The prudish tag

‘No, I meant just a little peck on the cheek, I mean …’ and she faltered, suddenly unsure of herself, her digital camera in hand. ‘No problem’ Tahir said trying to assure her, and without a warning he leaned closer and gave me a light peck. ‘Why?’ I asked, turning round to face him, my […]

‘No, I meant just a little peck on the cheek, I mean …’ and she faltered, suddenly unsure of herself, her digital camera in hand.

‘No problem’ Tahir said trying to assure her, and without a warning he leaned closer and gave me a light peck.

‘Why?’ I asked, turning round to face him, my hand on my cheek. Ignoring my shocked reaction, Tahir picked his drink and sipped it without a word. Looking over at my younger children, I noticed how they quickly looked down at their palms as if ashamed to have seen what they weren’t supposed to see. Ummi, on her part, was happily snapping the pictures, having been assured by her father not to have any sense of wrongdoing. A tense atmosphere hung in the air, around our table, for the next few minutes. It was when the waitress returned with our order that our festive mood picked up again. An hour or so later, my birthday dinner was over and we were set to return home for the night. I kept going over the events of the night in my mind as we drove home. In particular I couldn’t chase away Tahir’s sudden moment of indiscretion.

‘What was that for?’ I asked Tahir as soon as I lay next to him on the bed, after my night shower.

‘What was what for?’ He also asked, looking up from the book he was reading.

‘Why did you give me a peck in front of the children?’ I demanded.

‘I was merely obeying your daughter’s instruction.’ Tahir replied mischievously.

‘My daughter’s wish doesn’t have to be your command. Now you have shocked the young ones and God only knows what they are thinking.’ I complained.

‘Why would they think anything because their mum and dad were having a little fun in from of them?’ He asked, still smiling.

‘Because they are not used to it, you see I know what I am talking about. The first time you attempted this public display of affection, you left some of them confused.’ I argued.

‘And when was that?’ he asked, finally putting the book down between us.

‘ That day last year when you were travelling abroad. We had made our farewells here in your room after I have helped with your packing. Then I walked you down the stairs where all the children were waiting to say goodbye. You hugged each one of them in turn before you grabbed your trolley and began to walk out. Almost on an impulse, you turned back and gave me a light hug too. It was so unexpected that I actually froze where I stood.  Nevertheless I recovered and walked you to your car. But the moment we turned our backs, I heard Little Bint asking her older siblings, ‘Is a Muslim man allowed to hug his wife?’ I couldn’t tell what her elders’ reply was because we had walked away, and I couldn’t repeat it to you because I didn’t want you to think you had flopped in front of them. But I couldn’t shake off that sense of wronging either.’ I explained.

‘Wrongdoing? Honestly Bint I sometimes can’t understand where you get your prudish beliefs from. How can a lawfully-wedded couple being affectionate with each other amount to doing something wrong? If I had heard Little Bint that day, I wouldn’t tell her that I flopped by hugging you. I will tell her that I did the right, honourable and lawful thing by doing so. And you ought to have taken the initiative of explaining to her that there was nothing wrong with what she saw, that it is actually allowed in Islam.’ He argued.

‘How can I Tahir? She is too young to understand. And these are children who had never even seen us holding hands, how do you expect them to understand us suddenly getting physical?’ I queried.

‘I see so you’d rather have them thinking a Muslim marriage is all about prohibitions and nothing about love and affection? Well I don’t agree with you Bint, and I don’t want my children brought up in your prudish way of thinking. So if we have never held hands in their presence, then it’s a fault we need to rectify. They must not be brought up thinking it’s something sinful when I hug you in front of them or when I give you a peck on your birthday.’ He protested.

‘But can’t you see? When they are old enough, they get to know. Look at Ummi now, do you think she would have asked you to ‘kiss the birthday girl’ if she knew it was wrong or unlawful? Granted her command was tinged with the western-type ‘you may now kiss the bride’ undertone, a result of too much TV, I’m sure, but believe me she wouldn’t have tried it if she knew it was a moral issue. This is why I am confident that our upbringing is right as it is. It’s not prudish, just pure African parenting.’ I reasoned.

‘Since when did you become a pure African parent? For someone who organises a birthday dinner for every celebrant in the family, who regularly drags us out to weekend picnics and other family outings, it is amazing you want to call it the African way. You are a modern parent Bint, doing all the  modern things that children find cool today, even though with an emphasis on morality. So don’t deceive yourself my dear, you are not a typical African parent.’ Tahir insisted.

‘Maybe not. But we are not exactly modern either. Let’s say we are somewhere between the two. But we are also trying our best to enforce moral and religious ethics, which is the most important thing we can ever give them. So you see, we are not doing too badly as role models, even without any display of physical affection.’ I persuaded.

‘Maybe you are right, and if I can get all the physical affection I need within the confines of this room, then I just might be persuaded to remove the prudish tag from you. Until then you have to prove yourself worthy.’ And with a very suggestive smile, he reached out for the bedroom light and put it off.