I rely on our Allah for guidance and strength. Forgive me, Allah, for I am juhaal without you. I was born ignorant, and I will die ignorant, but I feel blessed and grateful for that which I learn from Allah. I start my day, and I think of you.
And my son…
Asma’s son, he did what? Right in the alley behind the pharmacy, and with how many other men?
I am one with Allah. It is because I hear directly from Allah that whatever Allah has said to me must be done. Whenever I come to Allah, I hear Allah. And whenever I pray, I am filled with gratitude to know that Allah listens to me, and Allah hears me, and I feel better with myself through my time with Allah.
How many other men?
Today, Allah, I have that knot inside of my heart. It is like a constriction tight in my spirit. Sometimes it untangles. Most of the time I get busy with the dealings of my day, and I forget it is there. But there are the days when it is unmanageable. And today is one of those days.
Allah, you are always there to help me. And I am healed through my time with you. Would you listen to me, even if I am ashamed to admit what I am about to say to you?
Or no, I will not cross those lines. They are there for a reason. I need peace. And the things that my son has done, they are the things that he has done, not me. I am a proud Druze woman. I know who my ancestors are. And I live every day of my life with loyalty to them, keeping their sacrifices in my mind, knowing that I live righteously and with privilege, because for hundreds of years, they were not able to.
Has my son forgotten he is Druze? To be Druze means many things depending on the person, but certain things never change. We do not marry outside of our community. And to engage in homosexual behaviour, that is far worse. For we who are Druze, we reincarnate into the bodies of other Druze upon death. So, if those who are Druze decide to intermix or purposefully forgo reproductive sex, then what will happen to the souls of those who perish but who need a new vessel as their next life is about to take shape?
Has my son even thought of it? He thinks about what turns him on, he thinks about his freedom…but does he think about the people who came before him and his place in regard to them?
Allah, there is a piece of you in all of us. If you exist so strongly in me, you must exist equally as strongly in my son. Why has he not come to understand things for what they are? Why does he continue to act against the interest of our community? Is this on purpose? Is he doing this to test me? Or are you, Allah, doing this to test me? Certainly the gossip of the neighbours test me. They saw my son do what he did almost half a decade ago, and yet they sit in their houses and talk about it as if it were yesterday. They think I don’t hear? The walls are thin in our settlements. Anytime I’m on these small dusty roads heading towards the pharmacy or the meat market, I can look into their windows and I can hear them. I see them sitting on the floor upon the glinting arabesques on their carpets, passing each other tea, and shouting glibly about the sins of my family. Deep down, I know that they don’t care about what he’s actually done. They’re saying these things to denounce me, and they feel good as they do it.
Allah, it’s been years. It is the sin of my son, not the sin of my family. Why do they keep doing what they are doing?
Can you answer me?
A voice is coming to me, but it does not sound like you. It does not seem to be speaking Arabic. Is it Turkish? Is it Hebrew? Is it French?
Is this you…or is this…a soundbite from the actor that they were interviewing on the news…or a character from the Dumas novel I was reading?
Allah…Allah…Allah, you are inside of me.
Then again, all of it is inside of me. The voices, the characters, the people I am imagining. I think I am crazy. I know I am crazy. For so long I have been hearing things. I have thought of them to be djinns. But some look like humans, some look so educated, some look like people who are not from Jordan. The problem is I cannot understand them. They sometimes speak in another language. Or sometimes they take a form that is unknown to me. I don’t know who they are or why they visit me. I don’t know why they take the forms of creatures or people who are honestly foreign to me.
Allah, I never asked you about them because I saw them as vessels of evil. I was ashamed to admit I was in discussion with them. Because I only believe in Allah, and I speak truly only to Allah. Because it is only Allah who gives me peace. So, I never listened to them.
But what if these creatures or these people or these beings are your messengers? What if they were sent to say something to me?
Allah, I am an average housewife. I live to serve my husband and my community. I am as simple as any other person. I do not have any hubris about the value of my life or whom I am serving. If you are sending me messengers, I am not worthy. I am not some future inventor, I am not a great storyteller…I am only a human being.
But then again, all of us are human beings, including housewives like me who have been taught to stay at home, pray, and take care of our loved ones. Even as such I was given a son, I was given a home, I was given so much. And the truth is that I never really appreciated it because I craved what others had. Grandchildren, a son who lived with his parents. A son who followed tradition, who never questioned, who never saw the need to even ask them.
But I am not such a person, and neither is my son.
I thought I wanted to remain small because I wanted to be humble to you, Allah. But now I am realising that it is an excuse. What I am doing is remaining ignorant, with the excuse of appearing small. In reality, you are sending messengers to me, and they are telling me something. I have a far bigger role in life, and this role in life can only be achieved if I undergo a transformation, proving to others that change is possible for anyone, no matter their religion, their culture, their community, or where they come from.
Allah, you have been sending me messages, and for ignoring them, I am sorry. I will pay attention to everything I receive from now on.
Forgive me, Allah.
I will do better from now on. I may be from a small town in the middle of Jordan, but I can prove in how I adapt and evolve that being from such place need not limit or define who I am meant to become.
Forgive me, Allah.
I can feel it in my bones. I am being rewarded by a lightness in my body. It’s as if you are telling me, yes, my child, this is the way to think. You are on the right path.
I haven’t felt this way in so long. I feel like something dark and angry and cruel is leaving me, and something kind and considerate and warm is returning.
I am opening my heart. I am opening my mind. I am opening my spirit. I will listen to you, Allah. Let us see what this new path you are giving me will offer.
