7 Years Ago - Meeting My Husband, Isa

My father and I had a close relationship. He wasn't the kind of man who thought being strict and causing fear was the only way to discipline your child. He had a more friendly approach; hence my sister and I ran to him if we had any queries or concerns. My mother was lovely too but there were some things that we found awkward to discuss with her. One of those things was the inevitable topic of marriage.

I didn’t think too much about marriage. I didn’t have anything against it, nor did I dream about it. I felt neutral. I knew I was going to get married one day but it didn’t strike my curiosity like it did with my friends. By the time I was 23, I had finished with my degree and had a small job. Everyone around me was now getting married or engaged while I tried to work my way up my career in something to do with the law. I didn't know exactly where I was heading with it. I was more of a 'here and now' person. But I knew my time for marriage was coming soon.

I wasn’t surprised when my dad called me to his room to have ‘the talk.’

“Yes Abu?” I asked, calling him by what Pakistanis called their fathers. I called my mum Ummi, which was what Arabs called their mothers. I was brought up with mostly the Islamic culture with a bit of Pakistani and Arab culture mixed. I sometimes spoke English, Punjabi and Arabic all at the same time! I really loved this aspect of my identity and I didn’t care what anyone thought about it.

“What are you thinking about marriage?” Abu asked.

“I’m not thinking much. My time and my mind are mostly taken up by work, you, Eliza’s problems and mum.” I replied honestly. Eliza was my sister who always called me when she wanted to talk about something.

“Esha, I’m getting worse now. I want to see you settled before I go.” I didn’t bother to argue with him when he said things like this. It only resulted in a heated debate in which I argued he would survive and he told me to accept this fate like he had. The doctors said he had only a year left. He had gone too far into his stages of cancer that he couldn’t recover. Eliza knew about it more than I did because I found it easier being in denial. She was the one who went to his appointments and got all the information from the doctors.

“Okay Abu. What do you suggest?” Abu looked hesitant for a moment.

“Imran and I found someone for you.” Of course Imran had to get involved. He was my brother in law. His family didn’t approve of his marriage to Eliza so we were the closest thing he had to family, hence he was always getting involved in our family matters. He was Indian which made me so proud to call him my brother in law.

“That’s great! Who is it?”

“His name’s Hameed. Can we invite him for a meeting?”

“Sure!” I said making Abu grin.

A few days later, Hameed and his family came around. He was a practicing man. He had a little beard and really curly hair. He looked alright. But the moment he spoke I cringed. I didn’t have anything against people who spoke what I called ‘ghetto’ kind of English, but this man was taking it to the extreme. It didn’t suit him and his English didn’t even make much sense! I also felt he was a little too arrogant for my liking.

I said no to him and didn’t even raise my niqab to let him see my face. The same happened with the man after that. And the one after that. The one after that too. Until finally, someone came who I thought was alright.

His name was Isa and his background was Kenyan. I didn’t expect dad to find someone from there.

“Isa here converted to Islam a few years ago.” Abu told me.

“Aren’t Kenyans Muslims?” I asked, clueless. I had one Kenyan friend and she was a born Muslim.

“There are many Muslims in Kenya. I wasn’t so lucky to be born into a Muslim family though.” He replied staring at the ground. He was wearing a hat and thobe, a long dress which some Muslim men wore. It was an Arab dress but a lot of non-Arab Muslim men wore it too because it fit all the rulings on how a Muslim man should dress. I personally liked it. He had shiny dark skin and a beard which I could tell he took care of well. It wasn’t messy like the last man who came as a potential proposal had.

“Do you have any questions for each other?” Abu asked. We asked each other a few questions and I still refused to remove my niqab. I wasn’t going to show my face to just anyone!

He left without seeing my face that day but I agreed to another meeting. He seemed okay so far. It was during the second meeting when I agreed to remove my face veil and ended up really embarrassed.

When I revealed my face, Isa glanced at me once before looking down, only for his eyes to shoot back up to my face again. I looked around self-consciously. When I let myself look at him again, he was narrowing his eyes at me. Then they widened in recognition.

“You used to go to the same secondary school as me!” I did? I didn’t remember him. I shrugged my shoulders. “I talked to you once. You were a year below me. I remember, I was curious about the hijab so I asked you what your hair was like under the scarf and you replied that you had pink spikes.” I could feel my cheeks turn red as I mentally cursed my teen self. I was so stupid back then! I always spoke without thinking and got myself into trouble.

“I don’t remember. Are you sure that was me?” It probably was. It sounded like me in school.

“Yeah, I’m sure it was you.” I looked at Abu for help but he and Imran were both holding back laughter. I thought back hard, the memory sort of resurfacing. Then it clicked.

“You were the boy with the afro!” I said and immediately put my hand over my mouth not believing that I had just said that.

“Yes, that was me,” He said with amusement evident in his voice. I covered my face with my niqab again feeling myself burn inside. I guess I didn’t grow out of speaking without thinking.

But for some odd reason, he agreed to have a couple more meetings. And then, when he officially proposed, I happily accepted.