The sun was shining directly into her eyes, and Rumaisa hastily pulled the sun visor down to block the harsh afternoon rays. She then reached over to her phone, carefully positioned in its holder on the dashboard and hit dial. It was her daily ritual. Call Sonia right after work and catch up with her on the twenty-minute drive home.
Sonia picked up on the first ring.
“Assalamu-alaikum! Happy Monday afternoon!”
“Walaikum Assalam. Hmm, I guess.”
Sonia sounded concerned. “Hmm, you OK? Everything OK at home?”
“Yeah, everything’s fine at home. I don’t know…it’s not anything huge. Just went through some annoying training right now, that’s all.”
“Uh-oh. What was it all about? ‘How to organize your desk drawer’, or something equally irrelevant?” Rumaisa could hear the chuckle in Sonia’s voice.
“It was relevant. Like really relevant. But it made me feel irrelevant.”
“Girl, what are you going on about? My mind is too fried to be trying to figure out your riddles right now.”
“OK, OK. So, the training was about Title VII. It’s like a law that forbids discrimination against people based on their race, religion, and stuff, you know? Which is of course a good thing! But the training felt so irrelevant. I mean, there were a bunch of slides about examples of discrimination at work, and the whole time, I kept wondering when they’re going to mention Islamophobia.”
Sonia chuckled. “Let me guess. They didn’t.”
Rumaisa’s anger was apparent now. “Yeah, they didn’t! And when they want to show how ‘inclusive’ and diverse’ they are, they will take pictures of hijab-clad me for their marketing campaigns. And then forget about me.”
“Well,” Sonia said hesitatingly. “It’s not like you’ve been treated badly there either, right?”
Rumaisa was quiet for a minute. She waited for the light to turn green before she answered. “I’ve worked at this college for five years, and I have never, ever faced any discrimination. But that doesn’t mean it doesn’t exist, right?”
Now it was Sonia’s turn to sigh. “Yeah, you’re right. It’s happening everywhere now, left and right.” They were both silent, and Rumaisa’s mind raced with all the recent coverage she had seen on the news. Then, she burst out, “It’s not fair, you know, Sonia – why does it always have to be Black Lives Matter and Hispanic Heritage Month? Why not something for us?”
Sonia didn’t seem to have an answer. But she said, after a minute, “I’ll talk to you tomorrow. I’m pulling in at home right now,” and quickly hung up.
Rumaisa stared at her phone and wondered why Sonia had hung up so quickly. They had barely been talking for five minutes. Then it dawned on her. Sonia was African American.
***
Getting home, Rumaisa was troubled. She had tried to call Sonia back to explain, but she didn’t pick up. She kept repeating the conversation over and over in her head and felt slightly exasperated that Sonia had gotten offended. She hadn’t meant anything by it, except that other people should also be treated with respect and get their rights. How could Sonia not understand that?
But there wasn’t time to ponder too much. After getting home, she changed and peeked in on the kids, playing in their room, and said Salam to Amma, her mother-in-law. Then, she quickly prayed Asr and headed to the kitchen to prepare dinner. It seemed like the tasks were never-ending, but she was quick to remind herself of the immense blessings she had as well. While preparing dinner, she set up the laptops on the kitchen table, and her seven-year-old twin boys, Rafay and Sameer, had their Quran class online. While they were in class, Mustafa arrived home, carrying a few bags of fresh vegetables.
Dinner was served right after Maghrib, and as they all sat around the table, everyone spoke about their day. The twins were excited about the pinto bean plants they were growing in class, and Mustafa spoke of a good day, no trouble with the boss, good breaks to pray. Rumaisa thought it best not to mention her training. She was still chafed about it, and with Sonia’s reaction to it.
***
The rest of the week passed without much happening, but her heart was heavy. Her attempts to reach Sonia had been unsuccessful, and the only reply she had gotten to her calls and texts was a short text: “I think we both need some time to think. Please.”
She felt horrible and didn’t know how to fix the situation. Or, maybe she knew, but just didn’t want to admit it. In all the times she had tried to reach out, she hadn’t apologized to Sonia. She kept telling herself and Mustafa that Sonia didn’t need to be so sensitive, and that she was tired of having to tiptoe delicately around everyone. But when she was alone, at night, lying awake in bed, she admitted to herself that she needed to apologize. But it was just so hard.
***
That Friday, she was surprised to see another hijabi in her office. It was a Caucasian lady, who, judging by her looks, looked like she was in her 50s. The new lady shook her hand and introduced herself as Judy.
“Wow,” Rumaisa thought. “She found Islam at such a ripe age, Masha Allah!”
Rumaisa found herself getting excited about meeting this sister. She spent all day checking in with her, gave her tips about the best places and times to make wudu and pray, and where she could find halal options on campus. By the end of the day, she had also dropped several hints about being available to teach her how to pray, etc.
As they both headed out to their cars at 5:00, and Rumaisa once again gave some advice, Judy turned towards her, slightly exasperated, and said, “Rumaisa, I really appreciate your good intentions, but I’ve been a Muslim for over 30 years now. And I certainly don’t claim to know everything about Islam, but I feel that you think I don’t know anything.”
Rumaisa could feel a slight heat rising across her face as she stood, ashamed. She managed to mumble a few words of apology out, then quickly sat in her car.
Why did she keep making assumptions about people just based on their race? Why was she so insensitive?
***
Rumaisa had slumped home, more depressed than she had been that morning. She had crawled into bed, not caring to go say Salam to Amma, and got out only to pray Asr and Maghrib. This is where Mustafa found her when he arrived home with the twins after their Martial Arts class. He was a little alarmed at first, but when Rumaisa gave a summarized version of what had happened, he decided to let her be, and brought some food from the desi restaurant in their neighborhood instead. Rumaisa was relieved and thankful, and decided to sleep right after Isha.
The next morning, she was still sulking, but she got out of bed and started with the weekend chores – laundry, cleaning, cooking. A little past 2 o’ clock, after lunch, Mustafa peeked into the kitchen and said, “You’re not joining your class today?” Rumaisa started. She had forgotten about her weekly online halaqa. But then her head dropped again. It’s not like it would make a difference to her. She didn’t seem likely to change. Mustafa noticed her facial expressions and said, “Go join your class. It might make you feel better. I’ll put the dishes in the dishwasher.” She looked at him, and when he nodded with encouragement, she slowly turned off the tap and wiped her hands as she walked out of the kitchen.
The class had already begun, and when she joined, she could hear Sister Ruby speaking. “So, no matter what the circumstances, no matter how hard it is, no matter if our own family or friends are wrong, we must stand with the truth, with justice.” In a while, it made sense to Rumaisa that they were discussing verse no. 13 from Surah Nisa. After speaking about the importance of justice for a while, Sister Ruby said, “This might not seem relevant immediately, but let us ponder. Let us recall what the Prophet SAW taught us about no Arab being superior to a non-Arab. That each person, man or woman, will be recompensed according to their deeds. That in the eyes of Allah SWT, riches or poverty meant nothing. Race and gender are not dividers in Islam. They are ways to categorize, to distinguish us apart from one another, but not to claim superiority of one over the other. If we can understand this, we can be on the path to become true upholders of justice.”
She continued to speak, but Rumaisa’s mind was whirling. She had known this, of course. She had grown up reading the Quran and listening to lectures and attending halaqas. But for some reason, it hit differently today. Who am I to think I am better than anyone else? That I deserve something more than another? That I have more knowledge than others? Who said? Not Allah!
Though her thoughts whirled, and she couldn’t understand a word, she stayed on the line, and when Sister Fatima started explaining the Hadith, she made an effort to listen.
Towards the end of the class, when Sister Ruby asked if anyone had any questions, she heard a familiar voice speak up. It was Sonia! Rumaisa couldn’t believe it. She had told Sonia about this halaqa, but she had never attended before. As Rumaisa tried to make sense of what was going on, Sonia continued to speak. “What can we do if we make a mistake? I know Allah forgives if we make Tawbah, but what if we keep repeating the mistake? Over and over again?”
There was a hint of a loving smile in Sister Ruby’s voice as she replied, “Then we keep asking for forgiveness over and over again. And we keep vowing to change ourselves. And we keep trying. We don’t make false promises or fake attempts, but if we are genuinely regretful after we do wrong, and repent, Allah SWT is Merciful.”
This was the salve that her heart had needed and, making sure that she was on mute, Rumaisa wept into her hands. This is what she needed to do. She needed to ask forgiveness from Allah, and then from her friend. At that moment, she looked out the window and saw that it had begun to rain lightly. All the beautiful distinct colors of the scene outside were blurred behind the rain.
As soon as the dua concluded and everyone said their salaams and she exited the virtual conference room, she dialed Sonia’s number and got a “call could not go through” message. The next instant, the screen on her phone lit up. Sonia was calling.
When Mustafa stepped into the room a few moments later, he could hear a jumble of female voices: Rumaisa talking over Sonia on the phone, with a lot of words overlapping. He heard “sorry”, “forgive”, “you’re crazy” and “I’m crazy”. With a smile, he closed the door back again, and knew things would be better, Insha Allah.
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