Introduction:

Between Desire and Faith

This research on Muslim singlehood grew out of my own experiences as a young, single Muslim struggling to balance religion, identities, and desire. Though I am now married with children—well, one child—there were times when my singlehood felt unbearable. I remember one flight home from Sierra Leone, where I worked in international development. As usual in flight, I looked out over the clouds and began to feel my spirit floating around me. I thought about the trip I had just made—my first tour as the Africa program coordinator for Life for Relief and Development, a Muslim non-profit organization. I thought about new friends, the resilient war survivors, the beautiful children, and the gorgeous landscape. I thanked God for providing such an incredible experience. I truly felt blessed, but there was something missing. Where was my man? More specifically, where was my soul mate, my lover, the one to help fill in the blanks when, 20 years from now during a dinner conversation with friends, I would relive the experience? So while I loved the trip, I hated that I did it single. And there, looking out at the clouds, I prayed to marry soon so that the next time I was at 30,000 feet, my soul would have a companion.

God had another plan. Two years and three long trips passed before my prayer would be answered. Finding a spouse, a Muslim spouse who loved me and whom I loved, proved to be a bit difficult. I pondered just getting a boyfriend. I mean, really, what was so different now? I could just get a boyfriend, hang out, and ask him to accompany me on my next trip. At least my hand would be held during trying ordeals, or my mind would be comforted when I couldn’t think of a great solution to a problem, or my body would be shielded during some dangerous situation, or, or . . . I complained, “If I wasn’t Muslim, I wouldn’t be so lonely! I didn’t have a problem getting a man until I decided to become a stronger Muslim!”

May Allah forgive me! Really, from ninth grade to two years after college I always had a steady man in my life. Those were the times when I dated (usually without guilt), the times when neither religion nor getting married was the first thing on my mind.

Well, times had changed. In college, I had experienced a religious awakening, and that old lifestyle no longer jibed with my new “Muslim” soul, the “muslima” (Muslim woman) Zarinah. This Zarinah was trying to live as a “good” Muslim—no more relationships without intentions of commitment.

So, I waited. I waited to meet a Muslim husband like I had met non-Muslim boyfriends before. I waited and I waited and I waited, until it became apparent that perhaps no one would approach me! “What’s the problem? Did my Islam suddenly bring on a case of the uglies? Is this a test from God? Am I being punished?” Perhaps this wait was my scarlet letter, my living punishment for past sins. It may seem funny and far-fetched to some people, but for someone who believes in the afterlife, it is not.

Literally, I cried to my Lord, “Oh, God, give me some respite! Who am I going to marry? Will he care that I haven’t always been a ‘good Muslim’? You know I just started wearing my scarf, right? Will he love children? Will he be outgoing? . . . When are you going to answer me!?!?”

From age 20 or so, I wondered if I would ever marry. I joked with my friends, “Please pray for God to give me strength . . . I’m going crazy!” Yes, I was active in the community and had a great job, but I was still so lonely. Then, one day while overseas (alone again), my mother e-mailed about Halim, a single Muslim brother. Our beloved Sheik Ali (a local religious leader) was playing matchmaker and thought Halim and I might be compatible. I thought, “Why now, while I’m overseas!?” But unbeknownst to me, my curious father met Halim and his father for lunch while I was away. Then, when I returned home in April, Dad gave me the details: Halim was 22 years old (two years younger than me I might add), from Ann Arbor, and was going to school for psychology. It took me a minute to get over the age difference, but we finally set up a family dinner for May. Halim came with his parents, and we discussed everything from my strong personality to Halim’s personal goals, to polygamy and the ways Halim planned to support his wife. I determined, “Hey, he’s Muslim, cute, intelligent, and looks strong . . . Why not give it a try?”

We exchanged information and began to talk on the phone. It all worked out, because by August, three short months later, we had set a marriage date for the following July. Yes, a fast process by most standards! Later, when my grandmother’s health deteriorated, we moved the wedding up so that she could see her only granddaughter walk down the aisle. In November, just seven months after our inaugural family dinner, we married, and for the first time, my soul had a legal mate. I could now enjoy all the comforts of male companionship without the accompanying unmarried religious guilt. I just might get into Heaven yet!

Later, Muslims of all ages began to tell me their experiences of singlehood, I suspect because I openly discussed my own struggles. They too were lonely and unable to find a spouse. Some struggled to “stay on the straight path” and maintain their Islamic identity, while others deemed “the Good Muslim path” too hard, or simply unnecessary, and chose to live a different lifestyle. Unlike me, some remarked that external, not internal, pressure was the source of their discomfort (my own parents never pressured me to get married). Overall, it was apparent that singlehood was a stressful period for many Muslims.

In response, my friend Marquia and I organized an event where  Muslims could ask relationship questions and meet eligible singles. It was a success—and even resulted in one marriage. Given these experiences, I later designed my research thesis around the topic that confronted my daily life: the singlehood of Muslim young adults.

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