I watched the people from our town decorate the neighborhood's gate door. They hung up banners with the words Ramadan Mubarak. The store owners closed their stores 10 minutes before iftar leaving the streets empty. The streets fell into silence in the time before iftar. The kids ran back inside their homes and the women were occupied in the kitchens. While the streets were silenced the homes were loud. Not my home, at least not this year it wasn't. Maryam and I can hear the gleeful laughs and the chatter of the families breaking their fasts in the backyards.
we made little amounts of food since neither one of us ate much. Some of the food we used to make we would put aside until one of the beggars used to come and knock. In Ramadan, they would knock often after iftar or a minute or two before it. We couldn't feed more than one with our amount of food and I guess the rest of them acknowledged this because after a while the same beggar would come and the rest we never saw again.
on the sofra for iftar, we sat silently across from each other, but it didn't feel silent at all. this was a peaceful type of silence. i gazed at the sambosa with the side of my eye but knew better and took the date to break my fast. i watched Maryam's features soften while she sat crisscrossed with her palms to the sky. she prayed so beautifully and sincerely. it wasn't only through words that her dua was spoken it was as if her whole being was put forth into the dua. sometimes she exhaled loudly, and her chest raised as if she has poured her whole heart out. sitting across from her I prayed that whatever dua she made be accepted. I prayed that she finds someone who does not treat her carelessly and wrongly. i prayed for abbas too, i might not have spoken of him recently but trust me his presence resides in my mind. Not a moment passes where his memory does not occupy my heart and mind.
After iftar, we cleaned the house and did the chores, and prayed together. Most of the time Maryam would lead the Taraweeh prayer while I stood behind her. she knew more Quran than me since she studied longer. after praying we would sit and she would read and I would repeat after her with my own Quran. sometimes her voice trembled while reading certain ayahs and i sobbed listening to her.
sometimes we cooked a lot and took it to the mosque, the woman's side was smaller than the men's side but often there were fewer women, so it made sense. Maryam wanted to do this more often and i would have but i truly was becoming incapable of carrying my own body weight. i marveled at how a baby was growing inside of me, eating my food, and kicking my stomach. sometimes the kicks were so vigorous that i had to take a seat from the pain. Maryam stood by me during these moments and always did what she felt was most accommodating to me.
after Taraweeh, a few women sat chatting with us, by us I mean mostly Maryam, I lack social skills in unimaginable ways. I sweat and trip over my words, nervous that I might say something wrong, and they'll chastise me. when they left, I let out an exasperated breath and Maryam rolled her eyes at me. "Just act the way you act with me, you have a lovable personality"
"easier said than done qalbi" I did try to act normal, but in moments like those I lost sense of what normal is. how do I normally act? my thoughts shift to Maryam who begins brooming the mosque and instantaneously I started brooming the other side, she grabbed the broom out of my grasp and ordered me to sit down.
"your job is to sit there and take care of that hab hab you carry" she pointed at my stomach and helped me or more like pushed me down gently to sit.
"say, Masha Allah," i said troubled
"Masha Allah a million times" i smiled conveying my satisfaction.
"what should I do? i can't just sit here, talk to me or a might fall asleep" i really might fall asleep, there was nothing else to do
"We don't want that happening, there's no way I can carry you or even wake you up, you'll probably be like a bear on hibernation"
"MARYAM!"
"I'm kidding, Masha Allah". "Better?" she says continuing to broom
"I'm serious, talk to me"
"Recite the Quran you've memorized, it's better than talking"
That was indisputable; I recited a few surahs and if i was stuck I would recite them to Maryam and she would fill me in with the next ayah. she finished and sat next to me. The mosque was clean and empty, our voices reverberated through it. we made a few duas while walking home. the mosque wasn't too far but it was still scary to be out late, especially because we're only women. i had confidence in fighting after the long training with Abbas but i feared i wouldn't be able to protect the baby well enough so any little sound startled us and pushed us to fasten our pace.
The next day Maryam invited a few women over, of course after asking me. i didn't mind but to be around people drained me excessively. I can't bring myself to socialize for long periods of time. They were kind to me and they all brought plates filled with food, cake, fetter, and sahan. Their little children approached me gently patting my stomach. "Don't hurt my hab hab" Maryam would warn them because she knew i wouldn't say anything to them if they did bother me.
I admired their tiny hands and flabbergasted expression when gazing at the size of my stomach. a little girl silently sat next to me on the sofa swinging her legs. i caught her trying to sneak glances at me and my stomach. i smiled and her cheeks turned rose. i glanced back at the woman and got snippets of their conversations. they were all speaking over each other and having side conversations. for the most part, they seemed to talk about buying new gold or whose gold necklace cost more. I thought it was pointless to spend such large sums of money on things that can hardly be carried around the neck and only worn once in a while. the little girl's voice rings in my ear and grasps my attention.
"is dat a baby," she said staring at my tummy. i nod at her cute, gapped teeth. "a big one" i reply
"wow" she smiled amazed waiting for a little and asking "a girl or boy"
"Only Allah knows"
"yeah Allah knows everything, even he knew when my broder stole my toy and lied he didn't but" she continues to fill me in with all the little details of how naughty her brother is. when she finished my face hurt and i hadn't realized how widely i had been grinning listening to her story. i was less nervous and more excited now to have a baby. it was odd how a little girl convinced me of the blessing in my stomach. when her mother called her to leave, she stood on the sofa and pecked my cheeks, and hugged me. "insha'Allah your baby isn't like my broder" I laughed at this remark and hugged her goodbye. Before leaving she slid her finger into my hair "i love your hair, you're so pwetty" she said and ran to her mother. A huge smile formed on my lips. she had invested me into her little world and now i was left with the rest of the women and appreciated their advice on how to raise a kid and their duas that he doesn't come out a troublemaker. A heated argument started between them about whether the baby should be a girl or a boy.
"a girl is always easier to have as a first baby, they're easier to raise"
"And less troublesome" another woman agreed
"no, don't listen to them a boy is better, he will take care of you, take you to the souk, the girls get married and leave," the other woman said
"he will bring money too" the one next to her added. they started arguing mentioning experiences with their kids.
"what do you want?" one of them said shutting the other's conversations down. Now they were all turned to face me. I was having fun listening to them, but I dreaded how now I was expected to say something
"I don't know, whatever Allah gives me is fine, alhamdiluha" truth is I've thought about it many times, i wanted a boy so i could see a mini Abbas and keep him by my side when he brings his wife and lives in this house but i also wanted a girl so that i can brush her long hair, dress her up and she can help me out with the house chores but that's the sad part about girls they get married and leave to live with the husband. why can't one keep their daughters close, why do they have to leave? i haven't seen my sister since she got married, i don't know if she is well or not but she had said she loved the idea of going to an entirely different place. still, either boy or girl I'm glad i don't get to choose or else I'll never be able to decide.
i could tell the women weren't satisfied with my answer but there was nothing else they could do, it's not like talking about the baby's gender will change what has already been forming in my stomach. It was a pointless argument. Whether it's a girl or a boy, they are both a blessing, like the sun or the moon.
YOU ARE READING
A silent cry
Historical Fiction"and after all this time of waiting the devil would reach out to me and whisper, he's dead and you are here, how much longer will you wait, how much longer would you deny the truth, at some point, I was afraid that he would unlock my ribcage and sen...
