Unique Muslimah

Hannah came to me one evening, her eyes blood-red, her cheeks wet. What was the matter? I asked her; it was past six and she had a long way to commute home from the library. “It’s my dad,” she slumped on the chair beside me, putting her hands on her lovely, olive-tanned face. I looked at her, confused, my eyes trying to search for an explanation for my friend’s emotional state. My mind wondered off while she cried as I gently comforted her, keeping silent until she was ready to explain.

I had known Hannah for a while now, we met at university while taking the same postgraduate programme. I knew that she was originally an Egyptian and that her father was a well-known person in the Muslim community. He wasn’t an imam, but many people went to him for religious advice. They saw him as a wise, learned man who they could trust.

But something was going on, I could feel it from the way Hannah sobbed. It wasn’t a simple argument she had with him, it was something more. Hannah finally looked up at me and told me what it was. “My dad, he…he…” she faltered, sobbing again on my shoulder. I comforted her with my words until she relaxed and adjusted herself, taking my handkerchief.

“He won’t let me take off my hijab!” she finally blurted out. I was confused. Hannah had worn the Hijab with her own free will many years ago. Did she have a change of heart?

“No, it’s not like that.” she explained. ”I love my hijab. But he won’t let me take it off at home!”

What? Home? As in your house where no one else is there except your mihrims?

“It’s true, it’s all true,” she nodded while blowing her nose and letting out another cry. “It’s been going on for ages. He believes that women have to cover in the home as well, in front of their mihrims! He says Angel Gabriel may stop over the house and find my head uncovered which would be a disaster!”

For a second I was gobsmacked. Actually I think I am still gobsmacked.

All I could think about was if the Angel Gabriel did happen to visit earth, what makes Hannah’s father so sure that he would stop by his house? His house of oppression, where he was forcing his daughter to wear something she doesn’t need to wear at home with her family, her mihrims? How can he twist God’s natural laws just for the sake of asserting his authority and power over a helpless woman? Forgive me, I forgot he can. Because he’s a man. A man who can show his ‘awra on a beach in Egypt, but expects his daughter to cover at home. Thankfully many Muslim men I’ve spoken to find this, well, ridiculous is a word which comes to mind, among many other words I won’t be sharing.