When things Work Out

Bismihi Ta’ala

Mohsina

Part 91

Sometimes what didn’t work out for you, really worked out for you.

Okay. I know I sound looney. But when I looked at everything in my life, and how difficult it was to actually get hold of some things, I knew that I was right.

Nothing in this life is perfect. When I cry or lose or bruise, so long as I am still alive, nothing is ultimate. So long as there is still a tomorrow, a next moment, there is hope, there is change, and there is redemption.

What is lost is not lost forever.

So what I always wanted to know was – in answering the question of whether what is lost comes back, I recalled the most beautiful examples that I had read in the books of Islamic history.

Did Musaa AS return to his mother? Did Hajar (AS) return to Ibrahim (AS)? Did Yusuf (AS) return to his father? Did health, wealth and children return to Nabi Ayoub AS?

And yes. Yes, to all. From these examples we learn a powerful and beautiful lesson: what is taken by Allah Ta’ala is never lost.

Being able to say “Alhamdulillah for everything” and “It is what it is” was such a powerful mindset, that when you adapt it, there’s nothing more effective to get you through everything life has offered.

And while Ramadhaan had come as a cleansing, the month after had been a bitter battle of sorts between my nafs and every challenge that I had ever faced, and completely forgot the value of Allahs gifts to me.

The restlessness, the unease. Although my whole life, I was the lucky one, the one who had it together, the one who knew all the answers, the one who had peace.

There’s something wrong when we can’t perform good deeds anymore, due to our own silly hang ups. And that was where I was headed. It was a slow but steady road to destruction, and I couldn’t even seem to take the detour.

Earth to Mos. Are u stil alive and kicking? 

She had included Jameela in on the chat, and though my sister had been a little quiet the past few days, I expected it. She and Zubair had escaped to some villa with sea view and signal wasn’t always optimal when she was out.

I glared at the message from Maahira, feeling only a little annoyed that it wasn’t anything Hamzah related.

I typed out the message with only a tiny sardonic grin on my face.

Me: Pretty much alive. Unfortunately.

Jameela: ah Mos, we love you. You don’t need a man when you have us. *kissey smiley emoji*

I smiled, despite the aching in my chest.

Me: I don’t think Zubair will appreciate that. He might want to start using those weapons again (on me) if I threaten to steal back my sister.

Jameela: *rolling eyes emoji* you’re right. And I love him for that. We’re going to test the icy waters. Catch you guys later.

Jameela has left the chat.

Me: Ob. Sessed. 

Maahi: Duh. Mos, why don’t u come and visit me here? Bring your bro and take some time off. I’m waiting to spoil you with all the yummy treats you need to fatten you up and keep those blues away. I’m worried abt u. 

Enough pity-partying. Time to move on.

Me: Hows Mr Chunkster?

It was the only response I had for her that would shut her up and make her swoon instead.

Mr Chunkster, aka Chunks, whose actual name was Ismail, was Maahi’s Samoosa run that had gone very wrong and then very right. She didn’t like him at first because of superficial aspects. She found him a tad bit overweight and a lot but over bubbly, and judged him because of it. And then, she met him again at a work thing, and somehow, their bickering about the other had turned to some kind of conversation and she agreed that maybe there was something there.

Chunks is good, and completely pulling all the moves right now to get into my good books, how’s Mr Tiger?

I know you’ve been seeing him so it’s no use you hiding your shenanigans from me. I’m the only gal u have so spill, what in the world is going on with the 2 of u?

Not the response I was looking for. And wait, what?

I typed a response as quick as I can.

Faadil and I have a strictly professional working relationship. There are no hidden agendas. And what do you mean, Chunks is good? Are you guys like an it…

I’m wasn’t too sure how I felt about that. This was way too fast for me.

Maahira: honestly, Mos, 4 someone who passed their board exams the first time around, u r exceptionally dense. The man doesn’t want professional with u. He’s after you for the whole package and u cannot see it.

I sighed, knowing I had to differ in her opinion. Lesley (who was now Aaliya) had the same opinion, when I had met her the previous week, after she had messaged me about the situation at hand, wanting the full low down about what was going on. I had humoured her because I wanted to know what she knew and everything that was going on in her firm too. She had filled me in the office news and given me some hope too. To see the change in her after these months of marriage, after she had married Muslim guy from HR, and then started taking Qur’ān classes and learning so much about Deen, was something that made me feel like a fraud. It was like she was ten steps ahead of me.

Me: Im telling you that F does not have any ulterior motives. Not with me, at least. He’s being absolutely gentlemanly.

I wanted to add, unlike Hamzah; who acted like we never met before and he might have seen me on the underside of his running shoe.

I mean, also, I would know if Faadil was really pulling the moves. I had been to the office more than a dozen times in the past few weeks and if Faadil wanted to pull a move, I know he would have already.

He was most definitely not the slow type.

And I had just seen him a few days before. He had very politely stood outside the board room, his daunting figure hovering, watching me from a good distance while I filed away the last of the paperwork that dropped charges against me.

Even though he was no longer officially employed by Hammonds, somehow, he still found a way to frequent the place without anyone kicking him out. I wasn’t even sure what was going on. All I knew was that he had somehow convinced them that I was innocent and I was no longer guilty.

“Hey.”

His voice was  flat and unfamiliar. I hadn’t actually spoken to him since everything went down. Yes, I saw him every day, but it was in passing. Always by the way.

And that’s the way it should stay, I reminded myself. Keep your distance.

I mean, it was awkward because besides the fact that the last time he was down on his knees, asking me to marry him, but also, he was the sole reason for my marriage having fallen apart.

“Hey, everything okay?”

I nodded, hoping that he would turn and leave. Chatting to him felt disloyal to Hamzah, even though said husband wasn’t exactly grovelling at my feet, I didn’t want to give him reason not to.

“Mohsina, I just wanted to tell you that I’m sorry for all this has caused.”

I froze momentarily, a little shocked that an apology was actually coming out of Faadil’s mouth. I definitely didn’t expect that. Not today.

“What’s done is done,” I said flatly, still keeping my gaze down consciously. “I suppose now that my name is nearly cleared, we can move forward.”

I allowed myself a glance at him, seeing an assistant entering the room now, and the way he watched her walk, and taking some comfort in the fact that we weren’t alone, as he gave a curt nod, and then took a long look at her legs before looking back at me.

Could he be less of a perv at least? 

“I’m starting a company. Something small but well networked. It would be good-“

”Faadil,” I said, cutting him off mid sentence, knowing that he was offering me a job but not needing any handouts. “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

He nodded again, stuffing his hands in his pockets awkwardly, but getting the message. In his eyes, I saw something I never saw before, besides the obvious infatuation with Miss Long Legs.

Was it compassion? No. Understanding. He understood why I couldn’t. And he was okay with it.

And though I didn’t want to tell him this, I knew that I didn’t have to worry because it was just the week before that I got the message from another company telling me that they got my number from Lesley and they were looking for part time applicants to take on positions in their firm. It was an older firm with a new faculty, looking to employ part time CAs, and it seemed perfect for me.

I knew that I should thank Lesley at least, for hooking me up. She had good contacts and I didn’t realise that she would work so fast.

”How is the baby?”

I couldn’t believe that Faadil actually asked about a child.

Small talk. Faadil was never one for that. He was also not one for kids. He was always convinced that he would never really want one of his own, unless he was forced to get one for purposes of having someone to inherit his swindled fortune. I didn’t quite believe that he could be so business like even in those aspects of his life. I wasn’t sure why I had ever wanted to marry him.

He was ambling around, not quite knowing what to do after I rejected his offer. And of course I couldn’t.

“Not much of a baby anymore,” I said with a hint of a smile, still not meeting his gaze, thinking of Zaid and his new wobbles and uncharacteristic conversation. “Walking. Talking. I see him every day- literally cannot live without him.”

I could see Faadil’s posture tense up slightly as I spoke about Zaid and how he had taken over my life, and I assumed it had to do with the fact that him coming into my life had changed what we had, and made it what it was.  Still, I didn’t have any regrets.

And I knew that I was talking a bit too much but I had to make it clear that there was a reason why I couldn’t take a full time job. I didn’t want to miss out on all of that, even if I was missing out on a lot anyway. I wanted to take Zaid home for a night a week, but since Hamzah refused to budge from our arrangement, I knew it was futile to ask. He was being difficult and he seemed to enjoy it.

I loved Zaid more than anything in this world and leaving work for him was the best thing I did.

Leaving Faadil? Well. That too. Especially since it seemed like him and long legs had a thing. I just felt bad now that there was a 0.01 percent chance that he had gotten hurt in the process. It was obvious that when he came back to propose then he had some regrets. I wasn’t sure whether I could ever believe that he had loved me, even remotely.

Now, well… he seemed pretty much over it, and probably onto other things, or rather, people, and it gave me some relief.

Now that Zaid was growing up and I was probably venturing into unknown territories with Hamzah, I knew I might have to think of work again, but most definitely not with Faadil.

”If you need anything,” Faadil’s voice said, and I looked up to see him watching me intently, hands still in pocket, almost as if he wasn’t sure what to do with them, actually looking slightly edgy now. Maybe he was thinking of Long Legs. “Anything. You know you can still ask me right?”

I breathed in, immediately relieved that he didn’t hold any of our past against me. He was being friendly, which was not exactly good, but at least it was not suggestive, and I appreciated it. I gave him a tight smile, closing the folder I was holding and reaching for my bag to leave.

As always, I was there for necessity. Not there for a scandal or his comfort.

”Thanks.”

And that was it. No more small talk that was unnecessary. I was ready to head home. He had nodded, and turned and left, and I knew that Maahira was exaggerating because there was nothing remotely suggestive about the one real conversation we had. The only thing suggestive was the way he ogled the PA‘s legs.

And that’s when I realised that I still loved Hamzah. I know that it sounded sad and pathetic, but I did. He was a hard nut to crack, but in all fairness, maybe I should have tried again. Maybe I should have gone back to him, and begged him to take me back.

But I couldn’t do it. I just couldn’t bring myself to forget what he told me. I just couldn’t believe that he thought we were a mistake. The one person who I thought believed in me and loved me for me, was the one who had very blatantly said that our marriage was a sham and he only married me because it made sense for Zaid at the time.

That stung. It hurt a lot.

And the pain was something that pierced my soul to an extent that after I had seen Zaid, and got back to the flat, it was really hard to forget. Ramadhaan had gone by, and I took refuge in Duaa and Qur’ān while it lasted. Now that it was over, it wasn’t that easy. I was slipping. Badly.

It started with one movie, that I decided to watch on a whim, when I was missing Hamzah was too much for words, and then eased into one of those Korean series were my new obsession.

The thing with these types of traps is that from one thing, you just slide into another and another and the list doesn’t end.

We are repeatedly asked in the Quraan Majeed to ponder and reflect, as this is the means to recognize Allah Ta‘ala. However, the science and technology that man uses to bring pleasure and entertainment into his life, has unfortunately taken over his heart and switched off his mind, hence his ability to ponder and reflect becomes paralyzed.

I didn’t realise how these things sucked you in, until you were hooked. I didn’t even let myself think about how I was sitting and nurturing my smartphone instead of my son, who I should have been trying every effort to get more time with him.

I even ignored my phone for the hours that I sat on my laptop, snacking on popcorn and ignoring the familiar feeling of an unsettled tummy that sometimes annoyed me since Hamzah had left. I figured that it had to do with anxiety. The one time I had brought up my Eid breakfast was when Hamzah answered the door, and if that wasn’t enough to tip me off that it was all related to him and the hold that he had over me that made me increasingly edgy, well, I don’t know what was.

I sighed, hoping that Hamzah and his mother didn’t think anything else when I had to rush to the bathroom.

Oh, and damn that stupid stomach bug that didn’t want to leave. It had thrown me completely off course. Also, after fasting, Eid day had been one day when I had probably over-eaten, and I knew that my stomach was probably revolting because of it.

And now, yet again, it was probably revolting because I hadn’t put any real food into it. I just didn’t seem to have an appetite after everything. My body was feeling like a bus had ridden over it, and I knew it was exhaustion combined with intense anxiety and all I wanted to do was huddle up on the couch and sleep till I forgot all the problems of the world. I wanted to forget the past. The promises. The hope I had held onto only because the man I loved had convinced me that hope was never a mistake.

I fell off to sleep with those thoughts flooding my mind, wishing that I could forget it all.

When I woke up, scrambling to read Asr because there were literally 10 minutes before Maghrib salaah, I couldn’t quite believe that just a month ago I had been an almost perfect Muslimah. I made a rushed whudhu, an even more rushed salaah, and spent a good ten minutes kicking myself for my negligence.

Negligence. It was that sole factor. It led to sins, and I knew it – I had been so complacent, but I just couldn’t seem to help myself because I was slipping deeper and deeper into indifference. I made a firm intention to stop being also negligent. To focus more on Qur’ān. To be punctual and mindful of salaah. I had to start somewhere, but I was just feeling so low, all of a sudden.

It was a good half hour after I read maghrib, made myself a cheese and tomato sandwich (because it was the only thing I seemed to be able to keep down), and then checked my phone to see if the lawyer had messaged with any ho. That was when I saw the messages from Saaliha, which was what Jameela was telling me to reply to me a few days ago when I last spoke to her, and Nani, who was surprisingly still messaging me with a very obvious intention.

I was still sitting in half oblivion, diligently fighting my nafs, but also really wanting to use Netflix anymore to drown out that voice in my head that kept going over and over everything that had gone wrong.

I wanted to be good. I wanted to attend the taaleem that Nani had been nagging me to come back to.

I was relieved that she was still WhatsApping me, even if it was only to nag me about Taaleem and getting onto Zoom for the online course she and I had once started, but I figured that she would rather keep tabs on me than lose me altogether, and it kind of made sense.

I wanted to stay clean, and just avoid all distractions, but I just couldn’t seem to pull myself out of the hole I was in. I had sunken into a place that was difficult to crawl out of, so instead, I turned to social media to drown my sorrows, hoping that seeing everyone else enjoying their lives may give me some comfort.

I could almost picture Nani’s face as she screamed at me to stop being such a ‘pakka Shaytaan’. And on top of that, she kept sending me those typical inspiration like images that made you want to sit on your musalla the whole day and cry your eyes out. I mean, at least I wanted to. I never thought Nani would get what I was feeling, after all her telling me off, but somehow, she was the only one who did.

I missed her. I actually missed Nani.

She made me understand that these were tests. We always assume that all the tests and challenges we are faced with are because of Allah’s wrath….
Do we ever stop to think that perhaps it’s our Creator’s mercy upon us? That he’s trying to tell us something?
Often we miss the signs that Allah Ta’ala sends because we’re blinded by what is already distracting us.

And I didn’t even realise what I was doing as I flipped through previous messages that Nani first sent me, angry and upset as ever, and then calmed down slightly as the days went by and we kind of forgot how much I had messed up, but as my head jolted to the doorbell ringing, the tears that wet my cheeks felt a little more intrusive than normal. I had let everyone down.

I knew why she was doing this. All Nani had was hope to hold onto. At least she had that.

Hope, he had said, was never a mistake. I couldn’t help but feel that he had lied. I wanted to forget that last day. The love that I felt, whilst my heart was brimming over with it. I wanted to forget that there was someone who once stole so much of me, that now that he had left, I felt like a shell of a person who just existed.

I usually never cried. Never. But since Hamzah left, it was all I wanted to do.

And knowing that I barely got visitors, and as I shifted off the couch, I could feel myself almost calibrating as I headed to the door, trying to figure out exactly what I was feeling.

I didn’t even think it strange that they had bypassed the main gate.

I pulled open the door slightly, keeping the chain in place as I peeped out, nearly having a heart attack as I saw Hamzah’s face in the tiny gap I had looked out from.

He didn’t waste a second, probably in case I decided to shut the door right in his face. After his last words to me, I was tempted, but something in my heat was literally holding me back, so I stood there, frozen, just staring at him, wondering if he was real or not.

His face was serious as he looked at me, his brown eyes shining with emotion, and I could almost see the absolute caution that he approached me with, almost as if he was afraid of what it would bring. I didn’t even hear him the first time he spoke.

It was the second time he said it, that I really processed, my heart contracting as he said it.

”Mos, did you hear me?” His voice said, in that usual soft tone that pulled at my heart strings. “Can I come in? We need to talk.”

---

Sunnah of Entertaining guests

Hosting and entertaining guests is indeed a significant deed in Islam. The first man to entertain a guest was Nabi Ibrahim (‘alayhis salam).

This quality is directly linked to the level of one’s Iman.

As seen in the above narration, Rasulullah (sallallahu ‘alayhi wasallam) coupled honouring the guest with Belief in Allah and the Day of Qiyamah, which are two fundamental aspects of our Din.

Someone asked Ali (RA): “How much was the Sahaba’s love for the Prophet (Sallalahu Alaihi wa Sallam)”

He replied: “By Allah! To us The Prophet (Sallalahu Alaihi wa Sallam) was dearer to us than our riches our children and our mothers, and was more cherishable than a drink of water at the time of severest thirst.”

SubhaanAllah… what perfect imaan they had… May Allah enable us to practise..💕

#RevivetheSunnah

#RevivetheSunnahofbeingGrateful

#RevivetheSunnahofQur’aanTilaawat

#ReviveSunnahofDuaa

#SunnahofMaintainingTies

#RevivetheSunnahofSadaqah

#RevivetheSunnahofGivingGifts

#RevivetheSunnahofGoodAkhlaaq

#RevivetheSunnahbeforeSleeping

#RevivetheSunnahofGuardingtheGaze

#RevivetheSunnahofLickingtheFingers

#RevivetheSunnahofMiswaak

#RevivetheSunnahofEnteringtheToilet

#RevivetheSunnahofSpeakingGood

#RevivetheSunnahofUsingtheRighthand

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Burning the Bridges

Bismihi Ta’ala

Zubair

Part 73

The overwhelming stench from the green garbage drum during late November of that year reminded me of the familiar smell of rotting flesh. It had been hot. Rainy with electric storms in the evenings, but hotter than I remembered it being the year before.

Often, on the farm where I worked, I would set ablaze the entire thing until it went up in flames, without even batting an eyelid, but today, nothing was coming easy.

Even setting the barrel alight was proving a task.

The stench was unbearable. Maybe I had left it a bit too long this week. With the windy conditions, I wasn’t prepared to light it until I was guaranteed smooth sailing, and today was the first calm day.

“Come now, Z,” I taunted myself, pulling my sleeves up to beyond the elbow, and steadying myself before the stench knocked me out. “Get with the drill.”

I ignored the images and emotions that poked at my conscience as I sniffed the air, knowing there was no way to stop them completely today. I just had to keep reminding myself:

He breaks you to build you. Deprives you to give you. The pain in your heart was created to make you learn less for this life.

And to yearn more for Jannah.

I had to keep reminding myself. I had to keep pushing myself. On days like this.. bad days… there was no other way than to channel every ounce of energy into the task at hand, blocking out everything that had ever broken me, and march forward to the ultimate destination. There was no place more beautiful than what lay beyond this.

I had pulled out the rod from the toolbox to hammer in a few more holes and already tossed a match into the drum, as I stepped back and watched the barrel go up in flames. It was soothing, to a degree, as I watched it burn. If made me feel as if I was, hopefully, burning the parts of me that had been destructive to my mind. It made me think of how I needed to burn those old bridges and build up new ones. The right ones.

About how I wanted to, so badly, make up for the things that I had done. About how badly I needed to.

I turned away from the smoking drum, already walking back to the room when I saw my phone flash in the corner of the little kitchenette. As predicted, the message from my sister was as curious as she was.

Is J back? She’s not replying to messages.

I slid open my phone and replied the obvious.

Probably jet lag.

Her next message was quick.

Are you sure that you’re okay? You don’t think you’re being a little… extra.

I sighed and unbuttoned the top of my overall, getting ready to change into something more comfortable. I was not getting into this argument with my sister again. It was probably going to put me in a worse mood if I did.

All I wanted to do was close my eyes and forget about the look in the girl in questions eyes when she saw me. It was as if I had broken a piece of her that she probably didn’t even realise was there. So much of hatred brewed in her eyes, and I simply couldn’t shake that feeling of guilt. I hated to do what I was doing, but there was no other way.

Z, don’t ignore me.

My sisters message came a few seconds later. She knew what I was doing. I did too.

You know that I love you and want the best for you. That’s all. 

I knew that. And that’s precisely what killed me.

I typed fast and furiously, wanting to evade the feelings that were surfacing.

I don’t deserve anything even close. 

Nusaybah was right. The girl that she wanted for me was the best, and I didn’t even deserve it. I didn’t deserve a girl who was so beautiful, so pure, but completely naive. Especially when it came to the likes of me.

Knowing about my life would unhinge the little perfect picture frame she had been living in her entire life, and throw her into the haze that I’ve been struggling to find my way out of for years. I couldn’t do that to her.

Buzz.

Think about how mummy would love her.

I swallowed. Hard. I couldn’t think of my mother now. It was irrelevant. My mother didn’t know what had happened to me these past few years. How I had spiralled. How I had let them both down.

She would probably be beyond disappointed with me too. The way my father didn’t even look at me, and refused to speak to me, was proof of how much I had failed them both.

I typed the next sentence without even thinking.

I would love her too.  

<this message has been deleted>

I shook my head and tried to shake away the thoughts. Feelings. Feelings were by the way.

Maybe she would marry the guy who had come to see her earlier on that month. Not that he was bad, but the thought of it felt like a punch in the gut, and I deserved every discomfort that this situation had brought.

He was all the things that she needed and deserved. I had nothing at all to offer her.

The reply to nothing came five seconds later.

What did you delete? Sorry, pookie bear was trying to pull my eyebrows out of I didn’t slice her some cucumber. 

The corners of my mouth turned up slowly as I read that.

Only Nusaybah would call my one year old niece a disturbing name like ‘Pookie Bear’. Weird name, considering that Safeeyah was named after my mother and surprisingly looked a lot like her too. She was a mixture between my brother-in-law Faheem and all the good and comforting things I remembered about my mother. Seeing her for the first time when Nusaybah was down had been the highlight of my year thus far, and I was actually really looking forward to them coming the following month.

I rolled onto my back and thought of her, tossing my phone across the bottom of the bed, realising that it was time to get out of the hellhole room and start with my weekky atonement.

And don’t get me wrong. It wasn’t that my room was an actual hellhole. The amazing family I worked for had given me a decent sized place, with a proper bathroom and good living conditions. It was just that the home I now had, had become what it was because of all the baggage I carried with me from when I was actually scum. I’d  moved all weapons into my room after I figured that my teenybopper crush had mistakenly stumbled upon my make-shift arms room. There was no other choice but to drag every reminder of the past into where I struggled to sleep at night.

Mistake number one, and why I could never think of my infatuation as more than a phase.

And once again, I was reminded of the reason that I felt that I was in hiding, and the cringeworthy feeling overcame me because I knew that there was no escape.

Repentance. Atonement, and all the things that go with it.

My bold, unapologetic truth.

In  Islam, it is the act of leaving what Allah has prohibited and returning to what He has commanded. The word denotes the act of being repentant for one’s misdeeds, atoning for those misdeeds, and having a strong determination to forsake those misdeeds (remorse, resolution, and repentance)

It was the ultimate solution. The reason I allowed myself to actually get up each day with a conscience that doesn’t kill me inside. And though part of my resolution was the inescapable nature to make it up to my father, without even seeing him, my atonement actually ventured into more complicated routes.

It started with small, consistent acts. Monthly, I would drop off a set amount of money at the wife of a man I was once paid to target, because I had found out that she was an orphan with no support system and had three small kids from him. And though her husband wasn’t the best of humans either, and had a reputation of supplying their neighbourhood youth with the most addictive crack, my conscience wouldn’t let me rest.

So each month, I would take a trip on my motor bike to leave a designated amount of money in her postbox so she wouldn’t have to worry about where her babies meals were going to come from. It was a small gesture. And if it meant I ate a little less for the day, so be it.

It was a small price I could pay for a bigger part I had played, but it was worth being able to sleep at night sometimes. There were, of course, times when I wished that I could give back more. When I wished that I could help more.

One day, when the money I earned was halaal and completely clean, I vowed to be more to the community. I hoped to always feel like I was helping someone out. But that was the thing with remorse.

Sometimes Tawbah is not enough for the soul. Sometimes we have to keep pushing ourselves with better deeds.

Right now, all I was doing was trying to undo a lot of the pain and hurt that I caused, and I knew that today I had to head closer to home.

And as I dragged myself out of the room and pulled the door behind me, making sure I latch it, I knew that as much as I didn’t want to, today was the day I had to go to my fathers place. Though he barely looked me in the eye as he watched me from the window, I knew that I would sometimes revel in the sight of him peeping behind the curtain to watch me weeding the grass or neatening up my mothers rose bush. It had been growing wild for some time, but a few months ago, I had pruned them down and to see them bloom again gave me a feeling that was close to redemption.

At least, that’s what I liked to think.

And as I pulled on my helmet, jumping onto the bike and turning it on with a roar, I knew that I had to get my mind into the game. I was doing this to right myself. To ease my reformation. To be the best that I could ever be, and I knew there was no other place to start from home.

And I knew that my father an I always had our issues. I blamed him for my mothers death and he blamed me for choosing a rotten sort of lifestyle that killed her, long after he had dusted his hands off it.

And the thing was, I barely knew her, but I knew from stories that I’d heard, that she was a special kind of lady. And despite everything I’d heard about her, then came the stories I remember Nusaybah telling me as kid.

The stories of the Sahabah entailed  the story of Zubair bin Awaam (RA) mother who someone so awe inspiring that it made me wonder how humans like this even existed…

Safeeyah (RA) was the mother the full sister of Hamza ibn Abdul Muttalib. It was said that she was the Prophet’s only paternal aunt who actually embraced Islam and migrated.

She had a strong personality and was therefore inclined towards sternness and harshness.

Her first marriage was to Al-Harith ibn Umayyah, who was Abu Sufyaan’s brother. He then died before they had had any children together. She was then married to Al-‘Awwam ibn Khuwaylid, who was our Mother Khadijah’s (may Allah be pleased with her) brother. She gave birth to two of his children: As-Sa’ib and Az-Zubayr. When he passed away, Safeeyah RA devoted all her attention to her two orphaned sons, especially the younger one. Whenever he came home complaining of being bullied by children of his age, she would sternly rebuke him, tie him and beat him up so as to make him strong and firm.

When one of the members of her husband’s family once passed by her while she was treating her son in this way, he requested her to be kind to the poor orphan. She replied that she wants to make a man out of her son; a man that would be undefeatable and insuppressible, a man that would never surrender to any of Allah’s creatures.

It was reported that Zubair RA engaged in a duel with someone who slandered him and was so strong, that he broke the hand of the slanderer and severely beat him up. This man, with his pains was brought to Safeeyah and she asked him what had happened to him, to which was told:

“He fought with Az-Zubayr and he [Az-Zubayr] did to him that which you can see.”

All in all… Safeeyah (RA) achieved what she wanted; Az-Zubayr RA grew strong in body and soul.

Ans yes; these were some of the most amazing personalities. We could only dream to be like them. In our broken way, we try and aspire to emulate them.

It was just that… I wasn’t quite sure if I what I could say about myself. There were times when I felt strong. Stronger than the world and everything that had happened to me… everything that I’d brought upon myself. And then there were times when it felt like the entire world was on my shoulders, weakened by the burden of it, and I couldn’t shrug it off.

And I supposed that circumstances were what they were, and there wasn’t much else to be said. The thing is, Allah takes us through stages that polish us, and eventually makes us shine because of it…

There were so many trials that we had encountered along the way, but the most noteworthy event was the one that hit the hardest.

It was a horrible, guttural kind of pain that ate me from the inside every day until I realised that my mother being killed by a stray bullet that was meant for my father, was really not my father’s fault. I couldn’t blame her death on anyone. It was determined long before and nothing he could have done that day would have saved her.

And yes, it was a loss that was felt unanimously and it hurt like hell. It was the reason my father never married again. But that wasn’t why I was trying to set things right again.

Why I needed to make it up to my father was because I had learnt that when you do something for Allah Ta’ala’s sake… when you help with the intention of setting right the affairs of the world that have gone so wrong… you are rewarded in ways you can never even imagine.

And that was my only consolation. Even though my father barely spoke to me. Even though he couldn’t look at me after knowing what I had become. Even though he would never forgive me, I knew that I had to keep trying.

And I knew that as long as I lived, I would keep paying the price for my sins. I would keep up with the atonement, keep seeking repentance and keep trying to be better.

That was the least I could do.

And so I did it.

And later that very day, as I sped through the rained out city streets on my way home, again I wanted to make up for my wrongs. I had stopped at my sister’s friends nursery to get another rose plant, because my entire life was going to be spent trying to make up for all the pain I had caused people. That day was no exception.

As much as I wanted to undo it, I knew that I couldn’t. Everything that I had come came with a price. My entire life, the company I had kept, the enemies I had earned along the way… was the price I paid. I knew that there was no way that I could drag a girl into the dirt everyone had on me.

And so it went, the story of my life.

I knew that I had to silently bear the brunt of my mistakes. For me, there would be no point in believing in fairy tales of note. For me, there would be a greater purpose in life, than just marriage and what would come after.

For me, I strongly believed, that maybe there was something greater than love.

They say the mind cannot comprehend what awaits us, that sadness will be forgotten.
They say that the eye has yet to see
and the ear has yet to hear the beauties that await us in our new home.

They say rivers of honey.
They say rivers of milk, they say rivers of wine.
They say if you give your life, then all eternity will be yours.

Maybe for me, there would be the sweetness of another dimension. Maybe for me would be the scent of musk as my blood spills on the ground. Maybe for me, green birds would await me. What could be more valuable that a greeting with the angels who promise eternal bliss…

I sighed as I placated myself, reaching home only after Esha salaah, pulling off my riding jacket and changing my soaked pants hurriedly, before getting ready for bed. The last thing I expected at that moment was a pounding on the front door of the little house I stayed in, which caught me just a little bit unaware.

And of course, with my history, senses were at once heightened as I grabbed a weapon, and moved toward the door.

I knew that in all likelihood, a killer probably wouldn’t be knocking on the door, but it could also be a trap. Fear wasnt in my nature, but curiosity was.

Although I could just ignore them, I knew that whoever it was, was probably someone who had some business with me. I had already unlatched the two latches, and stuffed the firearm under my arm, before yanking open the door.

I found myself blinking as I looked into the eyes of the guy I had seen just the week before. A easy-going guy I had surprisingly come to like, despite the fact that he looked at me as if I came from another universe.

“Hey, salaam.”

I greeted him back with a quick handshake, my weapon now safely tucked away under my arm.

“How’s it?”

I nodded and stepped back. It was pouring outside. He came in without hesitation, shaking off the rain from his jacket and smoothing it down.

”Sorry to barge in like this.”

I shrugged, moving over to the kettle to switch it on. I figured it probably had to do with that idiot, Hashim, who thought that he was invincible. The guy made my skin crawl with irritation.

“Tea?” I asked, knowing that it was the only thing I really kept here. My meals would usually come from the coffee shop kitchen.

He looked around awkwardly while I popped the firearm into the top drawer, and pulled out two mugs.

All my shiny toys were probably giving him the heebi jeebis, but I pretended like they weren’t there.

”I need your help,” he said quietly as I turned to him, looking like he was mentally carrying way more than he could handle. “Actually, my wife does. I think you may know a little about the money she borrowed… from the guy with the Porsche.”

So it wasn’t about Hashim. The guy with the Porsche. Of course I couldn’t forget.

I didn’t want to say that the Porsche guy had come back here, the day of the wedding, to see Mohsina just before she got married. Of course, I couldn’t say that… unless it was vital to whatever he needed.

He was the reason why I’d ever gotten involved with this family in the first place. The reason why I came back for atonement. Why I’d made it incumbent on myself to be here and protect this family that we’d harassed and caused so much of trouble to. Also the reason why I couldn’t seem to pull myself together and be the man I wanted to.

There was way too much at risk here to do what I wanted to do. Any move I made would land me in trouble.

“Yup,” I said blandly, not offering any further information. “My uncle’s client.”

All I knew was that I hadn’t seen him since then… since I’d left my uncle… and that meant that all ties with my uncle were also cut in the process.

I really intended to keep it that way, but Hamzah had other plans.

“I need you to dig up some info for me,” he said roughly, looking like his life depended on it.

I didn’t know that it did. What I also didn’t know was that what he needed from me was to once again build all those bridges that I’d worked so hard at burning.

“I need to know as much as you can get about every transaction he had with you guys. However much it costs, I need every dirty detail. They’re trying to lay it all on Mohsina. Whether it’s on his name or Hammonds, I need to know. There’s something fishy going on with him and the money and we’re going to get to the bottom of it. I need your help.”

---

The much awaited Zubair POV. Oops. Got a bit serious, didn’t even realise. Well, let’s see what unfolds… 

May Allah Ta’ala make us all true mujaahideen on this Deen… fighting our nafs and shaytaan with the same kind of determination…

Aameen!

A x

Mission Sunnah Revival: 
Sunnah of Noble Character: 

Nabi (SAW) gave attention, spoke and showed love to even the worst person of a nation until the person felt that he is being given special attention.

May Allah make us of those who uphold the Sunnah of character always.

Someone asked Ali (RA): “How much was the Sahaba’s love for the Prophet (Sallalahu Alaihi wa Sallam)”

He replied: “By Allah! To us The Prophet (Sallalahu Alaihi wa Sallam) was dearer to us than our riches our children and our mothers, and was more cherishable than a drink of water at the time of severest thirst.”

SubhaanAllah… what perfect imaan they had… May Allah enable us to practise..💕

#RevivetheSunnah

#RevivetheSunnahofbeingGrateful

#RevivetheSunnahofQur’aanTilaawat

#ReviveSunnahofDuaa

#SunnahofMaintainingTies

#RevivetheSunnahofSadaqah

#RevivetheSunnahofGivingGifts

#RevivetheSunnahofGoodAkhlaaq

#RevivetheSunnahbeforeSleeping

#RevivetheSunnahofGuardingtheGaze

#RevivetheSunnahofLickingtheFingers

#RevivetheSunnahofMiswaak

#RevivetheSunnahofEnteringtheToilet

#RevivetheSunnahofSpeakingGood

#RevivetheSunnahofUsingtheRighthand

FB/Instagram: @thejourneyingmuslimah

When Reality Checks

Bismihi Ta’ala

Mohsina

Part 71

The way life works, and peoples hopes are wired, I realised that there are two types of people.

There are the realists, and then, there are the dreamers.

You’d think the dreamers would find the dreamers and the realists would find the realists, but I heard that more often than not, the opposite is true.

A popular saying goes: The dreamers need the realists to keep them from soaring too close to the sun. And the realists, well without the dreamers, they might not ever get off the ground.

And in a weird way, it was true. People needed each other to pull them away from the fire, when it got too close. And those people needed their better halves to guide them out when it became a little too dark…

“Close your eyes.”

I really didn’t want to. I wanted to see every bit of beauty that I had no doubt lay before me.

My senses were awakened. My heart was pounding. Where Hamzah had taken me as a supposed escape for the day, had turned out to be somewhere that I barely expected.

”I’m scared,” I said, holding tightly to his arm as he tried to pry my fingers from it.

“Trust me?” He almost whispered, and I could hear the hope in his voice as he said it.

“Never,” I said automatically, quicker than I intended and there was a gap of silence before I heard a low rumble of laughter from him.

“Mos,” he murmured, and I could hear his smile through his talking. “When will you stop fighting me?“

I grinned with my eyes closed, still walking along, feeling the rustle of leaves beneath my feet and sniffing something slightly unusual as we trudged along.

“I told you I’m an army,” I said with a smile.

Armies are meant to fight. Never back down. And as much as I’d been fighting with Hamzah lately, I kind of figured that at some point we have to stop.

“Are you like this with everyone?” He said, and I could hear him smiling still. “What about Nani? When she asked you to come for the Taaleem?”

I raised my eyebrows. He knows that I could never try it with Nani. That would have real consequences.

“She forced me,” I muttered meekly. I didn’t mention how good it actually was for me.

The second time, she didn’t have to force me at all. Zaid had slept at the beginning and I could actually listen and absorb in peace. It was good for me. For my soul. It made me feel like a different person.

I wanted to forget. I wanted to forget it all. Rabia. The past month. The problems. The blow ups. The unsaid irritations between Hamzah and I.

Especially now that Hashim wanted to meet Zaid tomorrow, we had been even more on edge since we found out. That’s precisely why Hamzah figured that he rather take me away to ease the conflict and build the bridges… before they come along and upset everything else again.

But I was learning to rise above it. After all, I had started attending the Taaleem and its what was keeping me on track. It’s what actually kept me sane with everything going on

That little time spent in the path of Allah was having amazing effects. It made me ponder. Reflect about how I treat people. About forgiveness. Maybe whatever Rabia had done wasn’t worth me fighting over. Life is too short for that kind of negativity.

Both Hashim and Layyanah’s sister Dahlia had been in contact and I knew that she was dying to see her nephew after months. Why I had kept him away so long, I couldn’t explain… but I really just wanted to keep these moments tucked away… for no one to touch.

We had finally finished clearing our Liyaket and Layyanah’s place, and the entire thing had broken us, and then pieced us back together again. I wasn’t even sure how to feel now that if was finally over. Was I relieved that it was? Or was I sad that that there were no more excuses to have to revisit them again ?

“Okay, open your eyes.”

His voice was soft and smiling and as I opened my eyes, I couldn’t help but stagger slightly as I saw where we were.

We were perched at the edge of a deck, near the far end of a lake not far from home, and just below us, the blue waters glimmered and swished against the wooden posts, almost silent and calm.

Unlike the last time we had been to the beach, today was a sunny and beautiful day, and though a thought of a dip in those waters was actually extremely tempting, I knew I was too chicken to risk it.

It was a quiet part of the town and I knew that’s why Hamzah had chosen it. He valued privacy and as his brown eyes twinkled and watched me, in his three quarter shorts and grey t-shirt, I knew that he had chosen this spot on purpose. Probably so that if he threw me into the waters, not a soul was close enough to even notice.

His smirk was enough for me to take a step back, and fix my gaze at the blue skies that met the water in the distance. It was simply enchanting.

“What is it with you and the open waters?” I asked, shaking my head at him.

It was beautiful and all-encompassing, but everything he did or lead me to always came back to the gorgeously serene waters, in any form.

“It’s my thing,” he said with a sly smirk, sitting himself down at the edge of the wooden plane that was built at the edge, almost as if he was planning on chilling out right there for the rest of the afternoon.

I stepped forward to join him, but waited a little while before I did. There was something about him being there, looking out, that gave me a sense of calm. Watching his form, his arms behind him, hair tousled slightly as he watch the peaceful scenery of natural splendour ahead was a soothing in itself.

”Is it just your thing or does it also remind you of Liyaket?”

I had to ask. I realised that there wasn’t too much I asked about Hamzah in the past. He knew a lot about me, yet, not being the type to pry had its downfalls. There was a lot about him that I didn’t know.

”Maybe both,” he said, shrugging as the waves crashed around us. “It’s still my thing.”

”I thought smoking was your thing,” I teased with a smile, seeing the corner of his mouth lifting and a dimple flashing as I said it.

He didn’t have an answer to that, but I could see that nowadays he actually tried not to smoke around me.

Instead, as I moved forward, lowering myself next to him so my takkies dangled off the edge too, he looked at me again.

“Do you have a thing?” He said, switching his gaze to the open water ahead of us once again. The water was a sparkly blue that reminded me of the ocean. “Or did you ever have a thing you used to do before you started baking?”

I took a deep breath in, waiting for him to say something quirky about my Instagram obsession or my usual hobbies. Or lack of them. I mean, I loved to bake, but it became stressful when there were huge orders to fill. I really believed that everyone needed an outlet.

Something fun and interesting to do, that helps them to unburden. Something halaal. I knew that Jameela was obsessed with reading, and she read mostly good stuff. Hamzah swam and Liyaket hiked, and they were both really good at it. I remember Layyanah once saying that she used to enjoy horse-riding as a kid and teenager, until her mother got tired of taking her so far for the lessons.

I knew that having halaal entertainment wasn’t as hard as everyone made it out to be. It was the reason why todays kids resorted to haraam. They didn’t think that there were options out there, places to go to where they could enjoy themselves without actually indulging in sin.

“When I was younger, I used to skate,” I said softly, recalling that there was an ice rink down the road from where we to stayed. “Often, and well. It was something that I loved doing. Like somewhere I could go and just be free.”

”Ice skating,” he said with raising his eyebrows, his expression unreadable as he said it. “Sounds cool. What happened?”

I shrugged.

We got poor.

I didn’t even know that I had said it out loud, but from the way Hamzah flinched, I could tell that I did.

Oops.

”I’m sorry,” he said softly, reaching out for my hand as he said it.

I shook my head, but let him hold my hand anyway.

“The music used to make my mother mad,” I said, breathing in as I spoke. “So Papa used to pay extra for a music-free session, early on a Sunday morning. It was a good solution. I loved it. After stuff went down…”

I trailed off and he watched me, as I recalled the first time I saw people pushing my father around. It had broken my heart.

“You don’t have to tell me,” he said softly, and I shook my head because I realised that I did.

It was the first time I had ever spoken about this. About how I had pushed my own dreams aside to help my family. About how I never looked back to that point where my whole purpose for doing what I did had changed.

Why should I want to make a difference in the world in any other way when my own family needed me? 

”I didn’t want to be an accountant,” I said flatly, breathing out as I said it. It was the first time I had ever said it out aloud. “Because my father as always set on it… he wanted a son first, of course. I had convinced myself that it was my dream. That it was the best career choice for me. After year one, I was still contemplating whether to change my career choice… still thinking about what my dreams were… and then I saw the fear in my father’s eyes once when someone came to threaten him about not meeting payments, and I knew that I couldn’t fail my parents.”

Hamzah was silent, but he squeezed my hand. Almost to edge me on.

”And so I sucked it up,” I said, not meeting his eye. “And that’s why I tried so hard to get to the top. That’s why I managed to stay focused. Get into Hammonds. That’s why I …”

It was time to stop talking now, and I knew that he would understand. It’s why Faadil made sense to me at the time. I never wanted my father to ever be like that again. I didn’t want him to ever feel worthless and kicked around by people who thought they were better than him.

I knew that everyone had their story, but sometimes we just need to see the other side to understand the reasons why people do what they do.

Maybe I had to try and apply the same to how I felt about Rabia. It had been a few weeks and though I greeted, I never made an effort to make more conversation. I was still angry at Hamzah for letting her badger me on instagram, but according to Hamzah, no one’s opinion on instagram is even worth worrying about so there really was no problem.

My breathing was shallow as I stopped, and it was a millisecond of pity in his eyes before he looked at me, the love in his eyes as stark as the sunlight.

“You act so tough and hard, Mos,” he said softly. “Maybe now and then you should let some of that armour down. Does Nani… Jameela … does anyone even know how much you do… you already did… for the family?”

I looked away as he watched me with disbelief as I shrugged. Wondering how I could do all that without even gaining some kind of recognition.

That wasn’t what it was about.

Every sacrifice a person makes paves the way for the next one. Until they come so easily, they no longer consider them sacrifices.

”You’re one of those most beautiful people I know but you don’t let anyone see it,” he said, his voice strangely unfiltered as he said it. It was like he was speaking straight from the heart and I was slightly bowled over.

“I don’t let anyone see it because I’m nothing great,” I said, truly believing that Hamzah really didn’t even know the half of what I was like. He knew nothing about everything I had become in between.

“You can’t say things like that about yourself,” he said, his brow furrowing as he looked at me. “I will always defend you, you know, even against yourself.”

Psssshht.

He didn’t know that I didn’t deserve defending. I sighed and looked away, trying to ignore his stare burning into my cheek.

“You have regrets,” he stated, and I knew it wasn’t a question.

I shrugged. Who didn’t have regrets? Did I have regrets? I did. But not about what he thought.

“Everything happens for a reason,” I said quietly. “I think everyone has pieces of their life that they wish they could do over. Pieces that we regret. But those pieces are also the pieces that we learn the greatest lessons from. If I didn’t continue with my BCom… if I didn’t work so hard… if I didn’t get into Hammonds…”

The statements hung in the air as we both stayed silent, listening to a bird teetering somewhere beyond the rustling reefs.

”You wouldn’t have become a part of my life,” he finished off for me. “And I wouldn’t have changed my life either. You, me and Zaid were decided a long time ago.”

“Touché,” I said quietly, breathing in as his thumb did circles on my palm. The air was quiet and full of words all at the same time.

Indeed, everything that happened was joined together to give us a piece of thread that connected us to each other.

And it’s true that everyone had regrets. Things they wish they didn’t do.

When you make tawbah, regrets aren’t even valid anymore, because it’s like those things you regret no longer happened.

Ibn ‘Abbas (May Allah be pleased with them) said: The Messenger of Allah (ﷺ) said, “If anyone constantly seeks pardon (from Allah), Allah will appoint for him a way out of every distress and a relief from every anxiety and will provide sustenance for him from where he expects not.” [Abu Dawud, Hadith 1873].

The literal meaning of the Arabic word tawba is “to return” and is repeated in the Qur’an and hadith . In the context, it means to turn or to retreat from past sinful and evil activities, and to firmly resolve to abstain from them in future. And that was the entire point of Tawbah, right?

It made me think of what Hamzah had been telling me about Zubair. He had been giving me snippets of his life in instalments, and it was strangely thrilling, hearing just how someone’s life could change only due to intentions. It was fascinating to hear how he had been someone who he hated… and then became someone who everyone looked at in a completely different light…

After hearing about what Zubair had gone through, about his life and everything he had gone through… well, how can I even compare my regrets?

And yes, it had changed so much about what I had thought of him. It made me think that maybe I had been too fast to judge him, and that maybe he really did have a real reason for being with his uncle… For doing the things he did. Maybe he could actually justify all the bad things that happened to him. Maybe sometimes things aren’t just black and white.

I had thought bad of him but the ironic part was that I knew people thought crappy things about me too.

“I know what people think of me,” I blabbered, still unable to let it go. “Like Rabia feels I’m not good enough for you…”

”Who cares what everyone thinks about you?!”he snapped, sounding angry as he shook his head at me. “You did things no one else should have done at your age. Sometimes we think it’s self-explanatory. That everything should just follow the rules. But bad things happen. People mess up. Get into ugly situations. You did what you could, even if it’s against the norm and maybe you messed up and you got slack for it, but so what?”

“I’m not a nice person,” I went on, because he had to know that. “I’m edgy and I’m sarcastic and I don’t let people get close to me. Everyone thinks you’re too good for me and don’t pretend that you don’t know it.”

I couldn’t believe that I had actually said that. That I sounded so not-together. Even when I pretended I was.

Hamzah looked positively startled by it.

“Mos,” he said, his tone completely changed now, as he fixed his gaze on me. “Get this. While I was busy messing around, you were being a bloody grown up and working your butt off to support your family. You did it with a good intention. Intentions count. You did it for your family. Not for name and for money and all the things people think you became a CA for. I think that makes a difference. What makes a difference to me is that you gave it all up in the blink of an eye because again, it was the right thing to do and it was what made me happy. It was what made Allah happy.”

”But-“ I wanted to argue that somewhere along the line my intentions changed, but he cut me off.

“Enough,” he said, getting to his feet as he stretched his arms out in front of him. “I won’t hear it. I’m going for a swim.”

Typical male. His realist side was too real for even the realist me. He said it like it was, and that was that.

I sighed and simultaneously widened my eyes as I watched him lower himself into the water, unable to contain my laughter as I watched him flinch at the temperature of it. This was a side of him that ventured into the wild. Craved the excitement. Went completely off the charts with boldness.

And although I knew he was expecting it, I bluntly let him know that there was no way I was getting in there, even as he tried to convince me that it wasn’t as bad as it looked.
It reminded me of the first time we had encountered icy waters, way before we even knew everything would happen the way it did. We were once so misguided and silly, but somehow, through the little guidance we sought, we managed to find a way to the other side…

Somehow, Hamzah had got me into the water after only ten minutes. I actually enjoyed it, and let myself relax a little because time was limited before we would have to head back for Zaid, I knew that the least I could do was give in to his whimsical wishes and enjoy the time on the water.

What I didn’t expect was emerging half an hour later to pull out fresh clothes from the bag, and glimpsing my phone in the process to see twelve missed calls.

Even for Nani, that was a bit extreme. No one else had tried calling. If it was an emergency, someone else might have.

But they didn’t. I still wasn’t sure whether to panic or not.

“It’s Nani,” I said, as Hamzah glanced at me while layering towels onto the seat of the car so we didn’t wet them. “She’s tried calling a few times.”

”You missed Taaleem?”

His voice was filled with humour but I wasn’t smiling. I knew that what Nani would have to say would be on her status or in message form.

I scrolled through my chats, scanning through for Nani’s name, and finally searching it, seeing Jameela’s messages that mentioned Nani. I quickly tapped the chat and opened the 8 messages that were unread.

Jameela was straight to the point and my heart beat a little faster as I skimmed through.

I just couldn’t do it.

I told Nani that and she wasn’t happy.

She said she was going to convince me otherwise.

Mos, I can’t marry the doctor. I just don’t feel right.

He’s not the one for me.

I didn’t read any further, because Nani’s incoming call at that point distracted me.

She was definitely WhatsApp stalking me. She would have also seen me online so there was no way that I could ignore her without causing a ruckus.

Hamzah had jumped in the car now, glanced at me watching my ringing phone like a crazy person, and immediately frowned.

“Babe, you okay?”

I looked at him, still not sure what to do.

“Wish me luck,” I said to Hamzah, just before sliding my finger across the phone to answer.

My gave me a thumbs up, and I knew that I was going to need it. This was going to be one tiresome conversation and I was not looking forward to it. I was only being realistic in my thinking. From everything that Jameela had told me, there was no use hoping that things would actually work out for them.

The realist in me told me so.

The other reality was, I wasn’t even exactly certain that I could play it cool because if Nani ever found out that I was actually in favour of Jameela’s decision… she would never forgive me.

---

Mission Sunnah Revival: 
Sunnah of Noble Character: 

Nabi (SAW) gave attention, spoke and showed love to even the worst person of a nation until the person felt that he is being given special attention.

May Allah make us of those who uphold the Sunnah of character always.

Someone asked Ali (RA): “How much was the Sahaba’s love for the Prophet (Sallalahu Alaihi wa Sallam)”

He replied: “By Allah! To us The Prophet (Sallalahu Alaihi wa Sallam) was dearer to us than our riches our children and our mothers, and was more cherishable than a drink of water at the time of severest thirst.”

SubhaanAllah… what perfect imaan they had… May Allah enable us to practise..💕

#RevivetheSunnah

#RevivetheSunnahofbeingGrateful

#RevivetheSunnahofQur’aanTilaawat

#ReviveSunnahofDuaa

#SunnahofMaintainingTies

#RevivetheSunnahofSadaqah

#RevivetheSunnahofGivingGifts

#RevivetheSunnahofGoodAkhlaaq

#RevivetheSunnahbeforeSleeping

#RevivetheSunnahofGuardingtheGaze

#RevivetheSunnahofLickingtheFingers

#RevivetheSunnahofMiswaak

#RevivetheSunnahofEnteringtheToilet

#RevivetheSunnahofSpeakingGood

#RevivetheSunnahofUsingtheRighthand

FB/Instagram: @thejourneyingmuslimah

The Greatest Gift

Bismihi Ta’ala

Jameela

Part 45

And all of a sudden, it was June, and as the morning sun broke over the tips of the mountain edges, the sunshine appeared like powdered gold over the grassy hillside.

It’s silhouette boasted its sublime beauty as I cast my gaze over it, I couldn’t help but sniff the the scent of roses in the air and hold out a hope that it was surely a promising sign. And as nature showed off it’s best winter bits, I wanted to sink myself into the realm of abandonment that it promised, but it was just that, with Faadils arrival that morning… I was starting to doubt my own optimism.

And as I hastily made my way to the kitchen window, sneaking past Nani and Ma, who, along with one of my aunties, seemed to be very absorbed in their meal preparation, each allocated a task that looked particularly tedious, I kind of hoped that they wouldn’t notice me there.

I had strategically positioned myself in the the corner of the kitchen that that had the most extensive view of the yard, purely because it was the only perfect  spot for me to spy on my sister and her boss, just to ascertain if things were really as dandy as she had pretended they were.

And with the backdrop of Quránic recital and slight chatter in the background, my sole intent at that point was to locate them and attempt to figure out his intention too.

And as I watched the from afar, clapping my eyes on  Mohsina, in her black cloak and scarf, talking somewhat civilly to her boss, a fear had gripped me as I realised that this wasn’t just a normal conversation.

I mean, why would he come all the way here just to talk about some audit? Besides….The look on his face, when he said he wanted to meet with Mohsina… there was something that I couldn’t mistake. It was obvious that he had feelings for my sister… and the worst part was, I think that my sister wasn’t completely unaware.

And as I processed and sighed, as I watched them in the distance, almost as if they were talking about something intimate, I literally wanted to run out and scream at my sister, like a policewoman, to tell her to keep her hands above her head and just take a step back. But of course I couldn’t. After all, she wasn’t a baby. I was supposed to be the smaller sister, who needed the taking care of.

And as if it was a final straw, I just sucked in my breath as I saw him pulling something out from inside his coat, and then, as they both stepped out of my view, I was literally at my wits end.

Oh gosh, no, he musnt. He must not spoil this. he must not try to bribe or threaten her with materialistic things, he must not, he cann-

“Jameela!”

I jumped as I heard Nani’s voice right next to me, widening my eyes as I realised that she had caught me red-handed, my eyes fixed outside like an obsessed crazy woman.

“Who you looking at like that?” She asked, her eyes narrowing over her spectacles as she looked at me accusingly.

“Nothing Nani,” I said, swallowing nervously.

Oh goodness. If she had to see Mohsina and Faadil, Nani would probably lose her mind. I could not imagine all the things she would say if she had to know the very obvious truth. How could my sister ever be so stupid?

And of course, I had to think of something really fast because Nani was still looking at me suspiciously and trying to figure out exactly what I had been up to. She knew that something was up but from where she stood, she couldn’t see them. All she could see was the gorgeous morning sun that had settled so easily over the veld that was displayed before us, and it was a breathtaking sight.

What Nani didn’t know that my breath was kind of punched out of me for completely different reasons.

She hovered for a minute, before looking at me – and then suddenly, tapped my arm almost aggressively.

“Ouch,” I said, rubbing my arm.

Mohsina and Faadil were no longer in view and although I wondered exactly where they had gone to, I was quite grateful that it meant that Nani wouldn’t spot them, but she still wasn’t looking happy.

She was shaking her head at me disappointingly.

“You looking at that boy isn’t it?” She said accusingly. “That fella’ your father got for the shop. I saw him here earlier.”

Oh gosh. Nani. Only she would call him a ‘fella’.

“Erm…” I started, not really sure if I should really allow her think that I was being like one beh-sharam who couldn’t control her gaze and was checking out boys so candidly.

But Nani wasn’t hearing any of it. She was already on her own roll, and Ma and my Aunty’s ears had also perked up.

“Don’t you go getting any ideas!” She continued, giving me a death glare, with her eyes widened. “Jameeela, you are a good girl, you don’t go doing all funny things like your sister. We’ll find you one nice boy from in the family and get you married there. You must remember that your Nana’s father came here in 1915 as a trader. Not as sugar cane worker. We can’t get all mixed up with lower class people.”

I widened my eyes, a little shocked at this onslaught. Haai, I didn’t even know about all these things. Did Nani even know that we lived in the 21st century?

“Mummy,” my mother said, clearing her throat, and obviously feeling a need to step in. “You know we don’t worry about all these things. As long as he is a namaazi (prays regularly) and comes from a good family, we will accept whatever Jameela chooses.”

“No such thing,” Nani insisted, looking appalled, and raising her rolling pin in warning. “If he’s not aapra wala (our people), how he will provide for her? How will they get along?”

She shrugged her shoulders and then turned to the counter, hastily pulling out a container from the cupboard to add more flour to the dough she had just made.

I glanced at my mother, noticing her silence for a few seconds, as she probably gathered what next to say.

I didn’t quite understand. Growing up, my parents never made much mention about such things like sugar cane workers and different castes. All I knew was that we were Muslim and we had to strive to be the best Muslims we can be. Ma often told us that we could never judge anyone, no matter what they were, what they looked like or where they came from. I also understood that everyone had their differences but if there is love and understanding between families then anything can be easily conquered.

“Mummy, don’t teach her all these funny ways,” Ma was saying reproachfully, as she glanced at me. “She mustn’t worry about material things so much. Nowadays girls have too many lists and criteria that need to be ticked off, that every boy they see is not good enough. If they can’t afford her facial products, he’s not good enough. If they don’t have money in the family, he’s not good enough. It’s not Islamic. Nowadays, we spoil the girls too much and then when the husbands can’t maintain them, they come back home and we cry.”

Now Ma was generalising and putting me down unnecessarily. We weren’t all like that.

I wasn’t quite sure about that. I wasn’t really worried about if the guy could afford me. But I did know that Mohsina had worried about those things at one stage. Money was important. Family was important. Complexion was important.

I just didn’t agree. As far as I was concerned, I just want someone with a mild temper, good manners and who had Deen. I just wished Nani could understand that.

“You saw what happened with Mohsina,” Mummy was saying as Nani looked indignant. “If her situation didn’t change, only Allah knows what kind of home she would have got…”

Ma was right about that. Imagine if, according to by suspicions, Faadil was the next son-in-law. I wasn’t even sure where he fitted in, with regard to all of that traditional hogwash… but I wasn’t exactly sure that he would make the greatest husband. Financially, I knew he might have made up for it though. But at the end of the day, money doesn’t really buy you happiness, does it?

And now that they had moved on to talk about my Bari Foi’s niece in law who had gotten married into a ‘poor’ family and was actually really happy, I decided to make my way out the kitchen since the point of money not buying happiness was proven, and because Mohsina and her boss’s presence was becoming a major concern for me right then.

I only hoped that she wasn’t getting herself deeper and deeper into more sins….

And as I made my way down to the hallway passage, peeping around the corner to see if she was maybe on the patio, it was at that moment that the door opened and my sister walked in, barely even looking up to see if anyone was around.

Her red-rimmed eyes were a dead giveaway, and as she trudged up the stairs, I followed her into the room where Zaid was still napping, careful not to make too much of noise and wake him. I could tell that that was probably the last thing Mohsina needed right then.

She had already delved into her bag-packing, and as much as I didn’t want to to pry, and she had told me to mind my own business, I knew that this was something that I couldn’t just shove under the rug.

”Mos,” I said softly,  sitting on the rug near the bed and grabbing a few vests of Zaid’s to fold and pack. “Is everything okay at work?”

Mohsina glanced at me, and wiped a stray tear from the corner of her eye as she nodded.

“It’s okay,” she said softly, and looked away again.

I had to ask her. There was no two ways about it. I had to.

”Mos, does Hamzah know about him?” I said, my heart beating incessantly as panic filled my gut. Did she know how dangerous this could be? How much of pain and hurt she could cause if she didn’t handle this correctly?

She shook her head and looked at me, tears filling her eyes once again, as she looked away. She was clearly overwhelmed with emotion. What had happened outside was probably more than she bargained for.

And there was no denying that the situation at hand now was completely terrible.

”Ah, Mos,” was all I could say, as she hopelessly covered her face with her hands, looking as if she was completely inconsolable. To tell the truth, so was I. I had no idea what to tell her.

But because my nature was to be a dreamer and full of hope, I knew that I had to be positive and give her some too…

“It’s going to be okay,” was all could say soothingly, getting up to place my arms around her shoulders comfortingly, but if didn’t quite do the trick.

Within her, was already a torrent of emotion that seemed to overcome her as she clutched me and sobbed her heart out for a good few minutes. And as she did so, I could feel the crushing of self-desire, the breaking of her inner-most despair, and the sheer desperation that she clung onto me with. It was like she was searching for something that she hadn’t quite realised that she had lost…. trying to piece all those broken pieces together… but they didn’t quite fit…

And even though it took her a few minutes, eventually, as the tears ceased and her body eventually calmed, as I held onto her tightly, with it, she had released all of the hurt and grievances that were holding her back.

”I just feel so terrible,” she said, pulling back slightly as she looked at me. “I always thought that I loved Faadil. That he was everything I wanted.”

What she had just uttered was way more than I knew, a revelation of something undercover that had transpired, but I held my tongue back from calling her out right then.

“What do you mean?” I asked carefully, feeling a bit worried about her response. “He knows you are marrying Hamzah?”

It was the furtherest I’d ever come to asking her the truth about her boss and the look in her eyes was a dead giveaway.

“He literally begged me not to,” she confessed as she nodded, pulling at a thread on the duvet cover, not meeting my eye. “It was everything I had ever wanted. Most insta-worthy kind of scene. The backdrop, the smooth words, the revealing of the most stunning one carat diamond ring…”

I sucked in my breath as she trailed off, instantly feeling panicked. A one carat engagement ring? She still didn’t meet my eye and my heart contracted painfully. What this world does to us was something I sometimes couldn’t make sense of…

“He promised me the world,” she continued weakly, as she confirmed my suspicions. “Said that Zaid would stay with us. He could employ two nannies- for the day and night, and a helper too, for housework. He said he was looking into it and we could even accommodate him at Hammond’s, by making some adjustments to my schedule and a small nursery with a qualified assistant. He wants to make it more child-friendly. He’s prepared to do whatever it takes.”

”Oh gosh, Mos,” I said, my heart beating crazily as she said it.

She sounded like she was already bought. A night nanny?

My word, that was a luxury. I knew how little sleep Mohsina was getting these days.

And my heart sunk because I already knew that she was going to fall for it, hook, line and sinker. All of these things were what Mohsina  always wanted in a marriage. The stability. The money. The financial security.

After all, Hamzah was only a CA. Fine, he wasn’t exactly incapable of providing, but he was still establishing himself. How could that compare to the associate Director Faadil, who manages a mega-corporation and had millions on his payroll every year? He could probably even hire a helicopter to transport them wherever she wanted. He could give Mohsina the life that she always dreamt of, and she wouldn’t even have to sacrifice Zaid.

Why would she not jump at this opportunity?

“Jameela, he even said I didn’t have to work, if I wanted to be a stay-at-home mother,” she continued quietly, glancing at Zaid who was shifting slightly in his sleep. “It’s not only about Hammond’s. He was sorry he didn’t tell me all this before but when he heard that I was getting married, it made him realise how much I meant to him and he just can’t let me make this mistake…”

I narrowed my eyes, as anger rose in my chest.

I had no words for this… treachery. Whether something went on before this or not… All this time, throughout losing Layyanah and coping with the emotions that had brought, Faadil was nowhere in the picture.

He took her for granted because he thought she would be around, no matter what. When Zaid came into the picture, it probably suited him better, because he assumed that she’d be focused on him and not really on the market anymore. Suddenly… When he heard that Hamzah was prepared to marry her… everything changes?

Why was she so gullible?

I can’t understand. I wanted to cry.

“So you going to believe him?!” I almost cried.

My heart was beating crazily as I said it. My sister was way in over her head.

She looked at me, and tears filled her eyes again.

“It’s everything I ever wanted,” she cried, tears falling freely as she continued. “I would have died for this kind of commitment from him, Jameela. But Jamz… You don’t understand, Jameela. That kind of life he’s offering me.. where I could have anything I wanted at the click of a finger…”

My heart lifted slightly as I waited for her to finish.

”That life means nothing to me anymore,” she finished, and my heart soared as she said the words.

It was inexplicable right then. The relief I felt, was like the warmth of the  sunshine on my face early this morning. The brightness that it brought was not just light alone, but new life, and hope, and soothing to the heart… much needed relief from the torrents of rain that seemed to be the drenching us for weeks on end. Breathing came easily again, and as I filled my lungs with new air, once again, I felt alive and eternally grateful for this great bounty.

Mohsina sniffed and dabbed her eyes.

“I don’t want to go back there,” she whispered, meeting my eye.. “Back to that place where Allah was only a second option for me. Back to that place where I didn’t trust Allah enough to let Him come through for me. And now that He’s come through for me, and He brought amazing things through for me again, am I just going to desert Him and forget everything He granted me in His mercy? Does He not say that when you take one step toward him, He will run to you, so am I going to just turn my back on Him once again?”

Her eyes were brimming with tears as she looked at me, almost as if I was capable of giving her those answers. Only she held the pen to her story. Only she could determine how this was going to end…

“And I know I was wrong, Jamz,” she confessed, as she swallowed back more emotion. “I was wrong with Faadil and I was wrong with Hamzah. I know that before this, I made Allah Ta’ala wait, and everyone else took precedence. The thing is, I realised that you can love someone until you are blue in the face, but you can’t force them to meet you on the bridge. Even those with the most love for you can still leave. Whether it’s a friend or family or a beloved…. whether it was Maahira, my family, Hamzah or even Faadil who was so busy while I went through my own turmoil after losing Layy… everyone takes a step away from you at some point. But not Allah. But not Allah, Jameela…”

She paused, swallowed and looked at me. She was so right.

Not Allah. He stays where He is, waiting for us to come back, even when we’ve forsaken him.

And it was obvious that it hurt her. That’s how it was with Haraam relationships. She had forgot Allah and it pained her and it broke her and sometimes you are reduced to a point when you are not even sure if you could ever be repaired…

“I’m so proud of you, Mos,” I whispered, not able to speak any louder due to the emotion that weighed me down.

This wasn’t easy for her. I could see that. But this wasn’t only about her. There was a greater picture, a bigger story, and a more promising future that she had to make for herself.

“Don’t be,” Mohsina said remorsefully, shaking her head. “I ignored my Creator. I put everyone else first, and I made Him wait. I was sooo terrible. And I know that it may take a while to get to a comfortable place with Hamzah. Old dirt may pop up. The past may haunt us. It may not be easy from day one, but I know that Allah will heal every pain and replace it with something better. And that’s why I know that this … what Allah has allowed and inspired, it’s only through Him. If He has done so much for me, even if this is not perfect, even if it’s not that amazing kind of feeling and the perfect situation… I know that I have reached out for Allah and He is more beautiful than any sin…and all I want now, even if this doesn’t go perfectly, even if Hamzah hears about this and wants to call it off, even if there’s no-one else here for me… even if I have nothing else…. all I want, Jamz, is for Allah to forever hold my hand…. and that will be the Greatest Gift…”

Her voice broke at that point and I understood exactly what she said, as she pulled herself together, trying to stop the tears from flowing down her cheeks as she let loose every emotion that had been consuming her. She had got it spot on, and I couldn’t even believe that she had reached this place where Allah came before everything else. The most beautiful part was that she had no idea about this spectacular sacrifice that she had just made and that had so completely inspired me too…

“Gosh,” she moaned, glancing at herself in the mirror and looking horrified. “I’m going to look like a train-wreck for my Nikah. I’m not sure if Hamzah will even recognise me…”

I smiled as I watched her carefully dab her face with some toner, and apply a little bit of concealer to cover up her puffy eyes.

I didn’t know what else to say. Honestly, my voice was just kind of stuck in my throat because I could not possible even convey the joy that I felt right then.

Soon Zaid would be awake and her time would run out, so I hastily helped her with her packing, silently thanking Allah for making Nani give out that huge sum of Sadaqah that saved us from a very unfortunate plight.

I still could barely believe what had happened, but I knew that she’d made a mistake. I knew that she regretted it. But as I glimpsed her smile that day, I also knew that despite whatever had happened in the past, very clearly, her heart was very much focused on her future.

As the time for the Nikah approached, and she emerged from her room, I noticed that my pretty sisters cheeks were naturally flushed, as a new bride should be, but it wasn’t even that that was making her glow the way she was.

And I didn’t know much about love or soulmates, or any of that stuff, but as I looked at her, knowing that this though this was something she had prayed for fervently,  I could feel that her entire purpose and aim here was for Allah’s pleasure. She had, undoubtedly, sacrificed so much to get here, and I knew that, most definitely, the sacrifice had not gone unnoticed.

And as she focused on her new chapter, the part where she left it to Allah, and surrendered herself in a must sublime way, I could feel my own heart soaring with joy. Zaid was in a particularly good mood after his nap but what her feelings were at the time when she had given her answer to my father and and they had headed off to masjid, I could not imagine. All I knew was that this was, by far, one of the most crucial moments of her life and she would probably never forget it. As the time of the Nikah drew nearer, and the excitement in the house mounted, I could not have imagined a more beautiful transition of woman to wife, than my sister had endured that day.

It was just pure exhilaration as I shifted my gaze to my sister, and I forced myself to hold back. My eyes were filling with tears and the lump in my throat seemed to expand.

The streaming of the live Nikah was transmitted through the link, and the break in transmission got us slightly on edge, but as Mohsina’s phone beeped next to us and she showed me the screen approximately three minutes later, I couldn’t help but chuckle as I saw the simple two sentence congratulatory iMessage.

Hamzah:

Deals all done, wifey. Too late to run. 

I shook my head, knowing that only Hamzah would be daring enough to send a message like that at this moment as she smiled almost in contempt and tapped a reply. No doubt, Mohsina probably had a witty comeback.
She placed her phoned down, knowing that congratulations were in order from everyone else too, and as I took pleasure in her happiness, it was as if this morning’s emotional escapade had never happened.

Gazing at her, her beauty even more apparent on account of her sublime joy, there she was, this new woman, all set for this new journey, with only Allah in mind, as she knocked down all those obstacles that had ever stood in her way.

And yes, it was truly such a momentous occasion, and as I watched her, her recently slender figure draped in a simple but beautiful abaya that she had purchased for the Nikah, with the sun gleaming through the window and highlighting her subtly made up face, an overwhelming feeling of nostalgia had caught me off guard. She had, most certainly, grown into a woman who was so much more worthy of all those mistakes she had made, and I knew that throughout every encounter and trial and setback, she always emerged stronger and more beautiful than she had been before.  Every test purified her and every setback had served to bring her back to her purpose, and I knew that this step was going to be the greatest one yet…

And as I slunk back with Zaid in my arms, waiting for my turn to offer her a proper greeting and goodbye, as Nani gave her Du’aa (prayer) of happiness and many, many pious offspring which made me cringe, I could hear Ma and one of our cousins wishing her with the beautiful words that our Nabi (Sallalahu Alaihi wa Sallam) had taught us to pray for couple:

Barakallahu lakuma wa baraka alaikuma wa jama’a baynakuma fii khair.
May Allah bless your union, and shower His blessings upon you, and unite you in goodness.

And as I glimpsed her face, all I wanted to do was reach out for her and hold her close to me, not only because she had been through such an enormous change of heart, but also because she was, undoubtedly, doing the most amazing and selfless thing. And I couldn’t believe it, because what I could see before me was the unfolding of the most beautiful kind of love story. It was the most inspiring kind of reformation that I ever had the privilege of witnessing.

And that’s when I realised, that this journey that Mohsina was taking was not about Faadil and breaking free. It wasn’t about Nani or my parents expectations. It wasn’t even about Hamzah or Zaid any more. And that was what got me, because everyone who was so in awe of this amazing match and union, will make you believe that this is the happily ever after, where the shoe fit Cinderella or the frog turned back into a Prince. People will make you believe that this is the once upon a time and then end of the rainbow that we’ve all been searching for, the initiation of them both riding into the sunset to have their very own happy ending.

But it wasn’t.

And when she gave me a small smile, almost as if she herself couldn’t believe that this day had actually come and my sister was no longer just the  accomplished and Instagram-obsessed, self-motivated, career-driven chartered accountant that she had once been, I knew it for sure. In her place, instead, there was a calmer, self-contented girl on a journey of reclaiming her heart, who relied on Allah and Him alone, and I couldn’t quite believe this amazing change in her had actually taken place.

And as I soaked it all in, if there’s one thing I learnt, it’s that when you really want something, always remember that you hold the pen to your story. You can close the pages of chapters and start a brand new one whenever you need. You can walk away from those things that may ruin you or drain your spirit. Learn to embrace that middle road, the middle chapters, after which you are not sure what comes, because this too… are filled with magic and hope.
You can seek those people who you always wanted, and write them in, as you please.  You, and only you, hold the pen to your own beautiful story.

Live a beautiful love. Dream a beautiful dream. Guide your soul, through His guidance.

One day, even if it doesn’t come together right then, it eventually was will see that all that is with Allah, is never lost. In fact the Nabi (Sallalahu Alaihi Wa Sallam)
has said: “You will never give up a thing for the sake of Allah (swt), but that Allah will replace it for you with something that is better for you than it.” (Ahmad)

Sometimes Allah takes in order to give. His giving is not always in the form we think we want. He knows best, what is best. But still somehow, we will give your whole life, still, to reaching this ‘place’. You do this because in the fairy tale, that’s where the story ends. It ends at the finding, the joining, the wedding. It is found at the oneness of two souls.

What they don’t tell us is that that we will never finally be complete, because we haven’t yet found that source of completion. The final piece that joins it all together. The deal-sealer. The beginning of the path back to Him. That the ‘something better’ or the ‘best’ is the greatest gift: nearness to Him.

Sometimes the greatest gift lies beyond the taking and the returning…  sometimes the greatest gifts, is that something eternal, that never tires, never leaves and never breaks….

And that is the only Greatest Gift that is forever worth waiting for.

---

Authors note: Dear readers, just a quick one to say that this was an extra long post so the next one (or two?) before the break will be a bit shorter, InshaAllah…

Much Love,

A

xx

Mission Sunnah Revival

In line with love for Nabi (Sallalahu Alaihi Wa Salaam), a narration goes like this:

Someone asked Ali (RA): 

“How much was the Sahaba’s love for the Prophet (Sallalahu Alaihi wa Sallam)”

He replied: “By Allah! To us The Prophet (Sallalahu Alaihi wa Sallam) was dearer to us than our riches our children and our mothers, and was more cherishable than a drink of water at the time of severest thirst.”

SubhaanAllah… what perfect imaan they had…

The Sunnah of Giving up arguing and having good manners…

Whilst we grapple to keep that connection alive out of Ramadhaan, and approach the month of Dhul Hajjiah, let try and increase our Ibaadat.

Abu Umamah Al-Bahili Ra reported Nabi (ﷺ) said,

“I guarantee a house in Jannah for one who gives up arguing, even if he is in the right;

and I guarantee a home in the middle of Jannah for one who abandons lying even for the sake of fun;

and I guarantee a house in the highest part of Jannah for one who has good manners/Akhlaaq.

#RevivetheSunnahofQur’aan

#ReviveSunnahofDuaa

#SunnahofMaintainingTies

#RevivetheSunnahofSadaqah

#RevivetheSunnahofGivingGifts

#RevivetheSunnahofGoodAkhlaaq

#RevivetheSunnahbeforeSleeping

#RevivetheSunnahofGuardingtheGaze

#RevivetheSunnahofLickingtheFingers

#RevivetheSunnahofMiswaak

#RevivetheSunnahofEnteringtheToilet

#RevivetheSunnahofSpeakingGood

#RevivetheSunnahofUsingtheRighthand

FB/Instagram: @thejourneyingmuslimah ­

The Last Time

Bismihi Ta’ala

Part 26

Mohsina

The other day I read something that said:

“There was a last time you played outside as a kid and you had no idea that it was the last time you did.”

And I know it’s just a fleeting thought that may have crossed a random someone’s mind at some random time, but it hit pretty hard for me. Because, well, the truth is- we never do know when the last time is the last time, do we?

And other emotions aside, but my just heart kind of sunk as I thought about all the last times that may have happened without me even knowing it. The last time you ‘played’ at a friends house or the last time you ever spoke to someone special… the last time you sat on your father’s lap or in his house or the last time you all enjoyed a meal with only your siblings before you moved on to another chapter of your life…

Life is a series of moments… a series of ‘last times’. A series of events that are strung together, a combination of last times that sometimes leave an aching feeling in our gut till long after.. even though you don’t always see it at the time.

And every so often in life, it happens that we see things for what they truly are. A pious man once called this world our ‘Earthly Existence’. And it was so true, because sometimes we forget that this part of our being is not the temporary one. We forget that there’s a world that’s bigger… that’s greater, that’s purer… that’s more real and millions of times more beautiful than this one. That doesn’t have any lasts or goodbyes, because all it is is a collection of eternity that knows no bounds.

Sometimes we are tested so we can see this, and sometimes when we are tested we forget this.

And it was the day before I was set to leave home, as I sat with my common and repossessed addictions , when I was sucked into it like never before.

I was all stuck in this rut of devilish screen time and feeling sorry for myself, feeling as if everyone was moving on with their life and almost as if no-one cared that I wouldn’t be here anymore when my fathers voice boomed from just outside my room door.

“Muh-Seena!”

True echo of my fathers voice in the hallway of the second floor of our house was enough to make me literally freeze, tap the pause button and slide off my Queen-sized bed.

And it was about time. Jameela and my mother had made several attempts, with no luck. I supposed it was only expected that my father would have been the next and last resort.

“Mohsina,” his voice sounded again, but it was gentler this time.

Almost like he remembered that he had to be sensitive. That I was leaving tomorrow and I wouldn’t be here anymore. That I had endured a few great ordeals recently and desperately needed some TLC.

Almost as if he was trying to coax me out of the gutter that I was lying in.

I swung the door open haphazardly, and then quickly grabbed the towel from behind my door.

Astagh.

I had forgotten that I was wearing a t-shirt and shorty-shorts and if I didn’t cover myself in record time my father would have another heart attack.

And okay, I hear you. It was my father but Nani was always on my back about my dressing and even in the house I knew that it was only out of a little bit of shame and respect that I should dress decently in front of him and my brother. The fact was, spiritually, I was on a low, and my outward self was taking the battering.

Over the years I had come to realised that my level of Imaan and my modesty went hand in hand.

The thing is, Hayaa is a protection of Imaan. If one goes, the other will also be lost.

And when you do good deeds, they were a magnet for good deeds, but it was like-wise with bad deeds. When I found myself getting involved in questionable and off- track things, my mind overpowered my reasoning and sunk lower and lower…

Papa shook his head at me, his look of disdain fading as he ran his hand through his grey beard and tried to offer a small smile.

“Put on your cloak and come down,” he said, pleading with me through his eyes. “Everyone is asking for you.”

I sighed.

I so did not want to go downstairs right then. Besides Nani and some other family members making an appearance this evening, I felt like killing time, enjoying my room which would soon become office space for Papa and Jameela with their new venture… and just being by myself for now.

And okay, I admit it, Nani and I weren’t exactly on speaking terms right then. She conveniently turned her face away when I entered the room the other day. If she didn’t ignore me completely, she openly insulted me. She spoke around me, about me, almost as if I wasn’t even there.

Her eyes would follow me around the kitchen as I tried to make myself a cup of coffee to take back up to my room.

“Bengori,” she told my mother that day, almost in a whisper. As if I couldn’t hear. “What you think if I get a taweez? It’s two times now, beti. How can happen two times? Everything going upside down here. I can ask Khairoon – her son is a Maulana, he’ll give something for Mohsina. Must be someone put too much eyes, that’s why her life is like this!”

I rolled my eyes. She was digging up old dust and although it stung, I closed my eyes momentarily, trying to forget once again, what happened had in the past.

She was referring to two years back, a Samoosa run proposal hadn’t exactly gone according to plan. What she refused to accept was that it was hardly my fault, and that it was largely due to her favourite granddaughter spreading stupid rumours about me and no one listening to me until the damage was all done. Of course, this was the reason there was a huge fall-out, and why my cousin and I didn’t get along.

The break-off was for the best, though, in retrospect. The guy was a spineless idiot who cared too much about his parents opinions about unimportant aspects. Everything, from the furniture of our house to the color of my wedding dress had to go through them. People who don’t have a back bone are hardly my type of people. I wasn’t exactly craving an oppressive relationship.

Obviously I was upset at the time…. But those were the unmentionable things that we didn’t mention. Maybe it was time that I set the record straight….

I opened my mouth and shut it again as she continued.

“Such good proposals,” she continued sadly in guji, her voice sounding strained as she sighed and I poured my coffee silently. “There must be a reason why this is happening to me. How will she ever get married now.. any other boy will think something is wrong with us..”

I widened my eyes and opened my mouth, ready to explode.

How can she make this about her? This was my life. My marriage. I was the one enduring all the hurt and criticism and she was still blaming it on me.

Ghuh.

Ans I was about to say it but it just took one look from my mother for me to keep my mouth shut and swallow all the words on the tip of my tongue. Talking about the past would open up a can of worms. Nani was upset, and so was I. I knew my parents were hurting and disappointed too, but they hid their hurt because they didn’t want to rub it in my face. They silently put on a smile and loved me no matter what… when all I was doing now was letting myself slip further and further into a gloomy hole.

”Mummy,” said Ma calmly. “I heard the other day that the one of the most effective things to read for nazr.. for protection from peopel is usually Quls and last two verses of Surah Qalam.”

Protection duaas, of course, were the greatest  preventative.

And I knew the evil eye was real.

The hadeeth clearly states: “The evil eye (nazar) is a reality.” (Saheeh Bukhaari #5740)

Nani though, usually took it to another level. Everything was Nazr.

I stirred my coffee without a single word. Sometimes it was just life. We went through hard tests and times. Stuff happened. We had to learn to heal, to reach out, and to ask Allah for help during those times of trial…

What I was doing about it though… I wasn’t sure.

Nani was saying something about turning salt, md I really wasn’t keen on trying those out-dated and dodgy methods.

“Listen, please, Ma,” my mother continued. “Please don’t go and ask aunty Khairoon because she will tell her whole family and everyone else and it’s not nice. We read manzil. Every day. I’m sure Mohsina is doing her morning and evening duaas and reading everything she can. Right, Mosee?”

She looked at me and I nodded back guiltily.

I feel like I’d been targeted and exposed.

Ah yes. I was taking the tea when it comes to complacency. Thinking I was too good before Thai. Too religious. I wanted to be better but lately, I’d been sucked into distractions.

You see, it took me some time but I realised very fast that forgetting someone is not as easy as double tapping and unliking an Instagram post. It was far more tedious and it wasn’t exactly my favourite thing to do.

In an effort to shove the past behind me and get on with it, social media had become my refuge once again. Netflix was my new and old go-to and with my favourites streaming once again during the festive period, I couldn’t help but resist the temptation.

Sometimes in life it happens that we forget what our purpose is. When we are a little good, we become complacent. We think that we are beyond sin. That we won’t fall into a trap.

In that spirit of festivity, when everyone around is having a good time, our purpose becomes one and the same. When we are overwhelmed with emotion, down in the gutter or feeling a little out of sorts… we are no longer the slaves of our Creator.

I felt hurt. Deserted. Abandoned, even when I knew that Allah will never abandon me… I was refusing to step up. Instead of relying on my Creator, I relied on everyone else to prove my self-worth.

Layyanah too, after her coaxing and comforting the past two weeks, had gone away on a baby-moon while Liyaket was on leave and left me to my own devices. Like, literal devices of delusion, that I couldn’t stop with.

And from one movie watched in that spirit of craziness, I ended up getting hooked on three different series.

And that’s the thing with these subscriptions, isn’t it. One movie isn’t enough. It’s not enough to get the required ideology across… to infiltrate the warped concepts and ideas… to really immerse someone in the message they are trying to put across. It’s not called ‘series’ for nothing. Over a continuous dose of addictive episodes, your mindset becomes contaminated with the thoughts you probably never knew existed.

Besides, drowning myself in mindless series with their subliminal messages was also the best way to escape Nani’s prying eyes and escape into another world.

It didn’t help that everyone else was busy too and barely enjoying the holiday time. On the home front, Jameela was busy with her big renovation of the front building and Papa was in the process of handing the shop over to someone else. Ma was busy doing what she can to keep the peace and Nani was, as usual, eyeing me out with a look of disappointment every time she saw me.

And though home it was my refuge at times, my mind was screaming for a relief.

And so my escape was first the office, where everyone was in high spirits at the end of the year.  Going through the motions. Winding down. Cooling off. I mean, it’s not called the silly season for no reason. People really do get pretty crazy and at the end of year when there were usually an array of parties and occasions that were hosted by work, it meant that I couldn’t simply escape it all.

And maybe I wasn’t doing the things that people usually do, but in my own way, I was resorting to my own kind of silliness.

Yes, my family was supporting me silently, but it wasn’t good enough for me. All I saw was Nani’s battering and the stigma that was getting attached to me, I saw people’s judgements and dreaded meeting family. When it came down to it, something was telling me that a new and fresh start would be just the thing to set everything right.

So when Faadil mentioned in passing that the package I had scored came with an apartment or a rental allowance, I jumped at the opportunity to see the apartment. The company already had a few that they owned.

When things broke off with Hamzah, I had a feeling that something may have been circulating that general office people had gotten wind of, but didn’t mention it to me.

I wasn’t sure what it was and who said what… but the package that was promised came ahead of time. It was almost like a reward.

There were added benefits on my contract that weren’t mentioned before and better perks. I couldn’t believe how good it was all looking on paper. The apartment, obviously, was the welcomed bonus. It was a stunning penthouse in the heart of Johannesburg which was a mere 5 minutes walk from the offices. It would save me the trouble of morning traffic and also mean that I could sleep in till a seemingly ridiculous hour for a work day.

That was the life, I told myself, the day I went to see the apartment, floored by its spacious living area and master bedroom. This is what I’ve worked so hard for.

It was all about me. About what I wanted. About what I could do to help myself. I mean, I had been through enough, shouldn’t I have something to appease myself at least?

And due to that, the decision came without much thought. Time was racing by and it was finally the week when I would get occupancy. It was the week when old contracts were ended and new ones began. It was a start of a new chapter for many people at Hammonds too.

What I was trying to forget was that this was the week that Hamzah would leave permanently and the week that our Nikah was scheduled to be. I buried the thoughts under the haze in my mind, trying to forget it completely.

Lesley had come in early those few days while we tried to work out the year end tasks. Mickey and the rest were busy trying to be busy with nothing in particular.  Hamzah was absent for a good portion of those last few weeks. From what I heard from Layy, because I barely saw him, was that he took intermittent leave in those few weeks purposely, on account of everything that had happened and some huge change in his life. I didn’t ask what it was. My life was perfectly fine knowing nothing more about him.

He had also probably found a new route to the roof smoke breaks so I barely even saw him on our floor anymore. If I was feeling it, I didn’t show it. I had become pretty good at masking my emotions.

And with all that, I was all psyched up that day as I grabbed the keys from the envelope Faadil had sent to my desk earlier that day. The new bunch looked all shiny and fancy, with a special disk to enter the building from the parking lot.

My heart was all racy with trepidation as I grabbed my new Micheal Kors work bag to sling over my shoulder, making sure that I had all my work essentials in there for the weekend. It was no use being in my new place if I didn’t make full use of the space.

“Hey babe,” Lesley called, as she saw me heading out. “All the best for the big move.”

She was styling in a pants suit today and I couldn’t believe how it suited her. The change in her, since she started dating the Muslim guy from HR was absolutely shocking. I had an idea that she was considering taking it to the next step with him but that was a different story altogether. I wasn’t in the space to advise her, because I was so off-track myself.

Before Nikah I would assume she had said  that she was wanting to revert, and though I was so happy for her and what this had brought… I couldn’t help that feeling that made me feel like she was ten steps ahead of me and I was still lagging behind.

I chatted to her for a few minutes about weekend plans, and though she was all excited for my new place, she had her own plans and I felt myself playing up the whole thing a little too much. She had also got a pretty good position at a firm close by. I was actually so good at pretending nowadays that I found myself faking smiles and laughter even unconsciously. And as I grabbed my phone from the front compartment of my bag, opening Instagram to check out the latest posts on my feed, the lift pinged open and I automatically walked in, not even processing if anyone was in there.

It took me a few seconds before I looked up, wanting to greet and make eye contact with the elevator acquaintance but already feeling a coldness from behind me as I turned to see who was here.

And that’s when I saw him.

It was Hamzah stood there, his eyes fixed ahead, almost as if he was completely immune to my very presence. His expression was unreadable and his mere being was reeking with aloofness, obviously stemmed by me being less than a metre away from him.

I swallowed hard as glimpsed his familiar jawline, set now in a steady but grim fashion as his eyes narrowed ever so slightly, before I looked away. I couldn’t quite digest the feelings that were hitting me at that point.

Seeing him like this was as painful as ripping my heart right out of my chest. He seemed like a different person. He acted like someone I had never met before. As for his appearance, his face now sported a fully grown beard and his demeanor was entirely transformed.

I stood silently, with my gaze now averted, knowing truly well that he didn’t offer even a single glance my way before the lift door pinged open again and he waited silently, as always, for me to step out, before he did so himself.

And as I did, it was only a few seconds, it felt like old times, and my heart was overpowering my mind.

It was stupid but I couldn’t help it. Like a magnet was drawing me to the spot, almost as if I couldn’t move on until something pushed me away, a fierce wind of emotion overpowered me as I stood there for a brief moment, merely waiting.

I waited for something. Anything. A glance of acknowledgment.  A word of greeting. A murmur of familiarity.

Even a sigh of irritation would have been welcomed right then.

But all I got was the silence of the empty entrance hall as he walked away, two work bags and a backpack on him, with not so much as even a single glance backward.

It was the last time I would see him leaving, and I felt like my heart was crushing within my chest, as I realised the full extent of what was happening here and how everything was just leaping further and further away from me, as I struggled to come to grips with it all.

Because what were are.. what we were… was only a moment. A wrong moment, every time. A moment stolen, that probably wasn’t even ours. A moment where we forgot everything else but what our Nafs wanted for that time. A moment where life, death, wealth and reality intervened, where disastrous choices had to be made and everything was destined to come crashing down.

A moment where I had lost myself, but had come back… only to lose myself once again as I struggled to cling onto that very wrong moment. And now, a last moment of realisation, where I could have used to change my path, to turn back the page, to come clean and erase the past few months and just start all over again if I wished.

But I didn’t. I couldn’t take back what I’d done and there was no way I could ever explain.

This was it… like two threads hanging in the open, until a gust of wind brought them together again as they approached, but no-one would see if they could meet or intertwine once again.. whether the wrong moments could be righted, whether the darkness of sin could be purified, or if wisps of time could have perhaps gifted us with the knowledge that this wasn’t really goodbye…

That forever moment, the last time I glimpsed his back in the steely entrance hall of Hammonds’ office block would be the last time we didn’t say goodbye.

---

Dear Readers,

Sorry for the heartbreak.

Really appreciate the feedback, it really helped me to see so many sides of the issue of polygyny… different perspectives, as well as challenges many face. The second wife controversy continues and we’ll get to it soon.
(Seems the ladies may really like to see Fareeha get into it, as that may be another story altogether…hehe)💕💕

Just something to note for Nazar: (from Path to Paradise Kitaab via Uswatul Muslimah) 

The last two verses of Surah Qalam are very effective in removing nazar. They should be recited eleven times and blown on water, which the patient should drink. The water could also be sprinkled on his face and head, or used for bathing. Alternatively, the verses could be merely recited and blown on the patient.

Should be combined with Surah Humazah, Surah Falaq and Surah Naas three times each, preceded and followed by durood shareef three times. It could then be used in the above mentioned manner.

 

Revive the Sunnah of being Active 

Especially in this day and age when there are so many Haraam recreational options available for entertainment, it’s crucial that we try and adopt a clean environment or even a hobby that’s beneficial and Halaal.

In one of the Hadiths, Abu Hurairah mentioned that The Messenger of Allah (Peace and Blessing be upon him) said that:” A strong believer is better and dearer to Allah than a weak one, and both are good.”

This particular Hadith outlines the importance of being healthy and strong physically, which shows that exercises and keeping fit are important for Muslims. In a world where everything is one click away, people are no longer willing to do any effort to stay in good health physically or eat well. Let’s try and revive the Sunnah of being active, through running, swimming or exercise.

#RevivetheSunnahbeforeSleeping

#RevivetheSunnahofGuardingtheGaze

#RevivetheSunnahofLickingtheFingers

#RevivetheSunnahofMiswaak

#RevivetheSunnahofEnteringtheToilet

#RevivetheSunnahofSpeakingGood

#RevivetheSunnahofUsingtheRighthand

FB/Instagram: @thejourneyingmuslimah

When the Game Changes

Bismihi Ta’ala

Two months later

Mohsina

I once heard someone say that for the generation of people that we call the millennials, sitting is the new smoking. And with all the health aversions that come with that, more concerning is the thing that we often do while we’re sitting:

Mindlessly scrolling through our social media feeds when we have a few spare minutes (or for some like me, when I’m not working, sometimes for hours). And as we probably know intuitively, and as the research is confirming, it’s not the best habit for health or even for our collective psychology. In a world where we think through, we learn through, we escape into … it becomes something that is completely consuming and an actual hobby, we still find ourselves lonely and isolated, even with every application or device at our disposal.

And there were many things that I could tell you about during that frame of time where I was grappling to find myself, but the one that stood out for me was finding myself out of a virtual world that I was positively sinking into before that.

It’s not always easy to change your perspective. To see a new world, new choices, new possibilities. Often when submerged in darkness, it’s almost impossible to even find a sliver of light.

And I’d be lying if I said that that day spent out in the open, almost in another dimension, in the midst of the consuming greenery of Kwa-Zulu Natal and its splendour, did not make a difference to me. Of course it did, but as much as it had changed my heart, there was something else that had changed too.

Sometimes change is not once off. We are constantly changing. Morphing. Emerging. And sometimes it’s not always for the better.

And with all my Netflix and Instafam challenges that were going on, whether it was a make-up challenge or little reel that I was doing just for kicks, I knew that it was going to pull me back into it, as soon as I got back to my normal routine.

But even amidst all that, in retrospect, it was the beginning of a different era for me, a game changer, and Layyanah’s simple wedding was when it all started.

Two months later, as I sat on a bar stool near my newly bought Kitchen Aid mixer, I was now in a completely different dimension altogether.

Hey babes. U busy?

I glanced as my phone lit up, actually not keen on replying right then because my fingers were intricately piping the little rosettes on my mini cheesecakes. The phone would have to wait, for once. These salted-caramel babies were going off later for a special order and I wanted them to be perfect. And yes, you are probably wondering what on Earth happened to the Snapchat and Netflix addicted version of Mostly Mohsina, but the journey that had brought me up that point was definitely not to be undermined.

The next message came before I could even break away from the task at hand.

I’m coming over.

I set my piping bag down, wiping off the icing that had decorated my lower arm by mistake, and then popping the cakes into the bar fridge I had bought especially for my baking.

I glanced in the mirror, taking in this new lady, with her hair wrapped up neatly, and my new pro chef-style apron, who appeared so collected and unconcerned at the incessant buzzing of her phone. Sometimes, real life was really more exciting than what went on in that delusional alternative.

And seeing her car already in the driveway and my lack of replies, I knew that Layannah had probably checked with Jameela if I was home before she took the two-minute drive over. And in all fairness, Layyanah kind of had a right to come over and hound me.  It had been nearly two months of beating around the bush and then flat out denying anything was serious.

And I was being cautious. All I was doing at that point was trying to figure out who I was. Trying to keep everyone happy. Trying to not get caught up. Trying to divert my attention. Trying to stay off social media. Trying to be a better version of me.

Sometimes you need someone who you take seriously to make you take the plunge. Sometimes it just takes something bigger to make a difference.
Everything was looking a little clearer. A little more purer. A little more transparent.

Since I dropped Netflix, my time management skills were soaring. And now that I was all into my pastry cheffing, which was very likely my next feasible career option, I pressed out the extra cream that was in the piping bag, wiped my hands and grabbed my phone to hastily type away before she entered the kitchen.

I could already hear her and Jameela chatting away in the hallway about baby-related items, but I needed a heads up just in case my inkling about her knowing the unknown were right.

Did u tell Liyaket?

It was a simple and to the point iMessage because we had made a resolution that any extensive messages were out of bounds. I just needed to know one thing.

Hamzah’s reply, as usual, was quick.

I thought u said no messaging. 

I scowled. So he was being cocky about it. I did say no messages. We had also said no calls, but he had called the day before when he needed to know if my family had anything planned the following weekend. And this was urgent. I wanted to know what I was up for when Layyanah arrived and he was obviously refusing to be transparent for a reason that I knew too well.

Also, I knew that those Hamzah and Liyaket couldn’t keep a thing from each other, so I should have known. They were worse than women. Still, he had no right to open his big mouth without telling me, especially since Liyaket hid nothing from Layyanah either.

And speaking of her, it was at that moment that my friend emerged from the lounge, all bright eyed and ecstatic.

If pregnancy glow was a real thing, Layyanah definitely had it. She wore a grey hijab tied traditionally and a long blush dress with grey tights and patent grey pumps. Her cheeks were glowing and she was looking amazing and I couldn’t help but feel emotional about how far she had come, spiritually. She had changed so much, and not only in her appearance. I had seen that she had even begun reading her salaah, which I knew was a huge step for anyone, after so many years of not praying. I was so, so proud of her.

“Salaaaam lovieee,” Layyanah cooed as she entered, her eyes all glowing and excited.

Layyanah was here in record time. She had become a piece of furniture here now that she lived a few streets away from us, and my parents and Nani absolutely loved her to bits.

And of course, I was over the moon that Liyaket had found a cute little 3-bedroom house, fully equipped with a little yard and a flatlet outside in the area. Liyaket’s mother had been a tenant of someone somewhere for years, and now that Liyaket could finally stand in his own feet, he often said that the least he could do was help to look after his mother. It was the perfect set-up because now that Layyanah was expecting, it would definitely be good to have the little help she could offer, since her parents were not exactly involved in their life much. And yes, I had spoken to her about her mother and though she had said that she was trying to make amends with her parents, from what I heard, they weren’t really interested in being involved in her ‘lowly’ life.

But for Layyanah, it didn’t matter. Although Liyakets mother was not in the best of health and had tremendous back problems, she was absolutely ecstatic that a baby was on its way, and to tell the truth, so was I.

”Hey you,” I smiled, wiping my hands on my apron and kissing her cheek lightly. Jameela was right behind her. “How’s my angel girl doing?”

It was too early to find out the baby gender, but I was convinced she was having a girl. Liyaket had another theory though.

“Killing me slowly,” she groaned, making a puking face. “I cannot eat a thing. It’s nearly 12 weeks and if it doesn’t end soon I think I may just have to give it a good scolding.”

“Don’t terrorise my baby,” I warned her. “You know I’m going to be her favourite aunty, don’t you?”

“Then it better behave,” she retorted, but there was a huge smile on her face as she said it. “Because her favourite aunty is going to be getting married soon and I cannot be feeling like I’m dying on the Nikah day! Liyaket just told me that you guys are planning the wedding for January. I’m so freakin’ excited!”

I knew it. Where I preferred to be quiet and private, Hamzah was the complete opposite.

I hated drama.

“Ssshhhh!” I said, placing my finger to my lips. “My parents don’t know yet. I have to speak to my father first. They only want to come in two weeks so I’m kind of waiting till next week before..”

I could see Jameela looking at me with a smirk on her face. Of course she knew, and to be frank, she was obsessed with Hamzah and his family. I’m not even joking. She honestly thought that the guy could do no wrong and speak no wrong. I had no chance if there was ever an argument, because Jameela was always on his side.

Layyanah narrowed her eyes and then widened them, as her expression changed.

”But why so longgg?!” She moaned, looking annoyed.

I rolled my eyes. Long?!

”Make Nikah, and then carry on as you’ll are!” She said simply. “Easy peezy.”

I knew that she was talking from a place of concern for us and she was so right. Ideally, to make Nikah would be awesome so we could chat, guilt-free, and just get to know each other in the meantime.

But there were always buts. We were both at really crucial points in our career and we couldn’t not announce a Nikah. Hamzah was on the brink of signing with a big company for next year. We also didn’t want interfere with the office policy and work place rules.

”It’s not long!” I argued. “Next year is literally around the corner. If we do it now it will just be a big drama  and you know how I love drama.”

It wasn’t long. It was a few weeks away. I felt like it was just just yesterday that Hamzah and I were going through that weird and awkward phase after Liyaket and Layyanah’s wedding where we had no idea how to face each other.

And I’d be lying if I said that I didn’t think of Hamzah as more than a friend that fateful day out in the open, when emotions had overcome me the spring air was knocking me completely off my base. But of course, I wasn’t that type to go all gaga over a guy, and the last person I ever expected to be even slightly impressed  by was Hamzah.

And then the following weekend, when I met Layyanah for coffee at our usual spot, her eyes were all shiny and excited, like she was hiding a huge secret.

At that point it was too soon for a pregnancy announcement and so I looked at her, all confused, wondering what exactly she was all bright-eyed about.

And then she said:

“So what do you think about Hamzah?”

And I had frowned slightly, wondering why she was asking.

“He’s cool,” was all I said, not giving away too much.

And yes. It was typical me. Trying to deny feelings and all that. I was scared. Really scared that he would be the one to pull his usual tricks on me because by now, I knew them all too well.

“Cool as in?!” She pressed, raising her eyebrows. “Does he make the cut for Mostly Mohsina’s high standards or not? Because Liyaket think that Hamzah needs a girl to ground him and we think that that girl is you.”

“So you guys are trying to set him up with me?” I said, a little annoyed.

I felt like I was a dirty rag being used to wipe a spilled mess because I was convenient. I wasn’t just prepared to be used because I was there.

Ghuh.

Why couldn’t Hamzah make his own decisions?

“Listen,” I said, raising my eyebrows. “I know Hamzah and I know how he rolls. There’s no way that I’m going to be one of those girls who go all gaga and then he drops like hot potato. Sorry, Layy. I’m not interested, neh.”

Pssshht. Like really. What did she think I was? Did she think I was going to fall for that?

Layyanah sighed. And then she knocked me for a six.

“Hamzah’s crazy about you,” she blurted, rolling her eyes and I just kind of went into cardiac arrest. Right there. “Do you even know how bloody unapproachable you are?”

And I was lying if I said that the feelings and butterflies that come with someone who you really want to know about can be stifled. I tried with everything I had within me to fight it, to ignore it, and to act like I didn’t care, because I knew that no good could come out of something that started with sin.

And no, none of it was right or then there was a hint of seriousness a week later, when there came the game changer and it was so strange because it was only afterward that I realised that some things happen with lessons that are two-fold. That sometimes Allah wants good for you, ans puts you in the deep end because he knows you deserve so much more than what you settled for.

The Holy Qur’aan mentions:

‘And approach not adultery, for it is a shameful deed and an evil, opening the road to other evils.’

In a world where every second person was involved in a relationship and set on completely disregarding the laws of Allah, going out and walking around Sandton or Rosebank with my guy, going out to the famous coffee shops we all loved as if it was the trending thing to do. But was it trending when it came to the laws of Allah?

Because the verse was so true when it’s said that Zinaa opens the doorway to other sins. We are so caught up, so brainwashed and convinced that Zinaa and extra marital relationships are ‘normal’, that haraam has become a norm and halaal no longer has any value. Limits have been pushed and boundaries have been broken. It’s progressed so much and to such an extent that no joy is even found in what’s become ‘normal’. Unfortunately, for some, no joy is even found in the simple haraam. And this is the cause for the degradation of humans, and why they fall into the trap of LGBTQ, thinking it’s all okay to be however you want to be… when really, it goes completely against the laws of nature to satisfy yourself with anything other than what’s Halaal.

And no, people don’t just change overnight. It happens over a frame of time, where people slowly get dragged into sin and as they get deeper and deeper, they kind of get sucked in.

It just so happened that things had kind of spiralled out of control for me before we got to grips with what we were getting into. At first it was more of a ‘let’s see where this thing is going’ kind of tune. We chatted. We joked. We even met on a whim, outside the office, for a quick walk to the Gautrein before a meeting.

Yes, sometimes we change, but the change is not always for the better.

Together with this sin, my virtual reality continued at a steady pace of filming reels and reviewing products and keeping followers hooked. As always, there has to be a game changer.

Now, by now I’m sure that you are well aware of how seriously I take my social media pages. And in case you didn’t know, Hamzah was born on a completely differently planet. He had no social media applications whatsoever and relentlessly picked on my occupation with mine. And so it went, a light-hearted reel that I had done about Muslim guys pick up lines (that had zilch to do with him) just for kicks went viral (which is every influencers dream) and spiked my followers to almost 12k. Of course, I was ecstatic. It was a dream come true, and I honestly was blown away by the response.

And nevermind everything that goes with the whole social media upkeep, anything was worth it. I didn’t think much of it, because for me, that was who I was. I was virtual reality, and my life was pretty much absorbed in it, so I really didn’t see the issue.

I barely thought it would reach Hamzah (and I’m sure it was the work of his annoying sister who had become my rival after the episode at the wedding) but it did, and the entire thing just blew out of proportion.

And of course, I had the upper hand, because being me, all liberated and independent, I knew that it shouldn’t concern him. I mean, it was my life and my business and I told him precisely that.

Like, there was no way I was going to let some (random) guy come and trash and change everything that I had worked so hard to achieve. I had put a lot of effort into my social media pages. I earned money from them too. I didn’t deserve to be told what I couldn’t do. If you weren’t paying me, you don’t have a right to question me. I was feminism at its best… or should I say, at its worst. I just couldn’t see it yet.

”What’s the big deal?” I had typed ferociously (please tell me, how do you even argue with someone over iMessage?!). “It’s not like it even has anything to do with you.”

And he only said this:

Its unnecessary. I don’t like to see you on social media. It’s like you are selling yourself.

Now that, just made me mad. If it was a guy doing it, it would be a different story, wouldn’t it? But because I was a woman and I had filmed something humorous, I was selling myself? 

How dare he tell me what I could or couldn’t do? I didn’t have a ring on my finger. As long as we both were where we were, we could both do as we please.

Right?

Wrong. We forget that we have a Creator and Provider to please too. That each gender has his specific strengths and weaknesses and Hayaa is a crucial part of Imaan.

Once your Hayaa is compromised, so is your Imaan, and it was a risky gamble to take, but I did.

And yes, with all my new ideologies and perception that I was only accountable to myself, I was wrong. But then again, so was he. We were wrong in our approach, wrong in what we were doing. Wrong in trying to combat Haraam with something Haraam, and he may have had a point but that’s precisely what got him.

As long as there is no commitment then there are no rules. And simply ‘going out’ with someone does not define commitment. I expected him to call it quits, at that point. And I didn’t care. I took the risk. Arrogance had consumed me. In my world, I didn’t need a man to prove my worth. And I put on a brave front when we didn’t speak for a day, I wasn’t going to go crawling back with my tail in my legs. And I knew that I was being full of myself, but Hamzah was, surprisingly, not as immature as I was and as I thought.

And woah, his response really blew me away.

Because he didn’t act the way I thought he would. Instead, he told his mother about me. And his sister. And then his brother. And then he phoned me to tell me that it’s time to be serious and that he’s coming home to meet my parents, but this time,I need to change something too, and that this was my cue to trash all my reel-making.

How the hell is that for a game changer?!

And of course I was completely stunned. Not to mention, reeling from panic. All I could think of was that this was happening way too fast. We had barely spoken for 2 minutes. Did he even know my crazy Nani and family and how they behaved?!

How on earth did he just decide that he was ready to take this to another level?

And then, common sense was finally settling in for me. If this was what he wanted, it meant that Hamzah, of all people was actually serious about me. Why, I had no idea. But this meant that we really had to change something. There was no way that we can carry on chatting and ‘dating’ because I knew very well that there was never any barakah in that. It was no use denying the facts.

And I didn’t expect it, but the thing was, staying away made things more exciting. It was like venturing into the unknown. Nikah was a few weeks away and  all we had to be was a be patient and everything would fall into place.

Sometimes it takes two people to be strong. When it comes to things like this, one person just doesn’t make the cut. What was the excitement in doing something that was forbidden when there was a simple and easy way to make it all right?

And yes, though Nani, friends and family were keeping me busy in the weekend, work was still sucking me in during the week. I was still focused and determined to prove myself, and I could see that I was a huge competition for many people who were still running after the incentive that had been offered over 2 months back.

The last thing we needed was anyone finding out and ratting us out at work, because a bad referral wouldn’t be good for any new opportunities.

And it was barely a day after Layyanah had promised to plan my entire wedding function, when I sat all absorbed in the latest account that Faadil had assigned to me, when the memo from his e-mail address came, summoning me to his office for a meeting within ten minutes. And I was all cool about it, thinking that maybe he was rushing off for a meeting and needed to check in with me before he went off until I made my way over to his door, when I realised that this wasn’t exactly about what I presumed.

As I pushed the door open, sitting on the chair on the other side of Faadil’s desk was none other than Hamzah, and I immediately did a double take as he caught my eye, and I recognised that look of concern as he communicated for a moment, that maybe, just maybe, we might be in for it.

For once in my life, I didn’t know what to say until Faadil gestured for me to sit down. Oh yes, if I thought that we had a game changer before, this was going to be an even bigger one.

“Take a seat,” he said in his office voice, and I knew that he meant business. “There’s something I need to discuss with you two.”

 

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Dearest Readers,

Shukran to everyone for reading❤️

Although the topic of Zinaa in the Quran and Sunnah is obviously clear and unambiguous, the reality of our times is that Zinaa in schools, universities and even the workplace is so common and even regarded now as a norm.

And although in the past I’ve steered clear of it, I think sometimes we have to take the bull by the horns and talk about it. Although this in no way validates it, the best is to stop the sin and make Nikah and atone for it.  At times when it’s not always possible, to show a way of lessening Allah’s displeasure, Ulema advise to leave the sin completely. 

May Allah forgive us for the wrongs we’ve done in our past, and especially for the ones we never hastened to make right. I hope that this can sincerely review someone’s perspective on extra marital relations and hope that for the pleasure of Allah we can stop sin, especially amongst our youth, and bring Barakah into our lives again.

Please let me know your thoughts – hoping we can explore the topic a bit more. Thoughts? 

Duaas for the ummah 🤲🏼

Much Love

A xx

Mission Sunnah Revival: Sunnah of Lowering/Guarding the Gaze 

It is in this instance and era, surrounded by half-naked people, that we must have the courage to follow the command of Allah and His Prophet Muhammad (Sallalahu alaihi wa Sallam) and lower our gazes.

Allah says:

“Do not go near fornication and adultery, it is an abomination and an evil way.” (Quran 17:32).

This sin is so hateful in the sight of Our Lord, that He commanded us to not even go near it.

Despite what anyone may say, looking upon that which one is not supposed to is going near adultery, for an illicit affair begins with a lustful glance.

Allah wishes for us not to commit this ugly sin, and thus He commands us to lower our gazes:

• “Tell the believing men that they should lower their gaze and guard their modesty; that will make for greater purity for them; And Allah is well acquainted with all that they do.

And tell the believing women that they should lower their gaze and guard their modesty…” (Quran 24:30-31).

The Sunnah of lowering the gaze even on social media is also important and detrimental to our imaan if not done, a stepping stone to greater sins.

#RevivetheSunnahofLickingtheFingers

#RevivetheSunnahofMiswaak

#RevivetheSunnahofEnteringtheToilet

#RevivetheSunnahofSpeakingGood

#RevivetheSunnahofUsingtheRighthand

FB/Instagram: @thejourneyingmuslimah

 

Guilty as Gossip

 Dear Readers

New post: Apologies about the post error on Saturday.. I’ve deleted that post and combined other content to progress in the story-line. Will try and post this week again. Sorry for the confusion! 

Happy Reading 🤍

 

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Bismihi Ta’ala

Mohsina

“That’s an insightful suggestion. I’ll forward it to the board.”

Woah.

I mean, in any normal circumstance, I would have been jumping for joy to hear words like that from our boss, who was two feet away from me with a sincerely impressed expression on his usually expressionless face.

I had nearly missed the mail in my inbox that was sent the previous Thursday, thinking it was some bulk mail that was sent to the entire floor. But when I realized that I was singled out and that feeling of elation had dissolved, I had immediately started working on what would impress the board and improve my chances as a sole candidate for the big incentive and promotion that was still weeks away.

And now, after all that effort and hard work over the weekend thinking up all kinds of solutions… I mean, Faadil actually said something good about my ideas and complimented them. I mean, this has to count for something, right? I should have been over the moon. But…

The words had little effect on me. Whatsoever. I was up in arms, confused and consumed about what exactly had gone on to cause the mayhem that I was feeling so guilty about.

And it was just that earlier afternoon when I was very busy minding my own business when I noticed Hamzah looking up in panic as the office doors remained closed. In fact, I kind of wished that he would calm down and stop his ridiculous behavior because even I was getting more and more edgy as he sat there, wondering what was going on before I just couldn’t stand it anymore and went up to ask him.

“What’s happened?” I said, trying not to look too concerned.

For the first time since I’ve known him, in all his prankish and inappropriate behavior, Hamzah’s eyes were riddled with worry. I don’t think I’d actually ever seen him looking so serious before. It was like a completely different person.

“It’s Liyaket,” he said, not even focusing on me as he spoke. He was looking extremely distracted. Edgy. “He’s got a hearing with the Big Boss.”

The big boss. A hearing. That was one even more senior than Faadil. And a hearing usually wasn’t good news.

“What’s it about?” I was trying to keep my voice low and moving a bit closer. I could see Lesley hanging around, trying to figure out what we were talking about.

She was extremely distracted, in fact, bordering on ADD. How she did her work, I didn’t understand. Anything and everyone’s business became hers.

“It’s to do with Layyanah,” he almost whispered, and I sucked my breath in as my heart beat a little faster.

Did they find out about the two of them in the office? Was there indecent exposure? Inappropriate behavior? Like what were the real rules even?

“I’m not sure if you knew this,” he said quietly, running his hands through his hair nervously and not even noticing my own anxiety levels heightening. “But Layyanah got the job here because of her father’s contacts. Looks like those contacts are pretty strong ones and they got some inside information. They the same ones who want Liyaket out.”

His voice was riddled with worry and I could feel my heart hammering in my chest.

No. It couldn’t be. It couldn’t have been my mistake. It couldn’t have been my stupid story that I told Maahira. She was all the way in London. What could she do? 

And then of course, my legs just kind of caved in as they turned to something that resembled jelly.

And then of course, the feelings that surfaced thereafter were likes waves and waves, almost knocking me over, just as I started grappling around trying to find my feet.

I think as a default there has to come a point in life when you look back at your past and regret the things you’ve done that might have made someone else’s life a misery. And then there’s that point in life, where I was right then, when you shamefully look at your present self and realize that what you are and have become, actually makes you sick to your stomach.

So maybe I shouldn’t have opened my mouth and spilled the beans about office gossip but the opportunity to make my life sound exciting was a sickness that I couldn’t cure. I loved having something juicy and interesting to share, especially with Maahira, who was all the way over in London and seemingly out of touch with everything that was happening back home. I mean, what were the odds of it spinning out of control? What harm can it really do?

The truth was that I had become extremely selfish and self-focused, not even considering how this may actually cause someone’s to experience a real loss.

Apart from that, when a person is filled with such vanity and conceit that his ego tricks him into thinking that the entire world is simply dying to share every moment of his mundane life with him, and thus he cannot see past his own face, how is he supposed to see the majesty and glory of Allah Ta‘ala? How is he or she even supposed to remember that Allah is always aware of what we do?

And I would like to say that at some point my Nafs had been trampled and common sense kicked in, but the problem was that through my obsession with social media and keeping everyone ‘up to date’, my own character and demeanor was just becoming not just inappropriate, but simply unacceptable. I was addicted to making myself feel important.

And yes, at that point, I was a little further gone than I thought. My mind was full of work, gossip and worldly pursuits. The only thing that was putting a spanner in the works were those five words that I had heard that previous week.

“Not everything’s about the big bucks.”

And it should have been a bigger whistle-blower. But it wasn’t, because the way I had allowed myself to been wired in the past few months was the opposite. Everything was about the money. Our entire work day was based on finances. Every meeting we had discussed it. Our paycheques at the end of the month would prove it.

I would like to say that my day carried on as normal from that point onward, but to tell the truth, the sinking feeling in my tummy just got deeper and deeper.

And when it got to a point when I couldn’t deal, it was only after work on the drive home when my mind was feeling the full impact of the consequences that I couldn’t really fix. And when I finally got home and crashed in the lounge couch out of sheer exhaustion while Nani eyed out my work attire from where she sat, that was the first time I could focus. I knew that I had to message Maahira and ask her exactly why she was needling me for information last week.

I had to know for sure.

Aslm. Howsit?

Nani’s eyes were peeping over her glasses but she looked away when I looked back at her, and kicked off my shoes so I could get comfortable. The least I deserved were some rested feet.

Her reply took a few minutes, but at least I had her attention once she did.

Ws. Well n u, my crazy friend? How’s it going that side?

I took a minute before typing out a reply.

All well. Works been a killer. Just checking in. you busy?

She took a few minutes again.

Nah. Just knocked off work. Heading home.

Knocked off? She was already using British English. How cool. But that was beside the point. I had to cut to the chase.

Great.

I typed. Next message:

Did you happen to mention the office news to anyone?

I didn’t mention romance. I just said news, to be general. But she didn’t bite. I waited a few minutes, but there was no reply. I waited another ten minutes, and when she still didn’t reply, that was when I knew for sure.

Guilty as predicted.

And how amazing was it that she had replied so efficiently prior to that… but when asked a question she didn’t like, well… I was just left on a ‘Read’. And I knew the tactic because that was precisely what I did to Ma and Jameela when they annoyed me with their nosy questions on WhatsApp.

Ghuh. I hated new age technology. It was just so transparent and just made you feel more crap when people purposely ignored you. I missed the good old days when your SMS might have got stuck somewhere between Vodacom and Jupiter and you would just pick up the phone to call them.

No-one did that in the 21st century without feeling socially awkward. No-one had time to pick up the phone and call. What was more amazing was that when I went onro Instagram, she was showing online, which further reinforced how she was just avoiding me and facing up to what she had probably said or done. But I got it, right?  No-one had time to engage. To be real. Only time to sit and scroll through a useless feed where every second person was also a ‘MUA’ or had their own Novelty Cakery.

And then of course, the cherry on top, while I was busy cyber stalking Maahira and sending her more messages, was Nani, who was sitting a few feet away, watching me with her cat-like eyes.

And just so you know… let me tell you something, in case you hadn’t guessed yet. There is a very valid reason that I haven’t gotten married, and no, it’s not because I haven’t found my perfect match or anything. No. You know how they say that your spouse is the one person who knows you so well that he or she will pick out all your faults without even blinking.

Well, there we are. That’s Nani for me. I don’t need a husband because Nani had it covered from day one. Even when I may seem like the most Haari poiree to the world, to Nani I was the most rotten ‘Beh sharam‘ that earthlings have ever seen.

“Hand only stuck to that phone,” she was scolding in Gujarati as she watched me.

I rolled my eyes.

”Nani, it’s important,” I tried to reason with her.

This was bloody important, but I couldn’t explain to her why without incriminating myself, could I?

“Looking whole day at screen,” she continued. “Now again, more phone. Azaan will go, sitting on phone. Namaaz waqt, sitting on phone. Sleep time also, sitting on phone. So much Shaytaan on that thing, it’s no wonder you are not already turned into one yourself.”

The call to prayer for Maghrib had just started and I sighed and put the phone down. I had to give it that little bit of respect. I had to at least try. Sometimes it was so hard to kick that habit, but I’ve heard stories of evil people who were given Paradise just due to one sincere act and maybe… well, maybe this was mine?

So, for once in my life, I fought the urge. I wanted to cackle at the irony. It wasn’t like Nani didn’t have a phone, and when she got stuck on the phone it was really the most extraordinary sight. The entire world gets blindsided. She sees nothing and no one, besides that screen, and here she was, blaming me as if I was the only phone addict in the room. But then again, we are always so quick to point fingers at everyone. And yes, Nani and I had a lot of tension due to unmentionable reasons for things that had happened in the recent past but I just couldn’t admit to myself that maybe she was right.

That maybe it It had to start somewhere. Maybe this was the reason I had gotten into this situation in the first place. Maybe some deep introspection was due and I had to face up to it.

And to prove Nani a point, I switched my phone to silent, put it on the side board and sat and stared at her for a good ten minutes. I was just doing it to annoy her, but she didn’t seem to notice. I read my namaaz and then sat and stared at her for another few minutes whilst she read all her Surahs, morning an evening Duáas AND her Salaat and Salaam. How old people did it every night without fail was beyond me, but at least it kept her off my back  and she barely noticed when I picked my phone up again and snuck back to my room.

And of course, I couldn’t help but check to see if Maahira replied. I even checked Instagram to see if she maybe didn’t say anything there, but the girl was as good as swiped off the planet earth for now. If she lived here, I knew nothing would have stopped me from going over to her house and squeezing and answer out of her but taking a flight for that reason just seemed unreasonable. And then of course, when I realised exactly how many issues I had possibly caused, and how Liyaket may actually be out of a job because of me, something within me started to stir.

It was a rising within my chest that started from that little feeling in my gut, and as it went higher and higher, my conscience could not simply dissolve that feeling. I knew that I had to do something before I snapped.

I had to at least tell someone, and I knew exactly who I needed to tell first.

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Mission Sunnah revival! A beautiful Sunnah:
We should remember the famous saying, “If you do not have anything good to say, don’t say anything at all.”
Imam Bukhari and Muslim reported that the Nabi (Sallalahu alaihi wa sallam) said, “Whosoever believes in Allah and the Last Day, let him say good or remain silent.”

An amazing quality to inculcate into our lives…

#RevivetheSunnahofMiswaak

#RevivetheSunnahofEnteringtheToilet

#RevivetheSunnahofSpeakingGood

FB/Instagram: @thejourneyingmuslimah

 

Until Tomorrow

Bismihi Ta’ala

Ahmed

My Ahmed, 

My eldest son. Second born. The apple of my eye. 

It’s your Nikah day and I’m sure you are on cloud nine right now. As I sit here on the rocker overlooking the window, I’m picturing it in my mind and I wish I could see your joy. The twinkle in your serious eyes. Maybe you’d give us a smile as you walked out the door. Maybe you’d smirk knowingly as you left home to begin your new life. Maybe just for a moment of unguarded freedom… you’d actually put your iron shield down…

It’s your moment of glory now now, and soon you’ll be embarking on a journey of your own. A journey unlike all you’ve known. A journey of life and love. A journey that will make you stronger in so many ways, yet will simmer you down in so many too.

Ahmedoo. You’ve always been my soldier. Unwavering. Unchanging. I love that most about you. Throughout my sickness I think it’s you that I’ve drawn the most strength from. You never showed me once how much it hurt.

But today, when I saw you sitting in your room, slumped over your books in grief… I wanted to tell you that I never knew that the pain was buried so deep. I never realized that even strong people could break. That even they have a empty gaps to fill.  That sometimes, it’s okay to open up your heart too.

As I pen this, with much on my mind and hope in my heart… knowing that you will read this on a day that love and joy will be overflowing… it gives me a great sense of relief. I know that this is a step you would never take until you were completely sure. I know already that there is no doubt in your mind that this is the right thing to do. 

I really hope that you have found the one. The one who leads you to the Eternal One. I hope you’ve found someone who breaks your armour. Who opens your heart. Who makes you dig to the darkest depths to explore the avenues of your soul that lead you to the Ultimate Love. I hope that, through this union, you’ve found Allah. 

There are many distractions along the way, but do remember that if we keep our focus on what’s everlasting, we can never go wrong. Remember that Allah doesn’t look at money or cars or houses. Remember that Allah looks only at one thing, and that’s a contented heart. A heart that is with Him. A heart that is at peace. Qalbun-Saleem. 

Remember that we grow through what we go though. We make mistakes. We learn our lessons, and then we find ourselves. All we need is a little patience… and lots of trust in Allah.

After everything, my son, whatever you’ve gone though… I truly hope that your heart is at rest. That you’ve found your peace. 

Please remember to make Du’aa in every moment that brings you joy. In any moment you may feel pain.  Please make a little Du’aa with your better half for me. Tell her that I would have been so thrilled that you’ve finally found her… 

Love you from the depths of my soul…

Much, much love,

Mama

A certain tranquility had overcome me as I watched my wife hold tightly onto the letter as I drove ahead… trying to relive those moments when everything felt okay. When all the pain was miles away. I was trying to transport my mind back to then. Back to when we were all thrilled and at ease with each other as we sat and spoke… really spoke… for the first time. As I got to know this woman who had become my new wife.

Till then, everything was perfect. 

”Mummy, was that Khawlah’s mother?”

I turned slightly towards Rubeena, tightening my grip on the steering as Dayyaan said it. She had her Tasbeeh counter in her hand and I could see her recording her Friday Durood as she tried hard not to say anything. I knew why.

I will still angry. So angry.

”Not her mother,” Danyaal said, and I could see him rolling his eyes in the rear view mirror. “Her stepmother. Remember her mother passed away when she was six.”

It felt like a tiny stab in my chest as he said it. That was my mother too. I was ten years old… 

”Like me!” Dayyaan said, sounding a big too thrilled about it for my liking.

I knew that I was being grumpy.
I couldn’t blame the child but my mood had become dampened due to recent events.
Aunty Nas had made an appearance and I knew exactly why she had come today.

I felt a warm hand on mine as I roughly changed the gears, forgetting for a moment that I had four kids in the car with me.

”Sorry,” I mumbled, glancing at Rubeena briefly and looking ahead. I had slowed down as we entered our first destination road. 

“It’s okay,” she said softly, squeezing my hand comfortingly. “I’m sure you must be upset…”

Upset was an understatement. I was furious.
I held my piece for a minute as the kids jumped off as their grandparents house, waving at us as we said we’d see them later.

Although Rubeena had insisted they would be fine with their grandparents for the night, I didn’t want to send them away, and I wanted her to understand. I wanted to set the tone from now. The children weren’t a burden. There was no reason to send them off just because I was there. I knew what it felt like when stepparents were shoving their step kids off and I never wanted these kids to feel that.

”Will they be okay?” I asked my wife, gesturing to the kids who were climbing up the stairs to the front door. “Must I go and see them in?”

She smiled as the door opened and they all waved, and I shifted into reverse once again.

”They’ll be okay,” she said. “They’re growing up now. Becoming so independent. Are you okay?”

I fixed my gaze ahead and shrugged as I reversed out, glancing in the rear view mirror to check for any cars.

“I understand if you don’t want to talk about it,” she said softly. “So much has happened today… that letter though. It just made my day. Your mother must have been amazing… beautiful too I’m sure…” 

My heart contracted slightly as she said it and immediately remembered my mother.

”Khawlah looks exactly like her,” I said, thinking of how Zuleikha and I fell on Abba’s side, with the olive skin tone and identical eye colour… and somehow Khawlah had nothing of Abba at all. Yunus too had his own unique look, that resembled my mother, but was somehow different to Khawlah. It was weird how genetics worked sometimes. 

I glanced at my wife, noticing her eyes filled with tears for the umpteenth time that day and I couldn’t help but grin. She was really something. Different to girls in my family. I had never experienced this before, but I found it quite amusing. I couldn’t believe that she had actually bawled when I showed her the letter. I found it strangely touching, even for a tough guy like me.

And yes, I  had almost forgotten about the letter. Almost. Thinking about it again now calmed me down. How Dada, in his old age had remembered to hand it to me today was beyond me. My mother obviously had a reason that she entrusted him with them. And then of course, Aunty Nas had barged in on us to dampen everyone’s spirits. 

If she wasn’t strutting around looking for attention, she was screaming her head off at something that had disgruntled her. I actually couldn’t believe that Abba had put up with her as long as he did. I couldn’t believe that we all did. I couldn’t believe that I did. I shuddered slightly as I remembered her eery voice. Somehow, in retrospect it was even scarier than it was at the time…

“Ahmed.” She had took me aside one day and looked me in the eye. Her tone was kinder than usual. I narrowed my eyes at her, skeptical of her intentions. “I can read your eyes…. You have a lot of anger….”

I looked at her as if she was crazy. She was crazy. There was no doubt about it. Evil too. Of course I was angry. But what did she know about my anger? What did she know about me?

“There’s something I learnt in class today that I know will help you,” she said convincingly. “It’s good. Really good.”

I shook my head and shrugged her off, her determined not to get involved in her crazy ambitions. I didn’t know that she had been attending those arb ‘emotional healing classes’ and I wasn’t sure where she was coming from. When I looked back, it was when I realized that this was the precise time when Aunty Nas was starting to change.

And I got why she targeted me. I was a rough kid. Troubled. I knew I gave Abba a hard time. Everyone had said that I needed therapy. I was a problem. Eventually, I gave in. I had little choice. I thought if she focused on me she’d leave my sisters alone. She wanted to teach me about her new techniques. She said I could be her assistant, and earn money. Money had always been a draw-card for me.

Yes, and I didn’t realize what I was getting into. She asked me things that no-one had ventured into. She had a way of making it seem like meager small talk, as she spoke. She delved into the past and said it will heal me. She had done various physical adjustments on my body, but right then, I knew nothing about boundaries. As a young kid who was on the brink of adolescence, what Abba didn’t realize was that Aunty Nas was a bit crazier than he had perceived.

And yes, I was all for giving people a chance and believing they could change, but to prove she hadn’t, she had barged into the house that evening, demanding to know why Khawlah had interfered in her daughters life, and promising to get her back for it. I knew why she had come here today. I knew that she wanted to stir things up… maybe even spoil my day. But was more confusing was her obsession with my new mother-in-law that no-one could figure out. The two seemed have some recent clashes, but never in a good way.

”Ahmed, are you listening?” 

I blinked and looked at Rubeena,  realizing that I had zoned out. I nodded guiltily. I was still lost in the past. I wanted to open up to her about everything. To tell her that I was messed up and abused and sometimes a little too intense, but after everything, it was so hard to speak about feelings.

”Really?!” She said, putting her hands on her hips as she stood outside the car. We had just reached her house and were venturing up the steps that lead to the door. “What did I say?”

”Err,” I attempted, wanting to laugh at her directness but feeling bad that I wasn’t listening. It wasn’t on purpose though. There were just so many things on my mind. Today was supposed to be one of the most important days of my life, but the unexpected visit had kind of rocked the boat. Plus my mind was troubled by Adam and his wavering health. I knew I needed to focus on my wife and being with her unreservedly, but I was mentally drained.

”Ahmed, you can’t let this spoil your day,” she said, her expression softening. “I know there are things we are both worried about but let’s just be present, okay? I’ve been trying to explain this to you but I rather just hand it over now…”

She paused and watched me as I looked at her curiously, and then calmly handed me the keys to the house. I looked at them and then looked back at her a little hesitantly, not sure what she wanted me to do.

“I want you to be the one to open it,” she said simply. “It’s your house too. I don’t want you to feel awkward or out of place. You’re my husband. The man of the house. From today… well… this is our home.”

I took a step backwards as I fiddled with the keys, knowing that this was something we never spoke about. It was strange. My wife giving me a house. I didn’t even have the means to buy her a house. I felt like an invalid. I knew we would be living here but I didn’t realize how it would feel. I didn’t think that far ahead, but now I know that maybe I should have…

”Can we talk about this?” I asked, rubbing my temples and handing her back her keys. I couldn’t do it. I had to talk this out first. 

Money. I knew there’d come a time when we’d have to delve into this. I wasn’t rich like her previous husband. I didn’t have the means to give her whatever she desired. After Aunty Nas’s barging in today, the emotions were stronger than ever. The insecurities were overwhelming. 

After all… that’s what all the fights were about. That’s how it spiraled out of control. Money. In her skewed mindset, she said she was doing it for money. The first time Abba had found out about Aunty Nas’s business, there was a big fight. He had took most of it out on me because Aunty Nas wasn’t the type you could reason with. It was the catalyst to something that was long coming, so I left them alone. After her coaxing and convincing… I had been somewhat damaged. Something had been altered inside of me but I wanted to forget it.

To tell the truth, I was getting older and Abba was getting scared of me. I was becoming wild. That’s when our relationship died. He couldn’t talk to me. No one could. With Abba no longer able to get through to me, they started fighting about it. About us kids. About the house. About money. About her ‘business’. Aunty Nas left me alone. I would escape to catch up with the neighborhood guys. I got caught up. Everything was about money. It could kill the pain. At home. In the street. Guns, mafia and armour. Drug trades and small deals. I turned to vices to kill the demons. Money was always the draw card. I let it control my life because I thought that I had no other escape…

Then I met Ziyaad at the airport that day and my entire life changed. 

”Ahmed,” Rubeena said softly, as she looked at me expectantly. She was waiting for me to continue. I gazed at her, not really believing that this amazing woman had somehow become mine. I had been dreaming of this and now it was happening. She was right here.

I met her gaze steadily as she came towards me, catching me slightly off guard as she came closer, feeling myself automatically stiffen at her proximity. That was just me. Like a reflex, I closed up when I felt emotion. I felt my heart beat escalate in terrified anticipation, but all she did at that point was lean in to embrace me comfortingly, allowing the pain of the day to completely dissipate as found my arms around her and numbly held her back. Her slim body fitted perfectly. I was still scared to feel anything. I was still afraid to let go. Despite the letter and what my mother had said… loving someone unreservedly might be harder than I thought..

But I had to remember, I thought to myself, as I tightened my arms around her. We grow through what we go through. We learn from our mistakes. We let go of the past. Now it was different. Now I knew better. Now I understood that I couldn’t let my past control the future.

I pulled back to look at the beautiful and kind-hearted woman who stood before me, waiting for me to open up to her. This was my wife. With her there were no more barriers.

”Ruby,” I started, because I knew we had little time before the function and I needed at least some of what was on my mind…

She looked at me, her brow slightly furrowed.

I had things that I wanted to assure her of. Insecurities that I needed to address.

”Im happy where we are,” I said quietly. “But I don’t think that this situation is ideal. We can’t be living here indefinitely. It’s not my home. I don’t want us to have fights about money or the kids or what you do. I don’t want you to have to earn for yourself. Your family is my family. I want us to make our own memories. I want to live a different kind of life. Maybe even go abroad. Even though I can’t afford it right now, I have a plan to move to our own home and to support you and our family fully. I want those boys to grow up as mine and I want you to know that you can trust me, whenever you need to… and I’ll never let you-“

”Ahmed,” Rubeena said, cutting me off. “You don’t need to say all this. I know you’ll be a great husband and father but all this money stuff, it’s not about that…”

”You’re wrong Rubeena,” I said heatedly. We were still standing outside, and the keys had landed up somewhere on the bench.  “You may say it’s not about that but I worry. I worry that I won’t be able to provide for you. I worry that I might let you down. I worry that we’ll fight over money and become enemies. I know you haven’t had to worry about money your whole life… but I’m not a millionaire or a business whizz. I’m a simple guy who’s trying to earn his living… and to put it simply… what if I’m just not enough?”

”I don’t care about money!” She said, stepping back. Her brown eyes appeared darker as she glared at me. “Don’t you get it, Ahmed?! That’s exactly what your mother was saying. It’s about the heart. My heart is so happy… contented… She knew you so well… and I can’t believe she hit it on the head!”

“You said no once Rubeena,” I said quietly, shaking my head at her. It still hurt. “My mother was right but I felt like I lost the game with you. If I don’t step up… what if I lose you again… I don’t know -“

“That’s not what I married you for, silly,” she retorted angrily. “It’s never been about security! I was worried about other things. About my kids. About your age. About what everyone will say. Stupid things that don’t make sense but I worried about it because that’s how crazy I am. I’m sorry that you married a bit of a lunatic but you’ve met my mother and unfortunately it’s hereditary so there’s not much I can do about it!”

I looked at my wife through new lenses, fighting the urge to smile as she got up and paced in front of me, pausing suddenly and looking me in the eye. Her abaya was flowing behind her as she walked speedily, looking like a woman with a mission…

“It’s easy to talk,” she said, her tone lowering as she spoke. Her breathing was slightly heavy because she was worked up. “It’s easy to be all noble and say we do this for this reason and that for that reason. But we have a greater purpose here. Why we did this. We could have easily carried on with the Haraam. It would have been so much easier but we both knew it was wrong so we stopped. We could have been talking and developing deeper feelings for each other… getting into something that neither of us would have benefited from… but we made a choice for a deeper reason. Yes. We love Him, but we have to ponder and wonder and remind ourselves of what’s in our hearts. How are we going to maintain this relationship with Allah? Are our hearts filled with the reality of Allah? Is it completely trusting in Him? Yes, I’m scared. I have fears too. I worry too. I’m scared that I’ll mess up. I’m scared about my brother. I’m scared about my kids growing up and changing. But I don’t care where we live. I don’t care what we have. We can sell the house. We can live in a one-bedroom apartment. We can do whatever you’re happy with because I don’t care about any of it now. If there’s one thing I realized now after everything… after the hell with Shabeer and now  Adam’s sickness… We hold onto this life and money and cars so tightly even when there’s really no point to it….”

I was a little speechless as I digested her rant. Of course, because it was Rubeena, she obviously wasn’t done yet.

“Yes, we have to plan,” she continued, her voice a little softer. “But we have to plan for what’s eternal. We have to build our hopes and dreams but not for now. We have to focus on what’s coming after. Now can we just go inside and start our life together because I really can’t wait to see what this chapter has in store for us… ”

I stared at my new wife, a little taken aback by her impeccable faith. I’d never met anyone like her before.

I’d never heard anyone talk so trustingly, with conviction… and really mean it. I wanted to leave everything behind me right then and start again. I wanted to live a life of amazing  Tawakkul that she had, because she had somehow mastered it. I wanted to give her more than she had given me. She had opened her heart and her home to me, but for her, it was clear than it was no great sacrifice. It wasn’t about the tangible things. It wasn’t about the temporary perks. She only cared about what was to come. How we would grow. How we would learn to love each other. How we would worship Allah through every moment that we would hopefully earn our Jannah.

She was all pretty and flushed and wide-eyed as she went on, and I couldn’t help but grab the keys and open the door speedily, knowing that there was no other way she would stop talking. 

I had dreamt of traveling the world with her, of seeing Deen through a different eye. I wanted to spread love together. Like the Sahaba had left their comfort, I had hopes of continuing my passions. Of going out for greater causes. Of embarking on trips that would be filled with adventure and hope and guidance for others. Of offering her a different life to what she had known. I had so many ambitions that I wished I could make her a part of but I knew it would all happen in due time.

Maybe the kids would get a bit bigger first. Maybe our family would grow a little more. Maybe eventually, we’d settle down and then think about it properly, before we made any hasty decision. Maybe we didn’t need to have it all penned out… maybe it was better to just take it as it comes. 

Yes, we had worries and trials. We had many things that were in the pipeline that could throw us off track, but that’s the thing with patience.

There was no rush. Maybe it won’t be happily ever after. Maybe it will just be happily right now, but that was enough. Until tomorrow… even if it was just for now…. everything was going to be okay.

---

Dearest Readers

Just on the topic… (I’m sorry if I offend anyone who does this so please don’t hound me 🙈…)

With regard to emotional therapy, there was a recent talk by Ml Ridwana Kajee on how certain therapies like body talk and ‘journey’ have links with books that are completely against Islamic teaching. Many parents take their kids for these kind of healing if they experience any difficulty in school or otherwise.

 The fact that it can allow one to see into another’s life and past is clear that their is association with Jinn and Shaytaan. Let us just be wary of ever consulting with any emotional therapies if this sort. Allah Ta’ala promises us the best of cures in the Hadith and Quran. Just focusing on these can cure depression and many other emotional ailments InshaAllah 

Allah save us, 

#justmyrambles 

Much Love 

A xx

 

 

Sunnah Duaa for Month of Rajab 

Allahuma baarik lana fi Rajaba wa Sha’bana wa balligh-na Ramadan

Oh Allah! Grant us Barakah (Blessing) during (the months of) Rajab and Sha’ban, and allow us to reach Ramadan.
 Dua on the first night of Rajab is readily accepted by Allah.

Imam Shafi’i RA has stated: “I have heard that duaas are accepted
by Almighty Allah on five nights:
The night of Jumu’ah
The nights of the two ‘Eids
The first night of Rajab
The middle (15th) night of Sha’ban

Allah accept our efforts and Duaas. 

A forgotten Sunnah. Eaten fallen particles… Sometimes we forget the Barakah that can be in even a grain of food. To eat what has fallen on the cloth or even the floor… SubhaanAllah.

Anas ibn Maalik narrated that when the Messenger of Allaah (peace and blessings of Allaah be upon him) ate, he would lick his three fingers. Anas said: “And he said, ‘If any one of you drops a piece of food, let him remove any dirt from it and eat it, and not leave it for the Shaytaan.’ And he commanded us to clean the plate, and said, ‘For you do not know where in your food the blessing is.’” (Narrated by Muslim, 2034). 

#revivetheSunnahofMiswaak 

#revivetheSunnahofAkhlaaq 

#revivetheSunnahofKinship

#revivetheSunnahofhonouringguests

#revivetheSunnahofdrinkingwater 

#revivetheSunnahofeating 

#revivetheSunnahDuaas

Twitter: @ajourneyjournal

Perfect Patch Up

Bismihi Ta’ala

Ahmed

Can you imagine a world where everyone just got along? Where peace reigned… where politics were non-existent… where no leader was corrupt?

Imagine a world free from war… famine… from the atrocities that are a part of day-to-day life.

And speaking of atrocities, let me just enlighten you. I’m not really a political kind of guy, but just so you can educate yourself, hear me out.

Basically, a few years ago in Tunisia, the rural town of Sidi Bouzid, a 26-year-old Mohamed Bouazizi, was preparing his stall of fruit and vegetables. He was the sole bread winner of his family.

Struggling to make ends meet and lead a regular life, Bouazizi was caught off guard when the police requested a permit for his business. He was then asked to hand over his wooden cart, and upon his refusal, a policewoman allegedly slapped him.

Long story short, the heart wrenching tale goes on to where Mohamed set himself on fire outside the governor’s office, despondent at being unable to earn money and provide for his family. And yes, it was heartbreaking. For everyone.

And we often wonder where all this turmoil began, where all the heartbreak and uprising started. At this advent, came the initiation of what we now know as the ‘Arab spring’. A despondent tale of an innocent man who, when tried to plead his case thereafter, felt let down by the system… then positioned himself in front of a government building… and set himself alight.

His act of desperation resonated immediately with others in the town, and shortly, throughout the Arab world. Protests began that day in Sidi Bouzid, captured by cellphone cameras and shared on the Internet. Within days, campaigns started popping up across the country and the entire Middle East.

The momentum in Tunisia set off uprisings across the Middle East… and of course, as I stepped out into Cairo that night, I couldn’t help but see it’s effects all over.

You see, this tale broke my heart, because in my perfect world, everyone deserves a chance. A fair shot. No one should have to wonder where their next meal will come from or wonder where they will end up sleeping each night. Everyone should have a home to go to… even if it’s a place with people just like them. They should have people who care for them and a space to call their own. Everyone should have a chance to be the best they can be and to reach their fullest potential.

That kind of world… well, although it sounds like the most amazing thing… it simply can’t exist. Because we don’t live in Utopia. We have to do our own patching up, because we don’t live in a perfect world.

And we have to understand this. The fact is that this striving… struggle… this toil… that is part of our existence is not really our life. It is merely our worldly existence. Beyond this world… beyond here… believe it or not, there is a perfect world. One that we have to work towards. Beyond our pain and tests and trials, there is a blissful, beautiful and peaceful world that awaits. It is and everlasting abode and it’s what we are placed in this world to prepare for. Sometimes we need to understand this, before we give in to the pressures that this life brings for us. Sometimes we need to stop and just wonder if we always are doing the right thing.

And yes, sometimes the world scares me. When I went to Egypt, I was a little shaken by the dynamics that existed there. Seeing Khalid there made it all the more real for me, because he was living with in it. I wanted to get to know more.

“Ahmed, it’s great to see you,” he had said as I stepped back, giving him a once over to assess how different he looked.

He had grown up. He was slightly taller and broader than me. He was rough around the edges, but I could see beyond that. He still possessed that childish charm that I had known back then… as if he was always up to some amazing adventure, and of course, I could tell that he hadn’t stopped when he came here.

I could see a few guys coming up to him and asking him things… almost as if they relied on him for everything.

“Listen,” he said, after introducing himself easily to Molvi and chatting a bit to us about the general happenings there. “We have somewhere we have to be now, but will you guys join us later?”

He had directed the question at Molvi as well, telling them that one of his family members had a restaurant in central Cairo and they would be honoured for us to join them later. Molvi assessed the situation for a few minutes, and because he seemed to take to Khalid, he agreed to meet for a late supper, so we could rest first.

And of course, everything about that night was awesome. The food was amazing, the hospitality was superb, and they were so thrilled that a Jamaat had come to their humble restaurant. We could hear the chatter of Arabic to and fro as Khalid kept calling for more and more exquisite dishes. I can’t even describe how delicious it was. I felt like my stomach was bursting, but Khalid was still calling for the famous Egyptian desserts, despite our protests. Molvi had taken a liking to Khalid and the two of them chatted for a while while we sat inside. Khalid was thrilled to see me after all these years, making small talk about the family and everything that he missed about South Africa. Molvi and Imraan had called it a night by around 10, but I stuck around for a bit… wanting to be a little adventurous.

I took a pull of the pipe as I sat opposite him just outside the shop, letting the tobacco settle in my throat for a few minutes before I let it out. I already loved this place.

I loved the boisterous atmosphere outside. For now, it was safe and everything was calm. Now I could see why Khalid was here. The night life was amazing.

“How’s the family?”

I looked at him for a second, knowing that he wasn’t asking just for small talk. He genuinely wanted to know, and I knew who in particular he was asking about. He was just too modest to say it.

”They’re good,” I said, meeting his eye. “Khawlah’s happy. You know she’s married?”

And that’s when I saw it. That look in his eyes, like I had punched him. He kind of just froze, as I said it.

“Really?” He finally said, still looking shocked, but attempting to recover. “Wow, that’s great. I thought … She’s still in school right?”

I shrugged, taking another pull of the pipe. Khalid had halted the smoking on his side. Actually, I wasn’t even sure if he had taken a pull. He was probably sick of this thing by now… they probably did this every night. There wasn’t much else to do if you’re staying out of trouble. It was great, though.

“They made Nikah,” I said, looking around me at the night life here. “She’ll stay with Adam after her finals.”

I wasn’t big on details and I could tell it left Khalid a little puzzled. I was too taken in by the atmosphere here to care.

And I suppose it was just as well that a guy suddenly came up to our table and stuck out his hand. I shook it, a little surprised at the hospitality, and Khalids infectious smile returned as he got up and embraced him, introducing me to his cousin. The guy chatted a while in Arabic to Khalid, and then an older woman came and hugged him. I assumed it was his aunty.

“This your brother-in-law?”

Khalid said something in Arabic and the woman nodded and looked at me, before giving me a wave and then going away.

“Sorry, that was weird,” he said, looking apologetic. “When I came here all my aunties wanted to do was marry me to their daughters. I told them I already had a girl back home… of course, I was joking…”

Ah. That explained the brother-in-law thing.

“Whenever I mention someone from SA, well… you can see what happens. They think my in-laws are here.”

”You didn’t know about Khawlah?” I asked, wondering why his mother wouldn’t tell him. “From your ma?”

He shrugged.

“She didn’t say anything,” Khalid said, and looked away. “I’m happy for her.”

The topic was closed and we spoke about a few other things that he was pursuing at the moment. Although he was normal and  went into great detail about his ambitions and what he planned to do here, I could see that something was on his mind after I mentioned Khawlah’s marriage.

And it wasn’t exactly me to sit and dwell over these things so I let it go. I kind of got the picture, in my mind. I had a feeling that Khalid had meant more than he had let on that night. What I didn’t know was that I had still gotten the picture wrong. There were some things that Khalid’s mother had hidden from Khawlah for a reason, and it was a little too late before I found out. Some things that no-one was supposed to know.

And of course, coming back home after that with a skewed train of thought, I couldn’t help but assume that Khawlah had been in touch with Khalid. That something had gone on and she had left him in the lurch. I didn’t try and find out the truth. Shortly after, the news about Khalid’s death came… and it was a shock to my system. It was no use trying to figure the truth at that point anyway. I felt like I had just seen the guy, with so many promises and in all his glory… and now he was gone.

But such was life. Khalid was so young and alive and free… even when I had seen him.. but one thing I remembered about him was what a remarkable and thoughtful human being he was. So responsible. He had grown up into an ambitious guy too. He was crazy about politics and about keeping close to Deen, but only because he was so protective over his family. He had spoken about getting out there and doing the right thing. About showing the people how to live, despite their conditions. He saw a better life, beyond war and famine and everything else that existed. All that was cut short, because of an idiot who didn’t like his optimistic ideas… but he had already inspired me. He had done good.

And that time of the year was a bit rough for me, as I dealt with emotions, work and admissions for the course I was doing… along with my fathers pressure on what to do with my life. Sometimes I really felt that my father needed to get married again, so he could get off my back… but then I remembered the last time he did it and I agreed that we were better off.

It was just that whenever someone close to me passed away, it was like I felt it a million times more than the last time.

And it was around that time of the year when a lady had called me one night, saying she got my number from someone who said I could help her. I didn’t know who she was at first, but we soon figured it out. It was barely rocket science.

Now, as I drove back home, roughly three months from that night, I couldn’t help but curse the day that she had called.

I pulled my phone out from my side console as I unlocked it, keeping my eye on the road as I searched her number. It had been a while since I dialed it, and I was glad. Now that the situation had come to this… I knew that I had to do it one last time. I had to sort this out.

And yes, the voices in my head were screaming at me not to press that little symbol to initiate the call, but against my better judgement, the ringing tone sounded and there was already no going back. I knew I had to do this one last time.

“Hello.”

It was her. She had answered.

“Salaam,” I said, as steadily as I could. I didn’t say anymore.

“How are you?”  It was her who asked first. She sounded worried and out of breath. Like she had been rushing to get the phone. Or maybe she was rushing around behind her four kids. Four kids. That’s a lot.

“I’m fine. I need to-“

”Sorry, these kids are making a din,” she cut me off, and I could hear shutting a few doors as she spoke again.

”Sorry,” she said again. “What were you saying?”

I had to cut to the chase. No small talk.

“Ruby, what’s going on?” I said stiffly, hating the uncertainty that speaking to her brought. Not speaking to her was worse. I was confused. “Can I get some clarity here?”

She was silent.

“Rubeena, can you answer me?” I said, raising my voice slightly. “Everyone is on my case and I’ve had convince your brother and mother that it’s not what they think. My sisters are breathing down my back. What the hell is going on?”

I knew it wasn’t fair to put this all on her, but I couldn’t help but think that she had caused this. To me, I did nothing wrong. All I did was speak to her. Feelings were by the way.

“I don’t know!” She said softly, and I could tell that she was crying.

And then of course, without even expecting it, I felt terrible. I couldn’t even deal with my sisters crying, which they hardly did. Now I had to deal with this.

“I don’t know what to do,” she said, sounding a bit steadier. “My mother phoned. She said you came to talk to her. You know she likes you more than she likes me? She said everything is my fault and I caused problems for everyone. For you too. She said I must get back together with Shabeer and it will all be okay. She said his problems are just a small things… that women go through so much worse.”

”You know it’s not like that,” I said, getting angry. I wasn’t sure at who. I didn’t even know why.

Meeting Aadam and Rubeena’s mother was an event that I couldn’t forget. She was so loud. Loud and extremely nerve-wrecking. But it went off better than expected. She actually made me sit for tea. It was a little awkward. She was so enthusiastic. Zuleikha was a little shocked at her behaviour, but I knew how women like her were. They loved attention and needed buttering up. Although I didn’t have the time and energy for that, I had to come out with a clean slate.

And it was at that point, as I awaited Rubeena’s answer, that I remembered Zuleikha’s words. What if there was some guy, talking to my sister? Ruby was someone’s sister and daughter too. Someone’s mother. I couldn’t carry on like this. I needed to stop this. Right now. I was panicking. What did I even call her for?

Rubeena sighed, and I waited a few more seconds, knowing where this was headed. I now knew that whatever she said, I had to do the right thing.

“Shabeer is threatening to fight for custody,” she said, sounding exhausted. “I know we never spoke about it but we both knew what thoughts crossed our minds. I shouldn’t have phoned you to complain about him. I shouldn’t have dragged you into all my problems. I shouldn’t have told you half the things I did. Now look what it’s caused. I did it all and I know it’s too late and we can’t take it back… but this is it. If he hears anything else about you… I’m in for it. I’ll be roasted, Ahmed. He knows what will break me. He’ll turn everyone against me. He’ll hire the best lawyers and he’ll finish me. I can’t deal with this. I don’t have the energy and I can’t lose my kids. I’m sorry. Let’s just forget we spoke and go on with our lives. I’m sorry for everything this had caused for you. I’m so sorry, Ahmed. I have to go.”

The phone line cut just as I opened my mouth. That was it. What was there to even say? Maybe it was better this way? There was no use even venturing down that lane. I didn’t even know what to feel. Feelings were just by the way. I just needed to know where to focus now, and right now, it was more clear than ever.

Maybe I was wrong. Maybe I shouldn’t have thought anything could happen. I had to repent for those feelings. I had to. I hastily deleted her number from my phone, annoyed that I was upset. I had to move past this and there was just one way.

There was about 10 minutes in peak traffic till I got home. It was just enough time to make that one more call and sort it all out. The more I thought about it, the more it just made sense. This was the only way to get past all this. This was the only way that I was going to ever get this all behind me and move on.

The ring tone was sounding again, and this time, I was all ready for what I needed to say.

“Ahmed! Assalamualaikum Wa Rahmatullah! How are you keeping, Bhai?” He said, sounding ecstatic at my call. “I’ve been waiting for you to give me the go ahead… are you ready for another trip?! We’re forming a Jamaat for Europe.”

I actually missed him a lot. I really needed to see him. He was just so far away. I wished he stayed closer.

“Jhee, always, Maulana,” I said, the thought of going away already sounding exciting. Just what I needed. “But that isn’t why I called.”

”Jhee, Jhee,” Molvi said, obviously knowing that I had another reason. “What can I do for you, my brother?”

”I remembered that Maulana once asked about marriage,” I said steadily. “That there were a few girls who were available. I wanted to check if the offer still… stands.”

”Jhee, of course,” Molvi said, sounding elated. “There are always girls looking for good guys like you. You coming down to Durban. Want me to organise it?”

“Please,” I said, knowing that I had to move past all this. Good guys like me? Despite feeling like I was being crushed by a ton of bricks, I knew that this had to be the only way. I had to take responsibility and patch things up for everyone.

“I’m ready to make Nikah.”

---

Authors note: Disclaimer: With regard to what happens in this post, it is crossing the boundaries of what’s allowed but I have briefly gone into the problems it caused to stress on its’s abstinence. In many of our dealings, whether it be at home or work, our Ulema have constantly stressed on the importance of maintaining a respectful relationship with non-Mahrams, if we have to converse with them. The ideal is to let a male or someone else represent oneself, if there is a need. Whether it be the guy who is working for you or a distant family member, chatting about our lives and problems and getting into detail in conversation is completely forbidden and always leads to problems. Our voice should also be altered so we don’t sound attractive. Hijaab and Pardah is of great importance. May Allah guide us all. 

I’m sure many readers may not think Ahmed is doing the right thing.. Any thoughts? 

Much Love,

A 🌸

Sunnah of maintaining ties: 

Beloved Nabi (SAW) has said:

“The person who perfectly maintains the ties of kinship is not the one who does it because he gets recompensed by his relatives (for being kind and good to them), but the one who truly maintains the bonds of kinship is the one who persists in doing so even though the latter has severed the ties of kinship with him“. [Al-Bukhari].

May Allah Ta’ala enable us to rekindle any ties of kingship that may have been severed. It is truly a great reward and Sunnah.

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When Sins are ‘Little’…

Bismihi Ta’ala

Zuleikha

Every person has a story to tell. And every soul is entitled to their own secret. Some people have those perfect ‘love’ stories that the romantics will go crazy about … and some people have morbid tragedies that can even sway the critics.

You see, I’m sure it’s no surprise to you that not everyone has their very own happily ever after. Some stories are just that. Stories. Not everyone marries Mr Perfect and rides into the sunset. I’ve heard many a couple agree that nothing about marriage is forever happy. There are moments of bliss, to be sure, and lengthy spans of satisfied companionship… Yet these come at no small effort, and the girl who reads such fiction dreaming her troubles will end when she is whisked away into the sunset… needs a rational woman to set her straight. Oh, and a reality check.

Yes, people fall in love and go on to live pretty great lives. But there are people who fall in love, and live miserable lives trying to figure out how they ever fell out of it.

And then there are people like me. They are paddling along on this somewhat turbulent route, trying to just find that one thing that gives them peace. Through a little bit of sin, a little bit of falling… and then a dash of desire and aspiration… She doesn’t wait around for a prince to charge in and slay the dragon. Maybe she saves herself and in the end, rides off into her own beautiful sunset.

And that’s the place where her Allah fits right in. That’s where she finds her peace, within the sanctity of her Lord. Her refuge was right there, where there was no storm… And it took me a while to figure it out, but sometimes we have to go right back to the beginning to figure out the end. At what point did everything go so off… and at which point did it come together again.

The thing was, in what I remembered as my beginning, all I knew was that I was blown away. At that time… way back when… during my teenage delusion, I was taken in by a a ‘little bit of sin’ with a guy who promised me the world and more.

I was a 17 year old school student. He was 21 year old heartthrob. Sought after, painstakingly rich and strikingly handsome. Even if I didn’t want to know him… there was always a murmur through the crowd when he made an appearance.

And I’m not telling you this so you can envy me. Really. There’s nothing enviable about my story. I’m telling you this so you can know… when I met Jameel… I really didn’t know what I was getting myself into. Many teenage girls don’t have the foresight to see that a crowd-stopping boyfriend doesn’t always make an amazing husband.

Yes, of course he had caught my eye. There was barely a girl who didn’t know who he was. I was also warned to steer clear because he didn’t have the best of reputations. He had left a string of broken hearts behind him as he worked his way through most girls in the higher grade. He had been in the same school three years before and there was no mystery about him when his name was mentioned….

But being fickle girls, his notoriety didn’t stop any of the girls from wanting to be one of his conquests. I supposed every girl who caught his eye believed that she would be the one to change him. And every woman who ever thought they could change a man usually ended up with a real sore reality check… as well as a broken heart.

And then of course, one day, his flashy red BMW stopped next to me, as I walked the two kilometer distance back home. His window rolled down and I could barely breathe as he offered me that dazzling smile, as I stood there, thinking why on earth this guy had his eye on me.

And as I watched him watching me, I couldn’t think of anyone else who remotely resembled him. He was complicated, almost contradictory in so many ways. On the surface he was a bad boy, the talk of the town… but somehow there was a mysterious and compassionate side of him that he never failed to surprise me with.

And yes, I didn’t see sense at first. Besides knowing that it was against every principle I had ever had, every belief I had been taught… my first boyfriend was the one that I broke all the rules for. I would sneak out to meet him. I would stay out till late to be with him. I would lie to go out with him. It was wrong on every level. Small sins became bigger ones.

And yes, it wasn’t only because I found him unusually enchanting. His overprotective nature was intense. The fact that he would never tolerate a guy looking at me at school was somewhat alluring.

But then, as happens, I came to see another side of him… that bordered on obsession. When I entered the small teaching centre the following year, that my father had eventually allowed me to attend, I couldn’t stand him following me everywhere… that’s when I knew that it wasn’t healthy. I needed some space. I needed to breathe. I tried to get out of his clutches. I had to do what was best for myself.

But let me tell you something. When you’re young, impressionable and are looking for comfort in the wrong places… you make uneducated choices. You think that little sins are small things. They’re not. You just don’t see the reality of a situation until you get really caught up.

Pulling away was like trying to cut a metal chain. In that time, when I had been forced to let Foi Nani source a proposal for me just so I could call it quits on Jameel… I was bordering on desperation.

Yousuf was the grandson of Foi Nani’s friend and a promising prospect. Really promising. I had a feeling that Foi Nani knew about Jameel too and didn’t like the idea of him. And it had been going so well… until Aunty Nas had very conveniently intruded to kill every chance that ever existed for a different kind of life. A normal life. A life that wasn’t going to feel like I was in a prison.

And I’m sure Jameel had got wind of Yousuf coming home. He had waited outside campus for me every day that week after the proposal had come home. I tried to avoid him. He had promised me that he’d changed, but I just found his persistence scary..

After the scene with Aunty Nas, Yousuf’s family they had come to know about Jameel. They were wary but there was still hope… until things started compounding on me… and I felt suffocated.

Of course I still had doubts about Jameel, but I suppose that’s what happens when you are in over your heard. When you get involved in something Haraam, and it goes terribly wrong.

What I figured out after was that when Jameel said that Abba didn’t go missing by chance… was that he knew exactly who was responsible for it.

Aunty Nas had owed people money. Lots of money. The plain fact was that we didn’t have the money. It was a war of its own that was going on… and when Jameel had come back into the picture with a promise to make it all go away, I couldn’t resist. Deep down, I really did feel something for this crazily obsessed guy. Despite his never leaving me alone… I knew that if I just gave into him, everything would be okay.

To many girls though, they would have thought that I married the perfect guy. The teenage dream. The guy that every girl wants.

But it never felt like that. There was too much going on at the time to feel at peace and in love. Yes, there were moments of amazement and hope, but there were also moments of unexplainable torment. Somehow, even when you make a Haraam thing Halaal, you still end up paying for the sins you did before. There was never complete ease in our marriage.

And of course, in retrospect, all I could see here was Aunty Nas and her constant effort in controlling our family, even long after she was gone. It was like she could not stand to see us happy. Her entire existence was focused on making sure everyone of us was miserable… and I could clearly see her work still going on.

So when Khawlah called me, all cut up about a story with a theme that sounded heartbreakingly familiar, I knew that this work was not just the work of regular gossip aunties of our town. There was something sinister about this story. Something that spelled trouble, and of course, had an ulterior motive.

It was a feeling of mixed emotion. And yes, I had found my path in life. Finally, I had got to that place that I wanted to… but it didn’t mean that everything in the past would just disappear. I knew that there would many things that would set me back.

“Did you hear that Hannah is out of rehab?”

I shot Jameel a glance as he said that, using the sports towel to wipe his forehead as he watched me. Of course, he had come back from cycling where he had probably seen someone he knew…

Where Hannah was, Aunty Nas was never far. The two of them were cut of the same cloth.

“Who told you that?”

”A little bird,” Jameel said, trying to sound mysterious.

”Did you speak to Shabeer?” I asked, unable to contain myself.

Jameel pursed his lips and raised his eyebrows.

“I suppose I did,” he said. I didn’t like the fact that he was meeting Shabeer so often.

As long as Jameel steered clear of his shady past, I was happy. The minute it came up again… I felt threatened.

And yes, even though things had gotten better… we still had work to do on our marriage. It was a few weeks ago when things had come into perspective for us, once again. When I had come to assess where we really stood.

It was when I had finally decide to take that step and wear the niqaab… for Jameel… it was a huge blow. He couldn’t understand why I would ever want to be so hectic…

“What is this?” He had said angrily, pulling it off my face. “We don’t wear these things.”

I looked at him defiantly as he scowled. He was upset.

“I’m changing my life,” I said to him softly,  hoping he would understand. “I want your support but I don’t depend on it. I have Allah.. but I would really love you to do this with me too…”

”Shit, Leikha,” he said in irritation, running his neat fingers over his stubble. “I’m trying man. I’m just not ready for all this crap. First the hijaab and the taaleem and all this… I can’t do it all… I’m not saying no, but slow down man.”

Was it really too much too soon? But why couldn’t he just see the things the way I did? Why couldn’t he just see the beauty it had brought and embrace it all? Why did he want to hold off?

I shrugged as he looked at me. What did I tell him?

Show him, something within me was saying. Show him what this life is about… Don’t push him. 

”Think about it,” I said softly, stepping back as I watched him. “You don’t  have to change overnight… but I need you with me. I want you to be a part of this. If you can’t be… then you can go on. Live the life you want. Do what you like. But I can’t be here.”

I swallowed as I remembered Jameels words, once upon a time when he threatened to kill me if I ever left. Today, I was giving him the choice. He either took my path, or we had to make a better decision for both of our sanity. The painful truth was that I truly did love him.

I looked at my husbands handsome face, now riddled with worry. He had made it clear that he would not know what to do without me. I didn’t want him to be reliant on me. I wanted him to find a source of Greater Peace. I wanted him to truly find Allah. I was doing this for both of us.

He was shaking his head, and I could see regret filling his eyes as he met mine.

“I’m so sorry, Leikha,” He said softly, coming towards me and grasping me by the shoulders. “You know that wasn’t me talking, don’t you? I was so off-track. I’m so sorry I put you through hell, babe… it’s just… I don’t know how to deal with this. How will we go out? How will we visit my family when you are so… hectic… we’ll be so awkward…”

”Let’s take it as it comes, okay?” I said softly to him as he bit his lip, both of us watching Muhammed chattering to himself in the feeding chair as he ate his strawberries.

He was blissfully aware of the dynamics that had existed between us, and I was so grateful that Jameel had changed his evil ways. He had taken up healthier hobbies, like sports and cycling… but I needed him to understand that there was more…

And of course, it had been a tiny hurdle compared to others, but with heartfelt Duaas, my husband had accepted my change in his own way.

Now as I looked at him, being sober for months, I couldn’t help but see what a completely different and amazing person he could be. Yes, if anyone ever told you otherwise, always believe that bad marriages can go good. I had living proof.

And he had assured me that there was nothing to worry about, but deep in my heart, I knew that there was another problem of my past that needed to be addressed. A problem that had to do with Shabeer, Hannah and Aunty Nas. Someone was causing conflict and I knew that it was going to ruin us as a family.

When I went to my fathers house later that evening, it was no surprise to see Ahmed looking like he’d been knocked over by a bus. I had already suspected that Khawlah’s mother-in-law’s theories were not completely off-track.

It was just as well that Khawlah wasn’t at home. Ahmed looked up at me with a frown as I entered his room. I’m sure if he could have growled at me, he would have too.

I remembered Mamas words about my brother. Unlike Yunus, who was always soft and obliging… Ahmed had a hard streak about him that I just couldn’t crack.

And okay, I know we all get caught up in a little bit of sin from time to time. But how much is too much? When does an innocent conversation become something more? When does a simple glance become a lustful gaze?

I know that Ahmed probably didn’t mean for it to get this far.  How anyone had found out about this aspect of his work was probably the doing of Aunty Nas. Ahmed knew people. People who weren’t always up to good. He knew them because he used to hang out with them when he was younger.

His earning cash every now and then was because he mediated between Mafia and regular people who owed them money… making deals and trying to get people out of debts. It was a good intention… but a really dangerous job too. Although he said he knew the guys for years and they would never hurt him… what I knew about Mafia was that they could turn at anytime.  According to what Khawlah had suggested, Rubeena had called him to ask him for some guy’s number to sort out some debts that he knew back in the day.

It had to do with her husband who owed some money, and she was trying to resolve things before they got out of control. What they didn’t realize was that things were already way out of control..

What I wasn’t sure of was whether Ahmed would open up to me to tell me the truth. Khawlah was devastated. I tried to make her see sense, but she was a adamant that Ahmed knew exactly what he was going when he communicated with Rubeena. She was insistent that he would have known better. She was right, of course, but as I looked at my brother… I found it hard to understand what he was really thinking.

A pretty woman like her and a young promising guy like him… was there really no room for Shaytaan to come in between? Of course… it was all just theories but there was always an opportunity.

Oh, the pain and conflict that a little bit of sin could cause… I was physically aching to get to the bottom of this…

”Ahmed,” I said to him, hoping he would soften up as I sat at the edge of his bed. “Can we talk?”

---

 

Sunnah of honoring guests:

Abu Shuraih Khuwailid bin Amr Al-Khuza`i RA reported: I heard Messenger of Allah (sallallaahu ’alayhi wa sallam) saying, “He who believes in Allah and the Last Day, should accommodate his guest according to his right.” He was asked: “What is his right, O Messenger of Allah?” He (sallallaahu ’alayhi wa sallam) replied: “It is (to accommodate him) for a day and a night, and hospitality extends for three days, and what is beyond that is charity.”
(Bukhari and Muslim)

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