22.03.09

Bismillahir-Rahmanir-Raheem

A few weeks before the birth of my little girl, I was suddenly inspired to take up needlework. Drawing on my many years of sewing clothes for dolls as a child, I set to work, practising embroidery stitches, old and new. I made my way to a haberdashery in town and, together with my two eldest sons, chose embroidery needles and thread, an image of the baby blanket I wanted to embroider taking shape in my mind.

I wanted to make something beautiful and meaningful that would show her how much I loved her, already, even before I had even looked into her eyes or touched her silken toes. In years gone by, women all over the world have spent many weeks of their pregnancies in this way: knitting, sewing, embroidering clothes for the baby that they carry inside them.

And indeed, the ancient, traditionally feminine arts of sewing and needlework, crochet and knitting touched a chord with me. I felt like I was part of an old tradition, one closely tied to the female experience, the cycle of life and renewal. As I selected the different coloured threads, threaded needles, drew out patterns and sewed - blanket stitch, running stitch, French knots - I felt connected to my baby. I was preparing for her coming, anticipating the day we would finally meet face to face, and there was love and care in every stitch. Those days that I spent on my sofa, heavy with child, embroidery or knitting needles in hand, were special and their memory is precious to me, even now.

But being prepared to raise a child, to love and care for her, to nurture her and protect her, and to at last send her out into the world and set her free, takes a lot more than a harmonious quilt pattern. Now, more than ever, I am aware of the magnitude of this task of motherhood. How much it requires from us, personally, physically, mentally and, most importantly, spiritually. People have been asking me since she was born: 'What does it feel like to finally have a girl?' and I have always answered: 'Just the same as having a boy', but that is not strictly true.

Raising a girl is special. Our Prophet Muhammad (S) alluded to this fact in the following hadith:
"‘A’isha, the wife of Allah’s Messenger (SAW), said: 'A woman came to me along with her two daughters. She asked me for (charity) but she found nothing with me except one date, so I gave her that. She accepted it and then divided it between her two daughters and herself ate nothing out of that. She then got up and went out, and so did her two daughters. (In the meanwhile) Allah’s Messenger (S) visited me and I narrated to him her story. Thereupon Allah’s Messenger (S) said: 'He who is involved (in the responsibility) of (bringing up) daughters, and he accords benevolent treatment towards them, there would be protection for him against Hell-Fire'” (Muslim).

So there is the reward of bringing up a daughter that I now have to look forward to insha Allah. But on a deeper level, it is as if, because I am now entrusted with raising a future Muslimah, my life is a testament, a proof for me or against me. I am her closest example: what will I teach her? What lessons will she learn from watching me through the years: as a Muslimah, as a wife, a mother, a friend, a daughter? What lessons will she take with her into her life? And what lessons will she pass on to her own daughter?

It has long been documented that women are the keepers of tradition, the living thread that binds generations and preserves legacies, treasuring memories and passing down heirlooms.

I hope that my baby blanket will one day pass, with the same love and sincerity with which it was made, to the next generation. I hope that my daughter will one day explain to her own child that her mother made this for her, as a gift, as a symbol of love. But, more importantly, I hope that she will carry with her the very best of what I able to pass on. That she will carry with her a strong belief and trust in Allah, strength, tenderness, courage, humility, confidence and modesty, wisdom and a sense of humour. That she will have beautiful memories to share, colourful stories to tell and confidence in her roots and heritage. These are just some of the aspirations I have for my daughter. Amaani - wishes and aspirations - is what we had originally intended to call her and, although we eventually named her differently, she will always carry my amaani with her, my first born daughter, my little princess, alhamdulillah.

Ya Allah, make it easy for us to nurture ourselves and our children. May they be a proof for us on the Day of Reckoning. And may we pass down such pearls of wisdom and goodness that our legacy stands the test of time and is felt, again and again, for generations to come. Ameen.

Wasalaam

Na'ima B. Robert

PS. This editorial is dedicated to all the mothers and fathers who lost children and loved ones in the conflict in Gaza. Our thoughts, prayers and hopes for justice and a lasting peace are with them.