Race to race
She came home, giddy with excitement. Bilal wanted to marry her and she was on cloud nine. It was as if all her dreams were coming true. She couldn’t wait to tell her parents. They would be so happy! She was finally ready to get married.
So when she told them, she hadn’t anticipated their reaction. She was thrown off guard, completely shattered by their harsh response.
The conversation had started off well. In fact, her parents were excited. After all, Sabeeha had been so averse to the concept of marriage that her parents were almost certain that she would remain single forever. But today... Today she surprised them. She told them that she was ready to get married and that she had met someone.
“Who is he?”
“What is his surname?”
“Do we know him?”
“Who are his parents?”
Her parents had bombarded her with questions, eager to find out who was the man that captured their daughter’s heart.
Laughingly, she started to tell her parents about Bilal. “He is one of the most humble men I have ever seen. He walks with humility, he is kind, he is soft spoken, he is caring. But that’s not the best part. The best part about him is that he has the most beautiful voice I have ever heard. He is true to his name, just like Bilal (RA).”
“So whose son is he?” Her dad asked.
“I’m not too sure what’s his parents name-“
“What’s his surname?”
“Mabaso.”
“Mabaso? That doesn’t sound like anyone in the community. It actually sounds like a black persons surname.”
“That’s because it is.” Sabeeha said, still not phased by her father’s tone.”
“What do you mean it is? Her father said, anger prevalent in his voice.
“Bilal is black. African.”
“He is WHAT? How dare you bring a black person into my house?” Her father said angrily.
“Wh-what do you mean? Maria, our helper, is also African and you have no problem with her being in the house.” Sabeeha said in confusion. All her life, her parents had told her not to look at a persons skin colour and to focus on what’s on the inside.
“That’s because she’s our maid.”
“She’s not a maid. She’s a helper. She helps us around the house. When she’s not around, we all can barely function.” Sabeeha said, still confused. “Besides, you always told me not to look at skin colour...”
“That didn’t mean you had to go find someone who is black!” Her father said the word black as if it was a dirty word.
“They not like us.” Her mother piped in. “What will people say? They’ll probably think that a karya made you pregnant.” The way she said the word ‘karya’ made Sabeeha’s blood curl. The Indian community often used the word ‘karya’ to describe Africans. It would have been fine but the negative connotations associated with it made the word almost derogatory.
“He is a Muslim. He prays all of his salaah, he fasts, he is kind-“
“I don’t care about any of that!” Her father shouted. “At the end of the day, he is BLACK! I will not accept a karya as a son in law!”
“So will you not accept that Bilal (RA) was the first muazzin? Will you not accept that he was one of our Nabi’s most beloved?”
Her father’s voice lowered. “Get out. Go to your room. I don’t want to even look at you.”
Sabeeha jolted out of her daydream and glanced up. Her husband was staring at her in worry.
“What are you so deep in thought about?” He asked her, placing a hand on top of hers.
She shook her head. “All this talk about racism got me thinking.”
“About?”
“Us. How my parents had initially been against this marriage because of the colour of your skin.”
“That’s all in the past.”
“Yes, but it was a long struggle to get here. The things they used to say... it still haunts me.”
“It’s okay... Don’t think about it anymore. They’ve accepted this marriage so it’s fine.”
“They still treat you like an outsider though! They may have accepted the marriage but it doesn’t look like they accepted you as their son in law. I mean all my life they used to preach to me. They would say that I shouldn’t be racist. That race doesn’t define us. That all changed the day I wanted to bring a different race into their home. And it’s still not the same. They still haven’t truly accepted you for who you are. They still judge you based on the colour of your skin!”
“It’ll all change one day. We just have to keep praying. Allah hears us.”
Sabeeha sighed and took Bilal’s hand into her own. She traced along his fingers. “Race is just the colour of your skin. Nothing more. And black is so beautiful,” she marveled, still staring at his hand. “It’s so smooth, so velvety. It looks like a delicious chocolate.”
Bilal laughed and gently placed a kiss on her forehead. “Now stop stressing. I pray that they will accept me.”
And indeed, after a decade, when Bilal saved Sabeeha’s parents from the dangerous situation outside the bank, they finally accepted him. They were being robbed at gun point and Bilal had gotten there just in time. Had it not been for him, who knows what could have happened?
When Sabeeha’s parents saw how Bilal took them as his own parents, they fell in love with his characteristics.
It had been a long, hard road. But their constant prayer hadn’t ceased for even a second. After all, even the hardest of hearts can be softened if God wills it.
