she means hair that is straight.

this she asks of a mama that has worn her hair natural
for more than 10 years.
a mama whose distant memories include
a perm burning her scalp as a teenager
– and even farther back –
sittin between her mama’s legs
while holding down her ear
and cringing, without moving,
away from a hot comb.
this she ask of a mama who does not own a blow dryer.
what kind of brown woman does not own a blow dryer?!?
certainly not a brown woman with four girls.
and yet, this woman lives on an undisclosed street
near shoppers food warehouse
in hyattsville, maryland.
shame on her.

determined to make the one birthday wish
of a five-year-old-to-be come true,
i ventured out in the aftermath of snowmageddon 2010
to sally’s beauty supply in search of a hot comb.
even CVS sells electric pressing combs (as they are officially called) these days.

i should’ve just took her to a professional,
but i wanted this to be a mother-daughter moment
and i was afraid she would have screamed us out of a salon.

first i washed, untangled and combed her hair
and she stoically held in her normal cries of anguish.
then we came to the moment of pressing, hot truth.

in my hot comb memories,
my mama always had a folded paper towel nearby
which she wiped the comb with before hot-combing my hair.
and there was some oil dabbled on my hair at some point.
the reasons for this and that were rediscovered and clarified
(i.e. on-the-job-training)
on my baby girl’s beautiful, thick, curly hair.

her hair came out a bit singed in some places,
but noticeably flatter.
she adored herself in the mirror,
pressing her hands down the length of her flattened tresses
like a model in a commercial for madame c.j. walker’s miracle-working pressing combs.
– a birthday wish come true
and she hadn’t even blown out the candles yet.

every night thereafter
– until swim class returned it to a somewhat curlier state –
she came to me before bed,
comb and brush in hand,
so that i could twist up her “flat hair” for the night.

the black and proud woman that i claim to be
who has worn her hair naturally for years,
giving the hand to harsh, curl-destroying chemicals
that burn the scalp and cauterize historical ties,
who sought to instill in her girls
familiarity, comfort, ability and pride
in the beauty and versatility of their kinks,
sold out and singed her fingertips all in the effort to give her daughter
one birthday wish for flat hair.

The Apostle of Allah (peace_be_upon_him) said: Command your children to pray when they become seven years old, and beat [i.e. discipline] them for it (prayer) when they become ten years old; and arrange their beds (to sleep) separately.

so, i wanted to make the occasion memorable,
and have the earrings
– usually just a form of adornment –
be a reminder to remember Allah.
so the moment actually came!

i wanted to get them done at a piercing place
with a needle instead of a gun,
but they didn’t have a piercer on duty.
we ended up going to piercing pagoda at pg plaza.

she chose gold heart earrings
– with a little guidance from mom –
and the piercer
– who had pink highlights –
put a dot where she thought the holes should be.
we made a little correction on that
and then pink-highlights
prepared the gun.

after a bismilLah,
the right ear was done
with sanaa letting out a quick surprised scream.
we had talked about how it would feel like a quick, sharp pinch,
but the reality became clearer at that moment.
she was hesitant,
but trying to be brave.
as the piercer approached the second ear, sanaa cringed,
but pink-highlights managed to pierce her left ear anyway.
the deed was done,
and we celebrated with an auntie anne’s soft pretzel
then returned home
to yellow birthday cake with strawberry icing.

the next day when sanaa woke up,
the heart-front of her left earring was in the sheets,
but the post and back was still attached.
i called piercing pagoda
and they said removed the back,
let it heal for a couple days and come back.

after trying to convince sanaa with words
to let me take the back and post out,
i finally had to sit on her to get it out.
she said she wasn’t going back to get it pierced.

a day later, she changed her mind.
that’s the courageous sanaa i know.

however, at the piercer three days or so later,
her tears began to flow at the sight of the gun.
we talked a bit to no avail.
this piercer
– a young lady who looked like she had the experience to back up her piercing skills –
tried to convince sanaa.
she claimed to have numbing cream
– actually hand-sanitizer –
to minimize the pain.
i was like: oh! i didn’t know y’all had that.
she gave me that knowing look of adults who talk above children’s understanding.
it made no difference to sanaa.
resigned to let sanaa get up to it in her own time,
we got up to leave.
then she made a u-turn
and sat in the chair with a resolve that totally took me by surprise.
professional-piercer moved toward sanaa,
but kept the piercing gun from her sight.
with all the emotion of trying to cajole and sway and reassure sanaa’s scared heart,
it was a bit anti-climactic when her ear was re-pierced with barely a whimper.

i pray she remembers this courage
when it comes time to pray fajr in the darkness of the early morning.
i pray she remembers this resolution of spirit
when it is time to pray thuhr or asr or maghrib or isha
and there are so many other things she wants to do or finish
rather than make time to remember Allah.

each house has had its benefits along with its challenges
– although we probably brought many of the latter with us.
one house was physically detrimental to one member of our family;
another was spiritually unhealthy to us all;
another home helped us to reconnect with the rhythms of nature
and the circle of life;
in yet another, we livened up an empty-nest
with boisterous, youthful energy and had the opportunity to
buoy a cherished family member during one of her lowest times.
in all places, we’ve been able to strengthen the fortitude of family ties.

in every abode we faced the challenge
of fitting our moderately-sized family into the rhythms of its native dwellers.
it’s a delicate act attempting to provide some sense of stability to a nomadic household
while trying to tread lightly on the generosity of family.
i consciously sought to make our presence felt in such a way so that
they would miss us when we left
rather than breath a sigh of relief at our departure.
my intent was to leave cheerful memories upon our farewell
after our extended “visit”.

our wandering reconnections have highlighted certain values
that i want to implement and/or strengthen in our own family-unit,
underscored the importance of family
and how families should function during times of crisis and challenge
like antibodies coming to the aid of broken skin,
preventing a hemorrhage and preserving life and love.
but now…
i just want a home of my own,
be it rented or owned,
an intimate place in which to move within our own rhythms,
savoring our own peace and adventures,
reveling in our own energetic essence,
balancing that by continuing to reach out
to cultivate connections to our extended family
who have given us love, support, love, encouragement, love and
a home after home after home after home
during our time of need.

it wasn’t the first time around for the older couple.
they were both working on their second or third marriage.
they were like roommates in a bad situation,
most times ignoring each other when in each other’s presence.
but when they did have to interact,
the tension — let alone the actual altercations — was like steel slashing though steel.
even after all their previous failures in marriage,
they could not learn now to make their current one work.
or even how to amicably and maturely “know when to fold em”,
in the wise words of kenny rogers.

on seeing the young couple’s drama,
my thoughts were drawn back to their wedding festivities.
it was the typical american wedding
with a bridal party of 6 pairs of bridesmaids and groomsmen.
the vows exchange.
the kiss that made them husband and wife.
the lively, joyous reception.
and then the baby that came literally 9 months later.

but now, just a bit more than a year later,
after infidelity and ugly, scarring repartee
i wonder how long the invitation list would have been
if they had been counseled to invite only those
who would help them work through the hard times
when, not if, they came;
to ask only those whom they would go to for support, advice and help
during times of marital distress
to be witnesses to their matrimonial oaths.
perhaps the wedding would have been a little smaller in scale,
but no less full of felicity and hope.

i’ve seen a pakistani/indian wedding ritual
that included, among other symbols,
the couple-to-be tasting something bitter and something sweet
as a reminder of trials and pleasures married life is sure to bring.
i find that much more useful
then something borrowed and something blue.

while no marriage — let alone individual person — is perfect,
it has its flavors: the sour, the bitter, the hot, and the sweet.
lemon, vinegar, cayenne and honey.
(i love thai food, so this analogy sits perfectly with me.)
in the right combination, such a meal incorporating these flavors
can be memorable and deliciously savory;
something we’ll always return to and take pleasure in every time.

we should go into this flavorsome covenant,
this promise prayerfully given and received,
will full optimism, working for the best,
but with a realistic understanding of the surmountable challenges that will come
and that we — as a couple — will need the help of faith, family and friends.

you: asSalaamu alaikum, sis. you forgot your scarf today! ha-ha-ha.
her: no i didn’t. i’ve decided not to wear it anymore.
you: do you still believe in la-ilaha-ilAllah?
her: of course.
you: well alHamdullilah.

that’s it.
don’t start berating her,
or judging her because of it.
let it be.
too many sisters have left islam
– or in the best outcomes,
left and come back –
because some other sister,
or gaggle of em,
start gettin on her case about some form of covering,
especially hijab.

– let her wear apple bottom jeans,
but DON’T TAKE OFF THAT SCARF!
but that is another story. –

muslims should expect trials and tests.
we have to go through what Allah has planned for us
in order to strengthen our iman and love for Him.
instead of seeing HER hijab as a personal affront,
maybe her shiny, conditioned and trimmed strands
is a test for US
to stop gossipin’
but rather make dua for her
and ourselves
that me may be guided to the right,
and that Allah covers OUR sins
that we do in public AND private.

a man once told me
“i’m too cheap to get an un-tailored shirt.”
when clothes are tailored to my body
they last longer, are more flattering,
and i’m more likely to get more use out of them.
after each compliment
i’ll be smile and say,
“oh, this ole thing? mashaAllah…(blush)…mashaAllah.”

she was my favorite grandmother.
still is.
i think.

but she is changing
for the worse.

now she is nice to me
because she doesn’t know who i am
or is constantly remembering who i am
and what my name is.

she has always reserved her sweetness for strangers.
i learned how to flirt from her.
i remember her flashing her bright-toothed smile
to strangers and acquaintances, right and left,
as he drove her school bus back in the day.

but now
– as i’ve been at her house for the past couple weeks or so –
she can bring me to tears with her words.
then i cry again because i see, in her future, a bitter solitude
because her dementia alzheimer’s has turned up the volume
on the base part of her nature.
behind the sour demeanor
i seems that she is fearful, defensive and frustrated
because of a lack of stability.
she seems to be exploring her environment repeatedly
as if to imprint it on her memory.
the simple tasks of bathing and putting on clothes
drives her to a blistering anger.

what do we do when
the elders we love
hurt us when they are out of their right mind?
do we bear them as they bore us in our youth?
or do we pay someone else to pay them some mind?

i pray that when i am returned to the state of a child
but with gray hair and wrinkles given by experiences through the years,
i pray, that i am not a burden on the soul’s of my children
– whom i hope will take care of me,
should i need it –
nor heavy on their hearts.

i pray that i make it easy for them to honor me in my old age
and that i am as appreciative of my caretaker(s)
as i hope my children will be of
my efforts and sacrifices for them.

ameen.