Lightness of Being…

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 based 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.

{-}