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Growing
up in the U.S. in the 1980s, my knowledge of Islam was flawed
and minimal. My father taught my brother and I to be aware of
the world, interested in other cultures, and well-read. At
that time, the media portrayed Islam on the basis of the
Iranian Revolution and the conflict in Palestine. Portrayals
of women’s issues were limited to the “Not Without My
Daughter” variety. Though I never saw the movie or read the
book, my understanding at that time was that Muslim women were
slaves to their husbands, there were no limits to the number
of rival wives, wives were beaten or even killed if they gave
birth to a daughter, and neglected if they did not give rapid
birth to sons. The sight of women in full black coverings,
that we were led to believe were very heavy and contained
several layers, including veils over their faces, was
frightening to a girl raised in the era of Madonna and Cyndi
Lauper. In addition to these greater problems, we were taught
in school that Middle Eastern women were not allowed to leave
their houses and lived in great poverty, sharing their rooms
with their rival wives and all the children, rarely seeing
their husbands. In our rare and minimal instruction on the
history or culture of Islam, no distinction was made between
the variety of cultures in the Middle East and Islam as a
religion. I did not realize that anyone other than Arabs and
some African Americans were Muslim, and I did not realize that
not all Arabs were Muslim.
Because
my father told me that the best education I would ever receive
was the education I could give myself by reading, I became a
serious reader. I spent more time in the library than anywhere
social, and I read so much that when it was necessary to
punish me, my parents knew the only effective way was to take
my books away. AlhamdulAllah, this love of books has
remained with me and though I never expected it to happen,
this love of learning helped to lead me to Islam. I read The
Autobiography of Malcolm X when I was in the fifth grade
and although it did not open my mind to Islam, I did refuse to
eat pork after that. Even if it did not cause a deep change in
my thinking, in later years I would realize that it planted
something in my mind and heart; I just was not ready to accept
it or put much thought into it.
Over
the years I was abused, molested, and otherwise used by many
people in my life. This led me to move out of my parents’
home when I was 16 years old. My brother remained in the home
and struggled with his own issues, including gang activity. I
finished high school on time and went on about my life, proud
that I could handle so much responsibility on my own. I did
not put much thought into God at this time. I became mildly
involved with Wicca (white witchcraft), but was only playing
with it and realize now how blessed I was that I did not cause
serious damage to myself or others with my games. I also began
to pick up bits and pieces of religious cultural practices,
such as traditional Celtic and Native American spirituality (I
am Native American and Irish) and Hinduism and
Buddhism—without actually understanding any of it or
connecting it properly with a Higher Power.
I
lived a fairly wild life of sex, mild drug use, clubbing and
partying. I “loved” everyone and enjoyed myself in every
hedonistic way I could, with no concern for my future on this
earth or in the hereafter. I also suffered major depressions;
in fact, the depressions began when I was very young, partly
in response to the restrictions I felt that my Christian
parents placed on me. At times I was suicidal and it was only
through the grace of Allah that my attempts did not do any
permanent damage to my body or mind.
Although
I professed a social conscience and was the first to support
all kinds of causes, I actually lived my life very
irresponsibly. I did not hold jobs on a regular basis, lived
hand-to-mouth, and tried to have little cares. While living
with very little, I was in fact very materialistic and
self-absorbed. I did nothing truly valuable for society and
was a drain on my family and friends.
It
was during this time that I met one of my brother’s fellow
gang members and became seriously involved. Although because
of our relationship both my brother and his friend left the
gang, there were still many trials awaiting all of us. My new
man had a serious drug habit that I was not experienced enough
to deal with and could not do anything about. We ended up in
all kinds of legal troubles and ran away to a different state
to avoid them. During this time, I hit a low point, living in
the park, nearly starving to death, suffering miscarriages,
and doing things for money that I never would have thought I
would do.
Upon
our return to our home state my boyfriend was arrested and I
discovered I was pregnant again. By some miracle of Allah, my
child was healthy and strong and I managed to carry him to
term. In between time, my brother had been to jail and
converted to Islam but upon release had moved out of town and
we had no contact. After my son was born my brother came to
visit the family. He told me a lot of what he was learning,
and I was impressed with the changes to his personality and
manners. It seemed that the strictures of Islam were a very
good thing for him. He had previously been diagnosed (I
believe correctly) with Schizo-Affective Disorder
(Schizophrenia, including hallucinations, with acute
depression) but since his conversion he exhibited no symptoms
and needed no treatment. My brother had become a gentle and
soft-spoken man, dressed in traditional clothing and carried
himself with great respect. He shared the basics of Islam with
me and I was happy for him that he had found this belief, but
had no interest in changing my own life.
With
my son’s father in prison, I tried to become more
responsible and put my life in order for my son’s sake. I
began to attend church with my mother. A few months after my
brother came home to visit, he returned with a wife in full
veil, and months later she was pregnant with their first son.
I wanted to like my new sister-in-law, but I think in
retrospect that I was ashamed of my own ways and for that
reason could not accept her modesty. May Allah bless her for
her patience and willingness to continue to share Islam with
me despite my attitude toward her. My brother also brought a
friend home to talk with my mother about Islam. This was the
first Muslim man besides my brother that I met and I remember
his visits brought out a side of me I had not known existed.
This Muslim man always struck me as bright white. I know now
that it was because he had nur (light, shining) in his
face, though I was too shy to look at him directly. Every time
he visited, I found myself running to cover my half clothed
body. To this day I make du`aa' [editor's note: du`aa'
means supplication] for this brother’s safety and well-being
as he made such an impression on me, but I have never seen him
since. I had by that time met a man who seemed nice and
responsible and I was dating him. My brother and his wife
moved in with my mother, son and I, and my new fiancé visited
every day. A few months before my nephew was born my brother
and his wife moved to their own apartment and I had thoroughly
worked my poor sister-in-laws nerves to the point that we
could no longer maintain contact. I then married my fiancé
and moved from my mother’s house as well.
After
my nephew’s birth and my marriage, I began to visit with my
brother and his wife. I was moved by the peacefulness of their
home and family life. My sister-in-law sought to make my son
and I comfortable when we visited, and began to tell me a bit
more about Islam. My husband did not like my brother and made
disparaging comments to his face and behind his back that
shamed me. This caused strife in my marriage and I began to
spend a lot of time at my brother’s house since my husband
did not allow me to work. Over time I found myself interested
in my sister-in-law’s covering and began to understand the
comfort she must feel, maintaining her privacy. I was also
able to determine that the fabric used was not oppressive or
hot as I had always expected. When I suggested to my husband
that I might like to cover, he scoffed at me. He had always
encouraged me to wear revealing clothing, and I think it made
him feel good to have a “sexy” wife, but I did not feel
respected. After only a few months of marriage, and only a
week after our baptism in the church, he revealed to me that
he was having an affair and no longer wanted to be married.
Again, my life was in shambles and I moved my son and I back
to my mother’s house.
Of
course, I then spent even more time with my sister-in-law. My
brother and his wife were the only people supportive of me
after my husband kicked me out. The church we attended told me
there was always a reason that a man would have an affair and
that it was a shortcoming of the wife. They also told me that
I should not look for work or leave his home, even though he
had told me to leave, as I was sinning by creating a life
without him instead of being patient waiting for him to
return. The church did not offer to pay for my son’s food or
clothing or diapers so that I could wait for “God to move my
husband’s heart”, they only judged me and this made me
very cynical. My brother and his wife understood that I needed
to look after my son and that my marriage was over. They
offered their home to me and my sister-in-law offered to
babysit so that I could work. They took the time to explain to
me the Islamic views on marriage, divorce and women’s
rights. I was greatly surprised to discover that this
so-called masochistic religion was in fact more realistic and
understanding of my plight than my church had been.
Unfortunately,
before I could tell my brother that I was ready to live with
him, he and his family were forced to leave town very
unexpectedly. After they settled down, my sister-in-law wrote
to me and we began to maintain contact. After only a few more
months, with my life still a complete mess, I decided that I
was fed up trying to live my own way. I found my brother’s
former employer, who was Muslim, and begged him to take my son
and I to my brother’s home. He happily complied, also giving
me a Qur’an to read on the way. This brother was so kind and
respectful to me, and very thoughtful of my son. He offered to
marry me, but I was shocked by this and asked for time to be
with my brother. He delivered me to my brother with no hard
feelings and went back to his business.
Living
with my brother and his wife proved to be more of a challenge
than I expected and we were terribly poor. But I took my shahadah
[editor's note: shahadah means Testimony of Faith] and
lived in a town where I heard the adhan [editor's note:
adhan means call to Prayer] called five times a day and
was surrounded by Muslims. There were a lot of problems too,
but I always remember how beautiful it was and I miss those
days. My brother and his wife taught me how to make wudu'
[editor's note: wudu' means ablution], how to pray, how
to do dhiker [editor's note: dhikr means
remembrance of Allah], and nearly everything else I needed to
know to begin to live as a Muslim.
Eventually,
I had to come home to find work and provide better life for my
son. I stopped wearing hijab and niqab [editor's note: niqab
means face veil] and did what I had to do to find work. I had
made some basic moral improvements and proudly stated that I
was a Muslim, but I found it very hard to live as one. My town
does not have a tight-knit community, and unfortunately, my
pre-Islam past was leaked out and sisters were not willing to
speak to me. AlhamdulAllah, I found a job where I had
access to the internet and began to look up information about
Islam and purchase books. This also led to me purchasing
hijabs, and eventually niqabs, although my employer
refused to allow me to wear hijab. On-line I made many
Muslimah friends and built my own little community. I also
found a new husband. Due to my own impatience and particularly
strict views, that marriage also quickly failed and I left
him. After leaving my husband, I again gave up hijab and niqab
and began to live a little wildly. I hid it well, but I
did not live Islamically at all for a time. To this day, I
wonder what better turn my life might have taken if I had
stayed with that husband, but Allah apparently had other plans
for me.
Again,
I met a man. He was kind and gentle and generous and I fell in
love. But he was not Muslim. I was honest with him that I was
Muslim and could only marry a Muslim. I began to wear hijab
again and he accepted this. He was willing to accept Islam and
took his shahadah and we married. After some time, I
again was blessed to find a job with internet service and
built up a community of sisters again. I finally began to do
what I had always wanted to do: write. With the support of
sisters on-line, I even began to write Islamic stories and
articles. My employer also appreciated the Islamic viewpoint
that I brought to our social service work, as well as the
integrity I brought to the office. They were pleased that I
wore hijab and supported me, in-as-much as non-Muslims can.
Although
I continue to strive hard, it is not always easy. I struggle
like anyone else and my faith sometimes seems like it may
falter. But I try to remember that everything is in Allah’s
Hands and that as long as I am struggling against my own nafs
[editor's note: nafs means human self] and obeying Him,
He protects me. I am blessed to have a lot of Muslimah friends
all over the world, and hope, insha'Allah, to someday
move to a stronger community of believers. It is impossible
for me to forget that Allah used my own younger brother to
bring me to the truth, and I recognize this blessing is
unique. Although my parents are unwilling to hear about Islam,
I know that I am blessed to have family that I can share this
gift with. I make du`aa' that through my writing I
glorify Allah and encourage others to seek His Path—the only
true path to happiness and a good life—Islam.
*
This story originally published as “With Every Difficulty There is Relief” in The Straight Path/An-Nisaa Magazine, September 2004. It is republished with kind permission.
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