Salamah slowed down to let the rest of her fellow 8th graders go up ahead. She always enjoyed hanging back from the group to find a quiet moment. It helped her unpack her day at school and introspect on all the happenings.
Although unlike other days, today her mind was buzzing with anticipation and excitement. She was going to find out if her application to Crescent High School was accepted or not.
Crescent High School was a premier Islamic high school close to downtown. With a highly competitive application process, a state-of-the-art campus and a faculty with amazing credentials, the high school was ranked one of the top schools in the country.
Salamah’s two older siblings, Omer and Hina, had already successfully made the transition from their public middle school to this Muslim high school. Omer was now graduating this year while Hina had two more years to go.
Every day after school, the two siblings shared their school stories and anecdotes with Salamah who always listened intently, secretly praying to join them there one day. Hina and Omer also always commuted together in the car in the morning while Salamah made this walk to the public middle school close by. Then the school hours were such that Salamah had to leave earlier than her siblings in the morning and return home earlier in the afternoon to an empty house until mama returned with the other two. Being a part of the same school was always the highlight of Salamah day dreams!
Salamah just couldn’t settle down when she got home. She was buzzing with anticipation. The result would be uploaded online at 4:30pm. It was still 3:30pm, thought Salamah with a sigh. Her mom wouldn’t be back with Omer and Hina for at least another half an hour. She felt she had to be doing something. She set the lunch table and took the lasagna dish out of the refrigerator and put it in the oven. She allowed herself to imagine what it would feel like to be accepted and go to a school with Muslims all around. It would feel like home, she thought.
Soon Mama was home with Omer and Hina and it was time to sit down together for lunch. Everyone gave Salamah a hug or a shoulder squeeze to show sympathy for her restless wait.
At 4:30pm, they crowded around Mama’s laptop and logged into her parent school account. Salamah felt her heart racing and she covered her mouth with her hand as the page loaded. She blinked and stared hard in disbelief as she spied the opening lines of the new message in the inbox: “we regret to inform you that Salamah…”
She covered her whole face with her hands even as she felt Mama’s arms around her shoulders. Hina was kissing her head and Omer was patting her back as he murmured “oh no, Salamah! Oh no!”
“We know you really wanted to go to Crescent High School but Allah Al Hakeem, Al-Aziz has willed it otherwise. We trust His Wisdom and Plan.” Mama reminded her gently as she felt Salamah’s shoulder shake. “It’s hard to see it through your grief right now but we must not forget that it is what is best for us. It is not random, it is calculated, and that’s why we trust Allah and know that he is sufficient for us.” She repeated the last phrase a few times.
Salamah was feeling so many dreams shatter before her eyes. From her enjoying Muslim friends who understood her values and lifestyle completely to being in an environment where she can unapologetically be herself. Even at home, she had wanted to be part of the same school as Hina and Omer so she could share the same schedule and experiences.
She felt her frustration rise but she held her breath and her tongue. She knew she needed quiet and solitude to sift through her thoughts. She squeezed back her mom’s hand on her shoulder and said quietly, “I’ll pray Asr and lay down for a bit.” Mama nodded back in return.
Over the next months, Salamah found her thoughts to be warring with each other as she began her freshman year in the local High School. In the morning, she always started with a firm resolution to trust Allah’s wisdom and plan. Yet on the walk back from her school, her sense of loss would return and wash over her, she felt she was no longer looking forward to school. Shoulders slumped and face sullen, she would make her way home on foot and bide her time impatiently until Mama and her siblings returned.
That day had been particularly tough. Someone had left a sticky note with a caricature of her in her hijab with these words: take it back home. On any other day, she would have crumpled it and thrown it away in the trash where it rightly belonged. This time, however, it scoured through her fragile emotional defenses and brought forth all the simmering vulnerability underneath.
Only earlier this year, Salamah had committed to wearing the hijab. She stood out like a sore thumb at her school with there being no other girls who also observed the hijab. It made her conscious and uneasy to be so different. One of the reasons why she had been counting on going to the Islamic High school was to be among similar people. Thankfully, apart from some fringe elements here and there, who also caused trouble in other school matters, her hijab had mostly been accepted.
After school, Salamah felt particularly blue and went to bed abruptly after Maghrib. She woke up with a startle and realized that she had forgotten to close the curtains before falling asleep. It was the clear and silver shaft of moonlight descending on her face that had woken her up. She gazed out at the white, ethereal orb that hung mystically in the clear sky. How did she end up beholding such magnificence?
A faint voice echoed in Salamah’s head, “Qaddurallahu wa masha fa’al”. An image of a Palestinian father holding his deceased child came to mind. The voice was louder and clearer now. He was saying it with such dignity and calm, with so much – a voice inside her added- TRUST. “Whatever Allah has decreed has happened”. From the timing of the death of a loved one to the full moon in the middle of night to every aspect of your rizq. The question was, was she going to trust Him, did she consider Him to be sufficient for her, when the decree wasn’t to her liking, and then keep going patiently and righteously?
The next day, Salamah looked at everything with renewed purpose, something inside her had shifted, which was why she was able to hear the cry that made her stop in her tracks . It came from a house that she passed by on her walk back from the school. She had always admired its elegant and artistic facade with its beautifully manicured and landscaped front yard. She had often seen a friendly lady tending to it who would always pause to wave and smile at Salamah.
It didn’t look to be in much order as Salamah walked slowly to the front steps. In her own troubles of the last few weeks, she had failed to notice the disarray growing in this yard. She wondered if she had imagined the sound since there was no sign of life apparent from the house. She was about to turn back toward the sidewalk when she heard the cry again. It sounded like someone calling out in excruciating pain.
Something inside her snapped at that sound and she instinctively went to the front door. Realizing that it was bolted, she quickly ran toward the backyard door and leapt up to open the lock from inside. The door swung open. She made her way into the back and could hear the soft whimpers now. She pressed her face on the glass French door while shading her eyes from the sun. It looked into a family room. There was a lady sprawled out on the floor.
The next few minutes seemed like a surreal blur to Salamah. She recalled somehow locating the person’s phone so she could call the emergency for help. They were sending an EMT right away and advised her to administer some first aid care and try to keep the patient awake. She watched as the EMT arrived and rushed the patient to the hospital, she overheard them talk about a possible drug overdose case.
Over the next few days, Salamah watched for any sign of life at the house eagerly. She wanted to know if the lady was okay and would always make prayers for her as she passed by her house. One day she saw that the blinds in the front window were up. It took mustering some courage but Salamah got herself to timidly walk to the front door and ring the bell. A raspy voice asked who it was on the intercom.
“I am just a neighbor,” Salamah responded, unsure.
She was instructed to come in through the back. It brought back memories of the other day. How is she now? Salamah quelled her anxious thoughts and forced a cheery, courteous smile on her face as she rounded the corner and went in through French doors.
The lady was sitting in her family room in a wheelchair. It explained why the lady hadn’t come to the front door. The lady spoke up first.
“Hi, I am Linda,” she said, extending her hand. “Thank you for stopping by. You must be Salamah.”
Seeing the look of surprise on Salamah’s face, she added, “I was told at the hospital about the girl who called 911 for me. I am very grateful to you.”
“Of course, how are you doing? I just wanted to stop by to see if you are okay and if I can help with anything.” Salamah responded shyly.
Linda smiled weakly. “I am doing pretty well, given the circumstances. I haven’t recovered enough strength yet so I need this wheelchair for a bit.” She looked away for a heartbeat and then turned back to Salamah. Her eyes were glistening. “I am thankful to be alive and it’s because of you and your timely help. I have been so stupid with everything. But thank you…for your kindness.” She finished a bit brokenly.
Salamah nodded and gazed around the room for the first time. She wanted to give Linda some time to recover.
For the first time, she noticed the two-story wall of the room that had huge cathedral windows. What was remarkable about it were the framed photos dotting from the ceiling to floor. They were in every size, filter and angle: from colorful to black and white to sepia, from panoramas to portraits to closeups. On the mantle of the fireplace were professional cameras of various sizes on different tripods.
Salamah was so engrossed in her observation that she forgot where she was. Her eyes were riveted to a few photographs that she recognized and she was struck by a sudden thought.
“Are you Linda Sherman?” She had blurted out.
Linda raised her eyebrows and nodded.
“Wow,” said Salamah in awe. “I have always been a fan of your photos and your travelogs on National Geographic.”
“Looks like you are into photography.” Linda said with a smile.
“I’ve loved taking pictures since I was 7 years old.” Salamah gushed with a grin. “It started with an old XLR that belonged to my Dad. I am just an amateur though, I fiddle and tinker around.”
“Do you hope to take it up professionally one day?” Linda asked, narrowing her eyes.
“Yes, I want to be a photojournalist and a writer. I want to amplify and project the oppressed voices around the world through pictures and written works.” Salamah said dreamily.
“I see.” Linda replied. “I wish you all the best. If there is anything I can do to help you in your ambition, feel free to reach out.” She was fascinated by the young girl before her who seemed to have maturity and dignity way beyond her years.
“Thank you, I appreciate that. I should be going.” Salamah said and after a thought, she added. “There is a chicken broth recipe that my grandma has and she swears by it for regaining your body strength. Would it be okay if I brought it for you one day?”
“Oh gosh, I would love to try it but I wouldn’t want to put you through more trouble on my account.” Linda replied with feeling.
“It has been and is no trouble at all,” Salamah said firmly, looking at Linda squarely.
The very next day Salamah dropped by with the broth. Linda happily drank it. Salamah convinced Linda to let her tend to her garden and unload and reload the dishwasher. Soon Salamah had made it a part of her routine. On the way back from school, she would stop by at Linda’s place, often carrying a meal, and chat with her while skillfully taking care of some chores around the house.
One day, Linda asked her, “Salamah, I value your company and all your assistance for me more than you could ever imagine. I owe you a lot and I have been thinking about how to pay you back at least a little.”
She held up her hand as Salamah started to protest, shaking her head. “I had a young daughter that I lost to a car accident a few months ago. My biggest regret has been not spending enough time with her… You remind me of her.”
“Oh, I am so sorry, Linda,” Salamah murmured.
Linda swallowed. “I thought I had lost everything when she passed away. I felt I was drowning in a pit of darkness.” She looked away. “I was drinking and getting high to numb my pain. I had been unusually reckless that night and I could feel by morning that something was very wrong.”
Now she hung her head down. “In that moment of helplessness, I had cried out, “if you are there, God or supreme being, please get me out of this – I am nothing, so helpless.” She dabbed the corner of her eyes with her fingers and sniffed.
“My answer was you, Salamah. I have observed you and I know you believe in this too. We are brought together for a merciful reason.” Linda was looking straight at Salamah who felt dazed.
“What would you say to learning professional photography from me after school at this time?” Linda said earnestly. “Let’s build your portfolio for application to the best colleges for journalism. And you know what? You are never too young to start some photojournalism on social media to highlight the plight of marginalized groups in your local community.”
It was Salamah’s turn to dab at her eyes. Turning to Linda, she said, “yes, yes and a thousand times yes! I would love it and I am so grateful to you.” Then she remembered what Linda had said and she added. “You know, there is a tent city close by that my mama and I regularly deliver food to. I have been dreaming of capturing the stories of the people there to help our community care for our hungry and homeless people…” she went on making plans for her first project.
Salamah’s heart was bursting with joy. This was an incredible opportunity and it had come to her just like that. A walk back from school had changed everything. A walk back from a school that she had such a hard time seeing as good for her. Truly Allah was the best of planners.
The End
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