SWAPPED DESIRES: EPISODE THREE

 

Khadijah’s Story

A week after that night, the night I almost fainted from the beating, my parents finally settled their argument like nothing ever happened.

But me… I didn’t recover that easily.

For that whole week, I kept going to my dad, begging him to pay our madrasah fees.

My parents were both breadwinners, but they shared responsibilities. My dad handled most of the expenses, while my mom took a smaller part.

I knew my mom would never agree to pay for madrasah. So I kept going to my dad, day after day.

“Please, sir… just this one.”

At first, he kept refusing.

“It’s your mom’s responsibility.”

But I didn’t stop.

I kept begging.

Finally, after a week, he sighed and agreed.

But with one condition.

He would change my madrasah to a closer one.

I didn’t even think twice.

Khadijah: I agree, sir. Any condition.

That was how I started going to madrasah.

My mom still complained, still shouted as usual. But I was already getting used to her voice, like background noise that never stops.

Instead, she increased my chores.

And if I dared leave anything undone before going to madrasah, I would face it.

At first, it was hard.

I was always late. Always tired.

But with time… I adjusted.

I had no choice.

Madrasah

The compound was calm but filled with soft voices.

Students sat in groups, each reciting Qur’an according to their levels. The sound rose and fell like a rhythm.

I was seated when someone tapped me.

Hustaz had sent for me.

My heart skipped as I stood up and followed him.

Khadijah: As-salamu alaykum, sir. You called me?

Hustaz: Wa alaykum salam wa rahmatullah wa barakatuh. Yes, I did. You are a new student, right?

Khadijah: Absolutely, sir.

Hustaz: That is good. I can see you are an intelligent girl. Barakallahu feek.

Khadijah: Thank you, sir.

Hustaz: When someone says “Barakallahu feek,” you reply with “Ameen.” It is a prayer.

Khadijah: Oh… okay, sir. Ameen ya Allah.

Hustaz: Good. Now tell me, do you have interest in learning more about Islam?

My eyes lit up without me realizing.

Khadijah: Definitely, sir. I really want to learn.

Hustaz: Masha Allah.

Khadijah: Ameen.

Hustaz: (smiling) No, you don’t say Ameen to that. “Masha Allah” means “Glory be to Allah.” Do you understand?

Khadijah: Yes… I understand now.

Hustaz: Good. Tell me, what do you know and love about your religion?

I adjusted my sitting position, a bit nervous but excited.

Khadijah: I love a lot about Islam… but I have some obstacles that stop me from practicing it. I want to overcome them. Islam is peaceful. And from what I know, it means total submission and obedience to Allah.

Hustaz: Masha Allah. You are indeed intelligent. Barakallahu feek. I am impressed.

Khadijah: Ameen.

Hustaz: Do you observe your five daily prayers? At the proper time?

My smile faded.

Khadijah: (quietly) Sir… honestly… I don’t.

There was a pause.

Khadijah: My parents don’t allow me. Anytime my mom sees me praying, she beats me seriously.

Hustaz: Subhanallah… Are you sure she is your mother?

Khadijah: Yes, sir. But sometimes… I doubt it myself.

He looked at me with pity.

Hustaz: May Allah ease your affairs. I believe Allah brought you here for a reason. We follow the Sunnah of Prophet Muhammad (peace be upon him). Anyone who follows his path will never go astray. I believe you are here to learn and to grow. You are a brilliant girl.

Khadijah: Thank you, sir. I really want to learn.

Hustaz: Good. Now, Islam means total submission. That means you must fulfill the five pillars. Can you list them?

Khadijah: Shahadah, Solat, Zakat, Ramadan, and Hajj.

Hustaz: Excellent.

As he spoke, I listened carefully. Every word felt new, like something I had been searching for without knowing.

For the first time…

I felt peace.

Khadijah: Yes, sir… I am enjoying this.

Hustaz: (smiling) I am glad. Next time, we will continue, insha Allah.

Khadijah: Jazakallahu khairan, sir. I promise I will start praying, no matter the challenges.

Hustaz: That is the spirit. May Allah be with you.

Khadijah: Ameen.

I stood up and walked back to my class.

But something inside me had already changed.

Later That Night

That night, my parents came back as usual.

I made sure everything was perfect.

Food ready. House clean. No mistakes.

I didn’t want trouble.

As I was about to leave the parlour, my mom called me.

Mom: Khadijah.

Khadijah: Ma.

Mom: Why are you smiling? What is making you happy?

Dad: (interrupting) So you want her to be sad all the time?

Mom: I wasn’t talking to you. Mind your business.

Dad: Is that how you speak to me? I am your husband. Watch your mouth.

Mom: Oh, so now you want to beat me?

And just like that…

It started again.

Their voices rose.

Sharp. Angry. Familiar.

Something in me snapped.

Khadijah: That’s enough!

Silence.

They both turned to me, shocked.

Khadijah: For how long will you continue like this? Fighting every day like cat and rat? We are not happy. Your fights start over nothing.

My voice was shaking, but I didn’t stop.

Khadijah: Mom, I know you hate me. I don’t care anymore. I will keep praying no matter what you do to me.

I turned to my dad.

Khadijah: Thank you for sending me to madrasah. I will always be grateful.

Then back to my mom.

Khadijah: You never lead by example. You don’t respect dad. How do you expect us to respect our husbands in the future?

My siblings sat quietly, their eyes filled with fear.

Khadijah: Look at them. Look at their faces. They cry because of you both.

My voice broke.

Khadijah: I love you… even if you don’t love me. But please… stop. You are killing us.

Tears filled my eyes.

Khadijah: What I just said is sadaqah. And I hope you will change. I don’t care if you beat me again. I am used to it.

I took a deep breath.

Khadijah: Nothing will stop me from praying for this family.

Then I turned.

Khadijah: Amir, Aminah, Khalid… let’s go and pray.

We walked out, leaving them behind in silence.

Fatimah’s Story

It was around 5:00 p.m. when I got home.

My mom was already outside, waiting.

Mom: Where are you coming from?

Fatimah: From school, of course.

The slap came suddenly.

Fatimah: Ahh! What did I do?

Mom: You left since 8 a.m. and you are just coming back?

Fatimah: I was writing my exam. It’s WAEC now.

Mom: So you have been writing one paper since morning till now? Fear Allah. Where did you go?

Fatimah: Nowhere.

She dragged me inside quickly, avoiding attention from neighbors.

Mom: Kneel down.

I obeyed.

Mom: Start talking. You went to a man’s house, right?

Fatimah: No! Wallahi, I didn’t. Who told you that?

Mom: Is that how you talk to me?

She pounced on me.

Her hands landed everywhere.

Mom: You useless child! Before you give me high blood pressure, I will deal with you. I am not those mothers that pamper their children.

I cried.

Fatimah: I was in school, reading for tomorrow’s exam.

Mom: egbami! So You can’t read at home? You want to open your legs for men and get pregnant?

Her words cut deeper than the beating.

Mom: You will not stand up until your father comes back.

I stayed there.

On my knees.

Crying.

And waiting.