Esha and Isa

Chapter 4

Present Day

I’m having one of those moments where I’m just really stressed and I just want to sleep. I sit at the front desk while the children quietly do their work. I’m supposed to be marking their homework but instead, I stare at the floor wondering how comfy it would be if I tried to sleep on it. I hear snickering and straighten my back sitting upright. I see it’s the usual troublemakers.

“First warning you two. Now quieten down.” They sink into their seats and I try to concentrate on marking the kids’ homework.

There has been something bothering me. I want to blame Inayah but she’s only trying to be a good friend and help. A few days ago, she said I needed a mahram with the way things are going. A mahram for me, meaning a man in my life. A man who is a part of my family. There’s my uncle but he has his own kids to worry about and I can’t suddenly turn up at his doorstep saying I want to stay with him, nor can I pull him away from his family and bring him to my home. Other than him, I don’t have a mahram. My grandparents are gone; I don’t have any brothers, Abu’s gone and Isa’s father… I swallow hard and think back to my original problem.

I told Inayah I have my little Isa and he’ll grow up to be my mahram. But she said I needed a man to protect me now. I’m not much of a feminist but I was a little offended. I can protect myself even though I’m a woman! I decide I’ll have a chat with her later. With that thought in mind, I look down at the paper on my desk and try to decipher the messy handwriting.

I’m grateful for when the school day finally comes to an end. I feel I haven’t performed well as a teacher today so before the class go, I quickly test them on the latest topic we’ve been studying. I ask a question and the children who know the answer raise their hands. Once a child has answered a question, they can go.

“What was the name of the Prophet Muhammad’s father?” A hand shoots up and I nod at the eager boy.

“Abdullah!”

“Very good, you can go. Now, what was the name of the Prophet Muhammad’s mother?” Another hand shoots up.

“Amina!” I nod and the girl picks up her bag to leave.

“How old was the Prophet when he married?” I point at a child with his hand up and he replies,

“Twenty three.”

“No. Try again.”

“Twenty…” He hesitates.

“Can anyone help him out?”

“It’s twenty five, dummy!” A girl says.

“Five minutes detention for being rude.” The girl looks like she’s about to cry but I ignore it. If there’s one thing I cannot stand, it’s bullying. I’ve always stood up against it. Isa’s father said that I was strong for doing so. A light smile comes on my lips and I continue asking questions. Once everyone is gone, I walk to sit opposite the girl in detention.

“Do you know why you’re here?” She doesn’t answer me. “Do you know what you did wrong?” She still refuses to answer me. “Tell me, otherwise you’re getting another five minutes added to your detention.”

“I called Ahsan a dummy,” She whispers.

“And that’s rude, isn’t it?” She nods. “If you know something that someone else doesn’t know, it doesn’t make you superior to them and you have no right to boast about it and make them feel bad. The Prophet Muhammad knew more than all of us, yet he never looked down on someone for having less knowledge. What he knew, he taught in a kind manner. Now let’s pretend I got the answer wrong and I said the Prophet was twenty three when he got married. How would you correct me nicely?” She stares at me blankly. “Just try.” She shrugs. I try not to sigh out of frustration. “How would you say it nicely?” This time I add a glare so she would speak.