Shibly, the man of cheer

My sister-in-law went on vacation to England to see her family: an uncle, three brothers, and several cousins. Her brother Shibly escorted her and her three kids home.

I briefly spoke to him on the phone many times, while I received and delivered the phone to my sister-in-law.

During those conversations he would joke: You sound like a little girl ha ha ha! (in the gentlest way) I could not help but laugh with him. He told me how he loved my son's name, named after one of the companions of the Prophet Muhammad who's name means "abundance" in Arabic.  And he would encourage me to keep good relations with his sibling who I live with, as a gesture of keeping it real. 

And there he was, in person.

Everyday for a week, Shibly attracted guests, neighbors, and family members to our home. He would sit on the couch and literally all you would hear would be him talking followed by a heartfelt good laugh. Laid back, easy-going and friendly he would generate and carry-on even the dullest of conversations.

For example, my father-in-law asked him, "Is your wife older or is your (younger) brother's wife older?" His wife is older.

Shibly, who has been married for about a decade doesn't have any children, brought a handful of toys for the kids to play with. His wife and he are trying to conceive. They have been trying.

One day while he sat on the couch in the living room, he talked about the treasure of mothers.

A summary of what he said:

Child services are so expensive. In England you could get paid about 350 pounds a week in foster care, or $700. That's a lot of money. On the other hand, a mother doesn't get paid anything. For some women who chose to work (full-time) rob themselves the joy of raising their children and giving them a peace of mind. They are not only expected to bring home money but they are also expected to start their second full-time job as soon as they get home: homemaker and mother. They are on a short-end. Some cannot stand it when their children make noise. When they are excited and loud. By the second time, the kids are in trouble.

For others, mothers leave primary child-rearing to their mothers/mother-in-laws, and that is for free. What do the grandparents get in return? Nothing. Not a payment nor a gift (he meant in general child-caring is just expected of them). Yet childcare is worth at least $700 a week, per child.

All this made me think. I finished my undergrad last December and haven't been "seriously" looking for a job. One of my reasons is to care for my infant son. As a writer, I can find jobs online jobs and petty things. Most of my services end up being for free.

I'm afraid of just what Shibly described; losing precious much-needed time with my son.

I am guilty of leaving my child with his grandparents while I went to school, which I justified through a pre-marriage talk of continuing my education after marriage. I also justified that while he was a baby he wouldn't "miss me as much" or "need as much care" rather than when he was older. It would also be harder for me to leave him home once he was older and understood I was leaving him behind. I was afraid I'd be less motivated to continue my education if I gave up just then (I was in my 3rd year of college when I was pregnant.)

When I was pregnant I thought about giving it all up. At the time I was taking full-time credits, doing an internship and transitioning from single college life to married college life. I was dealing with living in a multi-family multi-complex home. I still live there.

But then I came to my senses. One of my favorite verses in the Quran is: " No soul shall have a burden laid on it greater than it can bear. (2:233)" This verse has given me the strength to carry on every time the road looked rough. God tests us to make us stronger and to bring us closer to Him.

"Your wealth and your children are but a trial, and Allah has with Him a great reward. (64:15)" Subhanallah, Glorious is Allah. 


As parents, our reward on Earth is already mentioned in the Quran too...good treatment and respect from our children.


"And We have enjoined upon man, to his parents, good treatment. His mother carried him with hardship and gave birth to him with hardship, and his gestation and weaning [period] is thirty months. [He grows] until, when he reaches maturity and reaches [the age of] forty years, he says, "My Lord, enable me to be grateful for Your favor which You have bestowed upon me and upon my parents and to work righteousness of which You will approve and make righteous for me my offspring. Indeed, I have repented to You, and indeed, I am of the Muslims. (46:15)"

Sometimes we need people who don't have children to remind us of the gifts we have, and the blessings we take for granted.

Mohamed's Journey

Sometimes we meet people in our lives that don't strike us as amazing or anything special. Perhaps we just run into them, have a conversation or two, and then we go about our lives. Sometimes its not until we look back at our experience with them that we realize they left an imprint on our souls. 

Three years ago while I was in Egypt I traveled to a tourist city in Sinai along the Red Sea. Tourists from all over the world flock this city to bask in the sun, enjoy all sorts of water activities, explore mountainous regions, and most all party all night. 

There was a restaurant that all of us went to as a chill place when you just want to watch the water while sipping on some amazing drink. There was a waiter at this place whose name was Mohamed. He was young, very fit, and pretty easy on the eyes; the young European and American girls thought he was adorable. 

See, Mohamed was from a good and religious family from a relatively low class in Cairo. He moved to this city after high school to make good money to support his family. He used to love hearing the athan (call to prayer) five times a day out loud from the hundreds of mosques in the city and he would be so excited to go to his mosque everyday with his father in the evening. 

When he moved to Sinai, he experienced a culture shock. His entire world changed. The city was filled with tourists and locals who didn't dress or behave as those did in his hometown. The Muslim men who worked in the city were infamous for partying at night with the American/European/Australian women at bars and clubs. They were even more infamous for having a new country represented in their beds every other night. 

At first Mohamed was disgusted and promised himself that he wouldn't fall into this life of sin. But slowly, as he continue to work and stay there, this culture became quite normalized to him until he too was engaging in similar activities. There was one woman vacationing from Switzerland that fell madly in love with Mohamed. They enjoyed their time together so much so that quite randomly they got married in the city and the girl decided to stay with him there. 

Several years later Mohamed finally saved enough to buy himself and his wife a one way ticket to Canada. He was so excited to start his new life with his wife in the Western world, a place he had come to know so well through his customers at the restaurant. 

He found something so strange in Canada, very different than what he expected. He came to know of a mosque near his home and so he decided to visit; perhaps he would find people like himself. At the mosque he found Muslims from all over the world praying together and creating a beautiful community for their families. They didn't go out partying all night as many Western tourists would do so in the tourist city back in Sinai. They were simple people, contemplative on life and their purpose. They took out time to pray to their Lord five times a day, even though their work schedules were busy and rigorous from 9-5. They convened every month at their mosque to eat and catch up with one another. And most surprising, they actually read their Holy book the Quran. 

Mohamed started attending at least 2-3 prayers out of the day at the mosque. He hadn't prayed consistently in many many years. His wife started seeing a side of him she had never come to know. She didn't know much about Islam, nor had she even been very interested in it before. 

I messaged Mohamed about a week ago when I randomly found him on Facebook. I had barely spoken to him or gotten to know him at all when I was in Egypt. It was so beautiful hearing his story and seeing him grow so much. He now worries about what he'll do when they have children, how he wants them to be Muslims of unwavering faith and consistent good deeds. 

Mohamed's story inspired me. Sometimes we get so lost in our environments. We make the wrong friends and make some bad decisions. And sometimes when we've strayed so far from our values and beliefs we begin to think we can never make it back by moving forward. So instead we get trapped in a delusion. Mohamed's life reminds me that God is there and when you're ready to turn to Him, He will be there with open arms ready to forgive you and help you change your ways, help you to find a better environment in which you can cultivate your faith and be rooted in true morals. 

*FYI: Mohamed's name was changed for this post.

The Girl Who Smiled

The 17-year-old girl smiled as I walked into her brightly multi-colored room two weeks ago.

“When I heard you were coming I was happy,” Taylor said.

Her face had turned three shades darker than her complexion. Her cheeks were dotted with dark pimples. Her eyes were yellow. The quiet and shy girl wore a simple blue dress with a long-sleeved white shirt and white pants. She wore a blue hijab, or a headscarf.

Suddenly she got up, unplugged the chords from the wall that held tubes of saline, and slowly crept off the hospital bed. She had to use the restroom. She reappeared with a curious face when the doctor came to tell us of her diagnosis.

The doctor’s hair was short, and she spoke rapidly. Her eyes darted from one person to the other in the hospital room. There were six of us. The doctor, my parents, Taylor, her mother and I. My mother was the translator and my father and I had gone to visit.

The doctor began explaining Taylor’s illness...If Taylor received a cut it would take longer to heal than a normal person, she said.

“What does that mean?,” my mother and I wanted to know.

“It is liver failure,” the doctor said. “We are not sure what will happen. If her liver is stable we may be able to treat her as an outpatient.”

My mother and I asked her what would happen if she didn’t get better?

In worse case situation she may need a liver transplant, said the doctor, but she didn’t want to speculate. There were more blood tests to be done, and Vitamin K to be taken.

We hoped for the best.

My mother looked at me. I looked at her. “You tell them,” she said to me, indicating to Taylor and her mother who were waiting for the news. I recycled the information in my mind. I wanted to comfort the ill without lying. All we knew for certain was the liver failure.

It’s nothing…I began. She is just sick and her liver isn’t working as well as it is supposed to, I said. My eyes roamed the room and fell onto Taylor’s mother. They will keep an eye on her, make sure she’s eating healthy and continue doing blood work. Let’s pray for the best and be patient, I said.

Taylor’s mother’s face became tight. She wasn’t doing well.“I’m trying to keep it together,” she said, for her sake. My daughter (Taylor's oldest sister) called me. She kept telling me to smile and comfort Taylor. But it is hard, she said.

“When I got home the other night I saw my other two daughters waiting for news at home. Their faces were grief-stricken. I thought to myself, who should I please? Here I have one daughter in the hospital and two daughters at home longing for their sister.  To whom should I show a happy face to and where do I go with my sorrow?,” Taylor’s mother said. 

Taylor came to the U.S. about nine months ago. She is a soft-spoken person who tends to herself. She comes from a well-off family in Asia, however she is modest in her speech and her style. I have never heard her say anything bad about anyone - except to say such-and-such action is disliked in Islam and by God. 

Rather than worry about others, she worries about herself, something we all struggle with.

The last time I saw Taylor before she became ill was at our house, while we discussed techniques on time management, having patience, and ways to strengthen concentration in prayer. As far as I can remember, she has always been eager to attend haliqas, gatherings where God is mentioned, (like Sunday classes or bible study).

She is also a favorite in her high school classes, where she has been helping classmates learn the English language. She is building on her vocabulary. 

***

Last Thursday my family (cousins and parents) and I visited Taylor. Her name was hung from a large window where the sunlight seeped into the room. A spring-colored curtain hid her from view. She had been transferred to a special hospital where doctors could monitor her liver and keep a close watch on her.

Doctors had worried she might need a transplant, however her condition was slowly improving that day. She was able to eat solid foods again.

She wore a bright pink hijab, or a headscarf, and she smiled widely when she saw us. My mom handed her a bouquet of flowers.

“Thank you so much,” Taylor said.

There were almost a dozen people in the room. Researchers asked her questions about her health, while a nurse was took several tubes of blood. A social worker stopped in to tell us her insurance was finally approved. 

Alhamdulillah, thanks be to God, my father said. We should be thankful for the favors God has given us.

She smiled at the nurse, "Thank you so much," she said as her arms stretched out in a half-hug and handshake. 

We all went home.

***

The next day Taylor stopped answering her phone. Her liver was failing. One more time.
She needed a liver transplant. 

Taylor's father, who had just returned from the hospital after nearly a week with his daughter, pleaded to know what would happen next? Was there a donor? Was her name on the list? When would the surgery take place?

They didn't know. Taylor was struggling. She was fighting for her life. We supplicated. The family asked others to do the same. 

God says in the Quran, "To Him We Belong and to Him We Shall Return," something Muslims say to people when they are in troubled times, or when people pass away.

The clock ticked. Everyone was getting anxious.

And then this morning a call came from the hospital. A donor has been found. Surgery will take place in a few hours God-Willing.

Moments ago her parents and siblings went to visit her. "I am so happy to see you," she said, tending to herself. What she does best.

(Edit: The names of people in this story were changed for privacy.)

If you havent met Chuckle, then here's your introduction.

For those of you that dont know, Chuckle is my younger 23 year old sister. I like to say that she is the rebel of our family. The one that doesnt really conform to what is expected of her. And the one that does whatever she damn well pleases.

Without a doubt though, she is the apple of my niece, Sue's, eye and is just as equally adored by my nephew, Billy. Once asked what they wanted to be when they grew up, Sue said, "I want to be a nurse like Khala (Aunt)" and Billy said "I want to be Khala."

Not too long ago, Chuckle and I would wake up in the morning together, get ready for work together, and leave the house together. She would don her stethoscope and I would wear my school lanyard. Her ID badge said "RN" while mine said "1st grade teacher."

If you met my sister in college, and got to know her, then you would have known that she always, always, always had her nose in books. She was constantly studying and memorizing notes and stuff for class. She would frequently isolate herself from the outside world and campus and basically lived in the the second floor study area of the really creepy library on campus. Although teased many times for living there, she wouldn't relent in her studies and worked her posterior off to get into Nursing School and finish her degree in Nursing.

The thing is, she wasn't always like that. When my sister began junior high she vowed to herself that she would drop out of school when she was in 10th grade. At that time, the legal age for a student to drop out of school was 16. So she made it her goal, and made it well known (even told my parents) that at the age of 16, she would leave it all behind and just sit at home. Now, obviously my parents wouldn't let her do such a thing. But her attitude towards school was very dismal and she didn't care much for it. She loathed it. She hated her peers. Argued with her teachers. And her grades weren't exactly up to par as they should have been. There were times in junior high when she would ask to go to the restroom during PE (Physical Education) and walk straight out of the doors and go home, claiming that it was a half day. Sometimes she wouldn't even ask to go to the restroom but during transition breaks between classes she would leave the building, and go to the nearby Rite-Aid. Or she would just roam the streets. Sometimes with friends. But mostly by herself. (I would like to tell you what I think was the contributing factor to this, but I rather not open up that can of worms.) The school truancy director had to get in touch with my dad and speak to him about the frequent absences that were occurring. I was so scared the day that he found this out. I was scared for her life.

Tenth grade did eventually roll around, but there was no dropping out for her. She continued high school. Took some college courses while in high school. Finished high school. And enrolled in college. Alhamdulilah. I like to think what changed her mind was the influence of her friends, me and my older sister, and strong prayers my parents made on her behalf. But I really cant say that even she knows what changed her mind. Regardless of what it was that got her out of that phase, thank God Almighty, that she got out of it.

Sometimes I look at her and chuckle (no pun intended) to myself at how far she's come from where she was. When she began college, my dad made it very clear to each of us (his daughters particularly) that he wanted us to pursue a degree in education. My older sister did it. I was, at the time, on the road towards it as well. Clearly she didn't take that route though. Teaching wasn't her "thing". But in my personal opinion, I think she would have rocked as a teacher. She is so good with kids! mashaAllah!

Currently she is working the midnight shift at the hospital and it's not exactly how she envisioned the world of Nursing. It's a struggle for her and she vocalizes frequently how much she wants to quit and become a "housewife". But just as the dropout phase went away, I have full faith that this too shall pass. God willing.