Children of Dust_ A Memoir of Pakistan - Ali Eteraz [47]
Directly: it was Mrs. Rahman’s doing, a woman Ammi became friends with during our stint in Washington state. Long before we knew her, Mrs. Rahman used to be very secular, but when her oldest daughter went and married a Hindu, Mrs. Rahman blamed her own lackluster secular values for her child’s pluralist leanings. She turned to Salafism and started wearing the abaya—a long robe—as well as the hijab. She also made it her life’s mission to warn other women with children that the best way to protect the integrity of the family was with Islam. She took Ammi and a few other younger mothers for regular “fitness walks” at the mall, during which the indoctrination took place. Within a few months of their acquaintance, Ammi had stopped wearing the tight leggings she wore to blend in when we first arrived in America and, like her mentor, adopted the abaya and the hijab. Mrs. Rahman, who also wanted to assure the marital integrity of all the attractive younger wives, encouraged them to cease wearing makeup or perfume, “because as long as the scent of a woman stays with a stranger, she is accumulating sin.”
Ammi and Mrs. Rahman used to have two pet projects. One involved giving hidaya, or religious guidance, to an irreligious nouveau riche Punjabi couple with two young daughters. The co-conspirators set up barbecues and dinner parties involving the couple, hoping to turn them religious. When food didn’t work, Mrs. Rahman took a more direct approach: she picked up one of the girls, smoothed her hair, pointed her toward her father, and reminded him that “on the Day of Judgment you will be held responsible for her honor.” The family never did turn religious.
Their other project involved a pair of middle-aged hippies next door, American to the core, who had adopted two girls from Kashmir, ages three and five. Ammi and Mrs. Rahman had concluded that since Kashmir was a Muslim-majority area, the girls, had they not been adopted, would have grown up Muslim, and therefore it was their obligation, as pious Muslims in the West, to reintroduce the girls to their birth religion. Ammi offered to babysit the girls and tried to teach them how to put on the hijab and recite Islamic phrases. When our neighbors found out what was happening, they promptly moved away. Meanwhile, Ammi and Mrs. Rahman fumed and cursed the biological parents in Kashmir.
Ammi’s belief that she knew what was best for other Muslims was shared by Pops. Most of his targets, however, were Arab Salafis at the mosque in Alabama.
One day Pops went to the mosque for one of their free dinners, taking Flim and me with him. It happened that a Salafi brother named Yusuf was giving a lecture about how lucky everyone was to be Muslim. Before the meal, Yusuf asked Allah to bless the grocery store where the meat had been purchased. He then asked everyone to be certain to recite bismillah over their meat in order to render it halal. Pops immediately stood up to warn his fellow believers.
“My dear Muslims,” he interrupted. “This man is misguiding you. Is he not aware that in Islam it is not enough simply to say the name of Allah over our meat? Rather, we have to say the name of Allah over our meat in the act of cutting it, which is something grocery meat doesn’t offer. Also, grocery meat has not been cut in the Islamic way. They shock the animals to death here. Muslims have to bleed the animals to death. Cut the carotid artery and let all the blood drain out. I spit this meat. It is not halal.”
Brother Yusuf, still holding the microphone, tried to defend himself, but his English began to fail him. “I am simply a-sharing what Allah—”
“You lie in the name of Allah!” Pops shouted.
“Please, doctor, enjoy your meal and we can discuss in the privates.”
“I will not.”
A wave of commentary ran through the mosque, part bewilderment and part anger. Yusuf looked for a way to check the consternation. His anxiety caused his accent to worsen. “Brothers! I have