An American Muslim Love Story Part 1

Whereas I used to be annoyed when women would ask me about my life, I am beginning to understand where the questions come from. It has been my experience that African American women who marry outside their race are themselves outside the mainstream of what could be identified as the African-American identity. They are devoid of a discernibly “black” accent in their speech pattern, and they appear to be a bit uncomfortable with themselves. These women have chosen to “pick” a race and cultural identity, which is non-black and therefore is devoid of what I shall term here as “blackness.” These identifiable characteristics are not always visible to someone who is not black – which is not to be equated with being from the ghetto or poor; rather, there are a certain set of behavioral norms, speech patterns, cultural proclivities, and ways of viewing the world that the majority of African American people identify with.

Because this erasure of “blackness” is so prevalent among African American women once they marry outside their race; specifically, marriage to white men, the first impression upon meeting a black girl that has a white husband is to first assume she is culturally lost and that she is damaged with non existent self esteem. If a thorough investigation of her “blackness” is performed and she is found to be in full possession of her faculties; the second conclusion must be that her white husband wants secretly to be black and he must carry the mannerisms and cultural identity of being black. If upon the investigation the latter is found to be an accurate hypothosis, he is welcomed with open arms, hot fried chicken and cornbread.

However, what happens when the two spouses are in full possession of their cultural/racial identity without want of relinquishing any part of it? How does a marriage like this negotiate the impossible questions of a society which desires to see one, but not fully capable of visualizing both in tact?

That is why so many ask me how I met my husband…..because though I am reserved and very proper in my mannerisms and speech, those that understand know that it is an extension of my black family from which this comes, and not my want or need to be other than who I am. I met a sister once who had met my husband before me. When I met her she was uncomfortable and more observant of my behavior than forthright and conversational. Months later she asked if I remembered when my husband asked me to serve some brother tea. I had barely remembered (not really) what she was talking about. But her memory of the night was clear and striking:

“…..your husband asked you to make the brother some tea. You got up and made it but that look you gave him…you never said a word, but you said everything when you looked at him…’his wife is here, let her make him some tea’….I knew you were a sista then.”

I laughed it off and told her I didn’t have a problem at all that night, but that was not the point. The point was her need to identify my “blackness;” to test me because she was not sure. Whether or not her assessment was accurate of my actual behavior or feeling was irrelevant, I passed the color test…I had a black woman’s attitude. Hurray!

Later it would prove to be difficult for the two of us to be more than acquaintances because I do not necessarily see things through tented shades. Everything does not always reduce to color, or to color identity; but when it does, there are certainly many aspects of it that impede a person’s ability to grow. I witnessed this within her and also as her being a mirror of myself, what ideas and set beliefs I’d held regarding myself that were significantly impeding my own progress.

“How did you meet your husband?”

When I met my husband it was because I was lost. 16 in the city for the summer and going back home from a community food center I volunteered at. This older brother was walking my way and offered to sell me some tapes. Noticed I wasn’t from around the way and offered me directions home…but not before he invited me to dinner at a friends. He said he would have his student take my information and have me picked up the day of the event. He said “it must be hard being new in the deen huh?” “Oh yea….how did you know?” He smiled and told me to follow him until we found him. It seemed like we were walking forever. I could have just given him my number and called it a day.

We finally find him, and the shaykh tells him to write my number and have me picked up, he wouldn’t even look at me. Whatever. So he comes and picks me up in the taxi and we go to the event. “Why are you in the city alone?” “Where is your family?” I almost felt bad…but hey whatever.

Wow, everyone was so nice to me at the gathering. All I had known was a few things here and there (info from the encyclopedia mainly). At the end of the night, Shaykh asked if I wanted to go to the movies with he and his wife and……?. “Sure, that’ll be fun.” I hadn’t really made friends in the city so most of the time I’d hang with the girl I was staying w/and her grown friends.

So we go to the movies, then to dinner and at dinner Shaykh says “you two make a good couple.” Oh my Gawd! I was so embarrassed. I was like a baby. Never felt that shy EVER. And I was embarrassed for him. Shaykh apologized for making me feel out of the way and we finished dinner and called it a night.

A couple of days later the brother called me and said they were having a picnic and did I want to go? Yea! (Anyone seeing a pattern here LOL) He was a nice guy and the shyness was endearing. To have someone not looking at my Baawwdy! At the picnic there was another couple there and they asked if we wanted to go out that night with them, “Sure” We had a great time.

I offered to cook dinner and have them come over. The couple said they couldn’t but shaykh and the brother could probably make it. I made fried chicken, yams, green beans and cornbread (yea I’m from the south). After dinner right before he left he asked me to marry him. I said no, “my mom’s is not having that.”

So I said maybe after I finished school.