"This is the stupidest idea I've ever agreed to do in my entire life."
Ahsan grunted as I pulled down the ends of the abaya on him. It was nearly the crack of dawn and he made sure the other militants were sound asleep. Ahsan insisted upon wearing his militant clothing underneath the abaya no matter how much I implored that he shouldn't.
"Considering there is no other alternative," I said, struggling with trying to tug the abaya down until it touched the floor. "Deal with it."
Furthermore, he refused to pull off his balaclava and actually brought in a black khimar and a niqab to conceal his identity even further.
"Ahsan, do you have any idea how hot it will be for you if you're wearing so many layers?"
"What do you care? I'm the one wearing all this, not you," he snapped, already looking rather uncomfortable.
"Fine, whatever. Have it your way." I rolled my eyes, shrugging. After I adjusted the khimar under his chin, I grabbed the ends of the niqab, tied it at the back of his head, over his balaclava, so that only his eyes were shown, and took a few steps back to inspect the newfound masterpiece. Saad curiously gazed at the new stranger in the room.
"What the hell are you staring at?" He growled, glaring at Saad and I both.
"You, obviously." I eyed him up and down, and grinned at Saad, who seemed to understand my amusement. "You know, I have an unbelievably strong urge to call you Ahsana."
"Really?" Ahsana's eyes went cold. "That's funny because I have an unbelievably strong desire to cancel this trip altogether."
"What!" I paused, expecting to see his frigid expression transform, but he was being serious. "No, no," I pleaded. "Gosh, fine. I'll stop teasing you." Under my breath, I added, "Freaking drama queen."
"I heard that."
"Glad to know that your ears are functioning properly," I said, plastering a fake smile on my face. Rolling my eyes, I scooped up Saad. "Okay, can we go now?"
"With him? Nope."
"Are you serious?" I stared at him in disbelief. "Why don't you ever let me take him anywhere?"
"Because he only brings trouble," Ahsan hissed. "If we can't control him if he decides to cry, people are gonna come up to us to see what's going on and then they'll find out something is suspicious because a man's voice is coming from beneath an abaya!"
"Or, you can let me do the talking - that is, if anyone even approaches us - and you can pretend to be mute." My eyebrows rose. "You really thought way too far ahead."
"You can never be too careful."
"I see what you mean, but we can't leave him here either." I gazed at Saad sadly as he calmly rested his head under my chin.
"Yes, we can. Follow me." He abruptly turned on his heel. Before I could warn him that he stepped on the bottom edge of the abaya, he tripped directly into the door and grabbed the knob, holding on for dear life.
I suppressed my chuckles. "You alright there?"
"Shut up." He slammed the door open, silently demanding that I follow him.
Ahsan remembered to be more careful and picked up the ends of the abaya while he walked as a female would. I trailed behind him, grateful that I could laugh without being caught. After a few minutes and a number of passageways, he stopped in front of a discretely hidden door that blended with the rest of the wall. Ahsan sharply rapped his knuckles against the door three times when someone opened it, cautiously poking their head through.
The person behind the door was not dressed much different from Ahsan and I. She was a middle-aged woman who wore something similar to our abayas and Ahsana's khimar, but judging from the small wooden cross that hung around her neck, she was a nun.
"Yes?" She croaked softly as though speaking above a whisper would hurt her. Other nuns craned their necks in the back to see who had arrived and there was the sound of children who had stirred in their slumber.
Ahsan retrieved Saad from my grasp and handed him to the nun. "Watch him for some hours. Do not give him to anyone else. Only return him to either me or her when we come back," he informed the nun, grabbing my upper arm and bringing me in the nun's view.
Her eyes widened a fraction at hearing a very masculine voice from someone in an abaya, but nevertheless, she nodded and shut the door. Ahsan motioned for me to follow him as he went down another unfamiliar passageway and opened yet another discrete door, revealing a small flight of stairs that led to ground level. A lonesome jeep was waiting just outside.
Ahsan must have forgotten he was donning an abaya because in a failed attempt to reach the outside world, he had yet again tripped on the end of the abaya, falling face first on the very first step. Hiding my smirk, I tried to help him up by grabbing his elbow, but he shoved me aside.
"How the hell do you walk in this thing?" He muttered more to himself, clearly rather annoyed.
"Welcome to my world," I told him. "Now you know how I felt when you made me run up many flights of stairs with a child in my arms!"
"If I remember correctly," he snapped, glaring at me. "I carried you both for the last two flights."
"Oh!" I sarcastically let out, throwing my hands up in the air. "Thank God you decided to carry me for two sets of stairs after making me race up five."
"Just shut up and get in the jeep," he muttered after unsuccessfully searching for a comeback.
I frantically looked around, fearing that somebody would jump out from the shadows, as I bolted towards the doorless jeep and sat next to Ahsan. "You sure nobody is awake?"
"Faizan and most of the others went elsewhere today. Only a handful of men are left and the last I checked, they haven't gotten up." He turned the key into the ignition and drove off into the pre-dawn horizon.
Some time had passed and I was getting bored staring at the barren scenery. "So, tell me something about Idleb. I don't think I've heard of it until now."
"There's nothing much to say," Ahsan told me, as he turned on the road. "It's known for its agriculture production. You'll find a lot of olive trees and other crops around. Well, maybe not so much now because of the war."
"Why is there a war though?"
"We want their land, and they don't want to give it up. Simple."
"But why do you want their land? Why can't you just live and let live?"
Silence.
"Are they all minority groups or something? Is that why?"
"Not completely," he admitted as he sped down the deserted road. "The town is filled with Sunni, Shi'a, Christians, and others too."
"And they're fine living amongst each other?"
"Yes, they are."
"And so you all want to wreck the peace of the area." I scoffed. "Good job."
Every time I questioned Al-Tho'baan's motives, Ahsan seemed to be more and more uncomfortable with responding. It seemed as if he didn't know why exactly the extremist group did the things they did. Was it for money? Land? Women? Power?
Would they take any of those materialistic things with them when they die?
No, they would not.
And I'm sure Ahsan was beginning to believe that too.
"Oh shit," Ahsan quickly muttered under his breath.
"What?" I asked him, watching him strangely. "What is it?"
"We're at the border," he informed me. "I forgot they had checkpoints here."
My eyes followed his where they lead to a group of armed men in mismatched clothing. They patiently interrogated everybody in the passing vehicles.
"What am I gonna do?" He hissed to me as we were nearing the checkpoint.
"Just leave it to me." I hastily pulled down my veil so that I resembled Ahsan in that only my eyes were visible. "Act as though you're mute and slow down!"
Ahsan nodded quickly just as we had pulled up towards the armed men. We set our gazes to the floor of the jeep, as coy women would.
"Assalaam aalaikum," came from one of the guards who greeted me in Arabic.
"Waleikum assalaam," I mumbled meekly, quickly darting my eyes to see the wild-haired stranger, who eyed Ahsan intently. With my heart throbbing, I took steady breaths in a futile attempt to calm myself.
The bearded man ran a hand down the rifle that slung over his shoulder and spoke in Arabic. "Where are you two women off to?"
I cleared my throat, hoping my Arabic would sound just as fluent. "Sir, we were just passing through. We're going to visit my sister's mother's house."
In all nervousness, my words hardly made any sense and I noticed Ahsan's ears perk up at my obvious stupidity.
What the hell did I just say?! Where did I get 'sister' from?!
"Your sister's mother...?" The man's eyebrows furrowed until they conjoined and he nodded towards Ahsan. "This is your sister?"
"Yes," I said, patting Ahsan's shoulder lightly, as I hurriedly tried to save myself. "We're visiting my friend's mother."
The man's eyes narrowed and glinted as he believed he caught me in a lie. "You just said you were going to visit your sister's mother."
"Well, sir, she is my friend and also my sister in Islam, no?"
Ahsan's ears went back to their normal position as he relaxed. Clearly, my diversion had received the 'Ahsan Stamp of Approval'.
The guard's eyebrows shot up and he appeared to be rather disappointed. "And why are you visiting her mother?"
Can this guy just shut up...
"Just a casual visit, sir."
"Really?" The man did not seem convinced. "Your friend here seemed to have hit the gas pedal quite strongly. In a rush, eh?"
I've always told Ahsan to slow down, and he never listens. Go figure.
"Somewhat, sir," I told him, rapidly coming up with an improvisation. Ahsan's hands clasped together with apprehension. "We do have some news to give her, hence the speed."
"Oh, really? And what news would that be?" The man rested his forearm on the top of the jeep and hovered near Ahsan. If I saw correctly, the man actually gazed at Ahsan's bowed head with a hungry expression, clearly mistaking him for an actual woman. On the other hand, I couldn't blame him. It was the very first time Ahsan obediently listened to my orders of wearing an abaya and acting mute without any hesitation. Ahsan's fixated stare at his feet nearly resembled a typical shy, yet alluring, bride on her wedding night.
God knows I wanted nothing more than to laugh out loud, but for the sake of our survival, I saved the urge to snort for a later time.
"She's pregnant!" I blurted.
Ahsan whipped his head so hard that I heard a crack in his neck as he turned to fully face me. With his back facing the guard, he shot the sharpest daggers from his eyes at my expressionless face. I hid my inner struggle to cackle right in his face.
"What?" The man's lips formed a thin line, evidently more disappointed than before, and he took a step backwards.
"Yes sir, my friend is pregnant! We just found out this morning. Isn't that wonderful news?" I grinned beneath my veil so that my smile would twinkle in my eyes. "It was I who suggested that we go to Idleb to visit her mother today. Out of the two of us, she is the one who knows how to drive, and we were very excited to tell aunty the news! That's why she was speeding."
"I see," the man said, backing away from the pregnant bait that was Ahsan.
Ahsan did not remove his murderous glare at me. I barely gave him half a glance as I slapped the side of his face playfully. "See sir, she's very shy as I tell you about her pregnancy. What is there to be shy about?"
"Right, it's natural..." The man did not seem to desire anything more than for us to leave his sight.
"Absolutely correct, sir!" I patted Ahsan's arm and stomach. His hand lifted ever so slightly and I knew he was itching to smack my hand away, but couldn't do so under these circumstances. "See, sir? She's already putting on some weight. She's very self-conscious especially since she lost the ability to speak from a young age, but look how she is blessed with motherhood!"
Thank God Ahsan decided to keep his militant clothing underneath the abaya. The pregnancy story seems even more convincing now!
I caught the guard gawking at Ahsan too long and as the man's stare met my eyes, he quickly shifted his focus elsewhere and waved his hand furiously. "Alright, go along. You're free to pass."
"Thank you, sir! Hope you have a wonderful day ahead, In Sha Allah!" I beamed as Ahsan graciously stomped on the gas pedal.
Just as we were out of earshot, I mentally prepared myself to face Ahsan's verbal wrath.
"I'm pregnant? Really!" He asked me incredulously. "I'm pregnant?!"
"Relax," I said, yawning out loud on purpose. "What else was I supposed to say; oh wait, sir, sitting right next to me is an unarmed Al-Tho'baan militant!"
"If I didn't know any better," he said slowly through gritted teeth. "I'd think you rather enjoyed fabricating that story particularly because you knew I wouldn't be able to say anything against it."
"Precisely. Glad you know you've finally caught on," I said, imitating him. "I mean, there really was no other way we could have gotten out there. Your manly voice would have had us killed. I'm so relieved that you decided to keep the other clothing underneath. The extra weight was definitely a huge plus!"
"I still can't believe you told him I was pregnant," Ahsan muttered, shaking his head. "So I guess you weren't lying when you said you were good at improv."
"Hey, you should be thanking me. He looked quite smitten by your shy, bridal-esque posture. If I didn't say you were preggers, I'm sure he would've tried to woo you."
"And then he'd die trying."
"Now, now," I said, clicking my tongue disapprovingly. "Be nice."
Ahsan opened his mouth to retort back when he abruptly stepped on the brakes.
"What's wrong?"
"We've reached," he said quietly.
I craned my neck to face a humble brick home surrounded by dried olive trees. The neighborhood as a whole looked as simple as this house with similar surroundings. Everything was quiet; children did not play on the streets, and hardly anyone strolled on the footpath. Ahsan stepped out of the jeep and cautiously walked towards the wooden front door that was left slightly open while I trailed behind him. His hand shook as he turned the doorknob and gently opened the door.
The front door led directly into a simple living room with a variety of cushions on the mosaic floor and Arabic calligraphy surrounded the four, faded yellow walls that showed signs of deterioration through chipped paint. A wooden table, which held some books, stood on the right side of the room beneath a large picture of the Kaaba in Mecca. Judging from the mere ambiance of the living room, it seemed as though Ahsan had a very Islamic upbringing.
I wonder what happened for his upbringing to fall apart.
Ahsan untied the veil from his face, removed his khimar, and pulled the abaya over his head, leaving him in his militant clothing which included the balaclava. He handed the garments to me.
"She normally leaves the front door open when she's home, so I'll go inside. She's usually in the kitchen, so I'm going there," he said, nodding towards a door that seemed to lead to the dining area. "Hayat, I don't like this idea, truly. I think we should go back."
"But we came this far!" I pleaded as I watched his uncertain expression. "You may not be able to come back, at least, not for a while."
He looked at me carefully and made up his mind. "Mind waiting here for a bit?"
I shook my head and gave him a small smile. "Take as much time as you need."
Ahsan nodded once, turned away from me, and strode towards the inside door. His hand reached for the base of the balaclava and he pulled it over his head, revealing dark hair - which was the most I could see. I was nearly tempted to chase after him to see what he fully looked like, but then stopped myself. After much persistence, he came here to see his mother. I must respect their privacy as they would have a lot of things to catch up on.
Letting out a deep breath, I lifted my own veil and inhaled in the fresh, country air. I eyed the room, gently running my hands down the crusted yellow walls. From the looks of it, it did not seem as if the house was well taken care of as of late. On the contrary, it felt as if someone allowed for the home to crumble in its own time.
From the corner of my eye, the giant picture of the Kaaba captured my attention. I slowly paced over to it, my eyes glinting at the magnificent wonder and the myriad of people who surrounded it. I never had a chance to go for hajj, the pilgrimage at Mecca that was expected of every Muslim at least once in their lifetime, and neither had my parents. Maybe Ahsan went when he was younger? I made a mental note to ask him about it later. I tilted my head towards the direction of the inner door and frowned when I failed to hear any signs of a conversation going on from within.
My eyes darted towards the table below the picture where there were a few stacks of religious books. I aimlessly flipped through the most beautiful Quran I had ever seen. It was predominantly forest green with gold trimmings at the corners and equally gold calligraphy on the front. I stared at it in awe; whoever had made this must have taken ages to perfect the design. I held the book carefully in my hands and my eyebrows furrowed upon seeing two bookmarks from within. As I turned the pages to get to the first bookmark, I frowned as I observed the crisp, fresh edges of the pages. This only meant one of two things.
Either this was a newly purchased Quran, or perhaps it had been a very long time since someone else had turned the sacred pages.
My gut feeling was that it was the latter.
The first bookmark led to a page where one verse was underlined from the second chapter.
Let not your own hands contribute to your own destruction. [Surah Al-Baqarah 2:195]
Hm, I wonder if Ahsan's mother had underlined this. Was she thinking of her son as she did this?
I shrugged as I could not further understand the importance of this particular verse and I ran my finger over to the second, and last, bookmark that was placed in the beginning of the 93rd chapter over this verse:
Your Lord has not taken leave of you, nor does he hate you. [Surah Ad-Duhaa 93:3]
The area over that line specifically was rough and crinkly - the sign that someone had been crying while reading this verse. My face scrunched up as I diverted my gaze to the square bookmark.
Only this time, it wasn't any regular bookmark.
It was a photograph.
A family photograph.
My eyes widened as I brought up the photo closer to my face. It was a black-and-white photograph, taken many years ago. Seated was a modestly dressed woman in a hijab, a humbly clothed father with a thick beard, and three young children sat cross-legged on the floor: two boys and a girl. Neither of them seemed to have been much older than ten.
Was this Ahsan's family?! He briefly mentioned he had a sister, but a brother too?
The two boys wore white thobes and had short, ruffled dark hair and they sat protectively on either side of the little girl, who was dressed in a fluffy white dress with her dark curls framing her chubby face.
Which boy, out of the two, was Ahsan?
I squinted even more than before in an attempt to see which boy had the blackest eyes as Ahsan did when a loud clatter came from the kitchen.
"How dare you step foot inside!" A woman shrieked from within the house.
I spun around, setting the Quran back on the table and clutching the photograph tightly in my fist, and craned my neck to get a better view of the source of the yelling.
"I-"
"Not a word from you!" The woman, who I presumed to be Ahsan's mother, shouted again.
"Mama, I-"
"Mama?? Who is your mother? Did you think of the torture I, your mother, went through when I found out you left? No, you did not!"
The booming crash of a pot being thrown at a wall echoed throughout the entire house. A little voice in my head told me to run, but my feet were rooted to the floor.
"I really-"
"Did you care to think of the pain other mothers had gone through, and are going through, after you killed their children?! You scum, you murderer!"
Yet another crash.
"Mother, please-"
"I constantly ask Allah what grave sin I had committed to have to carry such hatefully cruel children in my own womb!" Ahsan's mother paused to clear her throat, and even without seeing her, I could tell she was having a difficult time letting out her words. "I regret carrying you and cherishing you in my womb for nine months. Had I known those months would lead to a person like you, I would have given the pregnancy a second thought!"
Those words struck me cold even though they were not aimed at me.
"Every time I hear a gunshot or a bomb, I think to myself and wonder if you were a part of it!" Her next words did not articulate as well as her earlier statements; she struggled to speak through broken tears. "Never has any mother wished for her own child to die so that thousands of lives could be saved."
Then, there was silence.
Ahsan did not attempt to utter a single word and I could not blame him. No child would ever be able to string a few words together to respond to that.
In lieu of the crashing sound of pots and pans, heavy footsteps resounded from the hallway. I froze in my tracks, clenching my fists, as the footsteps became more audible and Ahsan stepped foot into the living room with his balaclava on. His eyes were absolutely blank.
His mother trailed closely behind him; beads of sweat dawdled down the sides of her face when she eventually laid her eyes on me and stared at me in shock. "You brought a girl with you?! You might as well just skin her alive in front of me instead of prolonging her fate!"
Ahsan stared straight ahead and exited the house, fidgeting with the keys in his pocket. A mental battle aroused in my head and the idea of reasoning with his mother floated around.
But, I had no courage. There was nothing I could say to console a mother whose son had killed many people, ripped apart many families, widowed many women, orphaned so many children...
The list went on.
I turned on my heels to go, when a firm hand grabbed my upper arm and whisked me around.
"Child," she began. Her loose hijab framed her eroded face, and the heavy, dark circles under her eyes gave me the impression that she does nothing but cry in her spare time alone. "Even committing suicide would give you a more dignified death than to die at his hands!" She pointed out the front doorway where Ahsan had just sat down in the jeep. I couldn't help but feel sorry for her.
Then, she let me go and retreated back into the house.
My heart was heavy as I sat back in the jeep. "Ahsan, I'm so s-"
"Not a word from you." His tone was bitter, stiff, and reserved as he drove off in an unfamiliar direction, perhaps a route without any checkpoints. "I came here only because you begged even though I repeatedly told you I did not want to come. Now, you got want you wanted."
I did not dare say a single thing for the rest of the ride.
***
Upon reaching the seminary dungeons, Ahsan retrieved Saad from the custody of the nuns and nearly shoved him into my arms as he unlocked the door to the room we had stayed in. He did not even wait and linger by the doorway for us to step inside; he just unlocked the door and walked away. I hastily put Saad on the cot and poked my head out, witnessing Ahsan rub his eyes with the base of his palms.
Opening my fist, my eyes darted from the cheerful boy in the crumbled photograph I had smuggled to the sorrowful man at the foot of the stairs.
To hear a man become emotional was uncommon; men were rather good at hiding their feelings. Ahsan had no idea I was watching him, watching him break down on the floor. He sat cross-legged on the ground, burying his face in his hands, and wept.
It was strange. His posture was an uncanny resemblance to the little boy in the photograph.
Except, while the boy sported a huge grin on his happy face, the man in front of me succumbed to his emotions and let the tears fall freely.
Glossary:
~Khimar- A long headscarf, sometimes referred to as an 'overhead abaya'.
~"Assalaam aalaikum"/"Waleikum assalaam"- Arabic greeting that translates to "May peace be with you"/"May peace be with you also".
~In Sha Allah (Arabic)- for "God willing".
~Kaaba (Arabic)- Literally "the cube". The Kaaba is cube-shaped structure that is built around a sacred black stone, which is believed to be a symbol of God's coveant with Abraham/Ibrahim. It is located in Mecca, Saudi Arabia and is the most holiest site for Muslims.
~Hajj (Arabic)- the Islamic pilgrimage to Mecca, Saudi Arabia. It is one of the five pillars of Islam where Muslims are highly recommended to undertake the journey if they are able to.
~Thobe (Arabic; also Thawb)- An ankle-length garment with long sleeves, similar to a robe.