On Friday, February 7th in the year 1998, Abdur-Rahman and Aminah were 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 pillows 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.
A week later Tamika walked next to her husband as they rounded the block for a morning exercise after Fajr on Saturday. Tamika had been listening as her husband told her the story of he and Dee in high school and his own torment in blaming himself.
“But Allah doesn’t hold you accountable for her,” Tamika said.
“I know that,” Sulayman said. “But I still feel responsible.”
She shook her head. “But why? You made a mistake, and so did she. She could have repented just like you.”
He sighed, a distant look in his eyes. “Yes, but…”
His voice trailed and they walked in silence for some time.
“You have to move on.” Tamika took his hand and continued the pace. “Sulayman, you have enough to worry about in your own life to blame yourself for someone else’s.”
He nodded.
“It’s not going to help or change anything. You can’t think Allah is warning you of a punishment through her.”
“I know.” He drew in a deep breath and exhaled the words. “I know.”
“Besides, you have a family to worry about.”
A look of anticipation and reluctance was in his eyes as he grinned at her, and Tamika smiled back.
“Positive?” His eyes widened.
Her smile broadened. “Positive.”
“You sure?”
“There were two in the pack, so I checked twice.”
“Alhamdulillaah.” In his excitement, he picked up his pace until Tamika tugged his hand, reminding him that she could not walk so fast.
“I’m sorry,” he said with a laugh. “I just—”
“I know.” She laughed too. “It’s exciting for me too.”
“I’ll call my mom and find a doctor for Monday, inshaAllaah.”
She nodded. “I can call Khadijah and see what doctor she used.”
“Was it a Muslim?”
Tamika shrugged. “I’m not sure.”
“Check then.”
“Okay.”
They walked in silence for some time, Tamika smiling to herself. She glanced at her husband and saw that his expression had changed to the same look of worry and self-torment he had earlier.
“Sulayman,” she said, tugging at his hand playfully, “forget it. It’s not your fault.”
“I know.” He shook his head. “I was just thinking about you.”
“I don’t blame you, Sulayman. I could never blame you for being human.”
He smiled at her and held her gaze momentarily. “I know, and I appreciate you for that. I’m really blessed to have someone like you.”
She grinned and shook her head. “I feel even more blessed to have someone like you.”
He walked in silence for a long time, a hint of a smile still on his face. As they neared their apartment building, his expression had changed to concern again.
“Stop worrying yourself about her.”
He started to smile, but it quickly faded. “I’m not thinking about Durrah. I’m thinking about us.”
Tamika creased her forehead in confusion. “Us?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“I hope I can take care of you.”
Tamika smiled gently, feeling bad for him. “You already are.”
He shook his head. “I’m not really. My parents are helping more than they should.”
“And that’s how you’re taking care of me. And I’m fine.”
“I can’t go on like this forever. I have to do it alone.”
“Sulayman, don’t punish yourself more than you need to.”
“It’s something I can’t help thinking about, especially with a child coming, inshaAllaah.”
“I know, Sulayman, but I don’t want you to be worried. I’m not.”
“I know, Tamika. And I’m thankful for that. But I can’t go on making you sacrifice so much.”
She laughed. “I’m not sacrificing anything. I have more than I can ask for.”
“Tamika, I can’t even afford to take you for a weekend hike.”
“And what would I need with a weekend hike?”
“That’s not the point.”
They started up the apartment steps.
“Sulayman, you’re a student. I understand that. And even if you weren’t, I didn’t marry you for money.”
“But money is important.”
“Not as important as people imagine.”
“I have to provide for you.”
“And you are.”
They did not speak as Sulayman unlocked the apartment door and they stepped inside, both audibly saying the supplication for entering the home.
Exhausted, Sulayman sat on the leather couch, and Tamika sat next to him.
“I’m sorry, Tamika.”
The sadness in his gaze as their eyes met made her heart ache for him. She wished he understood that she didn’t care about material things. She never had.
“It’s just that I see Abdur-Rahman and Aminah, and I—”
“Don’t compare yourself to them, Sulayman. We’re different.”
“But I should—”
“You should be patient,” Tamika said with a smile. “That’s what you should do. I don’t want an expensive house with a pool in the backyard.”
“It’s not the house that he bought her. It’s—”
“His parents bought the house,” she reminded. “A wedding gift. And I think it’s clear how much money they have. And the average person just doesn’t live like that.”
“But still, to even maintain a home like that…” He shook his head.
“Be happy for them, Sulayman.”
“I am. I just want to be happy for you.”
“Then be happy for me. I’m with you. That means more than any home you could buy.”
He smiled at her, but she could still see the doubt, the pain in his eyes. “What if—”
She placed her index finger over his lips. “I don’t care about what ifs. I care about us.”
He smiled beneath her finger, giving in. “I love you.”
She smiled in return. “And I love you more.”
That afternoon Alika sat in a chair placed a distance from Ismael, who sat directly in front of Imam Abdul-Quddus, who had called Ismael to arrange this meeting in the basement of his home.
“I’ll make this brief,” the imam said. “I first want to apologize to both of you if my handling of your situation was unsatisfactory in any way.”
Ismael and Alika listened.
“After that, I want to address a phone call that Alika made to my office a week ago. In it she expressed some of her concerns, and shared with me the phone call you made to her at the beginning of Ramadan.”
Alika saw Ismael shift slightly and scratch at one side of his beard.
“We had a long talk, and I basically would like Alika to explain herself from here.”
Alika was silent for some time, trying to gather her thoughts. She had had a lot of time to think things over and reflect on everything that had happened. When Ramadan had come to a close, her mind was clearer, especially after spending the last ten nights in I’tikaaf along with Nusaybah and her daughter, who also brought sleeping bags and a Qur’an along with them to the masjid.
“I called this meeting to apologize,” she said, feeling humbled by her honest words. “First for calling off everything so soon. And also for being so brusque when you called.”
Ismael nodded, his gaze slightly down, his hands now linked before him, as if bracing himself for the worst.
“And to say that I was wrong.”
At that, he looked at her, a look of hope and surprise in his eyes. She smiled inwardly, hoping that was a good sign. But she knew it wasn’t that easy. Even if there were still feelings for her, he still had Sarah to worry about.
“I shouldn’t have disrespected your family like I did.”
He furrowed his brows. “Disrespected my family?”
“By trivializing their significance in our ability to be together.”
Alika could tell he still didn’t understand. She narrowed her eyes, trying to gather her words. “What I’m saying is, I did a lot of thinking in Ramadan, and I saw how I had everything wrong.”
“Alika,” he said, his voice soft and apologetic, “you didn’t do anything. I was the—”
“Let me finish.”
He started to say something but nodded, submitting to her request.
“I thought about how upset I was that everything seemed to depend on Sarah’s approval. And that hurt me. More than you know.”
“I’m sorry, Alika. I’m really sorry.”
She shook her head. “Don’t be. I’m the one who should apologize.”
He looked as if he disagreed, but knowing she wanted to explain, he remained quiet.
“I thought about how Islam teaches a balance in everything, and how everything is weighed against the harms and benefits. I know now that’s what you were doing. You had a family, a family that had taken twenty-six years to build. Two grown children, and archives of memories I can’t even imagine.” She drew in a deep breath. “It was only right that that took priority. Naturally, Sarah was having a very difficult time with everything, and I was being selfish, refusing to see her side, thinking it an attack on me.”
He tucked his lips and nodded, his eyes growing intent, thoughtful as he tried to understand what she was saying.
“I know now that you did the right thing, the Islamic thing. And I’m sorry that I didn’t see that at the time.” She paused, gathering her thoughts. “And if I were your wife, if I am ever blessed to be your wife,” she said, hoping he heard the plea in her words, “I hope you would do the same for me.”
There was a brief silence, and Alika knew he was digesting everything, wondering if this was something he should pursue or just leave alone. Because she didn’t want to see the answer, she turned her head and said what had been weighing on her for some time.
“Through all of this,” she said, “I thought about my mother. And I realized how much this was not about me. This was about a family, a woman, a special woman on the other end. That she deserved whatever time she needed to adjust to the idea.” She paused, gathering the strength for her last words. “If she ever adjusted to it.”
She dropped her gaze to her hands. “And I thought about the promise I made to my mother years ago.” Understand, he’s a man. One day you’ll know what I mean. But for now, promise me you’ll never blame him for that. “And I know now, that I broke that promise with you.”
He creased his forehead in confusion.
“You’re a man, Ismael. A human being,” she said, looking at him momentarily before lowering her gaze again. “And I blamed you for that.” She paused then added, “And I’m sorry.”
The room grew quiet, and Ismael looked as if he would speak but couldn’t find the words.
“Brother Ali,” the imam said, interrupting Ismael’s train of thought. “If you’re willing to take the sister back, then—”
“I am,” he said with assurance. “Today, if she doesn’t mind.”
She smiled under his gaze but shook her head. “Talk to Sarah first, then—”
“We’ve talked before, and I’m sure she—”
“Brother,” the imam said, meeting Ismael’s gaze. “Talk to your wife and call me back.”
Alika lifted her gaze and smiled. She moved her head forward in a nod, agreeing with her wali. “Yes, talk to her. About this meeting.” She paused as her smile broadened. “And I’ll be waiting for your answer.”
A moment later, Ismael too smiled and nodded. “Yes, I will, inshaAllaah. Expect a call from me tomorrow.”
Wearing a warm jacket, Sarah sat on a lawn chair overlooking her yard, but her mind was beyond the bare trees. She was reflecting on her life, herself. So much had happened in the last year that it was difficult to believe it was all in a span of nine months instead of years. She felt freer, less stressed. She felt more confident, less insecure. And she felt blessed, and she loathed the ungratefulness that had plagued her the year before.
Allah was Merciful, she marveled. His mercy was so great that she couldn’t imagine the magnitude of it, especially on the Day of Judgment. She thought of the Day that, before the onset of Ramadan, was a day she had taken for granted, like the eventuality of anything inevitable. It had been a distant whisper, a far off wind, whisking and blowing light years away. A safe distance from her.
Yet now, it felt as if it were upon her, and nothing seemed to matter except her soul that Day. She wondered at her change in perspective, fearing the inevitable dip in her eemaan. But even as she knew that one’s faith was naturally up and down, she did not worry too much. She had faith that hers would dip on a high. She was a new person, and she intended to keep striving to better herself.
Her thoughts drifted to Alika, and she halted them there, wondering at the love she felt in her heart for the sister. Although there was still a flicker of jealousy in her heart, it wasn’t the raging fire it had been months ago. She studied the thought as if an anthropological discovery, except she had dug into the recesses of her heart instead of the earth.
The human heart, and mind, were amazing creations, and her utter lack of control over them inspired in Sarah a sense of solace, of serenity before her Lord. He held the human heart between Two Fingers, and He turned it as He pleased. Like a feather, the human heart was constantly turning. But there were those who, even in the turning, were made firm upon belief.
Right then, that was all that mattered to Sarah. And it was difficult to comprehend how, as she recalled with distant recognition, the devastation she had felt that sent her to Kate’s, on the verge of breaking up her family. A tremor went through her as she realized the imminence of self-destruction within the human being. So many diseases lurked and plagued a person, sickening the heart, corrupting and exaggerating an otherwise healthy nature. Sarah tried to recall what it was she feared when she learned Ismael wanted to take another wife, but she could not. At least not entirely, and it was even more difficult to remember what she was protecting herself from when she kept even the mention of it from her home.
No, she had no surety that she could handle it, and no determination to find out. Yet, there was a love for its allowance, a warmth in her heart as she thought of this great mercy from Allah to women. And she knew that, she couldn’t fight it, wouldn’t fight it in her life. She no longer knew how, and she knew even less why she should. Her heart belonged to Allah, and her security was within. No one could take that from her. No one could even threaten it. Not if she were a true servant of Allah. Her peace was in her relationship with Him, not with her husband or children. Or anyone.
Sarah turned at the sound of the patio door opening and closing. Seeing her husband smiling at her, she stood and smiled too as he drew her in an embrace. They held each other, Sarah reveling in the warmth of being in his arms before she heard him speak.
“I need to talk to you.”
At the sound of the words, she merely nodded, continuing to smile, and followed her husband inside, her heart still light with the tranquility she had found amongst so many blessings of Allah.