MAKING HIJRAH 40: Running My Own Race

The summer of 2010, school finished and I was on my own time.  I could do as I pleased once again.  I had made the decision long ago that I would not be traveling to America that first year.  I knew my expenses would not allow for it.  Besides that, I needed more time to perfect who I was---not that I'd ever be perfect.

A lot was weighing on me even though I was weighing less than I had in a long time.  I was thinking of getting myself ready for the one year anniverary of making hijrah.  I wanted to be better.  Better at what?  I wasn't exactly sure but I wanted to have achieved some kind of proof that I made a good decision coming here; some kind of concrete affirmation.

While I was sitting home, organizing my life for the first time in a long time, I was slowly getting depressed.  It was depressing to suddenly not have friends. My British gal pal had decided to leave and not come back.  She and I packed up her things in her apartment and talked over life and love, careers and futures.  It was a big moment for her but it really was big for me too.  I was saying goodbye to not only her but to her way of leaving independently.  I could not and would not be leaving.

My gal pal gave me a bunch of stuff to cart back to my apartment.  We signalled a taxi and loaded it up.  There was so much:  bags of clothes, kitchen goods, some food and even a vacuum!  I chatted with the driver a little.  He wanted to ask me about Obama.  I told him how good Obama was and commented that he himself looked a little like Obama.

The driver got Mr. Boo and I back to our house and the stuff was unloaded.  In the house it went, my husband paid and off the taxi went.  I kept trying to figure out where everything was.  Where was the vacuum?  Where was the frozen food?  I called my gal pal to ask if I'd left it at her place by mistake.

No.  She was sure that I'd been tricked by the trunk.  It had happened to her.  The driver loads the things he wants under the false bottom in the trunk and then when you're unloading you don't see it.  He was now the proud owner of shrimp and a Hoover. 

If I ever see him again...

but you know what?  I probably won't.  So, it's best to leave it to Allah.  I must not have needed that stuff.  Alhumdulillah for what I got.  I got clothes for me and for the nieces.  I got some spices.  Really, there was so much and it was nice to have it even if I couldn't have my friend.

What was depressing is that I didn't have internet either.  I couldn't connect with friends and family back home.  I didn't have internet because my laptop had malfunctioned.  There was a whole coping mechanism/addiction in my life which was removed at a time when I was also losing a friend and out of work.

Wow.

That summer was a real test of who I wanted to be.  I got very quiet for the first time in a long time.  I did simple things like reading and writing.  I took walks and had talks and learned more Arabic.  I spent time having a little life.  It was boring!  I knew that I couldn't sustain it but it was okay for a short time.  I needed that slow lane to cool my engines.

We went shopping for used books.

We went to the village Kerdasa to see their market day. They are known for their galabiyas and I bought three.

Ramadan was coming.  I was beyond excited.  That turned out to be a problem.  When we anticipate too much, our expectations go too high.  I was picturing a life of family fun during Ramadan.  I had been cut off from friends and family that summer and really needed the family to rally round me.

They didn't.

They were used to their Ramadan routines and none of those included me.  They were busy doing their rituals.  I was not.  I wasn't really invited in.  No blame.  It simply was that clash of old and new.

I went to bed early...

but they stayed up late.

I ate suhour after I woke up...

but they ate suhour before going to bed.

I prayed fajr...

 but they were often too tired to wake up for fajr.

I spent my days busy...

but they slept alot.

I prayed magrib first before eating...

but they had the food on the table before magrib and then immediately ate.

I didn't like to watch dramas after the fast...

but they got engrossed in the special Ramadan programming. 

I prayed the night prayers at home...

but my husband prayed them at the masjid.

                                                                      

There were differences to put it mildly.  I was as alone as if I had been unmarried.  So, there I was a sad revert at Ramadan---and of course you know you're not supposed to be sad at Ramadan.  You're supposed to have this great connection with God.  Yet, my days and nights were full of wondering why I had made such an effort to come to Egypt.

Honestly?  I missed the masjid, "back home" in The States.  I NEVER thought I would feel that way but I did.  I was missing friends and connections; women who would invite me out or give me a hug in the parking lot of the local halal buffet.  I missed bumping into moms and grandmas of kids I once taught.  I even missed how my mom would suffer through Ramadan grumbling all the way.  I missed dunya.

"Dunya," is Arabic for the world.  It has a connotation in Islam of loving the things and the people more than Allah.  Astragferallah.  As Muslims, of course we can love good food and good friends but we can't love them more than God.  At Ramadan we re-evaluate what is a priority to us and inshahallah we chose our faith. 

In my imaginings, I thought that Ramadan would bring my husband and I closer but instead we were at odds.  I jumped at the invitation from a co-worker to join her for iftar dinner.  I was absolutely sick of the dysfunctional way things were going at our house.

When I went over to her posh apartment full of antiques and old money, it was very quiet.  Though it was late in the afternoon, everyone else was asleep.  It was only my friend and the servant.  After a while it was one sleepy boy and then another who came out to greet me.  Right before the sunset, her husband woke up.  As a smoker, he needed to handle Ramadan that way.  My friend had spent the day alone in a house of sleeping people.

"It's not a cultural difference, Yosra," she told me.  "It's not about you being American and your husband being Egyptian.  Look at us!  Each family deals with the month of fasting in their own way.  Even within one family, each person does it differently.  Some sleep all day and some don't.  I don't but my husband does.  The kids do.  And some watch TV afterwards while some go to the masjid.  I take the kids to the club." 

I'm not sure if you can visualize me in that moment but something clicked in my brain.  There were maybe even a few clicks.  I realized some huge aspects to my Islam were in need of adjusting.  I was not going to link up with a man or with his family and become a better Muslim.  I was not going to be able to "fix" them and their ways of observing.  I had to run my own race.

Yes, even though I was now part of a married Muslim couple, in an observant family and in a country full of believers, I was alone in my Islam.  Though I had looked at that as a negative, I started to really see that as a positive.  Each one of us is to be judged alone by our merits.  I didn't have to be the same as everyone or make everyone the same as me.  We truly could be different people; different Muslims and let Allah decide who did their best.  I could let go of my efforts to be a bandleader who knew all the notes.  I could be a solo act.

Having said that, when I let go, I started to love everyone more and love Ramadan more.  I accepted life as it was.  These people had put up with a lot from me and my son over that first year.  I didn't have to be upset with them.  In many ways, they had accepted me and respected me.  I needed to find a way to do the same for them.  That process connected us better over time.

It hurt to let go; to stop trying to control the world.  Yet somehow the world kept functioning fine with me settling down into my  new life.  I did have a new life. 

Alhumdulillah for a new life and a new chapter.  Even though I'll end this series on chapter 40, I'll keep living this story.  I'll keep figuring out a way to be a little bit better today than yesterday.  I'll keep praying that I don't leave this life until I've reached the highest level of iman.

Ya rab.

Thank you for reading and for being with me in spirit.  If you wish to make hijrah in your own life then I pray that Allah makes it easy on you.

Alhumdulillah, Allah made it easy on me.

After hardship there is ease.