Walking down the street, you watch the stereotypical Muslim Arab
couple as they pass by you.
The husband, in the crisp white dishdasha that marks him as a
traditional Arab male, coupled with the starched patterned white
shemagh that is crowned by a stiff black egal .
The wife, covered in black from head to toe, ebony chiffon swirling
around her as her feet move, invisible.
His skin is the dusky brown of a Khaleeji Arab; his beard dark, wiry,
and clearly trying to grow longer. The hem of his dishdasha rises
above his ankles, signifying that he is of those troublesome religious
types. What are they called? Oh yes, Salafis.
Who knows what color the wife'sskin is? Poor woman, she probably can't
breathe behind that layered veil.
His eyes do not smile, his lips are pursed. Horrible man, he must
beangry at his wife for how the sleeve of her cloak pulled below her
wrists! Poor woman is probably going to get beaten tonight. If only
you could save her, liberate her from this oppressive society.
These poor, pathetic, backward Arab savages!
Except, they're not.
Oh, he is Arab, but she loves to describe herself as a Canadian of
washed-out desi descent, except she's not really desi because her
parents and grandparents were born and raised in South Africa. She was
raised in Canada her whole life and refuses to be anything but
Canadian.
He is awkward about his Arab heritage, half-Egyptian and half-Kuwaiti,
raised partly in Canada but never feeling at homethere or anywhere
else. She rolls her eyes and tells him that he is exotic, fawns over
his copper skin and high cheekbones, saying that he is her Orientalist
fantasy sheik. And at least the Egyptian genes ensure that their
daughter will be a great dancer, since she can't dance to save her
life.
He thinks that his beard is too long already, that it must be scaryto
others. She forbids him to cut it, or even trim it, because she loves
threading her fingers through his beard and tugging on the wiry curls.
His lips are pursed because she has just made a snarky, suggestive
comment, giggling behind her niqab , while he tries to stop himself
from laughing out loud and attracting attention.
Never able to resist the temptation to unnerve him, she breathily
whispers something that makes him blush furiously and duck his head in
embarrassment.
The only one to get hit when they get home is him, when she punches
him in the arm teasinglyand cracks a joke about her wearing the pants
in the house.
His dark, serious eyes sparkle when he sees her, even if he's not too
impressed with the shock of blue streaks in her hair.
When she fidgets in front of the mirror, comparing herself to the
voluptuous Arab women of his family, he tells her to stop being silly
and that he thinks she is the sexiest woman in the world. He waggles
his eyebrows at her, ridiculously although he's actuallyaiming for
suggestive, until she starts laughing and kisses him tomake him stop.
Of course, you can't see all that.
They are just another Muslim couple, walking down the street.
It is only after they walk by you that you see their hands join
together, fingers entwined.
Posted by AnonyMouse at 7:28 AM
Labels: Arabs , love , muslim men , muslim women , romance
2 comments:
ireminisces said...
Asalamu alaikum
Congratulations on a wonderful blog.
Belief In The Aakhirah is my latestbloglet come on have a read
comment/follow welcomed, stay blessed.
8:55 AM, May 10, 2012
hamza khanzada said...
love of husband and wife is never ending......
and the first love is never forgotten/
--
:-> :->
'' Our Lord ! grant us good in this world and good in the hereafter and save us from the torment of the Fire '' [Ameen]
-
{in Arab} :->
Rabbanaa aatinaa fid-dunyaa hasanatan wafil aakhirati hasanatan waqinaa 'athaaban-naar/-
(Surah Al-Baqarah ,verse 201)
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