Present Day

I’m having one of those moments where I’m just really stressed and I just want to sleep. I sit at the front desk while the children quietly do their work. I’m supposed to be marking their homework but instead, I stare at the floor wondering how comfy it would be if I tried to sleep on it. I hear snickering and straighten my back sitting upright. I see it’s the usual troublemakers.

“First warning you two. Now quieten down.” They sink into their seats and I try to concentrate on marking the kids’ homework.

There has been something bothering me. I want to blame Inayah but she’s only trying to be a good friend and help. A few days ago, she said I needed a mahram with the way things are going. A mahram for me, meaning a man in my life. A man who is a part of my family. There’s my uncle but he has his own kids to worry about and I can’t suddenly turn up at his doorstep saying I want to stay with him, nor can I pull him away from his family and bring him to my home. Other than him, I don’t have a mahram. My grandparents are gone; I don’t have any brothers, Abu’s gone and Isa’s father… I swallow hard and think back to my original problem.

I told Inayah I have my little Isa and he’ll grow up to be my mahram. But she said I needed a man to protect me now. I’m not much of a feminist but I was a little offended. I can protect myself even though I’m a woman! I decide I’ll have a chat with her later. With that thought in mind, I look down at the paper on my desk and try to decipher the messy handwriting.

I’m grateful for when the school day finally comes to an end. I feel I haven’t performed well as a teacher today so before the class go, I quickly test them on the latest topic we’ve been studying. I ask a question and the children who know the answer raise their hands. Once a child has answered a question, they can go.

“What was the name of the Prophet Muhammad’s father?” A hand shoots up and I nod at the eager boy.

“Abdullah!”

“Very good, you can go. Now, what was the name of the Prophet Muhammad’s mother?” Another hand shoots up.

“Amina!” I nod and the girl picks up her bag to leave.

“How old was the Prophet when he married?” I point at a child with his hand up and he replies,

“Twenty three.”

“No. Try again.”

“Twenty…” He hesitates.

“Can anyone help him out?”

“It’s twenty five, dummy!” A girl says.

“Five minutes detention for being rude.” The girl looks like she’s about to cry but I ignore it. If there’s one thing I cannot stand, it’s bullying. I’ve always stood up against it. Isa’s father said that I was strong for doing so. A light smile comes on my lips and I continue asking questions. Once everyone is gone, I walk to sit opposite the girl in detention.

“Do you know why you’re here?” She doesn’t answer me. “Do you know what you did wrong?” She still refuses to answer me. “Tell me, otherwise you’re getting another five minutes added to your detention.”

“I called Ahsan a dummy,” She whispers.

“And that’s rude, isn’t it?” She nods. “If you know something that someone else doesn’t know, it doesn’t make you superior to them and you have no right to boast about it and make them feel bad. The Prophet Muhammad knew more than all of us, yet he never looked down on someone for having less knowledge. What he knew, he taught in a kind manner. Now let’s pretend I got the answer wrong and I said the Prophet was twenty three when he got married. How would you correct me nicely?” She stares at me blankly. “Just try.” She shrugs. I try not to sigh out of frustration. “How would you say it nicely?” This time I add a glare so she would speak.

“No miss, he was twenty five,” She says as politely as she can. My glares did wonders.

“Exactly! Now that wasn’t so hard, was it?” The girl shakes her head. “You have two minutes left and then you can go.” I start clearing my desk and see Inayah and Isa hovering by the door. I slowly wipe the board and keep my eye on the time. Once the time is up, I let the girl go.

“That was mean,” Inayah says once the girl had scurried off.

“She was mean. I was teaching her a lesson. Be nice. Isn’t that right, Isa?” Isa nods.

“Can we go home now?” He asks.

“Yes. Inayah, may you please come with us?”

“I have to go home and cook before my kids return hungry from a long day at school,” She replies remorsefully.

“I need to talk to you. Come to my house and I’ll give you food to take back with you.” Inayah begins to protest but I cut her off asking, “Where’s Hadia?”

“She told me to tell you she wasn’t feeling well so she took Bilal and Fatima and went home.”

“Oh. I didn’t get a chance to say goodbye. I’ll see her tomorrow anyway. As I was saying, come with us.”

“I can’t-“

“I really need to talk to you.” Seeing my serious expression, Inayah agrees to come. On the way home, I hold Isa’s left hand and Inayah holds his right. Every few steps, he jumps and we help him swing. Seeing him having so much fun takes some of my stress away.

Once we’re home, I remove my niqab and rub my face. I motion for Inayah to take a seat.

“So what’s this about?” She asks.

“It’s about you stressing me out.”

“Me? How did I…? Oh.” She suddenly realizes what this is about.

“I don’t want to get married just to have a mahram,” I say bluntly.

“I think you should. Islam advises for you to do so.”

“And who am I going to marry? That man who already has two wives who hate each other? Or the creep that hangs around outside my house. Or, I know! That druggie down the road! Other than them, who’s going to marry a widowed woman with a mixed race child?” I’ve had two proposals and although I don’t have anything against polygamy, I don’t want to be a third wife hated by the other two. Neither do I want to marry a drug addict who’s kind of obsessed with the idea that I’m half Arab. That man rarely ever thought straight.

“I’ll find someone for you.”

“I don’t want to get married.”

“Isa needs a father.”

“I’ll be his father.”

“You need a companion.”

“Isa’s my companion.”

“You’re being impossible.”

“Good,” I reply with stubbornness.

“If you hadn’t considered what I said, you wouldn’t be stressed. You know I’m right. At least, a part of you agrees with me.”

“It would be unfair for me to marry now. I don’t think I’ll ever be able to completely love anyone again.”

“Nonsense!” Inayah shouted, her face reddening a little. “You just have to give it a try. If you marry a good man, you will fall in love with him. It’s in our nature. It’s been over four years! Surely you’re ready to move on.” I stare at the ground, a stern expression on my face.

“Mama, are you okay?” Isa walks to me from where he’s playing with his toys. He touches my face and I quickly hold him close to me.

“Isa is all I need.”

“But are you all that Isa needs?”

“Yes!” I reply angrily. I send Isa to go feed our pet cat that has just made an appearance.

“Stop it, Esha! I know there’s a part of you that agrees with me. Admit it!”

“I can’t.”

“Why not?”

“Because if I go Jannah (heaven), I only want to be with my husband, Isa. No other man.”

“Esha, Jannah is beyond anything we can imagine. The only thing guaranteed is that we will be happy. How it’s going to be, who we’re going to be with, that’s all debatable to some extent. But the main thing is, we will be happy. If you marry now, it won’t stop you or Isa’s father from being happy in the hereafter.” Inayah’s voice is soft as she speaks. I nod and swallow the lump in my throat before I speak.

“I don’t want to go through all that again. What if I marry and then my new husband leaves me too. Besides, I really don’t think I can love anyone in that way again. I’m happy the way I am.”

“Esha,” Inayah says, exhausted. “Have you such little faith in Allah? Do you not trust that He will guide you through your marriage and keep you happy after all the trials and tribulations you’ve faced?”

“If there’s anything I’ve learnt, it’s that this life doesn’t come with guarantees. I do trust Allah, with my whole heart. But that doesn’t mean what happened in the past can’t repeat itself. It’s perfectly possible. And as I said before, there really is no point. I can’t think of loving another man. The thought still makes me feel sick.”

“That’s because you haven’t fallen in love with another man.”

“I don’t think I could deal with the guilt if I ever did fall in love again.”

“Esha! You’re making excuse after excuse!”

“It’s the truth! It’s not excuses.” Inayah switches to a different tactic to convince me of considering marrying again.

“Do you think people would slander you and backbite about you if you had a husband? Do you think people will make comments to you on the streets if you had a husband? Do you think men will try and flirt with you if you had a husband?”

“I don’t care about people and what they have to say!”

“And what about your four year old son who will, very soon, begin to understand them.”

“Then I’ll explain the situation to him.”

“He’s a little kid! All he’s going to see is people making weird comments to his mum. Sometimes they’re even about him!”

“I don’t even get comments that often!” I said, trying to ignore the memories of that creep and the woman who told me how to make Isa’s skin fairer.

“Oh I’ve been counting. I’ve recorded three people in my presence this year who have made one comment or another about you. And that’s excluding the people you and Hadia have told me about.”

“I don’t want to get married for the sake of shutting them up. Isa knows to ignore those people. Now I’ll get you your food.” I stand up but Inayah blocks my path to the kitchen.

“Isa’s not even five yet. He’s a smart kid and I know he can already sense he’s different-“

“Isa is not different! He’s human, they’re human! End of story.”

“That’s not what I meant! Try telling them that.”

“I don’t want to marry for a handful of idiots, Inayah. Do you know how ridiculous that sounds? Everyone in this village loves Isa and when he realizes that, he’ll be fine.” Inayah sighs in defeat and rubs her temples with the palms of her hands.

“Forget the food. I’ll go get something on the way,” She says, collecting her bag.

“Inayah, don’t leave like this. Just wait here two minutes. I made biryani this morning. I’ll bring it for you.” I walk past her to the kitchen. I try to stop myself from shaking as I fill up a small tub of biryani. When I return to the veranda and hand the tub over, I can sense a lot of awkwardness. We just stand opposite each other, waiting for something to happen. Then Inayah hugs me and I hug her back.

“I hate fighting with you but you’re so stubborn,” She says, her voice playful, all anger and frustration from earlier erased from it.

“I’m sorry. It’s just that I think I have things figured out.”

“I hope you do.” I hope I did too. We say salaam to each other and I walk Inayah to the front gate before covering my face and stepping out to wave her off.

When I get back, I continue with my usual routine of helping Isa with his homework, eating, playing games and so on. In the evening, right after I put Isa to sleep, my phone begins to ring. It wakes Isa up and I answer the phone, ready to yell at Eliza.

“Asalamu’alaykum! A cheerful voice says.”

“Wa’alaykumsalaam. You woke Isa up!”

“Oops. Sorry.”

“It’s okay. How are you?”

“I’m in a bit of pain.” I gasp.

“Have the contractions started?” I ask, walking to the other side of the room and whispering so Isa doesn’t hear me.

“Even better. They’ve finished and I’m holding baby Sami in my arms.” I gasp again.

“I’m an aunt again!” I yell and then let out a squeal! “Oh my Allah! Masha’allah! Tell me, how is my nephew? How much does he weigh? You have to send me pictures!”

I continue talking to Eliza and I feel any stress I had, slowly melt away. After seven years, they finally have another child. I have a nephew!

After I hang up the phone, finish my prayers and get ready for bed, I can’t stop thinking about my nephew, Sami. Eliza sends me a couple of pictures of him and I cannot stop staring at them. I want to hold him and cuddle his tiny figure. I look over to my right where Isa is softly sleeping. I told him about Sami but I think he was too sleepy to fully understand what I was saying.

I stroke the side of Isa’s face and wonder, maybe a little trip back to England is overdue. Or maybe it was time to go back altogether. I’m not as strong as Isa’s father said I was. After so many years, I’m still trying to deny my problems. And now I don’t have my husband to help me face them.

Isa’s growing up and I can’t hide him from the world forever. I thought I was enough for him, but am I? I know he’s popular and loved in the village but none of them are family. Back in England, Isa has some family; his grandmother and his aunt who love him dearly. They’ve only met him once when they came to visit but there’s something about blood relations. Something special.

I’m faced with a new conflict. I want to stay in Pakistan but if there are going to be issues like Inayah said so, then maybe it’s time for me to go back while Isa is still young. But my heart is against it. This place, this house, these people have stolen my heart and I don’t want to take my Isa anywhere else.

I thought I had things figured out but I don’t at all. Things are far from being figured out. What am I going to do? I’m not strong enough for this! Looking up, I close my eyes and turn to the only one who knows how I feel and can understand me.

Ya Allah! Help me! I don’t know what to do! Help me figure this out!