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Lubnah Abdulhalim


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Creative Non-Fiction

THE STORY BEHIND THE MIRACLE HOUSE

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A few months back, just countable days before Ramadhan, my mum called me excitedly to show me a very moving story of a Pakistani woman in Tanzania being fundraised for. The project attracted so many donors around the globe that the fundraisers (a TV station) could buy a piece of land and build a house for her and her children (one of them is physically challenged). My mum’s first remark was, ‘Look! He does just like what you do! (fundraising projects)’. 

‘Not for houses though!’ I laughed.

‘This is a TV station so they have a wider reach, but maybe one day you will do something like this too.’

‘Maybe…in shaa Allah.’

That became the beginning of our daily following of this exciting show and specifically, this Pakistani woman’s story. My mother would eagerly wait for the next episode so that we’d watch it together. To say it was inspiring is an understatement. Her life was changing COMPLETELY, and for the better; a true miracle was unfolding. As the building process went on, my mother would often reminisce about her younger years when she and my father were entrusted to do such projects to build mosques and wells and even houses alhamdulilah. Little did we know what lay ahead…

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It was just a few days after Eidul Hajj when a friend whom I deeply admire for her dedication to her Qur’an memorization journey, reached out to me about their mud house that was gradually collapsing. All they were asking for was a loan so that they could restore their house. At the time, there were heavy rains all over Kilifi County and the imagination of how anyone could be living in such a condition truly broke my heart. 

I mentioned the situation to someone I know who knows my friend’s neighbourhood, and was shocked! She asked, “You mean there are people living in that house?! I’ve always passed that same route to go to work and the house is in a very, very bad state. I never thought someone could even live in it!”

I felt helpless. And sad. And every time it rained outside my window, my heart ached a bit more. I had never done a project of this magnitude. Sometimes my projects take looong in such a demoralizing way. What if I start something, give them false hope then get stuck halfway? Still unsure of what to do, I decided to put up a post calling out to anyone or any organization to assist the family.

One of the first people to reach out to me was an ex-uni mate, and when he was asking for details about the house, I offered to give him my friend’s mum’s contact. He advised me then that it is best if I took the lead role in the project in order to efficiently manage the situation. I agreed, albeit reluctantly and decided to put up information for the opening of the fundraising. Before I even did that, someone from Twitter responded to my initial post and sent 100k. I was stunned. How?! A total stranger who didn’t even put me through an extended ‘interrogation’ as most donors do (I know I know, the world is full of scammers lol) So people can trust me with this? I got an immediate motivation boost subhanallah.

Right away, I called an architect/contractor to make a sketch of a new brick house. At the time, I knew a brick house would be way more expensive but I was unstoppable 😀 The contractor came the same evening and showed me the cost of just a few materials. It was around 300k. I said, ‘We can do this!’ He said, ‘There is still a lot more. It could get to double.’ 

‘Yeah, but I believe Allah will bring a way. Let’s tawakkal.’

‘My concern is that we don’t know how the fundraising could go. We could demolish the house and start building but then get stuck, leaving the family stranded.’

Excitedly, I said, ‘Yeah I understand but let’s just start. I believe when people start seeing the work taking place, more donors will appear. They’ll be motivated to finish it.’

Both my parents were seated with me at the time and they both interjected, ‘Kujenga si mchezo (Construction is not that simple)…’ My dad said.

‘Huyu she’s just excited at the moment,’ my mum joined, ‘but let us see. Perhaps the donors will come through when we start the process.’

We wrapped up the brief sitting with the plan to start the demolishing of the house soonest. At the time, another good lady and friend, Dr Kulthum, had collected donations for the family that had totalled 48,980/= alhamdulilah. (May Allah bless her with goodness in both worlds!)

And so it began. The fundraising. The shifting of the family to a rental. The house demolishing and the construction thereafter. The money coming in. Offers to help from every corner. 

Whenever I talked to my friend’s family, I would tell them, ‘So I think this is only what we can do for now.’ But Subhanallah, money kept coming in and coming in. Friends. Family. Mutual friends. Total strangers. Long-term donors from previous projects. 

Every few days I’d tell them, ‘Okay I think you can move into your house after two days’ or ‘Just this one thing remaining and we’ll be done with this project’, ‘We don’t have money to do this right now, maybe you can save for it in the future’ and someone would send me money out of nowhere. In the early stages of the fundraising, there was a short period where the donations slowed down a bit, but subhanallah, once we picked up the pace again, we were unstoppable. At some point, I stopped asking for donations anymore because I didn’t even have to ask. There were three individuals who were very keen on the project and let me know repeatedly that I shouldn’t hesitate to reach out to them in case anything was needed. Three total strangers. Three angels from Allah. Two of them ended up donating over 200k (one of whom was the one who sent the first 100k), and one close to 200k. Then two sisters joined in, sending me money from their family and friends group from time to time also getting to 200k (or over, I can’t even remember anymore 😀 ) Then Artistic Hope Organization offered to do some of the work (Plastering the whole house, plumbing and electrical). Best of all were our consistent donors who despite giving smaller amounts, kept giving and giving from what Allah blessed them with, alhamdulilah!

And I kept thinking Subhanallah, Allah is showing us again and again, ‘Who are you to determine what is enough?’ And I told this to my mum and said, ‘Perhaps our vision is so low compared to what Allah wants to give them. We just want them to have a house, but perhaps Allah wants to give them a dream house. Perhaps they have a secret with Allah or perhaps they have been patient for so long that Allah is finally giving the long-awaited relief.’’ 

And so we kept making changes to our initial plan because we had to consider what can we do better for them (since there was more money). It wasn’t easy of course and the construction team was inconvenienced quite a few times, but alhamdulilah for their patience and dedication.

During the finishing stages, when only about three fundis were still working on site doing the ceiling, I sat with my friend at the front stairs of the newly built house feeling the cool breeze from the ocean.

“I need you to tell me the secret…” 

“Which secret?” She laughed.

“Which secret do you have with Allah? Because I’ve NEVER done a fundraising like this, and I’ve been doing fundraisings for almost a decade now. Never …Subhanallah. This is the FIRST TIME EVER that I don’t literally have to beg people to donate. You have seen it yourself! And now,  people are racing to help your family mashallah Allah ybarik. What’s the story? Or what dua have you been making so we copy your method?” I laughed.

‘“Aren’t you the one who tells us to have secrets with Allah?” She chuckled, referring to the nasheed I love and frequently share by Mishary Al Afasy (Do you have secrets with Allah).

“Hahaha, okay but this secret you have to tell me. There must be a story behind it; a story that I and everyone who’s donated can benefit from. Because wallahy, this, for me, is a miracle. I’ve never seen this Subhanallah.”

With tears in her eyes, she said Alhamdulilah. Then went on to say, ‘It’s been dua, a lot of dua…’ Then started narrating their story to me.

Around 6 years back, my friend and her family lived on the outskirts of Mombasa town. However, their mother got divorced and because she was a simple housewife, she was unable to sustain the town life. She decided to come back to her father’s home in the remote areas of Kilifi. For them, it was a huge and TOUGH adjustment. From town life, they now moved to an old mud house. No electricity. No water. The bathroom is outside. The bushes became the toilet. As a jilbabi and niqabi, you can imagine the struggle of taking a bath in a space that is only covered with mabati and leso; almost an exposed space (especially since the mabati had holes only covered with nylon). They would share a bed that didn’t even have a mattress. 

“I would walk 45 minutes to the stage every morning to go to university and another 45 every evening. It got so tiring, I started living with a relative in Mombasa. But she was verbally aggressive. And I would be patient until when I’d feel my heart is too tired I can’t take it anymore, is when I would come back to Kilifi and continue commuting daily. Then when I’d get tired of commuting I’d go back to my relative…like that…”

This was a family that was once at the upper middle class- with water in the house, electricity and stability of a home. Their life turned upside down. But their patience was yet to be tested even more.

With each heavy rain, the mud house developed more and more cracks. At the same time, the neighbourhood was gaining some development. Slowly, the neighbours around started building brick houses in place of their mud houses one by one. Then when the government launched the token metres, homes got the token devices for free. So soon enough, the neighbourhood was bright with lights. Except this one house. Because of its dire state, and despite having the token metre, it was a risk for them to connect electricity since the house was clearly collapsing. Eventually, KPLC uninstalled the service line just for the safety of the family.

The neighbours started making fun of them and their house. When my friend would go to the shop she’d hear people joke, ‘Waschana warembo lakini nyumba ya kuanguka’. When their youngest brother would come home from school, his schoolmates would laugh loudly, calling out his name, pointing at the collapsing house and saying, ‘Hii ndio nyumba yenu!’ They were all so humiliated, so ashamed that they’d avoid going to the shops or even outside except when necessary.

Now the neighbours, who were now of a better living standard, used to gather in the evening. The women around would lay down their mikeka to chit chat (spell ‘gossip’) and because my friend and her mother were against such behaviour and wouldn’t join them, they became even more secluded. The neighbours barely ever had a good word for them, instead, they were the ones mocking and humiliating them at every opportunity. And as known in Swahili culture, they would ‘walisha vijembe’ by blasting out taarab music with insults, clearly directed at them.

“Si siri wajulikana wewe

Hauna sifa za kike wewe

Una nongwa we jeuri wewe

Mambo nare nare

Niko nae mimi sare

Usilete hare hare

Utakuja kufa bure….

Nnavokujua sio mwanamke wewe

Unajitwaza si mwanamke wewe

Unachechemesha si mwanamke wewe

Umejiangusha cheo kujishusha

Sasa unapasha mpasha upashike

Heshima uweke

Heshima uweke…

Wakati wa mwengine huu

Si wakati wako huu

Wakati wa mwengine huu

Si wakati wako huu

Mambo nare nare du

Umewekwa kando du

Unachekwa sasa du

Unachekwa sasa du…”

(Rough lyrics)

At the time, it was raining heavily outside, the house is leaking all over…mother and daughter are hiding in their collapsing house; humiliated and heartbroken; calling out to Allah…during the best ten days of Dhulhijjah. Crying to Him out of helplessness and pain.

“I always wanted to be the one to build this house for my mother,” my friend said. “I had a part-time job and was trying to save slowly so that we could renovate the house. But life was so tough, especially as the firstborn..it was always hand to mouth. Then corona happened and I lost my job. That dream faded. I felt so helpless. So I returned to Allah and begged Him that I cannot do this myself, only He can…and I prayed that He brings me a halal and kheyr means for this house to be built. I prayed so much during Arafah as well. But since we came here, we’ve always been praying for relief. Then I contacted you after Eid asking for help and what happened happened…”

Goosebumps. Literal goosebumps. Tears in her eyes. Tears in my eyes as I write this. Subhanallah. Subhanallah. Look at Allah’s Power. His kindness. His mercy. How He can change one’s condition JUST.LIKE.THAT!!! How He responds to duas. How He rewards for patience. How He hears how others are mistreating you and will grant you comfort. Indeed, with hardship comes ease, ALLAHU AKBAR!

Now, from the very beginning of the project, we really desired that the family gets electricity in the house. However, we kept getting obstacles until finally, we opted for M-solar (lipa mdogo mdogo solar program) alhamdulilah.

So on Thursday evening, the family officially moved into their house. And as they were settling in, there happened a blackout in the entire town. Literally! There was darkness at every corner of the town except ONE HOUSE. Only this one house that was always being mocked. Only this one house that was always looked down upon. Only this one house that was once the symbol of extreme poverty. Subhanallah! And so while the whole town drowned in darkness, Allah illuminated His light on just this one house. Coincidence? Could never be! Here was Allah, showing the people His Might and Power to change circumstances. A moral lesson they’ll never forget!

And all this is clear proof that Allah’s promise is true when He said: “Surely, Allah is with those who are As-Sabirun (the patient).” [al-Anfal 8:46]

And again: “If anything good happens to you they are grieved; if any misfortune befalls you they rejoice at it. But if you remain steadfast and mindful of Allah their designs will not cause you harm. Allah surely encompasses all that they do.” [Al ‘Imran 3:120]

Now standing very tall, is the only fully-plastered, painted house with solar power in the neighbourhood, Allah ybarik!

This is our good Lord. ALLAHU AKBAR!

Here’s what it’s all about:

A believer’s patience.

The power of dua.

The reward of patience.

The power of Allah.

The justice of Allah.

The miracle of Allah.

The miracle house!

“And whoever is mindful of Allah, He will make a way out for them, and provide for them from sources they could never imagine. And whoever puts their trust in Allah, then He ˹alone˺ is sufficient for them. Certainly Allah achieves His Will. Allah has already set a destiny for everything.”

[At-Talaq: 2-3]

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Sincere gratitude to EACH AND EVERY ONE of you for being part of this amazing project. Regardless of what amount you donated or whether you shared the posts only, YOU DID THIS! You raised KSHS 1, 018, 093.50. YOU BUILT THIS HOUSE! In just a matter of 41 days, we managed to raise money AND build a 4-bedroom house with a separate bathroom, toilet and kitchen. ALLAHU AKBAR! May Allah bless you and your families with lofty gardens and palaces in Jannat ul Firdaus, ameen!

Special thanks to both our contractor and his construction team and the Artistic Hope Organization team for the amazing work they did to the house. And for their patience throughout the challenges. May Allah bless the work of your hands and raise your status in Jannah.

And to my dearest family and closest friends who gave me so much support, both physically and emotionally throughout this project(my biggest one yet!)  and for being patient with me when I was crying or getting very irritable at every small inconvenience 😀 Alhamdulilah thumma alhamdulilah.

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When I posted the last video update showing the house, I showed it to my parents first. Both of them cried, and they kept replaying the video over and over and over, tears still streaming from their eyes. I wish y’all could have seen how my mother was now excitedly waiting for my daily updates on the construction project more than she was when we were watching that program. But better than all that is that this entire project was mainly under their guidance, alhamdulilah!!

Just a few days before the completion of the project, as I was laying down in bed looking at the house standing, my mother patted my hair and said, “Finally you’ve come into our line (of projects). You’re truly my daughter.” Urgh. My heart. For them to have witnessed and actively guided and supported me throughout this project is a full circle for me. Alhamdulilah! May Allah grant us all sincerity in what we do Ya Rab!

My only request is that when you see any goodness in my very flawed being, please make dua for my 3 parents (one is deceased, Allah yirhamha) to be granted good health and wellness both in this life and the next, and that they enter Jannatul Firdaus without hisab, for they have been my inspiration always and my biggest supporters alhamdulilah!

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Mental Health

LIVING WITH ANXIETY IN A WORLD THAT NEVER PAUSES

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*Generalized Anxiety Disorder: GAD is a long-term condition that causes you to feel anxious about a wide range of situations and issues, rather than 1 specific event. People with GAD feel anxious most days and often struggle to remember the last time they felt relaxed. As soon as 1 anxious thought is resolved, another may appear about a different issue.

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Disclaimer: Despite having had severe anxiety since childhood, it is only now that I have decided to give a deeper and personal account of my experience. This isn’t to acquire any sympathy or pity for I believe Allah does not burden a soul beyond its capacity, but rather to use this platform to share more information on mental illnesses and hopefully make you, dear reader, be more enlightened about such matters, and to be more understanding, compassionate and empathetic towards people in your own circles that have similar challenges. And also give a chance for those with similar issues to know that they’re not alone and that they’re emotions are valid. Anyway, here goes nothing…

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Living with generalized anxiety, especially since childhood, is an extreme sport. The mind is a wild, wild place; everything escalates from 0 to 100 every.single.time. Even when it shouldn’t be so. Even when you have deep faith in Allah. Even when it is something so small, it is silly to overthink like that. But we still do. There is a fellow who told me a couple of times after reading my blogs that my anxiety is just about my mindset and that I should JUST STOP overthinking and think more positively. Just stop then khalas, you’ll be good to go. And as much as having a positive mindset can reduce your anxiety, it is a bigger struggle than that. Ask anyone who’s ever been diagnosed by a psychiatrist or psychologist with any type of anxiety they’ll tell you that living with such disorders is jihadu-nnafs. Quite literally. It is a continuous battle with yourself and your brain.

Every thing, every encounter, every experience with anyone is catastrophized; always thinking of worst case scenario. Then there’s the excessive worry over the smallest of matters and big ones too. Then there’s the panic attacks that make you feel like you’re about to go crazy or lose it completely. There’s the crying spells which can come to you at any time, out of the blue, and the tears just keep coming and coming-uncontrollable! There’s the excessive fear which controls your life; it makes you always live on edge. Then there’s the obsessive and repetitive thoughts that often overwhelm the mind. There’s also the depression and physical illnesses that sometimes tag along with the anxiety…The list goes on and on…

When I am extremely happy, I keep thinking that something bad is going to follow shortly thereafter. Happiness makes me anxious too. And even when it is someone else who’s extremely happy, I get nervous for them, ‘What if they lose that? What if the happiness doesn’t last long?’ And I quickly make dua for them so that their joy lasts. Then there’s the over-analysis of situations which take you down a dark rabbit hole of overthinking. Every single conversation is scrutinized; ‘Did I say the right thing? Should I have said this instead? Are they mad at me? I felt their tone change, did I hurt them? Perhaps they still misunderstood me? Should I clarify further for the fourth time?’ Every single thing goes so far; blown out of proportion. Worries; worries every day, worries everywhere. 

A simple trip to town could easily bring about death anxiety. I start imagining the car I am in getting into a very tragic accident. But it never ends there. I start imagining the details of the accident, the position they’ll find me in, when my family are informed, when I am declared dead, and when my loved ones start crying because of my departure. And this wild imagination is so real to me that it makes me tear up and I sometimes get a panic attack abruptly. I am grieving my death. 

When I am using a water heater or a toaster, I imagine getting electrocuted. And when a huge lorry or oil tanker passes by close to me, I immediately think of the ‘Final destination’ movies and imagine the lorry falling over me and crashing my bones 😀 When a stranger approaches me on the road, my guard is immediately on because I am afraid I could be conned or kidnapped or worse than that. There’s so so much to anxiety than people ever understand. That I wish they understood.

It wasn’t helpful that I grew up hearing people say mental illness is because of weak imaan. It really made me question my level of faith. Yet to be very honest, anxiety is one of the most draining and exhausting things to experience. It is so hard to fully experience the small and even big joys of life.

In a crazy world like ours where there is too much information everywhere, it is even harder for people with anxiety. You scroll, a mother has stabbed her two year old and ate her internal organs. Scroll further, a pastor has brainwashed an entire village to starve to death so as to meet Jesus. Scroll further, a father has been raping his daughters for years after his wife passed away. Go to another app, Palestinians and Uyghurs are being tortured to death. A war in Sudan; so many people stranded. Something is going on here, something is going on there…it never ends, the world never pauses Subhanallah. The information overload overwhelms you and drains you deeply. It makes you sad and helpless and truly anxious. Even with the knowledge and trust in Allah, even with the understanding that Allah tests us so that we can return to Him, the anxiety is mostly there. Jihadu-nnafs.

Being an educator, a recently graduated psychologist and a spiritual (among other categories) blogger for about ten years, there’s a kind of pedestal that people put you on. You never asked for it but it is constantly being mentioned, ‘You’re my mentor,’ or ‘I look up to you’. They think you’ve made it in life even when the reality is very different. This deeply terrifies me. The imposter syndrome kicks in. ‘But why? I am not the right person to look up to. I have so many flaws. I am really struggling with surrendering 110% to Allah or trusting Allah about the unknown. I always try to control how things roll out in my life, and when they don’t happen my way, it takes me down a very dark hole of heartbreak and pain. I am definitely not the person to even consider as a role model.’ Even when I don’t say these words out loud, it always gets to me. What if someone is misguided through me? Or someone who looks up to me, follows my unsteady footsteps? How will I deal with that when I am standing in front of Allah and He asks me about it? I will never be ready for such questioning by Allah. So I divert the couple of people who look up to me, to instead, look up to the prophets peace be upon them and pious predecessors who died upon imaan and were promised Jannah. And of course, they are indeed the best examples for us to follow and look up to more than anyone else.

There is this hadith that always hits me. It was narrated that Abu Hurairah said:”The Messenger of Allah (ﷺ) said: ‘The strong believer is better and more beloved to Allah than the weak believer, although both are good. Strive for that which will benefit you, seek the help of Allah, and do not feel helpless. If anything befalls you, do not say, “if only I had done such and such” rather say “Qaddara Allahu wa ma sha’a fa’ala (Allah has decreed and whatever he wills, He does).” For (saying) ‘If’ opens (the door) to the deeds of Satan.'”

My older sister whom I look up to is always the kind of person to say ‘Qaddara Allahu wa ma sha’a fa’ala whenever something doesn’t go her way. Even if she goes on to grieve but she doesn’t allow it to overweigh her brain. She knows and truly believes that Allah knows best, may Allah bless her soul. And I adore that so much because I wish I was like that too. I wish my brain could stop overthinking. I wish my heart could fully accept the challenges of life. I wish I was able to immediately accept Allah’s qadar without throwing a tantrum or crying on and on about it such that it may lead to despair (May Allah protect us).

The hardest thing for me has been to be kind to myself. To realize and accept that this is my test from Allah, to accept the little good and benefit I bring to this world and people around me and to be more forgiving towards my mistakes in life. And while I have not overcome the anxiety, I am doing my best. I am taking medication, I am reading widely about it (in fact I took the Islamic Psychology degree at IOU because I wanted to understand whether I truly had weak imaan or what exactly was happening to me), I go for therapy, and I constantly pray to Allah to grant my soul peace and tranquility, alleviate my restlessness, overthinking and worries, and to make me among the Mutawakkilin (those who trust in Him) and the people of ‘Qaddara Allahu wa ma sha’a fa’ala’.

One of my biggest motivations is a hadith by the prophet peace be upon him. He said, “Allah the Almighty said: I am as My servant thinks I am. I am with him when he makes mention of Me. If he makes mention of Me to himself, I make mention of him to Myself; and if he makes mention of Me in an assembly, I make mention of him in an assembly better than it. And if he draws near to Me an arm’s length, I draw near to him a cubit, and if he draws near to Me a cubit, I draw near to him a fathom. And if he comes to Me walking, I go to him at speed.” (Hadith 15, 40 Hadith Qudsi). So I am doing my best to think better of Allah. To not allow my negative thoughts to divert me from Allah’s mightiness, wisdom and mercy. To never think that my plans are better than what Allah has chosen for me. That the tests from Allah are meant to make me get closer to Him rather than to punish me. And perhaps there’s a bigger benefit from this test, and that is, I get to talk more about such topics that are not openly talked about in our community.

Unfortunately, the fellow who used to tell me about changing my mindset developed anxiety during the early phases of Corona. He was unemployed at the time with no source of income. Having such abundant time on his hands while the world went into a panic, overthinking and anxiety of the corona virus kicked in him. He once called me to say that he now realizes it isn’t as simple as he initially thought. That it is much harder, and a huge struggle Subhanallah, and he asked for help on how to deal with it. Alhamdulilah his anxiety ended when things calmed down a bit around the world and after seeing a counsellor. The only reason I tell this story is for people to realize the same; it is not easy to have a mental disorder. Not at all. So please be patient, understanding and compassionate towards your loved ones and people around you, you just never know the huge mountains they carry. Educate yourself about these matters if you have to and offer help whenever you can. Be their support system and be there for them. Yet the best gift you can give them is making dua for their well-being and peace of mind.

We, as Muslims, believe that nothing is impossible to Allah Subhanahu Wataala. He can cure every single ailment and He can move mountains for us. However, we are also expected to do our due diligence by seeking treatment through talk therapy, medication and lifestyle changes. Most importantly is to get closer to Allah through the recitation of the Qur’an, making dhikr and always making dua to Allah to remove such conditions from us and to make us better believers.

Despite all the challenges and struggles of anxiety, it is not always doom and gloom. Anxiety makes people be highly empathetic, loving and compassionate. It makes you have high instincts which can benefit you in observing one’s surroundings, it keeps you motivated and can actually help in your performance nd make you have a great work ethic. It makes one highly aware of what could go wrong, and makes you think of all possibilities while dealing with a situation. This makes the anxious individual to be a careful decision maker and great problem solver among other benefits. Plus the anxiety memes are hilarious, that’s a bonus 😀

To end this piece, there’s a conversation I want to share that I once had with my father and brother while driving to another town. My father told us about an accident he witnessed many years back. An ice cream van was trying to overtake another car, but it lost control and hit a huge tree. When they went to check on the driver, they found the steering wheel had hit right into the driver’s seat. But the driver’s upper body was right above the steering wheel (on the roof of the car) and each of his legs was on either side of the wheel. Had the steering wheel hit him directly, he could have come out with major injuries probably, but Subhanallah, the man came out unscathed except for one small scratch on his arm. 

I asked my dad, ‘Was the man Muslim? Perhaps he had made dhikr that morning and it protected him by Allah’s mercy…’ Before he could answer me, I said, ‘I once heard a sheikh ask something powerful; how can you go to the battlefield unarmed? How can you start your day without dhikr?’ My dad nodded then explained that the driver wasn’t Muslim but at the end of the day, if something isn’t meant to harm you, it won’t, and some people give a lot of charity and for that, Allah showers them with His mercy.

I was about to get to my destination so I couldn’t continue with the conversation. I said to my brother, ‘Please drop me on the other side of the road, I am afraid of crossing this busy road.’ He then laughed and said, ‘Aren’t you the one who’s just from telling us about going to the battlefield unarmed?’ I laughed too and said, ‘I did do my dhikr this morning though.’ Then he said, ‘Then what are you afraid of when you’ve already asked for Allah’s protection?’

I was speechless.

I went out of the car towards my destination while deeply pondering on his last words, SubhanAllah.

‘What are you afraid of when you’ve already asked for Allah’s protection?!’ 

“Say: “Nothing will befall us except what Allah has decreed for us; He is our Protector.” Let the believers, then, put all their trust in Allah.”

 [Qur’an 9:51]

Thank you for reading this to the end. Please do make dua for me to acquire peace of mind and to go for umrah soon for I really yearn for the tranquility made available by Allah Subhanahu Wataala in the holy cities. And do pray for those with mental illnesses. May Allah grant us all ease, relief and comfort, ameen. Shukran 🙂

P.S: If you have anxiety, always remember this: ‘YOUR ANXIETY IS A LIAR!’

REFERENCES:

https://sunnah.com/qudsi40:15

https://sunnah.com/ibnmajah:79

https://www.nhs.uk/mental-health/conditions/generalised-anxiety-disorder/overview/

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Deen (Religion)

RAMADHAN MUSINGS (3)

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Abu Huraira reported Allah’s Messenger (ﷺ) as saying: “Allah descends every night to the lowest heaven when one-third of the first part of the night is over and says: I am the Lord; I am the Lord: who is there to supplicate Me so that I answer him? Who is there to beg of Me so that I grant him? Who is there to beg forgiveness from Me so that I forgive him? He continues like this till the day breaks.”

(Sahih Muslim 758b)

During the 2017 Kenyan elections, a humble man by the name of Martin Kamotho, suddenly rose to fame simply for eating githeri in a polythene bag as he awaited his time to vote. The photo of this act trended across all social media platforms, leading to endorsements from different companies, a piece of land in Ngong Hills, a token of 100k from the president, among other gifts.

In 2020, during the early phase of the pandemic, a young Khaby Lame lost his job as a factory worker in Italy. He started a tiktok account which is known for breaking down seemingly ridiculous life hacks shared by other creators. Khaby started trending worldwide and acquired global success without saying a single word in any of his videos. As of February 2023, Khaby is the most followed TikTok user with a net worth of $13 million according to Capitalism website.

During the 2022 world cup, Abubakr Abass, a temporary worker in Qatar became internationally recognized for his actions of directing fans to the metro station with his megaphone and a foam finger. Soon enough fans started chorusing alongside him with the famous line of ‘Metro’ and the fans chanting, ‘This way!’ This soon led to the Metro guy being gifted by FIFA officials, invited to the stadium to address the crowd with his lines before a game and was eventually granted a two-year visa extension and a further $1100 monthly salary as Qatar’s metro brand ambassador.

Isn’t it mind-blowing how God can change a person’s situation just within a blink of an eye?! How He can raise the status of a person totally unknown to the world and make him acquire wealth and recognition and open up His doors of mercy and rizq from him in an astounding way? How He can give you and give you and give you until you become pleased?
Why then would any of us limit ourselves in our duas because we think something is impossible?!
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Making duas is one of my dearest love languages. I see it as writing intimate letters to The Lord; the only One who deeply knows and understands me. The only One who can uplift me and guide me, forgive me and grant me solace. So when I recently got to watch a few clips from the Visionaire course by Shaykh Muhammad Al Shareef (Allah yrhamh) I was so excited. And let me tell you, it was such an inspiring and eye-opening experience, guiding you on how to come up with your dream duas and how to acquire them biidhnillah. As we’ve began the last ten days and nights of Ramadhan, here are some helpful tips that I learnt on how to live a dua lifestyle, not just in Ramadhan, but as a daily thing.

  1. First of all, keep in mind that when making dua, you are asking from Allah not from yourself, the AlMighty, the King of all kingdoms, the One who can simply say ‘Be’ and so it becomes. So before you list down your duas, remove any limitations in your mind. Remove any doubts, any hesitations in the name of ‘But I am a sinner, how could Allah grant me this?’ Come to your Lord with an open mind and heart, with firm faith that Allah is Al Mujeeb, that He can answer every single of your duas. That He is Al Ghafur, can forgive you all your sins as long as you keep repenting. That He is Al Af’uuw, The Pardoner.That He is Al Jabbar, the One who can fix all your affairs. You’re about to have a conversation with the One whose dominion encompasses the entire universe..so come forth with humility, sincerity and yaqeen that He will come through for you. So dream big, ask big.
  2. Never say ‘This is my qadar’ (majaaliwa yangu) and decide to stop making dua. Because none of us knows what’s written for us or what’s our fate. A couple could be struggling to get a child and give up saying that that’s what’s destined for them. How do they know that? How can they be sure? Indeed it is only Allah who knows what is meant and written for us. And even so, do not forget, ‘QADAR CAN BE CHANGED BY DUA!’ So don’t get weaker at making your duas. Instead, raise your dua and have more conviction that Allah will respond.
  3. Allah Subhanahu Wataala says in Surat Al- Ghafir ‘ وَقَالَ رَبُّكُمُ ادْعُونِي أَسْتَجِبْ لَكُم
    “And your Lord has proclaimed, “Pray to Me, and I will respond to you.”
    This is a promise from Allah and no one keeps promises like He does. So raise your hands to the sky and make those duas. Keep in mind that Allah answers duas in three ways:
    *Yes
    *Yes but not now
    *Yes but I’ll give you something better (either in this world or in the next)
    So either way, your duas will be answered. It is just upon you to make the duas and accept whatever Allah brings you thereafter, because Allah knows more than you do. And He is the best of Planners so trust in His plans for you. And perhaps you love a thing that is harmful to us. So TRUST.
  4. Raise your game in what you’re praying for by using stronger language. For example, when asking for health and fitness, ask Allah to grant you wellness and fitness that will enable you to play with your kids and serve your family. Or when praying for a child, ask Allah to bless you with a pious, obedient child and that you be present at their wedding.
  5. Remove mental blocks such as ‘I feel guilty asking Allah for worldly things’ for that comes from the shaytan. The prophet peace be upon him taught us to say the dua ‘
    ربنا آتنا في الدنيا حسنة وفي الآخرة حسنة وقنا عذب النار
    “O our Lord, grants us the best in this life and the best in the next life, and protects us from the punishment of the Fire.”
    So askkkk, oh servant of Allah. Ask for that dream house, dream car, dream job, ask for the kind of skin or hair you want, ask for the opportunity to explore the world…ask ask ask.
  6. When asking for dunya, craft it in such a way that it involves your akhera. For example, ask Allah to grant you abundant wealth that will enable you to help yourself, your family and the needy. Or when asking for a spouse, ask Allah for one who will bring you closer to Him. Or when asking for a chance to go to Borabora or Maldives, ask Him to grant you an opportunity to marvel at the beauty of His creation in the countries you wish to visit. Whatever you ask for, ask for the kheyr in it too. Because sometimes when we ask for worldly things and Allah grants us those things, they become a test for us and we quickly lose focus and forget about our Rab. So ask for the worldly things but ask for what’s kheyr in it as well. We can see this in Surat Maryam, verse 1-9:”Kãf-Ha-Ya-’Aĩn- Ṣãd.˹This is˺ a reminder of your Lord’s mercy to His servant Zachariah. When he cried out to his Lord privately. Saying, “My Lord! Surely my bones have become brittle, and grey hair has spread across my head, but I have never been disappointed in my prayer to You my Lord! And I am concerned about ˹the faith of˺ my relatives after me, since my wife is barren. So grant me, by Your grace, an heir, who will inherit ˹prophethood˺ from me and the family of Jacob, and make him, O Lord, pleasing ˹to You˺!” ˹The angels announced,˺ “O Zachariah! Indeed, We give you the good news of ˹the birth of˺ a son, whose name will be John—a name We have not given to anyone before.”He wondered, “My Lord! How can I have a son when my wife is barren, and I have become extremely old?”An angel replied, “So will it be! Your Lord says, ‘It is easy for Me, just as I created you before, when you were nothing!’”
  7. Avoid making robotic duas such as the ones you crammed since childhood and you chorus them while your heart and mind is absent. You say the duas because you think you have to, and not because you truly are asking Allah for that thing. To avoid this, find the translations of the duas you make and understand what you’re asking from Allah. And if it’s duas from your own mind, it is advisable to adjust and modify your duas over time (Shaykh Al Shareef suggested every 6 months) according to your current situations and desires.
  8. Make your duas concrete and specific. Make your duas such that you can SEE, TOUCH, FEEL. Something you can envision. For example, Ya Allah, please grant me an opportunity to go for Umrah with my mother before the end of the year. Or Ya Allah, please grant me a promotion at work to become the new manager. Or Ya Rab enable my book to be published by an international publisher (insert specific house if possible).
  9. Make your duas exciting, inspiring or such that they make you emotional just by thinking of them. Envision what you want, then think of an even better version of the same dua and ask for that instead. Remember you’re asking the One who owns everything in the universe, so ask beyond your own comprehension. For example, I dream of working with the Qalby Etmaan team some day. It seems soooo out of reach right now because I have no link to them whatsoever, but the thought of it happening someday makes me so excited and so I’ll keep praying for that opportunity biidhnillah.
  10. Let them be slightly unrealistic. In the sense that it may seem impossible but it is achievable. For example, a cleaner working in a company makes dua that they become the manager of the said company. To think of it based on human logic, it may seem unrealistic, but to Allah that is very possible. In fact we’ve seen several situations where this has happened. Or asking Allah to grant shifaa to a paralyzed person who’s been in that state for years, and truly Allah can make that happen. So yes, make those unrealistic duas consistently and Allah will definitely respond. Anything is possible!
  11. Make dua even for the smallest of things. You want to buy a dress you really love? Ask Allah for it. You crave ice cream and have no money? Ask Allah. You feel unmotivated to go to school? Ask Allah for motivation.
    Anas ibn Malik reported: The Messenger of Allah, peace and blessings be upon him, said, “Let one of you ask his Lord for his needs, all of them, even for a shoestring when his breaks.” (Sunan al-Tirmidhi 3973)
  12. Don’t make dua only as a pain response or only during your difficult times. Many people only make dua only when in need and when things are good, duas are totally out of mind. So be proactive in your duas, show thankfulness and ask for more.
  13. Make dua during the times in which duas are accepted i.e. in sajdah, when breaking the fast, when raining, in the middle of the night e.t.c.
  14. Call upon Allah’s beautiful names. You want Allah’s mercy, ask the Al Raheem. You want to ask for wisdom, call upon the Al Hakeem. You want to acquire knowledge, call upon the Al Alim and so on…
  15. Don’t be hasty in seeking a response. The Prophet (peace and blessings of Allah be upon him) said: “The slave will receive a response so long as his du’a does not involve sin or severing of family ties, and so long as he is not hasty.” It was said, “What does being hasty mean?” He said: “When he says, ‘I made du’a and I made du’a, and I have not seen any response,’ and he gets frustrated and stops making du’a.” (Bukhari, 6340; Muslim, 2735).
  16. Make duas for others and for the Muslim ummah. Abud-Darda’ (May Allah be pleased with him) reported: The Messenger of Allah (ﷺ) said, “The supplication of a Muslim for his (Muslim) brother in his absence will certainly be answered. Everytime he makes a supplication for good for his brother, the angel appointed for this particular task says: ‘A meen! May it be for you, too’.” (Riyad as-Salihin 1495)
  17. Make duas for yourself too. Don’t focus so much on others and forget yourself. You’re the one who knows what you truly desire. So prioritize yourself too.
  18. Tie your camel. As much as you pray to Allah for your desires, also take action on what is beneficial to you. Put in the effort. You want Allah to make it easy for you to memorize the Qur’an, take practical steps to achieve that. i.e. Enroll in a hifdh class, find a Qur’an teacher, or an accountability partner who’ll help you keep accountability of your progress.

Shaykh Muhammad Al Shareef suggested that for the ten nights of Ramadhan, have a list of 6 dream duas. Your most important duas, the ones that you deeply, deeply desire. If you have to read from a paper, or if you forget them, then they’re simply duas, not dream duas. These are the duas that you’re most passionate about, so they’d be at the top of your head always. So have that list and dedicate special time (especially at the times when duas are accepted) for them during these days and nights plus 6 months after that.

This doesn’t mean that you shouldn’t make your other duas, but these are the main focus. You constantly and consistently make the duas with firm faith, and with no laziness. From the Visionaire course, there were so many testimonials subhanallah mashallah on how most of them acquired what they prayed for before the next Ramadhan, some within days! So DREAM BIG, AND MAKE YOUR DUAS BIGGER!

As we enter the 21st night tonight, please try and apply the above tips and do remember me and my family in your duas as well. Remember that the Lord of Khaby and many others is your Lord too. So never lose hope in Allah, and keep asking Him!
To learn about the etiquette of making dua, click here

This will the last part of our Ramadhan series in Shaa Allah (unless otherwise). Strive to do as much good deeds as possible and give charity often during these few days.

May Allah accept our good deeds, allow us to witness laylatul qadr, accept our duas in a beautiful way, change our qadr for the better, make us steadfast in the Deen and grant us His forgiveness and mercy, ameen.

*

We’re currently fundraising for a man who just came back from India a few days before Ramadhan. He had gone for treatment for prostate cancer stage one. His business is struggling and due to health issues as well, he has a huge debt of over 300k in rent arrears. His two children had to drop out of school and the eldest is married. Due to the huge debt, the landlord has prevented him from moving to another house unless he clears his debt, which isn’t so helpful because the debt keeps accumulating. Please let’s help this brother pay his debt and relocate ASAP. Please do remember he is considered a recipient of zakat too because of his debts and being needy. To contribute mpesa to his no: +254 729 994 129 (Ahmed Musa). Updates will be posted on my twitter and Instagram @ strokes.of.my.pen.

*

References:
Citizen Digital
studyinternational.com
https://www.visionaireramadan.com/lifebydua
https://www.capitalism.com/khaby-lames-net-worth/
https://sportsleo.com/news/2022/11/kenyan-metro-guy-in-qatar/

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Deen (Religion)

RAMADHAN MUSINGS (2)

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To read part 1, click here

“Allah, the Exalted, says, ‘Spend, O son of Adam, and I shall spend on you.’” – Prophet Muhammad, peace be upon him.

(Al-Bukhari and Muslim).

Last week a wonderful woman (Allah ybarik feeha) donated some cash so that I could share it among deserving families. Before sending it to one of the young men highly indebted, I called him to ask which number I should send the money to. First thing he said was, ‘Wait, where’s the money coming from?’ I said it was a donation by someone (I didn’t want to say the name). Then he said, ‘Let me tell you what happened…’

“A woman sent me a message this morning asking for help to buy iftar. She seemed desperate so I checked my Mpesa and I had 100/= only. I decided to send it despite it being the only money I had with me. Immediately I sent the 100 bob, someone sent me 6k. In a matter of seconds, literally. And then immediately after that, your call came in, wanting to send me another amount Subhanallah.” I laughed in awe at Allah’s kindness. I sent the young man 5k, which is literally a bit more than double the amount he gave.

Allah Subhanahu Wataala says in Surat Al- An’aam,  6:160:

مَن جَاءَ بِالْحَسَنَةِ فَلَهُ عَشْرُ أَمْثَالِهَا، وَمَن جَاءَ بِالسَّيِّئَةِ فَلَا يُجْزَى إِلَّا مِثْلَهَا وَهُمْ لَا يُظْلَمُونَ

“Whoever does a good deed will be repaid tenfold, but those who do a bad deed will only be repaid with its equivalent and they shall not be wronged.” Truly Allah keeps His promises.

The economy has been so tough everywhere around the world Subhanallah. Everyone is struggling one way or another. Yet as believers, we should have that yaqeen (surety) that so long as we do good for His sake, He would never leave us hungry. That as long as we sacrifice what we love the most or need to give it to a fellow Muslim, then our reward will definitely come.

Abu Huraira reported: The Messenger of Allah, peace and blessings be upon him, said, “None gives charity from what is good, for Allah only accepts what is good, except that the Merciful takes it with his right hand. Even if it is a date, it is nurtured in the hand of the Merciful until it becomes greater than a mountain, just as one of you nurtures his young horse or camel.” (Ṣaḥīḥ Muslim 1014)

So give, dear reader. Give, give, give. Give from what Allah has blessed you with. Give from the little you have. Or the many that you have. Your 50, 100, 1000 does make an impact. What’s little for you, may be a dinner for an entire family elsewhere. So give without hesitating, without worrying about where your next meal will come from. Without thinking that it will decrease your wealth. Tawakkal on Allah’s name, and see Allah’s mercy and kindness with your own eyes.

And even when you have nothing at all to give, you still have your smile. Smile at your Muslim brothers and sisters for it is charity. You still have your energy and health- put the intention and help the house girl or your mothers in doing house chores, that’s charity too! You have a useful skill, teach it to someone else. You have certain knowledge or information that is beneficial, share it with others who could benefit as well. You know a charity group, volunteer to help them in their physical activities. Or support them by sharing their posters and posts.

You know a sick person, visit and take care of them or help them out. There are stray kittens or birds or any animals around your home/work place, put out a bowl of water/food for them (especially with the kind of heat we experience now subhanallah), or take care of them in any way you can. Plant a tree if you can. Caring, supporting, cooking, serving your family is charity too. Men, helping your mothers, sisters and wives with washing dishes and cleaning up after iftar is also a form of charity 🙃 Making dua for your loved ones and the Muslim Ummah, giving sincere advice are all considered charity …among many other acts.

Jabir (May Allah be pleased with him) reported that he heard Messenger of Allah (ﷺ) saying, “Every good deed is charity.” (Riyad as-Salihin 134). And in another narration, the prophet peace be upon him said, “A charity is due for every joint in each person on every day the sun comes up: to act justly between two people is a charity; to help a man with his mount, lifting him onto it or hoisting up his belongings onto it, is a charity; a good word is a charity; and removing a harmful thing from the road is a charity.” (Al-Bukhari, Muslim)

So strive to do good every single day and always have that sincere intention to do it as charity for Allah’s sake.

Remember that charity is one of the best deeds- it extinguishes your sins, it will provide you with a shade on the day of judgement and it will protect you from calamities and hellfire (among many other benefits). Without a doubt we all know the importance of Ramadhan and the abundant rewards during this beautiful month. It is thus the best time to engage in as much charity as we can.

I’ll end this piece with one of the beautiful hadiths on the same:

Abu Hurairah (RAA) narrated that the Messenger of Allah (ﷺ) said:
“If anyone relieves a Muslim believer from one of the hardships of this worldly life, Allah will relieve him of one of the hardships of the Day of Resurrection. If anyone makes it easy for the one who is indebted to him (while finding it difficult to repay), Allah will make it easy for him in this worldly life and in the Hereafter, and if anyone conceals the faults of a Muslim, Allah will conceal his faults in this world and in the Hereafter. Allah helps His slave as long as he helps his brother.” Related by Muslim. (Bulugh Al-Maram: Book 16, Hadith 29)

***

For those interested in participating in charity for the poor, orphans, widows, the sick, indebted, reverts etc, kindly contact me at 0704 731 560, in shaa Allah I’ll directly link you up with deserving families.

Let’s also constantly remember our brothers and sisters in Palestine in our duas. May Allah protect them and grant them victory from the Israelis. May He revenge upon the Israelis for the animosity they do on our people. And may He shower His mercy on the Palestinians and the Muslim Ummah suffering all over the world, ameen.

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Deen (Religion)

RAMADHAN MUSINGS (1)

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*Musings: A period of reflection or thought.

I was never the kind to delete a phone number after someone close passed away. I would always hold onto it as if miraculously I’d realize it was just a terrible dream and my person was still there with me. Alive. Healthy. Never any better. That’s how I held onto mama two’s contact until I lost it when I changed phones. It was always like a souvenir where I’d open her contact details and just stare at them longingly. Grief does that to you sometimes. You ruminate on how she could have been now, what she’d be doing, how she’d react to your growth and achievements and what she’d have said on different occasions. You remember how she’d call when you were late home and lovingly say, ‘my baby’ whenever you picked up the phone. You’d remember how she’d fill your bedroom wall with hand-written motivational quotes for your studies. You’d remember how she’d sacrifice her sleep to wake you up to study late at night. You remember a lot of things…

However much time passes, her memory is always there. Like a stubborn stain on a cloth. And everything and everyone reminds me of her. I recently met mama two’s very old friend for the first time. She looked young and healthy and she was very bubbly mashallah. My first thought was, so this is how she’d looked (age-wise) had she been alive to date? She died so young, didn’t she? Is this how charming she would have been with my nieces and nephews had she met them? I bet she would have been so for she was the most loving and caring aunt ever.

The grief follows me around always but sometimes I dream of her. Once she was combing my hair like how she’d do when we were young, another time she was seated with me in the backseat of a car and she was holding me close; my head on her chest, another time she kissed me on my cheek. Whenever I’d have these seemingly very real dreams, I’d ask her, ‘But aren’t you dead?’ That’s always the question, but I never get a response. When I’d wake up from such dreams, I’d be emotional but also very happy because it feels like a gentle squeeze of my hand. Like a reassurance that she is okay (I pray she is). That she is with me even if far away.

I always regard these dreams as Allah’s mercy on me. That Allah knows how much I miss her so He brings her into my dreams so that it can comfort me. So that it can give me joy, even for a short moment. And it warms my heart that Allah keeps gifting me these beautiful dreams of her. The thought of it makes me wonder how much more Allah Subhanahu Wataala can be merciful to me? To us?

Many times we think of Allah’s mercy in terms of repentance and forgiveness such that sometimes we overlook these seemingly ‘small’ mercies of His. Like when you’re having a terrible day and a message pops us where a good friend is expressing gratitude and love to you. Or when you’re very broke and He brings forth someone to purchase your goods unexpectedly. Or when you’re ill and Allah gives you relief by allowing you to pray seated or even lying down. Or when someone speaks well about your deceased loved one and it warms your heart. Or when you’re sad and feeling low and Allah grants you a job opportunity that you’ve praying for. Subhanallah, when you think deeply about it, we’re always in Allah’s mercy-one way or another.

I started a gratitude journal on my phone early this year. There were days I could easily write what I was grateful for -like when I graduated, or when my article was published, or when my books were purchased. Yet there were some long days, some mundane days too that I had to think for a while on what I was grateful for. Days whereby nothing extraordinary happened. But this is when you get to realize the small ways Allah comes through for you. Like when I was having severe anxiety and I couldn’t point out where the issue was exactly but Allah guided me to realize it and deal with it. Or on a very normal day and I got to buy something I couldn’t afford before. Or when I was sad and I had a very beautiful conversation with my mother and sister about life, it uplifted me. Or when a dua I asked for, a very long time ago was finally answered even though I had forgotten about it. This is all by Allah’s mercy. The relief we get. The joy we get. The love and compassion that others give us. The beautiful bonds we have with our families and friends. The good people who volunteer to help us without expecting anything in return. The unexpected rizq that we get when we have no money at all. The opportunities that open up for us. It’s all by Allah’s mercy.

The Messenger of Allah (ﷺ) said, “Allah created one hundred units of mercy on the Day He created the heavens and the earth. Each one of them can contain all that is between the heaven and the earth. Of them, he put one on earth, through which a mother has compassion for her children and animals and birds have compassion for one another. On the Day of Resurrection, He will perfect and complete His Mercy”. (That is He will use all the hundred units of mercy for his slaves on that Day). [ Riyad as-Salihin 420]

Subhanallah, how amazing is our Lord? And if what we’re experiencing is just ONE UNIT of His mercy, how much more can we expect from Him on the Day of Judgment?

May Allah grant us His mercy and may we always be among those who identify it and appreciate it. May He enable us to be among His most Grateful servants.

May Allah have mercy upon our loved ones who’ve passed away. May He elevate their status and make their graves to be gardens from the gardens of Jannah. May He make them among the dwellers of Jannatul Firdaus and may He reunite us with all our loved ones there, Ameen.

*

Ramadhan Mubarak good people! I pray that your Ramadhan started well in shaa Allah. Talking about gratitude, I challenge you to download a gratitude app (I am currently using ‘Presently’, it’s free and works well for me so far) or get a small notebook where you note down every day, the way Allah comes through for you by His mercy. You’ll be amazed!

Also, for those interested in participating in charity for the poor, orphans, widows, the sick, indebted, reverts etc, kindly contact me at 0704 731 560, in shaa Allah I’ll directly link you up with deserving families.

May Allah accept our good deeds and make us firm in His deen. May our duas be answered most beautifully that He knows best. May He grant us relief from all our worries and distress and may He grant us forgiveness for all our shortcomings. Ameen ameen. Please do remember me in your duas 🙂

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Creative Fiction

SAVING HANAA

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The first time I ever laid my hand on anyone, I was about twelve years, six months old.

When it happened again, it was ten years later, only this time with blood on my hands.
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“Una meno kama ya ngamia!” A burst of rising laughter emerged behind us.

“Your smile is disgusting!”
Hanaa’s hand clasped mine.

“You must be adopted. You’re darker than your whole family,” another chuckled.

“Do you hear that, Hanaa? You’re adopted!” One shouted.

We both continued looking ahead, my other hand clenched.

“Even your sister Sarah knows that you’re stupid, that’s why you’re always last in class!”

I stopped in my tracks. I could feel the heat rising in my face.

Hanaa pulled me forward with her tiny, bony hands. I didn’t budge for a minute.

I turned around just in time to see the smirk on Fatma’s face, the oldest and loudest of the group. Without thinking twice, I dashed to where she was and planted a hefty slap on her face. There was a gasp from her friends as Fatma felt her now red cheek. My heart still pounding, and before I could say anything, someone smacked my head from behind. For a moment, all I could hear was the ringing of my ears. With tears in my eyes, I looked up to see Fatma’s father and mzee Abubakar, one of our neighbours.

Without a word, Fatma’s father took her daughter and walked away to their house which was just a few steps away from where we were standing. What were the odds? I thought to myself, still standing at the same place.

Mzee Abubakar started patting my back as he requested I explain what just happened. In between loud sobs, I narrated my sister’s constant predicament with this specific group of girls. He continued wiping my tears until my breath returned normal, then he bent down close to my ears and whispered, “Don’t tell your mother about this incident. You wouldn’t want her to start a fight with mama and baba Fatma, would you?”

“But…”I said as I looked at Hanaa, whose trousers were now soiled with wetness.

“They are kids. You’re older than them so you understand they’re just being childish. Forgive them for now. Your mother needn’t know.”

Before I could say any other word, he was gone, and so were all the other kids. I looked over at Hanaa who was silently crying. I walked back to her and held her hand.

“Mama will be angry when she sees me,” she pointed to her trouser.

“She is at aunty Wahida’s place today. Let us rush and change before she gets back home.”

We started running quickly, hand in hand. But before we reached our doorstep, mama’s voice rang behind us. My blood froze. I could feel Hanaa’s hand tremble in mine. I turned to face mama as Hanaa quickly positioned herself behind me.

“Why are you late? Madrasa ended half an hour ago.”

We both looked down.

“Sarah, speak!”

“We met some friends on the way and got a bit distracted with some games,” I said, still looking at the ground.

“Mwataka kikoto sio?!”

We shook our heads quickly.

She clicked her tongue loudly, “I have a wedding to go to so I won’t let you ruin my evening. Get inside, your food is in the kitchen. Thereafter, make sure to do your homework.”

As they entered the house, mama turned around and faced Hanaa with scrutinizing eyes.

“Did you pee on yourself again?! What is that on your trousers?”

We remained silent. Mama looked at me.

“Uhh…we…we sort of got into a fight with Fatma and her friends…Hanaa got scared,” I whispered.

“Again?! What do those girls want? I will break their necks the next time I see them. What was the fight about?”

In a very low and shaky voice, I narrated to her what had occurred.

“Mama, please don’t start a fight with them. Mzee Abubakar said he will talk to her parents about her behaviour,” I lied.

“I am not stupid to go fight with those pigs. With one tackle they will break my bones. But I know what I shall do. Wataona!”

“Mama…please…”

“Hanaa, why would you pee on yourself while you weren’t even the one who was beaten huh?” Mama ignored me. “How many times have I told you, that you need to stand up for yourself? You think those girls will ever respect you if you keep peeing on yourself and bringing bad grades home?!”

Our eyes remained glued to the ground.

“Go on …go change. I will deal with this. And this should be the last time you pee on yourself! If you pee once more, ntakufunga jongoo waskia?” she threatened.

Hanaa nodded meekly.

Mama then stormed out of the house and I quickly followed her to Fatma’s home which was in the same neighbourhood.

“Mama Fatma! Fungua mlango!” Mama shouted outside their compound. “Mama Fatma!” she banged the door.

Mama Fatma slowly opened her door with a frown.

“Bismillah, kuna nini?”

“Do you want me to start telling your neighbours the truth about Fatma?!” she hissed with a murmur.

Mama Fatma’s eyes bulged, looked left and right then quickly pulled mama and me inside the house and closed the door behind us.

“Listen very carefully! Your child is a nuisance and we both know why that is. If you don’t want me to go around and inform people that she is a mwanaharamu, then you better discipline her. I don’t want her near my daughters ever again. And that husband of yours, if he ever raises his filthy hand on my daughter ever again, I will finish him with my own two hands!”

“Sawa mama Sarah. Sawa,” she said with a shaky voice. “I will talk to my daughter, I promise. Please stiri mambo yetu kama vile Mungu anavotustiri sote,” she pleaded.

“Before you mention God to me, teach your child manners first, waskia? Don’t make me do things I don’t want to.”

Before mama Fatma could respond, Mama took my hand and led me outside and we started walking back home.

“Is it true Ma?” I asked.

“What is true?”

“That Fatma is an illegitimate child?”

“I should never hear you say those words again, do you hear me?!”

I nodded quickly, and we didn’t say a word the rest of the way.

*
As the years went by, the bullying still went on. Despite mama’s threats, Fatma didn’t change at all. In fact, she seemed to attain more pleasure in picking on Hanaa. And because Hanaa didn’t want mama to make a fuss about it, even when mama asked her about Fatma and her friends, she said that everything had been good; they’d left her alone. I would often try to protect her, but we never brought the complaints to mama ever again.

The bed-wetting went on too until she was ten years old is when it finally stopped. Mama was so relieved; she almost thought Hanaa would still be peeing on herself even as a bride. However, her grades never got better and both mama and her teachers gave up on her. Hanaa slowly became invisible to them. All tasks at home were given to me because according to mama, Hanaa was useless like our father’s family. At school, the teachers praised my intelligence as they compared the two sisters in the staffroom.

As expected, Hanaa didn’t have any friends at school or madrasa and spent most of her time alone. She would join me for both break and lunch because I was the only one who would talk to her.

When I got into secondary school, it was very difficult for both of us. Students started picking on Hanaa again because I was no longer there. Many evenings, she came back home and went to bed without speaking a word. She was losing weight at a high speed and mama’s frustrations gave us an even rougher time. Sometimes I would awaken late at night and hear Hanaa sobbing silently into her pillow. My heart ached for her but I was mostly helpless to do anything.

A few years later, when Hanaa finally completed primary school after repeating two classes, mama didn’t even wait for the results to be out. She immediately found a groom for her. The man, who was twenty years older than Hanaa, was set to marry his bride as soon as she turned 17-only a few months later.

“Mama, how can you do this? You always complained about dad’s family pushing him to go for a second wife just because you’re not their choice. How are you okay with Hanaa being a second wife now?!” I protested when we were alone.

“It is not the same.”

“How is it not the same?!”

“This man is only marrying again because his first wife can’t conceive. That is a genuine reason. And mashallah he can afford to comfortably look after two wives.”

“Why have you given up on her so early?” tears started falling.

Mama sighed as she sat down on the mkeka, “You think I am happy sending away my child? Aren’t I a mother too? Don’t I want the best for all of you?”

I remained silent.

“Your sister is very slow and naïve and doesn’t even have extraordinary beauty to boost her prospects. Do you think life is easy? Look at me. Look at how miserable I am despite my beauty and brains. No one has ever helped me. And your father’s family never once asked about us or stepped into this house since he died. Despite their wealth, they never cared about the orphans he left behind, just because he refused to marry the woman of their choice.”

“So that’s your reason to get rid of her?”

“I just want her to be settled in her home before I leave this world. I am not so worried about you. I know you can face anything that comes your way…but Hanaa…she is too weak. Sometimes we have to help her in making decisions that will be good for her in the long run.” Her voice shook.

We sat there for a long time without saying anything, tears in our eyes.

*
Being a secondary school student, I was still powerless to do anything to help Hanaa. I had no one to turn to. Hanaa had given up on herself too. It seemed she had bought to mama’s belief that she had no prospects in life, so she readily followed mama around as they shopped for the upcoming wedding.

“At least I’ll be a mother. I’ll be useful for once,” she said to me one night as she stared at her green and white hijabi wedding gown.

“You’ve always been useful Hanaa. You’re kind and thoughtful and a great friend and sister. It just takes another kind heart to see that.”

She chuckled.

“You will be visiting me often, right?”

“At your palace you mean? Of course!” I laughed. “You always wanted to be a seamstress. I hope you still try it out. You have great ideas for clothes.”

“Haha, well, now it depends if Mr Husband lets me do it.”

“He better! Your talent shouldn’t go to waste. Once you become a mother in shaa Allah you’ll be the one to make pretty dresses and clothes for them.”

“And for your children too in shaa Allah,” she winked with a smile.

“I have a long way to go. I have to finish secondary first, then go to college, then find a job to help mama in shaa Allah.”

“Maybe then she’ll stop being so bitter,” She laughed quietly.

“You do know that she loves you right? She’s just had a very rough life…and baba who was her only support died so young. I am not justifying her actions of course, but never think that she doesn’t love you.”

“Well, I just hope our children never grow up doubting our love for them.”

I moved to where she was seated and hugged her for a long time before we finally retired to sleep.

*
A few days later, a small, intimate nikah was performed at our house. The only people present were mum, our aunt who we rarely ever saw, and two of our neighbours who were friendly with mama. From the groom’s side were his elderly mother, his sister, and his two brothers. The ceremony was short and sweet. The visitors were glowing from all the gold they were wearing and all seemed jovial. Even mama shed some tears. We all had a buffet of a variety of Arab and Swahili dishes for lunch and there was laughter and merry in our small house. Hanaa looked like a midget seated next to the tall and built Ismail, her husband. She had a sweet smile and it was almost painful to look at her innocent face.

Before Hanaa left, mama took her most loved golden necklace and put it on her neck. I could see the surprise in Hanaa’s eyes, and the tears that followed shortly after that. We all then kissed her goodbye as her in-laws escorted her to her new home. I almost believed the wedding wasn’t such a bad idea after all…until several months later…

*
Being a bride looked good on Hanaa. Ismail was away most of the time and she enjoyed her freedom. She was living in a luxurious home and could afford most of what she wanted. The best of all was that Ismail allowed her to take up a sewing course at a nearby college. Soon enough, she had her butterfly sewing machine at her home, making cute tiny dresses as trials. I would visit her often enough whenever I knew Ismail wasn’t around. Even mama seemed happy visiting her, and sometimes, being mesmerized by all the kitchen equipment Hanaa had, mama would even offer to cook for her while there.

However, after a while, it became clear to me that Hanaa and Ismail never really had much love or affection for one another. Hanaa rarely mentioned Ismail unless necessary, and when she did, it was like she was referring to a neighbour she knew.

One time I asked her whether she was happy and her shoulders fell.

“It’s the same story, you know.”

“What same story?”

“Same cliche story we’ve heard over and over again. He loves his first wife very much. Even when with me, he still keeps calling her. I believe his family pressured him to marry a second wife just to get kids. It is clear I am only here as a birthing machine.”

“I am so sorry Hanaa,” I held her hand.

“But I am okay, don’t worry about me. He does fulfil his duties as a husband, at least the majority of them. Plus I am more at peace can’t you see? Mama is no longer stressed about my grades, Fatma and her gang are far away from me now, I am eating well plus I get to do this!” she pointed at a cute green and white dress she was still working on.

I sighed loudly.

I looked at the dress keenly and said, “You should start selling these you know? They’re too good to remain in suitcases under your bed.”

“I will! Let me perfect the art first,” she winked as she continued sewing.

*
Within the first year of marriage, Hanaa was selling elegant and stylish clothes to her neighbours. During the Eid and wedding seasons, she would get super busy with client orders. Ismail started getting frustrated with the frequent clients coming into their home. Moreover, Hanaa hadn’t conceived yet. The man was getting impatient.

Every month, Ismail diligently asked about her menses and would sometimes refuse to eat when Hanaa confirmed that she got her periods. Soon enough, he was breaking plates and cups at every minor mistake that Hanaa did and would disappear for more days than he did previously.

At the time, I had already started attending nursing classes. Every weekend I would visit Hanaa and find her trying out new recipes to win over her husband. But Ismail had become even more distant than before and his art of breaking cutlery was getting more intense by the day.

“I am unsettled about this man. What if he harms you?!” I exclaimed one evening as we shopped for new plates.

“Majaaliwa yangu.”

I rolled my eyes.

“You deserve better. And you need to stand for yourself now. Don’t just allow things to happen to you!”

“Mama shouldn’t know about this, please. She is already stressed that I am not yet pregnant.”

“I won’t. But maybe it is also for the best. You should enjoy your youth before you become a mother.”

“Enjoy what youth? I am already 18. I want to be a mother. That will be enjoyable for me.”

“That is because mama made you believe that is the only good thing you’re capable of. You’re more than that. For one, you’re a very talented seamstress!”

“Yeah well…”

“Hasn’t Ismail been tested? Doesn’t he know that everything has turned out clear for you?”

“He knows but I wouldn’t dare ask him. He could break a plate on my head. Plus the doctor will question him about me. How will he explain marrying a 17-year-old girl at this year and age, who could as well be his daughter?”

“That is a good question. I would love to hear the answer to that.”

“Must be painful for him to marry a girl he didn’t even want and couldn’t give him children either,” Hanaa looked down.

“Hey! Don’t allow that pity of a man to make you his punching bag! You are a dutiful wife and again, the doctor said nothing is wrong with you. If he really wants kids he should put his ego aside and get tested!”

“We’ll see about that in shaa Allah. Let’s get going. I have an engagement dress to make.”

“Oh look at you! Soon enough you’ll be selling wedding gowns as well!” We both laughed heartily.

*
The first time Hanaa suggested that Ismail should get tested, she was given a black eye and her sewing machine was taken away. The whole week she avoided my calls and kept excusing herself that she is busy with some orders. I had to pop up at her home unexpectedly on a Friday afternoon for me to find out what was going on.

She avoided eye contact the whole time I spoke to her and her voice was barely audible. Ismail hadn’t apologized and hadn’t been back since he had left.

“Please don’t tell mama.”

“That is your worry right now? We must tell mama. You should come home with me right away.”

“Come back and do what? Overwhelm mama once more with my presence? Our relationship has gotten better since I got married. I don’t want to go back to what we once were.”

“But…mama wouldn’t mind your return. It is still your home after all. You’re not safe here.”

“This is my home now Sarah. Ismail won’t do it again, don’t worry. All I have to do is avoid asking him about getting tested, khalas.”

Although I insisted, Hanaa refused to return home with me and made me promise to not tell mama.

However, despite Hanaa’s attempt to cover up for her husband by using make-up, mama finally noticed that something was up during our next visit. This time there was a fresh mark on her arm. Apparently, during one of his plate-breaking sprees, a piece of the glass mistakenly hit Hanaa’s arm.

“That is the fate of us women, my daughter. From birth we are made to carry the burdens of everyone; our parents, our children, our husbands, and our community. Subiri…just work harder at getting pregnant, he will be okay once he has a baby in his arms,” she said slowly as she looked outside the window.

“But Ma!!!” I exclaimed.

“We can’t get involved in matters between a husband and his wife. This is beyond me now,” she sighed.

“She doesn’t have to carry this burden. And she shouldn’t! Hanaa is still very young and beautiful. She can get her divorce and open her boutique. She can still get married when she is ready in the future.”

“Hmm, which world do you live in? Who will accept a divorcee who hasn’t even gone beyond primary education? Plus do you think it is easy to open a business?! Look at how we’ve struggled all our lives. We depended on well-wishers for your school fees throughout. We don’t have any savings at all. We can barely make ends meet.”

“Sarah, it is okay. Mama has a point. I’ll see a herbalist about the pregnancy issue, perhaps the outcome will be different this time.”

“In shaa Allah, and I am praying for you every day, that you may get a child and be happy in your marriage. Right now, he is blinded by his first wife’s love…but once the child arrives, he will finally appreciate you. That will be the game changer.” Mama said.

As we left that evening, I could feel a pinch in my heart as I saw the sadness lingering in Hannah’s eyes. When our eyes met, she spread her lips a bit and waved me goodbye.

*
Hanaa was now sleeping through the day and night. She had lost more weight than she had ever before. Ismail hadn’t been to her home for an entire month and when I’d visit, the entire house would be dark with no curtains or windows open. I’d be welcomed by the stench of dirty utensils, rotten food and body odour. When I realized that she was bed-wetting again, I packed her clothes and went with her home without informing mama.

When mama first saw Hanaa, she gasped but never said a word after that. I opened a warm water shower and let her inside. Hanaa was simply performing robotic movements and hadn’t said a word since I found her in her bed. After that, I made her some hot soup and fed her before laying her to rest in her old bed.

“My God! What should I do about Hanaa?! Ataniuaaa ataniua huyu mtoto.” Mama lamented when I finally sat down with her.

“You don’t have to do anything. I will take care of her, don’t worry. At least I will put my nursing skills to use.”

“That is not what I meant, come on. I can take care of her as well. I just don’t understand where I went wrong with her. Why is she so different from you?!”

“Please let’s not talk about this. She might overhear you and she already has enough on her plate.”

“Fine. But what will we tell her husband when he comes searching for her?”

“Are you…are you afraid of him?!”

“No, but he is a noble man. We shouldn’t interfere in their marriage.”

“Noble because he comes from a known, rich family? What nobility is that? He and his family can all go to hell,” I said with finality as I went back to our room and closed the door.

*
Ismail turned up at our house one week later. In his hands were a bouquet and Hanaa’s butterfly machine.

Mama welcomed him with a nervous smile and explained to him that Hanaa had been unwell, that’s why she was brought home.

“I was worried about her. Her phone has been off. I figured she must be here. May I talk to her?”

“No, you may not and will not!” I interjected.

Ismail stood up with puzzlement.

“Hanaa is not your punching bag for your infertility. Go to a gym or go break all the remaining plates in your home if you want. But you’ll never see Hanaa ever again. You’ll never get the chance to harm her anymore!”

“What are you saying?! Hanaa is my wife!” he trembled with rage.

“And I am his sister.”

“Okay okay, let us calm down for a minute. Hanaa is unwell and we all care for her well-being. Let us talk calmly,” mama said.

“Watch your tongue young lady,” Ismail waved his finger at me.

“I want a divorce,” Hannah’s timid voice interrupted us.

We all turned around at once. She was standing in the hallway with messy hair and a flowery dera.

Mama gasped.

Ismail clenched his fist.

My heart was now drumming.

Ismail slowly approached Hanaa with an intense look on his face.

“What?!”

“You heard what I said. I am exhausted, I can’t do this anymore. I want my divorce right now.”

“Hanaa, you’re not thinking clearly right now. Let us go home and we can talk carefully.”

“No, I am sure this is what I want,” she said, still in a low voice.

“Did they…did they ask you to do this?!” Ismail pointed to mama and me.

“Ismail…” Mama started.

“This is purely my decision. I can’t give you a child so divorce me. Find another wife or adopt one with your riches if you want but if you were a real man, you’d seek treatment instead of dragging your wives into your misery.”

Ismail instantly grabbed Hanaa’s neck and pushed her to the wall, his grip tightening. “Did I not tell you to never mention this stupid treatment thing to me?! Are you still doubting my manhood?!”

“Ismail stop!!” Mama shouted. Both mama and I rushed to him and tried pulling him away. But both of us were two feeble women while he was a tall, built man. Mama was now crying as she cursed him. Hanaa was choking as she pushed her palms on his face.

Without thinking twice, I grabbed the nearest heavy pan from the kitchen and struck Ismail’s head. Within that split moment, and as his grip loosened around her neck, Hanaa shoved him.

The loud thud that followed startled us.

Still glued to the wall, Hanaa breathed heavily.

My entire body was shaking.

Mama’s mouth was wide open with tears in her eyes.

“There’s blood,” Hanaa murmured shakily.

We turned to where Ismail was lying still. His head had hit the edge of our glass dining table and a pool of blood was forming beneath him.

We stood silently in our places, only our heavy breathing could be heard.

“Sarah, do something!” Mama shouted.

I looked at her in a daze.

“You’re a nursing student, aren’t you?!” She continued.

Hanaa gave me a nudge and I cleared my throat uncomfortably. I slowly placed the pan on the floor and bent to where Ismail was lying and felt for his pulse.

“Bring a clean towel or cloth Hanaa. Quick!”

“Is he alive?”

“His pulse is weak but I think he is. Move!”

Hanaa brought a small clean towel which I pressed firmly on his head where the blood seemed to be coming from. But the blood kept coming and coming, and I kept adding more and more pieces of clothes. The blood just wouldn’t stop.

I looked at my trembling, bloodied hand.

“We have to call for an ambulance Ma. I don’t know what else to do. I don’t know!” My voice broke.

“Haven’t…haven’t they taught you how to save people?”

“Ma! He will bleed to death! I am still very new to this! I don’t know what else to do!”

“They will arrest us,” Hanaa said, still holding the wall for support.

“Ma please do something!” My tears now mixed with the blood smeared all over my arms and clothes.

“Okay okay… Hanaa call the ambulance. Tell them there’s been an accident, he is bleeding heavily. Tell them to rush and give them our address. Don’t say anything more. Do you hear me?”

Hanaa nodded. I could see the wet patch on her dera, still frozen in her place.

She started sobbing loudly.

“Hanaa make the call!! He can’t die!”

“I don’t think he will survive this Ma…” Before I could finish my statement, Ismail’s body stiffened and started shaking violently, his arms and legs jerking repeatedly. Mama rushed to him and held his limbs down.

“Just make the damn call!” she shouted to Hanaa.

Startled by her voice, she rushed to the next room and talked in a shaky voice.

“Here’s what we will say,” mama said when Hannah joined us again. Ismail’s seizure had stopped but he was still unconscious.

“We will tell the truth from the beginning. Then we shall explain what he came to do here today and he tried to choke you when you demanded a divorce. You were struggling to breathe, I had to save you or else he would have ended your life. I am the one who hit him with the pan and pushed him away from Hanaa.”

She turned to me, “You were helping me stop the blood thus the mess on your clothes. Don’t say anything else.”

“You don’t have to do that Ma,” Hanaa cried.

“It was a matter of life and death. It can’t be that hard to convince the judges in court. They will understand, right?” She looked at me.

“Ma…”I quivered.

Mama slowly picked up the pan and wiped the handle with the leso she had on. She then held it with her free hand before placing it next to her.

“What are you doing Ma?” Hanaa stared.

“The pan handle has to have my fingerprints, no?”

Hanaa sat down on the floor, her hands on her head. I held mama’s left hand as her tears fell freely.

“I am sorry. I am very sorry…I was supposed to be your mother and protect you and be there for you, but I always failed. Please forgive me.” She cried, looking at Hanaa, then I.

My one hand still pressing on Ismail’s head, mama knelt and embraced me. She then signalled Hanaa to join us. So we sat there in the pool of blood, our heads close together, each one of us weeping.

Ismail’s limp body lay in front of us, with barely any sign of life. As we heard the sirens get closer, our crying became more vehement. Whichever way this went, we were doomed. We all knew it- our lives would never be the same again.

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Deen (Religion)

LET GO AND LET GOD

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I recently had a conversation with a brilliant relative about anxiety and the dire need to be in control of everything going on around us. That frustrating fight with the unknown and uncertainty. That burning urge to be prepared for anything and everything that comes next. Then she humbly advised me, “Frequently say, ‘Hasbiyallah waneemal wakeel’ i.e. ‘Sufficient for me is Allah, and [He is] the best Disposer of affairs.’ Then she went on and said, ‘But don’t just say it. Mean it. When you say sufficient for me is Allah then that is total submission to Him. It is surrendering to the Almighty; acknowledging His power, acknowledging your own weakness as a human being and acknowledging that whatever Allah has bestowed upon you is truly best for you. He is the best disposer of affairs. Whatever you plan for yourself will always be limited in contrast to what He has in store for you. So be content. Be grateful. Have faith in Him and His plans for you. So live by it. Live by ‘Hasbiyallah waneemal wakeel’.”

In this precise moment, her words struck me. I have heard and said the statement so many times in my life, but did I truly, deeply believe in it’s meaning?!

Despite being a believer in Allah, there have been many times where I questioned His plans for me. Maybe not loudly, maybe not openly, but just that small feeling in the heart like ‘This could have gone better. Should have gone better. What’s the point of this chaos right now?’ It is like saying, ‘I trust that you have my best interests at heart, but I should also have a say in how my life unrolls.’ But that’s just from our ignorance and naivety as human beings; we say we trust that Allah is the best planner, but do we really?!

For a period of over ten years, Allah tested me with the same test thrice, just different versions of it. And I remember many nights in my sajjadah begging Allah to remove me out of those situations. But the test dragged on and on and on. I felt so helpless and I kept saying to Allah, ‘But I have learned the lesson. Please Ya Allah. I have already learned the lesson. Get me out of here. Why am I still here?!!’ Those were such desperate moments for me because sometimes I did believe that so long as Allah was still testing me then there must be a very good reason for it. But sometimes I was just so helpless I kept asking, ‘What’s the point here? Am I being punished or something?’ I didn’t have that yaqeen, that surety, that unshakeable faith that Allah wouldn’t put be through pain just for the sake of it.

Then during one of the last nights of last Ramadhan, I stayed for long crying to Allah to grant me clarity on the matter because I thought I had already learned what I was meant to learn. If there was something more to it, I was not seeing it. I need help to see it. I desperately need clarity. As I finished my crying/dua session I lazily entered into Instagram to distract my mind and wallahy the moment I logged in, there it was- my answer. It was just one video but it led me to another and another and another and lots of reading that made it make all the sense. And subhanallah to date, I still have very random conversations and something is said and is still part of my answer. Like, every single day, Allah is opening my eyes to what I hadn’t realized in over ten years.

Of course it was such a deeply painful experience but the amount of knowledge I learned throughout that period made me take better choices for myself. Made me a better person. A wiser person. In retrospect, I don’t think I would have learned all the lessons that I have if I was listening to someone’s story or reading it from a book. I truly had to go through it all to realize what was expected from me and what I truly needed. Several times I failed to trust in Allah fully and yet He had a plan all along. The journey is obviously not over but I am at the point in my life where I am like, ‘Oh so this is why that happened…’ It wasn’t a punishment. It wasn’t for no reason. He had a good reason for it…

There is a famous quote that I have seen so many times. It goes like, ‘It will keep happening until you learn the lesson.’ Seems pretty straight forward until you are the one in the endless cycle of the ‘seeming’ doom and the depth of it won’t truly make sense until it does.

I have met people with unshakable faith. People who literally live by ‘Hasbiyallah waneemal wakeel’. People who when they don’t get what they want they genuinely say ‘Alhamdulilah’ and when something bad happens to them they say قَدَّرَ اللَّهُ وَمَا شَاءَ فَعَلَ (Allah has decreed and whatever he wills, He does).. They don’t ask ‘what ifs’ or say ‘buts’.They don’t fret. They don’t worry unnecessarily. They know that Allah is in control and wholeheartedly leave their affairs to Him. They know FOR SURE that Allah will come through for them regardless of how big a mountain their problems are. They remind me of the hadith: Suhaib reported that Allah’s Messenger (ﷺ) said: “Strange are the ways of a believer for there is good in every affair of his and this is not the case with anyone else except in the case of a believer for if he has an occasion to feel delight, he thanks (God), thus there is a good for him in it, and if he gets into trouble and shows resignation (and endures it patiently), there is a good for him in it.” I love these people. I look up to them. And I pray to be like them someday.

To end this, here’s a hadith to give you comfort about Allah’s mercy upon us.

Abu Razin reported: The Messenger of Allah, peace and blessings be upon him, said, “Allah laughs for the despair of His servant, as He will soon relieve him.” I said, “O Messenger of Allah, does the Lord laugh?” The Prophet said, “Yes.” I said, “We will never be deprived of goodness by a Lord who laughs!” (Source: Sunan Ibn Mājah)

Indeed Allah doesn’t test us in order to make us miserable and unhappy. He doesn’t test us just for the sake of it for He is not a sadist. We may not see it, we may never comprehend it but there is always, ALWAYS a reason for every small and big thing that happens in our lives. We thus should always strive to have unshakeable faith in Him, have good doubt in Him and surrender all our affairs to Him as well. This is a big reminder to myself first before anyone else.

Dear reader, here’s your reminder to lay down your burdens to Him so that He can take care of all your affairs. Let go and let God. Never forget that Allah will never forsake you.

As you and I continue taking this endless journey to Allah, I pray that He grants us that kind of submission to Him and that He makes us among His most beloved ones, ameen.

*

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Creative Non-Fiction

HERE’S TO TEN!

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If I started blogging early 2014, should I mark this year as ‘9 years as a blogger’ or should I count it as my 10th year as a blogger? Like, do I count 2023 minus 2014 or do I count 2014, 2015, 2016…to 2023? Or is it all the same thing, just different ways of saying it? Lol yeah right, Maths still is a nightmare. I had to ask three people to confirm that this is my 10th year 😀 Mathematicians, pardon my ignorance but at this point I just need divined intervention 😀

Anywayyyss, this is the 10th year good peopleee! Can you believe it?! It’s been a journey and a half alhamdulilah. Many of you have accompanied me from the very start when I was using Blogspot (old college days!) before migrating to this website. You’ve watched me grow and evolve. You’ve watched my voice and writing style become more distinct over the years. You’ve laughed with me, smiled with me, cried with me, grieved with me, thought with me and watched those thoughts change over time too. You’ve become part of my family, sharing the small and large moments with me. Many of you were there when the blog was nominated by BAKE (Bloggers Association of Kenya) to be among the top 5 creative writing blogs alhamdulilah. You’ve witnessed the blog evolve too; from writing silly moments about my anxiety, Mombasa weddings, exorcism- the Mombasa version, literally having those nightmares about maths lol, my interesting thoughts while walking under-the-bridge tunnel at Buxton, my rejections and work failures, frustrations at the public offices, letters to my better half (my priorities have realllyyy changed by the way 😀 ), World cup and Olympics thrills, my happy people (more to come on this in shaa Allah 😀 ), my beloved family, my weak attempt at writing about travel (I just haven’t gotten to travel moreee) to the more serious topics on mental health, loss and grief, spirituality, and life lessons as the years go by. Alhamdulilah, alhamdulilah!

It has always been intentional for me to make the blog as diverse as possible so that anyone who opens my blog can find something relatable. And it is my hope that more people will continue to find laughter, benefit, inspiration, enjoyment and comfort in this website.

Many of you have supported me endlessly and unconditionally; you’ve read my work, shared it with your networks, given me feedback and positive critique, subscribed to the website and had firm faith in me even when I was going through long periods of writer’s block. I’ve had the honour of interacting with several of you, one on one, and you’ve helped me immensely over the years by giving suggestions, sharing ideas, sharing your own life stories and lessons, discussing life, joking about life moments, and letting me know that my work is being read and enjoyed. We’ve pretty much done life together-stumbling through it all and making our way towards growth. 

Over the years, we were also graced by different amazing and very talented writers who wrote as guests on this blog. Their witty, funny and interesting contributions spiced up this space even more.

For all this, I am deeply, deeply grateful. I have never and will never take this for granted. It is by Allah’s mercy and tawfiq and your support that keeps me going and motivating me to never give up on my dream as a writer.

As we mark this 10th year, I have two announcements to make:

First of all, to commemorate this milestone, I will hold a FREE online blogging workshop on the 28th of January, (2 p.m. onwards) to train 10 aspiring bloggers in shaa Allah. For anyone who is interested, kindly email me at info@lubnah.me.ke. (First come, First serve!)

Secondly, I’d love to invite you all to support me further in this journey. I am introducing a patronage program for the blog where readers can chip in and support in the growth and content creation of this website. There won’t be a standard fee (Don’t worry I am not pulling CBK’s bank to Mpesa charges sort of thing, albeit their failed attempt 😀 ) but rather it will be an open invitation for anyone to give whatever they feel, at whatever time is convenient. One can contribute weekly, monthly, whenever a blog is posted or whenever one feels generous 😀 Any amount is most welcome too! This will assist me to grow this website further, do more content creation, research and maybe even conduct more writing trainings!

If the blog has ever been relatable, a source of joy, smiles & laughter, comfort, inspiration, enlightenment, and made you feel heard and seen, then I’ll really appreciate your support.

Before I share the patronage details, here’s a reminder that my books are also available for purchase:

Reflection & Resurgence: A Believer’s Journey to Allah @ 1500/= (With Ramadhan approaching, here’s a book to consider for the spiritual month)

A Fire Within & Other Stories (by a couple of African writers that includes my short story) @ 950/=

Threads and Faces (by a couple of African writers that includes my poem) @ 650/=

Saida and The Eid Dress @ 230/=

For anyone interested to purchase, kindly text me at 0704 731 560

For your faith this far, I am beyond touched. May God bless each one of you immensely and for the support you grant me, may God bring you forth good people to support your dreams as well.

Below are the details on how to become a patron for our blog. Thank you once again. May your unwavering support be worth the while always, ameen!

by
Keep Reading
Mental Health

COULD YOUR ATTACHMENT STYLE BE THE PROBLEM?

By

Many times, across different types of relationships, we face some turmoil and challenges that may bring about animosity, chaos and intense emotions. One major cause of most relationship problems is communication. However, there’s one other issue that is critical in relationships yet remains rarely identified; our attachment styles.

Attachment is the emotional bond between an infant and parent/guardian and it is through this bond that the infant gets their primary needs met. According to renowned psychiatrist John Bowlby’s attachment theory, the relationships with our primary caregivers during our earliest years have a major and long-lasting impact on our social and intimate relationships, including connections made at workplaces. How we bonded with our parents and guardians sets the stage for how we perceive and build all our relationships thereafter.

There are four attachment styles, the last three are considered insecure:

1. Secure attachment

2. Anxious Preoccupied attachment

3. Dismissive Avoidant attachment

4. Fearful Avoidant attachment

Courtesy: http://labs.psychology.illinois.edu/~rcfraley/attachment.htm

It should be noted that parents don’t necessarily or intentionally choose these attachment styles. Most of the time, they’re unaware and it is just automatic behavioural patterns passed from one generation to another .i.e. an anxiously attached parent might have an anxiously attached child due to unhealed generational trauma and they raise their kids the same way they were. Nonetheless, other factors might also affect which attachment style a child adopts as they grow up, such as trauma, life experiences, environment, or the close relationships they have with others.

1. Anxious Preoccupied (High anxiety, Low avoidance): Also known as anxious ambivalent in children, is often associated with an inconsistent parenting pattern. The caregiver tends to give mixed signals by sometimes being responsive to the child’s needs and sometimes being misattuned or unavailable to the child. This may be very confusing for the child, make them feel unstable and regard their parents’ actions as unpredictable or unreliable. They may become very distressed when separated from their caregiver, and even when he/she returns, they continue to display anxious behaviour and do not appear comforted. 

Please note that this doesn’t mean that the parents intentionally neglect the child’s needs but it could be that the caregivers didn’t meet the child’s needs in the way that they wanted. As such, they opt to throw tantrums and become clingy to get their attention. These children tend to be very sensitive and self-sacrifice to take care of others even at their own expense. 

When one grows up with this style, one may have some of the following characteristics:

  • Fear of rejection
  • Need for constant reassurance
  • Being needy/clingy
  • Fear of abandonment
  • Depending on a partner for validation and emotional regulation
  • Codependent tendencies
  • Jealous tendencies
  • Low self-esteem
  • Highly sensitive to criticism 
  • Needing approval from others
  • Difficulty trusting others
  • Difficulty being alone
  • Feeling unworthy of love and not being good enough
  • Self- critical and indecisive 
  • Overthinking tendencies 
  • May develop anxiety disorders as adults

2. Dismissive Avoidant (Low anxiety, High avoidance): This attachment style is formed when the child’s caregiver is absent or emotionally distant or busy or disinterested in their emotional needs. The child could be expected to be independent and the caregiver might also disapprove if the child shows any display of emotions. When the child is upset, their distress is regularly ignored or dismissed. Because their needs aren’t met, the child perceives that as rejection. They thus learn to detach from their feelings because they don’t trust that their caregivers will be there for them and they rarely seek comfort from parents/caregivers. So even when they’re separated from their parent they react fairly calmly and do not embrace their return.

As such a child grows up, he/she may develop some of the following:

  • Super independent 
  • Have a hard time trusting others
  • Fear of intimacy or closeness (Most of their relationships are surface level)
  • Uncomfortable expressing their feelings
  • Have commitment issues
  • Emotionally unavailable
  • Often feel self-sufficient and don’t need others
  • Feel threatened by anyone who tries to get close to them
  • May distance themselves or shut down during conflict
  • May find relationships to be suffocating

3. Fearful Avoidant (High anxiety, High avoidance): Also known as disorganized attachment, this style is often associated with childhood trauma or abuse. Fear for their caregivers is also present. The child grows up in a chaotic, threatening or abusive environment and because the caregiver shows inconsistent and unpredictable behaviour the child starts fearing for their safety. The child might seek closeness to the caregiver but at the same time, pull themselves away from them, due to fear.

When such a child is separated from their caregiver and then the parent returns, they may act oddly, by approaching them then turning away from them or freezing or even hitting the caregiver. All this is because of the childhood trauma they’ve experienced. In short, the parent is considered a source of both comfort and fear and thus the child adopts disorganized behaviour.

A child with a disorganized attachment may grow up to have some of the following symptoms:

  • Fear of rejection
  • Fear of intimacy
  • Inability to regulate emotions
  • High levels of anxiety
  • Difficulty trusting others
  • Signs of both avoidant and anxious attachment styles
  • In relationships, they almost always expect and wait for disappointment, hurt and rejection to come.
  • Contradictory and unstable behaviours i.e. might be clingy one moment then dismissive at another.
  • They both desperately crave affection and want to avoid it at all costs.
  • They want to love and be loved but are afraid to let anyone in.
  • Likely to develop mental disorders such as personality or mood disorders or even substance abuse and self-harm.

4. Secure Attachment style (Low avoidance, Low anxiety): A child with this attachment style grows up with reliable caregivers who were quick to soothe, comfort and meet their needs. This creates trust towards the parents. The child feels safe, seen, understood and valued. They know they can depend on their caregivers to be there for them consistently and support them to explore the world around them to attain autonomy and independence.

The child feels safe to ask for reassurance or validation without punishment from the caregivers. When such a child is separated from their parent, they become distressed but upon their return, they welcome them warmly and with positive emotions.

As adults, those with this attachment tend to have healthy relationships and positive traits such as:

  • Ability to regulate emotions
  • High self-esteem and confidence
  • Great and effective communication skills
  • Comfortable being alone
  • Comfortable with closeness and mutual dependency
  • Easily trusting and bonding with others
  • Goal-oriented
  • Show healthy and balanced behaviours in relationships
  • Ability to open up and seek emotional support
  • Being easy to connect with
  • Ability to manage conflict well
  • Strong capacity to reflect on how you are being in a relationship

Take note that attachment styles aren’t everything in relationships and can be influenced by other factors as well. 

These styles are not permanent and can change over time through different experiences and variables in one’s life. For example, an individual with an insecure attachment can change to become secure when they’re in a relationship with an individual who has a secure attachment style and influences them to feel safe and calm as well. The opposite of this is also possible. Also, attachment styles are not mental disorders, even though they can make one more prone to certain disorders.

Nonetheless, we cannot undermine the impact of these styles on our relationships. Many times, people have unhealthy behavioural patterns and are unable to regulate their emotions without understanding the root cause of it all; attachment styles. These styles affect how we function, behave, think, connect with others and even feel. Inadvertently, they also affect how we raise our children and which kind of environment we provide for them. To break this dysfunctional cycle, it is important for each individual with an insecure style to actively work on changing to become secure.

How can one change that? Below is your answer.

Here are a few tips to acquire the secure attachment style:

1. Self-awareness is the first and most important step towards healing. Do some research on the topic so that you may understand the different attachment styles further and yourself better. YouTube can be a good place to start for we have many resources there concerning this topic. Personally, I love ‘The Personal Development School’ on Youtube for how they explain these matters, but the resources are so many.

Do understand that sometimes an individual could have different habits that are associated with different styles and this is because of the different experiences and traumas we face at different phases in our lives. We have several online quizzes on attachment styles that can help you in finding out which style you predominantly have. One link where you can conduct the quiz is here. They usually show you percentages of the attachment styles that you have according to your tendencies and habits. The biggest percentage shows your most predominant attachment style.

2. Once you have understood your attachment style, you should do some much-needed self-reflection and take the time to analyze your own emotions, habits, your triggers, how you deal with conflict, communicate and your interactions with other people. Pay attention to the emotional and physical sensations that come up around emotional intimacy. You could have a journal specifically for this and you could jot down what’s going on with you daily. This helps in not just understanding oneself but also gives you some relief from whatever emotions you carry with you.

3. This journey might not be easy so you must be ready to do the work however hard it might get. It is important to accept your weaknesses, unhealthy habits and the things you might need to work on. Be self-conscious about your thoughts and emotions and learn how to regulate them, soothe yourself, and positively interact with others.

4. Most of the time, we tend to attract people who will represent all the suppressed parts within us, or the parts that we wish were stronger within us or parts we’re ashamed of and wish to change. So for example, if someone is quiet and emotionally detached, they will attract a partner who is emotional and expressive. If someone is controlling and demanding, they attract a partner who is pleasing and submissive. If someone has a hard time asking for help, they attract a partner who asks for help all the time …etc.

A good example of such a case according to attachment styles is that anxious preoccupied individuals and avoidants tend to subconsciously attract one another despite the two being very opposite. The anxious one is impressed by the avoidant’s independence and mysteriousness as they wish they could depend less on others and be more self-reliant. The avoidant on the other hand is attracted to the anxious person because they provide endless love, warmth and intimacy-something they didn’t quite have while growing up.

But the problem is, the two individuals have very different needs when it comes to relationships. The anxious one wants closeness and intimacy from their partner and tends to be clingy and needy, while the avoidant one is intimidated by closeness and really values their independence and personal space. So despite their attraction, the relationship tends to become a chaotic trap of triggers and unmet needs. The two genuinely struggle to provide their partner with what they need. The avoidant feels the anxious one is too much, while the anxious one feels their avoidant partner is not enough for them. In fact, they call it the anxious-avoidant trap/dance/cycle, because the two individuals feel stuck. They have a hard time making it work but also a hard time moving away from each other. (You can read more about this here)

 It is thus very very important for a couple to understand their individual attachment styles and how they could be triggering each other. It is not impossible to make such relationships work but they need a certain level of self-awareness and willingness to grow and change for the better.

The two of you must have open and effective communication about your needs, worries and concerns so that you can also support each other in your healing journey. It might get very uncomfortable, especially for the avoidants but there is no shortcut to the process. The good thing is, the outcome is totally worth it!

Side note: Many times, the partners we’re seeking have traits and behaviours like one of our parents. The reason for this is that we’re trying to find an outcome that will be different from how it was with our parent. For example, if your father was inconsistent with you, you’d subconsciously find a partner who will also have inconsistent habits. The hope here is that you’ll be able to make them grant you the stability and consistency that you lacked in your childhood and thereafter heal your childhood wound.

We subconsciously get into such relationships in an attempt to heal that part of us that is insecure about our worthiness and to prove that we’re lovable after all. And sometimes it becomes a lifetime pattern of seeking such partners.

The way to avoid this pattern of attracting people who have unappealing behaviours like your parent, is by first trying to understand what you’re trying to heal. For example, are you trying to be loved by an abusive partner? Are you trying to attain affection from an avoidant? Once you identify what your core wounds are, then you can seek what you need from people who are actually capable of giving what you need-accepting you and proving to you that you’re not too much.

5. Working with a therapist may be the best way to go about this for they will guide you on how to regulate yourself and change for the better whilst taking into consideration your unique life story and personality.

6. If it might be hard for you to work with a therapist on this, you can enrol in online courses that are specific to your attachment style and they can help you navigate all types of relationships and emotions to attain a secured attachment. There are also some attachment-style workbooks that have practical exercises to deal with your style. Among the websites that offer such courses and workbooks include https://www.attachmentproject.com/ and https://university.personaldevelopmentschool.com/ among many others. There are also courses that are specific for couples of different attachment styles-showing them how their pairing works and how to navigate their relationships in a healthy manner.

7. Do understand that sometimes parents aren’t aware of how they’re emotionally affecting their children and are simply doing their best (abusive parents are a different case here). So you can acknowledge the effect they had on you, without blaming them for it. Most times they can’t undo anything they did and it is best if we all just looked forward and focused on the healing journey.

8. Regardless of the painful experiences of your past that shaped who you are, as an adult, it is best to leave the past where it is and take full control of your life now. Healing is an intentional choice that each one of us should make. So don’t allow your trauma to permanently ruin your emotional stability and how you relate with others.

9. Start working on building closer relationships with people by listening to their needs, worries and concerns as well. You could develop a step-by-step approach on how to effectively communicate with others, how to let them in and meet their emotional needs as well.

10. Do not beat yourself up for your shortcomings and don’t try to change everything at once. Have a system/plan which takes you step by step without overwhelming yourself. Remember that this is a long process and your effort is much appreciated. Involve a close friend or partner or even a trusted family member so that they can act as your support system and also hold you accountable. Most importantly, remember that consistency is key! Don’t expect your partner or your friends to do the work for you.

By consciously working through your unhealthy patterns and triggers, you can create satisfying relationships. So don’t give up! This is your personal project-strive to take intentional steps towards healing and healthier relationships.

Sources:

Kp_counseling (on IG)

https://attachment.personaldevelopmentschool.com/

https://attachment.personaldevelopmentschool.com/

https://university.personaldevelopmentschool.com/

https://www.psychologytoday.com/us/basics/attachment

https://www.verywellmind.com/attachment-styles-2795344

https://fashionjournal.com.au/life/relationships-anxious-avoidant/

https://www.youtube.com/channel/UCHQ4lSaKRap5HyrpitrTOhQ

https://psychcentral.com/health/4-attachment-styles-in-relationships

https://www.mindbodygreen.com/articles/attachment-theory-and-the-4-attachment-styles

by
Keep Reading
Creative Fiction

ANGST

By

*Written in 2020*

I gripped the headrest in front of me with both hands. The car was zigzagging, and everyone in the matatu was screaming. The old lady with the shiny red lipstick next to me was clutching my arm. Everything was becoming blurry. I didn’t realize when exactly I had started crying, but I was. Silent whimpering. Even at my death, I would go silently.
Silent life.
Silent death.
Mediocre.

I could feel the back of my shirt soaking with sweat. My heart was pounding. So this is it? How sad. What will I be remembered for? Being at the library 24/7? Who’s even going to remember me anyway? I am but a very ordinary girl. Average. A commoner. You wouldn’t notice me in a room. Even I wouldn’t notice myself in a room. Few words, normal face, standard brains. So this is it then. My miserable, miserable end.

“Hey. Hey.” The old lady nudged me.

“Huh?” I said, my eyes popping out.

“Are you okay?”

“Wh…what?” I said, looking around. We had arrived at the final matatu stage.

“You have tears in your eyes. Are you okay?”

I swallowed hard. My hands were shaky. The old lady was staring at me.

“Um, yes, yes. I am fine, thank you.”

“It is the last stage. We have to alight.”

“Oh! Yeah!” I said as I moved out of the way so she could leave.

I sat back and closed my eyes. It is all in your head. It is all in your head. It is all in your head. I muttered under my breath.

“Mrembo, we need to go to the carwash,” the conductor said, interrupting my murmuring. “And, it’s about to rain.”

“Oh,” I said softly as I alighted.

I held my sling bag close to my chest and started walking home. It was already dark and I could barely see the small ponds of mud rainwater categorically formed on the road until I was in one. I sighed loudly as I removed my now-wet shoes from the pond. This is going to be a long night.

“Alyah! Maryam!” A bodaboda guy by the roadside called. “Zubeda? Aisha?” He kept on guessing. A smirk formed on my tired lips.

“As if you could ever guess my name huh!” I said to myself.

Behind me, I could still hear him. They never give up, these boda guys. They’d keep guessing names with the hope that you’d pay for a ride.

His voice was getting hoarse at this point.

“I am walking!” I shouted without turning at him.

“Si ungesema! Nkt!”

What was I to say though? Wasn’t it obvious that I was walking? I shook my head. I fastened my steps as I got closer to home. As I inserted the key to the front door, a voice called out.

“How many times do you look over your shoulder when you’re walking?”

“Huh?” I said as I looked in the direction the voice was coming from.

A young lady in a green, flowery dera emerged from the dark. Her black scarf was hanging on her shoulders and in her arms was a heavily covered baby. A medium-sized, grey duffle bag was on the floor right next to her.

“I asked; how many times do you look over your shoulder when walking?” She smiled.

I just stared in utter confusion.

“But I don’t.”

“You do. You looked back over your shoulder four times from the corner over there till your door,” she pointed.

I blinked.

She smiled wearily, “Do you remember me?”

“You do look familiar…you’re the girl…”

“Yes yes, I am the girl with the tattoo of a man’s name on my waistline.”

“Haha…Hashim was it? The tattooed name? ”

She laughed loudly, this time her dimples revealed. “Yes. Hashim. I knew you’d remember me for that.”

“Nooo… no no…” my face turned red.

“It is okay. We never interacted in class, but the tattoo was the talk of the class for the entire final year. Everyone remembers that about me.”

“Haha,” I said with a shaky voice. Then there was a moment of silence.

“Lamya with a Y…” she said with a weak smile.

“Asya with a Y too. Hahaha. I am surprised you remember me at all,” I shrugged.

“Well yeah, it was a class of fifty students but then you’d always go on and on about the Y in the class WhatsApp group whenever someone misspelt your name. Lamya with a Y. Lamya with a Y.” She rolled her eyes, then smiled again. Her smiles came so often, I noticed.

“Haha.” Another moment of silence. Is that what I’d be remembered for then?! I shuddered. “What are you doing at this side of the town anyway?”

She looked down.

“Ah! I’m so sorry, please come inside. Do you want to come inside? We could have a seat and talk more, you know, about the importance of the Y in my name,” I laughed.

She nodded and I hurriedly opened the door to my one-bedroom apartment. I was glad that I had cleaned up the house before going to the job in the morning. I invited her to sit on the mkeka as I excused myself to go remove my buibui and wash my muddy feet.

Until then, I hadn’t known how to ask about the baby. Well, it’s been five years since we completed college, we were already adults, of course, she’d have a baby. Most of my classmates were already married and had become parents by now. Not that I was in contact with anyone but I figured that should be it. I planned to casually bring up the baby topic later on.

Asya sat cross-legged; fidgeting with her long, black, curly hair with blonde highlights.

“Are you okay?” I asked.

Startled by my voice, she tittered.

“Yes yes. I…I just need your help Lamya.”

“Can I get you something to eat or drink first? Then we can talk!” I touched her shoulder.

“No. No really. I am fine.” She kept shaking her leg and shifting her body on the floor.

I sat down next to her.

“I’m listening.”

“I desperately need a place to sleep… I am homeless at the moment. I could survive if it was just me…but this baby…my baby…” her voice broke.

My stomach churned.

Now here’s the thing. Asya was known, not because she brought trouble, but because she was trouble itself. A week in college wouldn’t end without Asya having another dramatic episode of some sort. She was either fighting someone or inciting fellow students to strike, confronting a lecturer, you name it…all sorts of trouble. Her name would be at the top of the list. Bringing her in for a meal –as I had intended- was one thing, letting her sleep over was another. I kept quiet.

“Just for tonight, I promise…for the sake of my baby, please. I will find a place by tomorrow evening in shaa Allah. I know we don’t know each other that much and maybe you wouldn’t be comfortable with such an arrangement but…”

My face became pale. Well, for one, I wouldn’t want to live with someone who’d read me like that.

I swallowed hard and then muttered, “Alright, don’t worry about it. Both of you can sleep here tonight.”

Asya looked down as tears fell on her green dera forming a wet patch. It was strange, to see Asya like this. The strong-willed, fierce, charismatic Asya that I knew from college was barely there and instead, there was this soft, almost unbelievably so, withdrawn woman. This wasn’t Asya. It was her skeleton.

“You need to rest. Let me get you some food then you can sleep alright? I insist. Please eat something?”

She nodded.

I hadn’t planned on making dinner that night because I was too exhausted. It had been the ‘Book Sale’ month at the library and we’d been the busiest. Luckily, there were some leftover mahamri and mbaazi in the fridge that I had bought earlier that morning. I quickly heated the meal and handed it to her.

I sat silently next to her as she ate, her baby closely next to her.

“So what’s your baby’s name?” I smiled.

“Muneera-with a double ee,” she laughed.

“Oh come on! Are you going to tease my Y forever?”

“Yes yes!”

“Can I hold her please?”

“Sure. She is 8 months old.”

I stood up and slowly kept my arm beneath the baby and held her below her neck with the other hand. Goosebumps formed on my arms. I held my breath. I can’t help but imagine dropping her, leading tragically to her death.

Muneera’s eyes rapidly moved around in almost an uncontrollable manner. Her skin was paler and she had freckles all over her face. Her hair was white and had a tiny nose like Asya’s. The nose must have been the only semblance between mother and daughter, I noticed. She is different. My heart sank a bit. The world is cruel to anyone different.

I started humming a lullaby as I patted her lightly on her back.

“Kingolengele mtotooo

Mtoto lala totooo

Mla ubwabwa wa motooo

Silie baba silieee

Ukaniliza na mieee

Machozi yako yawekeee

Nikifa unilieee

Jipigepige matekeee

Watu wakuzuilieee ee

Owaaa owaaaa mtoto ooowaaa”

“Hashim died,” Asya interrupted my singing.

I stopped and stood in my tracks.

“Inna Lillah waina ileyhi rajiun. I am so sorry to hear that Asya.”

“Yeah…he died a little over four months ago,” her voice broke.

I sat down next to her and cautiously kept Muneera, who was now dozing off on my lap.

“How did it happen?”

“Car accident. I couldn’t even recognize his face when we went to confirm the body found,” she sobbed, almost suddenly, which bolted me to a stand, the baby still in my arms.

What exactly does one do in a situation like this? How do you console a grieving widow?

Her cry was getting louder and with every wail, I felt chills throughout my body.

“Asya…Asya…what can I do for you?”

But she just went on with it. On and on. My head was now throbbing.

I squatted, unbalanced. One hand still trying to hold Muneera’s back and the other was hugging Asya clumsily.

Fueling my panic was Muneera’s sudden loud weep.

“Alright, alright there baby. Mama is okay, don’t worry about her. You go to sleep,” I whispered. I started walking back and forth in the corridor, singing all lullabies I could think of. Mother and daughter went on crying and crying and crying. At last, Muneera went back to sleep and Asya had stopped crying but was still sniffling loudly. The black scarf around Asya’s neck was now wet.

I took Muneera to my room, laid her on my bed, and left the door slightly ajar. I went and held Asya for what seemed an eternity. We both never said anything and she soon started dozing off in my arms.
“Asya, you should go to the bedroom and sleep with Muneera,” I whispered.
She shook her head to deny my offer.
“Are you sure you’ll be okay sleeping here?”
She nodded, her eyes still closed.

I slowly laid her head down on the mkeka where she was seated and brought a blanket and some cushions to make her comfortable. I picked the plate next to her; the meal was barely touched. I sighed as I stared at her frail body. For the first time, I realized how bony and gaunt Asya had become. Her pretty thick and healthy cheeks were bygone. Her complexion was pale and her eyes looked hollow, so hollow I thought I could sink in them.

I stood there for a while as I nursed my throbbing headache with my sweaty hands. I decided to make a cup of coffee and sit close to Asya to ensure she sleeps well. I locked my doors, checked whether I had locked them properly, and then checked again, just to be sure. I then settled down on the floor, gazing blankly into space, thoughts racing my mind. Finally, I stood up and prayed Isha, and checked on Asya again before proceeding to sleep next to Muneera in the bedroom.

Muneera’s cry woke me up, but she was no longer by my side. Groggily, I walked to the sitting room. Asya was now breastfeeding her baby.

“Assalam aleykum,” she gave me a half-smile. Her eyes were red and swollen. Her hair dishevelled as if she’d been pulling her hair all night.

“Waaleykum salaam.” I was staring at her.

“Thank you Lamya, for hosting us,” she said, pulling Muneera closer to her chest.

“You’re welcome. What time is it anyway?” I said as I went to check my phone that I’d left by the charger.

5:22 A.M. Time for fajr prayer.

“Did you get some sleep?” I asked.

“Yeah,” she nodded.

I excused myself to go clean up and before returning to my room, I stopped by the sitting room again.

“I’m going to pray…do you want to join me?”

Asya laughed, almost sarcastically. “God and I, we’re not friends.”

I opened my mouth, planning to say something wise or thought-provoking, but then my mind was blank.

“Are you sure?… I mean, are you sure you don’t want to join me?” I said finally.

She nodded without looking at me.

My heart sank.

“Well…will you go back to sleep then?”
“Not really. Not friends with sleep either.” Her eyes were on Muneera.

“Okay then, I’ve kept a clean towel in the bathroom for you in case you want to refresh. Let me pray then I’ll join you,” I said.

She nodded again and whispered another thank you.

After about twenty minutes of praying plus making breakfast for the two of us, I joined Asya once again. I noticed she had changed into a casual blue summer dress and her hair was now tied back into a ponytail. She had wanted to assist in preparing the breakfast but I insisted that she should just continue resting.

“Are you going to work?” she asked, glancing at me from head to toe.

“I will be, much later on. But if you’re wondering, yes, I am a morning person,” I chuckled.

Asya rolled her eyes then laughed, “Of course you are. Anyway, isn’t your boss going to question you if you go in late?”

“Well lucky for me, I’m the boss,” I laughed, “We’re two of us, I’m a co-owner of the library. Just a small one though, no big deal.”

“Oh! That is good! And of course, it is a big deal, you’re living your dream!” she said as she sipped her milk. She was quiet for a minute then, as if she’d been thinking about it a lot, she asked, “So what’s your story Lamya?”

“Haha, nothing much. The ordinary lady doing ordinary things.”

“I expected you’d be married by now,” she said quite casually. Swahilis have such a way to ask you very intimate questions and make it seem like they’re asking you about the weather.

I blinked.

“I was for a while…”

“You were??! I didn’t know that!” she exclaimed.

“Well, it didn’t last for long. I got married two years ago then I had a stillborn…” I said rather slowly. Asya gasped loudly. “Soon after that, my marriage died too,” I continued.

“Subhanallah! I am so sorry for your loss!”

“Yeah, I was going crazy, almost literally.” I paused momentarily. “It was the hardest phase of my life… I never thought I would ever be okay again. Stopped going to the library, stopped reading entirely, and meeting people was too exhausting for a long while…but I’m doing better now,” I smiled.

Asya stretched out her hand to hold mine without saying a word for a moment.

“I lied to you,” she said.

“What?!”

“About remembering you. Okay, not exactly lied but I didn’t give you accurate information. While I was panicking about being homeless, I talked to Jay from our class. Remember him? Our first and second-year class rep.”

I nodded.

“Yeah, so when I talked to him he told me I could reach out to you. You are one of the few who are still within the town, most people have moved, gotten married, and have families … I had forgotten but you’re the one who ensured I reached the hospital safely the day I fainted in class, and then you paid for the admission as well. I am ashamed that I forgot… but you know, it was the first year, the first semester. I do remember thanking you after I was released from the hospital but then that was that. I doubt we ever had another conversation ever again. Anyway, he reminded me of the incident, and just to ensure I knew who I was talking about, he mentioned you correcting people of your name all the time in the WhatsApp group. But after that, I pretty much could recall who you were.”

“Ohh!” I laughed, “It is okay though. I don’t think I would have remembered you either if you weren’t the popular girl back then.”

Asya laughed too.

“Why don’t we go for a walk?” I suggested.

Agreeing, Asya picked up the last piece of toast and took a big bite. Still chewing, she quickly opened her duffle bag and removed a blue and white leso, another heavier dress for Muneera, a tiny hat, and some sunscreen. Asya applied the sunscreen on Muneera, dressed her up from head to toe then lifted her carefully and put the baby on her back. Bending over, Asya tossed the leso over her back and tucked the bottom edge of the cloth under Muneera’s bottom. She then pulled the edges of the leso to the front of her torso, under her arms, and knotted the ends around her chest. Ready to leave now, Asya picked the same black scarf she came with the previous day and kept it loosely on her head.

We stepped out to the hues of orange and golden rays bursting out of the sky. We started treading on the tarmac road as the cool morning breeze kissed our faces.

“Asya…if I may ask…what happened to you? I mean, how did you end up here?”

“Whew! … Well… you do remember Hashim and I started dating in the second year yeah?”
I nodded.

“Well of course my parents didn’t know about it until our final year. After I did the famous waist tattoo of his name, Aziza and my other friends kept teasing me about it. Soon enough, the whole class knew about it. And of course, you know, such news spread fast. My cousin Saada came to know about it somehow and she told to my parents. Of course, my parents wanted to know who this Hashim was. He was summoned and he did come, to my parent’s dismay. They asked him all these questions like he was being interrogated. Anyway, despite Hashim clearly stating that he wanted to marry me once we finished university, my parents believed he was a bad influence on me and rejected him.” She paused.

“Funny thing is, I was wild even before I met Hashim. If anything, he was the one who brought balance into my life. He never even knew about the tattoo till after I had already done it.” She sighed.
“Oh?” I turned to face her.
She nodded. “I know my parents didn’t want to admit this but the real reason for rejecting him was because he wasn’t Swahili like us. You know how twisted our culture is sometimes when it comes to such matters…Okay, I get it that all parents want a stable, religiously steadfast man for their daughter but how fair is that if their daughter was neither stable nor steadfast? Anyway, whatever their reasoning, it was an outright no. I hated them for it, but we kept on trying to convince them for one whole year. Eventually, we gave up. We went to court and tied the knot,” Asya continued.

“I was really sad because my family cut me off after the wedding but Hashim took me to his family home where he lived alone with his grandfather and we were happy,” she smiled.

“Oh…where were his parents?” I asked.

“His mother died at childbirth…her name was Muneera and thus, our Muneera…” she smiled, “And his father died from pneumonia when we were in our third year in college. So it was just him, his grandfather, and his elder sister who was married in Malindi. Hashim was running a fish business and it was doing quite well mashallah. We were living the good life. His grandfather was so calm and easy to deal with, we rarely ever saw his sister and Hashim…Hashim was the best husband in the world,” her voice started breaking.

I held her hand and intertwined her fingers with mine. We were now approaching the pathway that would lead us to a supermarket at the end of the road. I needed to buy some groceries so Asya could have something for lunch.

“And then what happened?”

“Everything changed when Muneera came. No one prepares you for a child that’s not…normal, you know? The first time I held her, I knew something was wrong because of her white hair. When she turned three months she was officially diagnosed with albinism. I was devastated. We both were…Hashim and I. I thought it was a punishment from God…or a curse for hurting my parents. I blamed myself for it for days. I thought I couldn’t handle it, how was I, of all people, going to raise a child who will be looked at differently her entire life?”

“I am so sorry,” I muttered.

“It is alright… Hashim was more optimistic. He seemed so sure that we were the best parents Muneera could ever get. After a while, I realized I can manage too. I got accustomed to the stares from family and strangers. Hashim was very supportive so it didn’t really matter what anyone else thought, and his grandfather loved Muneera immensely. For a minute there, I thought we’d be okay; this small, cute family of ours. Well, that was until the accident happened. Our lives took another major twist. Because now it wasn’t just the grieving, it was the discrimination too.”

“From whom?”

“His sister.” Asya looked at me.
“After Hashim’s death, she and her husband had to come live in the house since they were the only other direct family members alive. I wouldn’t have minded staying alone with Muneera and taking care of Hashim’s grandfather too…but you know how it is. I guess they couldn’t trust me. Safiya, Hashim’s sister, didn’t have a problem with me but she kept looking at Muneera like…filth. She always seemed disgusted whenever she’d see her. At first, she never really said anything about Muneera but soon enough, she started dropping comments about how albinos were a symbol of bad luck or a curse. I tried to be patient with her; ignored her comments and dirty glares but then we started having ugly fights over it. This was home for me now. I didn’t have any other place to go to, so I had to swallow it all in.”

“My God! Some people are just so cruel,” I shook my head, my voice overshadowed by a speeding car.

“Whilst I was grieving the death of my husband, his sister made sure to make my life more miserable than it already was. I had to leave, Lamya. I just had to. As soon as I finished my eddah, I left the house. Hashim’s grandfather was so sad at my departure but I explained to him that I couldn’t take it anymore. I hope he will forgive me someday for taking his granddaughter away from him.”

“I don’t even know what to say Asya. What you’ve been through is terrible!”

“Yeah, so that’s when I called Jay and told him of my predicament. He told me he lives in Eldoret nowadays. He then suggested I should try finding you. It wasn’t easy but after several phone calls among different classmates, Susan finally gave me the direction to your home.”

“I’m glad they did. So what’s your plan now?”

“I don’t have one…yet. Jay said that he’ll call me this evening to tell me what to do. I’m not sure what his plan is but he assured me I’ll get help.”

“Ohh…in case he doesn’t find you a place you can stay with me for a few more days. I wouldn’t mind having company, especially this beautiful little princess.”

“Thank you so so much, Lamya. You don’t know how much this means to me,” she hugged me.

We now strolled into the supermarket and bought some groceries before heading back home.
“I miss them sometimes,” Asya broke the silence.
“Who?”
“My parents…my family…”
“I am sorry…Have you ever tried contacting them after the wedding?”
“Not exactly. I wanted to, but I didn’t have the guts to face them…talk to them…But maybe I will someday. I intend to, in shaa Allah.”
“In shaa Allah kheyr, you will be alright. You will be okay.”

When we finally got home, I prepared myself to go to the library. I showed Asya around the house to ensure she was comfortable and could access whatever she’d need. I left my spare key with her, said goodbye then promised to come back early from work and have dinner with her.

I locked the door. Checked it twice. Checked it a third time. I made a quick prayer that Asya and Muneera stay safe while I’m away then rushed off.

Seated next to my partner Suhayla at the praying mat right after dhuhr prayers, I decided this is the only opportunity I’d get to talk to her calmly. We were otherwise overwhelmed with work all day, all month. I explained to her Asya’s situation and then slowly asked, “Do you think we can find her something to do here? A job to get her by?”

“That’s so sad wallahy…I hope she gets help. Of course, I wouldn’t mind if we got her something to do but you know how tight our budget is. We’re barely making ends meet ourselves…I mean…what can we do?”

“Doesn’t have to be anything major for now. We could do with some help, especially this month. Perhaps just to help with cleaning and arranging the books, maybe make deliveries…until she gets a better job in shaa Allah.”

“Yeah well, suggest it to her if she’ll accept the little pay we have to offer at the moment.”

“I’m sure she’ll accept it. She is desperate at the moment. Thank you! Thank you!” I said hugging her by her side, feeling giddy with excitement.

I couldn’t wait for the day to end so I could give Asya the good news!

Barely two hours after the talk with Suhayla, a call came through on my phone.

Alex? My landlord? That’s strange. It is not yet the end month. I thought as I picked up the phone.

“Lamya!” he said with urgency.

“What’s wrong?”

“There’s a baby that’s been crying for almost an hour now in your apartment! Did you leave a baby alone? I’m surprised because I know you don’t have one.”

I stood up from my seat, my heart began to race.

“Alex, please do me a favour. I have a friend over. The mother of the child. Her name is Asya. Please go over to the apartment and check up on her. I am coming right away!”

He agreed.

“Suhayla! Suhayla!” I shouted, not caring one bit about the customers now staring at me.

“What is it Lamya?” she came closer to where I was standing.

“Something must have happened to Asya. My landlord has called about a baby crying for a long time. I can feel that something’s wrong! I need to go! Talk to you later!”

“Yaa Rabby!” Suhayla cried out, her palms on her head. “Okay go!…and please update me as soon as you get there!”

I hailed a bodaboda hurriedly and off we went. My heart was pounding and my hands were now filled with cold sweat.

What happened Asya? What happened?! My mind raced.

Finally reaching my destination, I jumped off the motorbike and quickly paid for the ride without waiting for my change.

At my doorstep, I realized that the door was wide open. I walked in just to find Alex holding Muneera in his arms, with two other neighbours.

“What happened??!!!” I exclaimed, “Where is Asya?”

“She wasn’t here…your friend, we didn’t find her when we came in. The door was open too.”

“What do you mean you didn’t find her?!” I said as I started looking frantically around the house; in the kitchen, bathroom, and bedroom. She was nowhere to be seen.

I was feeling dizzy now, my hands trembling.

“Asya! Asya! Where are you?!” I shouted.

I noticed Muneera had quietened down. Moving around the house in circles, I finally realized that Asya’s duffle bag was gone.

My eyes fell on Muneera again. The small, cute Muneera. My neighbours were looking at me with worried, puzzled faces, dumbfounded.
“Are you okay?” Alex’s voice seemed to come from a distance.

Oh my Lord! What am I going to do now?!

My head was throbbing. My body shook vehemently. My legs going numb.

“AAAASYAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA.” My voice shook the entire building.

The ground below me shook too.
A thud.
And then, darkness.

***

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