said, “but a purification for the months, the life that follows. It was in this blessed month that Allah revealed the Qur’an. And certainly, the last revelation of our Creator was not meant to be a historical event, one that we look back on and commemorate like an artifact of the past. Just like our religion is not an artifact, but a light and guidance, a rooh, something to give us life.” He paused, letting the words settle.

  “So continue your patience in guarding your tongue, your patience in your dealings with each other, and, most importantly, your patience in obeying and worshipping Allah. But in your obedience and worship, be patient with yourselves. Do not be too zealous, nor too lax. Find a middle ground for yourselves, and follow it. Remember, Allah loves good deeds done consistently, no matter how small they may appear to you.”

  After Jumu’ah, the congregation completed the supererogatory units of prayer, and as he did each Friday, the imam announced that someone had come to pronounce his shahaadah, the formal proclamation to enter Islam.

  Sarah finished her Sunnah prayer and returned to the back of the masjid where Kate sat on a folding chair. This time Sarah sat on a chair next to her sister instead of the carpeted floor in front of her. Their mother had come to Atlanta but had opted to remain in her hotel room during the Friday prayer service. Surprisingly, Justin had come to the sermon, and Sarah could see him through the crowd with his arms folded talking to someone who stood in front of him. A second later, she recognized the one talking to him as Abdur-Rahman, who stood next to his father, who was also participating in the conversation.

  The masjid grew quiet as the wireless microphone was handed to someone up front, and the sound of a brother reciting the shahaadah inspired the humble hanging of heads, curious stares, smiles of empathy, and tears filling eyes. Whoever it was, the young man was African-American, this Sarah could tell by the back of his head. She stood to get a better view, as did Kate. Sarah moved closer to find a place to stand, and by the time the brother finished, she felt the beginning of tears in her eyes.

  “Sister Sarah!”

  Sarah turned to see Tamika rushing toward her in excitement, more excited than she ever remembered her. Tamika greeted her mother-in-law with a quick hug, then tugged at her hand to guide her to the side of the masjid, where Latonya stood, next to her a girl and a toddler. “My sister came.” Tamika looked like a little kid, as her eyes sparkled, and grinned.

  Sarah recognized Latonya and her two children from the walimah, and shook her hand and rubbed the heads of the girl and boy.

  “And guess what?”

  “What?” Sarah said, smiling at Latonya who grinned back and shook her head at her sister’s childlike glee.

  “That was Tyrone.”

  Sarah creased her forehead. “Who?”

  “Tyrone,” Tamika said again, as if Sarah should know, “you know.”

  She looked at Latonya and the children before a flicker of realization crossed her mind. Oh, yes. The children’s father. A second later, her forehead creased again. “Who was Tyrone?”

  “The one who just took his shahaadah.”

  As the words gradually took meaning, she instinctively glanced toward the crowd up front that had gathered around the new brother.

  “Oh, mashaAllaah!” Sarah embraced Latonya just as the imam announced there was a sister who also wished to recite the testimony of faith. “Congratulations.”

  Latonya accepted the embrace but laughed heartily. “Thanks,” she said. “But I ain’t know nothin’ ‘bout it.”

  Sarah stared at Latonya with her brows furrowed. “You didn’t?”

  “I ain’t know ‘til Tamika came over here like she won the lottery.”

  “Oh, I’m sorry.”

  Latonya sucked her teeth and waved a hand. “Don’t e’en worry ‘bout it, ‘cause that’s what he need.” She laughed. “’Bout time he did somethin’ right.”

  Sarah laughed in discomfort.

  “I ain’t surprised though. After we drove down here last summer, all he talk about is Islam.” She made the sound of a humph. “But I like to see him live it ‘cause I sure ain’t—”

  “Shhhh.”

  They turned to see the contorted face of a woman, who was apparently disturbed at their rudeness for talking. It was then that Sarah heard the sound of the imam coaching the next person to enter Islam.

  “Ash-hadu,” he said.

  “Ash-hadu,” came the assured yet hesitant voice of a woman as she stumbled over the unfamiliar Arabic terms.

  “An laa.”

  “An laa…”

  Sarah couldn’t see through the crowd, but she didn’t want to miss this, especially on the women’s side. She discreetly squeezed through the standing onlookers until she found a small crowd gathered near where she had been sitting.

  “I bear witness.”

  “I bear witness,” came a voice so familiar that Sarah’s heart skipped a beat. Her heart pounded as she found Kate holding the microphone so close to her mouth that her nervousness was impossible to conceal.

  “That nothing has the right to be worshipped.”

  “That nothing has the right to be worshipped.”

  “Except Allah alone.”

  “Except Allah alone.”

  “And I bear witness.”

  “And I bear witness.”

  “That Prophet Muhammad is His last and final messenger.”

  “That Prophet Muhammad is His last and final messenger.”

  Someone took the microphone from Kate, whose eyes were so full of tears that the moment Sarah met them, the tears released from Kate’s eyes, the same moment they spilled from her big sister’s. As others hugged Kate, they kept their eyes locked, Kate averting her gaze only to smile back at someone. It was as if in slow motion that Sarah found her sister, and when she did, the crowd seemed to part for them. Sarah embraced her, and Kate her, and their cries were so heartfelt that only they could understand the depths of happiness they felt in the sounds.

  Aminah wore a sheer off-white veil over her face as she sat in the back of the capacious room that Faith and Ronald had once formally used to host cocktail parties. The guest list for the ceremony was considerably shorter than that of the walimah, whose hotel ballroom location could accommodate the hundreds of guests to attend the event.

  Aminah’s intricately henna-designed hands were covered in gloves the color of her veil, which matched her khimaar and wide sleeved abiya she wore over the dress that Faith had had designed and tailored especially for the occasion. The dress was a sea green with a hint of blue under the light, a color the designer had chosen to complement and accent Aminah’s eyes. Strapless, the dress was secured below her throat with a pendant that gave the illusion of a necklace of green fabric around her neck. The high-heel shoes that had been dyed to match the gown felt awkward on her feet, only because she was not used to wearing elegant shoes like these. But the shoes had been designed and fitted for her, so they were soft and comfortable.

  As the couple had requested, the elaborately decorated cages of Freddie and Freda and Charlie were up front on silk pi
llows atop small podiums raised before the guests, seemingly a unique embellishment to the room. Aminah and Abdur-Rahman, who sat between his father and Aminah’s, knew better, and they could sense the excitement of the birds and hamster as the wedding began.

  Imam Abdul-Quddus, in the kindness and mercy he had preached earlier, had kept his speech short, leaving the guests time to digest his words, as well as appreciate them, as they enjoyed hors d’oeuvres and drinks after the ceremony.

  Ismael expressed his agreement to giving his daughter to Abdur-Rahman, and Abdur-Rahman expressed his acceptance. Then the ceremony was over, and Aminah was relieved that she was spared greeting all the guests when her mother and Faith led her out of the room to the limousine that was waiting to take her and her husband to a bridal suite in the hotel in which the walimah would be held.

  Abdur-Rahman was already standing outside the limousine holding a bouquet of roses when Aminah arrived. Faith and Sarah returned to the house and left Aminah with her husband, who took her hand and led her to the limousine. The driver opened the door for them both, and Aminah climbed in followed by her husband. The driver closed the door and less than a minute later the vehicle was quietly in motion.

  Aminah was glad there was a partition in the vehicle, and she lifted her veil, marveling at the fancy comfort of their ride. Abdur-Rahman smiled at her and handed her the bouquet, and cheeks flushed, she accepted it.

  “You look unbelievable,” he said, staring at her as if he could not believe his eyes. A second later, his hand was gently atop her head as he recited the supplication that the Prophet had instructed to be said on the wedding night. Aminah was pleasantly surprised that he knew the Arabic, but then again, she should not have been surprised. Her husband was studious and sagacious.

  They held hands, enjoying the coziness of the ride and the seclusion in each other’s presence. When Abdur-Rahman tugged at her hand, she smiled and accepted, nestling next to him as he brought his arm around her, a warmth she enjoyed for the rest of the ride.