ummi khadijah
Slave Of Allah
My story of
becoming a Muslim at the age of ten years old.
�
By Waa'il Abdul
Salaam
�
�
�
My story of
becoming a Muslim at the age of ten years old might be unusual, but it
was very real for me.
� I
want to share my story in case other kids might be going through the
same problems I went through. I was born into my birth family, with a
mother who was Roman Catholic and a father who was Baptist.
� When I was born I had one sister who was a year and a half
older than myself.� When
I was six weeks old, my birthfather took me from my crib and ran off
with another woman. He left my birthmother alone with my sister. He hid
me and was involved in drugs. I remember the first few years of being
very hungry and alone.
� I remember how I was very angry and had a bad
temper.
�
�
�
During
those first few years, my birthmother's friends got her a job as a
bartender, so she could support herself and my sister. After awhile one
of my birthfather's friends went to her and told her where I was
because he was afraid something bad was going to happen.
� My birthmother came right away and found my
birthfather and his friends doing drugs. She saw me running around
being neglected, so she picked me up and left with me.
� I
didn't really know her. I guess maybe I thought I was being kidnapped
or something, so I threw temper tantrums every chance I got and became
even more angry.
�
�
�
Eventually
my birthmother finally got me to smile, learn how to hug, and even say
I love you, all things I didn't know how to do when she found me. My
birthmother then had two of us kids to support and herself, so she
wound up spending more time working at the bar, which meant we had to
stay with different babysitters. One day my birthfather came to the
house where we lived and took me back where he was living with another
lady. By the end of that year, he tried to put me in school which did
not work. I did everything I knew that was bad just to get into
trouble.
�
�
�
�
The
school called and said I couldn't come back because of my behavior, so
he took me back and dumped me at my birthmother's doorstep.
� She was happy I was back and took me to my
sister's school. I thought I was getting left again, so I threw a fit,
hit my teachers and other kids, and the school called my birthmother
and said I couldn't go to school there either.
� I was mad at everyone. I did the worst things
I could think of to do every chance I got. This time my birthmother got
on a plane with me and we flew to her mother's house, (my grandma's)
far across the country, in another state. She was nice and loving to
me, but she was very strict about my throwing fits. She didn't yell at
me or anything, but whenever I destroyed something or had a tantrum,
she would take hold of my hand and walk me outside to a pile of small
wooden blocks, on the side of the house.
� She would tell me to move all the little wood
blocks from one side of the driveway to the other, and when I was done
to come and let her know. Then she would go back inside and leave me
there to do it by myself.
� At first I was so mad at her, but by the time
I finished moving the little blocks, I wasn't mad any more. It was kind
of like a game.
�
�
�
By
the end of the eight months I lived with my grandmother, I stopped
throwing tantrums, and I used to sit on her lap and listen while she
read bible stories and poems to me until I fell asleep. I learned all
my school lessons, knew how to ride a horse, and I absolutely knew how
to move blocks around. At the end of that time, it was time for me to
go back home, and I was doing so well that I got to ride on a plane all
by myself (with an escort of course).
� I felt very grown up and very happy.� She
told me that I was going to be just fine, and that whenever I got angry
or sad or lonely, I should think about God. She said I should always
remember how He took care of all the people in the Bible and if I would
ask him she knew he would take care of me too.
� She told me whenever I got upset of angry that
I should never hurt� someone. Instead I should
just pray to God until I wasn't angry anymore.
�
�
�
�
After
I got back home, my mother was happy because I wasn't hurting people. I
wasn't throwing tantrums. I was eating well and not afraid to sleep. I
was happy almost all of the time.
� Then, again my birthfather came one day.� He saw how good I had
turned out and just like
before, he took me away again.
� He knew my birthmother had to work to take care of us kids
but he would never give her even one penny to help.� He
even divorced her without telling her. She worked all the time,
babysitters took care of my sister and a new brother that had born
while I was away, and I was gone again.
� The new lady my birthfather was living with
was so cruel.� I
lost a lot of weight and I am not sure how things happened, but it was
during that time that I supposedly split my head open on monkey bars at
the school, and supposedly was hit by a jeep in front of their home.
� I don't remember those things too clearly, but
I do remember his girlfriend picking up a two by four and hitting me
with it in the front yard. I also remember my birthfather slamming my
head into the kitchen table because I didn't write fast enough. He and
his lady friend would threaten me by convincing me that the devil would
come out of my bedroom floor and take me to burn in hell if I got out
of bed while they were having drug parties.
� �
�
�
�
This went on
until I was in fourth grade.� My
birthfather used to show me a big baggie filled with drugs he was then
getting from a doctor and telling me how good they made him feel. His
house was filled with dirty magazines and MTV movies and it all seemed
normal because that was all I ever knew back then.
� I didn't know there was any other way to live.� I
had long forgotten how my grandmother had taught me to pray and I
couldn't remember the wonderful days I spent with her, or riding the
horses, or being hugged and read to, about God.
� All the bad stuff at that age seemed to push
the good stuff away.� When
it was time to start fourth grade I became uncontrollable at school,
figuring I would get sent back to my birthmother or grandmothers. I
didn't stop until I got what I wanted and it worked.
� I was taken back and left with my birthmother.� By
then, she was working around sixty hours a week, would come home tired,
be yelling and screaming, expecting us to take care of ourselves, and
not to give her anymore trouble. I wanted attention from her, so I went
back to being a brat and being mean to my sister, and by then my new
little brother who I resented even more.
�
�
�
�
By
the end of the first month of that school year, I was the worst I had
ever been. My birthmother couldn't cope with me one minute longer. My
birthfather had already made me go to doctors and they put me on five
different kinds of medicine from Ritalin to even worse drugs, to try to
control me and even that didn't work.
� In fact, that stuff made me worse and none of
it worked.� I
beat up other kids, started fights, accused them of doing things they
didn't do, stole things, lied, refused to obey the teachers, or do any
work.
� School to me was a place I was going to play
and do whatever I wanted to do.� I
knew they couldn't do anything about it. I thought I was really
something and all I thought about was me. They sent me to the hall, to
the office, home, even put a box around me in class to keep me from
bothering other kids, and I still didn't give up.
�
�
�
�
Don't get me
wrong here, I am NOT saying all this to sound cool.� I
was an idiot to say the least. I know that now.
� I want other kids to know it doesn't have to
be that way, regardless of their family problems.� So,
if I don't say how bad it had gotten they won't be able to understand.
� I was only ten years old.� I
am thirteen, almost fourteen now, and I think back when I was ten and I
cannot believe I was even the same person or that the kid I am telling
you about above was for real.
� He was for real and he was me! Most people
wouldn't believe that a ten-year-old kid could be as bad and do as bad
of things as I did, but this is true. It all finally came to the end
for me, when I called another kids home, pretending to be another kid
and saying the boy was missing.
� You can image how much trouble I was in then!
That only got me put on more drugs from the doctor. All those drugs
made me see things and hear things that weren't there and made me angry
enough to be dangerous. I don't believe anyone should put their kids on
those drugs even if the school insists. Adults just have no idea what
those drugs do to kids or what they make kids think about. I am proof
to tell you that kids are not going to admit to parents or doctors or
anyone, when they have horrid thoughts, because of the drugs. Anyway,
when the drugs weren't helping and I was getting into even more
trouble, it was at that point they threatened to put me out of the
family forever. All of a sudden, my birthmother didn't want to put up
with it anymore and my birthfather didn't want me either.
� I didn't know what was going to happen to me.
�
�
�
When I least
expected it, there was someone who offered to take me into their home
and try to help me.
� They
didn't have children living at home, so there would be no one for me to
hurt and they would homeschool me, until my behavior got in check.�
Neither of them drank and they didn't use drugs.
� They were not going to give me any drugs and
promised I didn't have to go to a bunch of doctors unless I was
physically sick. It was my last chance.
� I said okay and I was put on a plane and sent to their home.� They
picked me up from the airport. It was Jumaana and her husband Waseem.
All of a sudden I felt different. Here was a new couple. I thought I
would get away with more stuff. The family back at my home already knew
my routines, so they caught me right away everytime I did something
wrong, but these two wouldn't know how I operated.
� At first, I tried to be loud and a real brat.
I did a good job for a few days, reminding them both that they said I
didn't have to take all those drugs. They looked like they didn't know
what to do with me exactly but they re-assured me that their promise
was good.
�
�
�
They had a room
all ready for me when I arrived.� The walls were
pale blues, my favorite color.
� It had a blue carpet and blue drapes and even
a blue bedspread.� There
was a desk, just for me to use, and even a small fish tank with a light
that stayed on all night and fish that swam in and out of the rocks.
� It was incredible.� I
had never had anything like that for myself. I used to sleep on the
floors on a blanket or on a couch in the living room before. As the
days passed, the drugs were draining out of my body.
� It made me tired and drowsy most of the first
few weeks and I slept a lot.� I
was ten years old and weighed forty-eight pounds because the drugs make
you too sick to eat. By the end of the first month, I gained several
pounds and felt better than I had in a long time.
� I did NOT want to get put back on that stuff
ever again. The second month, my homeschool box was delivered to the
house and Jumaana began to teach me every day, when Waseem was at work.
�
�
�
I could see how
different it was in Jumaana's and Waseem's house.� Not
just because it was in Denver, but it was lots of things.
� At certain times, Jumaana would leave the room
to go to her room. I would pretend to keep working, but I couldn't help
but notice that she would put on a long scarf over her head and a small
rug on the floor and I wasn't sure what she was doing back then, but
she would be praying.
� I watched her do that every day and finally
one day, I asked about it.� I
think that was when I stopped being so bad and started wondering about
other things. See the house there was different, quieter, more
peaceful, something I wasn't sure about, because for ten years I had
only known people who were either drugged up or drunk, or just plain
mean.
� This was like a different planet, I think you
could say. I didn't exactly know what to think about it, but I did
start liking being there.� I tried not to get
too
attached because I figured one day I would get sent away again, it
always happened and I didn't want to think about it. That's why I would
have a couple good days and then I would go back to my old ways, just
in case I guess.
�
�
�
Every day I
asked more and more questions. Jumaana or Waseem would do their best to
answer them.
� I wanted to learn to pray too, so one day I asked if I could
pray with her.� She said I could and even opened
her closet and gave me new blue velvety prayer rug.
� I
followed everything she did and I listened to every word, but I still
couldn't seem to be still, always wiggling and moving around, but after
a couple weeks I could be still, and I felt so peaceful inside. I never
remember feeling that way before. One evening, after I had gotten
settled into bed for the night,
� Jumaana came into my room and ask if I was
doing okay. I told her yes and she said she thought I had become more
quiet lately and wondered if there was anything I needed.
� Waseem
and her always talked nice to each other, and I never heard them fight
or anything like the people back in my old home did.� I
couldn't believe they talked so nice to each other and they were
talking to me that way now too. I couldn't quite figure things out.
� I thought maybe it would be okay if I told her
I wanted to be a Muslim too.� I really did want
to be and I didn't know how to do it.
� So, I just came out and said it.� "I
want to be a Muslim".�
�
She smiled and
asked if I knew what being a Muslim was.� I told
her I didn't but I wanted to be one.
� She tucked me in, gave me a hug, left the room
and came back with some children's books on Islam. That night I read
them until I fell asleep.�
The next day I finished the books and I couldn't get enough to read.� I
read about saying Shahada and so I told her right away that I needed to
say it, so that I could be a Muslim. They reminded me that I was only
ten years old and so maybe I would need to study more first. I told
them that I had already read all the books and I had to say the Shahada
that very day. I know I was young, but it didn't seem that way to me at
the time, because all I knew was that I had to become a Muslim. It was
right for me and I knew it, right from the beginning. Later that night,
on December 29, 2000, I officially said the Shahada to Jumaana and
Waseem, and I became a Muslim.
�
�
�
Jumaana
continued to teach me at home and I passed the fourth grade and the
fifth grade all in one year.
� I also was given privileges to read whatever books I wanted
from the shelves of books Waseem and Jumaana had.� They
had books on all the religions, but I read every one they had on Islam.
� I asked lots of questions about the difference
in religions because I didn't know why everyone in the world wasn't
following Islam� I went to the little town
library where we lived and got to know the librarian there. She ordered
me lots more books on Islam and would ask me questions about it too.
� She said I knew a lot for my age and was
surprised about how much I knew about Islam. Then after I read
everything they had, I would go to the big public downtown library and
find all kinds of books on Islam. I knew I could never be any other
except a Muslim.
�
�
�
My
birthparents did not want me to come back to live with them ever. They
only remembered me the way I was when they sent me away.
� I really didn't want to go back to live the
way I had before or live with them with the drinking, drugs, fighting,
and chaos either.� They had not sent any money
to take care of me the whole first year I lived with Jumaana and
Waseem.
� Waseem was ready to retire but he kept on
working just to take care of me, and Jumaana had given up her writing
to teach me at home. They had done these things because they cared
about what happened to me.
� I really didn't want to ever leave them. So,
after I lived with them for a year, the courts granted me a legal
adoption. It would be the only way they could have the right to make
decisions about my schooling and other legal issues that they couldn't
do, because they were not considered my parents. Because my
birthparents hadn't had contact with me and never sent any support for
the whole year, the court could make me go into a home or foster care,
if they wanted to. I was so afraid that if my birthparents all of a
sudden wanted to take me back because I was so much better, that they
would do the same things to me they had before and I also knew they
would never let me stay a Muslim.
�
�
�
I
prayed so hard every day, five times a day and more, asking Allah to
help me. Adoption in this country is the only way to assure legal
rights and I wanted Waseem and Jumaana to adopt me more than anything.
� I was so happy when the courts felt it was the
best thing for me too. The papers were filed and my birthparents were
notified that adoption requests were filed. They didn't even bother to
contact the courts to contest it, in fact they quickly signed the
papers to give me up. Actually I was happy about that. Then on the day
of the adoption, the judge even told me I could change my name. I chose
Waa'il because it meant 'one who returns for shelter' and I felt like I
went to Jumaana's and Waseem's for shelter. Also I felt like I had
returned to 'Islam' so that was a shelter for me inside.
� It was the best thing in my whole life that
ever happened to me. Because of the delays in removing the parental
rights of my birthparents, the date for my adoption was changed, making
it fall on the first day of Ramadhan in 2001.
� It was like Allah was blessing me over and
over again.�
�
�
�
So,
in these last three and a half years, my life is so incredibly
different. Sometimes it is hard to think back what it used to be like
before becoming a Muslim. Having had such a stubborn and defiant
attitude those first ten years of my life still affects me sometimes,
but I am really so different than I was back then.
� People don't think I am only thirteen and a
half when they meet me.� Most of them think I am
a lot older.�
I think it is probably because I had such a tough life from the time I
was born until I came to live with my new parents.� They
encourage me to keep at least some kind of contact with my birthfamily,
but it's okay now because I know they cannot come and take me away or
tell me I can't be a Muslim.
� I know that I am safe and I believe Allah
allowed all of this and made it all happen, which makes the bad parts I
remember bearable now, because I found Islam and maybe I would never
have found Allah if all that stuff hadn't happened.
� Well, at least I think that way now.
�
�
�
My sister even
came and spent a week during her school break this last
December/January.
� I
hadn't seen her in over three years. She is fifteen now and flew here
on her own to stay with us for the week. She was shocked at the change
in me. I had grown to five foot ten inches in height from being half
her size when I left, which made me tower over her by almost a foot. I
also outweighed her by fifty pounds, after having last been seen a
scrawny skeleton of a kid. When I left I was wearing a 'rug rats' hat
and 'harry potter' clothes from television and cartoon shows. When she
saw me this time, I was wearing a Kufi or one of my other kinds of
Islamic caps and a Kurris.
� When I left I had been a loud, troublemaking,
obnoxious brat, who had failed three out of five grades and who
couldn't even write a complete sentence. This time she saw me polite,
quieter, having passed all my grades, skipping a whole grade which put
me in the same grade as she was. She would see me stop whatever I was
doing, to go to Prayer five times every day. She really hated me when I
left home at age ten, and was expecting me to be the same. She told me
after a couple days of being with us, that she could hardly believe I
was the same person and she really liked me as her brother now. She
found out I was a Muslim. Because I had changed so much, she asked a
ton of questions about Islam, took back a bunch of Islamic books I gave
her, and told everyone back there that they just wouldn't believe how
different I was. Now, every once in a while, my birthmother will let my
brother and sister call, and she even talks to me a few minutes.
� I send books for them to read about Islam and
I hope someday they will all become Muslims too.� I
know they would be so much happier if they did.
�
�
�
My
life seems a hundred years away from the way it used to be. I have
become a Muslim now going on four years, been blessed with new Muslim
parents, had my adoption finalized on the very first day of my very
first Ramadhan, learned my prayers in Arabic, read my new parent's
entire library of books on Islam, exhausted the public libraries of
their Islamic books, been given a new name and a new life I don't know
what else I could ask for.
� I am studying very hard to finish my high
school in another two years.� I will be sixteen,
but I feel like I am a lot older. I know now that I didn't need drugs
to make me behave.
� I didn't need anger to get me through all
those years of chaos.� I
didn't need to be so hurtful to others, just to get attention. I didn't
need to cause such chaos for others. What I needed all along was Islam.
I needed Allah. The way I see it is, that instead of these schools and
parents putting their kids on Ritalin and other junk, they should put
their time and money in studying Islam and teaching their children
about Allah. When nothing else worked, and believe me a lot of people
tried to get me straightened out, Allah did it.
� Allah can do anything.� He
can do everything.� When he does something for
you, it is the way it is supposed to be.
�
�
�
�
I am Waa'il
Abdul Salaam and this is my story.
becoming a Muslim at the age of ten years old.
�
By Waa'il Abdul
Salaam
�
�
�
My story of
becoming a Muslim at the age of ten years old might be unusual, but it
was very real for me.
� I
want to share my story in case other kids might be going through the
same problems I went through. I was born into my birth family, with a
mother who was Roman Catholic and a father who was Baptist.
� When I was born I had one sister who was a year and a half
older than myself.� When
I was six weeks old, my birthfather took me from my crib and ran off
with another woman. He left my birthmother alone with my sister. He hid
me and was involved in drugs. I remember the first few years of being
very hungry and alone.
� I remember how I was very angry and had a bad
temper.
�
�
�
During
those first few years, my birthmother's friends got her a job as a
bartender, so she could support herself and my sister. After awhile one
of my birthfather's friends went to her and told her where I was
because he was afraid something bad was going to happen.
� My birthmother came right away and found my
birthfather and his friends doing drugs. She saw me running around
being neglected, so she picked me up and left with me.
� I
didn't really know her. I guess maybe I thought I was being kidnapped
or something, so I threw temper tantrums every chance I got and became
even more angry.
�
�
�
Eventually
my birthmother finally got me to smile, learn how to hug, and even say
I love you, all things I didn't know how to do when she found me. My
birthmother then had two of us kids to support and herself, so she
wound up spending more time working at the bar, which meant we had to
stay with different babysitters. One day my birthfather came to the
house where we lived and took me back where he was living with another
lady. By the end of that year, he tried to put me in school which did
not work. I did everything I knew that was bad just to get into
trouble.
�
�
�
�
The
school called and said I couldn't come back because of my behavior, so
he took me back and dumped me at my birthmother's doorstep.
� She was happy I was back and took me to my
sister's school. I thought I was getting left again, so I threw a fit,
hit my teachers and other kids, and the school called my birthmother
and said I couldn't go to school there either.
� I was mad at everyone. I did the worst things
I could think of to do every chance I got. This time my birthmother got
on a plane with me and we flew to her mother's house, (my grandma's)
far across the country, in another state. She was nice and loving to
me, but she was very strict about my throwing fits. She didn't yell at
me or anything, but whenever I destroyed something or had a tantrum,
she would take hold of my hand and walk me outside to a pile of small
wooden blocks, on the side of the house.
� She would tell me to move all the little wood
blocks from one side of the driveway to the other, and when I was done
to come and let her know. Then she would go back inside and leave me
there to do it by myself.
� At first I was so mad at her, but by the time
I finished moving the little blocks, I wasn't mad any more. It was kind
of like a game.
�
�
�
By
the end of the eight months I lived with my grandmother, I stopped
throwing tantrums, and I used to sit on her lap and listen while she
read bible stories and poems to me until I fell asleep. I learned all
my school lessons, knew how to ride a horse, and I absolutely knew how
to move blocks around. At the end of that time, it was time for me to
go back home, and I was doing so well that I got to ride on a plane all
by myself (with an escort of course).
� I felt very grown up and very happy.� She
told me that I was going to be just fine, and that whenever I got angry
or sad or lonely, I should think about God. She said I should always
remember how He took care of all the people in the Bible and if I would
ask him she knew he would take care of me too.
� She told me whenever I got upset of angry that
I should never hurt� someone. Instead I should
just pray to God until I wasn't angry anymore.
�
�
�
�
After
I got back home, my mother was happy because I wasn't hurting people. I
wasn't throwing tantrums. I was eating well and not afraid to sleep. I
was happy almost all of the time.
� Then, again my birthfather came one day.� He saw how good I had
turned out and just like
before, he took me away again.
� He knew my birthmother had to work to take care of us kids
but he would never give her even one penny to help.� He
even divorced her without telling her. She worked all the time,
babysitters took care of my sister and a new brother that had born
while I was away, and I was gone again.
� The new lady my birthfather was living with
was so cruel.� I
lost a lot of weight and I am not sure how things happened, but it was
during that time that I supposedly split my head open on monkey bars at
the school, and supposedly was hit by a jeep in front of their home.
� I don't remember those things too clearly, but
I do remember his girlfriend picking up a two by four and hitting me
with it in the front yard. I also remember my birthfather slamming my
head into the kitchen table because I didn't write fast enough. He and
his lady friend would threaten me by convincing me that the devil would
come out of my bedroom floor and take me to burn in hell if I got out
of bed while they were having drug parties.
� �
�
�
�
This went on
until I was in fourth grade.� My
birthfather used to show me a big baggie filled with drugs he was then
getting from a doctor and telling me how good they made him feel. His
house was filled with dirty magazines and MTV movies and it all seemed
normal because that was all I ever knew back then.
� I didn't know there was any other way to live.� I
had long forgotten how my grandmother had taught me to pray and I
couldn't remember the wonderful days I spent with her, or riding the
horses, or being hugged and read to, about God.
� All the bad stuff at that age seemed to push
the good stuff away.� When
it was time to start fourth grade I became uncontrollable at school,
figuring I would get sent back to my birthmother or grandmothers. I
didn't stop until I got what I wanted and it worked.
� I was taken back and left with my birthmother.� By
then, she was working around sixty hours a week, would come home tired,
be yelling and screaming, expecting us to take care of ourselves, and
not to give her anymore trouble. I wanted attention from her, so I went
back to being a brat and being mean to my sister, and by then my new
little brother who I resented even more.
�
�
�
�
By
the end of the first month of that school year, I was the worst I had
ever been. My birthmother couldn't cope with me one minute longer. My
birthfather had already made me go to doctors and they put me on five
different kinds of medicine from Ritalin to even worse drugs, to try to
control me and even that didn't work.
� In fact, that stuff made me worse and none of
it worked.� I
beat up other kids, started fights, accused them of doing things they
didn't do, stole things, lied, refused to obey the teachers, or do any
work.
� School to me was a place I was going to play
and do whatever I wanted to do.� I
knew they couldn't do anything about it. I thought I was really
something and all I thought about was me. They sent me to the hall, to
the office, home, even put a box around me in class to keep me from
bothering other kids, and I still didn't give up.
�
�
�
�
Don't get me
wrong here, I am NOT saying all this to sound cool.� I
was an idiot to say the least. I know that now.
� I want other kids to know it doesn't have to
be that way, regardless of their family problems.� So,
if I don't say how bad it had gotten they won't be able to understand.
� I was only ten years old.� I
am thirteen, almost fourteen now, and I think back when I was ten and I
cannot believe I was even the same person or that the kid I am telling
you about above was for real.
� He was for real and he was me! Most people
wouldn't believe that a ten-year-old kid could be as bad and do as bad
of things as I did, but this is true. It all finally came to the end
for me, when I called another kids home, pretending to be another kid
and saying the boy was missing.
� You can image how much trouble I was in then!
That only got me put on more drugs from the doctor. All those drugs
made me see things and hear things that weren't there and made me angry
enough to be dangerous. I don't believe anyone should put their kids on
those drugs even if the school insists. Adults just have no idea what
those drugs do to kids or what they make kids think about. I am proof
to tell you that kids are not going to admit to parents or doctors or
anyone, when they have horrid thoughts, because of the drugs. Anyway,
when the drugs weren't helping and I was getting into even more
trouble, it was at that point they threatened to put me out of the
family forever. All of a sudden, my birthmother didn't want to put up
with it anymore and my birthfather didn't want me either.
� I didn't know what was going to happen to me.
�
�
�
When I least
expected it, there was someone who offered to take me into their home
and try to help me.
� They
didn't have children living at home, so there would be no one for me to
hurt and they would homeschool me, until my behavior got in check.�
Neither of them drank and they didn't use drugs.
� They were not going to give me any drugs and
promised I didn't have to go to a bunch of doctors unless I was
physically sick. It was my last chance.
� I said okay and I was put on a plane and sent to their home.� They
picked me up from the airport. It was Jumaana and her husband Waseem.
All of a sudden I felt different. Here was a new couple. I thought I
would get away with more stuff. The family back at my home already knew
my routines, so they caught me right away everytime I did something
wrong, but these two wouldn't know how I operated.
� At first, I tried to be loud and a real brat.
I did a good job for a few days, reminding them both that they said I
didn't have to take all those drugs. They looked like they didn't know
what to do with me exactly but they re-assured me that their promise
was good.
�
�
�
They had a room
all ready for me when I arrived.� The walls were
pale blues, my favorite color.
� It had a blue carpet and blue drapes and even
a blue bedspread.� There
was a desk, just for me to use, and even a small fish tank with a light
that stayed on all night and fish that swam in and out of the rocks.
� It was incredible.� I
had never had anything like that for myself. I used to sleep on the
floors on a blanket or on a couch in the living room before. As the
days passed, the drugs were draining out of my body.
� It made me tired and drowsy most of the first
few weeks and I slept a lot.� I
was ten years old and weighed forty-eight pounds because the drugs make
you too sick to eat. By the end of the first month, I gained several
pounds and felt better than I had in a long time.
� I did NOT want to get put back on that stuff
ever again. The second month, my homeschool box was delivered to the
house and Jumaana began to teach me every day, when Waseem was at work.
�
�
�
I could see how
different it was in Jumaana's and Waseem's house.� Not
just because it was in Denver, but it was lots of things.
� At certain times, Jumaana would leave the room
to go to her room. I would pretend to keep working, but I couldn't help
but notice that she would put on a long scarf over her head and a small
rug on the floor and I wasn't sure what she was doing back then, but
she would be praying.
� I watched her do that every day and finally
one day, I asked about it.� I
think that was when I stopped being so bad and started wondering about
other things. See the house there was different, quieter, more
peaceful, something I wasn't sure about, because for ten years I had
only known people who were either drugged up or drunk, or just plain
mean.
� This was like a different planet, I think you
could say. I didn't exactly know what to think about it, but I did
start liking being there.� I tried not to get
too
attached because I figured one day I would get sent away again, it
always happened and I didn't want to think about it. That's why I would
have a couple good days and then I would go back to my old ways, just
in case I guess.
�
�
�
Every day I
asked more and more questions. Jumaana or Waseem would do their best to
answer them.
� I wanted to learn to pray too, so one day I asked if I could
pray with her.� She said I could and even opened
her closet and gave me new blue velvety prayer rug.
� I
followed everything she did and I listened to every word, but I still
couldn't seem to be still, always wiggling and moving around, but after
a couple weeks I could be still, and I felt so peaceful inside. I never
remember feeling that way before. One evening, after I had gotten
settled into bed for the night,
� Jumaana came into my room and ask if I was
doing okay. I told her yes and she said she thought I had become more
quiet lately and wondered if there was anything I needed.
� Waseem
and her always talked nice to each other, and I never heard them fight
or anything like the people back in my old home did.� I
couldn't believe they talked so nice to each other and they were
talking to me that way now too. I couldn't quite figure things out.
� I thought maybe it would be okay if I told her
I wanted to be a Muslim too.� I really did want
to be and I didn't know how to do it.
� So, I just came out and said it.� "I
want to be a Muslim".�
�
She smiled and
asked if I knew what being a Muslim was.� I told
her I didn't but I wanted to be one.
� She tucked me in, gave me a hug, left the room
and came back with some children's books on Islam. That night I read
them until I fell asleep.�
The next day I finished the books and I couldn't get enough to read.� I
read about saying Shahada and so I told her right away that I needed to
say it, so that I could be a Muslim. They reminded me that I was only
ten years old and so maybe I would need to study more first. I told
them that I had already read all the books and I had to say the Shahada
that very day. I know I was young, but it didn't seem that way to me at
the time, because all I knew was that I had to become a Muslim. It was
right for me and I knew it, right from the beginning. Later that night,
on December 29, 2000, I officially said the Shahada to Jumaana and
Waseem, and I became a Muslim.
�
�
�
Jumaana
continued to teach me at home and I passed the fourth grade and the
fifth grade all in one year.
� I also was given privileges to read whatever books I wanted
from the shelves of books Waseem and Jumaana had.� They
had books on all the religions, but I read every one they had on Islam.
� I asked lots of questions about the difference
in religions because I didn't know why everyone in the world wasn't
following Islam� I went to the little town
library where we lived and got to know the librarian there. She ordered
me lots more books on Islam and would ask me questions about it too.
� She said I knew a lot for my age and was
surprised about how much I knew about Islam. Then after I read
everything they had, I would go to the big public downtown library and
find all kinds of books on Islam. I knew I could never be any other
except a Muslim.
�
�
�
My
birthparents did not want me to come back to live with them ever. They
only remembered me the way I was when they sent me away.
� I really didn't want to go back to live the
way I had before or live with them with the drinking, drugs, fighting,
and chaos either.� They had not sent any money
to take care of me the whole first year I lived with Jumaana and
Waseem.
� Waseem was ready to retire but he kept on
working just to take care of me, and Jumaana had given up her writing
to teach me at home. They had done these things because they cared
about what happened to me.
� I really didn't want to ever leave them. So,
after I lived with them for a year, the courts granted me a legal
adoption. It would be the only way they could have the right to make
decisions about my schooling and other legal issues that they couldn't
do, because they were not considered my parents. Because my
birthparents hadn't had contact with me and never sent any support for
the whole year, the court could make me go into a home or foster care,
if they wanted to. I was so afraid that if my birthparents all of a
sudden wanted to take me back because I was so much better, that they
would do the same things to me they had before and I also knew they
would never let me stay a Muslim.
�
�
�
I
prayed so hard every day, five times a day and more, asking Allah to
help me. Adoption in this country is the only way to assure legal
rights and I wanted Waseem and Jumaana to adopt me more than anything.
� I was so happy when the courts felt it was the
best thing for me too. The papers were filed and my birthparents were
notified that adoption requests were filed. They didn't even bother to
contact the courts to contest it, in fact they quickly signed the
papers to give me up. Actually I was happy about that. Then on the day
of the adoption, the judge even told me I could change my name. I chose
Waa'il because it meant 'one who returns for shelter' and I felt like I
went to Jumaana's and Waseem's for shelter. Also I felt like I had
returned to 'Islam' so that was a shelter for me inside.
� It was the best thing in my whole life that
ever happened to me. Because of the delays in removing the parental
rights of my birthparents, the date for my adoption was changed, making
it fall on the first day of Ramadhan in 2001.
� It was like Allah was blessing me over and
over again.�
�
�
�
So,
in these last three and a half years, my life is so incredibly
different. Sometimes it is hard to think back what it used to be like
before becoming a Muslim. Having had such a stubborn and defiant
attitude those first ten years of my life still affects me sometimes,
but I am really so different than I was back then.
� People don't think I am only thirteen and a
half when they meet me.� Most of them think I am
a lot older.�
I think it is probably because I had such a tough life from the time I
was born until I came to live with my new parents.� They
encourage me to keep at least some kind of contact with my birthfamily,
but it's okay now because I know they cannot come and take me away or
tell me I can't be a Muslim.
� I know that I am safe and I believe Allah
allowed all of this and made it all happen, which makes the bad parts I
remember bearable now, because I found Islam and maybe I would never
have found Allah if all that stuff hadn't happened.
� Well, at least I think that way now.
�
�
�
My sister even
came and spent a week during her school break this last
December/January.
� I
hadn't seen her in over three years. She is fifteen now and flew here
on her own to stay with us for the week. She was shocked at the change
in me. I had grown to five foot ten inches in height from being half
her size when I left, which made me tower over her by almost a foot. I
also outweighed her by fifty pounds, after having last been seen a
scrawny skeleton of a kid. When I left I was wearing a 'rug rats' hat
and 'harry potter' clothes from television and cartoon shows. When she
saw me this time, I was wearing a Kufi or one of my other kinds of
Islamic caps and a Kurris.
� When I left I had been a loud, troublemaking,
obnoxious brat, who had failed three out of five grades and who
couldn't even write a complete sentence. This time she saw me polite,
quieter, having passed all my grades, skipping a whole grade which put
me in the same grade as she was. She would see me stop whatever I was
doing, to go to Prayer five times every day. She really hated me when I
left home at age ten, and was expecting me to be the same. She told me
after a couple days of being with us, that she could hardly believe I
was the same person and she really liked me as her brother now. She
found out I was a Muslim. Because I had changed so much, she asked a
ton of questions about Islam, took back a bunch of Islamic books I gave
her, and told everyone back there that they just wouldn't believe how
different I was. Now, every once in a while, my birthmother will let my
brother and sister call, and she even talks to me a few minutes.
� I send books for them to read about Islam and
I hope someday they will all become Muslims too.� I
know they would be so much happier if they did.
�
�
�
My
life seems a hundred years away from the way it used to be. I have
become a Muslim now going on four years, been blessed with new Muslim
parents, had my adoption finalized on the very first day of my very
first Ramadhan, learned my prayers in Arabic, read my new parent's
entire library of books on Islam, exhausted the public libraries of
their Islamic books, been given a new name and a new life I don't know
what else I could ask for.
� I am studying very hard to finish my high
school in another two years.� I will be sixteen,
but I feel like I am a lot older. I know now that I didn't need drugs
to make me behave.
� I didn't need anger to get me through all
those years of chaos.� I
didn't need to be so hurtful to others, just to get attention. I didn't
need to cause such chaos for others. What I needed all along was Islam.
I needed Allah. The way I see it is, that instead of these schools and
parents putting their kids on Ritalin and other junk, they should put
their time and money in studying Islam and teaching their children
about Allah. When nothing else worked, and believe me a lot of people
tried to get me straightened out, Allah did it.
� Allah can do anything.� He
can do everything.� When he does something for
you, it is the way it is supposed to be.
�
�
�
�
I am Waa'il
Abdul Salaam and this is my story.