Would you rather be a mistress or a third wife? We speak to women who vouched for the latter and hear what it’s like having to share for the sake of religion.
It was a family day like no other. In the early morning light, hundreds of men, women and children from all over the globe thronged the peaceful suburb of Bandar Country Homes in Rawang. Mothers gossiped between mouthfuls of nasi lemak, while their kids eyed the cheerful song-and-dance performances with feigned interest.
This illusion of everyday normality was shattered once I took my seat underneath one of the plastic VIP tents that surrounded the vast, rectangular field. Before me, banners pinned to a temporary stage read: Cintailah Allah & Rasul, Perjuangkan Poligami (Love Allah & the Prophet, defend polygamy).
About 20 little girls in tracksuits and tudung were halfway through a well-rehearsed cheerleading routine, the candy-coloured pom-poms in their tiny hands dancing to the beat of religious music. In between each performance, the loudspeaker would repeatedly blare a community service announcement cum tune: “Poligami yang harmoni . . . poligami” (Polygamy is harmonious . . . polygamy).
President of the Ikhwan Polygamy Club and wife of Abuya Ashaari Muhamad, Hatijah Aam. It was a day organised by Ikhwan Polygamy Club, a group established in August to advocate the benefits of one-husband-multiple-wives marriages.
From where I sat, I could see the frail frame of Hatijah Aam, president of the club and one of the most disparaged women in the Malaysian-Muslim world. Her husband, Abuya Ashaari Muhamad, founder of the controversial and now-defunct Al-Arqam movement, was glaringly absent from the event. A thunderous applause broke out as soon as the emcee uttered her name.
With some assistance from her daughter-in-law, Hatijah shuffled purposefully towards the mike. Back hunched and voice wheezy, she began her speech on behalf of Abuya, who was recovering from the crippling effects of multiple strokes: “Our society has crumbled as a result of politicians who are involved in sex scandals.”
A woman was walking around handing out the club’s literature. A picture of Abuya and his three surviving wives beamed from the cover of one booklet. Underneath it were gold-embossed words: Indahnya Poligamy: Suami untuk Dikongsi, Bukan untuk Diperebutkan (How Wonderful is Polygamy: Husbands are to be Shared, Not Fought Over).
Up on stage, Hatijah continued to address the crowd in Malay: “People have been criticising polygamy for so long, but what about monogamy? The existence of mistresses and prostitutes shows that it does not work. Therefore, polygamy acts as the alternative. Women should accept their husband’s tendency to stray, for it is God that made them that way.
“For peace to prevail at home, women should start seeing his other wives as sisters, rather than enemies. It’s a sacrifice every woman must make, for the sake of her husband. Don’t say you’d rather be single. It’s like crawling into a tiger’s stomach, instead of an alligator’s.”
Halfway through the speech, a bumbling Australian journalist who introduced himself as “Mark from The Associated Press” plonked into the empty seat beside me, looking dazed. He murmured, partly to himself: “I had to come to Malaysia to see what it was all about, and, wow . . . I certainly didn’t expect this. Malaysia is different, eh?”
Rohaya Muhammad (in red tudung) with her husband’s three other wives. Great family, greater dreams
It took me a while to realise that I was in a community, a self-contained village. All around us were garishly painted office blocks, green interspersed with orange. The green ones, I noticed, belonged to Global Ikhwan Sdn Bhd, the company in charge of running the club like a bureaucracy. Some 95% of the buildings belonged to them, and each one had a signboard displaying their logo and nature of business, which ranged from healthcare to fashion to event management.
“Oh, Abuya has about a thousand other townships like this in Malaysia and overseas,” remarked a woman beside me in immaculate English. She’s 44-year-old Rohaya Muhammad, a doctor in the community clinic and my host for the day.
“He’s got followers from Indonesia, Thailand, Jordan, Syria and Australia. Many of them are here right now.”
The club, she explained, had about 1,200 members, and more than three-quarters of them were women. She was one of them.
“I’m wife number three,” she said matter-of-factly. “I married Abuya’s son about 10 years ago. Before that, I was in a monogamous but unhappy marriage. My husband was a playboy. I had urged him to get married to his women rather than live in sin, but he didn’t want to. We eventually parted ways because we had different priorities in life.”
Rohaya was as ordinary as they come. There was no wild look in her eyes, no religious zeal about her. She was a calm idealist, a warm soul, a professional in a family of professionals.
“One is a lecturer, one is a lawyer and one is an ustaza (religious teacher),” she said, referring to her husband’s wives.
“None of us get to choose our spouse. The club committee decides on that. They take care of everything, from accommodation to food to love. But, of course, if we don’t like the guy, we can always refuse. It wasn’t love at first sight for me, but I’ve always admired Abuya’s philosophy, and I was starstruck when I first met his son.”
As if right on cue, the loudspeaker boomed: “Who says polygamy isn’t wonderful? I’d like to introduce a large family, the result of polygamy, with 38 children and 200 grandchildren. With their father’s guidance, some have become artists, doctors and corporate leaders.”
One by one, the smiling brood appeared, waving to the crowd. Their on-stage arrival was accompanied by introductions from the loudspeaker: “Siti Fatimah, child No 21, Muhammad Adib, child No 29 . . .”
“Not one of them share the same face. Look at them — beautiful, radiant, healthy. There isn’t one of them who is underfed, or is not provided with enough attention. This is a good example of a modern family that uses the home to fight for Islamic values.”
Rohaya pointed at the stage and whispered: “That’s Abuya’s family. My husband’s not there, because he’s only scheduled to perform later.”
Abuya (far left) and one of his sons who is married to Rohaya. Between a rock and a hard place
What happened recently was reported in almost every Malay media in the country. Headlines screamed, “Group preaches the benefits of polygamy”, “Hatijah Aam invites prostitutes to join the club” and “Becoming the second, third or fourth wife was more worth it than being a prostitute!” The club has reached its pinnacle of notoriety.
But what about its pillars of support, its female members? What do they think?
“Before they signed up, many women were at a disadvantage because society looked down upon them,” said Rohaya.
“I myself was a divorcee with seven children. I felt very vulnerable because people said nasty things. Even now, I’m still very surprised that my husband could accept who I am. He’s my protector, my invisible shield. I believe prostitutes have the same right to feel secure, to feel loved and to get married one day.”
However, that doesn’t make it less difficult, especially when it comes to co-habitating peacefully with other women. Just ask Aishah Abdul Malek, the second wife of Abuya’s younger brother.
“Of course I’m jealous,” said the 42-year-old factory manager. “Sibling rivalry happens all the time. It’s just a normal human reaction.”
The only remedy for jealousy, I’ve been told, is to pray.
“We can’t possibly go through it ourselves. We need Allah to remind us that there’s more to marriage than sex. It’s about love and sacrifice. You love your husband, and that’s why you would sacrifice for him,” she said.
To illustrate her point, Aishah recounted a story about Prophet Muhammad and his wives: “His wives kept asking him which one of them he loved most, so he told them not to worry and that he’d be giving a ring to his favourite wife. That night, he gave them all a ring. Each woman thought he loved her best.”
In their minds, it’s not all fun and games for a man, either. There is a basic rule that all husbands in the club have to adhere to, and that is to be responsible. The word “responsible” dominated almost every sentence in our conversations.
A husband is responsible towards all his wives. A husband has to be a responsible leader.
“Dodging his responsibilities would mean that he had sinned in the eyes of God. Our husbands are as afraid as we are,” explained Aishah.
How, then, does sex come into the equation?
Ikhwan Polygamy Club founder, Abuya’s children and grandchildren putting on a performance. “No, we don’t sleep in the same bed at night. We take our turns,” answered Rohaya. “Unlike other polygamous marriages, the first wife does not receive any special privileges. Everyone should be treated equally and with respect.”
This unconventional approach to marriage has enraged opponents of polygamy, but Aishah and Rohaya believe it work for them.
“The wives and I complement each other,” Rohaya exclaimed. “They take care of my kids when I’m working; I take care of theirs when they work. If I need legal advice, I always go to the first wife, the lawyer. My kids get free Arabic lessons from the second wife, the lecturer. There are 17 children in our great, big family, and it’s always noisy but I wouldn’t have it any other way. We do everything together — eat, pray, go on holidays. And you wouldn’t believe how insanely busy we get during Raya, when we have to visit all four homes.”
Still, the “for” and “against” factions have always disagreed vehemently when it comes to the children’s welfare. Numerous studies have shown that kids from polygamous marriages are more likely to be abused.
The lower cost of living also contributes towards poorer education and therefore limited employment opportunities. Not only that, the issue of how these children would treat the fairer sex when they grow up has always been a great concern.
Curiosity got the better of me. I requested to speak to Mohd Al-Ghazi Al-Tamimi, 16, a grandson of Abuya who is currently studying in the community high school. He spoke no English.
“I have 23 brothers and sisters. We each receive an allowance of RM100 a month. It’s enough for me. But sometimes, my dad prefers to see us work for our money, to be independent,” he said.
His eyes glistened when he spoke of his parents.
“I love Umu Wahidah (my second mother) the most, but she passed away recently. My mum is always busy, but I’ve never felt like I lacked any love from my parents, mainly because of Wahidah, who loved all her children like they were her own,” he sniffed.
“Getting married is not a priority right now, but when it happens, I’ll get my father’s advice. Husbands have a lot of responsibility, so it also depends on whether I’m able to support the women.”
At this, Rohaya gave Al-Ghazi her nod of approval.
“You know, people tease us when we go out sometimes,” she said. “Like ‘Eh eh, boleh duduk bersama?’ (Eh-eh, you can all be together?). But not all polygamous marriages are bad. We’re not all unhappy. We’re not being mistreated. And I think, given the right role models, society will one day accept us.”
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