The world of influencers is undeniably attractive – highly desired, admired, and full of potential opportunities. Their lives seem exciting in a way that many of us could only wish for. But do we take a moment to realize that a human being is behind the screen? A figure crafted from earthy clay, much like yourself – imperfect and flawed, facing struggles beyond our comprehension, and prone to making errors just like any other individual. So why do we elevate their importance to the extent of losing sight of what is right or wrong? Why do we seek to imitate their actions, clothing, and lifestyle in a desperate attempt to be like them, even resorting to wrongdoing, falsehood, harassment, and belittling others?
In Suratul Baqarah, Allah Subhanahu Wataala tells us, “˹Consider the Day˺ when those who misled others will disown their followers when they face torment, and the bonds that united them will be cut off. The ˹misled˺ followers will cry, ‘If only we could have a second chance, we would disown them as they disowned us.’ And so Allah will make them remorseful of their misdeeds, and they will never ˹be able to˺ leave the Fire.” While the initial verses describe the polytheists, they very much apply to the popular influencer culture we have now.
We should not expect that an influencer we blindly followed will stand up for us on the Day of Judgement. We followed them by our own will and dubbed them as influencers. So, when we see an influencer publicly revealing their sins and decide to follow suit, we should remember that we signed up for it ourselves. While influencers will be held accountable for promoting evil, they will never be asked about why others chose to follow their opinions and lifestyle.
Often, when influencers display their human side and imperfections after being seen as role models, people strongly react, blaming them for not portraying reality and feeling let down by their actions. However, the real question is, why do we feel the need to idolize fellow human beings and blindly imitate them, getting drawn to their carefully constructed lives and treating them like demigods? What drives us to want to copy their way of living?
We tend to romanticize fame and popularity without thinking about the reality of life and the long-term effects of our choices. Understandably, some individuals do not choose to be in these positions but rather, their roles in the community or workforce force them into the spotlight. Nevertheless, the responsibility and accountability still rest with them.
Some may not even realize the weight they bear on their shoulders. Even if the influencers themselves don’t ask others to follow them, they should be aware of the power they have and use it wisely. The ripple effect of one’s actions can lead to the accumulation of negative consequences in this life and sins on the Day of Judgement. This is a burden no one should bear willingly. It’s important for individuals to be mindful of the impact they have on others and to consider the potential impact of their actions on a larger scale.
Indeed, there are some people who aspire to become famous for positive reasons, but this pursuit often comes with significant dangers that are often overlooked. Some of us seek to gain as many followers as our idols, often comparing our lives to theirs and aspiring to become influencers ourselves. However, the sobering reality is that no one can guarantee that they will always be a positive influence on others. Likewise, none of us is immune to being led astray or experiencing negative outcomes. What we can do is be mindful, intentional, and wise to the best of our ability, and pray for guidance and strength in our faith.
Here’s a gentle reminder dear reader. Whether you’re an influencer or someone who’s influenced, it’s important to be mindful of your words, actions, and claims. Be intentional about what you share and consider the digital footprint you want to leave behind. Most importantly, be cautious about what you consume online and whom you consider your role model. The social media hype of individuals, trends, materials, and lifestyle can be more detrimental than you think.
As we navigate these unprecedented times of social media influence, let’s remember these wise words from Abdullah ibn Mas‘ood (may Allah be pleased with him): ‘Whoever wants to follow a path, let him follow the path of one who has died, for the living are not safe from fitnah.’ I mean the Companions of Muhammad (blessings and peace of Allah be upon him). They were the best of this ummah: the purest in heart, the deepest in knowledge, and the most straightforward. Allah chose them to accompany His Prophet and establish His religion, so recognize their status and follow in their footsteps. Adhere as much as you can to their example of conduct and attitude, for they followed true guidance.’
Late last year, one of my biggest fears came true. It was something I had been worrying about for years. I had thought about how it would happen, how it would emotionally devastate me, and how lost I would feel. I had discussed it with my closest friends, my therapist, and anyone who would listen. It was an unhealthy obsession with the future, already planning my survival strategy in case this specific thing happened. I cried often about it. In some ways, it felt like I was bargaining with fate, begging even; ‘I really don’t want this to happen, it’s going to hurt so bad. Please have mercy on me.’ But as my therapist would say, that is my anxiety trying to control things beyond me.
In hindsight, it is true. I was constantly trying to control the situation. I was always strategizing; “If only I do the right things, if only I say the right words, if only I am a good human, a good friend, good this, good that, then maybe I can prevent the hurtful things from happening, right?” For over a decade, I tormented myself with this fear, only to find that in the end, it happened exactly as I had feared. It was a painful, devastating, and alarming loss. Not because I possess some superhuman ability to predict the future, but simply because it was meant to happen.
As human beings, we often place all our self-worth and happiness on something or someone we hold dear, an illusioned idea of wealth, a lifestyle, or a job we love. However, as we grow older, we realize how helpless we truly are. Things change, people change, and life can take a sudden turn. Even so, we cannot really blame fate, life, or people for being what they are. The dunya wasn’t meant to be a place of bliss, so disappointments, losses, and heartbreaks are meant to happen, whether we want it or not.
This reminds me of the deeply relatable book, ‘Reclaim Your Heart’ by Yasmin Mogahed where she said, “We can’t blame the laws of physics when a twig snaps because we leaned on it for support.
The twig was never created to carry us.
Our weight was only meant to be carried by God.”
Pause. Think about it. ‘The twig was never created to carry us. Our weight was only meant to be carried by God.’ Subhanallah. How many of us have attached all of our hopes and dreams to other human beings or material stuff or an idea?
Yasmin Mogahed went on to say: “We are told in the Quran: “…whoever rejects evil and believes in God hath grasped the most trustworthy hand-hold that never breaks. And God hears and knows all things.” (Qur’an, 2: 256). There is a crucial lesson in this verse: that there is only one hand-hold that never breaks. There is only one place where we can lay our dependencies. There is only one relationship that should define our self-worth and only one source from which to seek our ultimate happiness, fulfillment, and security. That place is God.”
As I struggled through this painful experience, I had the brutal realization that I was not in control. I am just a fragile human being who cannot change my life according to my desires/expectations. Maybe it is the arrogance of my heart to think that I am entitled to get such and such a thing because I’ve strived to be a good human being always. It was like that necessary slap on the face of being put in your place. A reminder of who is the Most Powerful.
As harsh as that sounds, I saw Allah’s mercy on me through it all. Immediately after this particular loss, I got a series of very demanding works. I was so absorbed, so exhausted, so overwhelmed, that I barely had time to think. And even on the much painful days when I’d cry myself to sleep, or had constant dreams about it, I’d always notice Allah’s compassion towards me.
I remember one particularly hard morning, a friend texted me quite early and gave a very beautiful review of my book ‘The Striving Soul’. She used such kind words to describe me and my work that it brought tears to my eyes. A couple of hours later, another dear friend sent a very random message to our group, thanking me for being who I am, and for inspiring them, etc, then other members of the group decided it was the time for me to receive my flowers and kept on praising me. Then AGAIN, another couple of hours later, a writer I know, texted me about how he randomly bought an anthology but he didn’t know I was one of the writers. He explained to me how he had lost his long-time wife recently and it had been so difficult to do anything, even reading. But when he saw my name he immediately read my story and it touched him so much it teared him up. He was just glad he was able to read again.
Subhanallah. I spent that whole day noticing the ‘seemingly small’ gestures of kindness from several people in my life. And I was so moved by Allah’s mercy towards me. It honestly felt like a warm embrace from God. Like a reassurance that despite this hard-learned lesson, He was there with me. Like a tag to the heart to say, ‘Unlike what you thought, you are still alive, aren’t you?’ That everything will be okay. That this too shall pass. All this, not because I am faultless, perfect, or deserving of His kindness. But because He is who He is.
Even more than that, it made me think of the many other circumstances that I so desperately feared in the past; many did not happen, and for the ones that I did, I still found the strength to persevere. Even when I did not think I could. It reminds me of the ayah, “Allah does not burden a soul beyond that it can bear.” (Qur’an 2:286) Indeed, Allah is the Most Knowing. He only tested us with whatever he tested us with because HE KNEW we can endure it. It will not be a test if it won’t be painful. So the pain is inevitable. But the strength to go through it all? Allah will give you that, and more…
Suddenly you’ll notice kind strangers doing random acts of kindness for you. Suddenly, the work you dread so much becomes a tiny bit easier. Suddenly, good people seek your friendship. Suddenly, you get a random win. Suddenly, you acquire some money you did not expect. Suddenly, a long-lost friend sends you a gift. Suddenly, someone unexpectedly offers you support with something that’s been troubling you. Suddenly, suddenly, suddenly…but is it really a coincidence? By Allah, it is not. This is Allah Subhanahu Wataala. He gives you one heavy test but grants you ease and comfort through many other ways, and sometimes, different aspects of your life.
I remember sometime last year, a young lady randomly texted me on Instagram. She had come across my poems on grief and they had brought her to tears. We chit-chatted a bit on loss and the pain of grief and that was it. But somehow, we went on talking a little more before she confided in me that her fiancé had recently passed away, just three months before their wedding. I couldn’t even start to fathom how devastating that must have been for her. We talked a bit about it, and then a couple of days later, she started reading my book ‘Reflection and Resurgence.’
Now for whoever has read this book, you know that it has several different Islamic themes on faith, repentance, love, hope, patience, etc. Even though the book does have a few passages that could move a grieving person, it is quite a general spiritual book. However, after reading the book, she wrote me a long message and part of it said, “I just finished reading your book today. It is exactly one month since the death of my fiancé. Alhamdulilah, it is the first time since then that I can confidently say that I feel peace alhamdulilah, I literally feel happy…..Actually, I felt like I was meant to read this book. I feel like you wrote this book for me Subhanallah. Like every page in this book was like aiming me. Alhamdulilah, alhamdulilah….”
Subhanallah. I think of how Allah set us up to cross paths at the exact moment when she was deep in grief and to eventually read my book that to a small extent, eased her pain. It is not a coincidence. Not because my work is brilliant or anything like that, but only because Allah knew that the reminders I had kept therein were meant to grant her some comfort at that particular time. And I think of how often Allah showers us with His mercy through other human beings or other events, yet we don’t notice. Indeed Allah is with us, even when we are in the darkest pits of hell on earth.
As painful as this experience has been and still is, I have truly learned to accept that ‘We plan and Allah Plans, and He is the Best of Planners.’ That however much we try to make things go our way, they can never do so except by His permission. That this dunya and all that is in it is temporary. That He’ll ONLY test you with what you can bear. That Allah is Kind, He is always very, very kind and merciful towards us, we just need to see it to be grateful.
Most importantly, I quote this powerful quote I came across recently, “Do not borrow grief from the future.” And oufffff! I’ve thought about this a lot. (I think I need this plastered on my wall!) I have borrowed grief time and time again, yet when the said ‘feared future’ arrived, I still had to go through that pain. Totally pointless. Do not recommend 😄
In the end, everything is going to work out exactly how it is meant to. Another day to remind myself and you, beloved reader to ‘Let Go and Let God.’
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. * “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.
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.
Some years back I met one of my close friends from secondary school. It had been a while since we had met since she is currently living out of the country. Naturally, we tried to catch up on all aspects of our lives; making up for all the time apart. It was particularly one of the hard phases in my life and as we were conversing, I broke down. For a while, we stayed quiet as I continued crying and she patted my hand comfortingly. Once I had calmed down, she looked at me with sad yet puzzled eyes and said, ‘I always thought that from our class lot, you’re the one who’d figured it all out.’ I chuckled. I was surprised but also not too surprised. I had heard similar statements before- from friends and strangers alike. Here’s the reality though- I don’t.
Who has figured it all out anyway?
I have played many roles in my life; as a daughter, sister, friend, teacher, writer, student, and employee, and I have equally interacted with so many different people and my conclusion remains to be this: we’re all, at least for the most part, just winging it 😂
One may be really good at one role but struggling in another. And even in the role that they’re really good in, they keep learning every.single.day. There’s really no end to growth and insight. A mother could have five children but they could tell you that each experience was unique and they learned something new every time. It is like that with everything else in our lives. That includes your parents and grandparents who are probably elderly by now. Life keeps presenting them with new scenarios, new opportunities, new people, and new challenges, and they have to deal with those too.
I honestly don’t think life was meant to be figured out entirely anyway. Because that would be a perfect world and there’s no such thing. Every single person you meet out there is simply trying to do their best. It might look all good externally but the backyard could be in flames.
I know social media platforms, especially Instagram (when it comes to this), make us think that there are people, including friends in our circles, who’ve made it in life and have everything in order. That is never the full picture, is it? Not the first man on earth nor the last one will ever have everything perfectly sorted out. Not me, not you, not the influencer whose life seems so magical and aesthetic.
Whenever I come across a person who seems blessed in ‘all aspects’, I think to myself, ‘what could have been taken away from this individual for them to be granted this blessing?’ ‘What are they enduring behind the scenes that none of us is seeing?’ It always lifts off some pressure from me to quickly figure out everything in my own life. Because for sure, to each their own struggles.
Here’s a reminder to you dear reader: It is okay to not have it all figured out. Life is but a series of uncertain events. The best any of us can do is put in the effort, pray, and take one step at a time like everyone else. Avoid comparing yourself to other people for their mountains could be hidden from your sight and your journey is definitely not the same as theirs. Focus. Be patient with yourself. Strive to be a better person. Strive to play a better role in whatever duties you have in life. Keep learning, keep growing. We’re all the same out here. Same uncertainties, just different circumstances.
***
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The conversation is not in my head. It is not a committee brainstorming. These are voices. Each voice carries its own personality. Each personality is different from the rest. Just like humans. Each personality takes part at different times dealing with different people. I wear each personality like a dress. Unblemished. I’m not a person on my own. I don’t have my own attributes. They each have their own and with the right timing, each voice wears me and controls what I say, feel, or think. I am never on my own. So when Elina walked into my life on a rainy July afternoon, it was nothing but chaotic. I had a lot of chores that day I totally forgot my new house help was to arrive and I had to pick her up. I was a world away; doing my chores and having a million discussions with myself about a lot of nothings.
My sister and husband were trying to call me but could not reach me as my phone was always on silent mode. I was late to pick Elina up by 2 hours. When I finally picked her up it was pouring. I was on the phone with an acquaintance of mine talking about kids. Elina was sitting at the back cause of the baby car seat at the passenger front. We just greeted, I apologized for being late and continued the conversation on the phone. We reached home and she seemed accepting and all smiles. And started helping right away. She adjusted so well quite fast.
With Elina being around, my voices could not be loud enough. They don’t want her to know about their existence. When she is around; I can’t have a deep conversation or loud argument. So they stay back and watch me talk half-truths with Elina; laughing and mocking me, wishing they could slap me so hard physically. So I was always downstairs with Elina doing my chores because the minute I go upstairs to my bedroom, it’s a whole afternoon of arguments.
She wasn’t your regular house help. I considered her my assistant manager. She kept me company. We talked about everything. Some conversations were so weird that kept me thinking rather than arguing with my voices. The woman was smart, she arranged my life leave alone my house. She put everything where it belongs, it was a shock that my house was in disarray. How was I even living before all this? The most gratifying thing she ever did for me was looking after my 3rd child. I never wanted to have kids. I know it’s such a taboo or even shame for a woman to say such things because the next statement that will come after that is “Thank the Lord you have kids. Others don’t!” But not her. She was empathetic and carried all my troubles like her own. She was a dear friend like none I ever had before.
And now she’s leaving…
I sit with my thoughts, locked in my room. My youngest daughter is downstairs in her rocking chair watching baby shows. I lay in my bed, my journal on my side. I stare out my bedroom window at the trees surrounding the compound. The murmurous sound the leaves make all in unison. Different trees. Different leaves. Same sound. The peace that comes with it is the opposite of what I am feeling. It is a very quiet neighborhood. All you hear are the crows or my backyard hens. The never-ending tweets of birds. Shrieks. Singing. It’s all nature’s finest. I lay there confused. Cast down. All in dismay. The voices in my head all sit around me, having different conversations, trying to get me out of my agony.
Have a little faith and things will work out for the best. Have faith.
Another voice raises the question.
And where will she get another house help like the one she’s currently enjoying her presence and friendship? She’s settled so well and adjusted with her. She understands her work and deals with her so well. Where do you find such rare individuals? We’re doomed.
Another voice wells up; what if she gets someone better than her? Can we just take a chance and build our confidence rather than the latter?
I sit quietly listening. Thinking what a waste I am. I found this house help just by luck. She became a part of my life and my kids’ life and soon she will leave. I don’t mind a replacement. I am not one to force. But she became a friend. A good understanding friend. I never opened up to her. She doesn’t know the real me. She took me as I am with what I decided to expose to her. She adjusted so well. It is like she understood the assignment and blended perfectly well like two primary colors resulting in a perfect tertiary.
I was always a loner even amidst friends and family. I always felt alone. So ending up living alone was what I anticipated. How it came to that is a story for another day. For a long time, however, when my kids went to school during the day, I was always alone. That is how a normal person would see it. But to me, being surrounded by my voices I never felt alone. In fact when someone comes into my territory just like a cheetah; I fight. For my dominance. For my safety. To prevent myself from being hurt, used, and abused. So accepting my house help was a huge thing. I surrendered to her existence because I wouldn’t be able to handle kids, house chores, and being a wife. Even with a helper, I still can’t manage things. To handle life itself. So many responsibilities can cause me a major breakdown, especially on days like these when my depression is at an all high ugly.
Therefore, when Elina became a part of my life, I had to put my insecurities aside for a tad bit. I never had hopes she will stay long. In fact, on each of her off days, I would go to her room and just check if she left her belongings with her or they were in her room; always anticipating her departure for good.
I of course had my differences with her. At times I would go completely silent on her; give her the cold shoulder if she said or did anything to intentionally upset me. To avoid confrontations, the silent treatment served as a lesson not to say harsh things to me or do something just to upset me. Especially when it would upset almost anyone. With time she just learned of the things I don’t like and she kept away from doing them. With that problem out of the way, we started knowing each other well. I tried as much as I could to accept her for who she was. She taught me a lot. She taught me that anyone can be confident. Anyone has a right to be who they want to be. She taught me not to take things too seriously. She taught me the art of letting go and accepting whatever obstacle comes your way and tackling it head-on with grace. She may not have been that educated but she was brave. She taught me that even in awkward times, just smile and move regardless. She took her time but she was quick in completing tasks. She never had any fear in her. She helped me with my kids. Their school work. Their fussy meal planning, their tantrums, and even advised me on how to bring up well-behaved children.
Having guests never made her panic unlike me. We cleaned, we cooked, we arranged, we served and I invited guests over and over and everything ran smoothly. I thanked her in more ways I hope she will appreciate. She helped me through my gloomy days that sometimes stretched to weeks. She allowed me to have ‘me time’; an hour every day during the weekday for my gym sessions. We would go to the thrift market, even sometimes carry my infant and shop. Her choices were of good taste and style. Anyone would rock her choices with sophistication. She showed me around where the good deals happened. I was scared of taking motorbike rides and she showed me that it was a no biggie. She never judged me when we shared one motorbike ride and skimmed through tiny towns around the city, holding the motorist jacket like my whole life was on my hands and if I let go I’m dead. She just casually sat behind me supporting whatever it is I was doing. She never understood it was the rush I am dying for.
I took her to meet my family and everyone liked her. Her attitude was captivating. We talked a lot. General stuff. Religious stuff. Food-related. Clothes related. Gossip. We always kept each other company. She was a good person to converse with. My children adored her. They felt free with her. They could ask anything from her and she would oblige or try her best. I would leave her with the kids with no worry. She would feed them and put them to bed as if they were her own. I know to her it’s a sense of duty; she gets paid. It’s the humanity that made me look at her as a friend rather than an employee. How did she come to me when I was at my lowest? She picked me up and helped me on a daily. Why is she leaving when I need her the most? She was the only person who has so far helped me on an hourly basis. She was so dependable and reliable. She was exactly the kind of person I needed in my life. I never knew I needed a right-hand guide until I met her.
And now she is pregnant. She has to leave.
I have zero anticipation of her ever coming back after delivery. I wish she knew how hard it was for me to let her in. Perhaps she would have never walked out. But not everyone is like me. I am different. Elina agrees that I am different. I can never be as half strong as she is. Departure is here. She’s leaving. Heartache has arrived and settled in. She is not your regular maid.
We always talk about motivation, success, and leading a phenomenal life. Social media, movies, books are full of content that says you gotta get up and prove yourself or else succumb to leading a mediocre life. So what, may I ask, is a mediocre life?
By today’s definition of a successful life, our parents’ lives and their parents’ lives before them would be considered mediocre.
My father was a highly successful man by today’s standards until he wasn’t. The highly successful life gave him health problems, many frenemies, and stole from him much that I cannot mention here.
When he lived a life that many would now consider unsuccessful he was happier -and his health improved. He balanced his priorities, got closer to Allah, and lived simply.
My mother raised seven of us against almost unfair odds but here we are. Someone asked my sister what work my Mum was involved in before she “retired”. The lady was shocked that my mum had never “worked” outside the house. Yet you cannot dismiss the energy, dedication, patience, and perseverance it takes to raise seven kids. She sewed all our clothes herself, cooked everything from scratch, and had neither blender nor vacuum cleaner- and most crucially- no disposable diapers to lighten her load.
Our grandparents and parents never felt the urge to prove themselves to anyone. If they fed, clothed, and educated their kids or more importantly raised their kids to have good morals and an honorable character they considered themselves successful.
They were happy with the little they had, led simple lives, and the highlights of their days were their prayers; the highlight of their week was Friday, and the highlight of their year was the two Eids. The highlight of their lives was when and if they were blessed to visit the Holy House in Makkah. Their families were central and they made a point to reach out whenever they could.
Fast forward to today and all am seeing is PROVE YOURSELF! See, I believe that the only person you have to prove yourself to- if you must prove yourself at all- is yourself.
I abhor the messages being portrayed that in order to be successful you must sacrifice: a good night’s sleep; you must hustle until your signature becomes an autograph, that on your way to greatness, you must trust no one and certainly depend on no-one.
You will almost always end up missing your kids’ most important events when you adopt this mindset and you begin to see sleep and rest as something only for the weak.
I am appalled at the messages being bombarded at our young ones. Especially from this brutal education system that places more emphasis on grades than skills, on working ‘hard’ instead of working smart. A system that has no consideration for our children’s mental health.
That play, rest, and balance are for those who live in Miami, Florida (Trust me, I have been there and those guys know when to take a break) and not for Kenyans. This is why there are no P. E. lessons or Drama Clubs or variety shows or in our schools anymore C-19 aside.
Life is all about balance. It is about being present to appreciate whatever moment you are in.
What have we been sold to?
Mediocrity is when you exchange your wellbeing, your health and time spent with those you love in pursuit of being ‘king’. Worse still it is exchanging your time with your Lord to connect with Him for your hustle.
We must review our goals and renew our intentions. What are we running around for? What will make us feel satisfied at the end of our life? There is also this ridiculous statement that you should do each day as if it was the end of your life. If it were the end of my life today I would not spend it chasing accolades, in front of a computer or stuck with people or a job I don’t particularly like just so to be seen that I am not living a mediocre life.
No, I would call my loved ones, ask for their duas and forgiveness and then I would never leave my prayer mat.
It would not matter that I have a PhD or make a bazillion dollars- it wouldn’t.
So why should it matter now?
Getting the PhD should not be an end in itself and neither should be making seven or eight figures. Not when it means I have no time for connection, God or my health.
Motivation, self help and all that is helpful there can be no doubt. But let us be honest with ourselves and see what it is we are calling our youths – and ourselves- to get up and be. Not upright citizens, not hufadhdul Quran not exemplary Muslims.
Don’t believe me? Just log into social media and see what I mean.
Adulting is reaaaallly scary. Spoken like a true human with anxiety right? 😀 You should hear my best friend and I talk about life as we see it right now. You’d think we’re the script writers of The Exorcist or the documentarians of the Ted Bundy Tapes, no in between. I admit, I’m the bad influence here; perks of being friends with a human with anxiety for too long; you start magnifying the terror too!
Is it though? Am I the only one utterly terrified about how life has turned out to be?! Is it just the magnification of my wild, wild imagination?
Absolutely not.
Okay, maybe a liiittle bit. But from what I know, every human from my age group (at least those that I interact with) are in this phase of utter daze. WHAT ON EARTH IS GOING ON??!! (or maybe I just hang out with very weird people, that’s a possibility too 😀 )
But here’s the thing: we now see the world as is. No curtains, no secret passage ways, no short cuts, no shades to protect us from the storms. We now understand why our parents are who they are. Why they raised us the way they did. We understand why home meals are not thaaaat bad. Why they would be so pissed when we stayed out late. Why they would lecture us endlessly about the friends we have. Why sleepovers were such a big no for them. Because truly, life is not how we perceived it. AT ALL. Because even if we had some hurtful and dark experiences in our childhood, most of us didn’t expect things to escalate this way surely ?
And maybe, our elders and teachers shouldn’t just have warned us, because at that age we see warnings as threats and unfair treatment. They should have made us understand what really awaits us too. Maybe that preparation would have helped; to know that the big, wide world is not as sweet and things are not as easy peasy as we thought. I get it, I would want to protect my children too. But hallo?! Not even a disclaimer?! 😀 Strangely, despite coming from a family that armed me with enough education, I still find myself perturbed by this age ? Or maybe no amount of understanding is enough for what really awaits us until we experience it ourselves? It could be so.
So now we have stepped into adulthood and realize that paying bills is actually a huge responsibility. That awesome grades do not necessarily guarantee success in life. That acquiring a job is very, very tricky. That hard work sometimes is not enough to get you to your goals either. That love is never enough in a marriage. That incest, rape and homosexuality is very real. That human beings are very, VERY complex, and sometimes, very cruel. That war, drought and poverty is way worse than we imagined it. That wealth does not always grant you happiness and peace of mind. That the closest people to you could harm you in very unexpected ways. That our education system is like a form of slavery. That health is a huge blessing that we really take for granted. That most connections and friendships don’t last as we’d hoped. That our parents too have their own scars and wounds that most often than not, we know nothing about. That our parents had to sacrifice a lot more than we initially thought to give us the life we have. That they’re aging very fast and the reality of their looming death haunts the mind. And not just their deaths, but the departure of all our loved ones. We now understand the depths of loss and grief. That as much as our Lord is fair and just, human beings are not. That people carry so much baggage and dark, unimaginable secrets with them; you’d neveeer guess.
Sometimes I think to myself: “Wow, someday I will bring a child to this world?!” A world where he could get shot by a stray bullet any day at any age by a reckless police officer. A world where even the religious teachers can’t fully be trusted because sodomy?! I still get very amazed by the people who say they hope to live to a hundred. Hoooooowwwww?!!! Well good luck buddy. You’re my hero!
Maybe some blame for all my terrifying thoughts is my brave old habit of watching documentaries and reading books on real life events, mostly crime. Brave because who has anxiety and still watch/read this stuff?! 😀 Yet when you interact with other people, these same terrifying stories come up. It is true; this world sometimes gets really dark.
Of course all this makes me utterly terrified, but on the flip side, it has made me very, very grateful of the seemingly small blessings. Arriving home safely, having understanding parents, slow, boring days, trustworthy and supportive friends, the ability to pay bills, the small achievements, the ability to understand the world and its people, days where no body part aches, having food daily, having goals and dreams to look forward to, meeting kind, selfless people, the ability to love oneself and push for positive growth and so many other good things.
I see human beings and realize they are much much more than what they dress, or how they look or the bright smiles they flash on social media or even how famous they are. That what is external could never define them justly. I see others struggling and putting so much effort to reach their goals and it warms my heart because I know for sure, their journey might be long, but God never abandons those who truly strive. I see those who have faced major abuse in their lives and how scarred they are, and I understand why they don’t trust other people and I pray for their healing. I understand that life is not simply black and white. There are so so many colours within. There’s still so much we could never fully comprehend.
Let’s just say, I keep being amazed by the things I learn from the universe every single day. From the horrifying stuff (Allahu Must3an) to the heart-melting ones.
Truly, adulting is like attending a major reveal party only to find out it’s a monster with so many layers that is awaiting us. But beneath all the layers of frustration, hurt, angst, and terror, there lies love, compassion, empathy and most importantly, faith. If we all look within ourselves and nurture our souls then we’d definitely have better lives and better resilience. The problems will not stop existing but we’ll have the eye that still sees the good even when all seems very ugly. We will have all it takes within us to soldier on, to still dream, to choose what battles are worth our time, to create a better world, to plant trees of hope and to fully believe in a God that never sleeps and is always watching over us!
***
Dear teenager reading this, pardon me if I have terrified you but I hope by the time you clock into your twenties you’d have armed yourself with over-flowing faith, empathy, gratitude and bravery. Be the ambassador of hope and love. But most importantly, don’t ever think you know better than your parents or elders. Because you don’t!!! Appreciate their input in your life while you still can 🙂
Once, I was at the reception of a hospital and I kept on insisting that I wanted to see a specific doctor. There were two nurses right there and one of them mentioned a different doctor. I wasn’t even listening to what they were saying but I requested for the third time that I want to see this specific doctor. The nurse then assured me they’d heard me. However, I was taken aback by my own insistence and thought, ‘It must suck for the other doctor doesn’t it? Always being ‘the other’? The second option?’ Perhaps he doesn’t even care one bit about that. Probably never even crossed his mind. I mean, he’s still getting his checks at the end of the month, doesn’t he? Fat, huge checks. But then, I know what it feels like to be overshadowed by someone else. Be an extension of who someone else is, rather than being a complete human on your own. Be a separate figure yourself without necessarily being associated with another human being.
Without ever meeting this other doctor, without knowing what he is capable of, or what his experience is, I just decided that he wouldn’t be as helpful as the other one. Based on what? Simply because the other one is reknown for his abilities and he isn’t. Instead of giving him the opportunity to be himself, I automatically placed him adjacent to his colleague; who he is (unfairly so because he has never treated me) compared to this reknown doctor. Yet, if this specific doctor wasn’t available, I would still see the other one, wouldn’t I? The other doctor…For a moment there, I felt bad for the other doctor. He really doesn’t need it but I couldn’t help but think about him. That small thought grew into a stream of other, sometimes unrelated, thoughts. About us humans, beings shadows and extensions of other people or things or even events. For example, how we refer to a lady as ‘So and so’s second wife’ even when the first wife was long divorced or dead instead of just calling them by their name. How are we minimizing someone’s existence to simply being an extension of the first wife? Or you know how we would keep referring to someone as ‘the one who was raped’ or ‘the one whose mother drowned’ rather than who they really are? Someone with traits and dreams and lots of magic.
It made me think, if someday I stopped being strokes of my pen, stopped being friends with the people I am friends with, stopped being thee professional beggar, stopped being someone’s daughter, teacher, student, helper…what am I then? If all these connections, relationships, titles, achievements, events were stripped off me, who will SEE me? If my face became disfigured and my cheek muscles wouldn’t let me smile anymore…If I stepped out of the shadow I have always been engulfed in, when I stop being what everyone knows and expects from me, when my glory and youthful days are gone, will I be pleased with what I will see? Only skeletons and soul, how good am I then?
I was reading the trending story of Stephanie (Tanqueray) on ‘Humans of New York’ page and there’s this particular bit that really struck me: “I can’t tell you the last time I danced burlesque. It wasn’t some big thing. They don’t throw a retirement party at the Sheraton. The phone just stops ringing. It gets quieter and quieter until one week it’s so quiet that you sorta decide you can make more money doing something else…” It moved me because I realized we’ll all get here someday, one way or another, whichever profession you are in or whichever way you live your life. Someday, your beauty will be gone, your profession that you worked so hard for will be gone, most people you knew or cared about will be mere memories and even when you’re surrounded by loved ones and family, you feel lonely (no new information here really but do we really understand the depth of it all?). All your life you held onto this identity of who you are; a writer, a doctor, a mother, a student, a friend, a baker…whatever it is that you are. Or you stayed under the shadow of one event that changed the entire course of your life; an accident, abuse, a major success, a child, love, a friendship, a career, and once that is gone, once you detach yourself from this event or person, you realize you don’t know who you are without it.
Stephanie’s story was really a survival story of a girl who ran away from home at the age of 18 (now 76) and became a very famous dancer. She eventually gained the fame, the glory and the money. She was and is without a doubt, beautiful, yet at some point she says: “Everything was fine when the music was playing. When people were laughing and clapping and shouting for more. But I knew I was tanking. Even when I was on the stage, and having fun- I was tanking. Some nights I’d go back to the dressing room, and look in the mirror, and I’d realize that I don’t even exist. Nobody’s clapping for Stephanie. They’re clapping for Tanqueray (her stage name). And sometimes I’d get so depressed thinking like that, I’d just start crying. I’d feel like running away and hiding from everyone. At least when I was a kid, I could crawl under the card table with my dolls. But that pretend s*** wasn’t working anymore. I was too old to fake like someone cared for me. But whenever I started to fall apart, I’d pull myself together and think about how lucky I was to be Tanqueray. At least I was successful. At least I had a career. At least when I’m Tanqueray, and I’m around people, I make them smile. I make them laugh with my stupid jokes. They’re not trying to hurt me. But Tanqueray never came home with me. She always stayed out on the stage. It was Stephanie that walked out the back door, and nobody cared about her…” (You can read the very intriguing story ‘Tattletales from Tanqueray’ on ‘Humans of NY’ Instagram page)
When you’ve lost it all in life, when you can no longer afford fancy lunches and expensive getaways with friends, when you’re too tired your feet hurt, when conversations exhaust you, when words can no longer suffice, when the romance with your spouse has died, when your children have grown to have families of their own, when your career is but a cherished memory, who will SEE you then? When all is said and done, when you’re frail and helpless, when all you have remaining is memories of the past, will someone still care about you? Who will love you; this bare, naked soul of yours then? As Rumi once said, “I am not this hair, I am not this skin, I am the soul that lives within.”
Mitch, Stephanie’s son says at the end of her story: “At all times, people are doing one of two things. They’re showing love. Or they’re crying out for it.” He is right. We just want to be SEEN.
