Taking off our damp socks, we took refuge in the warmth of the masjid. The slices of gâteau we had bought were now squashed in our bags, nonetheless our growling stomachs were anticipating the taste. After performing two rakats, we rolled up our sleeves, preparing ourselves to assault the gâteau, what was left of it. A middle aged woman was sitting opposite us, we offered her some cake. Little did I know that I was going to remember this meeting for a very long time.
The first thing that struck me about her were her big brown eyes. I had to stop myself from staring at her. She had a soft tone to her voice and her speech was eloquent masha Allaah. Although from time to time during our conversation, self consciously she'd ask what I thought of her "poor" English. Her native language was Arabic, she was fluent in French too and English of course. From her bag she pulled out a lunch box. She was keen to share her rice with us but we kindly declined. She insisted. So we ate. We spoke with her, laughed and learnt.
This sister, I thought, was most probably a wonderful mother and a loving wife. Fluent in Arabic and memorized a good amount of the Qu'ran, not to mention that her rice tasted brilliant.The sister was warm, had a very motherly feeling about her. She smiled a lot, read to us too. By Allah my friend and I had taken a great liking to her. I asked about her children, she told me she had none. Embarrassed, I asked about her husband instead, she told me didn't have one.
I found out that the sister was disabled. If anything, her disability was not obvious at all until she stood up for salah. She had a problem with her right leg. Of course, I did not feel comfortable throwing all these questions about her. Shrugging her shoulders, she'd utter even righteous men didn't want a woman who had a "wonky leg". Inevitably we encouraged her to look harder, for real pious men, men with knowledge, men who would marry for the sake of Allah. She just shrugged and said she had looked hard enough. She had looked everywhere, she told us.
It was still raining outside when we had to leave for home.
It was still raining outside when we had to leave for home.
Where are our men?
Umm Mus'ab
I once met a sister that I was interested in marrying, and after sending word to her, I received a word back from her saying that she was also interested but that I should know she only had one leg (the other had been blown off with a rocket that had been launched into her family's home). I couldn't tell because she wore a prosthetic and could walk with it. I told her no matter, and that we should proceed forward. Her father (who still lived in his home country) gave approval, but her mother (who she lived with) on the other hand violently opposed the idea of her marrying someone from outside their tribe, let alone an ajnabi convert like myself. I was given warning by her tribe members that even though the father had consented, that if I tried to marry her I might be poisoned or otherwise severely harmed in some other fashion by her family members. That was nearly 10 years ago, and to this day she has not married. She was haafid al-Quraan.
ReplyDeleteSubhan Allah, that's very sad to hear. This highlights that not only are brothers to blame but parents are in the wrong in rejecting brothers based on their country of origin. This is a topic that we will be discussing soon on Roadtrip to Zawajland. The challenges of (some) marrying outside their race and how to handle it, as well as advice for revert brothers when it comes to marrying into a Muslim family who may not be so tolerant.
ReplyDeleteSubhanAllah! This post made my heart sink. You described the sister so beautifully masha'Allah, and I could easily envision what she looked like, but her situation is indeed very, very sad. May Allah give her goodness in both worlds, ameen.
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