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What We Actually Mean By Trauma Bonding

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Have you ever witnessed abuse taking place and you feel the urge to shout at the victim, “WHY DON’T YOU JUST LEAVE?!” because for you, it is as simple as just that? You feel, if only they knew their worth, if they were strong enough, if they weren’t too naive, they’d have left already. Right?

Well, it isn’t as simple as that. There’s a lot of complexity and psychologically distressing processes involved. Sometimes, a trauma bond is formed.

When we talk of trauma bond what do we actually mean? And how does it relate to abuse?

First of all, let’s get the myths out of the way. Trauma bonding does NOT mean bonding/ feeling connected to someone cause they understand your trauma or they’ve undergone similar traumatic experiences. You’ll find the word trauma bonding being misused in a lot social media platforms to mean the above. For example, you’d find friends describing their relationship as a trauma bond because they formed a close relationship over similar traumatic experiences they experienced (whether individually or together). However, trauma bonding actually means an intense emotional attachment between the abuser and the victim characterised with repeated cycle of abuse, devaluation and positive reinforcement.

Ivy Kwong LMFT, a therapist who specializes in healing trauma explains, “A trauma bond develops in relationships where there is a power imbalance and a cycle of reward and punishment. The abuser is in a position of power over the person being abused and alternates between hurting and soothing them.”

Trauma bonds are thought to be the result of unhealthy attachments. As humans, we are hard-wired to form attachments to people that we see as defenders, protectors, or caregivers to survive. As such it is believed that trauma bonds often form from our brains looking for survival methods. This is also known as the paradoxical attachment.

Additionally, it is worth noting that not everyone who experiences abuse forms a trauma bond. However, more people may be more prone to such toxic cycles due to their early experiences, which makes them stick around, some to the point of death.

During the phases of abuse, the abuser may apply tactics such as threats of harm, manipulation, control, shaming, gaslighting and sabotage. These are then mixed with intermittent phases of displays of affection, love and kindness, which create a confusing and addictive emotional rollercoaster.

There are many situations in which trauma bonding may take place. We mostly see this toxic cycle in movies and books on domestic violence where a woman or even a man could be physically and severely injured, then the following day, the abuser is on their knees with a huge bouquet of flowers or an extravagant gift, crying and begging saying they don’t know why this happens and promising to change and the woman somehow trusts them and gives them another chance (could even be 157478 chance yet they still give it). Then they go back to the same behaviour two days later. Familiar right? That’s an example of a trauma bond. But domestic violence is not the only scenario that trauma bonding takes place. Other scenarios include:
Incest, sexual abuse, cults, elder abuse, kidnapping (Stockholm syndrome), human trafficking and child abuse.

Trauma bonds can also happen in a dysfunctional family system, workplace, and even in religious groups, but we most commonly associate trauma bonds with toxic romantic relationships.

Signs of a trauma bond:

These include:

  1. An immediate, intense emotional connection that feels overwhelming, often mistaken for love. Unlike love, this connection forms rapidly, while love typically develops over time.
  2. A sense that the relationship is damaging, yet the thought of leaving seems impossible.
  3. Constantly justifying, downplaying, or making excuses for the treatment received, or even keeping the abuse a secret to protect the abuser.
  4. A feeling that this person is the only one who can offer love or understanding, creating a sense of being stuck despite the pain.
  5. Being told that better treatment or love would be received if only there were changes, yet the expectations continue to shift every time a change is made.
  6. A constant effort to gain approval or affection, regardless of the mistreatment, driven by a deep need for acceptance.
  7. Emotional dependency, with a strong reliance on the other person for emotional stability.
  8. Believing that affection from the abuser offers healing, when in reality, manipulation is what keeps one trapped.
  9. A relationship motivated by the fear of abandonment, leading to anxiety and insecurity.
  10. Frequent preoccupation with the abuser and the relationship, leaving little mental space for anything else.
  11. Intense highs—moments of affection and love—interspersed with devastating lows marked by pain and manipulation.
  12. The abuser isolates the victim from family and friends, deepening dependence on the relationship.
  13. Fear of retaliation when attempting to leave.
  14. A tendency to fixate on the “good days,” using them as proof that the abuser cares.
  15. The goalposts continually shift, making it feel like the target of acceptable behavior is never quite within reach, regardless of the efforts made.
  16. Perceiving anyone who encourages you to leave as an enemy.
  17. The unpredictability keeps the victim hooked, believing the love is worth the pain. They view their love as a lifeline while it is actually the anchor that drags them down.

Stages of a trauma bond:
Though each trauma bond is unique, they often involve a version of the common patterns listed below.

Here’s a breakdown of each stage:

  1. Love Bombing: The abuser showers the victim with excessive affection, attention, and praise, making them feel special and loved. This creates an emotional high and makes the victim feel like they’ve found the perfect relationship.
  2. Gaining Trust: The abuser works on gaining the victim’s trust by appearing caring, reliable, and supportive. The victim becomes more dependent on the abuser, believing that they have someone who truly understands them.
  3. Criticism: Slowly, the abuser begins to criticize the victim, pointing out their flaws or making them feel unworthy. The victim starts to feel insecure, unsure of themselves, and may try to please the abuser to avoid more criticism.
  4. Manipulation: The abuser manipulates the victim’s emotions, often playing on their guilt, shame, or fears. The victim may start doubting their own perception of reality, making them more likely to tolerate further mistreatment.
  5. Resignation: The victim begins to feel powerless and hopeless, believing they can’t escape the cycle of abuse. They may accept the mistreatment, feeling like they don’t deserve better or that things will never improve.
  6. Distress: The victim experiences emotional pain, confusion, and distress from the ongoing abuse, but they often struggle to break free from the bond. This distress can lead to feelings of isolation, anxiety, and emotional exhaustion.
  7. Repetition: The cycle repeats itself, with moments of kindness or promises of change from the abuser, which leads the victim to hope things will get better. This cycle of abuse, remorse, and false hope makes it difficult for the victim to leave the relationship.

These stages form a damaging loop that keeps the victim emotionally attached to the abuser, making it very difficult to break free from the toxic relationship.

“The person being abused may feel conflicting feelings like shame, love, self-blame, terror, relief, anxiety, gratitude, and fear towards the perpetrator. They often feel responsible for the feelings of the person who is hurting them and may try to continually please or appease the abuser,” says Kwong. This makes it even more difficult to break the bond.

How can one heal from a trauma bond?

  1. Acknowledge the truth and validate the pain you’re experiencing
    Recognize the pain caused by the trauma bond and accept that the feelings of confusion and hurt are valid. This is the first step toward healing.
  2. Be willing to let go
    Let go of false hope and attachment to the abuser. Accept that the relationship is unhealthy and freeing yourself is essential for healing.
  3. Seek help & support from a therapist/trusted family and friends/support groups
    Reach out to a therapist or trusted individuals who can offer guidance and understanding. Support groups can help you feel less isolated in your healing journey.
  4. Focus on self-love and healing
    Rebuild your self-worth through self-care and daily positive affirmations. Prioritize your emotional health and rediscover joy outside the trauma.
  5. Set boundaries to protect yourself
    Establish clear boundaries to protect your emotional well-being, including cutting off contact with the abuser if necessary. In other circumstances, you may need to set a safe exit plan if you fear for your safety when you cut them off.
  6. Take time to grieve what you lost
    Allow yourself to mourn the loss of the relationship, including the future and hopes you once had, and give yourself space to process the grief.
  7. Embrace the lessons and growth you’ve achieved through the experience
    Recognize the strength and wisdom gained from the experience. View the journey as an opportunity for personal growth and greater self-awareness.
  8. Practice mindfulness and foster self-esteem
    Focus on activities that promote emotional well-being, such as mindfulness, prayers, or journaling. These practices help stay present, reduce stress, and nurture self-esteem.
  9. Cultivate a mindset of self-compassion and avoid self-blame
    Embrace the understanding that being in a trauma bond is not your fault. Practice shifting from self-criticism to self-kindness. Remind yourself that healing takes time, and the process of recovery is about learning, not punishing oneself. Consistently practicing self-compassion can build emotional resilience and reinforce a positive relationship with oneself.

If you happen to know a trauma bond victim, don’t be quick to judge their inability to step out of the cycle. Remember to extend grace and most importantly, be their support system, help them set up a safe exit plan and be part of their journey of rediscovering themselves post the relationship. Victims often carry a lot of shame with them and how supportive the individuals around them are (or not) will greatly impact their healing journey.

Resources:

  1. verywellmind.com
  2. healthline.com
  3. attachmentproject.com
  4. psychologytoday.com
  5. apn.com
  6. @igototherapy via IG
  7. @quantafreedomhealing via IG
  8. @ellelouisemcbride via IG
  9. Chatgpt
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Creative Non-Fiction

HE IS IN CONTROL

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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.’

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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.
*
“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.

by
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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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Creative Non-Fiction

RECIPE FOR PAIN: DEEP ATTACHMENT TO MORTALS

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As an empath and a deeply sensitive person, I spent most of my years caring for others to the point of codependency. I always sought to help, assist and take care of others, entangling myself in deep attachments that were not always healthy and that sometimes made me lose myself. As years went by, I learnt the very hard way that human beings will disappoint you deeply-whether intentionally or otherwise. They definitely will. This is because, at the end of the day, we’re humans- we’re flawed by nature. We all make mistakes and sometimes, you and I will be on the receiving end of these wrongs.

Some people will use you and then abandon you, some will betray you, and some will hurt you in unimaginable ways even if they weren’t out to do so from the start. And I came to realize much later on that the reason I always ended up hurt in my relationships with others, was because of my deep attachment to them.

I put my people on a pedestal and had such high expectations of them because, in my view, I would do the same for them, and much much more. I made them my objects of admiration and sometimes obsession, blinding myself from the fact that you cannot own another human being, regardless of how much you do for them or what they mean to you.

At the end of the day, each one of us has our own story, struggles, flaws, baggage, expectations and goals. And however much we pour into other people, they are not obliged to do the same for us. It is true that in our religion, love and brotherhood are highly promoted, yet the reality is, how many people sincerely care about those around them?

When we attach our happiness and fulfilment to worldly things and mortals then it is a recipe for pain. We shall keep pursuing it-whether it is the love of human beings, or their approval, wealth, status, or fame- it will never fill us. Instead, we will become slaves to these attachments.

“Anyone whose heart is attached to the creation, hoping for someone from the creation to help him or provide for him or guide him, then his heart submits to them and (according) to the degree that his heart submits to them, he becomes their slave. This holds true, even if he is outwardly a ruler or guardian over those whom he treats as masters. The wise one looks at realities and not at appearances. So if a man’s heart is attached to his wife, even though that is permissible, his heart remains a prisoner to her and she may rule over him as she pleases – though outwardly he is her master and her husband. In reality, he is her prisoner and her slave, especially if she knows how much he is in need of her and how much he is in love with her and how much he feels she cannot be replaced by anyone else. At that point, she rules over him as the tyrant master rules over his subjugated slave, who cannot escape or go free. Indeed for the heart to be taken as a prisoner is a much greater matter than for the body to be taken as a slave or prisoner. Even a body that is a slave can have in it a serene and peaceful and happy heart. As for the heart that is a slave to other than Allah (the Exalted), then that is true humiliation, imprisonment and slavery.”

-Ibn Taymiyyah Rahimahullah

An older sister in Islam that I really look up to sat me down the other day and told me her story of being deeply betrayed by her very best friend of about twenty years, and then went on to say, “You’re naturally a giver and I see how you care about other people and how you go extra lengths for them…I of course do not want to discourage you from helping others and being there for them, I just want you to be careful about how much you give of yourself. We do want that genuine, amazing sisterhood, but beware, this is not the world for it. This is not the place to lay out your entire heart for people. We can hope for that in Jannah in shaa Allah. As for now, know your limits. Don’t go above and beyond for people at the detriment of yourself.”

I have been sitting with her statements to date and I ponder a lot about them. Reflecting on my past and how my deep attachments to people mostly brought me extreme pain and disappointment, it totally makes sense. The life of Dunya has no value in the long run, except for what we shall have prepared for the next life. And perhaps it is high time we accepted that we can never truly find fulfilment in this life through other creations. It is only by our relationship with Allah Subhanahu Wataala.

This reminds me of something I read a while back, quoted from Ibn Al Qayyim Al Jawziya Rahimahullah: 

“If a heart becomes attached to anything other than Allah, Allah makes him dependent on what he is attached to. And he will be betrayed by it.”

The pain, grief and heartbreak we experience from our objects of attachment are meant to remind us that Allah alone is the One we can fully rely on, have high expectations on, and trust completely. It is comforting to know that regardless of what happens, or how much we falter, He will always be merciful to us. Always awaiting our return. The hurt is meant to return us to Allah, the only One who will never fail us.

Even as I continue to unlearn so many things in my life, I realize I cannot do this without the help of Allah Subhanahu Wataala. I realize that I have no one but Allah to protect my soul from unhealthy attachments, from being blinded by love, and from holding onto what is not meant for me. He is the one who can fill the void inside my heart with peace and serenity regardless of who or what is in my life or the circumstances I am facing. I thus aim to have Allah as my very closest friend; the only one I know for sure will never hurt me and the only one I can lay bare to all my baggage and pain, without shame or fear.

Some of my favourite duas that I recite to seek Allah’s love, closeness, and protection are:

يارب إزرع في قلبي حبك، أشغلني بك وحدك، قربني إليك أكثر كي لا أبكي إلا من أجل شوقي لنور وجهك .. اللهم حُبك

My Lord, plant in my heart your love, occupy me with you alone, bring me closer to you so that I do not cry except for my longing for the light of your face. Ya Allah, your love…

‏اللهم إني أسألك حبك، وحب من يحبك، والعمل الذي يبلغني حبك، اللهم اجعل حبك أحب إلى من نفسي، وأهلي، ومن الماء البارد

‏O Allah! I ask You for Your Love, the love of those who love You, and deeds which will cause me to attain Your Love. O Allah! Make Your Love dearer to me than myself, my family and the cold water.

يا حي يا قيوم ، برحمتك أستغيث ، أصلح لي شأني كله ، ولا تكلني إلى نفسي طرفة عين

O Ever-Living, O Self-sustaining and All-sustaining, by Your mercy I seek help; rectify all my affairs and do not leave me in charge of my affairs even for the blink of an eye (i.e. a moment).

At the times when I am so overwhelmed by situations or other beings, and desperate to find peace in only Him, I keep my mouth wet with the short form of the first dua: 

اللهم أشغلني بك وحدك 

O Allah, occupy me with You alone i.e. Your worship and Your love.

May Allah strengthen our souls and Imaan. May He guide us to Him and make us among those who rely upon Him alone. May He grant us beautiful friendships, connections and relationships that will thrive both in this world and in Jannah. May He protect us from the unhealthy attachments of this world and the fitna and all the evil in it. May we always have the wisdom to only pursue His pleasure and love, Ameen.

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Deen (Religion)

TURNING FEARS INTO DUAS (PART 3)

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To read part 2, kindly click here.

Losing of loved ones

I am very familiar with grief. With its smell that lingers and its sour taste on the lips kissing you with every remembrance and every memory. It is something inevitable that each one of us will experience; whether it is separation in this world because of conflict or changes beyond our control, or because of death.

When it comes to worldly separation, we’ve seen families separate, take each other to court and some even kill each other because of wealth or other kinds of fitna. Sometimes beloved companions become detested enemies because of betrayal, envy, or revealed ill intentions. It truly breaks the heart when family or friends who were once closest to you are now the ones against you.

Yet despite all that, the loss through death is the one that hurts the most. It is inevitable. It is permanent. And death- you never really get used to it. There is no point where you can say you have lost enough people that it doesn’t hurt anymore. It hurts. It always will. This is why Allah Subhanahu Wataala gives glad tidings to those who are patient with such tests; their reward is going to be enormous in the hereafter.

"We will certainly test you with a touch of fear and famine and loss of property, life, and crops. Give good news to those who patiently endure."

Surat Al Baqarah, Verse 155

Naturally then, the fear of losing loved ones is so vivid within me. Whenever death struck and depending on the dearness of the person to me, it would last me many months and even years before I could even say I am over it. Yet the worst fear of all is losing my beloved parents. The dearest people to my heart. The two individuals that I am absolutely terrified to lose.

I grew up witnessing my parents struggle with major health complications for a big part of their lives that had both of them take pills like sweets to be devoured morning, noon, and night alhamdulillah. Yet whenever either of them got more ill, I would always think, ‘Is this it? Is this goodbye now?’ And my heart would remain in distress until I could finally see them better.

I remember during the Corona period, my mother lost two of her siblings to Corona in less than a year; one of whom was my favourite uncle. This was in addition to several other relatives who had also contracted the virus and had been very ill from it.

Within the months that followed our entire home was affected with flu, sore throat, and several other symptoms of Corona. My mother was the worst for she was really struggling to breathe and her coughing would be heard throughout the day and night. The initial tests she did stated that she had pneumonia with an indication of Corona. This was exactly what had happened to my uncle. My fear tripled and I spent my days crying endlessly. I really thought this is it. My parents having Corona and major health conditions? It was only by Allah’s mercy that they would survive. My tears would flow effortlessly and with no warning but I tried to hide them as much as I could.

But then one day it became too overwhelming for me to keep it to myself. I remembered mama two during her last days; how I stayed away because it was too painful to see her waste away. How that haunted me for many years after, because I kept thinking did she really understand I stayed away and couldn’t meet her eye to eye because I never wanted to lose her? And that I felt so helpless for I couldn’t take away her pain? Did she really know how much I loved her?’ Questions questions…

I, therefore, decided to talk to my mother about it. But when I got to her, I was weeping and the first thing that came out of my mouth was, ‘What if you die?’ In retrospect, I now realize how wrong that question was for it to be directed to a sick person. But in moments of weakness, we rarely think clearly before speaking. Now my father- who is such a firm and brave man- awoke from his sleep from my crying, thinking that someone had literally died. When he was told I was crying because I was worried about them, he clicked his tongue and went back to sleep 😂 (I love my dad because he reminds me of Umar Ibn Khattab; tough people with unwavering strength and perseverance. It is he who has taught me to never fear anyone or accept any kind of injustice. Whether I implement that is another story 😂) And even though he knows when to be gentle and merciful, I could sense that he expected better from me.

My mother on the other hand hugged me and she said, ‘Then we’d be dead. You must prepare yourself for it because it is inevitable. We’re all going to experience it sooner or later. You have to be strong.’ Then to comfort me, she went on to mention people we know who were (previously) critically ill yet still made it through and others who died for no other reason than that their time had arrived. She wanted me to be more hopeful of Allah’s mercy and keep making dua for them.

My elder sister, whom I consider the epitome of patience (Allah ybarik feeha) said, “It is like we’re all on a journey on a train. And at some point, different people will have to alight at different stages because their journey has come to an end. Yet that doesn’t mean the rest of us will come to a halt because someone alighted from the train. We go on with our journey regardless, because we haven’t yet reached our destination. We have no choice but to move on.”

I still marvel at their words because despite knowing the reality of death and what our Deen requires from us, I am in awe of their firm faith. With their strength. With their good expectations on acquiring better with Allah in the next life. Most times I wish I was as strong as they are.

I am still trying, and mostly failing at being that strong. My mother says she is most worried about me among her children (despite being a middle child) after they’re gone because of my fragility. And of course, it is something I will perhaps have to work on throughout my life yet I realize I should always seek Allah’s help through it all.

“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.'” (Sunan Ibn Majah 79)

I strive to be stronger with firmer faith. This is why I bring those fears to Allah Subhanahu Wataala. The only One with answers. The only One with relief. The only One who can really strengthen me.

For those who’ve died…

Ya Allah, Ya Rahman, Ya Rahim…there are people in the graves; people who loved us dearly and we loved them just as much. People who we continue to miss even years after their demise…Ya Allah, please forgive them. Please have mercy on them and make their graves to be beautiful gardens from the gardens of Paradise that are filled with wonderful scents never smelled before. Ya Allah please elevate their status, make them among those who will enter Jannah without accountability, and most importantly Ya Allah, reunite us with them beautifully in the highest level of Jannah, Ameen.

For our loved ones in this life…

Ya Allah, please protect our loved ones from all harm and evil of this world. Protect our bonds with them from betrayal, ill intentions, misguidance, envy, and any kind of fitna. Enrich our relationships with your love and nurture within us sincerity and compassion towards one another. Ya Allah, allow us to stay in good relations with them till our death and reunite us thereafter in your eternal paradise.

Ya Allah, when it is time for us or our loved ones to depart from this world, grant us (and them) the strength and patience to bear the loss. Grant us firm faith and comfort in the belief that we shall meet once again at a better place with better lives in your Jannah Ya Rab.

And Ya Allah, if anyone pretends to love us while they backbite/slander/envy/have ill intentions towards us, we seek your protection from them, Ya Allah. Grant us insight in recognizing them for who they really are and as early as possible, ameen.

For our parents…

Ya Rab, before you take away our parents grant us an opportunity to serve them, assist them, make them happy and make their dreams come true. Ya Allah, please grant them long, healthy lives filled with your love, mercy, and peace. Allow them to witness and be part of our success and prosperity in this life while in a good state of health and mind. Allow them to be present during milestones of our lives; career advancements, marriage, parenthood, and the growth of our connection with you. Guide us to serve them without any hesitation or complaints or exhaustion. Ya Rab, please bless us with an opportunity to visit your Holy Lands Makkah and Madina with them and all our siblings, while in good health and make us among those whose ibadat will be accepted. Ya Allah, protect us from being among those who neglect their parents during old age.

Ya Allah, when it is their time to depart from this world, please take them without testing them with illnesses that will humiliate or shame them before other people. Ya Allah, make them die gracefully without suffering or needing anyone but You. Only take them when they are very pleased with us and you are very pleased with them. Ya Allah, grant them and us, beautiful endings.

Oh Lord, for any good that we do, let them have a share of it for they have nurtured us in the best manner as you required of them. And when you do take them, grant us the strength, patience, and comfort to bear their loss. Guide us to remember them with dua and sadaqat after their departure and reunite us thereafter in your Jannah, in the most beautiful way. Ameen Ya Rabbal Alaameen!

*

Whenever calamity strikes and we lose one of our loved ones, may we always remember this hadith and may we be among those believing slaves, Ameen!

Abu Hurairah (May Allah be pleased with him) reported:The Messenger of Allah (ﷺ) said: “Allah, the Exalted, says: ‘I have no reward except Jannah for a believing slave of Mine who shows patience and anticipates My reward when I take away his favourite one from the inhabitants of the world.”‘ (Riyad as-Salihin 923)

***

P.S: Alhamdulilah my parents and family survived the Corona virus. Alhamdulilah. Please keep them in your duas.

That said, I am also kindly requesting that you make dua for one of my loved ones who’s been critically ill, admitted to the ICU for a couple of days now. I will realllyyy appreciate your duas.

Thank you so much for your time! May Allah accept our good deeds, strengthen our imaan and make us among His most beloved servants, ameen!

Kindly subscribe below to stay tuned with part 4 of this series: Broken Homes in Shaa Allah 🙂

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Poetry

INVOCATION I

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Photo by Idina Risk from Pexels

I beseech Your aid

Oh God

For my heart has become a graveyard

with withered flowers

and weeds of undesirability

I can no longer bear the weight

of the caskets carrying

the deadness of my emotions

My doom-laden pillars crumbling

at the height of my anxiety

and my tombstone

displaying engravings

of all the letters

of pain

***

I invoke you

Ya Allah

This desolation

has brought me to my knees

My hands raised high

to the sky

Save me, Oh God

For my mind has become

a battle field of abrupt wars

and hostile armies

Only this time

I am both the ally

and the enemy

Corpses of my thoughts

lie around like hungry fleas

sucking the life

out of me.

***

I beg for mercy

My Lord,

This affliction

is wrecking my soul

An air hunger seizing my lungs

amid a thunderstorm of craze

A heavy downpour of anguish

floods my entire being

while the strong winds howl

at the loss

of my sanity

***

I implore you

My Creator

For a miracle

When everything seems impossible

Let your

Light

Beam through this shadow

Turn the valley of my wounds

Into river beds

Where your Mercy

Can flow through

If my soul is in the shade that pleases you

Then I ask,

O Maker of suns,

To show me how to bloom.

I pray.

I pray.

I pray.

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Featured

A PALESTINIAN NAKBA

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Photo Courtesy: ‘Soul of Palestine’ on Facebook/Instagram

Whenever the sun sets and the thoughts set in, I ration my emotions into four

like the long-awaited hours of electricity.

180 megawatts of madness,

angst,

despair,

and frustration.

 Madness.

Sweat trickles down my back like the weak, slow drops of water from our shower. It reminds me of the last time I had a good bath. Proper bath. Clean bath. It was in a dream I had at 13 years old after hearing one of the American journalists who had come to our school answer curious Maryam’s question on whether they REALLY have electricity and water 24/7 in America.

All the light switches around the house are on as we wait for thee moment of truth. The moment we press ‘continue’ on our paused lives.

In my room, I sit and wait. Sit and wait. Sit and wait.

Half asleep. Half weighing my will to live.

And before my eyes adjust to the new light, a young boy shouts across the street in joy, “It is LIT! OUR HOUSE IS LIT! Is it lit at your home?!” Another happy voice shouts back, “IT IS!”

In less than a minute, the water pump is on.  

The oven is on.

The fridge is on.

The blender is on.

I put all the phones and laptop at their respective chargers.

My brother irons his school clothes.

My baby sister rushes to complete her university project.

Abu Eyad, my neighbour with an amputated leg, calls out to his son to charge his electric scooter after being stuck at home for an entire day.

I think of Sameera’s mother at the hospital who’s been waiting for electricity to get dialysis.

The entire street is busy. This is the only time we are over-joyed at any kind of commotion. This is the only time we don’t really mind the madness.

Angst.

My mother tells me of her brother who left home and never returned.

And of her uncle who returned and found no one left.

I imagine I will be martyred before I turn 30 because only the lucky live this long.  

At night, we huddle together in the darkness of the night; the shahada on our tongues and hijabs on our heads. Airstrikes showering the clouds, our emergency bags close to the door.

Rahaf’s smile still haunts me; delicate like her name, bright like the future she deserved. She was the kid next door until she wasn’t.

She really loved her hair; long like the history of Palestine, beautiful, like its people. Sometimes, she comes to my dreams the same way she came to me to comb her hair the morning of her death.

Who knew that her school was going to be her war field?

Frustration.

My other neighbour’s son, Shaker, has a daily morning routine to get angry at something, anything or everything at once and shout: “What kind of life is this?!”

And his mother, in a helpless state to make anything better for him, would always respond:
“أفلا تكون عبداً شكورا؟”
(“Wouldn’t you be a grateful servant?”)

He would then walk away; his tiny fist still clenched, his eyes still weeping, and his heart still heavy.

Like many other Palestinian children, Shaker has become the embodiment of trauma; broken limbs and broken hearts.

Despair.

After 2 years, 7 months, 11 days, and 696 minutes of waiting to get married to the love of her life, my cousin Ahlam arrived home from abroad to the news of the killing of her fiancé.

All dreams of 2 years, shattered within 2 seconds of utter brutality. In total silence, she stares at her red and silver wedding gown like the monument of her despair. In over 48 hours, her lips have not moved an inch.

I guess the Zionists have stolen her speech too.

***

Soon enough, darkness takes over, and the nakba that is our life continues.
Silence occupies the rubbles of our hearts and everything slows down.

Whenever the sun sets and the thoughts set in, I ration my emotions into four; plus one.

Faith.

Sometimes I want to mourn;

For my father who was shot 5 times at the back of his head in front of my mother

For my best friend who was found under her demolished home three days after a bomb blast,

For my classmate whose entire family of 14 people has been wiped out of this earth and the registry

For the teenage boy that I saw get arrested with his entire face full of bruises from beatings

For the young man whose extremely beautiful and dream photography studio got bombed 2 days before the official opening

For the young boy running to say goodbye to his father’s dead body during his funeral while crying out, ‘may Allah make it easy for you baba.’

For all the Palestinians still carrying keys of their stolen, occupied houses

For the 1000s of olive trees burnt down to ashes

Sometimes I want to weep;

For the constant grieving of martyrs that has literally become part of our cultural traditions. Deeply saddened by the loss of innocent souls to the oppressors, yet happy for the shuhadaa who’ve been promised Jannah by our Lord, we sing:

“Oh mother of Muhammad! Oh mother of Muhammad! Indeed you are blessed. Indeed you are blessed! I wish it was my mother in your place. I wish it was my mother in your place!”

Sometimes I want to cry;

For all the shattered dreams and tattered souls

For the millions and millions of us displaced, distressed and dispossessed

I want to cry for all those who lost their lives

But then I remember the words of Mustafa’s widow:
“We sacrifice ourselves for Al Aqsa. We sacrifice ourselves for you Ya Allah. We accept your decree, Oh Allah so be pleased with us. Take from our blood and wealth, until you are pleased.” 

So I swallow a bitter lump, raise my head to the sky, and mutter: “Indeed, sufficient for us is Allah. Indeed, sufficient for us is none but Allah!”

***

Please take a minute:

اللهُمَّ أَصْلِحْ أَحْوَالَ الفلسطينيين ، اللهُمَّ أَصْلِحْ أَحْوَالَ المُسْلِمِِينَ فِي فِلِسطِينَ وفي كُلِّ مَكَانٍ، يَا ذَا الجَلالِ وَالإِكْرِامِ

Allahumma aslih ahwaalal-filisteeniyin, Allahumma aslih ahwaalal-muslimeena fi filisteena wa fi kulli makaanin ya dhul-jalali wal-ikraam.

O Allah! Rectify the affairs of the Palestinians. O Allah! Rectify the affairs of the Muslims in Palestine and in every place, O Lord of Majesty and Bounty.

اللهُمَّ إِنَّهُمْ مَغْلُوبُونَ فَانْتَصِرْ لَهُمْ

Allahumma innahum maghloobuna fantasir lahum.

O Allah! They are helpless, so help them.

رَبَّنَا أَفْرِغْ عَلَيْهِمْ صَبْراً وَثَبِّتْ أَقْدَامَهُمْ وَانْصُرْهُمْ عَلَى القَوْمِ الكَافِرِينَ

Rabbana afrigh ‘alayhim sabran wa thabbit aqdamahum wansurhum ‘alal-qawmil- kafireen.

Our Lord! Pour upon them patience, make them steadfast, and grant them victory over the Disbelivers.

اللهُمَّ مَكِّرْ لَهُمْ، وَاكْفِهِمْ بِمَا شِئْتَ إِنْ تَنْصُرْهُمْ فَلا غَالِبَ لَهُمْ، وَإِنْتَخْذُلْهُمْ فَمَنْ ذَا الَّذي يَنْصُرهُمْ مِنْ بَعْدِكَ

Allahumma makkir lahum, wakfihim bimaa shi’t. In tansurhum falaa ghaliba lahum, wa in takhdhulhum fa man dhal-ladh’ yansurhum min ba’dika.

O Allah! Plot for them, and suffice them with what You please, if You support them then nobody can overpower them, and if You forsake them, then who will be able to support them after You?

لا إِلاَ إِلا اللهُ العَظيمُ الحَليم، لا إِلهَ إِلا اللهُ رَبَّ العَرْشِ العَظِيمِ، لاإلهَ إِلا اللهُ رَبُّ السَّمَاوَتِ وَرَبُّ الأَرْضِ وَرَبُّ العَرْشِ الكَرِيمِ

La ilaha illAllahul adhimul-haleem. La ilaha illAllahu, rabbul-arshil- adheem. La ilaha illAllahu rabbus-samawaati wa rabbul-ardi wa rabbul-arshil- kareem.

There is no God but Allah, the Mighty the Forbearing, there is no God but Allah, Lord of the Mighty Throne, There is no God but Allah, Lord of the Heavens and Lord of the Earth and Lord of the Noble Throne

اللهُمَّ مََنْ أَرادَنَا وَبِلادَنَا وَالمُسْلِمِينَ بِسُوءٍ فَأَشْغِلْهُ فِي نَفْسِهِ، وَاجْعَلْ كَيْدَهُ فِي نَحْرِهِ، وَاجْعَلْ تَدْبِيرَهُ تَدْمِيرَه

Allahumma man aradana wa biladina bi su’in fash-ghilhu fi nafsih, waj’al kaydahu fi nahrih, waj’al tadbirahu tadmeerah.

O Allah! Whoever wants to harm us and our lands and the Muslims, then keep them busy with their own troubles, and return their plots to their own necks, and make their plans the cause of their own destruction.

Ameen thumma Ameen.

Please never stop praying for the Palestinians and for all other countries that are facing war, oppression, and injustices. May Allah save them all, ameen.

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Creative Non-Fiction

WAR AND FAITH

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Assalam aleykum good people,

It’s story time! Have a seat cause it will be a long one…

I first understood about the wars in Falastin (Palestine) when I was about 10/11 years. Even at that tender age, the thought of war and the atrocities that come with it, weighed so heavily on me and it broke my heart too many times. Growing up, I always wished to go to Palestine and get a job as a humanitarian and help the people there. I had and still have such a soft spot for them because of their bravery, their courage, their strong Imaan, their resilience subhanallah…

With time, I got exposed to what is happening in Syria, Yemen, Iraq and many other countries. And just like Palestinians, they too stole my heart for how brave and patient they are. And I really really love them for the qualities they have and what they are. It has been and still is, my long time dream to help them.

So on Thursday, when someone (I can’t thank them enough!) called me to tell me there are Palestinian refugees from Syria that are stranded and needed help, I was too excited. Not because of their situation of course but I was soooo thrilled because like ‘Allah, you didn’t take me to Palestine to help but you brought me an opportunity to help Palestinian refugees!!!’ You guys, I could barely sleep that night due to the excitement lol

The next day I got to hear from one of the sons their life journey briefly, and that night, I cried and cried and cried 
Today we went to meet them alhamdulilah and wallahy, we laughed and laughed and laughed. They were so jovial and optimistic, you would never think they are refugees stranded in a foreign country subhanallah. 

I was so moved and I thought ‘Subhanallah, Allah never burdens a soul beyond what they can handle’ Because how else could I explain how this man, making the most jokes, had lost his wife to the war and left a young boy with him? Or this elderly mother with a spinal condition that needs surgery, 3 of her houses bombed, one of her children got lost and they’re unsure whether he is alive or not, or of her ex-husband, the father of her children, who is suffering from cancer, still soldiers on every day? Or this young man who had to stop studying cause of the war, separated from his wife and child because he couldn’t bring them with him, can still smile despite it all?

Good people, I know that we’re currently doing a fundraising for Yemen, but I CANNOT let this opportunity go. This is a dream for me ;( I need to do it wallahy. So kindly, I am requesting that as from this evening, we will pause the Yemen fundraising until further notice in shaa Allah (we’re currently at 64,044/=) and help this family, for their situation s more dire.

Long story short: This Palestinian family are refugees who were living in Syria. Because the war in Syria has worsened, they decided to leave, with the hope of establishing a new life at a better place. However, the different countries they tried to enter, denied them access because their passports say ‘Palestinian refugees’. It is only Kenya that allowed them entry. When they got here, they realized Kenya is way expensive than they expected and for the past month they’ve been here, they tried to find jobs but to no avail. This is because they only know Arabic and no one could hire them cause of the language barrier. As such, they have decided to go to Lebanon, with the hope that they can settle there. They didn’t initially go to Lebanon because Lebanon itself is not stable either and is in turmoil. But since Kenya didn’t work out for them, they have to go back.

The kind of help needed is the following:

1.Accommodation: They are currently living at a one-room guest house that charges them 10 dollars per night. We are looking for people who can give them a place to live (preferably at a place that has beds and utensils, so they can be comfortable) for the 2 months they’ll be here, or that someone pays directly at the guest house for them for the time they will be here.

2. The two young men need jobs to sustain themselves in the mean time. Any kind of job that will not need them to communicate to customers since they only know Arabic.

3. Their mother has a spinal condition called L5/S1 spondylosis. She needs an operation but she says the cost in Lebanon is much cheaper, so she will wait till they get there. In the meantime, she needs medicines that will push her for a while. The total cost as originally indicated by the doctor was 48,490/=. However, we are currently searching for cheaper options at wholesale chemists or generic ones, in shaa Allah kheyr.

4. They need to go back home before their 2 month visa ends. So whatever we can collect will be of very great help to get them to Lebanon and hopefully assist them when they get there.

Have I said that helping refugees from war countries is a dream?

Guys, please help me help them. This is very important to me and I really really really want this to work out in the best scenario possible.

The Prophet, peace and blessings be upon him, said, “The most beloved people to Allah are those who are most beneficial to people. The most beloved deed to Allah is to make a Muslim happy, or to remove one of his troubles, or to forgive his debt, or to feed his hunger. That I walk with a brother regarding a need is more beloved to me than that I seclude myself in this mosque in Medina for a month. Whoever swallows his anger, then Allah will conceal his faults. Whoever suppresses his rage, even though he could fulfill his anger if he wished, then Allah will secure his heart on the Day of Resurrection. Whoever walks with his brother regarding a need until he secures it for him, then Allah Almighty will make his footing firm across the bridge on the day when the footings are shaken.” [Grade: Sahih (authentic) according to Al-Albani]

Don’t we want to be among the most beloved people to Allah? Don’t we want to do deeds that Allah loves the most? Don’t we want to have a firm footing on the bridge on the day of judgment? Here’s an opportunity for me and you, and we know the reward of charity in Ramadhan is way more than normal days. So let’s do this!

Just a humble reminder: This family does qualify for zakat because they are both needy and stranded travellers/wayfarers. So you can send your Zakat too.

Please send whatever you can, help whichever way you can and please share!

Mpesa: 0704 731 560 (Lubnah)

May Allah bless you all and may He protect all those in war countries. Ameen.

Here are the mother’s hospital reports:

And below is an appeal for their father who is suffering from blood cancer and also needs financial assistance:

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