What happened after that? Well not much really, at least at
first. Both of us pretended like nothing happened, going about our lives as
normal. For me, the only real difference at first was that I read more of my
husband's books. Of course, this time only after getting his permission.
I know this may sound like a simple thing, but as unworthy
as I was back then, this was major. Back then, what was mine was mine, and what
was my husband's was also mine. I’m sure you know of women like that before and
well…that was me. Looking back, it’s a minor miracle he didn’t left me for a
more proper woman.
I think of it as a gift from God because the discovery of
Islam did help us in our relationship, even back in those early days. We
now had something to talk about. I was curious about why my husband has decided
to take an interest in Islam and as we were talking, I found myself more and
more interested in it as well. As we talk, we would also talk about other
random stuff and before we knew it, we actually started “talking”.
We spoke about each other and our lifeless relationship. We
spoke about how things had gotten routine and discovered that neither of us
liked it. It’s another sign of my worthlessness as a wife that I never knew my
husband thought the same way I did. However as we continued talking, we
naturally talked about how we were going to break out of our cycle. And just as
naturally, the one thing that reconnected us was the thing that we decided to
do together.
I found out that my husband has been a semi-regular attendee
at a local mosque and he invited to go with him on his next visit. Of course I
agreed but I had no idea what was expected of me so I went out of my way to
drive past the mosque a few times during the week to observe the people. On the
day of the visit itself, I dressed conservatively in a loose long sleeve shirt
with a shirt that reaches my feet. I even wore a headscarf.
I was overdressed. Although all the women there wore the
headscarf, not all of them conform to the dress code I read in my husband’s
books. There were girls there who wore jeans and tight-fitting shirts, and when
the sermon started, a few of the younger girls were more interested in their
iPhones than what the iman was saying.
That however was something I can understand. The sermon by
the iman was in a way pretty disappointing. He spoke about honor and living
correctly according to Islam but his sermon was more like a speech than
anything else. I didn’t really went to the mosque with any expectations but to
me, the visit was a disappointment.
When I told my husband this, instead of being disappointed,
he was silently pleased. Oh, my husband tried his best to hide it but when you
are married for so long, you kind of know when your partner was happy. Now the
correct reaction of a proper wife was to keep quiet and let your husband tell
you about the situation when he felt it was time. However back then I was not a
proper wife and immediately called him out on it.
Naturally, my husband wasn’t pleased but being the worthless
wife that I was, I couldn’t let it go. After an hour of badgering, he finally
lost his temper and gave me a good spanking. If this sounded abrupt, it is
because it was.
I was in the midst of another tirade when he just calmly
grabbed my arm, dragged me to the sofa, sat down, and placed me over his knee.
He didn’t say a thing and I was so shocked, I didn’t fight back. In hindsight,
that was probably a good thing as the spanking he gave might have been worse.
As it was, my husband pulled up my shirt, pulled down my panties and firmly
gave me twenty with his open hand, alternating between both cheeks of my
bottom.
I think even back then, I knew that on some level I deserved
it because I took my punishment stoically without crying. Some may argued that
it was shock that allowed me to take my rightful punishment without bawling,
but I don’t think so. When my husband was done, he let me up and grabbed my arm
again. This time he firmly pulled me to my spot.
In case you were wondering, all this happened in the living
room and my spot is a corner of the room near the TV. My husband made me faced
the corner with my hands holding up my skirt. He refused to allow me to pull up
my panties, instead ordering me to open up my legs. With my skirt high, my panties
down, and my bottom red, I looked like a naughty girl who had just being
punished.
Which was the case and I have the photo to prove it. My
husband took a picture and the embarrassing photo was a constant reminder that
I have to do better. In fact, taking pictures during “reflection time” is an
established practice in our household. Whenever I got a punishment, my husband
would put me in my spot and take pictures to prove what a worthless wife I am.
I didn’t know how long I was in the corner but it was long
enough that when my husband finally allowed me to move from my spot, I had
reflected on my actions and knew my mistake. This time I knelt in front of my
husband and begged him to forgive me, deliberately not asking about why he was
so silently pleased about me not liking my trip to the mosque.
It was the right thing to do. My husband petted me on the
head and told me the truth. He was only a semi-regular mosque attendee because
he was a member of a group of individuals who practiced a more extreme version
of the Koran. He had brought me to the mosque as he wanted to slowly bring me
into the religion.
Yes, my husband was thinking of my well-being and what did I
do? I shamefully badgered him instead of respectfully asking him like I was
supposed to; another sign of what a worthless wife I was. My husband say if I
wished to, he would introduced me to his friends but warned that I would
probably be shocked by them. I would admit that I was unsure if I was ready but
I also knew that my husband wanted to meet the group. So I said I would love to
meet them.
Looking back, this was the day when I truly started to
become a wife; the day when I started to think of my husband’s feelings and
wishes instead of my own. It may seem like a natural thing to most but back
then, I cared only about my own wishes and feelings and this was a big step.
The next day, my husband bought me an outfit which he said I
must wear to meet his friends. I’d read enough of his books to know it was an
outfit that followed the rules of the Hijab. Hijab is the proper Islamic dress
code, which is primarily intended to safeguard the modesty, dignity and honor
of men and women. By wearing Hijab, women protect themselves from any lustful
gaze or act that may expose them to temptation or harassment of any kind. On
the other hand, it protects men from indulgence in vices and unlawful acts. The
outfit my husband gave me came with a niqab which I had never wore before.
Thank Allah for Youtube.
Following instructions from a video I found on the site, I
started by putting on the dress. A long sleeved dress two sizes too big, the
high-collared dress covered me from my neck to the soles of my feet and came
with a hood. I tied my long tresses into a tight bun before wrapping it up with
a white cloth which cover almost all of my head except my face. Once my cloth
was tightly in place, I pulled up the hood over my head and then put on the
face-veil.
The niqab had a strap that I used to wrap around my
forehead. Once I tied it in place, the veil flowed down over my face leaving
only my eyes visible. Not only was my face covered, the veil also kept my hood secured
on my head.
Like I said before, I had never wore this before and
immediately complained to my husband that the dress was too big, too plain and
rough. I have seen Islamic dresses before and they came in a variety of colors
with various cuttings and styles. The one given to me was plain black with no
designs on it whatsoever. I looked like a black ghost and I also found that the
outfit was uncomfortable. The fabric of the outfit felt rough and was of low
quality.
Yes, I was an ungrateful worthless wife. Instead of thanking
my husband, I actually dared complained about the dress he had so kindly gave
me. Again showing what a kind and gentle man he was, instead of punishing me
for my outburst, my husband kindly explained that this was all deliberate. The
rules of hijab state that a woman's clothing must cover the whole body and must
not be tight or transparent. That was why the dress was so big and the fabric
was rough to prevent the wearer from being too comfortable. I still remembered
his exact words, “Women are creatures of sin whose whole body is all awrah.”
Awrah are sensitive parts of the body that a woman must
cover in front of non-Muslims but I have never heard or read of the whole of a
woman’s body being awrah before. Not only that, my kind husband now says that
all women were creatures of sin!
It was a great shock but I was the one who told
my husband I wanted to meet his friend so I knew it was too late to turn back
now. When the weekend back, I wore the outfit again and went with my husband to
meet his friends. It would be a life-changing day.
