Unique Muslimah

It’s expected that some Muslim faith schools are to add an extra subject to the academic syllabus to tackle extremism, an action that some governments have recommended. With groans from students having to study for yet another class, Citizenship lessons might actually prove useful. Topics tackled are issues that wouldn’t necessarily be discussed in a teacher-student environment.

Already some Muslim schools have taken on this challenge, introducing subjects of extremism, loyalty to one’s country, respecting people from different religions and cultures, and so forth. Hopefully not only will this subject help students to understand more about peace and mercy in the Islamic religion towards others, it could also improve social cohesion.

But- I wondered as I stepped into a famous Museum where millions congregate to marvel at statues and items locked safely behind glass cabinets- But- shouldn’t non-Muslim schools around the world be requested to take on Citizenship lessons too, teaching students that the majority of Muslims are against extremism and terrorism, that Muslims are not a freak show to be stared at, or a circus show to be laughed at, that we have not just escaped from a high-security mental institution, that no, we do not have bad breath and we are certainly not contagious from any diseases. Surely it would be a good place to start to learn how both sides of the coin can live together. I could teach my students all about respecting others, but these “others” should also be taught to respect us in return- it takes two to tango.

Evidently there is no tango-ing yet. Walking around the Museum with a large group of Muslim veiled girls, I was shocked, no- mortified and emotionally violated. People everywhere looked at us, individually and as a group, with rude, disgusted stares. A few were ready to physically attack us. Isn’t that extremism on their part?

That’s not forgetting the flash photography aimed at the girls without their will- how do famous people deal with the paparazzi? Every time I saw a flash I went hysterical. In a sly fashion, random men would stroll next to the girls and take a shot, for what purpose is beyond my imagination. Some were too cowardly to come close up, but were spotted afar hiding behind statues while taking their shot. With the new age of digital cameras, every single person had one and we all felt vulnerable and exposed. Asking for help from security staff we were told there was nothing they could do and suggested that we write to the Museum to complain. How helpful.

For a second I honestly believed that these people thought the Museum was running a special exhibition dubbed Mad Muslim Women! Perhaps, in a more positive thought, they were astonished to find a bunch of “intellectual” Muslim women interested in visiting a Museum instead of the local market or as its traditionally known, the souq! We should have held a banner stating “Believe it or not, we are just innocent Citizens here- just human!” if we had known of the reception we were going to have.

Surely these people need to be taught one or two (or perhaps a few hundred) Citizenship lessons, or something, to avoid such ignorance and as a result, social unrest. In order for all humans to live peacefully, each side has to take the step to understand one another. It’s pointless to have one side do all the leg work. Who said ignorance is a bliss? I pity the people I met at the Museum, because they have no idea that we are decent human beings that do not deserve to be treated with such contempt.

Being in that situation felt like a reconstruction scene of the hardships the Prophet Muhammad and his early followers faced from non-believers. But what we went through at the Museum is nothing compared to what the earliest Muslims went through, at least I hope it never gets that bad. I hope and pray that one day we can all accept that we are sharing the same planet and we have to live together in harmony and respect our differences.

I hope and pray- what else is a girl to do when she’s exposed at the Museum.

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.