My name was Yusuf. I had just celebrated my eighteenth birthday. Life for me as a Muslim young man was complicated by the fact that I felt like a girl inside. Islam worldwide did not look kindly on those who wanted to change their gender. I lived in the Muslim quarter of the old city of Jerusalem. There was an old place in the quarter that was called the pool of Bethesda. It was discovered in the late 1800s and had been an archaeological dig ever since. I was quite familiar with the Quran, but there was a story about the pool that was found in the book of John, which Mohammed endorsed as part of the Injil. The Injil was given to the prophet by Isa, or Jesus. I had read the book of John and so was familiar with the story of the paralytic man.

There was a paralytic man who had not been able to walk for 28 years. He would lay by the pool of Bethesda waiting for an angel to touch the water. The belief was that whoever was first into the water, when the angel stirred it, would be healed. The paralyzed man could never get into the water fast enough to be first. So Isa made him well. Just as the book of John described, the pool had steps leading down into it and had five porticoes or colonnades surrounding it. It was said to be near the Sheep Gate, but now that entrance into the city is called the Lion’s Gate or St. Stephen’s gate. And now, the city of Jerusalem had unbelievably returned the archaeological dig back into the pool that it was originally intended to be. So, I went there.

I had the seemingly unreasonable hope that the angel might still touch the water, and that I might be first into the pool and be healed of my infirmity. Was not the irreconcilable conflict, of being a girl inside of a boy’s body, a sickness of sorts that needed to be healed? I dressed in shorts and a tee-shirt and took a towel to lie on. Muslim males are allowed to wear shorts if they cover the navel and extend to below the knee. There were many people there, maybe some who were wanting to be healed of their infirmity. I looked for a place to lie down right by the edge of the pool, but every spot around the perimeter was taken. Finally, someone moved. I spread my towel by the edge and took up my vigil, waiting for the angel to come.

Every two hours the pool was cleared for five minutes, maybe in belief that the angel might still come. I was still lying on the edge of the pool, watching it intently, when suddenly there was a disturbance on the surface of the water. I immediately rolled over the edge into the pool. Completely submerged, I felt a tingle all through my body and a warmth going from the top of my head down to my toes. When I surfaced, the lifeguard blew his whistle and called for me to get out of the pool. I felt strands of hair down the sides of my face. People near the edge of the pool gasped. One man said, “He went into the pool as a young man, but now he is a girl!” I treaded water in the 13-meter-deep pool. The lifeguard was telling me to get out now.

I kicked with my feet and, bringing my hands up to my chest, felt two round full breasts. I smiled. I swam to the steps. There were two steps, then a landing, three steps, then a landing, and finally four steps brought me out of the water. I could hear people murmuring. I heard one woman say, “She’s indecent!” Then I came to the realization that my breasts were showing through my wet tee-shirt. I quickly ran and snatched up my towel and put it over my shoulders to cover my breasts and nipples. I quickly made my way out of the pool area and headed for home. My pants were very tight due to enlarged thighs, hips, and buttocks. A number of people stopped me to tell me that I was indecent and should be ashamed, mostly women. Men gaped.

I was so glad to make it home, but as I passed the kitchen, my Mama saw me, and said, “Who are you? You are indecent! You should be ashamed of yourself! Get out of my house now!” And she drove me out of the house, snapping her towel at me. Out the front door, I turned and yelled at her retreating figure, “Mama, do you remember when I shoved beans up my nose as a little boy?” She turned and said, “Tell me more, child.” I spent ten to fifteen minutes recounting incidents from my childhood, that only she and I would know. “Oh, Yusuf, what has happened to you?” I related the incident at the pool of Bethesda. She shook her head. “My son, what have you done? This is most shameful. Your father will be very angry.” I said, “Call me Maryum.”

When my father got home, it took both Mama and me a half hour to convince him. And, yes, he became very angry with me. “Son, how could you do this to us? You know that changing your gender is looked down upon throughout the world by Muslims. Islam is not forgiving of such behavior.” I said, “Baba, I know. I have done wrong, but I am not going to change myself back. I don’t have the heart to do so.” He said, “You are no longer my son. I want you gone.” He looked at my clothes and said, “Those are the clothes of Yusuf. Mama, help her into decent clothes.” Mama took me upstairs and found me an abaya, a garment to cover myself, and a hajib, a head covering. “Your father is well connected. He knows how to get you new identity papers.”

That night at the dinner table, my Baba discussed the matter with Mama. “Yes, I can get him new identity papers as a girl named Maryum. I will even get him high school transcripts and a flight to the states. But he has got to get the visa and acceptance to a college in the US. He can stay until he gets accepted.” He didn’t look at me, nor I look at him, as I sat in a corner and quietly ate my bread. The next morning, I took a shower and examined myself more closely. I was a very attractive girl. Mama took me shopping at the bazaar. She bought me all the clothes that I needed. I could wear western style clothes as long as my shoulders were not bare and my skirt covered my knees. I could not wear makeup, since Islamic modesty forbid it.

A few weeks later, I was accepted by a university in Michigan. They even offered me financial assistance. My Mama went with me to the Ben Gurion International Airport in Tel Aviv. From there I had a flight to New York and then on to Michigan. We said a tearful goodbye and then I walked down the jetway to my flight. I found my seat and stowed my carry-on luggage in the bin above, then took my seat by the window. A few minutes later, a handsome young man, Matt, sat down beside me. He was an engineering student at a college in Maryland. We chatted for a while until the stewardess showed us pre-flight instructions. Then we taxied out to the runway and took off. We chatted for an hour and then I took a much-needed nap.

My life in Michigan was fairly smooth. I enjoyed being a young woman and I made quite a few girlfriends, and even some boyfriends. I even found a few people who spoke Arabic. I did quite well with English, and picked up a number of the idioms. There was a mosque in the city, and I went there on Fridays for the Jum’ah prayer. It was there that I met Ali. He was quite friendly, kind, and intelligent. We eventually talked about marriage, and I was willing to consider it as long as I would not be just a housewife. He wholeheartedly agreed and was even amenable to my having my own career as a paralegal. We got married when we both completed college after two years. Mama and I stayed in touch by mail. Baba had nothing to do with me.

Ali and I had two wonderful children, a boy named Ahmed and a girl named Aisha. Ahmed means “highly praised” and Aisha means “alive and well”. Having a child in one’s womb is a wonderful thing and I gave thanks to Allah for giving me the privilege of being a mother. I enjoyed having them suckle at my breasts, even though it hurt sometimes when they weren’t properly latched onto my nipples. I thoroughly enjoyed those times that Ali and I made love. He was quite passionate and yet gentle with me. I was very grateful for having fallen into that pool seven time zones away and gave thanks to the angel who had touched the water for me. I smiled at myself every time that I looked in the mirror, for I was the woman of my dreams.