Who will write the love letters to our families?

Brown people in the West (okay, mostly desis) complaining about their families, about brown families, about the cultural drama and the marriage circus acts and the rest of it have become a staple of Brown People in the West narrative - sometimes accompanied by a dose of guilt-assuaging "but they were immigrants who worked so hard for us so here is a token note of appreciation, mostly about food because we're all still too lazy to learn our grandmothers' recipes."

We write angry hot takes about our racism (which is bad), our colourism (also bad), about arranged marriages and cultural expectations (although apparently arranged marriages are lowkey trendy now? I can't keep up tbh).

Who will write the love letters to our families?
The notes that say: I love my father's sarcasm and his tales of how he was of the first generations of Brown Kids Growing Up in the West; or:
My grandmother's blunt racist comments about our own people (and others) are horrifying but also contain an entire history lesson on Partition, Apartheid, and growing up Muslim in a non-Muslim land that was not in the West; or:
My mother's lingering FOB habits are still mildly annoying and occasionally cringe-worthy, but now I feel fiercely protective of the way she pronounces certain words and only I can laugh at her, but I never want her to stop being the way she is.

Who will write the love letters to our families?
The notes that say: Tribalism is wrong, but I understand why people went to war over the blood they share between one another's veins.
The blood that flows between us is hot with our family pride; it is the blood that we have spilled between ourselves over inheritances and bitter marriages, but every drop is cherished.
Any outsider who dares prick one of us with shame or humiliation will die a thousand deaths from a war raged upon them by every one of us who shares blood and bonds of kinship.

Who will write the love letters to our families?
The notes that say: When my cousin gives birth, her parents will fly from another country to this one; her mother will try to make her the same foods that she once consumed during her confinement, even though my cousin will insist on going for walks with the baby and sneaking some fast food.
When my cousin gives birth, her child will be precious, like mine is: we, this new generation, are reluctant to birth the four, five, six, seven children that our mothers and our grandmothers produced, and so our offspring are ever more carefully guarded.
When my cousin gives birth, her child and my child will the youngest of us, our blood shared in their veins; even now, we all feel the faint tug to cousins and second cousins and third cousins, and their children, despite the distances and the fact that we forget their names or that they even exist.

Who will write the love letters to our families?
The notes that say: I'm sorry you lost your inheritance to that other branch of the family, but thank you for the scandalous stories - of the aunty living under her dead co-wife's identity for over fifty years; of the distant cousins who allegedly committed murder most foul; of the great-aunt and great-uncle whose pot habit was just a matter of fact; of the grandmother's sister's husband, who refused to pray behind anyone else because "they know nothing about the religion!" (and who had a disturbing penchant for schoolgirls, because apparently he knew nothing about what religion had to say about that...).

Who will write the love letters to our families?
The notes that say: I bear the scars of the time I was disowned, of the bitterness that never really went away after divorce, of the terse words and angry tears over a decision that no one will ever really forgive - but still, we are family;
Even when we are tense over certain topics, or barbed comments still slip from our tongues, or we forget sometimes to pretend that nothing really happened, and our voices rise, some shrill, some low, some sharp - still, we are family;
These tongues share the same sharpness, these voices carry the same tenors, these noises hold the same pride, these chins share the same stubbornness - these veins hold the same blood, and so: we are family.

We are bound by a love and loyalty that has no justification or explanation; it lays in the marrow of our bones and the flow of our blood.

Who will write the love letters to our families?

11 Things I Learned from my Now-Husband

When I got my divorce at age 23, I was a thoroughly embittered, cynical woman with a solid sense of suspicion towards (most) Muslim men, the idea of love, and marriage as romanticized by popular culture and sanitized by Muslim literature and lectures.

Then I got married again. And  I was still bitter and cynical and suspicious about men and marriage and love. But I muddled along anyway, doing many incredibly dumb things along the way, and collected a few more life lessons while I was at it.

1- Marriage is Really, Really Hard. And I don’t just mean the fact that I’m in poly and live in another country. I mean the parts where I had to own up to my own emotional baggage and rendered myself a snotty emotional mess and was pretty mean sometimes and then finally had to admit that yes, I can be wrong and in fact often am.

I had to learn how to be mature (okay, still working on this one) and actively work on overcoming insecurities (yet another work in progress) and bad emotional habits. It’s not the domestic bits that are difficult, it’s the very raw and straight up mortifying bits where the other person discovers just how messed up you are. (But then they choose to stick with you anyway, so there is that comfort.)

2- Men are human and have it as rough as we do. I will up front admit that I was an entitled spoiled brat who was convinced that women have life the hardest (okay, I still think we do) and that dudes just better handle whatever is thrown at them because it’s their JOB. Ummm, yeah. About that… men are human. Which means that if you prick them, they will bleed (it is not recommended to test this theory, as stabbing people with pointy objects is haram and illegal). If you are cruel to them, they will feel pain.

Okay but seriously – men, and by ‘men’ I mean legitimately good, sincere, taqwa-exemplifying men who care deeply about their wives and families, not pathetic, immature, usually-misogynistic males – work hard to look after those whom they love. Not just physical work that brings in money, but the emotional work too. They hate to see their loved ones suffer, and will do their best to try and fix the problem… even if it they are hurt too.

Whereas society normalizes female emotion, both positive and negative, we rarely see men being allowed to express themselves in a more vulnerable manner. I don’t mean sniffling at every little perceived slight, but true expressions of deep emotion, such as heartache, sorrow, helplessness, and emotional pain.

So many of our men mask their aching hearts in order to be strong and supportive to those around them – even as they are in need of the same support. Sometimes we women need to get over ourselves and realize that men need the same love and care that they provide for us. Prophet Muhammad (Peace and blessings be upon him) and his wives illustrates how even the greatest man on earth sought comfort in his spouses – whether it was Khadijah (May Allah be pleased with her) reassuring him after his first interaction with the angel Jibreel (‘alayhissalaam), or Umm Salamah (May Allah be pleased with her) understanding his frustration at Hudabiyah, and consoling him with her suggestions.

3- Differences of opinion are okay. This was a huge one for me – in my previous marriage, differences of opinion were definitely *not* okay. This husband, however, is a fascinating specimen. While I’d already decided that this time, I was not going to be a doormat and let myself be silenced, I wondered uneasily if expressing my dissent was a bad idea.

At first, I was anxious – would voicing my disagreement lead to greater emotional conflict? Would a debate on feminism lead to a far more unpleasant argument with drastic domestic consequences? Imagine my shock, then, when I discovered that it is indeed possible for a Muslim husband to have a rousing volley of back-and-forth that didn’t result in the nushooz-card being waved about angrily in the end. A marriage in which a husband and wife can having vocal disagreement on a variety of topics without damaging their personal relationship is a marriage built upon security.

In fact, one of the most famous marriages in our Islamic history – that of A’ishah (May Allah be pleased with her) and Prophet Muhammad (Peace and blessings be upon him) – was full of stories in which they used to have many enthusiastic exchanges… and not always in agreement. Yet despite their numerous debates and disagreements, their love remained strong.

4- Like a person before loving them. Love is a tricky, messy, complicated thing. Love screws you up sometimes. People fall in and out of love all the time. But liking someone… ahhh, there’s the secret. I was pretty sure I liked my husband before I married him – he was calm, level-headed, ethical, principled, intelligent, with a sense of humor and overall good character that appealed to me – but the part that really shocked me was when I realized how much I really liked him.

It’s the kind of like you have for a best friend, whom you’re eager to talk to and whose company you enjoy, whether doing things together or separately. It’s the kind of like where you could be mad at them and ignore them or fight with them, but you already miss them and you just want it over with so that you can tell them about the new exciting thing you just saw. So while I did love him, and continue to increase in that love, it’s the like part that makes things so much better when the love part really just pisses you off sometimes and has you stupidly crying into a pillow and sharing melodramatic quotes on Facebook.

5- There’s more than one kind of marriage, and one isn’t necessarily better than the other. This one might be more long-distance/ polygamy related, but it’s still an important lesson. We plan, and Allah plans, and Allah is the Best of Planners. Initially, our plan wasn’t to live in separate households or even countries… but that’s what happened.

One of the many fears I grappled with was the idea that my marriage didn’t count enough, or wasn’t serious enough, or wasn’t good enough, in comparison to one where the husband and wife are together and/or monogamous. Not having a great relationship track record didn’t help, either. A couple years later, I still have my off days, but I’ve come to recognize that my marriage is a real marriage, and is just as legitimate as anyone else’s. I love my husband, and though our marital arrangements may not be the norm, I take our relationship very seriously.

It is easy for some people to write off non-monogamous marriages as not being “real” enough, but this flies contrary to the Sunnah itself. The Prophet’s polygamous marriages to his wives after Khadijah (May Allah be pleased with her) were just as valid as his monogamous marriage to her.

While some people try to dismiss his polygamous marriages as simply being relationships of political advantage, to do so is to imply that he (PBUH) did not have genuine personal feelings of love and care for them, and that he was – in essence – using them for his own advantage. Yet when one looks at how he interacted with them, his love for them (and their love for him) is clear. Thus, regardless of how others consider polygamy, it is important to acknowledge that for those who have chosen it for themselves, their marriages are deserving of respect.

6- Be a secure person in order to have a secure relationship. As cliche as this may sound, it’s true. Sadly, Muslims tend to be really bad at being healthy individuals. Many of us are taught from childhood to be extremely dependent on others around us – whether parents or spouses. Few of us learn early on what it means to be secure in one’s own sense of self.

For myself, an additional blessing of a long distance relationship is that I was provided with the opportunity to really establish myself as myself. I’d grown up pretty sheltered, and was relatively young when I’d first gotten married. Seeking the other party’s constant approval was a destructive characteristic of that relationship, and the consequences of disapproval were high. This time, though, I was forced to face myself head-on, to live on my own and be responsible for much of my own emotional well-being. Moving away from my previous habits of emotional dependency was jarring, but incredible – I no longer hinge my complete happiness and mental presence on another person’s moods.

Instead of feeling tied to someone out of obligation or emotional coercion, the feeling of wanting to be with that person is far more pleasurable, and leads to feeling stronger in that relationship. Being secure, and not emotionally dependent (which isn’t romantic btw, it’s just depressing), makes it much easier to resolve conflicts and to enjoy the good times.

7- Get over yourself. Seriously, just get over yourself. We all like to think that we’re better people than we actually are, that our flaws aren’t as bad as others’ shortcomings are, but we’re not. We suck as much as the other person does. It’s just a matter of admitting and acknowledging what our faults are, and managing them instead of denying them or trying to play the victim.

Before making it about you vs. your spouse, remember that it’s about you vs. your scale of deeds on the Day of Judgment. Don’t act like you’re just humoring the other person when you apologize for something awful that you said or did; know that Allah is fully aware of your sincerity, and seek to rectify yourself for His Sake before anyone else’s. Don’t go to the other extreme either, and wallow in self pity bemoaning how terrible you are. Just… get over yourself. We all have faults, and you are no exception. The real issue at hand is what you’re going to do about it.
8- Being supportive doesn’t mean never disagreeing. Many of us have fallen for the pseudo-romantic “advice” that to be a supportive partner means to never offer criticism or objection – no matter how constructive your feedback may be. That’s not being supportive, that’s being a simpering sycophant.

While initially very defensive about receiving criticism, I realized that it wasn’t doing me any good to only hear praise – neither my behavior nor my work would improve. Instead, I’ve come to appreciate when my husband points out just how idiotic I’ve been acting, or when my argument has gaping holes. He’s never stopped me from doing what I care about, and done everything possible to support me in what I love – but he’ll also point out where exactly I’m in danger of doing something really stupid.

As annoyed as I might be in the moment (it sucks being wrong), at the end of the day, I know that he isn’t trying to sabotage me – he really wants me to do well, and to do what is right. Of course, it doesn’t mean that he’s always right, either – but when he is, I’ll try swallow my pride and take him seriously. And try not to be mad at him. (Usually.)

Don’t be a Stepford spouse – be someone who sincerely wants the best for your spouse,     even if it means pointing out when they’re doing something epically stupid. Remember – adDeen anNaseeha (Religion is advice).

9- “The Ideal Muslim Marriage” doesn’t exist. All those articles and lectures about wives babying men or husbands putting up with women because you can’t live with’em, you can’t live without’em is nonsense. The model that we’re provided with is, to be frank, pretty weird and unhealthy, encouraging emotional dependence and engendering a lack of genuine respect for each other.

The ideal Muslim marriage isn’t about playing a certain domestic role in a specific way (and being guilted into it with a significant amount of spiritual blackmail). It’s about having the right priorities – both spiritually and with regards to your personal relationship. It’s about genuinely caring for each other’s well-being, respecting each other even in times of conflict, and truly enjoying being with each other.

Life will suck sometimes – perhaps even often – and there will be many unpleasant moments along the way, but it’s one’s sense of taqwa and compassion for the other person that will get you through it and remember that it’s all worth it. Don’t be a good husband or wife because that’s what you’re “supposed” to do – be a good spouse because you care for them, and want the best for them in this world and the Hereafter.

Even prophet Muhammad’s marriages were not “ideal” in the sense that his wives were not all identical, cookie-cutter women – they all had very different personalities, they experienced conflict with him, but they also loved him deeply. They interacted in a manner that was sincere, that reflected themselves as individuals, and yet with the constant awareness of their personal accountability to Allah.

10- True Qawwam Do Exist. It is painfully easy to see the many, many examples of Muslim men doing it wrong – men who are neglectful, weak, abusive, irresponsible, lacking in character, selfish, and immature. Yet despite how many bad examples there are of Muslim men, there are still those who seek to uphold the Sunnah by being true qawwam: men who embody the values of honour, dignity, responsibility, mercy, justice, and sincere love for both their families and the Ummah at large.

These men are the ones who strive to fulfill their wives’ rights before demanding their own; who understand the severity of responsibility that has been placed upon their shoulders; who know that being a Muslim man is not simply about being a financial breadwinner, but a loving husband and father, engaged with his wife and children. These are the men who do not recoil at the idea of marrying widows or divorcees, or raising children who do not share their DNA; these are the men who do not place their egos or their culture above the commands of Allah, but make an effort to overcome their own inclinations for the Sake of Allah’s Pleasure.

These men are not perfect – they make their own mistakes, they struggle with their own shortcomings, and honestly, they can mess up as well as the next person – but what sets them apart from the majority of mediocre males is that they never stop trying to do better and be better… as Muslims, as husbands, as fathers. True qawwaam are rare, but not extinct – and to have one in my life is a blessing to be treasured.

11- Love. It’s Real. It… really is. It’s more than a little terrifying, especially when one tries to maintain a certain level of skepticism for safety reasons. But it’s also giddy, and fun, and awesome, and worth all the hard stuff and messy bits. Happily ever afters might actually exist, just not the way that we’ve been indoctrinated into believing. Instead of the usual nausea-inducing cliches surrounding romance (or the opposite extreme – that it doesn’t exist), love manifests in so many other ways – with an inside joke, or a gift that doesn’t make sense to anyone else but you two, or knowing how to end a fight the right way.

It’s the small silly things and the big dramatic things and all the mundane things in between. How do you know it’s real? When thinking of your future with them is not accompanied by a sense of impending doom and misery. And you’re kinda (really) excited about it.

Silly as this all may seem, and perhaps in contradiction to much of the marriage advice peddled by Muslim writers and teachers, these are nonetheless some of the most solid relationship lessons I have derived through experience. Contrasting my previous experience with my current one has been interesting, with sometimes unexpected results (like the whole falling in love thing…woah). And so here I am, slightly less bitter and slightly less cynical and slightly more practical and wiser (I hope).

May Allah grant us all the (somewhat disconcerting and pleasantly surprising) experience of a blessed marriage to a true qawwam, ameen.

Fridays

Fridays:
My mother, yanking us out of bed and laying out our best clothing - my brother's thawbs, my own jalabiyyas brought back from Hajj, and my favourite abaya stitched with little sparkling jet-black beads.
My father at the dining room table listening to his Arabic cassettes, a book or two from his massive collection laid out in front of him, notecards haphazardly scattered around him while he mumbled to himself in Arabic and scribbled out his khutbah.

My mother, asking us what we wanted to eat for Jumu'ah lunch, preparing biryani or daal and rice or ruz bukhaari or butter chicken - our favourites, reserved for only this one day of the week.
My father, wandering around the house with his mus'haf reciting Suratul Kahf, his beard still damp from wudhu, while my brothers and I tried to get out of doing the few chores we were expected to finish before going for salah.

My mother, opening the windows to let out the cooking smells, straightening the cushions on the sofa, lighting the bukhoor to waft around the house and playing Suratul Kahf in the background as she worked.
My father, lining up my brothers in their matching white thawbs, carefully choosing an 'itr from his collection, showing them how to rub the oil between their wrists and then wiping it over their hair and clothing, combing it into his beard.

Us children, piling into the car, dutifully reciting salawaat upon RasulAllah (sallAllahu 'alayhi wa sallam), then loudly practising our own khutbah-giving skills, proclaiming with great emphasis, "Wa kulla bid'atin dalalah, wa kulla dalaalatin fin naar!"

Scattering to our places, sitting down to listen to our father's khutbah, trying not to nod off as he went on and on and on... jumping up to pray Salatul Jumu'ah, shoulder to shoulder and foot to foot with our elders; excitedly saying salaam to the masjid uncles and aunties afterwards, patiently putting up with pinched cheeks in exchange for little treats, happily throwing our arms around our favourite people, waiting impatiently while our father finished talking to what seemed like every person in attendance, and then scampering off back to the car where we would chatter about who we saw and how many people were there and what so and so said to us.

Coming home to find the dining table set with our favourite meal, catching a glimpse of dessert in the fridge, my mother dressed up in her own Jumu'ah finest, my brothers and I nudging each other happily that she was wearing the jewelry we'd bought her last 'Eid.

Going to the Islamic center for Arabic classes in the evening, wandering in and out of the men and women's musallas, fetching things and passing messages between husbands and wives, gleefully getting our hands sticky with treats from our "almost-grandmother" Umm Hussam, talking too much and getting too excited until quelled by a warning look from either of our parents - but only until the next aunty or uncle stopped to laugh with us.

Dozing off in the car on the way home, grumbling a little about how long our father took, but sleepy and satisfied and wrapped in the security of knowing that next Friday would be just like this night, and the Friday after that, and the Friday after that.

{“This is a day of ‘Eid that Allah has ordained for the Muslims, so whoever comes to Jumu‘ah, let him do ghusl, and if he has any perfume let him put some on, and you should use the miswaak.” Narrated by Ibn Maajah, 1098; classed as hasan by al-Albaani in Saheeh Ibn Maajah.}

‪#‎JustJumuahThings‬

When True Love Comes Twice

You live once, you die once, and you only have one true love... or so many people have been raised to believe.

 A culture of fairy tales and happily ever afters, romcoms and romance novels has raised generations of people to believe that out there in the world is just one person who was meant to be with you, just one person whom you will fall in love with so deeply that you will never truly love anyone else besides them.

 Umm Salamah (radhiAllahu 'anha) proved this theory false. She had not just one of her life, but two true loves!

 Umm Salamah was married to Abdullah ibn 'Abdul-Asad - also known as Abu Salamah, the father of her child. Together, they were amongst the first of those who accepted Islam, and made the first emigration to Abyssinia. Although they were separated on their second hijrah to Medinah, their love was strong and endured to see them reunited, and until Abu Salamah died of a battle-wound.

 On his deathbed, Umm Salamah tearfully told her husband, "If the husband of a woman dies and he is of the people of Paradise, and his wife dies after him without having remarried, Allah will bring them back together in Jannah. Let us pledge that neither of us will remarry!"

Abu Salamah asked her, "Will you obey me in whatever I request of you?"

Fervently, Umm Salamah replied, "Of course!"

Abu Salamah gazed at her, his heart overflowing with love for her, and told her, "If I die, swear to me that you will remarry!"

While Umm Salamah looked on in shock, he supplicated to Allah: "O Allah! Provide for Umm Salamah a man who is better than me!"

 Umm Salamah had spent her 'iddah grieving for her deceased husband, her heart breaking every time she thought of his gentleness, his kindness, his courage, and his patience. As she cradled her newborn daughter, she wept at the thought that Abu Salamah would never see his daughter, and that there might be no man who would be willing to raise another man's children as his own.

She thought back often on his words and wondered, in anguish, "Who could be better than Abu Salamah?"

 Her answer was questioned almost immediately: when her 'iddah ended at the birth of her daughter, Zaynab, RasulAllah (sallAllahu 'alayhi wa sallam) asked for her hand in marriage.

 In disbelief, Umm Salamah sent him a response: "I am an older woman, I am a jealous woman, and I have children from my previous husband."

 With his characteristic tenderness, RasulAllah (sallAllahu 'alayhi wa sallam) answered her fears: "I am older than you; Allah will remove your heart of jealousy; and I will raise your children amongst my own."

 The hesitation in Umm Salamah's heart, and the remnants of her grief for Abu Salamah, faded away, replaced with a sense of calmness and peace.

Abu Salamah's du'a had been answered, and once again, Umm Salamah experienced the wonder and beauty of true love... for the second time.

 There are many men and women who fall in love and are devastated at its loss… whether that loss occurs through death, divorce, or simply tests and trials in life that one never anticipated. The grief that one experiences can feel overwhelming and unbearable, and often one wonders if they will ever be able to experience such love again.

 Yet though our own concept and understanding of love is limited, Allah, al-Wadud, is not.

 The Messenger of Allah said:

“Verily, the hearts of the children of Adam, all of them, are between the two fingers of the Most Merciful as one heart; He directs them wherever he wills.” (Sahih Muslim 2654)

 The One who placed love in our hearts for one person, is easily able to heal our broken hearts and grant us the deep joy and comfort of another love in our lives – someone whom we will love not as a replacement for the person we have lost before, but as someone who will have captured our hearts in their own unique way.

 On the other hand, there is the unique situation of polygamy. It is a difficult thing for many women to understand and accept, and it’s true that polygamy amongst Muslims has garnered a bad reputation with a lot of negative baggage.

 Even so, it is something that should be recognized – although there are many Muslim men who have done polygamy badly, there are those who have done it well and with justice. For these men, Allah has also blessed them with true love, not once, but twice or even several more times.

 Abu Bakr (radhiAllahu ‘anhu) is in fact well known for being married to two great women: Umm Rumaan, the mother of A’ishah (radhiAllahu ‘anha), and Asmaa’ bint ‘Umays. Although he divorced his first wife, Qutaylah, who did not accept Islam, Abu Bakr cared for Umm Rumaan and Asmaa’ dearly.

 It was Umm Rumaan who was the mother of A'ishah (radhiAllahu 'anha), who raised her daughter and cared for her even when she left home as the bride of the Messenger of Allah. It was Umm Rumaan who, with a mother's love, protected A'ishah from the poisonous rumours of the Ifk. It was Umm Rumaan who, with Abu Bakr, grieved as they watched the people of Madinah create a scandal surrounding their daughter.

 When Umm Rumaan died, RasulAllah (sallAllahu ‘alayhi wa sallam) prayed Salatul Janaazah over her body and lowered her into her grave, saying, “Whoever wishes to see a woman from amongst the hoor of Paradise, let him look upon Umm Rumaan!”

 As for Asmaa' bint 'Umays, she was a woman who had undertaken both emigrations for the sake of Allah - an honour limited to a mere handful of the Sahabah of RasulAllah (sallAllahu 'alayhi wa sallam), and one which he reassured her regarding.  

When Abu Bakr lay on his deathbed, he insisted that it be Asmaa' alone who should wash his dead body. Considering how many other Companions were still alive at the time, Abu Bakr's request was a sign of his deep love and trust for his wife Asmaa'.

 For men and women alike, Allah’s mercy for His creation is such that He enables our hearts to be capable of so many different types of love; He has given us the ability to love, to lose, and to love again. Indeed, it is through this very blessing of His, the gift of being able to love repeatedly and in so many ways, that our hearts grow closer to Him in taqwa… a love borne of hope and awe. Truly, who is more deserving of our love other than Al-Wadud?

 {And of His signs is that He created for you from yourselves mates that you may find tranquillity in them; and He placed between you love and mercy. Indeed in that are signs for a people who give thought.} (Qur’an 30:21)

Zainab bint Younus (AnonyMouse) is a young woman who finds constant inspiration in the lives of the Sahabiyaat and other great women in Islamic history. She hopes that every Muslimah is able to identify with the struggles of these inspirational women and follow in their footsteps to become a part of a new generation of powerful Muslim women. She blogs at http://www.thesalafifeminist.blogspot.com 

His Laughter, Her Love

A house full of laughter is a home full of love… and truly, the home of RasulAllah (sallAllahu ‘alayhi wa sallam) rang with laughter whenever Sawdah bint Zam’ah (radhiAllahu ‘anha) was present.

Most people overlook Sawdah, even though she was the second woman whom RasulAllah (sallAllahu 'alayhi wa sallam) married after the death of Khadijah.

Sawdah was much older than A'ishah bint Abi Bakr, whom RasulAllah (sallAllahu 'alayhi wa sallam) married shortly after, and it's commonly known that she gave up her allotted days and nights with RasulAllah for A'ishah's sake.
According to many narrations, and by her own admission, Sawdah wasn't particularly beautiful, either - she is described as "elderly and fat."

What many don't realize, however, is that it was her age which RasulAllah (sallAllahu 'alayhi wa sallam) appreciated - or rather, the qualities associated with it: wisdom, maturity, and understanding.

Sawdah was the first stepmother for the daughters of RasulAllah, especially for Fatimah (radhiAllahu 'anha), who was still quite young at the time.
She had a nurturing personality, and a sense of humour which endeared her to her husband, her stepchildren, and her co-wives alike.

It was known that when RasulAllah (sallAllahu 'alayhi wa sallam) was feeling sorrowful or grieved due to the hardships related to the Da'wah of Islam, it was always Sawdah who was guaranteed to make him smile with a quick-witted joke, and Sawdah who offered him advice and comfort without requesting anything from him except his company.

Once, when RasulAllah’s face was drawn with weariness, she teased him, “O Messenger of Allah! I prayed behind you yesterday, and you prolonged the prostration for so long that I nearly had a nosebleed!”
Her husband, the beloved Messenger of Allah (sallAllahu ‘alayhi wa sallam) threw his head back and laughed so hard that his molar teeth were visible. The sorrow in his bearing disappeared, and his smile lit up the heart of Sawdah with joy.
(Tabaqaat al-Kubraa)

And while many women would have felt jealous at the arrival of a younger, beautiful wife, Sawdah took A'ishah under her wing immediately.
It is related that amongst the wives of RasulAllah (sallAllahu 'alayhi wa sallam), no two of them were closer to each other than Sawdah and A'ishah.

Sawdah’s sense of humour made it easy for the other wives to get swept away in the fun. Hafsah and A’ishah in particular used to enjoy getting up to pranks, and Sawdah was sometimes their target.

Once, A’ishah and Hafsah were sitting together when Sawdah came to visit them, bedecked in finery. Raising their eyebrows at each other, Hafsah said to A’ishah, “RasulAllah will come and see her, and forget about us!” Then, with a mischievous gleam to her eye, Hafsah told Sawdah, “The one-eyed one is coming! (i.e. implying the Dajjaal.)”
Sawdah panicked and asked, “Where can I go, where can I go?!”
Looking serious, Hafsah pointed at a tent outside – one where people would abandon unwanted items, and which was full of cobwebs and other creepy-crawlies. Picking up her skirts, Sawdah fled to the tent, and Hafsah and A’ishah broke into peals of laughter.
They were still laughing when RasulAllah (sallAllahu ‘alayhi wa sallam) joined them, and asked them about the cause of their mirth. The two women were laughing so hard that they couldn’t even speak, and all they could do was point at the tent where poor Sawdah was hiding in fear.
Filled with love for Sawdah, RasulAllah (sallAllahu ‘alayhi wa sallam) rushed over to her and reassured her that it was not yet time for the Dajjal to come, and helped her up, brushing off the cobwebs and comforting her.
(Musnad Abi Ya’la, Tabarani, and al-Haythami)

Despite all this, Sawdah remained as easy-going as ever, and deeply fond of A’ishah in particular. The affection as mutual, such that when Sawdah passed away, A'ishah wept and said:
"No woman is more beloved to me than Sawdah, whom I would rather be than anyone else.”

Today, when many Muslim men express boredom with their spouses or complain about the waning beauty of their wives, Sawdah's marriage to Rasulallah (sallAllahu 'alayhi wa sallam) is a reminder that physical beauty is not the only thing that matters.

There are many different types of love, and every woman is to be loved, respected, and valued for who she is - without being compared to others or belittled for what she may lack in comparison to other women.
In a marriage, the human heart requires more than just outward beauty; and Sawdah’s warm, loving personality was a perfect example of why RasulAllah (sallAllahu ‘alayhi wa sallam) found such comfort and joy in her.

As the famous hadith states, even a smile is a sadaqah – so for every woman who loves to laugh and make others join in her joy, is a mountain of reward, inshaAllah… just like Sawdah (radhiAllahu ‘anha), the beloved wife of RasulAllah (sallAllahu ‘alayhi wa sallam).

Zainab bint Younus (AnonyMouse/ The Salafi Feminist) is a young woman who finds constant inspiration in the lives of the Sahabiyaat and other great women in Islamic history. She hopes that every Muslimah is able to identify with the struggles of these inspirational women and follow in their footsteps to become a part of a new generation of powerful Muslim women. She blogs at http://www.thesalafifeminist.blogspot.com

A Muslim Woman's Grief

We Muslim women, we grieve for our men, we mourn them while they still live.

We grieve for the father who held us close in our infancy, in our toddlerhood, who twirled us around and called us his princess... and then who faded away as we grew gangly and got acne and began to slam doors behind which we sobbed, grieving the loss of a father who still lived.

We mourn for the father who comes home from work, face drawn and pinched, shoulders bowed from the weight of being called 'terrorist' by co-workers, eyes burning from being pulled over by cops for 'looking like Usama', wrists raw and chafed from Homeland Security dragging him away in handcuffs to be 'interviewed' at their airport, making him miss his flight to visit his dying mother.

We grieve for the brother who used to heckle us, who used to squabble over cheese and crackers and chocolate chip cookies, who used to stand up for us against the bullies at Madrasah, watchfully ensuring that our recess at the playground passed uneventfully... and then who faded away, growing angry and snappish, withdrawing into a bedroom with video games and emerging with dark circles under his eyes, ignoring us until our hearts break with grief for the loss of a brother who still lived.

We mourn for the brother who grows a beard, who is awkward but proud of his struggle to be a practicing Muslim, who carefully tucks a prayer mat into his backpack; who watches the news with horrified eyes as he watches men and women and children who share his skin colour, his curly hair, his impish smile, being blown to bits by the government of the country which he lives in, who is approached by venomously smiling spies trying to twist his words of grief into grandiose statements of terrorism, who wonders if he is truly as alone in this world as he feels.

We grieve for the greybeard masjid uncles who used to ruffle our hair and give us sweets after Jumu'ah, but whose smiles turned to frowns as we grew too old to venture into the men's musalla; who forgot that even as we were shunted into musty smelling broom closets, we still remembered the clean, open space of the men's hall; who started referring to us as 'fitnah' when only a few years ago they used to give us piggyback rides and teach us the alphabet.

We mourn for the masjid uncles who find themselves on TV when reporters barge into the masjid, demanding condemnations and explanations, who blink in confusion and try to be confident but whose tongues, trained in the professional languages of lawyers and doctors and engineers, slip from the stress and slip back into Arabic-tinged and Urdu-lilted quirks of speech; who find their pictures splashed on the front page of the newspaper, turned into bogeymen, mocked as illiterate foreigners.

We grieve for the husband who would walk in through the door with flowers, his beard unable to hide his smile, his eyes brighter than the fireworks he takes us as a late night surprise when we thought he'd be busy at work... and then whose face grew lined not with laughter, but weariness, whose sweet nothings in our ears slur into exhausted murmurs, then silence.

We mourn for the husband who teaches young children at the masjid, who shoots hoops with the teens in the driveways and mentors them with Qur'anic verses and Prophetic sayings; who looks over his shoulder warily, never sure which alphabet soup agency is watching him, who hesitates before sending every email, unsure of whether his words could land him in jail, who has been betrayed by the country he lives in, works in, used to dream of his future in, who is haunted by images of his brothers in faith being held in iron cages, who knows that somewhere out there, is a cage waiting for him.

We have lost the men we love, not through death, but through life.

We Muslim women, we grieve for our men, we mourn them while they still live.

(Copyright BintYounus)

Once, They Were Lovers

His dark eyes watched her from afar as she walked through the date orchard, his eyes shining with ardour, memorising every move. A small sigh escaped his lips, his beard rustling, a murmur of adoration. His heart ached, full and fierce, and he felt almost overpowered by his love for his wife.

He loved her.

She could feel his gaze on her, could feel the tug of his love for her; she lifted a shoulder in irritation, as though to shrug off the weight of his devotion the way she would brush off a fly.

She did not love him.

He could feel her shudder of distaste when he brushed his fingertips along her skin, knew that she endured his embrace only out of dutifulness, but he couldn’t stop loving her.

He loved her.

She had once loved him, long ago, but she didn’t know when it had faded to tolerance, then irritation, then something akin to hatred. His tenderness grated at her nerves; every glance, every caress, every word of love was a chain of slavery.

She did not love him.

He clung to the long-ago memories of reciprocated love, of sweetness shared, of blissful moments. The words she spoke now, the disinterest of her gaze, the forced obedience of her actions, did not matter. All that mattered was that, once upon a time, she had loved him.

He loved her.

She did not loathe him; she pitied him for the helplessness of his love. She wished that his gaze would stray, that some other woman would snare his affection, be his wife in the way that he deserved.

She did not love him.

Freedom. Finally. She rejoiced, rushing towards it with fervour and gratitude, without a moment’s backward glance at the man who adored her more than any other man could or ever would. She
didn’t care.

She was free.

His heart was broken, destroyed. His feet followed only her footsteps; his eyes saw only the woman who had been his wife, his beloved, even as she forsook him joyfully.

He still loved her.

Ibn ‘Abbas narrated:
Barirah's husband was a slave, who was known as Mughith. I can almost see him, running after her and weeping, with tears running down onto his beard. The Prophet said to `Abbas: `O `Abbas, do you not find it strange, how much Mugith loves Barirah and how much Barirah hates Mughith?'
The Prophet said (to Barirah), `Why do you not go back to him?'
She said, `O Messenger of Allah, are you commanding me to do so?'
He said, `I am merely trying to intervene on his behalf.'
She said, `I have no need of him.'" 
(Sahih Bukhari)

Zainab bint Younus (AnonyMouse) is a hopeless romantic who, ironically enough, knows how Barirah must have felt like. When not brooding over the meaning of love and reading tragic romances of the historical kind, Zainab blogs at www.TheSalafiFeminist.blogspot.com.

Book Review: Salaam, Love

Salaam, Love: American Muslim Men on Love, Sex, and Intimacy

Published by Beacon Press.

Reviewed by Zainab bint Younus

On the heels of the popular, groundbreaking anthology Love Inshallah: American Muslim Women on Love, Sex, and Intimacy, comes Salaam, Love – the other side of the story.  

  

As Muslim women become more proactive in sharing their voices and experiences in the public sphere, a unique phenomenon has occurred: Muslim men don’t have the same opportunity to share their own deeply personal stories. Salaam, Love is an effort to create a ‘safe space’ for Muslim men to discuss some of their most vulnerable moments.

The anthology is divided into three sections: “Umma: It Takes a Village” shares stories that revolve around the role of family and friends in the search for marriage (and love); “Sirat: The Journey” includes inward reflections of each writer’s transformational experience with spiritual and romantic love; and finally, “Sabr: In Sickness and in Health” goes beyond the fairytale ending and explores the deeper, less glamorous aspects of true love.

Just as its predecessor, Love Inshallah, reflected the realities and experiences of a widely varied Muslim Ummah, so too do the contributors to Salaam, Love come from different ethnic and theological backgrounds. 

 There were several essays which stood out to me, both in quality of writing and in content – amongst them, Sam Pierstorff’s “Soda Bottles and Zebra Skins,” “Mother’s Curse” by Arsalan Ahmed, “Just One Kiss,” by Maher Rahman, “Planet Zero” by John Austin, “The Promise” by Alan Howard, and “Fertile Ground” by Khizer Husain.

 All of these essays shared something in common: unmistakeable authenticity, excellent writing, and touching upon issues within the Muslim community that have been previously ignored but are undeniably a reality.

 From extramarital affairs amongst ‘religious’ Muslims, being rejected for marriage because of race, fertility vs. adoption, and the heartbreak of losing a loved one, these essays echoed with a rawness of emotion and relevance. All these topics are still considered taboo in the Muslim community, and yet are faced by thousands of Muslims not just in the West, but all around the world. 

 Although I have often read works by female authors related to these issues, I was startled to realize that it was the first time I had read about them from the perspective of Muslim men who have experienced these matters first-hand. At the risk of sounding cliché, it was truly enlightening to realize that men – whom many women have come to think of as the perpetrators of most injustice – are equally affected at an emotional level and seek to change things for the better. 

 This glimpse at the challenges and struggles of Muslim men in their journeys of love and experiences with lust is must needed; all too often, we buy into the idea that men experience such things shallowly, with little introspection or consideration for their actions. Instead, the contributors to Salaam, Love reminded us of the humanity of men, a prompt to help us recognize that when it comes to matters of the heart, gender means little. Allah, al-Wadud, al-Muqallib al-Quloob, is the One Who controls our hearts without the preconceived, culturally structured ideas of what men and women should feel; it is He who evokes in our souls a yearning for love of Him, and for earthly love as well.    

However, I will admit that I also found myself somewhat disappointed by Salaam, Love. In comparison to Love Inshallah, which I found engaging at every point (with only a couple of stories which did not resonate with me all that much), the remaining essays in Salaam, Love came off as mediocre at best. Some rambled on for far too long, causing me to lose my interest; most ended up sounding like a recycled version of “brown Muslim boy just wants to be with a girl.”  

 Nonetheless, Salaam, Love is enjoyable overall, and is still a book that I would recommend. It is a one-of-a-kind compilation that reminds men and women alike that the hearts of men are not so strange or unfathomable as those of women; Muslim men, like Muslim women, struggle with temptation and desire, seek love and security, and pray not just for a happily ever after, but for a happily ever afterlife.

3.5 out of 5 stars.

Zainab bint Younus (AnonyMouse) is a writer, social justice activist-wannabe, and absent-minded bookworm. She writes for SISTERS Magazine and blogs at http://www.thesalafifeminist.blogspot.com

Order it here!!