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<\/p>\n My father\u2019s house was in a greater state of uproar than usual, and since there were six of us children \u2013 well, we\u2019re all grown now, but when we\u2019re home, we\u2019re no longer truly adults \u2013 six of us and our families spending a great amount of time in the house, the level of noise and chaos was pretty amazing \u00a0My infant son Adam was the youngest of the horde, and with him in my arms I sat in the kitchen, watching Mama and my oldest sister Manal coring tiny eggplants to be stuffed and trying to keep the older kids from dipping into the pots and bowls crowded on the \u00a0countertops.<\/p>\n \u201cDon\u2019t eat that, you\u2019ll spoil your appetite and there won\u2019t be enough for everyone later.\u201d \u00a0My nephew Ali only grinned at my rebuke, and since I couldn\u2019t chase him with the baby in my arms, I just sighed resignedly as he made off with a dripping piece of cactus fruit. \u00a0I was a soft touch anyway, unable to put any authority into my voice. \u00a0I had a real weakness for the luscious, refreshing teen shoki, and I had to resist the urge to ask him to bring me one. \u00a0My son distracted me at that moment by spitting up on the front of my dress, so I put aside thoughts of food and reached for a towel.<\/p>\n \u201cAh, the joys of motherhood.\u201d \u00a0I really wasn\u2019t complaining, for my son was the greatest joy in my life. The second greatest joy would be seeing my little brother Bashir get married, which was what all the hoopla in the house was about. \u00a0When he returned from a trip overseas and announced that he was ready to settle down, we were all overjoyed and anxious, too. \u00a0He was the youngest of our family, the only boy, so finding a suitable woman for him to marry would be a momentous task. \u00a0He didn\u2019t have a particular girl in mind, he told us, but felt that he was ready for the commitment and eager to start his own family. \u00a0I suppose my getting pregnant and having the baby had something to do with that. \u00a0He realized he was now the only sibling without a child, and I had seen the longing in his eyes when he held my son and twirled him around the room. He was no longer content to be merely an uncle; he wanted to be a daddy.<\/p>\n \u201cWell, daddies have to be husbands first\u201d, my mother told him when he broached the subject. \u00a0\u201cIt will take some time to find the right match for you. \u00a0She has to be pious, smart, and well, just right. \u00a0I\u2019ll know here when I see her.\u201d \u00a0With this pronouncement, the search was on. \u00a0Initially, my mother closeted herself with my father, who spent hours on the prayer rug making supplication to Allah to help him find a bride for his beloved son. \u00a0Then she burned up the phone lines calling his and her brothers and sisters, distant cousins and old friends. \u00a0Girls were suggested and introductions made.<\/p>\n Rapid-fire questions narrowed down the field. \u00a0Does she wear hijaab? \u00a0Does she pray? \u00a0Can she cook? \u00a0Where did she go to school? \u00a0No question was too minor and many \u201ccandidates\u201d were eliminated because of seemingly trivial faults. \u00a0This one didn\u2019t eat meat, that one listened to pop music. \u00a0Those who made it through the initial phase were subjected to close physical scrutiny. \u00a0Hair, nails, teeth and eyes were surreptitiously examined. \u00a0I half expected her to ask the girls to crack nuts with their teeth and do pushups. \u00a0She was always polite but very serious. \u00a0This was, after all, the woman who would inshAllah carry on the family name.<\/p>\n Finally, after three months of calls, meetings, and many fervent prayers, my mother met the family of one lady who really seemed to stand out from the crowd. \u00a0She was a raven-haired beauty with glowing golden skin, but the beauty was modestly hidden beneath a large khimar, which she wore comfortably instead of the more stylish, smaller hijaab favored by so many women. \u00a0Her father was a doctor from Port Said, but the family had relocated to Cairo several years ago so his children could study at al-Azhar University. \u00a0She could recite beautifully much of the Qur\u2019an from memory but was becomingly shy and reticent to put herself in the spotlight. \u00a0She cooked well enough to keep a man from starving, her father jokingly said, and she seemed physically fit, not a tiny waif of a girl, but womanly shaped. \u00a0I had met her at their home when my brother went to see her for the first time, and she had an engaging wit and a confident manner that put me at ease. \u00a0She fussed over my son, which of course put me on her side immediately, and acted as hostess with practiced grace. \u00a0During the visit she and Bashir were allowed to go for a walk in the park around the corner, out of earshot but not eyesight so they could get to know one another with some modicum of privacy. \u00a0We all trailed behind like a Greek chorus, trying to interpret miniscule changes in body language as they walked along. \u00a0Their conversation was animated and friendly, and by the time we returned to the house, it seemed as though a decision had been reached \u00a0They would continue to see each other, in the presence of a chaperone, of course, and continue to talk. \u00a0Nothing had been decided about marriage at this point, my brother being a careful man, but we sensed the possibility and were quietly hopeful.<\/p>\n Bashir had been seeing Bousaina now for about three months, and he had just about satisfied himself on all points that she would be the right match for him. \u00a0They had both prayed about it and had talked to an Imaam for religious guidance, and it seemed that any day now we would have happy news. \u00a0In anticipation of that my mother had one final test for this girl who might be joining our family. \u00a0It involved a seemingly innocent piece of fruit, and it could well be the deciding factor in the match. \u00a0So, as we prepared the food and arranged the house, we were happy but a little scared, too. \u00a0So much was depending on this night.<\/p>\n The afternoon passed and the melodic clangor of the Adhaan announced the arrival of the evening prayer. \u00a0My father and brother were already at the mosque around the corner, and we put the finishing touches on the dinner tables and took our turns making the ritual ablution. \u00a0My mother led the prayer for us and in the first two segments recited from surah an-Nisaa, and in the prostration she remained a long time, supplicating to Allah and seeking His blessing. \u00a0Afterwards we made dhiker and waited with great anticipation. \u00a0I nursed my son and rocked him back and forth in my lap, making my own du\u2019a that he\u2019d have a new auntie soon. \u00a0The house phone rang and my mother calmly reached for it. \u00a0It was Papa and Bashir returning from the mosque, and Bousaina\u2019s family was just arriving as well. \u00a0It took two trips in the elevator to bring everyone up, Bousaina, her parents, and her two sisters and one brother as well. \u00a0We were quite the crowd in the living room as everyone got sorted out.<\/p>\n Ours was a large, old-fashioned apartment with plenty of room to separately entertain men and women, so it was easy to make a place for us to be comfortable away from the eyes of non-mahram men. \u00a0After helping our cook serve the men, we retired to the women\u2019s parlor and relaxed our hijaab, serving ourselves from the heavily laden platters on the side table. \u00a0Mama noted Bousaina\u2019s hearty appetite with approval. \u00a0She didn\u2019t like picky eaters. \u00a0My sister Zainab held Adam so I could eat without fear of dripping sauce on him, and I was comfortably full by the time Mama brought out the mangoes she had stored under her bed for the last few days. \u00a0We had all known they were there, but fear of a smack on the hand, or worse, had kept us from poaching. \u00a0The fragrant perfume of the fruit had filled her room, a constant reminder of the test that was now at hand.<\/p>\n Bousaina was unaware of the nature of the test, but we all waited with eager anticipation, trying to appear no more than ordinarily interested in the contents of the big green bowl before us. \u00a0Mama set two heavy fruits on a plate and passed it to Bousaina, along with a small knife. \u00a0Her eyes lit up in appreciation.<\/p>\n \u201cThese are beautiful. \u00a0You must have found the biggest, ripest mangoes in all of Cairo. \u00a0And I really love this variety. \u00a0It reminds me of going to the park with my father when I was a little girl. \u00a0We\u2019d gather up stones from the street and try to knock the fruit from the trees. \u00a0I\u2019d race my brother to get to the ones that fell. \u00a0Not very ladylike, I suppose, but when it comes to mangoes, I have a very competitive streak,\u201d she said with a laugh. \u00a0We all relaxed. \u00a0She liked mangoes! \u00a0We exchanged glances and then our eyes focused on Bousaina as she picked up the first one. \u00a0She quickly drew the blade of the knife around the middle of the fruit, slicing in a circle across the width. \u00a0The she placed the knife on the plate an took the mango in both hands, deftly twisting the two halves in opposite directions. \u00a0They separated neatly, one half coming away with the pit, the other resembling a small bowl with the ripe fruit clinging to the inside. \u00a0She laid down the heavier half and then began to scoop out the flesh of the other with a small spoon Mama handed her. \u00a0Totally unselfconsciously she dug into the fruit, and she let out a small sigh of happiness as she said the basmallah and swallowed the first bite.<\/p>\n \u201cAlhamdulillah, it is wonderful. \u00a0It\u2019s like a taste of Jannah.\u201d \u00a0We all laughed, and Zainab handed me back my son and quietly slipped out of the room. \u00a0Mama handed around the bowl and passed around plates and knives so we could all share in the delicacy. \u00a0We were just making the first cuts as Zainab walked back in, nodding to Mama before taking her seat again. \u00a0Bousaina meanwhile had finished the first half of her fruit, and, eyeing us with a mischievous gleam in her eye, picked up the other half, indelicately taking the pit between her teeth and twisting it to release it from the other section. \u00a0Naturally, mango juice now decorated her face, dribbled down her chin, and covered her hands. \u00a0She looked totally happy. \u00a0Which just increased her shock at what happened next. \u00a0There came a loud knocking at the door to the room. \u00a0While the rest of us hastily fixed our hijaabs, Bousaina sat frozen as my brother\u2019s voice boomed into the room.<\/p>\n \u201cSalaam Alaikum! \u00a0Open up! \u00a0I want to ask Bousaina to marry me, but I have the right to see her first. \u00a0I\u2019ve asked her father for permission and I demand my right! \u00a0Hurry up, now. \u00a0Let me in!\u201d \u00a0Mama went to the door, and the expression on Bousaina\u2019s face turned from shock to dismay. \u00a0How could she let him see her like this, all covered in sticky mango juice? \u00a0Her sisters were trying unsuccessfully to muffle their laughter in their sleeves, and we all moved out of the way to afford my brother a good, unobstructed look. \u00a0Mama threw the door open and Bashir strode across the room, stopping in front of his nonplussed bride-to-be. \u00a0He looked down on her with a stern gaze, hands on hips, one eyebrow raised as if to ask what had happened. \u00a0Bousaina looked up at him, still holding half a mango in her hand, frozen in place. \u00a0My brother\u2019s mock frown melted into the most radiant smile I had ever seen as he looked from her to Mamma. \u00a0\u201cSee, Ummi, I told you she was the one. \u00a0She\u2019s more beautiful covered with mango juice than any girl with tons of makeup. \u00a0I\u2019ll bet she even has the little strings from the fruit between her teeth, and that\u2019s beautiful, too.\u201d \u00a0We all laughed as, indeed, Bousaina tried in vain to cover the smile that now spread across her face, matching his, showing the rough fibrous threads that always seemed to get caught between the teeth. \u00a0In response to her smile, Bashir threw his head back and let forth a great guffaw. \u00a0We could hold it in no longer. \u00a0We all dissolved into peals of laughter, totally losing ourselves in the moment. \u00a0I laughed until my side hurt, and my son looked up at me quizzically. \u00a0Wiping tears of mirth from my eyes, I hugged him close, whispering in his little ear that everything was fine, promising myself that someday when he was older I would tell him the whole story. \u00a0All the men meanwhile had filed into the room, and once we had regained our composure, my brother more seriously asked Bousaina and her father for permission to marry her. \u00a0Consent was joyfully given, and we passed the evening saying mabruk and making du\u2019as that Allah would bless them and bring them much joy. \u00a0That they were well matched, we had no doubt. \u00a0Mama\u2019s test had seen to that.<\/p>\n So, a month later my brother and Bousaina were married in my parents\u2019 home. \u00a0When the Sheikh asked about the dowry, it was no surprise to any of us that it included a grove of mango trees from the family land. \u00a0And if people wondered why we all called the beautiful little girl they were blessed with a year later \u201clittle mango\u201d, well, we would just smile and say it was a family joke.<\/p>\n <\/p>\n Bismillahi Rahmani Rahim Salaam Alaikum wa Rahmatullah This is a story I wrote several years ago. \u00a0Every so often I get nostalgic and go back and read it. \u00a0I thought I would share it with you: A Mango for a Bride By Nancy Shehata My father\u2019s house was in a greater state of uproar than […]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":81,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"closed","ping_status":"closed","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"footnotes":""},"categories":[1],"tags":[],"class_list":["post-75","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","hentry","category-uncategorized"],"yoast_head":"\n
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