Muslim Girl Read online

  Muslim Girl

  a novel

  Umm Zakiyyah

  MUSLIM GIRL

  a novel by Umm Zakiyyah

  Smashwords Edition

  Copyright © 2012, 2013, 2014 by Al-Walaa Publications

  Original copyright under Ruby Moore

  All Rights Reserved.

  All characters and events in this book are fictional.

  Any resemblance to real persons or incidents is coincidental.

  ISBN 10: 0970766785

  ISBN 13: 9780970766786

  Library of Congress Control Number: 2013935444

  Order information available online at

  muslimfiction.com and ummzakiyyah.com

  Published by Al-Walaa Publications

  Camp Springs, Maryland USA

  Cover photography by Shutterstock.com ®

  Front cover photo copyright by Darrin Henry

  Back cover photo copyright by Dustin Dennis

  Glossary of Arabic Terms

  abaya: large outer garment for Muslim women

  Allah: the Arabic term for “God”

  Allahu’akbar: proclamation of the greatness of God, often expressed in excitement or happiness

  As-salaamu’alaikum: the Muslim greeting of peace, literally “peace be upon you,” often said in place of “hello” and “goodbye” and is sometimes extended to include wa-rahmatullaah and/or wa-barakaatuh

  Astaghfirullah: expression said upon committing a mistake or sin or upon hearing or witnessing something sinful or reprehensible, literally “I seek God’s forgiveness”

  daff: small hand drum

  da’wah: any teaching about Islam for the purpose of clarifying religious misunderstandings or inviting someone to become Muslim

  deen: religion, often used in reference to the religion of Islam

  du’aa: supplication to God or informal prayer

  jilbaab: outer garment for Muslim women that resembles a large, loose dress, sometimes used in reference to the Saudi-style abaya insha’Allah : literally “if God wills” or “God-willing,” often said in reference to something expected or hoped to happen in the future

  kaafir: disbeliever

  khimaar: Muslim woman’s head cover, often referred to as hijab

  maashaAllah : literally “it was God’s will,” often said in admiration of something or in acceptance of a situation

  niqaab: face veil

  Qur’an: the Muslim holy book

  shahaadah: the Muslim testimony of faith, formally recited to officially enter the religion of Islam

  Subhaan Allah: glorification of the greatness and perfection of God, often uttered upon sudden inspiration, epiphany, or surprise

  Sunnah: the exemplary prophetic example drawn from the life, sayings, and teachings of Prophet Muhammad, peace be upon him

  ukhti: term of friendly endearment for females, literally means “my sister”

  Wa’aliku-mus-salaam: the Muslim greeting of peace said in response to As-salaamu’alaikum and is sometimes extended to include wa-rahmatullaah and/or wa-barakaatuh

  WAllah: an oath in the name of God, literally “By God,” often uttered to emphasize the truth of something

  wudhoo: ritual ablution before formal prayers

  DEDICATION

  For those who are making peace with who they are—

  and embracing, ever so furtively,

  who they can become

  I don’t know how this journey will end.

  I don’t even know fully where I stand.

  I know only that I have faith. And for me,

  that’s all that matters now.

  —from the journal of Umm Zakiyyah

  PROLOGUE

  When my mother became Muslim, I didn’t even know what a Muslim was. I mean, what does a nine-year-old know about religion?

  I remember when she first told me. I was tucking the Ebony magazine under my pillow so that my parents wouldn’t know I was reading it. I looked up and saw my mother standing near my bedroom door. Her arms were folded, and she was frowning, looking all upset. I thought she was angry with me for reading “grown-up stuff,” but she just sat on the edge of my bed and smiled at me.

  “Naya, I’m Muslim now.” Her eyes seemed sad for some reason.

  “What?”

  “I’m Muslim.” Her smile seemed childlike, like she was waiting for my approval.

  I averted my gaze and pulled the covers up to my shoulders as I settled under them. “Okay.” I had no idea what she was talking about, but since I was pretty sure I wasn’t in trouble, I just wanted to go to sleep.

  My mother stood and patted my head. “Thanks, Naya.” She turned off the light and closed the door as she left. I lay awake in the darkness for several minutes before finally shutting my eyes and drifting to sleep.

  “Children are resilient.” That’s what my father used to say. Maybe that’s why I jumped head-on into Islam myself and even learned Arabic and Qur’an and thought it was “cool” to live in Saudi Arabia.

  Oh my God.

  Did I really think that?

  Chapter 1

  The Move

  “Well, it’s definitely not what we had in mind when we moved here,” Veronica said, the cordless phone between her shoulder and ear as she kneeled down to pick up a stack of books from the floor. She wiped a hand on her jeans before standing and shuffling through the old paperbacks. “At this point, we have no idea where he’s going to find work in Maryland. All we know is we can’t live here anymore.” She grunted, wrinkling her nose as she tossed a wilted, coverless book to the pile on the floor. “At least if we plan to stay married.”

  Inaya stood on the opposite side of the living room, hands on her hips as she surveyed the clutter. Dust soiled the faded white T-shirt that she wore, and the worn threads in the right knee of her jeans exposed brown skin in need of lotion.

  Inaya bit her lower lip as she looked at the piles of glass plates, bowls, and cups. She glanced uncertainly at her mother, who was leaning over a box and arranging some books inside. The faded black handkerchief knotted at the back of Veronica’s head exposed an array of short twists that were fraying at the ends.

  “That’s what we thought too,” Veronica said, amusement in her tone. “You’d expect a bit more from a Muslim country, huh? But they just couldn’t get over the idea of an Arab guy marrying a black woman.”

  “Mom?” Inaya knew it was better to wait till her mother finished talking before asking about the dishes, but her stepfather had said he wanted everything packed by the time he returned from work.

  Veronica brought a hand to her mouth to stifle laughter, a clear sign she hadn’t heard Inaya speaking to her. “Girl, you’re a trip,” Veronica said, shaking her head. “I threw away most of my old pictures. But to tell you the truth, Sa’ad wanted to keep the ones from graduate school.”

  “Mom?” Inaya’s raised voice was on the verge of a whine.

  “Hold on a second.” Veronica covered the mouthpiece with one hand and turned toward Inaya.

  “What is it?”

  “What should I do with the dishes?”

  “Pack them. What else?”

  “But they’re glass. Won’t they break?”

  “Get some old newspaper and wrap them.”

  Inaya’s eyes widened. “Each one?”

  Veronica drew her eyebrows together in annoyance. “Yes. Each one. Now, hurry up before Sa’ad gets home.”

  “But…”

  Veronica was already turned back around and engaged in conversation before Inaya could protest further.

  “Girl, you know I gave up modeling after I became Muslim,” Veronica said, her grin visible as Inaya sighed and went to retrieve an empty box. “That was the first thing Sa’ad told me after he asked to mar
ry me.” She laughed. “But he said there’s no harm in keeping a few pictures.”

  Inaya groaned as she dropped the empty box on the floor next to the dishes then dragged herself to the kitchen to find old newspapers.

  A faint cry came from a back room as Inaya crouched in front of a cabinet near the sink. She pulled a stack of aged Arab News and Saudi Gazette papers from the bottom shelf and set them on the floor.

  “Inaya,” Veronica called from the living room, “can you bring me the baby?”

  Sighing, Inaya pushed herself to a standing position, then reached over the sink and held one palm up as she pressed the soap dispenser with the other. She rubbed her palms together to distribute the white cream over both hands before turning on the tap and letting the water run over her hands. She would have to find a clean shirt to change into too. Her mother was very particular about never handling a newborn with soiled clothing and dirty hands.

  ***

  “Surprise!”

  Inaya’s eyes widened as she surveyed the large room that was filled with dozens of girls she had met during the seven years she had lived in Riyadh. Amongst them were Saudi girls she had tutored in English or met at school, as well as expats from India, Pakistan, America, and the United Kingdom whom she had befriended or met during an Arabic or Qur’an class.

  Inaya laughed and glanced behind her at her mother, and Veronica grinned back at Inaya, the baby against Veronica’s chest from where she stood in the doorway of the small house. The rest of the women, mothers of most of the girls, relaxed outside on blankets spread out on grass patches atop the dirt and sand. The expansive land was enclosed by a tall stone wall that afforded the women maximum privacy when they removed their abayas and veils.

  “You have fun,” Veronica said, squeezing Inaya’s arm gently, one arm cradling the baby. “I’m outside if you need me.”

  Inaya nodded as her mother released her arm and turned the door handle to go outside. Inaya was yanked into the crowd by one of her friends before she could respond.

  “Were you surprised?” Rafa said, looping her arm through Inaya’s and guiding Inaya across the room. Rafa’s dark eyes sparkled as she looked eagerly at Inaya.

  Inaya laughed. “I had no idea. My mom just said we should take a break from packing.”

  The other girls squealed in laughter, clapping their hands together. “Your mom is so cool, maasha Allah,” Rafa said, grinning.

  “Did she help plan this?” Inaya’s eyes widened more as she looked at her friends.

  Rafa nodded. “It was her idea.”

  “No way…”

  “We wanted to do something for you before you left,” Rafa said. “So we asked her opinion.”

  “My mom is a trip.” Inaya smiled knowingly as she unhooked her arm from Rafa’s. Inaya lifted her chin slightly as she unfastened the pin of her khimaar. She pulled at the black chiffon cloth, exposing the mass of braids that framed her face. “She had me thinking we were going to be cleaning the house all night.”

  The rhythmic sound of a drum came from a far corner of the room, and Inaya turned to see two of her Saudi friends beating a small drum and nodding their heads to the rhythm.

  “Yaa ukhtunaa,” they sang in harmony, “nuhibbuki fillaah. Yaa ukhutunaa, hafidhakillaah…” O our sister, we love you for the sake of Allah. O our sister, may you be under the protection of Allah…

  Rafa grabbed Inaya’s hands and began to dance playfully. The other girls laughed and jumped to their feet and joined in as the Saudi girls continued to play the daff and sing.

  ***

  “The first thing I want to say, Inaya, is that you’re an inspiration to all of us, maasha Allah.” The Saudi girls who had been singing and playing the drum now stood in front of the room as the other girls sat on the Arab-style floor couch that lined the room’s walls, looking at the sisters as the elder one spoke. Tears glistened in Batool’s eyes as she gazed at Inaya.

  “I’m really sad to see you go,” Batool said, “WAllah, before I met you, I took the Qur’an for granted. And I took Arabic for granted too. But seeing you memorize the whole Qur’an and push everyone to learn Arabic, subhaan Allah, it made me realize how important Qur’an and Fus-ha should be in our lives.”

  Batool’s younger sister nodded her head, her expression thoughtful.

  “I remember when I first met you,” Batool said, smiling sadly, “and I asked why you want to learn Arabic when you already have the best language in the world.”

  Inaya smiled at the memory, bowing her head from where she sat next to Rafa on the floor couch, a half-eaten plate of food on the carpet by her feet.

  “And you said, ‘No, you have the best language in the world. What can be better than the language of Qur’an?’”

  Batool shook her head as she drew in a deep breath. “WAllah, hearing you say that made me so ashamed, and after that I started memorizing Qur’an myself.”

  ***

  We have no idea what we’re going to do without you,

  “The girl who gets things done.”

  But I suppose we’ll have to figure out a way to still learn, Do things right, and have some fun!

  Thanks for teaching us the meaning of friendship

  And love for Allah’s sake.

  Thanks for telling us to pray and cover—

  Without taking a break!

  Thanks for teaching us that Islam is a religion of action, Not a religion of words.

  Thanks for reminding us that saying

  No! to Allah (about anything) is absurd.

  We’re going to miss you, Inaya,

  Our beloved sister, “cousin”, and friend.

  But like you always say, “Keep the faith, girl,

  And, insha’Allah, we’ll meet in the End.”

  Inaya smiled as she sat on the edge of her bed late that night, re-reading the poem the girls had written and given to her.

  “Are you nervous about going back to America?” Rafa had asked her.

  Inaya had laughed. “Honestly, I can’t wait.”

  “Really?” Her friend seemed genuinely surprised.

  “I’m going to miss everyone,” Inaya said. “But I look forward to having a normal life again.”

  Inaya folded the paper and stuffed it back into the envelope before setting it on top of her other cards and gifts next to her bed. She stood and reached across the pile to press the light switch by the door. The room went black, and Inaya felt a lump in her throat.

  “Are you going to come back to visit?” Rafa had asked as she helped Inaya put the gifts in the back of the car.

  “My mom says we’ll probably never come back,” Inaya said as she pushed some boxes to the side to make room for others.

  When Inaya turned to take a bag from Rafa, she saw Rafa’s eyes widen through the slit of the black veil. “Never?”

  Inaya shook her head. “She said we did Hajj and ‘Umrah, and that’s enough.”

  “But what about Brother Sa’ad? He won’t visit his family?”

  Inaya shrugged. “A lot of his family live in Virginia, so I’m not sure.”

  “But…”

  Inaya waved her hand. “I guess he can come by himself if he wants.”

  “No way… You won’t come too?”

  Inaya was silent momentarily. “I’m not sure I want to.”

  Rafa averted her gaze and was quiet as she helped Inaya arrange the last of the gifts in the trunk. The embrace she gave Inaya minutes later was devoid of its normal emotion, and Inaya sensed something she had said cut her friend deep.

  Inaya pulled the bedcovers over herself and recited Ayatul-Kursi in the dark. She shut her eyes and tried to concentrate on the verses of Qur’an, but Inaya could still see Rafa’s sad eyes avoiding hers.

  A second later Inaya thought of her father and friends in America, and Inaya’s heart swelled in anticipation for her flight back home next week.

  Chapter 2

  America

  “Too many rules,” Anthony said in resp
onse to his younger sister, who stood next to him on the balcony of the suburban Maryland home that their parents owned. He tapped his cigarette lightly against the wooden railing before bringing it to his mouth.

  “Then don’t follow the rules,” Veronica said. “That’s better than never becoming Muslim.”

  Anthony’s gaze was thoughtful as he exhaled a train of smoke. “That’s new.”

  “What’s new?” Veronica turned to her brother, her eyebrows drawn together.

  “Making compromises.” He frowned momentarily. “It was always all or nothing with you.”

  She creased her forehead. “I never said that.”

  “You didn’t have to. You always come here preaching like God asked us to be angels or else we’ll burn in Hell.”

  Veronica drew in a deep breath as her gaze rested on the grass and trees aligning the fence of the backyard. How could she respond to something like that? Sometimes she felt it didn’t matter what she said or did. She would be viewed negatively as long as she was Muslim.

  “And according to you,” Anthony said, “God makes the rules, so we have no choice but to follow them.”

  Veronica sighed. “We always have a choice, Tony. There are just consequences for what we choose.”

  “Then why are you telling me to break rules?”

  “I didn’t mean it like that. I meant it’s better to be a sinful Muslim than to not be Muslim at all.”

  Anthony was silent as he squinted his eyes and smoked.