Esraa
Is it just me or has the month of August just been insane? Every day I would tell myself, you have to write your next blog girl, all the masses are so eagerly awaiting on the edge of their seats to read your next life changing story. So here it is, I hope no one fell off their chair in eagerness. 😛
I struggled hard in writing this because I didn’t even know where to start, or if my words can even give 1% of justice to this amazing person in my life; my faithful warrior. She was there from the moment I opened my eyes to this world, holding me and teaching me my path in this life. If it’s hard being the daughter of an Imam at times, man just imagine being the wife.
My mother’s name is Eman, which means faith in the Arabic language, and she embodies that meaning in every way. She taught me to have strong faith so that when anything went wrong, as long as I remained steadfast on my path, God would never do me wrong. She always told me to say “There is no might or power except in Allah”; these words gave her faith that God with his ultimate sovereignty would take care of her and her family. Her every heartbeat, tear, smile, and struggle was to make sure she raised respectful, honorable children. In moments where I felt down I just look at her beautiful face, all the wrinkles around her eyes to her smiles that light up my world, and the lines on her forehead from the times I made her frown in disappointment. The depth of her soulful eyes that have seen and lived a life many can barely imagine: this woman is a warrior.
My mother’s father passed away when she was only one years old, and her Mother raised her in a country where male dominance is prominent; she is a reflection of the strong persevering woman who raised her. Being the youngest out of two girls and four boys she quickly took on the household duties while balancing her school and social life. My grandmother, as a woman during those times, could not easily find work and these times were extremely tight for my mother growing up. However, all my mom talks about are how her mother never let her need for anything, she taught them the right from wrong, independence, hard work, and raised them on good ethics and a moral upbringing. When my mother was 22, she married my father and entered a life entirely different from the one she was used to living in. In her home there was no male dominance, she was raised on equality in work and being.
My father, growing up, had six brother and one sister, and the role to compete on who was the “man” of the house was overbearing at times. In those days the women lived with their in-laws, and they would take over all of the household duties while trying to maintain their own personal married life. My father was always away at work for weeks, and at times, even months; and my mother went from becoming a queen of her home to just another overworked, underappreciated woman. The above is my viewpoint when my mom tells me these stories because I’m a bit of a feminist; However, my mom sees it in a different light. She tells me that even though it was difficult at times, all of this paid off because my father was extremely kindhearted, and giving with his parents and siblings that he was always the favorite. She told me “If you have your mother’s acceptance and love on this earth then you have everything.” Her faith was strong that God would always provide and take care of them.
Two years into my mother’s marriage she and my father moved to Yemen where they both worked as teachers to make ends meet. It was in the country of Yemen that my five siblings and I were born; I don’t remember anything from this period, so I rely mainly on my parents’ and siblings’ memories. My parents would work tirelessly to provide us with a stable home and food to eat every day, while my father spent half his paycheck back to his parents and siblings. My mother told me there were so many hard times that one would think about giving up, but warriors keep fighting, and that’s just what she did. With four kids and the fifth on the way, she worked hand in hand with my father between the mountains and the parched deserts of Yemen. It was when my brother, Hamza, was six months old that my dad got the opportunity of a lifetime to travel on a worker’s visa to America where teachers were needed.
I know this is long, and I could write a book, and it wouldn’t be enough, but all this doesn’t even come to a fraction of how phenomenal this woman is.
Five kids in toe she moved back to Egypt while my father was in America and raised her children while maintaining another household of 6 teenage and adult men. It was one year in when my dad was able to bring us all to America with him, imagine traveling alone with crazy kids and a language barrier? I could barely make it through Rome for 14 hours! We settled into California as our first, but surely not last, home. My memories of California are my favorite; I never felt the struggle my parents went through, because my mother always made sure we had the best of clothes, the same snacks the kids ate at school and, that we had a full and happy childhood. Six years into our new life in America, my parents set cross country from the West coast to the East coast. We saw snow for our first time in the state of Michigan, our new home for the next six years. Working to fit into a new society was a bit of a struggle, at first. For my mother, Flint was a very social and close knit atmosphere which differed from California’s open communities. It was a real change; here we learned the importance of an Islamic community. We attended Islamic school where my mother worked soulfully to pay off the private school tuition of her five children. She was adamant that we had a strong foundation in Arabic, which we learned our Islamic faith and Quran recitation.
When we moved to Cleveland, Ohio, after another six years, I was 13 at that time. It was a hard move for me, I loved my friends back in Flint, and at that age, I felt like my world had ended. My mother had to work on getting us all situated and again learning to balance a new social atmosphere. It’s hard enough for any person to have to move, but imagine being the wife of an Imam, where the majority of the female body in the community is going to be coming to you for questions and help. The struggle wasn’t in adapting as a family in a new place, it was changing to a whole new community where your family has all eyes on them. It was, when I was 15 years old, two weeks after my older sister’s marriage where my mother’s life changed forever.
My family got into a horrible accident that by the miraculous grace of God left all her children and two friends and a husband with very little to no damage. The same couldn’t be said about this faithful woman; I remember looking down at her as they laid her on the ground. She had a broken neck, unable to move and the only thing she asked about was “ How are my children?”. When we went to her in the hospital, I saw my mother wrapped up in so many braces and tubes, and she looked at all of us and told us she loved us, to have faith in God, and to make sure we made our prayers. Six months she went through the most intensive therapy, she was told that it was a very minimal chance that she would walk again. You can’t tell this warrior that she can’t do something! Day and night she lived in excruciating pain, and until she was standing up and taking the first step with the aid of her walker. She taught me never to give up. I watched this woman, who I have never seen take a break, always on her feet, so independent, fall. It shook me. At times, I questioned why God would do this to such an amazing human, but she would reprimand me. Her faith was unflatteringly strong. She would tell me to thank God that she was still alive, that she was improving. This difficulty was a test and trust from God, and she wasn’t named “Faith” for anything.
The years have passed, and I’m 22 now, I live alone with my parents and my older siblings have married, and all live in separate states; my youngest brother in college in a different state. I’ve grown so much closer to my mother in this time with her, I learn from her life, and live through her emotions. This woman is my best friend, and I could not imagine one second without her. At times, I’m not the best kid out there, when she is mad at me, I run circles around her because I can’t live past a day not seeing her smile. No woman I know has gone through what this warrior has gone through and still have that strong will and faith. She is always right, no matter how determined I am to prove her wrong, she’s right! She is patient with my father in every trial, every move, every difficulty, she is patient with her children, with every mistake, every fault, loving and guiding us towards the foundation she raised us on. The love she carries for us in her heart is beyond my understanding, but all I know is that if I can become a fraction of this faithful warrior, then I have nothing to worry about; my faith will carry me through. I don’t tell you this enough, but I love you, Mama, you’re my everything.
Two Friends and a Blog 