Lightness of Being…

“Honey, when you said a fishing village I pictured…well, I don’t know what I pictured but not this!” her frustration was evident in every syllable she uttered.

“Just give it a chance. That’s all I’m asking. I know this isn’t anything like what you are used to but it will grow on you.” He spoke with the patient air of one talking to a little girl.

This, is the quaint little village he was from?

She saw nothing quaint about it. It was small, dusty, hot, and overly crowded. Do some of these people actually live in huts? She could not believe those still existed! And the dirt? He said nothing about the dusty air, grimy walls, muddy pot holed streets, raggedy sweaty clothes, and even filthy water. Who drinks brownish water? This is not hygienic at all.

They had been together a whole year before he ventured to take her “back home”. He had been talking to her about it so much, the ocean, the freedom, and the simplicity. In his exile, his imagination substituted for what his memories could not keep. By the time they boarded the plane, poor Jenna thought she was headed for a
Hawaii like environment. She was not prepared for what squalor and poverty really meant. Even his “huge” house, was nothing but a crumbling, shabbily built four bedroom house, with extra extensions that were added on almost as an afterthought.

The store had shrunk into a pitiful state. His father was getting too old, and almost all his stock was sold on credit to people who invariably never paid back. Zack faithfully sent home $500 every month, which was really a considerable sum for that area. Most of it was spent on buying supplies that they didn’t get anything for. By now, Landini was boasting five or six other stores. It had also morphed into a touristy place where visitors came from far and wide to enjoy the newest resort built on its shoreline.

With the resort came prostitution, dance clubs, alcoholism, and hordes of people hoping to get a steady job at the resort. The good thing about the resort is that it at least put Landini on the map, as it was officially renamed “Mnazini” (the place where palm trees grew). The other positive thing is that it benevolently rendered the locals low paying jobs, as gardeners, waiters, cashiers and housekeepers. A steady income, however meager, was a lot better than depending on the fickle fish market.

Jenna was welcomed with open curiosity and admiration. It’s not like they hadn’t seen white people, with the influx of tourists, it was just no one had gotten that close and intimate with one.

“A real Mzungu (White). Wow you have really done it Zackarriya” young  men  proudly thumped his back.

Even his father gave him a grudging approval. She wasn’t a Hadhrami girl, like he secretly hoped his son would bring home, but who could blame him? Even the old man noticed the Jenna was gorgeous.

Jenna had never hated her name more. Zack affectionately called her my “Jannah” (paradise) she could almost tolerate that. But “Jana” (Swahili word for the word yesterday) was what everyone else called her. It sounded so ugly!

She was invariably shuttled from one dark and shabbily decorated house to another and aromatic dishes of all kinds were put in front of them. She was secretly scared of contracting food poisoning when she saw the dirty water used to wash dishes, and the bowl passed around from hand to hand to wash their hands before and after eating. The food was too spicy and she was always forced to eat way more than she could bear. Zack had warned her that not to eat would be deemed offensive by the hosts. She forced herself to keep the food down, and smiled painfully. Her forced silence and smiles were mistaken for shyness.

What a demure young woman. Older women clucked affectionately. She was perfect. And those eyes! Wow, they will surely have such beautiful children. As it were beauty was defined by light skin, lighter eyes, and long straight hair. Those standards of course could hardly be met by the Africans, and even the Arabs who boasted lighter skin were only nominally lighter and invariably had curly hair. This white woman was the epitome of beauty itself. Young girls looked up to her enviously, and men could barely disguise the leers on their faces when she walked by. She caused quite a stir in his community.

The neighborhood kids who had no notions of privacy, invaded her room every chance they got. They sat around and simply stared at her open mouthed. Why were they so dirty? When Zack swooped in the room and kissed her openly in the mouth they broke out in a loud cheer. They called even more kids to come and witness the spectacle, urging uncle Zackariyya to kiss her again.

Jenna could not take enough showers. She was sweaty, smelly and had never felt so grimy in her life. When Zackariyya offered to buy her a treat, corn on the cob roasted by a roadside vendor, she almost passed out. The corn was being feasted on by flies; an ineffectual tattered newspaper was put on top of the already roasted corn. The seller swatted the flies with one hand, and dipped his hands in a dirty bucket of water, turning to flip the corn that was on the fire.

How do these people survive? She had wondered more than once.

{-)

Zackariyya noticed the tension in his home the minute he walked in. Samaha hugged him affectionately with tears in her eyes. He noticed two Black kids hanging around her feet.

“Are those your children?” he asked her incredulously.

“Yes” in a small squeaky voice.

His mother coughed uncomfortably and dad just left the room.

Samaha told him softly that she married a local man, one of Zackariyya’s old friends, Saidi. Zackariyya was stunned momentarily, and let out a whoop of laughter. He hugged his sister and twirled her around.

“My poor baby sis, you must have caught hell around here!”

What she committed was an awful cultural faux pas. How could an Arab woman, from a respectable family, marry an African man? And not even a light skinned, mixed African, but a regular old Black African man? People secretly blamed her parents.

“What do they expect, moving out there in the village, where there are no other choices? She should have brought her to Mombasa, or at least sent her back to
Yemen.”

Knowing glances were exchanged and laughter stifled when Samaha went to Mombasa, with her two African looking kids in tow.

“They got nothing of their mom’s beautiful features” women shook their heads sadly.

Her father had been furious. It is one thing for a man to marry outside the race and even religion, but a woman? Did she want to bring ruin to the family? What will people say?

The fact that Saidi was a faithful and responsible man, who prayed five times a day, held a respectable job as a truck owner and driver did not alleviate concerns. She had insisted on their marriage and even swore to elope if they did not send her off with dignity. To save face, her parents conducted a small ceremony, and did not even bother inform Zackarriya.

“Why give the poor man a heart attack, when he is so far away.” Her mother sighed.

It was only after a couple of years, that the ice thawed between the families. Samaha was finally allowed to come home, and Saidi was accepted grudgingly. Samaha and Saidi did not care though, for they were happy together and that was all that mattered.

{-}

The trip back to the US was filled with long stretches of awkward silence. Jenna could not look at Zack in the eye. Zackarriya had stopped apologizing for his homeland. Those were his roots and Jenna had to come to terms with it.

{-}

The arrival of Hannah soon after, put the spark back in their lives (or more accurately his life). Zack had never seen a more gorgeous creature. She had her mother’s golden green eyes, hers were just bigger and more soulful, her father’s thick saucy lips, and his bronze skin. She sported gorgeous locks of brownish hair that made her look like an exotic doll.

Zack was mesmerized. He held her all the time when he was home. He changed her diaper with care, and sang to her lullabies from his own childhood he never thought he remembered. If meeting Jenna was his destiny, then the very purpose of that encounter was to bring Hannah to this world. She epitomized the very reason for his being.

They argued over names a lot. With the thought of parenthood, Zack suddenly felt a sudden warm surge of sentimentality for all things Arab and Islam. He wanted to name the girl Maryam after his mom (and Prophet Isa (Jesus&rsquo mother too) and really fought for Muhammad too. Jenna could barely pronounce Muhammad and was not particularly fond of the name Maryam.

They finally settled on Hannah (he pronounced it with the elongated Arabic accented Hana’a: she simply called her the Western counterpart Hannah). For a boy, they tentatively agreed on Adam it was a nice cross over name.

Jenna felt the walls closing in on her after the birth. Zack was so involved with his daughter he barely noticed her disheveled appearance when he came home. The baby was much more work than she had ever imagined. She was constantly crying to be fed, carried, cuddled, changed, alternatively repeating the process over and over again. Jenna barely had time to shower, let alone return the house to its former pristine condition. She yearned for her immaculate Files and Folders, the structure of 9-5 work days and the feeling of being a responsible contributing adult. She felt frumpy, teary, and frustrated; and her husband barely looked at her in his enthusiasm over his new found object of affection.

She felt resentful and alternatively guilty for her bewildering feelings of self pity. She wept a lot, but kept her complaints to a minimum. After all, isn’t motherhood what every woman aspires to embrace one day? She was twenty nine and that was just about the time her biological clock was setting to motion.

{-}

Zack started attending the Masjid with vigor. He wanted to raise a good Muslim child. It wasn’t that he was a bad Muslim before, just a little too laid back. He respected his religion and was proud to have kept up all his prayers. He fasted during Ramadhan, took care of his parents, and gave charity every once in a while. He kept up all the dietary rules and managed to mingle with his co workers and friends without ever touching a bottle of alcohol. He was honest and responsible. Yet, he lacked the righteous zeal that distinguishes the actively practicing Muslim from the rest.

Hana'a, ignited in him the feelings of religious fervor, cultural attachment, and sweet nostalgia for all his innocent days of boyhood.

He unofficially became Brother Zackariyya bin Salim Al Amoody at the local Masjid (mosque). Brothers welcomed him with open arms. Zackariyya was a little perturbed by being called “brother” a title in
Kenya that was used mainly among Christian missionaries; but he was ecstatic nonetheless. He felt like he was finally finding his place in life. He grew a beard and volunteered his time to help with the community website and other assortment of activities. He even signed up to teach Sunday school. It will be a good way of giving back to the community, he rationed.

A chasm was beginning to form between Jenna and Zack. Who was this guy? And where was the charming Zack Moody that she married? He was turning more and more foreign on her and she was already dealing with so many conflicting emotions and hormonal changes. How much more could she handle? Jenna felt an unbearable weight shadowing her soul. She felt alone and overwhelmed and there was not a single soul she could confide in.

{-}

Summayya was like a sparkle of sunshine in the local Masjid. She was born and raised in the US of Pakistani heritage. She was so energetic, and bubbling with laughter and ideas; that she stood out as an irrepressible shining star from the crowd of murmuring covered women who were never quite properly seen or heard from.

She was the youngest and only female board member, a Sunday school teacher, a proud member of the local “Habitat for Humanity” as well as the local chapter of “A.N.S.W.E.R” coalition (fighters for justice). On top of all that, she was the counselor for the “Youth Action Group” made up of local teens (across sexes and religious faiths) who she whispered conspiratorially “she was priming to take over the world.” They held talent shows, wrote chapbooks of poetry, and went as out as a “gang” to facilitate community service projects for the larger community.  She had a “real” boring and soul-less job in the IT industry that “finances my other endeavors” she asserted laughingly.

Zack was intrigued by her. He had never seen an example of a real practicing Muslim (let alone Muslim woman) that was not caught up in the legalistic, rituals that starved the soul of its natural poetry. She was a walking rhythm pulsating with vigor. Compared to her, Jenna was a withered flower dying for a real gasp of fresh air. He shook his head to remove such unbidden thoughts. Summayya was meant for much greater things than he could ever offer her. It was also much too late for him. He was a father and a husband and he shouldn’t even think about it.

He still admired her from afar though; and hoped that at least someday his little Hana’a might emulate her heroic steps.

The first day he walked in, Summayya came up to him cheerfully and introduced her self.

“Hi, My name is Summayya, not SUMAAYYA or SAMAYA, just Summayya. Really not that hard but you would be surprised” she rolled her eyes laughingly.

Zack was taken. He simply gulped, introduced himself hurriedly and walked off with a quick salaam.

{-to be continued-}