It Was All A Dream Part 1

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I am Sameed, a Black Muslim convert. I’m married to 1 wife with 8 children. 7 of my children are by my wife, Aminah. I met my wife while working at a trade firm. Back then, her name was Carla. I was a new Muslim. She was Christian. She was beautiful. Young! Beautifully young. 12 years younger than me. Her skin was like smooth sweet chocolate. Her work area was right next to mines. I remember how I was so infatuated with her slim body that I would deliberately get up to get coffee just to walk pass her.

I started talking to a close friend of mine about her. I really wanted to engage conversations with her. I was very interested in her. However, I was married. To a Christian. I desired a Muslim wife, but I hadn’t found any Black Muslim women of interest, and I didn’t think it was even possible or an option to seek interest in a Muslim woman who wasn’t Black. I don’t know. Low-self-esteem maybe.

Carla, now Aminah, my wife of 15 years, was determined. I didn’t even have to start a conversation with her. While sitting at my desk, I received a same time message on my computer. It was from her. I was in shock. Blushing, but in mad shock. What could she want with me? She wanted a lot! She wanted me. Our instant messages became more and more serious by the day. We were writing each other poems, saying sweet things to each other, wishing upon stars…so to speak. It happened so quickly. Then finally after about a week or so, we went out for lunch. I remember that day so clear. We went to a pizza shop. I ordered a pizza without swine. She gave me a confused look, and then she ordered the same.

We sat on a brown metallic engraved bench nearby: To Marcy Flinch. May she ride the sun forever! It was so beautiful out. The sun beamed on Carla’s smooth skin as she smiled asking me every question about my life like we were at a dating meet and greet convention. It was cool though! I didn’t lie about anything. My wife, my 1 kid conceived by a crazed broad. She still seemed interested in me. Then, she asked me . . . about the cheese pizza. “You don’t eat pepperoni”, she asked. I told her absolutely no. I told her I was Muslim. The warm breeze seemed to stand still for a split second before she said, “Really”, with curiosity.

From then on out it was pure bliss. I didn’t know how I would discuss her with my wife. . . . I wasn’t going to discuss her with my wife. My then Christian wife would’ve never understood me taking on another wife. Never! Carla was asking me questions about Islam on a daily. Our conversations were becoming something I hadn’t imagined it would. Every day it seemed as if I was getting closer and closer to my ultimate goal: Marrying a Muslim woman.

I reached that goal. Carla became Muslim. Aminah became my everything! That was 15 years ago. The time has gone away so quick, and so has my interest in her.

With All The Negatives

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burned-n-broken-hearts

How did this happen?
Why. . .her?
You thought. . .he wanted someone observant.
Modest. . .pious. . . .
A good wife, the good wife.
Keeper of the home. . .
caretaker of his children.
Dutiful to him.
Pleasing to his eye.
A believer. . .
holding TRUE. . .
to The Creator. . . .
No!
Apparently, those attributes
incite a mundane woman
He loves you, yes.
He wants you in his life, indeed.
But my dear,
you
are the “home” woman.
He lives another life,
fastly, without you.
In his fast life he desires the complete opposite
A woman
who excites him
through her language, vulgar.
Who shows no fear to The Creator,
respect, to Him.
Garrulous.
Opionated.
Full of expression,
in the weirdest way.
Inappropriate.
Not afraid,
to cover in modesty one day.
Swing her curls openly
to the world the next.
Not afraid,
to step into a crowd of sinners.
Joining them.
Imitating them.
He. . .loves her
He. . . loves that,
in her.
Excitement.
She stands
on her own two feet.
Only needing his laughs,
his companionship,
his touch.
She is not. . .his burden.
he doesn’t have to take care of her
or her children.
His time with her is all fun.
All play.
No worries.
A get away from the reality.
Excitement.
With all the negatives.

Hushed Darkness Part 1

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Salaams. My name is Rasha. I’m writing this letter from the Metro State Prison Mental Health Unit in Georgia. I was secretly in a polygyny marriage for 4 years. My husband had informed me when we first met that his wife was not entirely against the idea of a polygyny lifestyle, she just didn’t think it was right for their marriage at that time. He explained how she often complained about him working around the clock, leaving no time for them and their 3 children together as a family, or for them together alone. If he could just learn to manage his time, she would possibly consider it.

However, although what she complained about was true, it wasn’t her decision. It was his decision. It was his right to do as he pleased in terms of taking on another wife. I understood the situation he was in. I also understood that he couldn’t hold any financial responsibility in our relationship if we were to wed, but I was okay with this. He was truthful from the beginning, stating, “My pockets may only be able to afford one wife, but my heart has room for two”.

I fell deep in love over the 7 months we dated, eventually marrying him with strange and daring stipulations. He couldn’t afford to pay for my living expenses, and at that time, I was a college student living with a close friend. He wanted me to at least have equal time with him as his first wife did so he came up with a plan.

For 4 years, I secretly lived in a separate room in which my husband kept locked; in back of the basement of his first wife’s home. During the day, I would attend classes, study at the library and visit my parents, and friends. I worked evenings as well, so my day would pretty much end around 9:30 PM or so. By that time, my husband’s children would be sleep, and his first wife would either be sleep as well, or resting in her room on the 3rd floor.

Every night, I would wait in my car on the corner of the street. Waiting. . .for my husband to call me to let me know it was safe to come in.

I really would like to share my entire story with you. Will you be my pen pal?