Have you ever wondered what it’s like to go deeper into the life of a Muslim woman living in Detroit? It’s not 100% accurate of a Muslim woman’s life on t.v. when it shows constant terrorist activities, sexual inequality or oppression. It’s not always about being perfect, having the best life or the greatest husband either. Life is all about obstacles but mostly overcoming them and bouncing back.
Behind the beautiful façade is something much deeper. No one is perfect and we each have a flaw but still we stand proud to be Muslim none the less. There are imposters, haters, leeches, thieves and hoes that will come across us and make us question our path in life but there are also some that will boost us up and guide us further into Islam.
This will be the chronicles of five Muslim women who live in the Metro Detroit area. Some have earned higher degrees while others have only GEDs. All of them may come from different walks of life but they all have a goal, whether it’s being closer to Allah or finding a single Muslim man without two other wives.
Welcome to the life of the real Muslim housewives of Detroit.
Episode #1- Who is Sabina Sabr?
It’s hard to believe that only five years ago, I’d graduated high school, wore a size 4, had no kids and a bright future ahead of me. Who would of thought that the girl mixed with Yemen and Black who was voted “Most Beautiful” and “Most Outgoing” would end up with four children (all of which are under the age of five), be a size 20 and have a lazy man who belittles me at any given moment.
No one would have thought that and no one knows how unhappy I am.
The people who used to know the old me, the crazy party girl that every man wanted, were cut off because of the embarrassment I’d felt about my weight, my life, everything. They tried to come over, but I was too ashamed of how things would look to them. They were all doing what they said they were going to do, see the world, make an impact. Me, I was stagnant while the world flew pass me.
I knew a few Muslim sisters from this so-called community that I was cool with but even they didn’t know much about me. I kept my business to myself. Because the Muslims here…
What words could I describe to them? Petty, argumentative, problematic, over drama filled… the list goes on but I digress. These Muslims liked to hinder more than help, even if it seemed like they were. They would spread business like it was no tomorrow. For that I had to be careful of what I divulged to others. Which wasn’t hard because they didn’t need to know anyway nor could help the problems I was having.
Unfortunately, my business was out there, little snippets of it was at least with a twist on it of course. But most were outright lies. I don’t know how they could sit there and back bite another Muslim and then have the audacity to give you greetings and smile in your face like nothing happened. If was a hoodrat I would’ve been snatched up a couple sisters.
Sometimes I’d wonder how the small stuff got out, I wasn’t saying anything and I guessed the “Borks” didn’t have any hidden cameras placed inside the walls, the only person I could think of was Amir. I didn’t want to believe he was going to the brothers and talking about me but I could definitely vision it. He was becoming a very weak man, why wouldn’t he be weak in that area of keeping his mouth shut?
He told me all the gossip about everybody before we got married like people having kids to get more welfare money, brothers going to Ohio supposedly on Jummat but really going to get second wives and even brothers stealing converters for cash. That should’ve been a sign for me.
But it wasn’t.
Ever since he was laid off he has been way too vocal and moody like a female on her period. I married a man, not a woman. Amir was getting unemployment checks and “hustling” on the side with some brothers in Detroit. I didn’t even want to know what they were doing. I just told him before he left with those hoodlums is that Allah was watching him. I could only hope that what he was doing was legal. But for some reason, I wasn’t seeing any monetary results of this so-called job. On payday I would ask him to put a few dollars down on some of the bills and he would always reply “insha’allah”. I’d curse him under my breath because he knew (and so did I) that in his heart he wasn’t going to give me and the kids a penny.
Our crowded two-bedroom flat in Hamtramck was dilapidated to say the least. The slum landlord was from Pakistan and barely spoke a lick of good English but it got “good” when he was negotiating American Money transactions. The rent was $350 a month, it used to be $400 but I had to literally get down in my abaya on my knees and beg him to lower it. That $50 was for my infant’s diapers. I felt like an animal but I had to do it for my kids.
Who else had their back?
“Ummi?” Amira, my five year old and my oldest called out as I stood in the bathroom looking through the raggedy mirror at my green eyes.
“Yes?” I heard Tahera crying.
“She hit Suli,” she rubbed her eye.
I sighed deeply before screaming, “Tell her to come here now!”
I loved these kids to death but they were driving me crazy. I picked up an overgarment and slid it over my head; it wouldn’t go down past my wide thighs. I held my breath and pulled the old fabric over my hips and let go all the air. My stomach budged out of the form fitting garment. I needed to get some new larger clothes but we haven’t had the money. I’d gained more weight. Another child began to cry as I sulked.
That would now make two kids a-weeping. Where was their father at?
My shift began in a few minutes and he promised that he’d be here by then to keep the kids quiet as I answered phone calls. I worked for Comcast part-time as a phone rep. We couldn’t live off of food stamps alone we needed money for bills and kids clothes.
The phone rang at exactly the time my shift started, three kids were crying now in the background and the house looked like crap, toys were everywhere.
“Asalama’alakum?”
“Hey!” Amir said, he barely gave Islamic greetings back.
“Amir, where are you? You said you would be back to watch the kids.”
“Whoa, chill out. I said I got you.”
“When will you be here?”
“Probably in like an hour,” he said coolly.
“An hour?” I shrieked and looked at the clock. “My shift starts now.”
At this point I was hyperventilating. Who was going to watch the kids while I worked?
My eyes bulged, “You want me to lose my job…”
“Allah will suffice.”
I could sense the smugness in his voice. “Yeah, because you sure wont,” I said under my breath, not meaning for him to hear it. It just kind of slipped out.
I guess that set him off. “What did you just say to me?”
There was nothing but silence-other than the crying symphony going on behind me.
“Oh,” he laughed. “You ain’t got nothing to say to me now, huh?”
“Amir…I’m…”
“Naw, naw yo’ fat ass is good.”
“That’s not necess-”.
“No! don’t cut me off,” he yelled. “You know what? You should be glad that I’m even wit’ yo’ dumb ass. How many fine women come up to me every day, wanting to be with me and they aint’t got no kids eitha’. Girl, you got the game twisted.”
I stood there, my eyes started to burn and redden as I stayed on the phone and listed to how fat I was, how dumb I was and how I was replaceable. Warm tears began to stroll down my face and my work cell phone began to ring. It was a customer calling.
