Fitnah
By Bilal Bikile
(Essay from the collection, I’m Here and I’m Not)
By Bilal Bikile
(Essay from the collection, I’m Here and I’m Not)
Fitnah: A test. A trial of sorts – be it internal, external, mental or physical that challenges the sincerity and faith of an individual.
***
Setting any type of code requires varying levels of regulation. When a code is rooted in society, it constitutes the suppression of free will regarding certain human desires. Desires that, although considered satisfying or beneficial to the individual, may be of harm and concern to the collective. It is in response to this, that Islam sets moral and ethical codes upon mankind, regardless of faith, background, or location, with the intention of establishing barriers in guard of the greater society, concurrently in favor of the individual as well.
The Islamic moral code is dense and multilayered in terms of placement, situation, prior knowledge, and necessity. It is a very logical and critically thorough law, touching upon topics such as platonic relations with the opposite gender, the rights of a plant or living animal over humans, finance and economics, and even the rights of a slave. When looked into closely, within the context of the time these laws were established, one can quite easily gather that such laws were imperative to society. The Prophet Muhammad (s) had brought forth something of immense and general benefit to the people as a whole. It proves rational – one of the most important characteristics of a religious moral code today – being that all religions are scrutinized and constantly put to test by laymen who lack extensive or even basic theological knowledge. This is the reason why the laws the prophet presented were basic, straightforward, and simplified for the layman's understanding. It is with research and in-depth knowledge of the teachings of its apparently tedious and grandiose nature, where having persisted for over 1400 years until today, can really only be explained through divine revelation.
Only a religion of truth can be so advanced in social justice, politics, education, and technology that its discoveries and teachings remain the contemporary standard. The very text of the Qur’an is the grammatical reference for secular studies in Arabic due to the flawless and impeccable detail attained in the book. The Al-Azhar University in Cairo, Egypt remains the longest-running institution of higher learning in the world, which places focus on Islamic knowledge as well as modern curriculums and secular subjects. The Muslims of Al-Andalus are recognized in history for establishing an empire of unmatched technological, theological, and medical advancement, in an environment where various religions co-existed in peace. Not to mention at a time coinciding with the Dark Ages when Europeans did not even comprehend the concept of time. In Andalus, no one faith found it necessary to compromise their beliefs or practices due to Muslim rule, however they possessed their own justice system and could organize freely under it.
Ahead of its time in social justice and modern civilization, Islam came into the world immediately making an impact both historically and contemporarily. It remains the fastest growing religious group despite widespread Islamophobia and the adversity Muslims are faced with. Islam enforced the rights of the woman, over 1400 years ago, in a time where the norm was burying daughters alive and treating women as sex slaves. Islam placed an utmost importance on buying and freeing the slaves as a deed so great that it’d be enough of a reason to enter paradise. It was Islam, by way of the Prophet Muhammad (s) who said 1400 years ago, that no Arab was any better than a non-Arab and that the only thing that made one better was their iman (piety), something only our creator, Allah, can measure.
In a world today, especially in an America riddled with mental illness, suicide, racism, poverty, extreme debt, and an overall collective anxiety, a set of divine societal, human laws is likely what will set the people free.
“Verily, it is in the remembrance of Allah that the hearts do find rest.”
(Quran 13:28)
This verse from Allah, our one God and creator is reminding us (the creation) of our fitrah. The fitrah is the human being’s predisposed condition immediately attributed to them from birth to believe in something greater than themselves. Something powerful and all-knowing – someone responsible for life.
One can always refer to the classic philosophical case of William Paley and “The Watchmaker” argument. A statement for belief in a higher power is countered only with skepticism in the belief of a creator. With this skepticism comes an undeniable brashness and voluntary ignorance towards the fact that nothing we have ever known of has come about without external, intellectual means. William Paley presents his argument as such: “In crossing a heath, suppose I pitched my foot against a stone…” One would not think much of the stone. He would not question, “Who put the stone there, and where did it originate from, for it is a mere stone. But if one were to continue on this path and stumble upon a watch, he would be intrigued. He would lift it, observe it, and note that the impressive manufacturing and successful operation of such an intricate object, would point to a watchmaker – a creator of the mechanism itself. The lineage of the object never fails to be assumed. Yet, the very existence of an ever-sustainable solar system, the impeccably self-sustaining bodies we inhabit and reproduce, and a universe of greater complexity than any such watch is somehow ignored.
The creation of the universe is not disproved but merely disregarded. It can only make sense that something outside of human capability was responsible for it. There are other entities present besides humankind, there were others before us, and will continue to be. It is not a matter of what science says solitarily, with religion aside, for the reason that science has disproved itself consistently. In that same regard, Islam’s enlightenments towards science have yet to prove inconsistent with confirmations of contemporary scientific discovery. The concept of creation is not merely a theory, in contrast to evolution. It is something we witness every single day before our eyes. Seasons change, trees and plants wither, only for them to come to back to life as a reminder of this. It is not about proving the reality of creation because it is something every human being has already taken as truth. Cause and effect as an element of life and human understanding naturally attribute effect to “something else'' – the effect can never be the cause, and the cause never the effect.
“Have they not traveled in the land so that they should have hearts with which to understand, or ears with which to hear? For surely it is not the eyes that are blind, but blind are the hearts which are in the breasts.”
(Quran 22:46)
The moral code, or law, that our creator has set upon us is referred to as “Shari’ah.” Amongst these laws are the classic religious deviations men of belief find themselves wrestling with, including but not limited to: sex before marriage, drugs, and alcohol, all commonly difficult vices to refrain from in any setting, but especially for those that live in the West. Of the more significant and heavier in weight would be apostasy itself, the conclusive disregard of Allah, by way of a strengthened belief that this world is better encompassed in a veiled view of existence. Not only are these points of sin and acts that require repentance, but they are tools in which Allah uses to test those who feel they are safe from wrongdoing. To present them with the option to act on what is righteous, clean and pure in the name of Allah, rather than slip under the cracks giving in to evil doing, is what can separate them from those that fail when faced with fitnah.
Extracting oneself from an environment of righteousness, love, and brotherhood places the individual in an unmistakable trap to various fitnah. The Prophet Muhammad (s) advised the Muslims to ensure that they stick with the jama’a (congregation) where one will always find brotherhood, sisterhood, god-consciousness, and overall safety. Satan happily becomes a companion of the one who slips away, whether it be due to necessity, travel, separation, or a flawed belief system conflicting with their brothers or sisters, for under such circumstances there remains no external protection between them besides Allah, who leaves the will to the individual if they do not plead for his protection.
***
A simple glance at the beautiful woman, in her transparent white sundress on the beaches of Koh Rong Samloem could be the very cause of a trip’s ruin. The man, who cared not to lower his gaze as commanded by Allah in the Qur’an, may find that he desires the beaming woman right then and there. So, he may decide to spark up a conversation. He may approach the bar at the waterfront restaurant where she sits, and possibly mention how beautiful the beach is. “Almost better than California”, he might say. And she, with her strong Australian accent, may compare it to the beaches back home. And just then, they may learn something about one another.
Say they decide to have lunch together, and she is on vacation that weekend and alone. Maybe he is on vacation, alone as well, aside from the two friends he may have come with. They, also alone, may be fulfilling their own vices away from home. And here he is, possibly alone with this beautiful Australian woman. She may have freckles on her nose that disperse when they meet her cheeks. Maybe long brown hair rests upon her shoulders that glow in the Cambodian sunlight. She may be taller than him, but her smile might be sweet and her scent also. He may truly enjoy his lunch with this possibly beautiful woman, who had recently been alone. Maybe they go for a walk and teach each other about the cultures in their home countries. They might laugh about the metric system and how America is so odd. Mention Trump because… its Trump. Maybe they discuss the beautiful weather, and of course, Australian spiders. Then the sun may begin to set, and before calling it a night they realize they are staying at the same hostel. So, they take their time coming back, since they are not alone. And he, who is Muslim, maybe misses the Maghrib prayer. It might pass him by as they sit on the pier watching the sun leave them to themselves. Maybe they sip on homemade Italian passion fruit sodas before they take the last boat to the private island where they stay. They may ride in silence on the way to their hostel, mesmerized by the beauty of the Thailand Gulf. Maybe they look at one another and smile, and he may think about the prayer he has missed. But maybe she puts her hand on his leg and he forgets. Maybe she tells him she has something to show him when they reach the shore and he may wink and say okay. She might giggle and tell him to stop. Maybe she blushes. Maybe they walk to her room in the black island night and it is vacant. She might share the bungalow with some girls from the UK, however, they are partying and do not return until late. She might climb onto her bed and start searching under the mosquito net for the spider she had caught that morning. “Eno-mous” she might say, just like the ones back home, but now it is gone. It is possible that there was no spider. Maybe she just wants him. Maybe he knows women lie. Maybe they chuckle at her childish attempt to get him alone. But their laughs may then simmer down. And her heart may begin to race, and she might whisper, “I swear it was there. It was…”, but maybe his heart starts pounding as well. She may slowly become placid and her breathing shallow. Her eyes might slowly elevate from the floor and possibly lock with his. He feels through the dark, it is time for Isha now. But maybe, instead, they gravitate towards one another and forget about the spider. Forget about their friends and roommates. Forget the outside world as the world had equally forgotten them, and maybe, just then, under the blanket of night, their wet lips lock.
Maybe.
***
This story, true or untrue, may sound like a romantic journey of ethereal human connection between two traveling souls. Two pure individuals floating away from home joining together in the name of love, desire, and spontaneity. However, the problems for this man, this Muslim man, may only begin after the fact.
Say it is their last day on the island and he and his friends are getting ready to take the boat back to the city. He looks to pack his things only to find his wallet missing. He may locate the woman in transparent sundress and she might tell him she has no idea as to where it had gone. He then may throw the bed he slept on the night before when a spider, just like the one she had told him about jumps onto his shirt and terrified, he swats it off. His friends may be ready and waiting for him by the shore. Luckily, he may already have his ticket printed out for the ferry so he can still board when it is time. They may check in at the ticket booth to find that their ferry is going to be four hours late and they have a bus to catch in five. Maybe he and his friends now have to wait at a nearby restaurant since they checked out of their hostel already, and just then the Wi-Fi on the island is blown out from the storm that may have come in. He may order some food from the restaurant, a pancake and some coffee, only to find that the butter on the pancake has a baby roach under it. He may look up at the counter and see no waiter in sight, and a no-refunds sign on the wall as well. He may begin to feel sick, and the woman from last night might enter the restaurant. He may decide that talking to her will make him feel better, so they take a walk down to Lazy Beach and find a quiet place to sit. There may be four hours until the ferry arrives, and it is almost time to pray Dhuhr as well. The sun maybe glistens on their sweat-kissed skin and their pulsating lip muscles that slip and slide, wet and flexing. Empty beaches may call for romance, a cliché assuming existence, in which he may live alongside her – a profound epiphany of sorts that may truly be fantastic. They may complete one another in all but the physical, and he might feel no remorse this time around as sunshine on the beach encourages less contemplation than a drift home at night. The sand being nowhere near enough to arise reflection and questioning in contrast to that of a desert. The presence of the ocean streams life, washes love and fresh scents of existence, vibrance, and curiosity into that of one’s environment. They may finish their lovemaking and walk back to the restaurant, fingers intertwined. Maybe they wait for the ferry and go back to the city, exchanging contact info and going on with their lives. He may end up missing every prayer that day. No wallet in possession.
The man will maybe go back to his hotel in the city to find his door open and his laptop missing. The cash he left in his luggage is maybe stolen. Maybe he never finds it and must have his family send him money, only to realize he never reported his card missing due to no WIFI on the island. He maybe goes to sleep hungry that night, and the next night, and the next.
***
It goes without stating – I hope – that the elements of this story were falsified and assembled to express that if I had simply acted upon my desires, this is how things may have gone. None of these things ever actually happened to me or anyone I know. However, the woman in the transparent sundress is real, and so is the island, the waterfront restaurant, the private island hostel, and of course, my desires unacted upon.
I struggled with many women in Cambodia. Upon informing a friend of mine of this very fact, he replied to me in doubt, “Not as bad as here though?” And so, I thought about it, and in hindsight came to the consensus that the quantity of women testing my gaze, yes indeed, were miniscule in comparison to California where the streets are abundant with transparent sundress. I found however, that the fitnah one faces is a designated test meant to examine the individual when they are secluded and far from their support system. The wolf always goes after the lone sheep, and I, to Satan, was prey.
Between me and the two men I traveled with, we would take turns occupying a single room versus sharing a double. Our first week in Cambodia, I stayed in the single and they in the double. Ramadan had just completed and the very next day, I found myself going into the elevator with a stunning Cambodian woman and the hotel receptionist. At first, it was quiet, and the elevator rose slowly up to the 9th floor where we all stayed. Attempting to keep my head down I noticed her looking me up and down, scrutinizing my person, when she began uttering something in Khmer with a large smile on her face. Both the woman and the receptionist began to giggle, and so I asked the receptionist what she said about me, and he replied, “She says you are so handsome.” Just then, the elevator door opens, and she smiles at me as I watch her exit, only to see her shuffling through her bag for a key to the very room next door to mine. I stand outside the door to my empty king-sized bed, comfortably fit for two, yet, I must watch her enter her room, look back at me, and lock the door as I wait to enter mine, alone and deprived. In that moment it felt as though I was only hurting myself by refusing my desires, however, with time, it always proved to be the right choice, whereupon every time I had indulged, all that would follow was calamity.
This, however, was not the only time my chastity abroad would have been tested.
***
Every night at the National Museum of Cambodia, a traditional dance show would take place in the rear where their open-air theatre was located. The organization I worked for would curate these shows, paying artists full time to represent Khmer culture through music and dance. In the hopes of utilizing my creative eye for the benefit of the organization, my supervisor would invite me to attend the dance shows some nights to shoot backstage and take photos for social media. As much as I enjoyed the show itself, where my eye had primarily been drawn to was backstage. Behind the curtains, was a place where masks were to be erected, identities reclaimed and celebrated, costumes actively represented as costumes, and the vibrancy of the setting always called me back even if it was to just observe.
***
Sometimes, we may lead ourselves to a specific place in life, down a path, or into environments we have no purpose at all, only to find that it was due to our unwavering, and uncontrollable desires. I knew, subconsciously, that the main reason I enjoyed working these shows was due to the beautiful women I would find myself surrounded by. Despite the dressing rooms being gender segregated, I spent a considerably larger amount of time in the women’s dressing room. Sure, I can tell you the lighting in there was better, and that there was more going on, or the women were more cooperative with the camera, but really, I just enjoyed their feminine energy and having the chance to witness their supple bodies change in and out of clothes.
A foreigner with a camera or anyone labeled as a photographer is for some reason placed on a pedestal, giving comfort to women in minimal clothing, sweaty, and transparent. I saw these women without a mask before I could even learn their names. They did not have to alter themselves for me because I was present throughout the whole changing process, as witness, and they found comfort through my constant return. With no intention to lower my gaze, my job had been to keep it active and aware at all times, searching through the viewfinder for the most beautiful composition of yet another night with the most beautiful women. It is not until now, that I look back and acknowledge that I used the name of “work” to act upon my desires and look at these women whom I had no business seeing in the first place. With the intention of art, beauty, and necessity, I did what was harmful and haram and gave myself an excuse. A classic tactic of Satan – he will convince an individual or group to change the name of something bad, i.e. looking at uncovered women, to something harmless like, “capturing the essence of their beauty.”
There is a photo I made during a shoot that still reminds me of that feeling I had working backstage. An homage to Edgar Degas’ and his ballerina paintings, I captured this image of three Apsara dancers, mid-dress between two dances. The middle one lowers her gaze from the camera, giving herself up to the observation of the viewer. Her lips together, straight black hair tied behind her, her shoulder strapped undergarment freshly stitched back together. Her beauty seems to radiate seamlessly as she holds a passive pose, strong but relaxed, letting her power be known. In the back, to her left, sits a younger dancer, innocent and smiling slightly mid-conversation. A boy sits behind her stitching her dress together, his face hidden as she is the main Apsara in this show. Her very stance establishes a hierarchy to the image, for she is the youngest dancer amongst them, still growing and learning to properly represent her culture.
Bei Apsara, 2019.
Finally, on the left third of the image stands the central figure of the image, despite its composition. A taller woman, holding her hands on her hips, sporting the same undergarment as her partners, with her head tilted slightly, straight faced, staring at the camera. She possesses the newfound essence of a modern Cambodian woman, not smiley and reliant on the male gaze or being passive and pretty, but she lets it be clear that she knows we are looking. She knows what the viewer wants, who we are, who I am, but most importantly, she knows who she is, and will be damned if she lets the world look at her without staring them back down.
***
One night, as I had just finished shooting and attending the nightly dance show at the theatre, I crossed paths with an older French woman, no younger than 45. She was stunning for her age, carrying a vigorous presence I couldn’t deny. And that was how our brief connection began, for in literal terms, we crossed paths – multiple times. The first time, I had simply been standing outside of the theatre, greeting the audience members as they exited the show. That is when she saw me, standing outside in baggy plaid pants of forest green, brown and white, black oxfords, my face gleaming with sweat from the Cambodian heat, and my afro, moistened, soaked, and curly. I never would have noticed her myself if she did not carry such a powerful aura. I was not used to such projections of sexual energy coming from older women, especially any woman more than twice my age.
I had been standing in place just outside the theatre, when she exited and passed by my left side, looking directly into my eyes with a vibrant smile. Like a normal person does, I smiled and continued on with my business, not thinking anything of it, besides what an interesting woman she seemed to be. And as the theatre cleared out, I walked down the main pathway towards the museum exit to take a phone call, and after finishing up, continued back towards the theatre. Approaching a spacious pathway large enough for an semi truck to pass through, I found myself approaching the French woman once more, and she, me.
Her eccentric energy caused me to completely forget any physical aspect of her but her eyes. Besides the fact that she carried some type of power, vulgar and so apparent that it in some way handicapped my ability to converse or even feel comfortable in such an uncomfortable situation, something I had always considered myself quite good at. As we approached each other, I attempted to keep my distance physically as I felt her drawing towards me in step with her eyes and body. Walking with my head down, I felt this woman devouring me with her eyes and so, out of discomfort I looked up to find her slowing down, gazing deep into my being, with a hungrily sinister smile. Somehow, we found ourselves shoulder to shoulder on this empty walkway, her having come in shameless skin-to-skin contact with me.
Nervously, attempting as hard as I could to flee, in a shaking manner I stated, “Hello…?” And she completely stopped in her tracks to eagerly reply, full of sex in her voice, “Hello.” My heart immediately began palpitating, refusing to settle, and I continued off awkwardly gesturing a “Good night?” To which she replied, in a raspy, sexy French accent, “Thank you… you have a great night too.” I escaped the scene and waited it out with my coworkers who were too busy to notice how perturbed I was. It's not that I wasn’t attracted to the woman, for I deeply was. I had an empty hotel room, was young and energetic, free and far away from home. However, I knew that was the very reason I found myself in this situation. Things like this hardly ever occurred back home. It is more difficult for Satan to catch me this vulnerable when I am surrounded by people who repel situations like this. But out here, the fitnah came in full force and tested me through places and people I never would have anticipated.
In the case that I had no Lord to fear, I would have acted on my desires in a heartbeat and found a way to go home with that woman, yet, I had to actively refuse her. I had to intentionally battle my desire to do wrong when the option had freely presented itself to me. I waited it out, wandering around the theatre until it cleared, and finally, then took my leave. As I approached the exit, I once again came across none other than this mysterious French woman, and she was not alone this time. Completing a circle of 4, her two incredibly stunning daughters just around my age, tall, soft and French, their grandmother, and of course the woman, their mother, were obviously waiting for me.
She called me over with her eyes and I listened. I politely initiated conversation, asking if they had enjoyed the show, though I do not recall their replies or the conversation. I just remember her eyes; not even those of her clearly more beautiful daughters or her mother expressing her genuine enjoyment of the night. I remember her’s specifically, asking me for cooperation, any reciprocation as to what she was offering me, and I desperately wanted to, but instead, I kept my head down. I forcefully ended the conversation, after she pleaded for a restaurant recommendation, and upon my providing one, insisted that I walk with them to its locale. I politely denied and left her to her own.
If I had agreed, she may have then convinced me to join her for dinner, and we may have had a wonderful time. I may have begun to think that she was tolerable and much more beautiful up close. She may have flirted with me in a more aggressive, mature manner that made me feel firm and desirable in my young age. She may have opened up and told me that she was divorced, happily single, and that her mother and daughters had plans after dinner. They may have left the restaurant by the time I was convinced, leaving her and I alone. And maybe I might have had a night incomparable to any other.
Maybe.