Part 1

Couple of changes were made to the names but is all in all a true story.



There are certain things we know. Those little truths that we somehow grasped long before we were born. They remain as unchanging as the laws governing our physical world; as eternal as the times before time. In silence our souls perceive these depths. Only in emptying our hearts of all the noises of emotions can we begin to hear the hum of Angels murmuring their gratitude; and the souls of the Righteous celebrating in Praise.

He sat on a warm rock contemplating the now obscure surface of the ocean. The sun had long set; allowing the gentle covering of night to erase her fiery twilight show. By and by, night sounds and songs began making their voices heard; chirping of crickets to the beat of rustling leaves; giant mosquitoes with pinched voices eyeing his flesh; a frog croaking far away.

It was a hot and balmy night; a heavy invisible hand lay on his nose and mouth; preventing him from taking a deep cleansing breath. Small beads of sweat glistened on his forehead; every now and then he would change positions and wipe an ineffectual hand on his brow. Once in a while, he would swat at the invisible mosquitoes making a furtive dash for his blood.

In the dense heat of their tropical climate; things like cooling ocean breezes weren’t taken for granted. They come and go _base_d on the whim of the giant languid body surrounding his small island.

He continued staring at the mass of darkness ahead; there wasn’t a star in sight.

The waves had never failed him before. They would always come and go; in perfect rhythm; coaxing his thoughts out and scattering them a thousand miles wide. That night was different; his thoughts stagnated in the heat; and the ocean seemed indifferent to his fate.

He finally got up and stretched out his sore limbs.

There was nothing left to do but keep walking the path laid out for him.

He sighed, swallowing the denseness within; and retraced his footsteps walking with the heavy gait of a man much older than his twenty some odd years.

{-}

“You are so quiet today, what’s wrong?” Creases of concern lined her soft face.

“Nothing. I am just thinking”

“What are you thinking about?”

“I don’t know. Just life stuff…” He couldn’t tell her, shouldn’t.

“Is the wedding stressing you out? I know my parents are going nuts. Do what I do, just ignore them you’ll be okay.”

Fuad gave her a weak smile. “Sure, yeah…”They drank their coffee in silence. Their chaperone, aunty Zeynab, was keeping strict vigilance of them, a couple of tables away. She allowed them the privacy of sitting alone together, but made no effort to disguise her obvious attempts at eavesdropping. Her large _frame_ was spilling off the sides of the small stylish chairs at the coffee shop. She had tried rocking her chair back and forth; but gave up when she almost broke her back in an earth quake like fall.

Fuad who was facing Aunty Zuzu (the nickname she had been baptized with which means “stupid” in Swahili), tried to ignore the unseemly sight before him and focused on his lovely bride instead.

He couldn’t meet Hanan’s trusting gaze though, and found himself flitting back and forth between the two very different women in front of him. Aunty Zuzu’s brown buibui (Jilbab or outer garment) clashed horribly with her purple polka dot Hijab (scarf). Her heavy _frame_ slouched into her chair and every time the silence stretched too long between them; she would turn around furtively to steal a glance at them probably to make sure they weren’t making out or something worse.

Hanan’s face was encased in a soft baby blue scarf, her small _frame_ was upright, and her glance direct and unassuming. She was clutching the big mug of Coffee with both hands; letting the warmth seep into her already pink fingers. Why they were even drinking coffee in the dead heat of summer, he had no idea. There was very little to do in their island, and the new coffee shop a direct import from their cooler temperature European counterpart, was the rage of town.

Hanan presently pointed out something funny in a passerby outside; he added something else out of politeness; they laughed a little and the conversation simmered back into an awkward silence.

“Well, you seem really out of it Fuad. Why don’t you go home, rest a while and we’ll talk later?” Hanan was already pushing her chair out and grabbing her bag. The sudden motion jolted the drowsy Aunty Zuzu up; and she gave a startled mumble before she got up to join them.

“I am sorry Hanan. I want to talk to you…later maybe…I am just out of it”

“I understand.” She regarded him with interest; her black eyes seemed to penetrate his very soul.

“That was quick! You love birds have nothing to say to each other? How come?” Aunty Zuzu was always searching for an enticing story “You are not fighting are you?”

“No we are fine Aunty” Hanan brushed her off “Fuad is just a bit tired today.”

As they headed out Hanan turned and mouthed “I.M.” Fuad nodded subtly and said “Maasalamah” (peace)

Hanan walked out followed by a wobbly Aunty Zuzu, who was pestering her with questions.

He sat for a long time afterward, staring at his cold coffee and feeling trapped, confused and helpless.

{-}

Unlike many of the island girls he knew, Hanan was sweet, funny, and smart. They had gone to rivaling high schools (both same-sex schools); and had spent many hours cooped up in the same “tuition” (extra after-school classes). He never interacted with her on a deep personal level, aside from the occasional salaam or to borrow notes or something. But he knew enough about her, to understand his mother’s point; she was the “perfect package.”

In Mombasa, boys and girl (and later men and women) did not dare to mingle openly. Aside from the polite greetings; or passing messages; any lingering conversations in the small streets would elicit open curiosity and later people would ruminate over that particular rendezvous and cast their own suspicions and interpretations.

“I tell you she is not a goody two shoes as she seems. You should have seen her, she was flirting quite openly in front of EVERYONE” A woman would dramatically whisper.

“This is a new era; let the girl enjoy her time before she is cooped up by a husband and kids” Another would jump to her defense and then add “But who would want to marry a loose girl?”

“Let me tell you; this is not the first guy she had been seen with. Do you know she goes to discos too?” To the collective gasps of horror from the others women.

The story would be stretched and spiced up to the point of damaging the poor girl’s reputation. What could have been an innocent conversation, albeit long, would turn into a spicy flirtatious affair of severe magnitude. The word might end up reaching her parent’s ears; and this could result in her being punished or worse pulled out of school.

Despite her beauty and charm, Hanan had managed to maintain a vigil distance from any potential flaws to her reputation. She walked with her eyes firmly fixed on the vague horizon (as she was trained by her over protective brothers) refusing to meet any man’s gaze; lest she should send an unintended wrong message.

Her glowing reputation had earned her many proposals from the tender age of 12! Mothers vied for her as the ideal daughter-in-law; and even the most stubborn of sons could see what a well rounded catch she was. She had resolutely refused to accept any of the proposals until she was done with her education. The pursuit of knowledge was the one of the safest ways of refusing early marriage. Everyone admitted that times have changed and smart girls were encouraged to pursue higher education.

Fuad’s mother had been patiently waiting for them to graduate. When they both were accepted to University of
Nairobi for higher studies; she thought it was the perfect sign. Why not get married and pursue their education together? Fuad came from one of the few affluent families on the island; they could afford to take care of his necessary expenses.

It seemed like the perfect plan; and she turned all her charms, wiles and reservoir of mother’s guilt to convince everyone involved of her genius idea.

Hanan’s parents saw no harm in it; and even she was excited about the marriage. Fuad was handsome, intelligent and did not waste time chasing girls. He was known to pray at the mosque five times a day; a feat none of his peers accomplished. He also spent a lot of time on the beach; jogging; or simply contemplating the ocean. Everyone knew of the little notebook he kept and would be seen writing at the weirdest times. He had been a talented fine artist and had won many competitions when he was much younger. As he got older he leaned more towards writing as his creative outlet. In a society where people were constantly worried about pragmatic things like the price and availability of bread and milk; neither of those creative pursuits were understood nor encouraged; they were merely tolerated as the lesser of other evils “he could be doing drugs or something worse.”

The potential bride was the envy of many of her friends, he was certainly different from his peers; and his dark handsome looks added to his secure family background alone was enough to make him the top of the eligible bachelor list.

There were some very hushed rumors about Fuad though that guaranteed to permanently blight his future; but those never made it to Hanan’s ears nor their close family circles. The temporary safety of his secrets did nothing to alleviate his tormented soul. And as the wedding date grew nearer, a sense of dreadful panic began to rise within him.

Fuad prayed for a miraculous way out; that would somehow manage to keep the illusion of normalcy in his life intact.

{-}

The Perfect Couple (Part II)


After leaving the coffee shop Fuad wandered aimlessly for a while then decided to board the next Matatu (a public micro bus) towards one of the beach resorts on the outskirts of town.

He needed to get away from the stifling heat, dust, and crowds in old town.

The matatu was filled beyond capacity as usual; but he was relieved to find one seat next to the door. He soon regretted his seating position when a few more people boarded and his face ended up right next to someone’s sweaty and smelly armpit. Turning his face the other way didn’t help much; for he found himself staring at the squiggly pieces of dark hair sprouting from a woman’s upper lip and chin.

She was breathing hard and he could have named everything she had eaten from the rainbow of odors issuing from her mouth.

Fuad was stuck in that impossible position trying hard not to breathe at all. When the armpit shifted he could have sworn a dribble of sweat landed on his neck.

He cursed the fact that he didn’t just take one of the family cars. He hated matatus with a passion but he tended to forget why when he hadn’t ridden them in a while. His head was pounding in beat to the blaring Sean Paul’s “Get Busy” :

“Yo sexy ladies want par with us
In a the car with us
Them nah war with us
In a the club them want flex with us
To get next to us
Them cah vex with us
From the day me born jah ignite me flame
Gal a call me name and it’s me fame
Its all good girl turn me on
’til a early morn’
Let’s get it on
Let’s get it on ’til a early morning
Girl it’s all good just turn me on”

When he finally alighted some 45 minutes and a migraine later; Fuad couldn’t remember why he was there to begin with. He trudged on towards the water and text messaged his cousin Omar to come pick him up. He did not step foot in a matatu for a long time after.

{-}

“I don’t understand….I mean she’s like perfect man!”

Omar decided to enjoy “the view” for a moment, chilling with Fuad at the beach. While, his cousin was staring out to the distant horizon watching boats floating idly by; Omar was more interested in checking out the tanned bikini clad European tourists playing a rambunctious game of volleyball.

He was chewing the infamous “Gaat” or “miraa”; a semi-legal narcotic type of plant that was the most popular recreational “drug” amongst coastal people (although many did not consider it as a drug per se, it was very pervasive in his culture, a cherished relic of their Yemeni heritage).

“Yeah I know she’s perfect…I’m not just in to her like that you know?”

“Not really. You like someone else?”

“Nah…”

“So what’s the problem? You getting cold feet man?”

Fuad was silent for a while. Omar had been his best friend for ever. They grew up in the same household as “cousins”; they were related in a number of ways through an intricate web of marriages and births within two extended family circles.

The smallness of Mombasa Island itself circumscribed by how many distinctly Arab/Yemeni families they were; guaranteed that almost everyone was an “uncle”/ “aunt”/ “cousin” to each other.

Besides, on respect levels alone, youngsters were expected to address elders as “uncles”/ “aunts” or variations thereof regardless of their relationship; this always served to confuse some people on how they were related to each other. Suffice to say, Fuad and Omar were cousins of sorts; age-mates; room mates; and best friends since their earliest recollections of their earthly existence.

Fuad still hesitated, could he trust him? What would he accomplish in telling Omar except maybe jeopardize his chances even more? How would Omar feel about him if he realized who he was?

“Look man it’s quite normal…” Omar validating his own assumptions dived into a monologue “I couldn’t do it either man. I am not ready to get buckled down with ONE woman for the rest of my life. That’s just crazy man…Look at them fine women out there” he pointed to the tourists now lying on their beach towels “Those are Ne’ema (blessings) from Allah. How are we supposed to let go of all the choices out there and settle for JUST ONE. Forever and ever?! Man that’s just not me.”

“Well you can always marry four” Fuad’s tone was caustic but Omar didn’t get it.

“Yeah sure that’s a thought. I guess, when you get tired of one you can always pick up another…hey that’s awesome. You gotta love our deen man.”

They sat in silence for a while. Omar fantasizing about his four brides, somehow they were all in bikinis playing volleyball for his private viewing; Fuad was just feeling sick to his stomach. It was hopeless to try and confide in Omar. He would never understand.

{-}

SexyArabchic: a/a

Fuad78: Hey sup

SexyArabchic: OMG I thought you would never get on!

Fuad78: yeah sorry man I got caught up

SexyArabchic: it’s okay….soooo are you gonna tell me wussup?

Fuad78: nothing.

SexyArabchic: I know there’s something.

Fuad78: like what?

SexyArabchic: I don’t know…I get this vibe from you like you aren’t into it all you know?

Fuad78: No I am cool. Just overwhelmed I guess

SexyArabchic: It’s okay. We don’t have to get married just let them know

Fuad78: No, No, I want to…it’s not that.

SexyArabchic: What is it then? Come on tell me

SexyArabChic has sent you a NUDGE!

Fuad78: oh sorry. Look my sister needs to use the computer, we’ll catch up later.

SexyArabchic: oh okay Maasalamah.

Fuad78: Allah isalimik.

Fuad78 appears offline.

Hanan stared at the screen for the longest time trying hard not to _b_link__ down the tears that were burning her eyes.

{-}

It was two in the morning when Fuad tired of tossing and turning finally decided to get up. He went to take a cold shower, took wudhu and went to an extra back room which no one was using for a change.

He started to pray; going through the motions; yet not really paying attention to any of the words his lips were spilling.

He finally just sat down and uttered a single prayer:

“Help me.”

His heart felt like it would explode; he just couldn’t contain the anxiety anymore.

{-}

His mom softly touched his cheek at Fajr (dawn); and he opened his eyes to find himself still sitting on the prayer rug. Her eyes were full of emotion.

Fuad never failed to surprise her with his quiet depth and innate spirituality. Unlike her other 3 sons and even 4 daughters; she never had to worry about him. When he was much younger he used to cling to her skirts everywhere she went.

He loved asking her questions on why she put Jasmine in her hair; and bukhoor scents in her clothes; why he couldn’t do that. He always asked for stories of when she was younger and the things she used to do.

She was more than willing to entertain him, unleashing all her pent up creativity and theatrics to his pure delight, until his dad put a stop to it. Fuad was a boy; he needed to stop hanging around his mom so much and start playing with other boys his age.

At five a cruel separation was imposed upon her little boy and Fuad started distancing himself from her. It broke her heart, but Asma (his mom) knew better than try to contradict her severe husband. Fuad still made it a point to check on her, giving her little gifts just because. And as he grew, he was the only one in the immense household who was sensitive to her moods and needs, and tried to plant a smile in her heart in the little ways he could.

Truth be told, Fuad was her favorite child, not that she didn’t love the others but none of them mirrored his gentle soul.

Fuad got up and kissed her on the forehead before heading out to heed the multitude of adhans (calls to prayers) pulsating in the still Fajr air.

{-}

As was his post Fajr routine, he went for a quick jog and morning work out routine at the gym. Then after his shower and scrumptious breakfast prepared by his mom just for him, he went to the neighborhood internet café to browse in peace before the place became packed with people.

He always positioned himself in the most private corner, and would leave right after another person walked in. He took pains to erase his browser cache, history, temporary files and cookies. The café owner always joked that Fuad was really a spy; and was secretly frustrated that she couldn’t figure out why Fuad needed to be so secretive (she had her suspicions but needed that concrete proof).

Google search: Gay Muslims and Coming out stories.

Thousands of hits came up.

The first _link_ he picked was by a Singaporean-American Sheikh (undercover still) talking about how the Quran had always been interpreted by Heterosexual Scholars and that the People of Prophet Lut/ Lot (AS) were not condemned for homosexuality rather the arrogance and rape of men that was pervasive in their culture.

Fuad inwardly scoffed at that “Good luck” he muttered.

While the U.S. and other western countries had taken some strides in Gay rights, pride and movement;
Mombasa was still holding on with trembling staunchness to her traditional values and ideas on sexuality.

“It’s unnatural!”
“Those people are worse than beasts!”
“They are disgusting! And you know that is why Allah sent AIDS to wipe them off the planet!” The fact that many straight men suffered from AIDS too was conveniently pushed off for the moment.

Not that there aren’t any gay Muslims in Mombasa, there was a whole neighborhood comprised of openly gay Men, and an assortment of prostitutes and other “shady” characters; but good people stayed away from those places. The out and out gay men, would walk around in curlers and lessos (wraps) around their chest imitating women, instead of their waists the way “real” men do it.

They also made the best tasting fried potato snacks, fluffiest sponge cakes (mikate ya mayai) and the softest Yemeni breads (mofa); but if anyone bought from them; no one would ever know.

“Who would want food cooked by those dirty people” Women sneered but how everyone got to know about the reputation of their food; no one would ever know either.

Lesbians were of a trickier variety. There were mostly undercover; women could point them out in gossip but those rumors could never be confirmed. For how could a woman swear and prove beyond reasonable doubt that so and so was a lesbian, without somehow implicating herself?

In general lesbians were held in more contempt than their male counterpart. For that was even dirtier! At least some men had the excuse of being raped, or molested as boys which was really the only logical reason why anyone would turn out to be gay. But what reason could a woman have to indulge in such sordid affairs?

Anyway, most of those women and men were from mixed and shady backgrounds. No respectable families produced those people.

The only solace Fuad found was in his surreptitious internet searches. There were people who are Muslims and gay out there somewhere; presumably from “proper” backgrounds like his. The stories online were all of the same variety; the men would “come out” and face exile from their families/communities and most of those were from the west. What would his “coming out” be like; in a close shame _base_d culture like his?

His own father would murder him. No questions asked. And his mother? He couldn’t bear to think of how devastated she would be. He couldn’t break her heart like that; anybody but her.

Fuad felt a foreboding chill run down his spine. He cleaned up his browser, shut everything and even restarted the computer just to be safe.

With nothing else to do, the café owner was staring at him with disturbing intensity, like she was trying to divine his thoughts from his facial muscles. Annoyed, Fuad slapped a couple of bills on the counter and walked out.

“Shoga mkubwa!” the woman muttered behind his back.

(Huge gay guy is what she said, but of course terms like these loose their power of _expression_ in translation).

{-}

That seem really a great story from you man, it is really a touching true to life story. Everyone should try to read it too, to know how beautiful is the story. A dramatic story that could really touch a heart of a reader, it is perfect.




_________________
Personalized Fortune Cookies

Part III




The council of concerned mothers and friends met in a closed door hearing to discuss their impending wedding dilemma. Aunty Zuzu was the one who called for the meeting; in attendance were Asma (Fuad’s mother) and Muna (Hanan’s mother). After the pleasantries were exchanged; a cup of tea and assortment of snacks served; Aunty Zuzu cleared her throat:

“I know people think I am stupid. And maybe I am; but one thing I am not is blind. First of all what you are doing is wrong. Who ever heard of a man and a woman dating; chaperone or not; this is not part of our culture at all!”

“But it’s not dating per se. The kids nowadays you know how they are; they want to know each other; make the decision…” Aunty Asma jumped to her son’s defense.

“Yes, I understand; but in our time no one would even consult the girl! My sister was told the day of her wedding to go inside and get ready because she is getting married. If you give these children an inch they will take a mile…but that is not the purpose of this meeting”

“What is it then?” Both Asma and Muna were a trifle annoyed at her lecturing; it wasn’t a new concept to let the kids meet, for fiancés have long been allowed in living rooms at least to meet and talk with their future bride. The meeting in public part was very new to their culture; but with a chaperone who can dare say it is Haram (sinful)?

Aunty Zuzu continued “This is causing Fitna (trouble) between them. They are meeting and I sense friction; they don’t talk and I feel maybe Fuad doesn’t even like her! Hanan always leaves really depressed; I think if you don’t do something about it the kids themselves will call it off. This is what happens when you let them meet, and prolong this engagement thing. This is not proper at all!”

Asma assured Muna that her son was very interested in Hanan. No one was in the business of forced marriages; the kids wanted each other. To be sure Asma even added that it was Fuad’s idea to approach Hanan; she had nothing to do with it.

“Are you sure Fuad wants her?” Muna was starting to get worried; no one could trust Aunty Zuzu but she had a point. What if Fuad turns around and rejects her daughter? She had been seen with him publicly so many times, what would happen to her reputation? No one would want his “leftovers.”

She felt guilty for arguing with her husband about letting Hanan meet up with Fuad. She had a way of convincing her husband to do pretty much anything, through a combination of her feminine charms and shrewdness. She had pinned down the manner of argumentation to the point of making him feel like it was his idea all along. By the end of that particular persuasion Hanan’s father was the one insisting that his daughter just had to meet Fuad to make sure any kinks were ironed out before they got married rather than after. What was she going to do now?

Asma’s mind was racing too, it wasn’t Fuad’s idea of course. She knew her little boy could never say no to her; so she primed him for a while before broaching the subject. For weeks she would subtly drop the subject of Hanan whenever Fuad was around. In a very nonchalant way she would talk of how hard it was to find “good” girls nowadays; and how the combination of beauty, intelligence, family, character, religion as well as domesticity was almost nonexistent.

Everyone repeats the famous Hadith (saying of the Prophet Muhammad peace be upon him) on how a woman could be chosen for her beauty, lineage/nobility, wealth or Religiosity (deen); and Deen is the best criteria in choosing a wife.

In their culture the Hadith was kind of turned up side down and confused to the point the repetition said something like “You can choose a woman for beauty, lineage wealth OR Deen” and stopping right there. Deen was simmered down to chastity and other conditions were heaped on.

The real criteria of their culture in choosing a wife was determined by how pretty she was (that’s how light skinned, long straight haired, not too thin or too fat, and preferably light colored eyes; which were very rare); followed by her character (a snob gets a lower rating, although some snobbishness is allowed for in very beautiful cases); and finally domesticity.

On the last point, everyone knew it didn’t matter how intelligent a girl was and what her life path was going to be, she had to know how to cook, clean and raise children because at the end of the day that was her true vocation. Most of the educated girls in their culture, tended to slack in the kitchen. But when Asma paid an impromptu visit to Muna’s house one day, she found Hanan busy rolling chapattis (a type of bread); with various delectable aromas issuing from several pots in their kitchen. The sight of pretty, charming, Hanan slaving away in the kitchen is really what captured Asma’s imagination.

Hanan left what she was doing, welcomed Asma with a gorgeous sincere smile, and apologized for her messy appearance, while ushering her into the living room. Asma was besotted; what a perfect daughter in law Hanan would make!

She couldn’t pretend she hadn’t noticed Fuad’s lack of enthusiasm in his own life changing event. But Hanan comes from a very respectable family as well; she couldn’t let them down like that; it would be a big scandal enough to make her lose face. For what reason could a man have to reject the likes of Hanan? Asma had to come up with something fast.

The three women spent some time in deep thought and finally decided to do the only thing they knew best. They moved the wedding date much closer (than the six month original waiting period they had planned). The new wedding date was set for 2 weeks from that day; and the pact was sealed by a loud delighted ululating of voices; they were suddenly energized; they had so much to do now!

{-}

“Mama are you crazy?” Fuad was hysterical. “Two weeks, I can’t…No, it is too soon, I am not ready…”

“It’s okay sweetie pie. Nothing will really change. You will go to your honeymoon and I have set up a nice suite here for you two to live in. You won’t be moving to campus until next year maybe; so there’s no rush. You see, everything will be just like it is now!” Asma was trying hard to keep the cheer in her voice, but Fuad was starting to scare her now.

He was sitting on the edge of his bed, his hands holding his head. It was as if he had a huge load; and couldn’t even sit up to support it.

She knelt down next to him “Ya Nur uyuni (Oh light of my eyes)” She started with her favorite pet name “What’s wrong? What’s grieving you? Tell your mother I will take the burden from your shoulders!”

Fuad just shook his head, fighting to keep the tears and frustration contained within him.

“Mama it’s not anything… I just can’t get married now. You have to understand”

“Why? Why do you want to break my old heart? Do you want me on my deathbed without ever laying eyes on my gorgeous grandchildren? Nothing will change, I will still be here for you; you will always be my little baby” Asma knew all the right things to say to move his sweet soul.

“But mama…” Fuad was weakening, he opened and closed his mouth but no words could find their way out.

“It’s okay, you don’t worry about it. I will take care of everything. My darling comfort of my soul; you just relax….” Her voice was soothing; she gathered his head to her bosom and kissed his forehead; her own tears falling onto his face.

Fuad knew he was defeated. He just nodded and looked at the floor in numb horror. Something would have to give.

{-}

Their wedding was a jubilant affair. The masses rejoiced at the splendid feasts that were catered; bands imported; and all the special venues were reserved. The reception was designed to be a strictly formal affair; with gorgeous center pieces on each table; dainty wedding favors for each guest; a huge tumbling cake; and waitresses in uniform serving the guests serenaded by smooth background music.

But such a set up in a riotous last minute type culture was doomed from the beginning. Several more hundred guests showed up and managed to sneak in spite of the guards at the door; set to the task of verifying invitation cards and identities. Everyone claimed they didn’t bring any IDs (who brings Ids to a wedding?); so the guards couldn’t really verify the names on the list. Half of them knew the guards from somewhere; so that guaranteed them an entrance regardless of whether they had a card or not. The other half just flirted with them and they ended up going in. Others simply snuck in; in the midst of all the confusion at the gate.

Women milled everywhere; sharing seats with each other; others sitting on the floors between the tables; others on the stairs; some still sat on the edges of the overly decorated stage especially reserved for the bride (later to be joined by her groom).

Fortunately, the organizers (Asma and Muna) included in their budget enough food to serve three hundred more guests give or take. The affair was strictly segregated; so women had a chance to show off their latest fashions and enjoy themselves without having to worry about their husbands’ protective gazes. Some straggling men still managed to peep through the windows but no one cared. Other men didn’t care about “missing out”; the recorded video was bound to make its rounds and end up for their viewing pleasure anyway.

Women ate plentiful of food; danced with abandon and secretly compared each other’s outfits and jewelry. The men on their side too had the same set up; and after the Nikah (actual marriage ceremony) took place; they came with a zeffe (procession) to bring the groom to his wife.

The bride was finally seated on her throne looking like an angelic spectacle of beauty and grace. She was outfitted in a modern white gown; a diamond studded tiara; and simple white gold jewelry. Her hair was gathered up and laced with tiny yasmine flowers bunched with roses. Her glowing skin was accentuated by light make up; and her smile dazzled all those who beheld her.

Fuad walked in dutifully and posed for pictures with his wife and family. He felt like he was walking in a muted nightmare; everything was unreal; hazy; and numb. When the Imam asked him the fated question regarding his consent in marriage; he had a window of opportunity to say “No!” and end the sham; but his courage failed him. He simply nodded and received the hearty hugs and congratulations with the comportment of a man being sent to the gallows.

Such was the lively account of a wedding that was destined to become the talk of town for the longest time to come. When the bride and groom smiled for pictures everyone sighed “aww…look at them! What a perfect couple!”

Their parents couldn’t have been prouder; they were at least assured of one thing; their grandchildren would certainly be gorgeous.

{-}

When all the festivities died down; Fuad and Hanan took an immediate flight out to a private sea side resort in Zanzibar (a neighboring island). Hanan was full of jitters; she kept a nervous patter of conversation going the whole way to the resort. For the first time since knowing him, Fuad actually engaged her. He listened to her conversation, asked questions, he laughed at her jokes. Her initial fears and foreboding were long forgotten, Fuad was indeed the perfect catch.

When they finally reached their suite; they took showers in turn; changed and Fuad suggested they just sleep off their weariness. Hanan was so grateful, at least he didn’t insist on his “husbandly rights” on the first night. He kissed her on the forehead; and soon she was happily in her dreams; while he sat up all night wondering about his fate.

The next day he planned a full day’s worth of activities for them. They went out for a jog together; ate breakfast; browsed the internet. Then they went to explore the island (it was her first visit). The island was pretty small and soon they had exhausted their venues.

Fuad was sweet, sensitive and charming. He opened doors, pulled chairs, he was always solicitous of Hanan asking her opinion and checking up on her every five minutes. She loved the attention he lavished over her. They talked about everything under the sun (almost) and it seemed like their conversations could flow forever.

He enjoyed her company, for Hanan was very quick witted and funny too. They spent a lot of time on the beach; bouncing humors of each other; philosophizing over life; lying down to trace the clouds with their imaginations and poring over each other’s life stories.

It was like they were best friends in another realm and that was their reintroduction on earth. She felt undeserving of such a blessing in her life; she had learned a long time ago that a husband had the capability of making life absolutely wretched for his wife. She was grateful to Allah for being exempted from that trial.

Fuad too momentarily forgot of all the distance between them and found himself back in his early days; enjoying the company of a woman, this time without the stern cultural restrictions of gender separation.

That night again he kissed her on the forehead without touching her in any other way. Soon Fuad was deep asleep; the exhaustion of the past couple of weeks finally catching up to him. Hanan stayed up late with a vague feeling of unease settling in the pit of her stomach.

{-}

(Part IV)



A week went by and then another; and their relationship continued thriving in the daylight and taking on the solemn shadows of night. Hanan was perplexed as to why Fuad was intent on keeping her at arm’s length. She wondered if she wasn’t sexy enough for him. Was his heart enraptured by another? Was she a mere candle faltering next to the glaring brilliance of a distant sun? She had tried to talk to broach the subject several times but stammered into silence. What was she supposed to say? “Why aren’t we having sex?” She was a virgin for God’s sake, she couldn’t bring up such delicate matters especially since it might make her seem too desperate or too forward for the chastely persona she was supposed to emulate.

Fuad knew it was only a matter of time before everything was out in the open. He tried to extend the period of bliss between them. How was Hanan going to react? She would presumably ask for a divorce (as she had every right to) and proceed to tell everyone about it to save her own reputation (lest people think she was “ruined” before marriage). He shuddered to think of how his lethargic island would be so frenzied with that bit of salacious news.

They still enjoyed each other’s company immensely and kept coming up with daring ways to spice up their little island adventure. Fuad taught her how to Jet Ski for the first time; he also introduced her to snorkeling and discovering the beauty and intricacies of the coral reef. They went whale watching; swam with the dolphins, and even dared each other to parasail.

Everyone who met them from tour guides to the locals commented on how “cute” they were together.

“You have newly weds written ALL over your face” An old German lady gushed over them.

Both Fuad and Hanan were discomfited by her innocuous comment and with practiced subtlety avoided each other’s eyes.

{-}

“Come on! Get up sleepy head!” Fuad was jumping up and down on their bed; pulling the shades to allow a fresh burst of sunshine onto her face.

“I am tired!” Hanan whined it was getting harder and harder for her to sleep at night.

They had two more nights left in their honeymoon and she was near hysterics dreading the day she would have to face their families still a virgin. What would they say? Would they blame her for not being a good wife? Is it true that some women could detect the status of a girl’s virginity by the contours of her face? What if the word got out somehow of the true nature of their relationship? She felt weighed down by the anxiety and her stomach was knotted in twists and turns. When she did sleep it was in a fitful doze with nightmarish images of women pointing their fingers at her and Angels promising her a special throne in hell fire for failing in her “wifely duties”.

Fuad decided to let her make the first move. He figured she would find out sooner or later, and there was no need for him to hasten anything. He intuited that it might not be fair to place the burden of communication on her, but he just couldn’t bring himself to verbalize anything yet. With the stress off his shoulders, he was able to relax more and enjoy the moments he did have with her.

“Come onnnnnn!! We have a whole day’s cruise awaiting us!”

“It’s okay Fuad, I really need to sleep in for once…I am so tired!”

“Come on Habibty”

Hanan’s heart ached at the sound of “my love” cascading from his lips. Did he really mean it?

“No, I am tired…please, let me rest, we can catch the mid day cruise”

“Okay princess you sleep in. Let me go workout, while you rest…and we’ll catch up later” Fuad pulled the shades down, arranged the comforter around her body, and brushed his lips lightly against her cheek before heading out. She held on to the fresh scent of his cologne, releasing her anguish with the pent up tears in her soul.

She wept and wept until she fell into an exhausted nap. Later, she woke up and realized Fuad hadn’t come back. She lifted her heavy head, heart, and tired body off the bed; and walked to the bathroom. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw something that made her heart leap in a jolt of excitement.

Fuad’s little notebook was strewn carelessly with his shirt on the floor. He left his cherished notebook!

Heart hammering, hands trembling, she picked it up and chained the room door just to be safe.

Seated on the bathroom floor, with the door locked just in case, she ran her fingers across Fuad’s prized notebook. Did she dare? What secrets lay yonder? Unbidden images of other girls ran across her head, did she even want to find out?

Soon curiosity and the burning desire to get to the root of her strange marriage won over. She flipped through the first couple of pages. There was nothing but scribbles on abstract poetry of yearning and voids and celestial bodies. Hanan felt a sinking sensation in her stomach. Of course Fuad wasn’t foolish enough to pour his heart out into a notebook. He knew his culture too well to understand individualistic concepts like privacy do not exist.

She kept flipping the pages, hoping to glean something that would give her some inclination on why Fuad did not desire her. Then just as she about to give up, she came across a page with a drawing of a nude man. It could have been nothing but another creative burst, for he had other drawings in his notebook, but this was different. It caught her eye right when she was about to flip past it.

There was something about the care he took in sculpting out the body; in the way the shadows lay just so; enhancing parts; while taking care to leave the rest to the viewer’s imagination. It wasn’t lewd; or dirty; and nothing of the man’s private parts showed. But it was both the absence yet presence of his nudity, the loving details bestowed upon the image, it was like the shape was caressed into being not drawn at all; something immediately clicked in Hanan’s mind grasping her soul in numb horror.

Of course, how could she be so stupid!

{-}

The rest of their honeymoon ended in a flurry of activities, enjoyment, and avoidance. They were both really fond of each other. With her newfound knowledge of her husband’s painful secret, Hanan’s anxiety was soon engulfed into the warmth of her compassion. She felt protective of her Fuad, and took pains to avoid mentioning anything about the little book, intimacy, or their relationship.

They were very close; and at times she felt something electric hovering in the air between them; but she dismissed that thought. Of course there was nothing.

Even when she had intuited what was wrong with their relationship, she never thought once about leaving him. She just resigned to her fate and thanked God for it could have been worse.

On their last night, Fuad asked her to dress up for a special night out. He wore a sharp black suit accentuating his muscular build; and Hanan stepped into a silky black dress, shimmering with intricate silver embroidery. She draped a silver scarf on her head and a matching little purse. They went to have dinner on a yacht especially designed and catered to the expansive wallets of tourists. Fresh lobsters were served in delicate china with a live band discreetly playing in the background. Tables were spaced far apart from each other guaranteeing each couple’s privacy under the starlit patio enhanced by old fashioned lanterns. The scent of fresh cut Jasmine drenched the warm air with a sultry sweetness.

Conversations were all hushed under the weight of romantic aura. Within such crafted spaces hearts were deigned to fall in love and shatter, willingly.

“Hanan there’s something I must tell you…” Fuad broached the dreaded subject as he was feeding her a piece of lobster.

“I know.” Hanan’s voice was reassuring.

“What? How?”

“I just do…” She didn’t want to mention the book, and either way she found out in a very round about sort of way.

“I guess you had to figure it out at some point. I just want to say this…I understand you will want a divorce, I just ask for a little time to explain to my mother before breaking the news to everyone else”

“A divorce?” Hanan’s mind was blank. “Why would I want a divorce?”

“Sweety, you want to stay married to a gay man?” It was the first time he had ever said those words. A. Gay. Man. His heart constricted and he felt a painful lump gather itself in his throat.

“I will never leave you Fuad. I don’t care what the consequences. I love you. I know it deep within me. It was supposed to be this way. I am fine with this relationship”

“Habibty, no, you deserve better. A real man”

“You are a real man. I want you. I will never be happy with anyone else.” Hanan’s voice was laden with emotions.

Fuad was at a loss for words. Is she crazy? Desperate? What was wrong with her? What about him, did he want that relationship? Wouldn’t it be fraudulent? But hasn’t his whole life been double faced to that point anyway? He felt torn and confused.

They pushed around the food in their plates for a while. The waiters sensing the level of distress around their table discreetly stayed away.

“Fuad, how do you know?” Hanan was still clinging to some semblance of hope. “Have you ever…?”

“No, I haven’t slept with a man or a woman for that matter”

“Were you…?”

“No, I wasn’t molested either” He rolled his eyes and she smiled sheepishly.

“So how do you know?” She persisted.

“I don’t know. It’s just that I have never desired a woman. It was around 7th or 8th grade when all the other boys were going girl-crazy; that I began to have some inkling that I must be different. I was never curious about girls, I never wanted to kiss a girl, or be with one. I guess I never outgrew my girls-have-cooties-stage.” He gave her a wry smile. “ By high school I was engulfed by thoughts of men. Not boys. But grown men, desiring them from a far, wanting to be touched that way by a man….” He took a deep shuddering breath.

Hanan was rooted to his story trying hard to find some flaw that she could clutch on for dear life.

“I have prayed so much Hanan. I have been weeping to God. Trying to keep away from compromising situations, ending up by myself most of the time, I just didn’t know what to do. I still don’t know. So many nights we have lain together and I will myself to be aroused; to desire you in the same way, but I just can’t. I lay there and the only feeling I have is this protectiveness for you; I want to hold you the way a mother holds her baby; or a big protective brother his little sister. But not as a man is supposed to desire his lovely bride…”

Hanan felt the let down gently; she still struggled within herself.

“But you haven’t tried. I will help you. We can fantasize…” even as she said those words she felt cheapened. What was wrong with her?

Fuad laughed gently; his heart overwhelmed with emotion.

“I guess it doesn’t hurt to try huh?”

{-}

They went back to their rooms that night invigorated. Hanan took her time to really decorate herself for his pleasure. She slipped on one of her sexiest lingerie, lit candles, she applied light musky lotion and perfume; almost wanting to add a dab of cologne just in case. Laughing at herself; she applied the final touches of light makeup and went out to meet Fuad.

By and by, awkward embraces gave way to fervent kisses, and urgent caresses. Her zeal to awaken the fire within him, made her temporarily forget about her lack of experience. She fumbled her way through, cursing the fact she didn’t pay attention to her friend’s stories of stolen intimate encounters.

After an hour or so of furtive squeezing and hugging, Fuad slowly extricated himself out of her embrace.

“I am sorry honey. Maybe we are overdoing it you know?”

“yeah sure. Okay habiby” She turned around and bit back her tears.

“It’s okay” He gathered her in his arms, and let her sob, caressing her head with soothing murmurs. She fell asleep cradled in the warmth of his embrace; he stayed up staring at the delicate contours of her face, watching how the anguish in her face was slowly erased by peaceful slumber. Fuad felt a deep welling emotion burst open within him.

No, he couldn’t allow himself to fall in love with her. But a little voice within him whispered; “you can’t break her heart either.”

{-}

Fantastic story. Thanks a lot for sharing it with us.