Present Day

Being the annoying mum I am, I can’t help but fuss as we approach my uncle’s house. I run my hand through Isa’s short frizzy hair which makes no difference but I’m just so nervous. I don’t know why!

I don’t like leaving my village. Uncle Ijaz only lives in the next village but I just feel safer being in the place where I’m known and I know everyone. And I don’t like leaving my village especially when Isa’s with me. He tends to get weird looks by strangers. I know most are just fascinated. There is one Indian family and two families from Bangladesh, who I think are related. And that’s as far as diversity is around these villages.

I knock on the door and grip Isa’s hand. Uncle Ijaz himself comes to open the door and he ushers me in with a warm smile. We greet each other, and he puts his arm around my shoulders and gives me a sideward hug. Then he picks Isa up and Isa hugs him.

“How are you?” He asks Isa and Isa delves into a long story about the lamb that was born opposite our house.

“Shayan bhai let me play with it but he said not to pull his ears.”

“The lamb’s ears or Shayan bhai’s ears?” Uncle Ijaz asks with a chuckle. He leads us to the veranda before turning back and smiling apologetically at me. “They just turned up,” He says before going inside and I stand confused before following him in.

That’s when I see them. My aunts. Aunt Nyla and Aunt Maha sitting side by side sipping tea. I say Salaam and sit opposite them, trying to avoid all those memories and bad feelings I associate with them.

It’s like children have a sixth sense and they can tell the difference between a good person and a bad one. Now I’m not one to call people bad because we all have our flaws. But with these two women, I feel different. Isa, my usually confident and friendly son, quietly sits next to me after uncle Ijaz puts him down and leaves. The women stare at him with an attempt at a smile. Isa stares back, hugging my arm and leaning against me shyly.

“How’s the school going? Still up and running?” Aunt Nyla asks. It’s always felt like Aunt Nyla’s the cunning one and Aunt Maha just goes along with what she says. Aunt Maha just sits quietly.

“Yes. Very well, alhamdulillah.”

“And how are you doing, Isa?” Isa doesn’t respond and I give him a little nudge.

“Mama, I have a tummy ache,” He whispers. I look down to see a scared expression on his face.

“Isa, what’s wrong?” I put my arm around him and hug him.

“Is everything okay?” Aunt Nyla asks.

“He probably ate something he shouldn’t have this morning.” I hold Isa closer but then I hear something which makes me feel things I cannot describe.

“Maybe too many bananas,” Aunt Nyla whispers to Aunt Maha and they both snicker. I feel dizzy as I begin to burn inside. Tears prick my eyes and I feel enraged! I know what they meant by that. But I didn’t know what to do about it. I didn’t want to cause a scene in front of Isa.

“I didn’t have any bananas,” He tells them innocently. They look so amused. I put a hand over Isa’s ears and clench my other hand repeatedly. Violent thoughts form in my mind but I try to get rid of them. They want a reaction out of me so they have something bad to say when they have their gossiping sessions.

Uncle Ijaz finally comes back and I want to tell him what they said and have him tell them off, but I keep my mouth shut. They only made up recently and I didn’t want to destroy the siblings’ relationship again.

“Isa, Danial and Aqsa are here if you want to play with them,” Uncle Ijaz says. Danial’s a neighbour and Aqsa is his granddaughter. Upon hearing the name of children around his age, Isa sits up, looking much happier.

“How’s your tummy?” I ask him.

“Much better. Mama. Can I go play?”

“Of course. Don’t cause any trouble though, okay?” He nods before running off. I’m left with an awkward, tense silence.

“Your tea’s on its way,” Uncle Ijaz informs me and I nod in appreciation. I can feel my hands are sweaty and I wipe them on my abaya.

“You can take your niqab off, there’s no one here,” Aunt Nyla says.

“Yes, you can take your niqab off. Show us the face of your father’s,” Uncle Ijaz says with a smile and I remove the cloth. “So much like him, yet so beautiful, masha’allah.” Some of the anger at Aunt Nyla’s earlier comment lessens. I try to avoid looking at them but when it’s silent again, I can’t help but give a curious glance. My aunts look unhappy.

My cousin, uncle Ijaz’s daughter, brings the tea and I get up to greet her. We talk briefly and she tells me she has to get back to cooking while supervising kids. It’s silent again after that and I begin sipping my tea to distract myself from the awkwardness. I want to talk to uncle Ijaz but I really don’t feel comfortable doing so in front of my aunts.

“So…” My uncle starts. No one has anything to say. This is too awkward.

“The weather’s good.” I say.

“No no, too hot,” Uncle Ijaz replies.

“Better than the cold. Britain was cold most of the year. I remember when it once snowed in April. By then, I was fed up of snow. But it didn’t snow the following year and I was a little upset because a day of snow in the year is always fun. Except if the house isn’t warm. Once, the central heating stopped working and we were all freezing,” I blabber to fill the silence.

“Showing off your central heating system? Why come away from those luxuries to here only to boast about what our modest villages don’t have?” Aunt Nyla asks. I, once again, fight my irritation.

“Nyla,” Uncle Ijaz warns.

“As I said, Britain’s a cold country. Central heating is more of a necessity than a luxury,” I explain. I feel my voice shake a bit and I’m sweating. Not because of the heat but my anger. I take slow deep breaths.

“Tell us, how is Sami doing? Nyla, Maha, have you congratulated Esha?”

“Oh yes, your nephew. Congratulations.” Aunt Nyla says with distaste.

“Congratulations.” Aunt Maha repeats.

“Thank you. And congratulations to you too, for he’s like your grandson. Would you like to see a picture?” Aunt Maha nods and aunt Nyla glares at her.

“I would love to see a picture. The one you showed me before, he looked so small. I do hope he’s fattened up a little,” Uncle Ijaz says while I take my phone out.

“He’s better than before but still very small.” I send my phone around so they can all see Sami. Uncle Ijaz praises him while my aunts just hand the phone back and stay muted.

While we talk more about Sami and Farah, Isa comes to me, crying.

“What happened?” I ask, alarmed.

“Mama, I want to go home.”

“Why? Tell me, did anyone say anything to you?”

“Danial’s brother said I should go back to Africa and then he pushed me.” I see my aunts smile and pull Isa to myself and put my arms around him protectively. I am so close to losing it.

“That’s not nice. Allah won’t be happy with him if he says that. Be a brave boy and don’t cry.” A panicked looking boy comes in after Isa.

“I’m sorry aunty. My brother’s only little.” I assume this is Danial.

“What exactly happened?” I ask him.

“We were playing cricket and my brother said he wanted to play. I was bowling and he got run out but he wouldn’t give the bat and Isa told him to give the bat but he wouldn’t. Then Isa tried to snatch it and my brother pushed him and Isa fell. Shall I go call him?” I could see the child’s honesty and it was endearing.

“No, it’s okay. Isa, I told you snatching things is bad.”

“But he got out and wouldn’t give me the bat. It was my turn,” He defends himself.

“Still, it’s not right to snatch things.”

“Mama, let’s go home.” I want to go home too so I put my phone back in my bag and begin preparing to leave.

“Uncle Ijaz, thank you for the tea. It was lovely seeing you but we must go now.” I put my niqab on again.

“Stay for dinner,” He insists.

“I’d love to but Isa has homework to do and I have to put him to bed early. He has school in the morning. Thank you for the offer though. I’m afraid I really must go.”

“To Africa?” Aunt Nyla asks. Now I’m going to lose it.

“Fear Allah!” I say much louder than intended. There’s so much I want to say but I have to bite my tongue. My outburst causes everyone around me to jump and I pick up Isa and head out. Isa’s surprised that I’m heading out of the house, holding him. He usually holds my hand wherever we go. But I couldn’t bear a second longer in the presence of those women and if Isa’s small steps were going to slow me down then I wasn’t going to risk having him walk.

Uncle Ijaz follows me out and begins to apologize. I tell him it’s okay. He’s done nothing wrong.

“I’ll go and talk to them,” He tells me.

“There’s no point. Just pray for their guidance.”

“Don’t take everything too personally. You and I both know very well that this isn’t all just about your marriage to Isa’s father, or you father’s marriage to your mother. There’s more behind it.”

“Jealousy, greed, envy, I know the whole story. That’s why I think it’s better to just leave it. They’re too far gone into their hatred to turn back with our words now. Only Allah can help them.”

“In’sha’allah He will. Have a safe journey and phone me when you get home. That’s if you have any credit. Do you? Do you need any money?”

“I have a lot of credit on my phone, don’t you worry. And alhamdulillah I’m earning enough money. I’ll call you when I get home.” I put Isa down and take his hand. I say Salaam and walk over to the main road from where I take a rickshaw home.

On the way, Isa begins asking me questions which make me really nervous.

“Is Africa in Kenya?” He asks.

“No, Kenya is in Africa. Africa’s a big continent with lots of countries in it. Kenya’s one of the countries.”

“If we go Kenya, will we see my Abu there? You said his parents were from there so maybe he went back.” I take a deep breath and begin to feel weak. Why did pain never get easier? Why did it demand to be felt no matter how much you’ve suffered it?

“Your Abu’s not in Kenya,” I say softly.

“We should go and look,” Isa replies, his face lighting up.

“Isa, your Abu is with Allah. I told you already.”

“Maybe Allah sent him to Kenya.”

“That’s not how it works. He’s with Allah and he will stay with Allah. If you’re a good boy, you’ll meet him in heaven in’sha’allah.”

“I want to meet him now!” Isa sulks. “Everyone’s met their Abu. It’s not fair!” I go quiet and fight the hardest battle with my tears. I can’t let them flow here. Not now. Swallowing a lump in my throat, I take deep breaths and pray to Allah for strength. Having a low attention span, Isa’s quickly distracted by a horse which gallops past us.

This day was awful. I haven’t had one so bad in a long time. I’m grateful when I see the gates of our home. I pay the rickshaw man and head inside. Immediately I feel something’s off.

“Mama,” I hush Isa when I see that through the veranda, my bedroom door is open. I feel like I saw a shadow in there. I put a finger on my lip to tell Isa he should stay quiet. Then I mouth ‘stay here’ before creeping towards the bedroom.

Someone’s inside.

Someone with their face covered while they go through my things.

They haven’t seen me or Isa. I see Isa standing still, watching me in the middle of the yard. He looks so small and cute and for some reason, it breaks my heart. I slowly reach for the broom and my heart beats wildly with what I do next. I slam the doors shut and stick the broom through the handles, trapping the man inside. Then I proceed to run outside, pulling Isa with me on the way.

“BURGLER!” I scream out. “THERE’S A BURGLER IN MY HOUSE!” I call for help. Isa clutches my leg in fear. Masi from the house opposite us comes running out.

“Shayan!” She calls out and then her teenage son follows her. A few people gather around and some of the village men enter my house, assuring me they’ll take care of the situation.

“How do we call the police?” I ask Masi. I’ve never had to call them before and I forgot which number I’m supposed to dial.

“Don’t worry about that. The men will take him there themselves.”

“Mama, what’s happening?” Isa asks. I crouch to his level and hold him tightly.

“Nothing. Everything will be okay.” I look up and see brother Khalil running towards the house. Hadia appears behind him and she rushes to us with Bilal and Fatima beside her.

“Inayah’s on her way. Don’t worry, Esha, everything will be okay.” I nod and then I see some of the village men drag a bruised man out.

“We’re taking him to the police station. You can go back in but it’s quite messy,” Brother Khalil informs us. I thank him and head inside. Hadia follows with her children.

What a mess!

Everything of mine’s been scattered around.

“I’m so sorry about this. I’ll help you clean up,” Hadia says. I would refuse her help but today’s been a nightmare and I don’t think I have the energy to clean everything on my own.

“Thanks. I just need to pray and then I’ll help you.”

“Don’t worry about anything. I’m sure there’s nothing missing and if there is, it doesn’t matter. They’re only material things.”

“I’m more worried about the mess than things going missing,” I say honestly. Sighing, I head to the bathroom to do ablution before I pray.

By the time I’m done, I see Inayah has joined us.

“Asalamu’alaykum.” I say to her.

“Wa’alaykumsalaam.” She stops her cleaning and gives me a look. One I interpret as ‘I told you so.’

“How would that have made a difference?” I ask her and Hadia looks at me confused.

“You’re lucky this man was harmless. What if he had a weapon?” An image of Isa flashes through my mind, when he was standing where I told him to, in the middle of our yard, all alone, squinting in the sunlight.

“And you think a husband would fix all that?”

“He may provide you with protection so you wouldn’t be targeted.”

“She has the protection of the whole neighbourhood,” Hadia counters. I’m surprised at this.

“It’s not the same.” They talk back and forth and I become really confused. Then a sudden thought hits me and I feel it’s the right thing to do at that moment.

“I’m going back to England,” I tell them. They both looked at me with a mixture of shock and appall. “Only for a little while. I need to see my mum and then there’s my nephew, Sami.”

“Do you not like it here?” Inayah asks.

“Don’t be silly! I love it here. But I need my mum’s advice. I need my sister, Eliza. I’m not thinking straight and as Isa grows up, things are becoming tougher. I need to learn how to deal with it. Ummi went through similar things when raising me and Eliza. When I was around Isa’s age, we lived in a community in which we were the only Muslims. Everyone around us was white and although most accepted us and were fascinated by our culture, there were the odd ones my mum had to deal with. Maybe she can teach me a few things.”

“Are you sure about this? What if you don’t want to come back?”

“I will come back. I can’t leave Isa’s father here alone,” I say with a small smile.

“Esha,” Hadia begins.

“You know what I mean.” They both nod understandingly.

“As long as you promise to come back to us, you have our full support.” They come forward and hug me. Then I let the day’s built up tears slowly fall.

Now I had to wait for the long summer break from school and then I’ll be heading to England. I just hope I was making the right decision.