Page 58 - A Woman Is No Man

Deya

Winter 2008

We’re getting married this summer,” said Naeema as Deya and her

classmates ate lunch. As seniors, all twenty-seven girls sat together at a
single table in the back of the cafeteria. Deya sat at the very end of the
table, curled against the wall in her usual way, head down. Her classmates
chatted loudly around her, each engrossed in her own joys and sorrows. She
listened to their banter in silence.
“The wedding will be held in Yemen, where Sufyan lives,” Naeema
continued. “My extended family lives there, too, so it makes sense.”

“So you’re moving to Yemen?” said Lubna. She was also getting
married that summer, to her second cousin who lived in New Jersey.
“Yes,” Naeema said with pride. “Sufyan owns a house there.”
“But what about your family?” Lubna said. “You’ll be alone there.”
“I won’t be alone. I’ll have Sufyan.”
For months now, Deya had listened quietly as Naeema explained the

comings and goings of her relationship with Sufyan: how her parents had
taken her back home to Yemen last summer to find her a suitor, that there
she had met Sufyan, a rug maker, and fallen instantly in love. Their families
had recited the fatiha prayer after the first visit, and by the end of the
month, they had summoned a sheikh and signed the marriage contract.
When one of her classmates had asked how she knew Sufyan was her
naseeb, Naeema said that she had prayed Salat al-Istikhara, asking God for

guidance, and that Sufyan had appeared to her that night in a dream,
smiling, which her mother said was a sign to proceed with the marriage.
They were in love, Naeema had said over and over, giddy with excitement.
“But you barely know him,” Deya said now, the words slipping from
her.

Naeema looked at her, startled. “Of course I know him!” she said.
“We’ve been talking on the phone for almost four months now. I swear, I
use up at least a hundred dollars a week in phone cards.”