The Crazy Muslim Woman
Jacob bent his knees and held the basketball above his head, poised for a jump shot as he narrowed his eyes and focused on the rim, the net blowing gently in the late Monday afternoon breeze. He released the ball and watched as it hit the backboard then whirled around the metal rim, dipping slightly toward the basket then falling lazily off to the side. The thudding of the bouncing ball on the court was like an apology, a hesitant rhythm out of time with the thumping in his chest. Thoughts incessant and muddled, Jacob walked toward the ball as it rolled to a stop in the grass of his backyard aligning the pavement, and he reached forward to pick it up and try the shot again.
“I’d definitely marry Aliyah,” Jacob had said to Benjamin and Sayed as they chatted in the masjid lobby after Jumu’ah the Friday before Deanna’s nervous breakdown. “If she would have me. And now that it looks like it might not work out between her and Larry, I might start making some extra prayers,” Jacob said jokingly. “But my wife would kill me, so unless Aliyah agrees to be a secret second wife, I don’t think I’ll be so lucky.”
It had been a week since Deanna had come to the college and attacked Aliyah, and Jacob still couldn’t figure out how Deanna learned of that conversation after Friday prayers. Jacob’s first guess was that Sayed had talked to his wife who taught Qur’an classes to the women in the community, many of whom were Deanna’s friends. But according to Sayed, his wife wasn’t friends with any of the students except for Aliyah, and of course Aliyah wouldn’t have told Deanna even if the Qur’an teacher had told her. Was it possible that Benjamin had spoken to some brothers who might have told their wives? But that didn’t make any sense because Benjamin, an elder whom many community members went to for advice and marital mediation, was Aliyah’s uncle and was known for being prudent in not discussing Muslims’ personal issues.
Jacob dribbled the ball as he ran up the court then released the ball in a layup. There was a banging noise against the rim before the basketball fell into the basket, yanking the net back and forth. Jacob stepped forward and caught the ball before it hit the ground, enjoying the fleeting satisfaction of making a good shot. He bounced the ball on the pavement and decided to try a few shots from the three-point range as his mind settled on the only plausible explanation for his predicament: Someone had overheard the conversation while passing through the masjid lobby after Jumu’ah. That person could easily have been the husband of one of Deanna’s friends, or even Deanna herself or one of her friends.
When the sun was an orange glow at the horizon beyond the trees of his backyard, Jacob made one last three-point shot attempt then let the ball roll to a stop in the grass. Inside the house, he performed wudhoo’ in the bathroom then called his sons from their room to join him for Maghrib prayer.
“Allaahu’akbar! Allaahu’akbar!” Younus raised his voice as he called the adhaan for prayer. “Allaahu’akbar! Allaahu’akbar!” Thawab stood next to his older brother and mimicked the young muezzin’s words and motions.
The scene inspired a sad smile as Jacob wondered how his sons would adjust if he decided to divorce Deanna. They hadn’t seen their mother for seven days, and they seemed to be taking it well. They had asked only once where she was, and when Jacob told them she was visiting her parents, they didn’t ask again.
“Can I be the imam?” Younus asked after he finished the call to prayer.
“Of course,” Jacob said, smiling.
A proud grin twitched at Younus’s mouth as he stepped to the front of the living room as Jacob lined up next to Thawab.
“Can you do the iqaamah, little man?” Jacob said, rubbing Thawab’s head playfully.
Thawab nodded his head emphatically then began the formal announcement that prayer was about to begin. “Allaahu’akbar. Allaahu’akbar…”
***
“What do you think?” the comedian talk show host said to the three guests at the roundtable discussion. “Is the crazy Muslim woman suffering from a lack of faith in God, or simply a bad marriage?”
“Based on Dr. D.J. Bivens’s own expert opinion,” one of the female guests said, “I think it’s fair to say it’s a bit of both. Sources say the so-called marriage guru was attacking her husband’s mistress, so that counts for a bad marriage, don’t you think?” The host and the other guests chuckled in agreement. “And since she couldn’t keep her hands to herself like her peaceful religion teaches, that counts for godlessness, I think. Because, and I quote…” The guest smirked as she lifted a paper from the desk in front of her, a forefinger raised as she glanced at the camera then back at the paper. “… ‘Only people without a proper understanding of God and the sacred bond of marriage have serious problems in their lives and marriages.’”
A roar of laughter sounded from the set. “But seriously, Will,” the male guest said to the host, “I think this points to an underlying problem with religions in general. They teach holier-than-thou doctrines about God, peace, and love, but their followers turn out to be the most hypocritical, hateful human beings.”
“Whoa,” the host said, grinning. “Let’s talk more about that after a short break.” Humor was in his tone as he looked into the camera. “Don’t go anywhere because we’ll be right back with W-T-H. Will’s Truth Hour.”
Jacob groaned and lifted the remote toward the television as he stood and pressed the power button. His sons had fallen asleep, and though he dreaded the idea of walking into the college with all the judgmental eyes scrutinizing him, he had to go to work in the morning. So he needed to go to bed.
“Looking at this photo provided by the alleged mistress’s family,” the comedian had said earlier in the show as a picture of Aliyah appeared on the screen, “I can understand the wife’s rage. I mean, who’s the lucky guy that gets a woman like that?”
The photo was of Aliyah wearing a long, strapless form-fitting dress, heels, and dangling earrings. She sported a short natural hairstyle as she smiled, her head turned slightly away from the camera as if laughing at something off-screen. Rage had swept through Jacob when he saw the picture. It was one thing for the media to drag him and his wife through the mud for the sake of entertainment, but it was another thing entirely to bring Aliyah into this, even if they never mentioned her by name.
As Jacob settled under the covers in his bedroom, his heart ached at the thought of what Aliyah must be going through right then. Through no fault of her own, she was being accused of having an affair with a married man while pre-Islam photos from her high school and early college years were being posted and shared on the Internet. Though he saw her at work each day, Jacob had been unable to work up the nerve to actually stop by her office and talk to her directly. He was too ashamed of himself. He was barely making it through the workday himself. For two whole days, the hashtags #CrazyMuslimWoman and #HotMuslimMistress were trending on Twitter, the former directed as his wife, the latter at Aliyah.
And for what? Jacob thought angrily. It wasn’t like Jacob and Deanna were that well known in the media. Yes, Deanna had made a name for herself as a marriage counselor and relationship advice author, but neither she nor Jacob was famous by any stretch of the imagination. So the only thing that made this story newsworthy was that it involved practicing Muslims who were successful and well respected in their communities. Deanna’s actions merely offered fodder for the Islamophobic media to have yet another field day with Muslims.
Jacob found it particularly bothersome that one of the guests on WTH was from the publishing company that had released Deanna’s book, You Can Have Him All To Yourself, to which Jacob had written an introduction. This left Jacob wondering if all the media attention was being fueled by the publisher itself, perhaps in an underhanded attempt to increase book sales. “All attention is good attention,” one of Deanna’s agents had said after some bad reviews were posted online about the book.
“You can have him all to yourself, Dr. D.J.?” the host of WTH had taunted, intentionally making a pun with the title of Deanna’s book. “I guess not.”
Slowly, Jacob shut his eyes and recited Ayat al-Kursy, verse 255 in the second chapter of Qur’an, which was a prophetic custom before going to bed.
It was a blessing that final exams were starting, Jacob thought as he drifted to sleep. Soon no more classes would be in session, so he wouldn’t have to face his students much longer.
***
“I’m really sorry about all this,” Benjamin said as Aliyah sat across from him at the kitchen table in his home Friday evening, her expression distraught. “Val says your sister sold them the photos.”
Aliyah nodded absently, but she didn’t respond. For the past week, she felt as if she were walking in a daze. She had expected some passing mention of the incident in the local news since it had occurred on a college campus, but she would have never imagined that the story would gain national interest. And even so, wouldn’t it be Deanna (or Deanna and Jacob) that would provide the media sensation? After all, it was Deanna who was constantly in front of cameras practically rubbing it in everyone’s face that her religion and knowledge were superior to everyone else’s. But Aliyah was a nobody, so what was so fascinating about her? But this was the age of social media, Aliyah reminded herself. So she shouldn’t be surprised. The most insignificant events became newsworthy simply because they went viral online.
Aliyah drew in a deep breath and exhaled, trying to calm her agitation at the thought of her sister Cassandra sharing uncovered photos of her with the media. The news sites could not have paid more than a few hundred dollars for the pictures. The story simply wasn’t worth more. And that hurt most. How could her own sister sell her out for such a paltry return? Cassie didn’t need the money, so what was the point?
“Did Aunt Valerie say why she did it?” Aliyah said, finding her voice for the first time.
“You know Cassie,” Benjamin said, exhaustion in his voice. “She does anything for attention.”
Aliyah had never thought of her older sister in that way. Cassandra was constantly saying that Aliyah was the attention seeker. Cassandra had always been focused on her photography business more than anything else.
“Oh my God,” Aliyah said, a realization coming to her just then. “Cassie took all those pictures.”
Benjamin creased his forehead. “She did?”
“Yes. subhaanAllah.” Aliyah shook her head as if everything suddenly made sense. “I thought it was strange that she picked only good photos of me.”
“That’s right,” Benjamin said, nodding. “She has her own photography company now, doesn’t she?”
Photo credit: Cassie Studios, Aliyah recalled the caption just then. It had been beneath every photo posted of her online. “Yes.” Aliyah coughed laughter and folded her arms over her chest as she leaned back in her chair. “I can’t believe this.”
“That is something,” Benjamin said. “I’m going to ask Val to sit down and talk to her.”
Aliyah rolled her eyes. “Don’t waste your time. Cassie doesn’t have a moral compass unless it’s gold-plated and can be sold on eBay.”
Benjamin forced laughter, shaking his head. “May Allah guide her.”
“And all of them,” Aliyah added. “Ameen.”
There was an extended silence.
“Have you spoken to any of them recently?” Benjamin said. “Your Mom, Dad, or anyone?”
Aliyah sighed, sadness overcoming her. “No. They refuse all my calls and won’t let me visit.” She decided against mentioning the returned postcards. “I don’t know what else to do.”
“Maybe you can go visit with Val one day.”
The thought inspired anxiety. “They’ll probably just keep us both locked out.”
“Not if they don’t know you’re there.”
Aliyah felt a headache coming on. “I don’t know…”
“I know you have a lot going on, but I think your parents are worried about you.”
Benjamin didn’t say, “…now that they think you’re living as a mistress,” but Aliyah understood his meaning. She imagined she herself would be worried if she were in her parents’ shoes.
“They didn’t know about the pictures until they saw them posted online,” Benjamin said. “Val said they called her right away to ask what was going on.”
O Allah. Aliyah slapped a hand to her forehead. “I pray she told them it was all a lie.”
“She told them she didn’t think it was true,” Benjamin said. “And trust me, that holds more weight with them than telling them outright that it’s a lie.”
Aliyah nodded. She could understand that. After all, how could her aunt Valerie know whether or not the story was true? How could anybody, in fact?
Aliyah groaned. This was beyond humiliating. It took her last bit of energy to just wake up and get out of bed each day. She needed some time to clear her head, but she couldn’t take off work and stay home like she wanted to. She was already on thin ice for allowing a non-employee to have a key to her office. The lock to her office had been changed, as had Jacob’s, and the school had secured a restraining order against Deanna, but Aliyah knew the problem was far from over. She was already starting to wonder whether or not the college would renege on their full-time employment offer.
In the past, whenever Aliyah had gone through a difficult time at work or in her personal life, she sought refuge in the masjid. But with all the social media gossip about her and Jacob—in which many Muslims eagerly participated—she doubted she could ever show her face in the Muslim community again.
Like I said before, and I’ll say it again, Juwayriah had posted online, Married ladies! Dump your single girl friends! And whatever you do, DON’T help them get a job working with your husband. That ain’t charity. It’s STUPIDITY. If they need work, pay their bus fare and send them to the Welfare office. That’s charity! #MyTwoCents
That was the last Facebook status Aliyah had seen before she deleted the Facebook and Messenger apps on her phone. She didn’t want any more notifications about being tagged in someone’s post or photo or receiving yet another message from some career-building media person or some sick, deranged man looking for a “relationship” or a second, third, or fourth wife. Aliyah was tempted to disable her Facebook account entirely, but she knew it would only make matters worse. People would definitely see it as a sign of guilt.
Several online groups were already dedicated to discussing the #CrazyMuslimWoman and #HotMuslimMistress saga, and some of Aliyah’s Facebook “friends” actually tagged her to chime in. What do YOU think? was the most common discussion thread in Muslim circles, as if it made perfect Islamic sense to openly speculate on the guilt, chastity, and honor of someone just because the story was “in the news” or trending online. It was as if Aliyah wasn’t their fellow Muslim sister, or even a fellow human being.
Even during past discussions involving well-known media personalities like Bill Cosby, Aliyah had never participated. It just felt wrong. It was one thing to discuss an issue (like how to handle cases of date rape or what the statute of limitation should be for certain crimes), but it was another thing entirely to publicly declare your “opinion” on whether or not someone was guilty or innocent, or lying or telling the truth. Does Allah ever grant us that right? Aliyah wondered. She thought not. But destroying people’s honor had become so commonplace amongst Muslims that Aliyah was often left feeling that she should study more about her faith. Maybe there was a loophole for the soul’s accountability in front of Allah that she was unaware of.
Aliyah’s phone vibrated on the table in front of her, interrupting her thoughts. She reached for it and saw Nikki’s name on the screen. Aliyah groaned as she refused the call then put the phone in her purse. She couldn’t handle hearing the voice of Matt’s wife right then. It was bad enough dealing with relentless judgment and negativity from strangers. She doubted she had the strength to withstand it from people she knew personally. It incited too much self-doubt.
“I better go,” Aliyah said, standing as she looked at her wristwatch and pulled the straps of her handbag over her shoulder. “Nikki is probably dropping off Ibrahim now. I don’t want to keep her waiting.”
“Don’t let Ibrahim watch television this weekend,” Benjamin suggested, pushing his chair back and following his niece out the kitchen.
“I hope the story will be old news by then,” Aliyah said as she walked through the living room toward the front door. Her reputation was ruined, that was for sure, she thought sadly. She hoped her son would be spared the agony of hearing horrible things about his mother. She had no idea how to get herself through this, and she was a grown woman. What could she possibly say to a boy who was almost five? “I mean, how long can the media spend on a nobody?” Aliyah said, frustrated. “I think my fifteen minutes of fame are up.”
“They’ll keep it going as long as people show interest,” Benjamin said. “Unfortunately, turning a hijabi Muslim woman into eye candy can go a long way in today’s world.”
“Well, the good news is,” Aliyah said, sad humor in her voice, “you don’t have to worry about finding me a husband anymore. At this rate, no good brothers will want to marry me.”
“I don’t think that’s true.”
“I do,” Aliyah said as she knelt to put on her shoes. “Who wants to marry a whore?”
“Aliyah, please don’t talk about yourself like that.”
“Well, that’s what the media is saying.”
“That doesn’t mean you have to say it.”
“Me not saying it doesn’t stop it from being said.” She shrugged, feeling choked up all of a sudden. “Even Muslims seem to agree on the whore part.”
“It stops you from saying it,” Benjamin said. “And that’s all that matters.”
Aliyah grunted as she stood upright, resisting the urge to break down. “If only that were true.”
The look of sadness on her uncle’s face made Aliyah wish she could take back the comment. She averted her gaze from him as she unlocked the door to let herself out.
“I’m praying for you, Ally,” Benjamin said as she stepped out the door. “In all my prayers.”
“Thank you,” she muttered sincerely. “I really appreciate it.”
“Keep your head up, pumpkin,” she heard him say as she walked toward her car. “We’ll get through this insha’Allah.”
Aliyah nodded, but she wasn’t so sure. She was starting to wonder if it even mattered whether or not she got through this. What did she have to look forward to anyway?
In her car, she glanced at her phone and frowned when she saw that, other than Nikki, no one had called or texted. Or more precisely, Larry hadn’t called or texted. Though it was probably a stupid idea, Aliyah had reached out to Larry several times that week, saying she was thinking about him and wanted to know if he wanted to get together some time. In the midst of the public character assassination, Aliyah had begun to appreciate the comfort she’d found in Larry, and she missed him terribly. If she could just hear his comforting and supportive voice, she imagined she could weather this storm. But he hadn’t returned any of her calls, texts, or emails, and Aliyah was beginning to feel ashamed for reaching out to him at all.
What did you expect? she said to herself. Larry probably thinks the rumors are true.
The possibility that Larry himself would believe the lies cut deep, and Aliyah wondered if it were possible to feel any lonelier, more pathetic, or regretful than she felt right then.
***
Crazy Muslim Woman Gate: Is There a Silver Lining?
Jacob sat at the desk in his home office late Friday night, staring indecisively at the title of the article published on a popular Muslim blog. Younus and Thawab had gone to sleep a few hours before, and Deanna was still at her parents’ house (as she had been since being released from the holding cell after Aliyah and the college declined to press charges, though both had secured restraining orders against her). This was Jacob’s much-coveted quiet time, and he wondered if it was wise to spend it reading anything related to the source of his troubles. But this was a reputable Muslim site, he reasoned, so hopefully they had more integrity than the secular media (and the social media of Muslims on Facebook and Twitter). News sites and social media had spared nothing in making his wife look like a raving maniac, him like a sex-hungry Muslim man, and Aliyah like a sleazy seducer—and all of them “crazies” who represented “true Islam” or sullied its image (depending on the individual perspective).
It is heartbreaking to learn that one of our respected Muslim personalities assaulted another Muslim and had to be, according to witnesses, physically restrained from harming her further, the blog said. Though I don’t agree with the label “crazy” that the media has given our Muslim sister, I think this description brings to light a very important issue that the Muslim community has ignored for far too long: mental illness. I’m not saying that Dr. Deanna Janice Bivens is mentally ill, and I definitely don’t want to speculate on the veracity of the rumors of any adulterous affair between Dr. Bivens’s husband and his coworker, who was also Dr. Bivens’s best friend. But regardless of whether or not either is the case, what Dr. Bivens did, coupled with her Facebook posts preceding the attack, was wrong and suggests that she was, at least temporarily, not in her best state of mind.
Jacob grunted. This person is a genius, he thought in bitter sarcasm.
It is unfortunate that our religious communities generally sweep psychological problems under the rug or view them as indicative of someone’s lacking faith. However, the truth is, there are many reasons for psychological distress, whether short-term in the form of temporary depression or a nervous breakdown, or long-term in the form of clinical depression or lasting mental illness; and amongst the major factors contributing to psychological distress and disorders are unresolved personal problems and childhood abuse, especially when—
Jacob exited the website and decided it probably wasn’t the best idea to read the blog. It was difficult to be talked about in the third person, as if he and his wife weren’t living, breathing human beings who deserved privacy and respect like everyone else.
I definitely don’t want to speculate on the veracity of the rumors of any adulterous affair, the writer had said.
Then why mention it at all? Jacob wondered. Why couldn’t you just focus on the “crazy Muslim woman” gate, as your title suggested? In all of this, it was only Deanna who was guilty of public wrongdoing, so it was understandable that her name would be mentioned. But why not leave Aliyah out of it? With all the media sites having a field day calling her Jacob’s “whore” mistress, why couldn’t at least one reputable Muslim source take the higher ground? Aliyah deserved at least that small kindness from fellow Muslims, didn’t she?
Aliyah.
The thought of her made Jacob’s chest constrict in anxiety. He wondered how she was holding up. He saw her in passing at work, but she wouldn’t even look at him. And he couldn’t blame her. He couldn’t imagine what she thought of him now. She probably had no idea how any of this madness got started, and he didn’t have the words or heart to tell her the truth.
I wanted to marry you, Aliyah, he could say. And if you had accepted me, I would have rushed to marry you, even if it drove my wife crazy.
In his mind’s eye, Jacob saw Aliyah smiling, her head turned from the camera as she laughed at something Jacob was saying off-screen. Of course, he had never met Aliyah at the time the picture was taken, but he still liked to think of himself as the source of joy in her life, even back then.
But he could never say that out loud. It was bad enough that Larry was barely speaking to him in the midst of all this, and he didn’t know what to tell his brother. Jacob didn’t want Larry to know what he’d said to Benjamin and Sayed after Jumu’ah that day. Jacob was still holding on to the hope that the media fascination with the “crazy Muslim woman” would wear off soon so he could go on with his life.
But was that even possible? Jacob wondered. He hadn’t called or spoken to Deanna in more than a week, and he didn’t want to. Right then, he couldn’t stomach the sight of her, much less the sound of her voice or her presence. How then could he resume life as usual, even if this public saga died down?
“She needs professional help,” Benjamin had said after Jacob explained what had led his wife to physically assault Aliyah. Jacob hadn’t wanted to divulge what happened to Deanna when she was eight years old, but the media had already leaked rumors about it (one of the only rumors that turned out to be actually true). Aliyah herself had already told her uncle that Deanna kept mentioning some “Bailey” person that day. So Jacob felt obligated to give Aliyah’s uncle a full understanding of what was going on, especially since his family was being directly affected.
Yes, I know she needs help, Jacob had thought. He had said the same to Deanna herself on several occasions. “You can’t keep all that stuff bottled up inside,” he would say. “It will kill you.”
“I’m fine,” she’d snap. “You’re the only one who can’t seem to get over the past. Maybe you should get professional help.”
“Then at least go to the masjid more often,” he suggested, intentionally ignoring her insult. “Study Qur’an or tafseer or something.”
“I don’t need to study Qur’an,” she’d say. “I’m living it.”
Jacob pushed back his swivel chair and stood. He was worried about Deanna, this he couldn’t deny, no matter how hard he tried to put his mind on other things. But he was at a loss for what to do. After more than eleven years of marriage, he was exhausted. He wanted to be a support for his wife during this difficult time, but like Deanna herself had said, he could use professional help himself. Months ago, it had been a desire for an expert perspective on his own troubles that had inspired him to make the one and a half-hour drive to see Dr. Melanie Goldstein.
Though Jacob had no childhood trauma that he was suppressing, he had years of marital trauma that he needed help understanding. He still cared about his wife and probably always would, but this recent incident sapped the last bit of marital patience from his chest. Yes, marriage was about support and compromise, but there was only so far the human heart could extend itself for someone else’s sake. Jacob feared that he was at the end of his rope.
“I should’ve never married you!” Deanna had said the night before she attacked Aliyah. “You’re nothing like I thought you were!”
Psychological distress or not, Deanna should not speak to her husband like that, Jacob felt. Had it been the first time or under different circumstances, Jacob probably could have overlooked the outburst. But how many verbal insults and physical threats was he supposed to take in the name of patience and compromise? She hung divorce over his head like a taunt, and he never knew whether she was speaking in anger or earnest. The slightest offense set her off. Meanwhile, she said and did things that, had they come from him, would be viewed as oppressive and abusive.
“I want to help other women,” she often said in books and interviews.
Help them what? Jacob was often left wondering. Manipulate and abuse their husbands before their husbands can manipulate and abuse them?
But apparently his desire to marry Aliyah was the ultimate affront. Jacob understood how the prospect of polygyny could send any woman over the edge, but in his case, it hadn’t even been a prospect. It had been a hypothetical. Deanna herself talked openly about men she would (hypothetically) marry if she weren’t married to Jacob. And she’d say this to Jacob himself. At least Jacob had the decency to speak his thoughts aloud to friends, not to his wife. How did Deanna think it made him feel to hear his wife talk about desiring to marry one of his friends? Yet she goes ballistic after hearing about him having the same conversation?
“We like to see you all get jealous,” Deanna had said once, explaining the psychology of women talking about other men to their husbands. “We need to know you appreciate what you have.” She’d laughed then added, “We like to see you squirm.”
Why then hadn’t Deanna laughed it off when she learned of his thoughts about Aliyah? Why couldn’t she view her jealousy and “squirming” as merely signs that she appreciated her husband? But that’s how it always was with Deanna. She made the rules, and he had to play by them, even as they oddly and consistently leaned in her favor.
No, he couldn’t live with Deanna another day, Jacob realized. Maybe he would never be able to marry Aliyah, the woman he’d wanted to marry all along, but that didn’t mean he should live in misery for the rest of his life. He imagined that being single was better than remaining in this heart-wrenching marriage.
Jacob’s only hesitation in going forward with a divorce was the thought of his sons being from a broken home. But, as he heard relationship experts say, It’s better to be from a broken home than in one.
Then again, maybe this line of thinking was merely a trap of Shaytaan, Satan trying to destroy his life.
Jacob sighed and ran a hand over his face in confused exhaustion. It was time to get advice from Muslims he trusted then turn to Allah for guidance and direction through Istikhaarah, the prayer and supplication made when making a decision. Because he needed to make a decision.
***
“You should see this,” Reem said Sunday evening as she sat on the couch in Aliyah’s living room. Reem had stopped by earlier to teach Qur’an and exercise, and now she was chatting with Aliyah before heading home. Nikki had picked up Ibrahim a half hour before, so Aliyah was able to relax and spend time with Reem without feeling as if she had to divide her time between her friend and her son.
Aliyah’s heart dropped in dread when Reem turned her laptop toward Aliyah. “What is it?” Aliyah said.
“Just read it.”
Aliyah shook her head, already feeling the beginning of a headache. “I can’t deal with any more surprises. If it’s bad, just tell me.”
“Then I’ll read it to you,” Reem said.
“Okay.” Aliyah exhaled the word, wishing Reem would leave the public saga alone. Reem was Aliyah’s only friend these days, and Aliyah didn’t want the constant reminder of all she’d lost during the #CrazyMuslimWoman and #HotMuslimMistress drama.
“It’s a status Nicole posted yesterday.”
Aliyah clenched her jaw and crossed her arms over her chest. Aliyah knew that Nikki didn’t like her, but as pathetic as it sounded, Aliyah was grateful that Nikki’s disdain was at least due to an actual problem that had occurred between them. Why couldn’t Nikki stay out of the public scrutiny on the unknown? Nikki had absolutely no idea what was going on, so couldn’t she just keep her mouth shut?
“I’m sure all of you have heard the rumors about my husband’s ex-wife and Brother Jacob,” Reem read aloud.
Aliyah grunted and rolled her eyes, angry frustration building inside her.
“And some of you have posted Facebook statuses about home wreckers and dumping single and divorced women as friends. You know who you are,” Reem continued. “And though I hate getting involved in these stupid discussions, I have a few things I want to say. I haven’t been Muslim long, but I must say I’m grateful that Allah chose Aliyah, Ally Thomas, to be the one who helped open my heart to His religion. I was going through a lot during the time we met, and she’ll probably never know just how much she helped me face each day. Those phone calls, coffee dates, and woman-to-woman talks kept me from literally breaking down. I was suffering from depression, and seeing a text or email from her checking on me or sharing a verse from the Qur’an or hadith from the Prophet, peace be upon him, really lifted my spirits. She taught me the meaning of real sisterhood and love for the sake of Allah. And yes, she even welcomed me as a SECOND WIFE to her husband. You can think what you want about what happened between us, but I’m going to tell you what I KNOW happened: Allah brought Aliyah into my life because He wanted to show me the beauty of Islam. And, sorry if my words offend, but this is the truth: Sisters, after reading your posts and listening to your gossip and tale-carrying, I thank Allah I met that sister before I met any of you! I might have run away from Islam if I was exposed to your ugliness during that time. So as for all the gossip, slander, and foolishness you guys are spreading about our Muslim sister, I say this: Fear Allah! I swear by Allah, I only know good of that woman. And I would be honored if Allah blesses me with even half the knowledge, dignity, and faith she shows each day. And I pray that Allah blesses her in this life and the next for all the good she’s done for me, her son, and yes, even MY HUSBAND, mashaAllah. And for those who still can’t shut up about something you know NOTHING ABOUT, I leave you with the words of Allah in hopes that you have at least *some* concern about your souls on the Day of Judgment: ‘Behold, you received it on your tongues, and said out of your mouths things of which you had no knowledge; and you thought it to be a light matter, while it was most serious in the sight of Allah’ (24:15).”
The tears slipped down Aliyah’s cheeks, and she covered her face with her hands as her shoulders shook. SubhaanAllah, she thought, overcome with emotion. You really never knew where the blessings of Allah would come from.