Credit: Amazon.com

The talking stage is a well understood courting stage in the Cushitic world. Many a times it’s the whole courtship – there is no other stage, except a proposal. Or well, a split. Who knew a better word existed though in entanglements?! No? But it doesn’t just encompass relationships. At least for me. The closest metaphor to my experience of entanglements is the concentric circles of a tree. They start from the self, then to my immediate circle – family and career, and then to the rest of the world- friends, acquaintances, frenemies. Ahem. The hardest is undoubtedly the self for me which shows up in overwhelm and anxiety. Sometimes though, my overwhelm gets overwhelmed. When the world gets on my shoulders, when I feel like I couldn’t possibly go on another day, when I’m choking on my own breath, I have no choice but to press factory reset. I hand over everything. I won’t be available to anyone. Unless you’re dying, please don’t bother calling me with different numbers. I’d lock myself in my room, day in day out, and celebrate small wins like sending out a letter or responding to a friend’s text. Sometimes I’d binge eat. I’d binge read, and re-read my favourite books, everything self help, the Quran. But of course your girl lives in extremes. Urrghh!

My second week is more often what I call, the awakening. Getting back to world mode and ramping up my survival techniques. I’d be persistent with my night prayers. I’d fast Mondays and Thursdays if I can. Sometimes, when the week isn’t going well – I mean when the schedule isn’t coming together in time, because we have a week people, I throw in Fridays and Saturdays too. And two weeks later, I come out ready to face y’all again. Re-download my WhatsApp, Email and everything else related to the modern world. I’m a chronic preparer. So of course by now I’ve tried everything under the sun to get through these episodes – at least the first week which is usually the most brutal. But that is the only brand of medicine that works. I have learnt that only an audience with Him would do. Who else but He would know how to fix me? Who else but He would not get tired to listen to my soul’s pain? Is there anything else to live for in this world really but His pleasure? Who knows where we’d be, it doesn’t bear thinking. 

Now with that background, the pandemic had the hallmark signs of turning out to be the mother of all poisons. Until I got in it. And it has turned out to be my meat. I had been low key overwhelmed for what seemed like 10 straight months, juggling a full time job and my business. And both were thriving, Alhamdulillah. And my social life was thriving. For the first time in a long time, I had a vacay booked. An extensive itinerary locked down for travel in Europe with even booked flights. And that all went to the dogs with the pandemic. But I was never better. My issue has always been the inflexible 9 to 5. And so the first few months were a sigh of relief, at finally, being able to draw in a deep breath and stick to a schedule, without having every Tom, and their mother, come in to mess it up. I was on point. For once, it seemed, in a long time. 

That is not to say that 2020 is the year. My clients could barely afford to pay me. My day job had instituted salary cuts. But I don’t derive my fulfillment from wealth. I was rich inside, lol.  I was on top of my stuff, as on top as I ever could be. And I got to work from home, a novelty. Looking around my life now – leave Jada, leave Will, 2020 is my year of entanglements. From a better understanding of myself to focusing on business to leaving my job to relationships to bidding adieu to my beloved aunt- it is that year.

I rarely have any social entanglements to speak of, because I live a very regulated lifestyle, Ahem. Until the likes of Jada’s entanglements crept into my life. 

                                                      Credit: Ebaumsworld, 2020

I kid, I kid. Not quite that kind. A tamer kind, Cushitic style. I got an out of the blue phone call from a gentleman who’d gotten my number from a friend. He was interested in my field of professional services, apparently looked me up and wanted to meet me. In Covid world? Sir, let’s have a call. Professional services broke the conversation and then things went left. So I’m listening to this guy, and these days I’m mature about these things, I don’t place my finger on the red button and say stop disturbing me. I say, interesting, Mr. X. Who are you? And he goes on about his religiosity, to be brief. How he did his bachelors degree, and was like, no more of this, and was off to the Madina university to study deen. So 4 years of another bachelor’s degree. And another 4 years of a masters degree. I kid you not. And I’m as cool as a cucumber, but inside a light bulb is flashing. My Lord, you mean? You mean my dreams could come true? Just like that. You know, this is exactly what I’ve always wanted. And my dude had a lot to say. But it was around 6.30 pm, I remember distinctly. And he promises to call me back after maghrib. 

Nooooo! Red flag no.1 flashes. Uhh? Is this guy kidding me? Now now, if there’s a rule I’ve held fast to all these years, I do not talk to men on anything non-work related after 7pm. Okay, I don’t talk to them on anything non-work related during the day either. But I have a thing with conversations after sunset. With the cloak of darkness, inhibitions get relaxed. Just a theory. So I said, no dude. I’m not available after Maghrib. And as you might have guessed, sis was on the mat, praying Istikhara from the day of. I was in disbelief. My Lord, please don’t do me like that, I beg. Throw down my perfect guy on paper, that easily. And then throw this boulder? Am I too strict? I question myself now. Calling me to talk to me threw me off. I have always imagined my dream man to be this very shy but competent guy who’s just waiting for me to face the world on his behalf. I know I know, I live in a fantasy. My dude was not shy. And I hated it. 

So the next day, Mr. X calls in the morning. My guy continues to sell himself. He has a property here, he’s looking to build a family with a religious woman. You know all the right things to say. My skeptic mode is now fully on. Why are you calling? I ask. I want us to get to know each other, see where this goes. Bahahaha.  And then dude adds, I know your brother. Red flag No. 2 goes up. Wow dude, you know my brother? Well, if you know each other, why don’t you go ahead and speak to him then? It’s in real life situations that you get to understand people, is a plain way of saying actions speak louder than words. Dude says he’s travelling. We all travel Mr. X. The world is a global village. And he asks for my brother’s number. And I ask how he got mine. And he chuckles. I see what you’re doing here. Red flag No. 3 slowly rises. A man who can do no basic research? Admitting to the Queen of research, ahem but do I say, that he couldn’t be bothered to? A religious man who knows my brother and has no qualms calling me to “get to know me”. A whole Madinah graduate, who’s sunk in 8 years in one of the holiest cities in the world, with the best of teachers on the boundaries of our faith? Come on now, dude.

Mr. X tries to call again – my brother is apparently hard to reach. That is a you problem, solve it. And once he called me to complain he’s unable to reach my brother, and can I give him someone else’s number. Oh Mr. X? You mean that’s how easily you give up? That is all it takes? You’re looking to me for solutions? I’m now starting to think we’re grossly incompatible. And the 3 red flags remain firm. But then a voice (the cursed devil of course!) desperately entreats me to think of Madinah – are you going to write off Madinah guy just like that? But then another time when I was held up in a long meeting at work, I walked out to about 10 missed calls from Mr. X. The mother of all red flags immediately shoots up. Mr. X, I’m a busy person. I have a full time job, a business, and things to do. I’m not sitting at home twiddling my thumbs waiting for your call. Do we owe you money? Then stop acting like a debt collector. Not even my mother calls me that number of times. If you can’t reach me, wait, Mr. X. I’ll call you back when I’m available. And why are you still calling me anyway?

By then, my heart was heavy, resigned and accepting of the inevitable. Mr. X who was perfect on paper was turning out to be the undreamiest of men. He was failing the list – you know, educated but extremely religious. Shy yet persistent. Gentle yet strong. Soft spoken yet firm. Leave me alone– can a girl not dream? Mr. X had become a nightmare. And so I had to set firm boundaries. Kindly do not contact me until you get an okay from my brother to speak to me. I was being polite. Forget about it, dude. I was done. 

Ramadhan rolls in. A week passes by. And Mr. X starts to send me super religious quotes and messages on WhatsApp. Very interesting. And I say, no Mr. X, you are bending my rules to get a reaction from me. I’m not budging. Throughout this process, I had a heavy heart – I would never stand up light from any istikhara prayer. And despite my admonishment, the messages became persistent. I steel myself for harsh words and blocking. The only thing that spares him is that we share a common friend who speaks up for him. And then one day, one of my clients comes in to tell me he’s familiar with Mr. X, and he’s been asking for an introduction, but am I sure? Do I really want to get married to a man who already has a wife and 3 kids? Yeah guys. Besides lying, Mr. X also chose to entangle my personal to my professional life without so much as a by-your-leave. And I wish that that was the end of the story. Your girl is of course done done at this point, mutual friends notwithstanding. And because I like clear resolutions, I firmly tell Mr. X to stop contacting me, I am not interested. I wish him the best. But he doesn’t seem to understand my English. So I had to block Mr. X, with all his numbers. Mr. X was suddenly resourceful. I see Mr. X in the works of being retained to consult for my employer. Incredulous at the audacity, I mean you can’t blame me for failing to buy the coincidence. A professional with no digital foot print? Come on now.

When it rains, it pours. Sisters, it was pouring men. Errr, just two. The theme of the season was clearly Saudi Arabia. Let’s call this one Mr. Y. My dude was looking to relocate from Makkah and open a business in my country.  The brother of friends I’d met and shared numbers with in Makkah. Yes, really. These amazing set of sisters who’d given me tips on everything Madinah, the city I was visiting next, and would from then on share warm messages. Mr. Y wanted advice on how to set up a business etc. And dude would end every question with a flower. And at first I thought, okay…interesting, I’ve never had anyone send flower emojis to me. I’m out of the loop – is this the culture now? There is a first time for everything, I calm myself down. But then they got boring – always red. The fact that Mr. Y could barely speak English was certainly not a barrier. I couldn’t keep up with the messages. Dude had enough English words one day to share that he wished to get married. Now this had become too much. Mr. Y, one you don’t know me, have never met me, and surely couldn’t possibly make such a decision on the strength of one interaction with your sisters. Come on now, dude. I am many things Mr. Y, but femme fatale, I am not.  Please do not attempt to insult my intelligence.  And secondly, why ever would you wish to relocate from Makkah? I politely say No Mr. Y, I am not available. Make of that what you will. I know, I know. But sometimes a straight No is taken as a challenge which quickly turns into a nightmare. And….I don’t know why I attract creeps! Anyway, Mr. Y was back to the business angle. It soon became clear though that it had all been a ruse.

This calling to talk by way of the career angle seems to be the strategy for career girlies these days. Honeys, we don’t talk. Ever. I don’t care if you’re the ideal man on paper, the rules remain the same. Walk the talk you must. A reminder for me too, mind. I don’t need to learn from my mistakes twice. My instincts are almost always spot on, and should be heeded. And red flags hardly ever change colour, unfortunately. I have no complaints – this has only made me stronger. Wiser. More discerning. 

Sisters, you could be sitting at home, minding your own business, proper isolation et al and the long tentacles of entanglement would still find you. Cushitic style, but still, stay wary. As for my foolish list, it has failed me one too many times. Le sigh. Back to the drawing board.