“I’m not looking forward to this.” Tamika carefully applied mascara to her eyes in front of the full length mirror affixed to the door of her bedroom. It was an hour after sunset, and they were still exhausted from the graduation that morning. Thankfully, Sulayman and Tamika had been excused from going to the restaurant for brunch with the family, since they had a lot to do before tonight.
“I’m not either.” Sulayman pulled on his black dress socks from where he sat on the edge of their bed behind Tamika, enabling him to talk to her reflection.
“You talked to your family?” he asked after a second’s thought.
“Mm hm. They called yesterday from the hotel.”
“Who came?”
“From Milwaukee, Aunt Jackie and my mom. I saw them at the graduation. I wanted to introduce you, but that was before we found each other.”
“None of your cousins came?”
Tamika shook her head as she returned the top to the mascara and secured it. “Only Ayanna.” A smile crept on one side of her mouth. “She had nothing better to do.”
Sulayman laughed. “Curiosity then?”
His wife nodded as she set the mascara case on the night stand next to the bed. “Mostly.”
“Your brother and sister?”
“I haven’t heard from Latonya. She should’ve gotten in late last night. But I didn’t see her this morning. I doubt Philip is with her though. He’s hard to catch up with. But I’m sure he would’ve refused to ride all the way from Chicago. With a paid plane ticket, he might consider.”
Tamika ran her fingers through her permed hair. Her hairdresser had styled it that morning and neatly trimmed it in a wrap so that the hair fell down the back of her neck and reached around until the rest rested against one collarbone. The hair dresser had already done Tamika’s makeup, but Tamika wanted to reapply some fresh mascara and lipstick before they left for the banquet hall.
“The way you describe them, it’s hard to believe they’re twins.”
“Fraternal.”
“Well, that’s obvious.”
They both laughed.
“I’m sure she would’ve brought Tyrone along though. I hope so anyway. I want to see Nikki and Tareq.”
“You think she would’ve left Tyrone to babysit?”
Tamika grinned as she found the lipstick she wanted and returned to the mirror before removing the cap. “I wouldn’t put it past her.”
Sulayman stood and examined his black dress pants to make sure he hadn’t wrinkled them while sitting. “Hopefully I’ll get a chance to do da’wah.”
“To Tyrone?”
“And Philip.” He buttoned his white dress shirt and left the top button. “If my uncle came, maybe him too.”
Tamika raised her eyebrows from where she applied lipstick in the mirror. “That should be interesting.”
“You never know.”
She nodded as she puckered her lips then rubbed them together to distribute the maroon color evenly. “That’s true. It’s just that I can’t imagine your aunt or uncle Muslim. Of course, I never met your uncle Justin, but Kate—”
“Yeah, she has a lot to overcome.”
“Can you imagine what she would do about her job? A news anchor? SubhaanAllaah.”
“I think about that sometimes. But I think it’s beginning to run her down.”
“You think?”
“A career can only do so much for you.” He picked up a brush and groomed the shadow of hair on his head then his beard. “I figure at a certain point, you have to want something more from life. She’s not getting any younger.”
“Your grandmother would have a heart attack.”
Sulayman laughed. “Yes, she would. She’s still holding on to the belief that my mother is going through a phase. And she’s been Muslim for over twenty years.”
“I just hope she doesn’t pass out when she finds out the men and women are having separate parties.”
He grinned. “That should be interesting. But I don’t think my grandmother was able to come. She was sick, and, last I heard, her doctor advised her not to travel.”
There was a long pause. “You think your mother warned them about the separation? Your aunt and uncle, I mean.”
He shook his head. “Why should she? We shouldn’t have to explain ourselves. But I’m sure Kate already knows. She’s been helping Mom plan the whole event.”
Tamika sighed. “I told my family. But I think Tonya expected that. My mom just got quiet when I told her.”
“It shouldn’t make too much of a difference. The men and women will be in the same building. It’s not like they have to drive to two different places.”
Tamika toyed with the cap of the lipstick and studied it as she twisted it back and forth. “This is new for me too. It feels weird.” She felt her husband studying her reflection from where he stood. Seconds later she felt Sulayman behind her until he brushed against her, obstructing the reflection of the rest of the room. He placed both hands on her shoulders and smiled as their eyes met in the mirror.
“Have I told you how beautiful you are?”
She laughed beside herself. “Yes.”
“Well, I’m telling you again.”
He leaned over her shoulder and pressed his cheek against hers. Seeing their faces side by side always amazed Tamika. Her honey brown skin and almond colored eyes and his light russet tone and emerald green eyes. It often made her smile. Such an odd pair, and a perfect match.
“What are you thinking?” Tamika said.
“I’m remembering your face when I came into the imam’s office that day when you thought you were meeting Omar.”
She grinned. “You still remember?”
“I’ll never forget.”
“Why?”
“Because I was scared I’d lose you.”
Tamika shut her eyes momentarily and rested her hand on his opposite cheek, the coarse hair of his beard tickling her fingers as she pulled his face closer to hers. “I never knew you even knew my name.”
“I knew your name long before that. And I wanted to marry you then.”
“You’re lying.” Her eyes accused him playfully.
“When I saw you for the first time, SubhaanAllaah, I never knew a women could be so beautiful.”
“I wasn’t even Muslim then,” she said with a smile.
“You were still beautiful.”
“Were you really scared?”
“Of course I was. That’s why I told Imam Abdul-Quddus not to tell you who you were meeting. I thought maybe you wanted to marry Omar.”
Tamika laughed and shook her head. “I didn’t. But I had convinced myself that I should. Because I thought I’d never be able to marry you.” She released his face, and they turned to face each other.
“I don’t know what I would’ve done had you not argued with Aminah about letting me marry Aidah.”
She lowered her gaze and shook her head, but she was still smiling. “I hate myself for doing that.”
“I’m glad you did.”
“It wasn’t Aminah’s fault. I should’ve called you to apologize for getting upset instead of letting the rest of the year pass. It only made sense for you to reconsider Aidah. I’d cut off everything between us.”
They walked over to the bed and sat next to each other, and Sulayman took her hand. “You don’t know how bad I felt for going to Milwaukee without telling you.”
Tamika shook her head, toying with the lipstick case in her free hand. “And I can’t believe how upset I was at you for going. I felt like a fool when my aunt said you were right for coming.”
“No, I wasn’t right. Allah was just merciful.”
“You were right. It even made Aunt Jackie question her faith. She didn’t know anything about Islam before you talked to them.
“Did I tell you about the dream my mom had in the hospital?”
Sulayman nodded. “She called me your husband.”
“SubhaanAllaah. When I was reciting Qur’an next to her, she thought it was the most beautiful song she ever heard.”
He shook his head. “SubhaanAllaah.”
“And she wasn’t even awake.”
“May Allah guide her.”
“Ameen.”
Sarah glanced at her watch as she took a sip from the party glass filled with sparkling apple juice that the hostesses were refilling at the tables. Tamika and Sulayman should be arriving any minute. Sarah had made sure everything was in place. Nusaybah was waiting in the dressing room connected to the women’s section of the banquet facility. Nusaybah had already done Tamika’s hair and make up that morning, but she would touch up Tamika before the guest of honor took her seat at the main table that was on a raised platform at the front of the hall. The dressing room was connected to the hall by a door that opened to the platform steps so that Tamika could emerge to her place without using the main doors at the back. A microphone was set up in front of the platform, and Khadijah, who would sing a song, sat at her table in the front on the far right of the platform.
Sarah resisted checking with Nusaybah to see if Tamika had arrived. She had just checked ten minutes ago. To pass time, Sarah had introduced herself to Tamika’s family and chatted with them at their table that was next to her family’s. Tamika’s aunt and mother were nice enough, but Sarah couldn’t relax in their presence. She was unable to shake the feeling that she was being judged. Sarah had no idea how much they knew about her, but she thought she sensed their surprise upon seeing her. Whether it was that she was White or that she was actually normal and Muslim at the same time, she had no idea. Often it was a mixture of both with people. If the person had known Ismael before meeting her, they always seemed a bit taken aback by her race. In the beginning, she would request that Ismael let them know beforehand that his wife wasn’t Black too. But he refused, perhaps because he was offended that she assumed his friends’ wives would be so superficial. Where they lived, and elsewhere for that matter, most of the Muslims who were indigenous Americans were Black, Ismael would remind her. So their shock, if related to her race at all, had more to do with meeting a White Muslim than the fact that he had married one.
“Sister Sarah?”
Sarah turned from where she was sitting and met the eyes of a strikingly beautiful woman whose face was vaguely familiar to her. Sarah smiled and creased her forehead as she searched the features to recall who the woman was. It wasn’t uncommon for it to take a moment to recognize a close friend at formal parties. Most Muslim women covered in Islamic garb outside their home, so it was normal to never see more than the face and hands of even friends unless they had the opportunity to visit while the husband wasn’t there, or at least in a part of the house where men wouldn’t pass.
Sarah shook her head, apologizing with her eyes and smile. Because the woman had prefaced Sarah’s name with Sister, Sarah imagined she could be a friend of Tamika’s or Aminah’s. Sarah’s peers generally referred to her by her first name.
“Alika Mitchell.”
“Ah!” Laughing in recognition, Sarah stood and embraced her. Alika had recited the shahaadah at the masjid recently. Seeing the new Muslim’s eyes fill with tears that day as she recited the testimony of faith to enter Islam made tears well in her own, reminding Sarah of her own conversion. Eyes still wet with tears, Sarah had embraced her new sister in Islam and introduced herself. They exchanged numbers, but Sarah had been so busy with the walimah preparations that she hadn’t found the opportunity to call. She was glad Aminah or Tamika had thought to give Alika an invitation because Sarah certainly hadn’t remembered. “As-salaamu’alaikum.”
“Wa’alaiku-mus-salaam.”
“From Nigeria, right?”
Alika smiled. “My grandmother is. But the rest of my family’s American.”
Sarah nodded. “I remember you telling me that.” She shook her head, still smiling. “How long has it been?”
Alika narrowed her eyes as she tried to recall. “It’ll be four months in a week.”
“MashaAllaah. How has it been?”
Alika’s smile grew broad, revealing a perfect set of white teeth, accented by deep burgundy lipstick. She lifted her bare shoulders and held them in that position momentarily, unsure what to say. Two thin burgundy spaghetti straps revealed smooth antique bronze skin, accented by the 22-karat gold necklace that dipped just below her throat. Matching cone-shaped earrings dangled from her ears, and Sarah could only stare. Alika’s eyes were luminous ebony and emanated kindness and profundity. Her hair was a mass of tight curls ducking and reaching until their thickness stood as a soft and beautiful Afro that exuded a self-pride softened only by the delicate features of her face. Sarah could hardly believe this was the same young woman whom she’d met after Jumu’ah months before.
“Mm, okay.”
“You feel overwhelmed?” Sarah said jokingly, pulling out a chair in an invitation for the woman to take a seat.
Sitting down, Alika nodded. “A little.”
“I’m sorry I haven’t been much help,” Sarah said as she sat back down. “I’ve been so distracted.”
“It’s okay. I understand.”
“You meet a lot of people?”
“Not really. But Nusaybah has been helping me a lot.”
“Oh, mashaAllaah, you met.”
Alika nodded. “I stayed with her for a couple of weeks to—”
“Is everything okay?” Sarah’s forehead creased in concern.
Alika laughed and waved a hand. “Yes, everything’s fine. I was just staying with her to learn the prayers.”
“Oh, mashaAllaah.”
“I’ve been really busy, but I didn’t want to procrastinate too much. I felt bad just going through the motions.” She laughed. “Literally.”
“You’re in school?”
She nodded. “Doing my master’s.”
“Your masters? You look so young.”
“I’m twenty seven.”
Sarah raised her eyebrows and shook her head. “You could pass for nineteen.”
Alika smiled and nodded, apparently accustomed to the comment. “This is actually my second master’s.”
“Really?”
“I did my first in education. Now I’m doing multicultural studies.”
“Sounds interesting. What did you study for undergrad?”
“History.”
“Think you might go for your doctorate?”
Alika’s eyes widened playfully, but before she could respond a hushed silence filled the room, and Sarah and Alika turned to see Tamika taking her seat before the crowd. On cue, Khadijah began to sing, and the guests sat speechless, entranced both by Khadijah’s voice and Tamika’s astonishing appearance. The lights dimmed until only Tamika and Khadijah could be seen. Tamika smiled nervously, unsure what to do with the spotlight on her. Someone caught Tamika’s eye and she waved her hand for them to sit next to her, apparently for moral support. A moment later Aminah and Zahra took seats on either side of Tamika, and Tamika seemed to relax.
After the song, Aminah and Zahra said something to Tamika and left the podium. A minute later, they accompanied Tamika’s aunt and mother to the seats, which in Sarah’s estimation was a good call. Tamika’s aunt and mother beamed with pride that revealed itself through their dignified smiles, controlled only by their lips pressed together to stifle the grins that sought release.
Sarah saw Kate whiz by, giving instructions to each of the hostesses, who nodded and disappeared into the kitchen then emerged with plates to serve the guests. Sarah smiled. Her sister was definitely one to take charge. Although she felt indebted to Kate for all her help, Sarah doubted Kate would have been able to sit still as a mere guest. For one, it wasn’t her personality. And she was definitely out of her element. Surrounded by only women, Kate didn’t know how to behave in a formal dress. She was used to dancing and meeting prospects. Today she would have to settle for just being Kate, the aunt. It made Sarah stifle a laugh at the thought.
When Kate appeared breathless at her side a minute later, Sarah was startled, having not seen her sister next to her until she heard her sigh. “God, I’m beat.” Kate took a sip of the untouched apple juice at the place next to Sarah.
“I’m Alika.”
“Kate.” They shook hands, reaching over the space in front of Sarah.
“I’m sorry.” Sarah shook her head, apologizing for not introducing them. “This is my sister.”
“How long have you been Muslim?” Alika said.
Kate laughed. “Me? I haven’t converted yet.”
Sarah caught the word yet and grinned at her sister, but apparently Kate didn’t realize what she had said, at least not the implications of it.
“Oh, I’m sorry. I thought—”
“It’s okay.” Kate waved her hand. “I’ve given many wrong impressions in my life. Trust me, I’m flattered by that one.”
Sarah laughed to herself, understanding the hidden truth behind what Kate had left unsaid.
“What about you?” Kate asked.
“Four months.”
“Wow. You’re brave.”
Alika laughed. “No, I’m scared to death actually. That’s why I became Muslim.”
“Interesting way of putting it,” Kate said with a shrug, her eyes tracing the ballroom momentarily. “But I know what you mean.”
Sarah stared at her sister. “I would’ve never guessed.”
“Everybody’s scared,” Kate said to her sister with a forced smile. “Even me.” She tapped a neatly polished nail against her glass then turned her attention back to Alika. “Your family doesn’t mind?”
Alika smiled and drew in a deep breath before exhaling. “They don’t know yet.”
“How do you manage to hide it from them?”
“My parents live in Maryland.”
“You’re on your own?” Kate sounded surprised.
“She’s twenty seven,” Sarah said.
“Wow. I’d have sworn you were in high school.”
Alika laughed.
“You married?” Kate asked.
Alika shook her head.
“Join the club.”
Sarah thought of the Syrian man Kate had wanted to marry, and she wondered what had become of him.
“But I’m working on it,” Kate said.
Alika smiled.
“You?”
She shook her head, a pleasant smile still on her face. “I’m still getting used to the whole settle-down thing.”
“Well, you’ve come to the right place. Muslims have an easier time getting married it seems. At least that’s what Sarah tells me.”
Sarah stared at her sister on the verge of laughter. “I never said anything like that.”
“Maybe not. But I can see it all the same.”
She shook her head at Kate.
“Maybe it’s because they double up.”
Alika seemed taken aback by the comment, but she held her smile. “Double up?”
Sarah’s cheeks grew warm, and she tried to think of a way to quiet her sister. Kate had no idea that polygamy wasn’t the best topic of discussion for a new Muslim. Most likely, Alika had read about it, but for the most part, it remained a matter of theoretical acceptance for most American Muslims. Including Sarah.
“Polygamy.”
Alika blinked, a chuckle of uncertainty escaping with that motion, apparently finding Kate more amusing than her topic of conversation.
“It’s not that common,” Sarah said quickly, her voice on the edge of laughter that she hoped undermined, if not ridiculed, Kate’s statement.
“More common than where I’m from.”
Alika only nodded, unsure how to take Kate.
“Should be made legal if you ask me,” Kate said with a laugh and Sarah cringed. Ever since Kate had met the Syrian who worked with her at the television station, Kate imagined she wouldn’t mind polygamy after all, if it meant she could be with him. It had been a disappointment for Sarah’s sister to find out he was married because Kate swore he was the one for her. Of course, Kate didn’t know he was Muslim until he told her some time after they were working on an assignment together.
“What do you think?” Kate said, taking another sip of juice.
Alika smiled, but she shrugged, revealing a discomfort that, evidently, only Sarah was aware of. “If God allows it, then I suppose it only makes sense to make it legal.”
“You American?”
“Yes.” She seemed to hesitate, unsure of the relevance the question held. “But my grandmother’s from Nigeria.”
“So you know what I mean.”
Alika nodded slowly. “It’s common there,” she said with reluctance, growing more uncomfortable with the discussion. She glanced around the room, and Sarah could tell that Alika was offended.
“Boy how I’d love to live there.”
Sarah felt herself getting upset. She wished Kate would shut up. She knew Kate didn’t mean any of what she was saying. If the Syrian man had been single, she would’ve thought polygamy the most backward institution in the modern world.
“Kate,” Sarah said, nudging her sister. She hoped Kate would catch the hint without an explanation. But it was too late. Alika had stood, now excusing herself from their company.
She extended her hand to Sarah then Kate. “It was nice meeting you.”
“You too,” Kate said, still cheerful, oblivious to the harm she’d done.
“You too,” Sarah said barely above a whisper, too ashamed to look Alika in the eye.
“So you, uh,” Justin coughed, bringing a loose fist to his mouth to cover it, “bring these animals wherever you go.”
“Whenever I can,” Abdur-Rahman said, tapping lightly on the birdcage that sat perched on his lap at a guest table near the back of the men’s ballroom. One of the birds turned and flew to where Abdur-Rahman was wedging his finger inside. He smiled as his pet seemed to nibble at his finger with its beak. “But I only bring Freddie and Freda to events like these. Charlie doesn’t like ‘em too much.”
“Charlie?”
“My hamster.”
Justin nodded, glancing around the room, rolling his empty glass between his hands. He saw Sulayman shaking the hands of some of the guests and embracing others as he made his way around the room. He couldn’t get over his nephew’s beard. It seemed so awkward and unbecoming of a boy so young. He didn’t understand Sarah. Could she really be serious about all this? He had tried to find her earlier, but a man, who apparently was a security guard of some sort, told him he couldn’t go past the bathrooms at the end of the hall. That was the women’s section.
“Is there any religious significance to the birds?”
Abdur-Rahman laughed but continued to play with the bird, moving his finger to different parts of the cage, his pet following in apparent enjoyment. He smiled and shook his head playfully at the bird, his hair moving slightly with the motion. He leaned forward so he could be in its full view. “To me there is.”
“How’s that?”
“Islam teaches kind treatment to all creatures.”
“How is that different from any other religion?” Justin raised an eyebrow as he studied Abdur-Rahman laughing and playing with his pets.
“It’s more specific and detailed in Islam.”
Justin tucked his lower lip and nodded, toying with his glass again. He lifted his arm and bent it to look at his Rolex. He wondered how much longer he should be polite before making up some excuse to go. He would rather be with Kate, though he doubted she would bore him any less. He looked up and saw Sulayman greeting a group of men three tables away. He wondered if Sulayman would feel obligated to sit with him. He hoped not. Justin had no idea what he would say to his sister’s son. He barely knew the young man. And that’s how he liked it. If Kate and his mother hadn’t pressed him to come, he would be home with his wife and children right then.
“You American originally?” Justin asked, relieved that Abdur-Rahman had stopped, at least momentarily, playing with the birds.
“I converted three years ago.”
Justin gathered his dark eyebrows in surprise. “But your name is Islamic.”
Abdur-Rahman placed the cage on the empty seat next to him. “Real name’s Theodore. But my family and friends call me Teddy.”
“Why’d you convert?”
“Because it’s true.”
Justin’s eyes narrowed in confusion. “What’s true?”
“The religion.”
He shrugged and sighed of boredom. “All of ‘em are.”
Abdur-Rahman folded his arms across his chest and chuckled, apparently enjoying a private joke. It made Justin uncomfortable. “Not possible.”
“Son, people believe what they want. You’ll realize that sooner or later.” There was an edge of bitterness in his voice, and Justin could tell Abdur-Rahman caught it.
“Not always.”
Justin laughed as if he didn’t have the energy for youthful naïveté. “Don’t know any exceptions myself.”
“You included?”
He regarded the boy closely, not caring if his scorn was manifested. He was disturbed by the know-it-all smirk the boy wore, the way he crossed his arms with his hands tucked under his armpits, and his different color eyes, each of them seeming to hold a separate view but shared judgment of Justin.
“Life doesn’t give you much choice,” Justin said finally. He readjusted his wristwatch and exhaled, his nose flaring slightly.
“Life is choice.”
“To the dreamer.”
Abdur-Rahman continued to smirk, the dusty bottoms of his patent leather shoe facing the chair between them as he rested his ankle on a knee.
“Justin,” Sulayman said, reaching out to shake his uncle’s hand. Neither he nor Aminah could bring themselves to put the formal Aunt or Uncle before his or Kate’s names. They suspected it would be more offensive than polite given the distance their aunt and uncle wished to keep from Sarah since she accepted Islam. Sulayman couldn’t deny it would be a bit awkward in any case. They were more like neighbors compelled to live next to one another than family.
Justin stood, and Sulayman felt the choreographed politeness in his uncle’s firm shake and broad smile that was unable to simulate either cordiality or pleasure in being here tonight. But Sulayman was grateful, nonetheless, that Justin had come. It must have been a huge sacrifice for a busy lawyer like him.
“You’re related?” Amusement lit Abdur-Rahman’s eyes and he nodded as if he had just then understood the punch line to a joke told an hour before.
“Justin, this is Abdur-Rahman. Abdur-Rahman, my uncle Justin.”
“We met,” Justin said as he smoothed the lapels of his suit jacket upon sitting back down.
“Your uncle was just telling me his philosophy of life.”
Sulayman raised his eyebrows in pleasure as he sat down across from them, but he noticed Justin’s irritation despite effort to appear polite. “What’s that?”
“The only absolute truth is that there is no absolute truth,” Abdur-Rahman said, nodding in apparent pleasure with his observation.
Though obviously still a bit agitated, Justin seemed to calm at the response, as if he were expecting Abdur-Rahman to say something terse, if not wholly inappropriate. Perhaps the eloquence of Abdur-Rahman’s words made Justin see his philosophy as more academic than cynical.
“Philosophy one-oh-one,” Sulayman said with a smile of recognition. “The classic paradox of modern thought.”
Justin nodded, his expression more curious than disconcerted. “You studied philosophy in school?”
“I double majored in chemistry and biology in undergrad,” Sulayman said. “But I took some courses.”
“You doing graduate work now?”
“I’m in medical school.”
Justin’s brows rose in surprise. “Where? Here in Atlanta?”
“Emory.”
He nodded, unable to conceal his admiration. “A lot of Muslims at the school?”
“Quite a few, actually.”
“American?”
“Mostly from Pakistan.”
“And your sister?”
“She studied chemistry, but she took a year off after undergrad.”
“Where’d she study?”
“Streamsdale.”
The flutter of bird wings filled the silence, and Abdur-Rahman picked up the cage and checked on the birds before putting it back on the chair.
“She wear that, uh, cloth on her head while she’s there?”
Sulayman nodded. “She’s worn it ever since middle school.”
Justin toyed with his glass, but he seemed to be reflecting on what his nephew said. “What’s the point of it? I mean, all the clothes?”
“As-salaamu’alaikum, man!”
Sulayman turned to find Omar standing behind him. Coming to his feet, Sulayman laughed and shook the brother’s hand then pulled him in a stiff hug that was more a mutual smack on the back. The strength in Omar’s arm left Sulayman’s back stinging for several seconds. Even in the long-sleeved white thobe that extended to the middle of Omar’s calves, his muscular arms bulged, hinting to the days he played football before a case of bad company landed him in jail, where he found Islam. His coffee brown face was still stingy, giving him only a stubble of facial hair despite Omar’s efforts to grow a beard.
“Wa’alaiku-mus-salaam wa rahmatullaahi wa barakaatuh.”
“Congratulations, ak,” Omar said, abbreviating the Arabic term that meant my brother, as was customary among African-American Muslims. “You one lucky man.”
“Justin, Abdur-Rahman, this is Omar.” Omar reached over the table and shook their hands, greeting them with the standard Muslim greeting. But only Abdur-Rahman replied.
“Omar, this is my uncle Justin,” Sulayman said, gesturing toward him. “And Abdur-Rahman.”
Omar took a seat next to Sulayman. “Woe, what’s this?” One side of his mouth turned up in a grin as he saw the birds fluttering about in the cage. He chuckled, looking to his right to see if this was a joke of Sulayman’s.
“Omar, meet Freddie and Freda.” Abdur-Rahman lifted the cage and nodded to the new guest. “Freddie, Freda, meet Omar.” The birds actually seemed to nod too, and Omar burst out laughing. He hit a hand on the table, causing it to shake slightly, then gripped Sulayman’s shoulder with a nod of approval.
“Man, I always knew you were whack. I’d never think to invite birds to my walimah.”
Sulayman chuckled and shook his head. “They’re not my guests. They’re Abdur-Rahman’s pets.”
“No, sh—,” Omar stopped himself. “No kidding?” He scratched at the beard hair on his face and opened his mouth slightly in amusement.
“I take them wherever I can. They get lonely when I’m not there.”
Omar exploded in laughter, rocking back and forth in his chair, his hand covering his mouth. His laugh culminated into a coughing spell, and he placed one hand on the table to compose himself. When he finally got himself under control, he wore a grin and shook his head. “I like you, man. You cool.” He nodded, placing both hands on the table to smooth out the tablecloth that he had unintentionally tousled during his laughter. “Where you from?”
“I live here in Georgia.”
Justin wore an uncomfortable smile that tugged at one side of his mouth, unsure how to take the sudden disruption that had cut him off in the middle of an inquiry. He glanced around the room, but Sulayman could tell the motion was more to mask his apparent embarrassment at being slighted by this animated character of a person.
“The clothes are worn as an act of obedience to God,” Sulayman said.
It took a moment for Justin to realize Sulayman was talking to him. Justin nodded, appearing a bit more relaxed though his discomfort in the increased company was noticeable.
“So, uh,” Justin said, “why all the security tonight?”
“Security?”
“Preventing me from seeing my sister.”
Sulayman chuckled. “At functions like these, the men and women are separated so the women can feel comfortable and dress as they like.”
“Why can’t they dress as they like all the time?”
There was a brief silence at the table, and Omar chuckled, a smug grin on his face as he studied Justin.
“They can,” Abdur-Rahman cut in, smiling. “But for those who like to cover themselves in front of men, the separation is for them.”
“All your wedding parties are like this? Bride and groom in different rooms?”
“No,” Sulayman said. “It depends on the bride and groom.”
“Some Muslims have typical American weddings,” Abdur-Rahman said.
Justin nodded, and Sulayman could tell he was relaxing a little more although Sulayman imagined Justin couldn’t help feeling outnumbered at the table.
“What’s the difference?” Justin said.
“Between the weddings?” Sulayman asked.
“No, your marriages.”
“Nothing, I imagine,” he said. “Once you’re married, you pretty much live like any normal couple.”
“Naw, man,” Omar interrupted, shaking his head, still wearing that grin that seemed a part of him now. “That ain’t true.”
Justin looked at Omar, as did everyone else, surprised by his words.
“I know you ain’t been out there like a lot of us,” Omar said to Sulayman. “But it ain’t nothing like a Muslim woman. I had mad girlfriends in the dunya, man, and not one of ‘em compare to a Muslim wife.”
“What do you mean?” Justin said, creasing his forehead and leaning forward until his elbows rested on the table.
“Man, you know how it is,” Omar said, shaking his head in apparent recollection of more than the conversation gave him opportunity to share. His grin was now replaced by a reflective hint of a smile. “You takin’ your woman out and she puts on this bangin’ dress. And you thinkin’ how good she look, and you know every dog up in that joint see what you see. And then she get to talkin’ and laughin’ wit’ ‘em, and you like, damn baby, chill. And she like, it’s all good, we just talkin’.” He shook his head again. “Naw, it ain’t like that with a Muslim.”
“I know what you mean,” Abdur-Rahman agreed. “I was with my ex-girlfriend for seven years, and we lived together for the last two. She said I was overprotective and sexist. She’d go out with her male friends or talk on the phone to them for hours.” He laughed then shook his head. “Sometimes, when she was going out, I’d ask her where she was going, and she wouldn’t tell me, saying I didn’t trust her. Or if I asked her not to go, she’d say she was going anyway. I felt like her roommate.”
“In Islam, man,” Omar said, “you got everything laid out. You know your job, and she knows hers. Cuts out a lot o’ madness, man. No joke.”
“A lot of non-Islamic marriages have the same thing,” Justin said. “You just have to find someone with shared values.”
“I feel you,” Omar said. “But problems always come up, man. In Islam, you have something to back you up.” He chuckled. “Or set you straight.” After a moment’s pause, he said, “And it ain’t always about the woman. You can’t be buggin’ and havin’ all these females all up in your joint, talkin’ about they just friends. In Islam, men and women got the same rules when it comes to that.”
“Are you married?” Justin asked.
“Yeah, man.”
“For how long?”
“One and a half years.”
“You?” Justin glanced toward Abdur-Rahman.
Abdur-Rahman smiled and shook his head. “Not yet.”
“You plan to marry a Muslim?”
“For sure, inshaAllaah. God-willing,” he added, realizing he had used the Arabic expression with Justin.
“You have to?”
“No, but I don’t want anything else.”
“You converted too?” Justin looked at Omar.
“Yeah.”
“Why?”
A grin formed on one side of Omar’s mouth and his eyes grew reflective. “Man, when Islam come at you, you only got two choices. Submit or run.”
“Was it an easy transition?”
“Naw, man, I ain’t even gonna lie. But it gets easier.”
Abdur-Rahman nodded in agreement. “For me, the hardest thing was getting over what the world would think. Because once you study it, you know it’s true. You just don’t want the burden of telling the world that.” He smiled. “But I was lucky. My father came home from a trip to Syria and said he had something to talk to me about, and I told him the same. Turns out we had the same confession.”
Justin’s eyes revealed surprise and he chuckled. Inside Sulayman smiled, realizing it was his uncle’s first sincere expression of pleasure that night.
Aminah stood before the mirror in the dressing room attached to the ballroom as Nusaybah teased Aminah’s ash brown hair that was now a rust color from the styling gel that created deep waves surrounding her thin face. Her green eyes were accented in a light application of eyeliner, but there wasn’t much Nusaybah could do to give Aminah’s pale skin the color Aminah wanted. But the artist had applied a thin layer of foundation to give Aminah’s white skin a hint of brown to offer the illusion of a natural tan. Nusaybah had chosen a frosted lip-gloss that would accent the pink of Aminah’s lips because a heavy lipstick might offset the desired effect of the foundation.
Aminah’s gaze fell to her hands, where she held the note cards she hoped she wouldn’t need for this part of the event. Her heart beat faster until it became a pounding that stubbornly reminded her that she didn’t want to do this. The role had fallen to her by default, or perhaps necessity. Who else could give the speech preceding the presentation of Tamika’s plaque for being the first in her family to graduate from college? Aminah knew her best, having lived with her for nearly three semesters of the school year. She saw Tamika’s quiet determination to push herself through school despite her heart being set elsewhere. Aminah herself was inspired by the remarkable acumen and sagacity of the woman whose heart was too big to be confined to the stringent boundaries of a university that harbored too much pride in itself. Tamika had little patience for the trivial, and it was this idiosyncrasy that would taint her college record, albeit unjustly, and land her in a campus apartment with Aminah and Aminah’s childhood best friend Durrah.
No, Aminah didn’t want this burden. There was far too much to say, and too little that she actually could. How would she stop herself when her words no longer came from a rehearsed tongue but a full heart? This award was not about Tamika’s family history. It was about theirs. And they were linked by a history too pronounced to silence and too silenced to pronounce. They were, as it were, sisters long before the infamous in-law would be added to it. But she couldn’t say that tonight. Tamika’s family expected this to be about them. Then again, they, like Tamika, knew nothing of this particular part of the night. They knew, of course, like everyone else, that the celebration was dual, but they didn’t know that Aminah and her mother had decided to make the general accolade a tangible one.
“We’re ready,” Kate said in an audible whisper, peering in the door and disappearing a second later.
Nusaybah smiled at Aminah, and Aminah felt the corners of her mouth turn up in a smile. She stepped out into the brightly lit ball room and rested the low-heeled shoe of her right foot on the first step leading to the podium, and she thought, heart heavy with sadness, Durrah should be the one doing this.
A microphone affixed to a platform awaited Aminah at the top of the portable steps. She stopped and stood before it about five feet from where Tamika sat with her mother and aunt. Apparently, someone had announced that there would be a speech of some sort because the guests were waiting with hushed expectancy as Aminah adjusted the height of the microphone and glanced momentarily at the note cards she’d set beneath it. She skimmed the cards for what she had rehearsed and felt her heart in her throat, conscious of the 11” by 17” oak wood wall plaque that bore the engraving of Tamika’s name and distinction and sat behind a table in the dressing room. Aminah felt her sister-in-law’s patient gaze as Tamika expected a general thank you to the crowd in celebration of the occasion.
“Bismillaah, walhamdulillaah, wa salaatu wa salaamu ‘alaa rasoolillaah,” she said, glancing out at the guests for the first time since her ascension to the podium. The room was massive. There was a sea of round tables distributed about the room, each decorated with a white and lavender floral centerpiece atop lilac tablecloths. She felt dizzy and held onto the sides of the platform to compose herself. She whispered a silent prayer to Allah to make this ten-minute speech an ease and comfort for her. O Allah, there is no ease except in that which you have made easy, and you make the difficult, if you wish, easy. “I begin with the name of God, who alone deserves praise and credit for the good we enjoy and give in this world. And I ask Him to send peace and blessings upon His Messenger, Muhammad, who is last in a long line of messengers before him, including Noah, Abraham, Moses, and Jesus. May peace and blessings be upon them all.”
Aminah inhaled deeply and heard the release of her breath in the microphone. She couldn’t think of her nervousness, and she forced herself to imagine the people before her as part of the room itself and not as individuals, waiting with expectance, hanging on to her every word. She thought of Tamika, and Durrah. And it was only then that she felt the nervousness subside. She was filled with a singleness of purpose, an assignment only she could fulfill.
“Tonight is a special night,” she began, “a night of celebration, a night to thank Allah, thank God for His blessings that are far too infinite to number. On June eighth of last year, my family was blessed with a gift that only God could give. Selfishly, I can say, I was given a sister, the sister I had wanted for so long. For my brother Sulayman, she was, in his words, a blessing, a completion of himself.” She smiled. “And I can attest to that, because, believe me, before she finally said yes, he was not himself.” There was some laughter in the crowd. “Of course, we are speaking of Tamika, Tamika Douglass, who sits before us now, next to her mother Thelma and her aunt Jacqueline. And to you both,” Aminah turned her head slightly to face them, “on behalf of my mother, myself, and, of course, my brother, I thank you. Thank you for sharing her with us. Thank you for sharing a part of you. Without you, there would be no Tamika, and without Tamika there would be no celebration tonight. And we praise and thank Allah for this.”
Aminah glanced at her note cards, skimming the words in that gesture and finding that she had already deviated from her prepared speech. She drew in a deep breath, this time more discreet in her exhale. “And we also thank God for allowing us to gather on the night of a very special event. Many of you attended the graduation ceremony this morning and witnessed Tamika being awarded a bachelor’s degree in religion and honored to be amongst those students who maintained an A or B grade point average throughout their matriculation at Streamsdale. Although we hear of similar ceremonies each year, we are often not aware of the hard work, sacrifice, and significance of such an accomplishment. Yet, we could, in reality, be witnesses to a piece of history unfolding. And that’s what we witnessed this morning. Tamika Douglass, graduate of Streamsdale University on May tenth nineteen ninety seven, was the first in her family to graduate from college and be granted such a degree. So to you, Tamika, we say congratulations, and may God bless you.”
A roar of applause filled the room and seemed to grow louder in a crescendo until everyone was on their feet.
“And to commemorate this day, this honor and achievement, we present to you a customized plaque for you to hang on your wall and, God-willing, the walls of your children and grandchildren, so they can know you as we’ve known you tonight.”
Nusaybah had taken her place at the foot of the steps and now ascended to carry the plaque to Tamika, who met her halfway and now stood a few feet from Aminah with tears glistening in her eyes and shaking her head at Nusaybah for this surprise. She gave Aminah a similar look as Aminah stepped from behind the platform to embrace and congratulate her. The crowd’s applause filled the room again, and everyone remained on their feet.
When everyone had quieted and taken their seats, and Tamika had sat back down next to her mother and aunt who read the award with smiles of pride on their faces, Aminah began to speak again.
“And we cannot forget the people who made this accolade possible. And to Thelma White and Jacqueline Rhodes we present these tokens of thank you.” Nusaybah had descended the steps and now ascended them carrying two 8 ½” by 11” oak-framed certificates and two bouquets of flowers. Surprise lit their eyes, but they maintained their composure as they stood and accepted their gifts with the shaking of hands as the frames were placed before them at the table. Again, a roar of applause filled the room, and the crowd stood as Tamika hugged her mother and aunt in congratulations, now all three managing to hold back the tears that glistened in their eyes.
“Latonya,” Aminah said with a nod. Her words were barely heard over the applause, and that’s how she liked it. She was able to leave the podium and take a seat at her mother’s table and watch as Tamika’s sister came to the microphone that Khadijah had used earlier.
“This is for you, Tamika,” Latonya said looking at her sister, and the guests grew quiet. Then she turned to where everyone sat. “For those of you who don’t know, I’m Latonya Douglass, Tamika’s big sister. And this song is dedicated to her.”
Latonya shut her eyes as she slowly drew in a deep breath and sang a song that had been their favorite from the moment they heard it in the movie “Beaches”. “I know it was cold there in my shadow, never to have sunlight on your face,” she sang. Tears slipped down Tamika’s cheeks and she made no effort to stop them as she listened to the beautiful words of Bette Midler that she knew her sister was singing from her heart. Tamika’s mother and aunt couldn’t keep the tears from coming, but they dabbed at their eyes to prevent them from sliding down their faces as Latonya sang about her sister being her source of strength.
“Fly,” she sang, “so high you almost touch the sky. Thank you, thank you. Thank God for you, the wind beneath my wings.”