Читать книгу She Wore Red Trainers - Na'ima B. Robert - Страница 17

12

‘Hey, Samia, what’s the latest with your wali, Imam Sajid? Has he tried to marry you off to any more serial polygamists lately?’

Samia’s face went red.

‘Don’t even joke about that, Rania, it’s really not funny. Just because I’m a revert, my wali thinks it is of the utmost importance that I get married ASAP, never mind that the brother doesn’t have two miswaks to rub together, has three other wives or has just come out of prison!’

‘And everyone knows how popular white revert sisters are, eh?’ I remarked drily.

‘As if I would ever settle for one of those losers!’ Samia snapped. ‘People think that, just because I’m a revert, I’m going to put up with their rubbish. Well, guess what: I wasn’t desperate before Islam and I sure ain’t desperate now…’

‘Waiting for Brother Sunnah-to-the-max to sweep you off your feet, eh?’ I smirked. ‘Dream on.’

Samia looked over at me pityingly. ‘The last thing I want is to be swept off my feet, my dear. I want my feet firmly on the ground where I can see them. As far as I’m concerned, it’s all that Western crap about romance and Prince Charming that sets marriages up for failure. That’s why I prefer the Islamic approach: don’t try to woo me, speak to me plainly, honestly, tell me what you’re bringing to the table. I’ll judge you on your merits, with a clear head, and make a rational decision, one that is based on fact, not butterflies.’

‘Ughh,’ Rania shuddered. ‘I hate the way you make that sound: just like a business contract!’

‘But isn’t that what it is?’ Samia asked. ‘A contract between two people to give each other their rights, to fulfil responsibilities: so simple. Beautiful.’

‘I don’t think it sounds beautiful at all,’ Rania pouted. ‘If a guy came to me with that kind of talk, I would chuck him out so fast his head would spin. I want to be wooed. I want the romance. I demand to be swept off my feet! After waiting this long, it’s the least he can do!’

We all laughed and made smoochie faces at Rania. She chucked a couple of menus at us. I laughed with the others, of course, but couldn’t help asking myself: which approach did I prefer? The no-nonsense, Islamic approach or the romantic, fairytale one? My heart fluttered as I saw him again in my mind’s eye. But I quickly shut it down. Of course I didn’t prefer either of them. I wasn’t getting married, remember?

‘Rania,’ I said, smiling, ‘you are wasted on those brothers, sweetheart. You’re too good for them, girl, you know that.’

‘Oh, come on, Amirah,’ Samia sighed, ‘haven’t you grown out of that guy hating phase yet?’

‘I never said I hate guys, Samia!’ I said, making googly eyes at her. ‘I just don’t trust them, OK? And besides, Muslim brothers make lousy husbands.’

‘How can you say that?’ The expression on Samia’s face was one of genuine surprise. ‘The Prophet Muhammad – sallallahu alayhi wa sallam – was a fantastic husband.’

‘Yeah, I know that, Samia. But let’s be honest, you’re not likely to find anyone like that anytime soon, especially not walking the streets of Lambeth!’

Everyone laughed and, when the waitress came to take our order, we waved her away, saying, ‘the usual, girl, the usual!’

Yasmin looked at me. ‘Don’t you believe in love, Ams?’

I gave her my most incredulous expression. ‘Yaz, what’s love got to do with it? You can love the guy as much as you want, it doesn’t stop him being a scumbag and taking liberties with you.’ I was getting warmed up to my favourite subject: useless Muslim men. ‘Listen, ladies, let me spell it out for you: Muslim men these days want all the perks and none of the hard work. They want the little obedient wife who will give it up whenever they’re in the mood, who will have ten gazillion children and homeschool them all and help pay the rent. Why? Because they’re spoilt and too lazy to get off their backsides and step up to the plate, like real men.’