HIGHLIGHT_______________________________________________________________________
Our Editor in Chief, Yesmien KT had the privilege of being part
of the judging panel for the South African Muslim Women’s
Short Story Competition 2019 hosted by Irtiqa Magazine .
Congratulations to Azima Mohamed Patel on your winning story!
I looked on intently. Would this be the time? I had
been hoping, praying, waiting…
Hell, I can’t even remember a time when I didn’t want
this so badly. My soul ached for it constantly.
Slowly, a faint line appeared. My heart was thudding.
This is it, Ya Allah, is this it? The line grew darker,
unmistakable now. Yes, yes, it’s really happening!
I was oddly calm though. I gingerly wrapped the stick in
a piece of toilet paper and put it into the bathroom
cabinet, eager to keep the first ever proof of my baby.
OH MY GOD.
My baby!
I climbed back into bed next to my sleeping
husband, a huge grin on my face that I couldn’t
suppress. Oh, how I’d longed for this while watching
the happiness that children brought to those around
me. This little egg would grow to complete our
empty lives. I made a silent prayer of thanks to my
Lord for blessing us with this gift after fifteen
difficult years of trying to conceive. The pain of the
monthly negative pregnancy tests had worn us thin.
Intimacy was more of a chore to reach the end goal
of conception. We were happy- kind of, on the face
of it- but there was always an underlying current of
longing, of knowing that we were living only
half lives. The constant haggling by people didn’t
help the situation either, as if I’d really be too busy
with my career to want a family. The relentless
pursuit of my career became my focus out of
necessity, to fill the void of not having little people
to care for. Yet the aunties kept prodding my open
wound, leaving it bare to the world. Even
acquaintances, strangers and nobodies had the gall to
remind me that my biological clock was ticking. As if
I didn’t know that thirty-eight was cutting it close.
I lay in bed and dreamed of our future, waiting
restlessly for the morning call to prayer so that my
loved ones could wake from their slumber and I
could start sharing my joy with them.
12
I was unable to keep it to myself any longer. I
whispered the news to my unsuspecting spouse,
and our joint excitement was palpable. We started
to do what humans were meant to do. We nested.
Our spare room was cleaned out and turned into a
nursery. We spoke about how we would have to
change our working hours to ensure that there was
always a parent to care for the upcoming miracle.
Our home was baby-proofed. I know it was early,
but we were so eager and so excited.
Oh, my dear child, I loved
you then already; so
completely I never thought
it possible.
Then came the nausea, the debilitating acidic bile that
came up every waking moment. I lost more weight in
those few weeks than all my previous dieting attempts
combined. My fatigue was worth it though. It meant that
I’d be rewarded with a baby in the end.
We played you the Quran, you know? I read, prayed
as much as I could, making sure its continuous
glorious sounds would nourish you .
We heard your heartbeat; a little flutter within me. You
were mine and I was yours. Our hearts spoke of
yearning to meet, to blossom in each other’s company. I
wanted the best in life for you. We were going to ensure
you became a success in this world and the next. You’d
study, become a doctor, lawyer, accountant- something
important, that’s for sure. You would also become a hafiz
of the Quran and balance both worlds perfectly. We
passed the half-way mark. We started buying all
those cute baby clothes I’d seen in the shop
windows (probably too many clothes, but only the
best for my special heart, right?) We bought the
latest pram with electronic folding, the Isofix car
seat so that you’d always be safe on our travels and
the baby swing to soothe you when you cried. We
amassed a promising array of paraphernalia to
support the child.