Journey

By A.T. Cline

This is a story about a father's love for his daughter that supersedes tradition, honor, and duty to religion. Haadi, a man of honor and great tradition, breaks every rule to raise and protect his daughter, Aisha. His love for her breaks the rules of traditional Father and Son bonding and instead, he forms a bond with his daughter, Aisha and not

• Language: English
• Publisher: Trilogy Christian Publishing
• Release date: Sep 2, 2020
• ISBN: 9781647730772

Book preview

JOURNEY

A.T. Cline

Dedication

Anna Clinton, my mom, who is in paradise with Jesus and my four-legged baby, Boris, who I know is sitting next to my mom.

Acknowledgments

My understanding and devoted husband, Rodney Cline, who exemplifies the true meaning of loving your wife as Christ loves the church.

Table of Contents

Prologue 11

Chapter One 13

Chapter Two 23

Chapter Three 33

Chapter Four 41

Chapter Five 49

Chapter Six 57

Chapter Seven 63

Chapter Eight 69

Chapter Nine 77

Chapter Ten 85

Chapter Eleven 91

Chapter Twelve 99

Chapter Thirteen 105

Conclusion 115

Prologue

For many years, God has placed upon my heart the compassion and love for women in Islamic countries. He calls them my sisters, and for a while, I didn’t understand why the Holy Spirit had captured my heart for women and girls in this region. I was born and raised in West Africa, and Islamic women were a part of our society and still are.

When I was twelve years old, I remember speaking with some friends and the subject of one of our dear friends, whose parents were Islamic, came up. Hawa was very pretty and smart. All the boys liked her, and at thirteen, she was tall and elegant. She caught the eye of every teenage boy I knew. One of the boys who admired her said, Hawa was forced by her parents to get married, her husband was in his sixties, and he had to ensure that she was a virgin before taking her as his wife. He did this by taking her to bed. I didn’t know how true this was and I still don’t, but I never saw Hawa again.

I remember asking my father about the laws and traditions of my friend, and his response was, You are blessed to be born in this country and nation. But Arab and Islamic women are breaking the glass ceiling today. Most societies allow women to choose whom they can marry, and women are pilots, doctors, government officials, and entrepreneurs. However, it is still known that when it comes to religion, there is a very low tolerance for freedom of will. Being free to profess Jesus Christ is still unacceptable in this region.

Twenty-five years later, living in the United States, during my quiet time with the Lord, He says softly and lovingly, There are women in Islamic countries who are risking their lives to spend time with Me. They are risking being outcast from their home, families, and even face death. I love spending time with you, my love, but you have all the freedom you need, and most of the time, you are too busy for Me. Tears came flowing down my cheeks as I asked my Lord for forgiveness. I repented and made a new commitment to take advantage of the freedom that I have. The freedom that my earthly father spoke of when I was growing up in West Africa, and the same freedom my Heavenly Father had just reminded me of. It is hardly surprising that I have always had Islamic women in my heart. What I desire for my sisters is what God desires for me as well. My prayer for women all over the world is to have an intimate relationship with Jesus Christ and to know Him in a passionate and empowering way that will launch them towards their destiny.

Chapter One

Journey

There was a loud knock at the door, and this time it seems more urgent than usual. The knock continued for a few minutes, and Aisha peeks from behind the curtain where she and her little sister, Aini, were hiding to listen secretly to the conversations of the men. Her black, soft curls drip down her shoulders with the new chiffon hijab her mother had purchased for her with Baba’s permission. The traditional headscarf covers her head and upper neck but left her face exposed. She wrapped it around her head neatly and had it tucked securely under her chin with a safety pin. She was taller than most of her peers, and her skin was a natural tan that most women in western society pay much money to achieve, or so she was told by Momma.

Her tiny, feminine hands held onto little Aini as they both sat quietly behind the curtain. Usually, this was her space; it was as if when the house was built, someone thought of her. They created a corner in the hall that separates the men’s conversation room from the rest of the living area. Momma had placed a curtain with light fabric to separate the small space to allow the stilled summer breeze to somehow flow in the room. The women would gather together in the back of the house that was more open and much breezier but that was not a problem for Aisha because she loved the quietness and security of this part of the house. For a long very long time, she was not allowed to join the women in their private gatherings but when she turned thirteen, her mother informed her that she was a woman now and could join the conversation with her mother and the other women in the family without being summoned out. The men on the other hand, she had to spy on.

Tonight, the atmosphere was a lot different because Baba, as she and her siblings refer to their father, had invited Uncle Faadi but did not invite her brother, Aamad. The meeting tonight must be just for the older men because with Aamad turning eighteen and very proud of it, you would think that her father would extend an invitation, but he didn’t. Men in the room included her father’s best friend and one of Uncle Faadi’s childhood friend. They each had an intense expression on their faces and were whispering to one another. This was very unorthodox for these meetings and Aisha knew there was something going on, but what? She did not hear her father’s strong and authoritative voice, which was usually loud above the heads of all the men in the room or her uncle’s usual head nod in agreement with her father. This time it was all whispers from one man to the other. Some sitting and some standing but bending over to whisper in the ears of the ones sitting. What are they whispering about? she anxiously thought.

Suddenly she heard one word, which came from her father after a long period of whispered discussions. Aqtulaha, kill her in Arabic. It was very faint but she heard it and it came from her father. She had never heard her father speak with such vigorous anger. Kill who? she thought. Why does Baba want someone to die? Is it someone I know?

Providentially, the knock on the door became louder as it interrupted her thoughts, and she heard her father greet someone saying, Welcome. It was customary to say welcome to a friend or an invited guest to your home. Her father’s voice, welcoming the stranger, made the highly pulsating vein in her neck relax for a moment. Her father’s voice was calmer and friendlier as her father leads the stranger to his favorite chair in the room. Everyone in the room with her father had been extremely tense, and even with the whispers, she knew this was not an ordinary conversation or another weekly meeting.

The stranger was tall with shiny, black, wavy hair, and a touch of gray at the temple. He looks to be a little younger than her father, maybe around Uncle Faadi’s age. The stranger wore a white Thobe and a white Bisht over it. The Bisht is cloak trimmed in gold and it is made in black, white, or brown. Men wear them either when they are getting married, are on an official visit or a special occasion. Unlike the regular Thobe and Ghutra that her father, uncle, and the other men in the room wore, the stranger looked official. This attire means he is a significant man, maybe someone very high in the government or religious community.

Aisha’s eyes follow the stranger as he walks in the room with a sense of authority and strength. He sits where her father has motioned him and instead of the intense look shared by the rest of the men, the stranger has a crooked smile on his face. He sits in Baba’s favorite chair as if he is entitled to it. Baba must like and respect him; he does not allow anyone to sit in his chair, not even Uncle Faadi.

Once again, her thoughts were interrupted. We must remain calm my friends, because we have a problem and we cannot hurry to make a mistake. The strange man says in a calm but firm voice, You and your family have a crucial decision to make, and it must be the right one. We must honor Allah in everything that we do, and this is one of those times, we must carry out our duties. The stranger goes on to say, You, Faadi, are the chosen one! Allah has chosen you to honor him, and it is your duty as well as your destiny.

She watches as her uncle Faadi, who walks over to the stranger and falls to his knees. With arms raised in the air and what seems like tears in his eyes. She could not see him quite as clearly as it was getting more difficult to peek through the curtains without getting caught. I am an honorable man. She hears Uncle Faadi say with crackles in his voice. Aini holds on to her big sister after hearing the words kill her. Aini knows that no one had talked that way in the family before and tonight, when Mama and Aamad are visiting cousins who have a death in their family, she has to stay with Aisha and Baba because it was almost her bedtime. Mama had instructed Aisha to look after her and make sure she was in bed on time.

Aisha at sixteen is very responsible, and there have been early morning talks between Baba and Mama about it being the right time for her to have alzawj, a husband. Her older sister was the apple of their eyes, she was a gift from Allah, and they knew it from