From my sisters lips, a unique celebration of muslim womanhood by naima b robert
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1. NA’I MA B. ROBERT From my sisters’ lips ‘An extremely thought-provoking book that challenges Western preconceptions of Islamic women’ Daily Telegraph

2. Na’ima B. Robert is the daughter of a white South African father of Scottish descent and a black South African mother of Zulu descent. Born in Leeds, she grew up in Zimbabwe and went on to gain a first- class degree from the University of London. She has worked in the travel and tourism industry, was a teacher and has written and illustrated children’s books. Following her conversion to Islam and her marriage to a Ghanaian revert, she settled in South London, where she now lives with her husband and two small sons. For further information visit www.nrobert.com FROM MY SISTERS’ LIPS A A unique celebration of Muslim womanhood NA’IMA B. ROBERT BANTAM BOOKS LONDON • TORONTO • SYDNEY • AUCKLAND • JOHANNESBURG

3. FROM MY SISTERS’ LIPS A BANTAM BOOK : 9780553817171 Originally published in Great Britain by Bantam P a division of Transworld Publishers ress PRINTING HISTORY Bantam Press edition published 2005 Bantam edition published 2006 19 Copyright © Na’ima B. Robert 2005 The right of Na’ima B. Robert to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted in accordance with sections 77 and 78 of the Copyright Designs and Patents Act 1988. Condition of Sale This book is sold subject to the condition that it shall not, by way of trade or otherwise, be lent, re-sold, hired out or otherwise circulated in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published and without a similar condition including this condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser. Set in 11/14pt Sabon by Falcon Oast Graphic Art Ltd. Bantam Books are published by Transworld Publishers, 61-63 Uxbridge Road, London W5 5SA, a division of The Random House Group Ltd. Addresses for Random House Group Ltd companies outside the U can be found at: www.randomhouse.co.uk The Random House Group Ltd Reg. No. 9. I For my husband, the wind beneath my wings Pen our Prm

4. CONTENTS 9 Acknowledgements 1 Author’s Note 13 Introduction Part One: Finding Islam 1 My Path 2 My Sisters’ Paths 3 Being a New Muslim and the Triumphs 4 Being a New Muslim and the Challenges The Joys The Problems Part Two: Living Islam 5 Covering our Beauty 6 Love and Marriage, Muslim-style 7 The Other Side of the Ntkah 8 The Mother, The Mother, The Mother . . . 9 Roots and Foundations 10 The Ultimate Sisterhood 19 56 99 136 177 228 260 313 354 386

5. Glossary Further Reading Index ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS tr flv I thank Allah, Lord of all the worlds, for nuking this book possible. I ask that He accepts it as an act of worship from me and places it the scale of my good deeds. To my sisters, a b g 'Jazakunna Allahu khairan’ to all of you w o shared your time, your innermost thoughts and feelings with me. In spite of all the children and missing Dictaphones, we did it, masha Allah. Take this book: it is yours. To the memory of my mother: dear Mama, you would have loved this book. You live on in all of us. A ‘big girl’ thank- you to my wonderful Daddy: your hopes were not in vain. I am so glad we were able to share this most ‘harrowing’ of journeys. Hugs to my brother and sister: thanks for believing in me and being there - with the Hoover and the — - a J*

6. support and for loving me and accepting me in spite of the many challenges. A good cup of coffee for Miriam, my sounding board and debate partner - so much of this book is you! A ‘shout out’ to all my companions on this journey from Africa, Europe and the States: I salute you. Tatenda, Sisi Priscilla and Mai Ethel: you deserve medals for your patience! Thank you, Mishti (Chatterji), for taking a chance on an unknown author. AUTHOR’S NOTE Kisses for Sheri Pie (Sheri Safran), my agent, the woman who made it all happen. Thank you, Brenda (Kimber), my editor, for letting me flow - and for all those thought-provoking questions! This is a personal book and, as such, it focuses on a small slice of the Muslim experience. As Muslim women, we are comfortable sharing our experiences and speaking candidly about our private lives and thoughts because we have a great example in Aisha, the wife of the Prophet Muhammad (s), who shared the intimate details of her life with him (s) so that we could learn from her experiences. Perhaps some will learn from ours. The opinions expressed in this book are the result of personal experiences and understanding and are therefore not representative of every Muslim woman. Nor is our experience as reverts (converts to Islam) a reflection of all Muslim women’s experiences. Muslims consider accepting Islam to be merely ‘reverting’ to the human being’s natural disposition of (

7. acknowledging and worshipping the One God, thus the use of ‘revert’ instead of ‘convert’. Also, although I have tried to explain Islamic concepts as clearly as possible, there are some things that will be difficult for non-Muslims to understand. The Muslim accepts these things because of his faith and grounding in Islamic knowledge - the same cannot be expected of those who have not entered the faith. .Muslims are required to send greetings of peace and blessings to the Prophet Muhammad (sallallahu alaihi wasallam) whenever his name is mentioned. For that reason, there is an (s) after his name, although the greeting should be said in full. Muslims also express respect for the Companions (r) of the Prophet (s) by saying ‘RadhiAllahu anhu/anha’ (May Allah be pleased with him/her) when mentioning their names. According to Islamic terminology, the head­ scarf is called a khimar in Arabic. However, as the word hijab is more commonly used, the two have been used interchangeably throughout the book. Although my sisters’ stories are true, all their names have been changed. INTRODUCTION Catching sight of a Muslim woman on Western city streets, covered from head to toe, rarely fails to provoke a strong reaction. Feelings of shock, horror, repulsion or pity are not uncommon, especially upon seeing this strangest of sights for the first time. Comments range from the patronizing (‘Poor woman, doesn’t she know she’s in England now, she doesn’t have to dress like that?’) and the insulting (‘It makes me sick to see them dressed like that!’) to the ridiculous (‘I bet she looks like a dog under there!’). Without doubt, the assumption is that this poor woman was forced by her husband or family to dress as she does, that she is an un­ educated immigrant who probably speaks little or no English or that, steeped in ignorance, she has yet to experience the delights of Western freedoms. She is, in essence, desperate to be liberated.

8. Such is the common perception of this woman, who remains faceless, nameless and voiceless - a non-person. But what if this woman had a name, what if she had a voice? What if she could tell you about herself, her history, her family, her thoughts and feelings? What if, by sharing herself with you, you grew to see beyond the exterior, beyond the veil, and see for yourself in what ways you are alike and in what ways you are different? By 1977, my parents had left apartheid South Africa and settled in Leeds, where I was born. We then travelled to Ethiopia and then Zimbabwe, where I spent the next twelve years, attending primary and high school, living the life of your average middle-class Southern Africa teenager. My peers and I played, partied and preened in accordance with our cultural influences, namely, American music videos and films. At seventeen, I left what I considered the ‘small-town mentality’ of Harare and came to London to study. While at university, I was exposed to new ways of think­ ing and living - I became more aware of world issues and, like many Social Sciences students, became more radical and politicized, becoming quite a militant Afrocentric Black Nationalist. However, it was on a trip to Egypt that I first en­ countered Islam and was struck by the hijab, the covering of the Muslim woman. This trip proved to be a turning point in my life, causing me to question my lifestyle, my beliefs and my purpose in life. After much reflection and many air miles, I took' my first tentative steps on the path of Islam. Since accepting Islam, I have been blessed to meet many wonderful women who, like me, converted to Islam: honest women, caring women - strong women. Through our blossom­ ing friendships, I have got to know the many sides of their personalities. They have taught me about faith, about patience, about themselves and about myself. But, for so long, we have been defined by others, in words that are not our own. For a long time, the idea of writing about my experiences and those ofmy sisters had appealed to me. I thought that it was important to tell our story, both for those who know us and for those who don’t, the strangers who see us and so misunderstand us. I invite you now to accompany me into my heart and the hearts of my ‘sisters in Islam’, to find out who we really are - not what the stereo- types say, nor what the media says - what we say. We have spoken candidly about many aspects of our lives, trusting that you will listen without prejudice. I also hope that, while you read, you will

9. address your own ideas and challenge your pre­ conceptions about Islam. By showing the Islamic faith at work in the lives of the women in this book, I hope to show a personal and private side of Islam, one that is only seen by those privileged enough to be admitted to its inner circle. This book is a celebration. It is a celebration of womanhood. It is a celebration of sisterhood. It is a celebration of courage, warmth and friend­ ship. It is a celebration of laughter, patience and love. It is a celebration of Islam. Na’ima B. Robert December 2004 Part One Finding Islam This is the story of how we came to accept Islam. These stories are only slices of personal keep them private, to protect them. But another part of us, the stronger part, wants to share this history with you, to take you on this journey too. To show that Islam speaks to the hearts of people from a thousand diverse back­ grounds, in a thousand different ways. To show how Islam enriches the lives of millions of people, every day, in every I To share the heartache and joy of leaving what you know for what you can only imagine. To show that we have chosen to be and are proud to be Muslim women.

10. To show that we are striving to hold on to our Islam with all our strength and that we will hold on, even when it burns like hot coals. To show that we are of you, that our roots spring from where yours do. It is only our fruit andflowers that differ, for we are nourished by a different source. MY PATH I was born in the north of England, in Leeds, where my mother and father went on to buy a little terrace house, on a narrow road of other terrace houses just like it. Three years later, our family moved to Ethiopia and then to Zimbabwe when I was six. By this time, I had a brother and an extremely chubby baby sister, whom I adored. density’ suburbs of Harare, with a swimming pool and two acres of flowers, a vegetable garden and banana trees. For the first eighteen years of my life, I lived like every other middle-cUss Zimbabwean youth that I knew. I went to a girls’ school in Harare, complete with blazers, boaters and Head Girls, as I became in the Sixth Form. My mother and father tried their best to teach us about our Scottish and Zulu roots, our Southern African culture, to 19

11. FROM MY SISTERS’ LIPS MY PATH appreciate who we were and where we came from. We were never sent to exclusive colonial­ style private schools, we learnt traditional Zimbabwean dances and would often sing anti­ apartheid songs while we walked to school. Indeed, we were politically aware from a very young age although, as we grew older, the desire to fit in with our peers and emulate what we saw on television often overrode our parents’ best intentions! I enjoyed school a great deal and routinely won academic, art, public speaking and drama prizes at the end of each year. I was an outgoing and confident girl, full of energy and ideas, always on the go, always developing new projects. However, alongside my squeaky-clean school persona, I was also a party girl, as were all my friends. We all lived a double life in a way, many of us excelling at school while remaining a permanent feature of the Harare party scene. Our role models were not classical writers or feminist thinkers, although we did subscribe to the flirty, in-your-face, Cosmopolitan magazine brand of feminism! Nor did we model ourselves on the heroines of the Zimbabwean liberation struggle, the Chimurenga. Our role models were American actresses, singers and entertainers, among them the girl groups TLC and Salt-N- Pepa. Our ‘moral guidance’ came from R’n’B, ragga music and rap - not guidance, as anyone who has ever listened to 2 Live Crew, Snoop Doggy Dogg or Shabba Ranks will tell you! In fact, the sexual mores and social aspirations of the majority of ‘cool’ Harare youth were wholly imported from Western shores - we were like young people in so many places, carefree and careless. I often shudder to think of how many times we came close to danger because of the way we lived and our lack of caution. Carelessness due to drink, drunk­ driving, getting lifts with strangers, being out alone at night with no money, at the mercy of guys as foolish as we were, drugs, STDs, HIV, early pregnancy, abortions, you name it, we came close to it. However, I came out of my teenage years unscathed, with good O and A Levels to boot! Not all my friends were that lucky. Unlike the majority of Zimbabweans, I was raised in a non-religious household. My mother, a strikingly beautiful Zulu woman, had been born and raised a Christian but lived a glamorous city life in Johannesburg, working as a nurse while winning beauty titles and ballroom dancing championships. Going against tradition (and the apartheid laws), she fell in love with my father, a White South African. Having been groomed for privilege and supremacy in exclusive boarding-schools, he had 21

12. FROM MY SISTERS’ LIPS MY PATH rejected the racist premise of apartheid and embraced the anti-apartheid struggle through grassroots theatre. If ever there was a ‘White African’, he was one! My father was a committed Marxist and an agnostic at that. So, as children, we were told that the Bible was full of fairy tales, and that was what we believed. However, I sang the hymns and said The Lord’s Prayer like all the other children, even though it didn’t mean any­ thing to me. In my final year of high school, I decided to apply for a university place in London. I was determined to get out of Zimbabwe. I didn’t want to fall into the trap of thinking that the city life of Harare was all there was and that the Circus nightclub was the most sophisticated place on the planet. So I applied and was accepted at one of the colleges in the University of London. All I had to do was find the money to get me there! After about eight months working in the travel industry and singing in a successful local band, I saved enough money for my ticket and my first few months in London. So I left Harare to study French, Politics and Business Studies in London. It was there that I met my first close-knit group of girlfriends and began to discover the true meaning of friendship between women. We read together, worked together, ate together and partied together. We explored Frantz Fanon, Alice Walker and Descartes. We nodded our heads to PuffDaddy’s crew, Maxwell and Erykah Badu. We let our hair ‘go natural’, no chemicals, twisted it, braided it and wrapped it in Afro print. We talked about Black issues (on which our views were to become increasingly militant), about the state of the world, about our families and our pasts. My social circle was a group of beautiful, confident young Black women, getting an education, having fun - on top of the world, or so I thought! In the summer of my first year at university, I took a trip that was to change my life for ever. And it all began with an innocent invitation to participate in a music festival in Egypt as a Zimbabwean representative, alongside one of my musician friends who was a professional singer and mbira player (a traditional Zimbabwean instrument). Although I was not a trained musician, I could sing and play the African drum, ngoma, as well as perform many traditional Zimbabwean dances. Egypt was hot and noisy and it bustled in shades of sand and sunlight. Of course, we explored the pyramids, museums and markets as all tourists do. But I also remember being very aware of women in headscarves, in hijab, wherever we went and, quite frankly, I was appalled. All my budding feminist instincts raged 23

13. FROM MY SISTERS’ LIPS MY PATH against the whole idea of a woman covering her­ self- I thought it a symbol of female oppression, of male dominance. But most of all, I thought it made them look terribly ugly. Usually, when we see things that are foreign to us, we base our opinions on our own experiences and know­ ledge. It is rare for us actually to step outside our own perceptions and try to understand what we see through the eyes of those living it. For some reason, on that trip, I dared to ask about what seemed so incomprehensible to me. One evening, we were performing at a concert in a village out of town. After our set, I remem­ ber seeing a young woman, the organizer’s wife, who was wearing a creamy coloured headscarf - a hijab. It framed her face and then fell in folds over her neck and chest. I looked into her face - she was beautiful. It seemed to me that her face was glowing and, somehow, in some way, the hijab only accentuated that. I was so taken with that sight that I stopped to speak to her. After exchanging pleasantries, I asked her the question that had been burning in my brain since I had arrived in Cairo: ‘Why do you cover yourself? You are so beautiful.’ To this day, her answer hits me with its clarity and simplicity. ‘Because,’ she said, ‘I want to be judged for what I say and what I do, not for what I look like.’ BAM! Ever since 1 can remember, I have been aware of my looks - not so much because I am par­ ticularly beautiful (although my friends and family would attest to my vanity!), but because of how people reacted to me. Throughout my teenage years, my friends and I were totally comfortable with the notion of using our looks * as leverage, of wielding power over men in this way. In that world, every woman knows the drill: when you go for that job interview, you make sure you look your best, and if it’s a man you’re meeting, perhaps even show a bit of leg, laugh at his jokes, pout a bit to be taken out to lunch — that sort of thing. Most women grow up know­ ing these tricks and use them both consciously and unconsciously. So on that night in an Egyptian village, when that lovely woman told me that she was not interested in being judged on her appearance, but on what she said and thought, I had to sit up and take notice! What did she mean? Remove physical looks from the equation? I felt nothing but admiration for this woman. What is it about Islam, 1 thought, that can make a woman so strong that she no longer strives to be noticed by men, no longer needs the admiring gaze to feel attractive, no longer puts herself on display when the rest of the world is doing just that? These questions 24 25

14. FROM MY SISTERS’ LIPS MY PATH affected me deeply. I began to think about my life, about my own self-image and how I wanted to grow and develop. I asked myself whether I had the courage, the confidence, and the self-esteem to get by on my character and intellect alone. J 4 And so it was, on that fateful trip to Egypt in the summer of 1998, that 1 began to think about Islam and set in motion the wheels of change. It was as if speaking with that beautiful woman who had so impressed me with her quiet strength of character had opened my eyes. Suddenly, I saw worship all around me - in mosques, on the streets, everywhere. All at once, I became aware of words of devotion, uttered in Arabic - 'bismillah’ - in the name of Allah, ‘alhamdulillah’ - all praise is due to Allah, ‘insha Allah’ - if Allah wills, ‘masha Allah’ - it is as Allah wills. I was both surprised and intrigued, for I suddenly realized that I had a spiritual side that I had never bothered to explore. And it worried me that I knew so little about one of the world’s great those religious education lessons at school had left me cold, the memory of the Bible-bashing, un-toting colonizers indelibly etched on my brain. It was near impossible for me to divorce the Christian message from all its cultural baggage and from the imperialism that had brought it to Africa. Growing up in Zimbabwe, one of the frontline states bordering apartheid South Africa and conflict-ridden Mozambique, Angola and Namibia, we were very much aware of the way in which Christianity had been used as a smokescreen to cover the wholesale theft of our land. Although this did not (and still does not) deter the majority of Southern Africans from following the faith, it bothered me. This unease was only increased by my involvement with Black and Africanist thought at university — becoming a Christian was akin to selling out. But Islam? Islam was completely new to me then and came with no history as far as I was concerned. I started to ask questions about the faith, what Muslims believed in, what they did, what they didn’t do. I resolved to read the Qur’an on my return to London. And the Bible too — I felt I wanted to give Christianity one more shot. I left Egypt shaken: my encounter with the Islamic faith had affected me to the core. I couldn’t put my finger on what had touched me so, but whatever it was had thrown into question all those long-held assumptions and expectations about my future ambitions. What was my life about? Would I finish university and get a high-powered job, working nine to nine? Would I spend my money on clothes and home furnish­ ings, visiting Zimbabwe every year? Would I eventually return there, get married to a local 26

15. FROM MY SISTERS’ LIPS MY PATH ‘mover and shaker’ and live in a leafy suburb with a maid, a cook and a gardener, far away from the common folk, the povo"i Would I wait until I was thirty and then have children, making sure to send them to the best colonial-style private schools and take them on overseas holidays every year? In essence, would I live the life that I had decided on during my teenage years, the life that all young Zimbabweans in my social group aspired to? Somehow, all that I had seen and heard in Egypt had awakened some­ thing in me, a yearning for direction, for depth and substance - a yearning for something more than the vapid existence I had been planning for. For the first time, I began to wonder about the world and my place in it: I began to wonder about the meaning of life. On my return to London, I was already con­ vinced that I wanted to give ‘dressing modestly’ a try. So I wrapped my head, much as the singer Erykah Badu was doing that year, and wore loose-fitting clothes - tunic tops and wide pants in muted colours. Alternatively, I would always make sure that I kept my coat on if I had tightish trousers on. My transformation from disco diva to ‘African sistah’ did not go unnoticed on cam­ pus. One of the rumours that reached me was that I had joined a cult and had to wear the head­ wrap all the time. However, the rumours didn’t faze me because my instincts told me that I was doing the right thing, no matter what wild conclusions other people jumped to. I bought a translation of the Qur’an by Marmaduke Pickthall, the English writer who became a Muslim in the early twentieth century. To my dismay, however, I could not grasp its magnitude. Apart from uninspiring religious education lessons in school, I’d grown up outside the biblical tradition and could not relate to the stories of the prophets and the peoples of the past. And, as I could not read Arabic at that time, I had to make do with the English version, which, as anyone will tell you, is a poor sub­ stitute. No one had ever explained its origins to me -1 did not know how it had come to exist in its present form, whether it was the original revelation itself or whether someone, the Prophet Muhammad (s) or his followers, had actually composed it themselves. I thought it very much like the Bible, in that it contained some of the same stories and that it had been written by different men over a number of years. In fact, my initial reaction was quite irreverent and my first copy is full of underlining, question marks and exclamation marks. There were some concepts I just could not grasp at that time and it was only when 1 learnt more about the Qur’an that I began to understand them. 28 29

16. FROM MY SISTERS’ LIPS MY PATH But there were aspects of Qur’anic law that I readily understood. I could see the beauty and wisdom of establishing the prayer five times a day. It meant that the first action of the day was worship, Salat al-Fajr, as was the last, Salat al-’Isha. In between those two prayers were the other three, Salat adh-Dhuhr, at about lunchtime, Salat al-’Asr, mid-afternoon, and Salat al-Maghrib, prayed when the setting sun turned the clouds crimson. Those five prayers were a constant reminder of God and a chance to renew one’s relationship with Him. There were other laws that made sense to me as well. Although my friends and I had been known to indulge in a tipple occasionally, I had no problem accepting the prohibition of alcohol and other intoxicants. It is a well-known fact that Zimbabwean men love their beer; through­ out my childhood and adolescence, I had seen for myself the drunkenness, the squandering of wages, the violence, the promiscuity and the devastating consequences that accompanied excessive drinking in the African context. But anyone anywhere in the world who has smelt the reek of stale beer on their breath, felt the throb of a hangover, tasted the sickening slime of drunken vomit, seen the pathetic pain of an alcoholic’s need or suffered the consequences of a drunken ‘bit of fun’ will understand, at least a little, the way in which alcohol can debase the human being. Although these scenarios do not accom­ pany all alcoholic (mis)adventures, the prospect of them was enough to convince me of the wisdom of staying away from it altogether. However, it took a nasty surprise to stop me eating pork. My flatmate and I had bought some and had put it in the fridge. To our horror, when we took it out to cook the next day, the pale lump of meat was crawling with maggots. That was enough to make me swear off pork for life. To this day, even the sound of the word makes me feel sick. To me, the injunctions for men and women to be modest and treat each other with respect meant an end to unwanted male attention, to cat­ calls, to wolf whistles, to innuendo and sexual harassment. It also meant an end to seeking male approval for my looks or clothes. That meant that I changed how I dressed and how I inter­ acted with men, keeping a certain distance between them and me. It was a new way of being, a new way of looking at the world. It meant that I called the shots: I shared as much of myself as I saw fit and no more - no man had any right to me. What can I say? It was empowering. So, slowly but surely, my lifestyle was chang­ ing. However, I was not convinced that I needed to actually convert to Islam in order to benefit

17. FROM MY SISTERS’ LIPS MY PATH from the Islamic way of life. I thought that I would merely continue to change a few things here and there while maintaining my own in­ dividual lifestyle and goals. I still felt much more loyalty to my Black ‘brothas’ and ‘sistahs’ than to the Muslims I had met. Indeed, although I was being drawn towards Islam, Muslims themselves were still a mystery to me. My university was in Mile End, just up the road from Whitechapel and the now (in)famous Brick Lane, densely popu­ lated by Asians, most of them Muslims. They were all around us there - in the estates and terrace houses, chicken-and-chips shops and storefront mosques. I would often see the men, i stern-faced, many with grey and white beards, walking purposefully to the little house near campus that served as a mosque - a mosque where, I was later to learn, there was no space for women to pray. Although women have the choice between praying at home or at the mosque, it is a sad feature of some more traditional mosques that they do not allow women to make this choice for themselves. The Muslims there were mainly Bengalis and I would see the women too, their saris peeking out from under their black cloaks, their scarves perched precariously on their heads, their lips and teeth stained deep orange by the betel nut they liked to chew. And then there were the young girls, fresh-faced with neat lace-trimmed scarves and feminine Pakistani trouser suits, shalwar kameez, and the young boys, thin and wiry, with gelled hair and the ubiquitous mobile phone. I saw all these people, these Muslims, and I knew that they believed in Allah and that they no doubt read the same Qur’an that I battled with every night. And yet, I felt no kinship with them at all -1 did not see myself reflected in their eyes. And so I kept away. My religious solitude was to end when I saw a girl from university who was in the year above me. Her name was Sandra and I had been trying to get her to come to the African Caribbean Society (ACS) for a long time. However, her best friend, Hanah, was an Arab, a Muslim, with an Egyptian father and Zanzibari mother. I remem­ ber she had always been dead against what she saw as the exclusionist and racist premise of the ACS, so I had pretty much given up on the two of them. But, one day, I was walking through the canteen and I caught sight of Sandra, sitting with a group of friends. They all looked the same, except for the strange look on Sandra’s face and the scarf that was tied around her head. It was one of those lace-trimmed hijabs favoured by the Bengalis, but she had wrapped it around her head instead of letting it fall over her neck and chest. She looked so different. What has she 32

18. FROM MY SISTERS’ LIPS MY PATH done? I asked myself. I was so curious that I • * could not resist going up to her and asking about her new look. That was when she told me that she had taken her shahadah that weekend - she had affirmed the Muslim testimony of faith: 'Ash-hadu an-laa ilaaha illallah wa ash-hadu ana Muhammad ar-rasoolullah.’ ‘I bear witness that there is nothing worthy of worship, in truth, except Allah and that Muhammad is the Messenger of Allah.’ She was a Muslim now. I was shocked and envious at the same time - she looked so happy, as though she knew that she had done something important and meaningful, that she had done the right thing. She had taken a brave step, a step I was too frightened to take. ‘Well,’ I managed to say, ‘you were braver than I was.’ Then I told her about my tentative steps towards Islam and my reservations. That was when she asked me if I would come to her room in the halls of residence and show her how to tie a headwrap. I was happy to oblige. The very next t day, I went over with some material, a beautiful ;old and red striped weave from Egypt, a thick black fabric perfect for solid ‘wraps’ and a length of navy chiffon. And that night, amidst the try­ ing, the tying and several failed attempts, a friendship began to blossom, a friendship that was to change my life for ever. All of a sudden, I had someone to share my interest in Islam with, to discuss and debate the ins and outs of the faith with and I relished it. And just as my interest in all things Islamic began to grow, so my passion for ‘Black issues’ began to wane. The more serious issues were hardly ever addressed at the African Caribbean Society meet­ ings and I was particularly frustrated by the repetitive way in which we discussed the same topics, year in, year out. As the same old debates about African vs. Caribbean identity, the dangers of Black-White relationships, and misogynist and violent song lyrics continued to raise temperatures during our meetings, my heart began to feel strangely restless. It all seemed so shallow, so meaningless - were these really the most important issues facing us as human beings? My growing interest in Islam had exposed me to a radically different world view and a new understanding of the purpose for human existence, and I found it increasingly difficult to ignore all that I now knew. The last straw for me was when the Society organized a viewing of the Jamaican film Dancehall Queen as a cultural event. Sitting in the darkened auditorium, with the ragga music blaring, gazing at the writhing bodies on the dance floor, legs splayed, clad in ‘batty riders’ and thigh-high boots, I felt so distant, so apart. This is not who 34 35

19. FROM MY SISTERS’ LIPS MY PATH done? I asked myself. I was so curious that I could not resist going up to her and asking about her new look. That was when she told me that she had taken her shahadah that weekend - she had affirmed the Muslim testimony of faith: ana Muhammad ar-rasoolullah. ’ ‘I bear witness that there is nothing worthy of worship, in truth, except Allah and that Muhammad is the Messenger of Allah.’ She was a Muslim now. I was shocked and envious at the same time - she looked so happy, as though she knew that she had done something important and meaningful, that she had done the right thing. She had taken a brave step, a step I was too frightened to take. ‘Well,’ I managed to say, ‘you were braver than I was.’ Then I told her about my tentative steps towards Islam and my reservations. That was when she asked me if I would come to her room in the halls of residence and show her how to tie a headwrap. I was happy to oblige. The very next day, I went over with some material, a beautiful gold and red striped weave from Egypt, a thick black fabric perfect for solid ‘wraps’ and a length of navy chiffon. And that night, amidst the try­ ing, the tying and several failed attempts, a friendship began to blossom, a friendship that was to change my life for ever. All of a sudden, I had someone to share my interest in Islam with, to discuss and debate the ins and outs of the faith with and I relished it. And just as my interest in all things Islamic began to grow, so my passion for ‘Black issues’ began to wane. The more serious issues were hardly ever addressed at the African Caribbean Society meet­ ings and I was particularly frustrated by the repetitive way in which we discussed the same topics, year in, year out. As the same old debates about African vs. Caribbean identity, the dangers of Black-White relationships, and misogynist and violent song lyrics continued to raise temperatures during our meetings, my heart began to feel strangely restless. It all seemed so shallow, so meaningless - were these really the most important issues facing us as human beings? My growing interest in Islam had exposed me to a radically different world view and a new understanding of the purpose for human existence, and I found it increasingly difficult to ignore all that I now knew. The last straw for me was when the Society organized a viewing of the Jamaican film Dancehall Queen as a cultural event. Sitting in the darkened auditorium, with the ragga music blaring, gazing at the writhing bodies on the dance floor, legs splayed, clad in ‘batty riders’ and thigh-high boots, I felt so distant, so apart. This is not who 34 35

20. FROM MY SISTERS’ LIPS MY PATH I am any more, I thought to myself. I no longer belong here. So I got up; I left and went to the student prayer room on the other side of the campus. I needed to be around other people who were on the same wavelength as me. I needed beneficial company. I needed depth and meaning. I needed soul food! And it was then that I realized that I no longer felt completely at home with my old persona and that, little by little, my heart was inclining towards Islam. But, for all my heart’s yearnings, there were practicalities to consider. And ideologies. And politics. How could I, a Black African woman (as I saw myself then, never mind my mixed parentage!) be part of a religion like Islam? As far as I could see, it was a religion for Asians and Arabs! After all, they were the only Muslims I had ever really seen. I failed to picture how I could fit in to that way of life without losing my sense of identity. And to espouse a faith that would risk estranging me from my family, friends and the traditions of my ancestors filled me with apprehension. My new friend, Sandra, was always very patient with me when I brought up these objections. I think that part of her could see where I was coming from but a larger part of her wondered why I was so hung up on the whole ‘African identity’ thing. To her it was simple: if Islam is the truth, all these other things are of secondary importance, so why let them get in the way of following what you know to be right? But I had more questions for her. I remember very clearly crying out one day, ‘What if I give my life to Allah and He does something I don’t want with it?’ After all, I had plans: the fancy job, the money, the big wedding back home, the children in striped blazers and braids -1 had it all figured out! But if I accepted Islam, I knew all that had to change. Was I ready to let go of my ambitions and plans for the future? No, I was not ready for that change - not ready to give up a carefully planned future that had been dictated by my past. I was being held back by the fear of the unknown, the fear of uncertainty, the fear of submission. It was around this time that I started working as a temp for a major shoe company in London. There I met a woman of West Indian descent and, pleased to see another Black face in the office, I became friendly with her. I found her to be very down to earth and welcoming, and I was extremely impressed when she told me that she had taken an ‘X’ after her name as a substitute for the family name that she would never know. In the West, almost every Black person whose ancestors were slaves has a European surname, 36 I -

21. FROM MY SISTERS’ LIPS MY PATH the name of their ancestors’ owner, the slave master. Their original African names were changed and are now, for the most part, lost for ever. I was soon to discover that the practice of replacing the slave name with an ‘X’ was what the followers of the so-called Nation of Islam did, just as their charismatic one-time spokesman Malcolm X had done. So when Monica told me that she regularly went to the Nation of Islam’s Temple One in Shepherd’s Bush and invited me to go with her, I was eager to go and experience it for myself. Maybe this was where I belonged - in a ‘Black version’ of Islam? So, on the evening of the next meeting, we went together and I had my first encounter with the controversial Nation of Islam. We got to the meeting hall. The Nation of Islam bodyguards, tall and broad in their smart suits and neat bow ties were there to greet us. Amid a chorus of Asalaamu alaikum, my Black i sisters’, Asalaamu alaikum, my Black queens’, | they directed us to the booth at the top of the stairs where we were to be searched, as was ] the somewhat paranoid practice at Nation of Islam meetings. The woman in the booth wore what appeared to be a uniform: a navy blue dress and a cape on her head, much like a nun’s habit, j which covered her hair and lay behind her ears down to her back. We were searched and I remember being impressed by her efficiency and seriousness, something that I had rarely found in the Black organizations I knew. When we entered the meeting room, the women were seated on the rows of chairs closest to the entrance and the men on rows of chairs on the other side of the room. A narrow aisle separated them. Everyone was looking up at the stage, where recruits from the Fruit of Islam, the Nation of Islam cadres, stood with their legs apart, gazing impassively into the middle distance, much as they had in the 1960s, in Elijah Muhammad’s day. The other men were all dressed in suits, many with bow ties, and the women wore the same capes as the first woman we had met. The visitors sat in the rows further back, some donning headscarves for the occasion. The meeting began with the greeting of Asalaamu alaikum’ and a reading from the Qur’an, the first verse, Surah al-Fatihah. What followed then was a mixture of evangelist-style preaching (for which the Nation of Islam speakers are well known), personal anecdotes and a presentation by the children who attended the Nation of Islam school. The meeting and its content evoked powerful emotions in all of us, especially the more ‘Black conscious’ ones in the gathering. I went again, a few weeks later, taking 39 38

22. FROM MY SISTERS’ LIPS MY PATH with me my flatmate, Efua, and my colleague, Nichelie. Nichelie was far from impressed with the racist ideas espoused by the speakers but they didn’t put Efua and me off too much. But it was only when I went to a third meeting with a Muslim friend that I began to have doubts as to whether the ‘Nation of Islam’ was the right thing for me. For a start, I was not convinced by their premise that all civilizations in the world had been established by the ‘Asiatic Black man’. I found it ridiculous that a movement that claimed to espouse Black advancement chose to wear suits and natty bow ties as their uniform. Even more incredible was the routine use of the name ‘Muhammad’ - an Arabic name if ever there was one - while still claiming to be neither African nor Caribbean, but ‘Asiatic’ in origin. On the train home, our Muslim friend said, ‘That’s not real Islam, you know.’ And, though I knew very little at that time, I knew that he was right. Compared with the doctrine of the Nation of Islam, ‘real’ Islam seemed measured, balanced, welcoming and open. Instead of concentrating on the relationship between the Black man and the n hite devils’, Black empowerment and other social problems that Black communities faced, Islam stressed the relationship between all human beings and their Creator - in belief, in manners and in worship. The two ways of life and beliefsystems seemed miles apart. My search was not yet over. The sense that I was reaching a turning point in my life just wouldn’t leave me. While on the one hand I sensed that I could not continue picking and choosing the aspects of Islam that fitted in with my world view, on the other, I knew I could not go back to my old lifestyle. The time had come for me to make a decision. Sandra, who had become a good friend by now, told me that I would have to make a choice or risk dying in dis­ belief, as a non-Muslim. I was agonized. But the Christmas holidays were around the corner and I had received my pay from the department store where I worked part time. What would I do? Would I go to spend Christmas with my family who were in the States? Or would I go some­ where that would help me understand what I was meant to do with the rest of my life? I chose the latter. I decided to go to Muslim Africa, to Guinea, the land and life so vividly etched in my mind by Camara Laye’s book, L’Enfant Noir. I also chose Guinea because I knew that it had a largely Muslim population and also because, on my way to Egypt, I had met the director of the Guinean postal service and he and his people had impressed me with their firm faith and strong sense of identity. He was to 41 40

23. FROM MY SISTERS’ LIPS MY PATH be my contact as I made preparations for my trip. All my friends were appalled. To them, the whole idea was crazy: I hardly knew my host, had never visited the country, would be travelling on my own and would have no one to look out for me. So strong were their objections that I almost called the whole thing off, until, by a twist of fate, a few things happened that made me believe that I was destined to make that journey. The first was a chance meeting with a group of Nigerian Muslim women while at work in the department store. I recognized them im­ mediately as Nigerian because they were wearing tie-dyed boubous, those voluminous African out­ fits usually known as kaftans. But on their heads, instead of the common starched headwrap, they wore the same lace-trimmed hijabs favoured by the young Asian girls in my area. I was intrigued and, as was my practice in those days, im­ mediately went up to them and said, ‘Asalaamu alaikurri - peace be upon you. They all answered with bright smiles and, ‘Wa alaikum salaam? - upon you be peace. I went on to ask them where they were from and what they were doing. One of them, the one with the brightest smile, told me that they were from Lagos and that they had come to London on holiday. It turned out that she was the owner of a travel agency back home in Nigeria. During the course of our conversation, it emerged that she had a colleague who ran a travel agency in Conakry, the capital of Guinea! When I told her that I had been planning a trip there but had no other contacts, she insisted that I take her card and the name of the lady in Conakry and look her up as soon as I got there. That made my heart smile - was this a sign that I was meant to go after all? Then, on my way home on the tube, I met a woman who, for some reason, gave me the feel­ ing that she believed in what I was looking for. I felt compelled to talk to her. ‘Are you a Muslim?’ I asked her after intro­ ducing myself, to which she replied, ‘Yes.’ It turned out that she was from Sierra Leone, but I think it was her father who was from Guinea. It was just like a game show, as if two bells had gone off in my head, indicating that I had the right answer. Although it may sound foolhardy, I made up my mind there and then that I was going to Guinea. I remember saying to one of my friends at the time, ‘I am going and if I die out there, I know that it is only by the will of Allah.’ So, taking my month’s wages, which included some overtime and an overdraft, I bought my ticket, packed my bags and said goodbye to my brother and sister who were in transit in London. I then boarded the plane for Paris. There I was to catch a flight to Dakar, Senegal, 42 43

24. FROM MY SISTERS’ LIPS MY PATH and from there, make my way to Conakry. All ■ the while, I was consumed by a strange sensation. I felt like I was floating on the waves of destiny, of the qadr, swimming with the tide, drifting far out to sea. I was serene and unafraid, although I was well aware of the potential danger. The director of the Post Office could have been lying all along, there could be no wife or children, it could all be a ploy to get me out there and take advantage of me. But my mind was untroubled by these thoughts. I had no mis­ givings, and by the time I got to the transit lounge in Paris, I knew I wanted to be a Muslim. I wanted to be like those people around me who exuded so much confidence and who seemed to be sustained by their faith in Islam. This is an excerpt from the journal I kept while I was out there: 13/12: Overcome by emotion at the first sight of Senegalese Muslims - they look like my people! My chest trembles and my eyes fill with tears - alhamdulillah!... The men are bickering about something now - is it Arabic they are speaking? Silver rings everywhere, an Adidas trainer peeks out from one old man’s outfit. The old man with the brown boubou and matching Burberry scarf kills it! I was completely seduced by the look and feel of these Muslims who were so different to the ones I’d encountered in England. As someone still steeped in the ideals of Black nationalism, these Muslims appealed to my own African identity and my sense of Black pride. They were proud to be African, in their looks, manners and dress, a quality all too rare in many parts of Southern Africa. There, the legacy of British colonialism manifested itself in the way many people sought dignity and prestige by trying to be British. In stark contrast, I was impressed by what I saw as the confidence of the Muslim people of ‘French’ West Africa. After a brief stopover in Dakar, I flew to Conakry and found myself, safe and sound, in the home of the director of the Post Office with his wife, Madame, and two little sons. And that was the start of four unforgettable weeks. In that time, in the sticky heat of Conakry, I took to wearing my headwrap with a kaftan, un boubou. I found them loose and comfortable and, although they were still very beautiful, they hid the shape of my body and I revelled in that. I was cool, at ease, and passed almost unnoticed amongst the locals. I was loath to wear the few Western clothes I had brought with me, always eager to go back to the comfort and security of my folds of starched fabric. However, not 45

25. FROM MY SISTERS’ LIPS MY PATH everyone felt this way. My hostess did not cover Islamically at all and there were many times when she and other women would try to con­ vince me to shed my ‘old women’s’ boubou in favour of jeans from the market. Needless to say, I was appalled by the idea and refused every time. Firstly, 1 was not interested in going back to wearing jeans and, secondly, I was not about to go ‘wearing jeans from no Guinea market’. After all, I still had to keep up some sort of image! The desire to ‘protect myself’ with the boubou was strengthened by an incident that took place concerning one of the wealthiest men in Guinea at the time. Ever since I had announced my desire to become a Muslim, there had been one issue on everyone’s mind: who was I going to marry? Now, to be honest, marriage had not been at the forefront of my mind but here, all of a sudden, it consumed my waking hours. Everyone had a brother, an uncle, a cousin who would make me a wonderful husband - it drove me absolutely crazy! One such prospect was this particular specimen, ‘ww des serieux de Conakry’ (one of the big shots of Conakry), a mover and shaker of immense proportions and nearly twice my age. My host family genuinely thought that he would make a good match for me and encouraged him to come to the house and talk his foolishness with me. One evening, he invited us to visit his football team, which was staying at one of the city’s five-star hotels. Madame, upon seeing that I intended to wear one of my boubous as usual, made a tremendous fuss and insisted that I change into something younger, smarter and less voluminous. Stupidly, I gave in to her. I then spent one of the most uncomfortable evenings of my life: ignored by the men as they talked football, I was obviously the arm candy and not there for conversation. It is so strange to me that women are often expected to accept this role. They must be with a man to be looked at, admired and flattered but not to speak or to express any kind of intelligent thought. Strange too how the man gets his kicks from his friends admiring ‘his woman’, envying him and secretly coveting her. It makes him feel like a man, macho, as if her good looks validate him and his good taste. I was never comfortable with that, although like many impressionable young women who are seeking approval, it was often par for the course when I was growing up. On that warm evening in Conakry, I felt humiliated and was furious with myself for capitulating, for not standing by what I believed in. I abruptly left the men and went to the shoreline, at the edge of the hotel garden, where I could taste the salty mist from the waves breaking on the rocks. At least I still 46 47

26. FROM MY SISTERS’ LIPS MY PATH had my headwrap. It is strange, but although the headwrap is by no means an Islamic form of covering, it became my lifeline in those days. As long as I had that, I felt that I could hold on to my dignity and my principles. And I knew that if I lost that, I would have lost more than just the covering on my head -1 would have lost the fight for my new identity. That evening, I resolved never to be put in such a compromising situation again. My days of being a man’s trophy were over. My reputation for intransigence spread throughout our community of family and friends and I was affectionately dubbed, 'Al Hajja’, the one who has made Hajj, the pilgrimage to Mecca. The reason for this was that it is common for people in the Muslim world to live the most un-Islamic of lives until middle age when they then perform the Hajj. As the reward for Hajj is the forgiveness for all one’s sins, many come back from Mecca with their consciences clear, ready to start living an Islamic life, now that the fiery desires of youth had been spent. So, because I eschewed clingy, revealing clothes, boyfriends and showing my hair, I earned myself that title. In Guinea I was once again surrounded by the ebb and flow of worship - prayers uttered aloud at dawn while mist still blanketed the ground, the call of le muezzin, Friday rituals and the jtmtu’ah prayer (the Friday congregational prayer) at the mosque. Five times a day, I would make wudhu’, put on a scarf that covered my head, neck and chest, roll out my prayer mat, face the Qiblah, the Ka’bah in Mecca, and pray - the five daily prayers became the natural rhythm of my day. It meant a lot to me that this ritual was the same one practised by the Prophet of Islam (s) and his followers, and by Muslims all over the world since then. Later, it was at such times that I would think of the ummah, the Islamic nation, and I would feel proud to be part of such a wonderful community. Every Friday, I would go to one of the many mosques with my host’s mother, Hajja, a formid­ able woman with a great sense of humour and a wonderful personality. We would drape a wide piece of fabric across the top of our headwraps and across our necks and over our shoulders. In that way, we would make ourselves suitably dressed for the prayer. The first time I ever prayed in the way that the Prophet Muhammad (s) himself had prayed over 1400 years ago, I simply followed what my neighbours were doing. When they raised their hands, I raised mine: 'Allahu akbarl’ (‘God is the greatest!’). When they bent forward from the waist in ruku, I did the same: 'Subhana Rabbi al-Adheem’ (‘glorified 49

27. FROM MY SISTERS' LIPS MY PATH be my Lord, the Most Great’). When they knelt down, faces and palms pressed to the floor, I prostrated with them: ‘Subhana Rabbi al-A’laa’ (‘glorified be my Lord, the Most High’). Can there be a posture more symbolic ofman’s relationship with God than the prostration? The human being, who normally walks so tall and proud, bends his body willingly - his waist, his knees, his ankles - until his face is pressed to the ground in humility before his Lord. I found this posture extremely moving. It was at that moment, in sujood, that I felt closest to Allah, whose name now rolled off my tongue with ease. It was then that I was able to speak to Him, to call out to Him, to confide in Him, to cry tears before Him. It was while in sujood that I learnt ( to love Him. On that first Friday, when we returned to Hajja’s house, one of the men taught me how to recite the first verse of the Qur’an: J In the Name ofAllah, the Most Beneficent, the Most Merciful ‘All the praises and thanks be to Allah, the Lord ofall the worlds. The Most Beneficent, the Most Merciful. The Only Owner ofthe Day of Recompense You (Alone) we worship, and You (Alone) we ask for help. Guide us to the Straight Way. The Way ofthose on whom You have bestowed Your Grace, not ofthose who earned Your Anger, nor ofthose who went astray. ’ Surah al-Fatihah 1:1 Although the unfamiliar words tested my tongue, I persevered, learning that verse and two others phonetically. My hosts bought me a booklet from a roadside vendor that explained the postures and recitations that were involved in the prayer, the salah, and they gave me a velvet green prayer mat to use in my room. They also taught me how to make wudhu’, a form of ritual cleansing that Muslims make before approaching the prayer. In the blue-tiled bathroom, I made my intention to make the wudhu’ and then I washed my hands three times, the cool water slipping through my fingers and over my wrists. And, with a cupped right hand, I brought water to my face and took a mouthful and inhaled at the same time, emptying my mouth and nose with the left. I did that three times. Then on to wash my face three times. The water ran into my hand and, as I raised my arm, it flowed down it as I washed, first the right then the left, three times. I passed water over my hair, backwards, then forwards, then I wiped my ears with my fingers and thumb. 50

28. FROM MY SISTERS’ LIPS MY PATH Lastly, I poured water from the jug onto my feet as I washed them three times. There are few things as refreshing as the wudhu’, particularly, I found, during the humid days in Guinea. It left me feeling clean and alert, ready to pray in the cool of my room, the shadows from the tree out­ side my window playing pretty patterns on my green prayer mat and the terracotta floor. The days passed quickly in Conakry, peppered by trips to the market, prayers, buying new boubous and conversations - in French - with the neighbours and other people we met. I also learnt a few phrases of one of the local languages, Sousou, and used them often, much to my hosts’ delight. And then, all at once, the month of Ramadhan was upon us and I could feel the excitement in the air. The month of Ramadhan, in which was revealed I the Qur’an, a guidance for mankind and clear I proofs for the guidance and the criterion [between right and wrong]... I Surah Al-Baqarah 2:185 ■ To my mind, there is nothing like being in a Muslim country during Ramadhan. There is nothing in the Western Muslim experience to rival it, no ritual, no sense of solidarity, nothing | like it. To this day, I remember the camaraderie I that came from knowing that everyone (well, almost everyone!) was abstaining from food, drink and sexual relations from dawn until dusk. And, like most parts of the Muslim world, we ate very well after the sun had gone down: aromatic rice and spicy fish, fresh sweet bread from the best baker in town, sweet-sour bissap, made from sorrel leaves and rose water, steamy couscous and roasted chicken and Madame’s speciality, sweetcorn salad. After eating our fill, we would make wudhu’ and walk through the now-damp dust to the mosque on the corner where the Tsha prayers were held. Women, dressed in boubous of many colours with translucent scarves thrown over one shoulder, always filled the upper section of the mosque at prayer time, particularly when it was time for Tarawih. These are the long prayers that are per­ formed in almost every mosque during Ramadhan, during which the whole Qur’an is habitually recited over the course of the twenty- nine or thirty days of the month. So, day by day, I came to feel comfortable as a Muslim amongst these people who, a month before, had been strangers to me. My hosts treated me as if I were their own daughter and I felt a strong sense of belonging. I was one of the family, present on family visits, shopping trips and weddings; they never left me out. That is not 53 52

29. FROM MY SISTERS’ LIPS MY PATH to say that there was no tension - obviously there were personality clashes of sorts and I witnessed many things that I knew were un-Islamic and haram (prohibited), even with my own limited knowledge of the deen. But I also saw that Islam was something that people lived, that it was not just an ideal. And I now knew that I could live it too. (The only question now was who to marry!) But I should mention here that although I prayed, fasted and covered my head, I had not yet taken my shahadah — I was not even a Muslim yet. I came back from West Africa a changed woman. I had no doubts that Islam was for me. I had begun the process of surrender, of sub­ mission. It was on a bleak day in London, a few weeks after my return, that my friend Sandra and I made our way to Central Mosque in London’s Regent’s Park. It was there, after months of searching and questioning, that I finally accepted what had been in my heart for the longest time: ‘I bear witness that there is nothing worthy of worship, in truth, except Allah and that Muhammad is the Messenger of Allah.’ In essence, I was the last person anyone would have expected to become a Muslim. I came from a completely non-religious background; I was young, and living a fun-filled, busy life. I was getting an education, planning for the future, politically aware and active. I was passionate about what I believed in. And then Islam came along and turned my world upside down. It made me ask questions, demand answers and learn to accept the undeniable. There was no way I could have turned away from Islam and been at peace with myself. For me it was quite simply the truth. And so I accepted it. 54

30. MY SISTERS’ PATHS Why Tell Them? MY SISTERS’ PATHS But surely I am an aberration. After all, aren’t most women who ‘turn to Islam’ easily in­ fluenced, brainwashed, no-hopers who need something to believe in to make up for their own deprived existence? Or else they do it for a man, to keep him and, hopefully, bear his children. Surely the world is not full of beautiful, intelligent women, successful in their chosen careers, with active social lives, who willingly leave all that and embrace Islam? It will come as a surprise to many to discover that the new breed of Muslim women do not fit neatly into any pigeon holes - their stories are far more varied and interesting than the stereotypes. Muslims never tire of hearing stories about how people from distant places and with different faces came to embrace Islam. It is often an in­ spiration to be reminded that individuals from such different backgrounds came to unite upon a common understanding of the meaning of life. As sisters within Islam, as part of the inner circle, we are familiar with these fascinating stories — they are part of our history. For the non-Muslim, however, they remain a mystery, even though these are women who cross our paths every day, who live down the road, whose children attend our children’s schools. I feel the time has come to have been privileged open that inner circle. I want to share what I to be a part of for the last six years, so that others may share in the wonders of a spiritual journey that unites so many people from so many ages, colours, places and backgrounds. Girls Next Door he one thing that binds the women quoted in ■■ is book is that they are all products of this ociety. They were born into it, they were c °oled in its ways, they imbibed its beliefs, 1Ved UP to its expectations. There was a 56 57

31. FROM MY SISTERS’ LIPS MY SISTERS’ PATHS time, not long ago, when the only ‘veiled’ Muslim women one would see were the Arab women in Oxford Street and Edgware Road. However, one glance at the sisters in this book will show that the face ‘behind the veil’ in con­ temporary London is no longer necessarily Middle Eastern. Since becoming Muslim, I have met English, Welsh and Scottish reverts, as well as Black sisters from Africa, the Caribbean and the Americas, sisters from the Far East - China, Malaysia and Taiwan. I have even met Muslim reverts from as far afield as New Zealand - yes, a real Kiwi - and Australia. The Muslim woman is no longer necessarily from a different culture, although the idea that she is makes it easy to generalize and stigmatize: ‘Well, she’s not like us, is she?’ The truth is that this woman could be your next-door neighbour, the girl your daughter went to school with, the woman your son had hoped to marry. She could have been brought up in a terrace house or a penthouse apartment with a view. She could speak with a cut-glass accent or in the best Cockney rhyming slang. She could put the ‘ruffest ragamuffin’ to shame with her Patois or speak French, Spanish and Italian - with no trace of an accent. She could cook the best steak and kidney pie you’ve ever tasted - and you’d never know it was halall These are fish ’n’ chips, rice an’ peas, spag bol and coleslaw women. They are Jalof rice, paella, fried plantain, spring rolls and wonton soup women - not ‘those people who eat curry all day’. With so many women living in the the old prejudices just won’t wash. Uprooted Muslims However, it is not only Western non-Muslims that ‘find’ Islam. Although most born Muslims grow up with some form of Islam in their lives, it is very common in this day and age to find girls and boys with Muslim names who are as ‘Western’ as Peter and Jane. The name ‘Allah’ is new to them, the Islamic beliefs and practices completely alien. There are parents who make a conscious decision to bring up their children without Islam for a variety of reasons. Some want their children to fit into the society they live in and to get ahead, others want them to focus on education or a career instead of being ‘side­ tracked’ by religion, others still don’t want to ‘burden’ them with cultural baggage that will only hold them back, perhaps secretly doubting the value of Islam in their and their children’s lives. So there are women of Muslim parentage in this book who went to the same schools as their non-Muslim counterparts, who had the same 58

32. FROM MY SISTERS’ LIPS MY SISTERS’ PATHS manners, held the same values and were exposed to the same cultural influences. They too are products of this society and their entry into Islam is no less strange or unexpected than that of any other Western woman. Sara grew up in a home devoid of any Islamic influences whatsoever. ‘My father was not a practising Muslim at all,’ she told me. ‘The only restriction of his that came from Islam was that he didn’t eat pork but, other than that, I never heard him talk about Allah or praying or fasting in the month of Ramadhan or anything. It was something completely alien to me. My father was really enamoured with European culture: compared with the chaos of Pakistan, the organization of European society appealed to him and fitted in with his mentality. He liked the art, he liked the music, the languages, and he enjoyed travelling to centres of “high culture”.’ Indeed, Sara’s only encounters with Islam were through friends at school and, although she acknowledged their shared identity, she had i absolutely no idea of what that identity entailed. ‘I remember that I had a Pakistani friend who was looking for a gift for her brother and she found this ring with “Allah” on it. “‘What does that mean?” I asked her. I ‘“Well, that’s the name of God,” she told me. “That’s what we believe as Muslims. ” ‘I was like, “Ah, right...” ‘I was completely disconnected from my Muslim identity. I had never seen a Muslim pray­ ing in my life - for me, praying was putting two palms together in front of me!’ Far from attending madrasa (classes to teach children how to recite the Qur’an and read and write Arabic) in the evenings, like most Pakistani children, Sara went to church and Sunday school with the Brownies and Girl Guides. Brought up in France, Hajar was also divorced from her roots. She did not grow up on the largely Arab estates as so many French North African immigrants do, nor in the Muslim enclaves that other Algerians gravitated towards. The harqis were Algerian Berbers who fought for the French during the Algerian liberation war and Hajar’s father was one. ‘The children of harqis were brought up French,’ she told me, ‘because they couldn’t really be anything else, as if they had no more right to an Algerian identity. My father always moved us away from any Arab influence - we lived in areas where people were very French. In our home, there was no tension whatsoever between an Algerian identity and a French one: we really grew up French. I never had a good Arab or Muslim friend, ever. My friends were 60

33. FROM MY SISTERS’ LIPS MY SISTERS’ PATHS always Karine, Eveline, Isabelle: French, French, French.’ Not only were there hardly any Arab in­ fluences around, but there was precious little Islam too. ‘There was no Islam in our home at all, no religion, although there were Berber traditions that my parents followed, like weddings and circumcisions.’ Although her parents were from Bangladesh, Jameela was raised in a completely non-Islamic environment too. ‘I grew up in an Asian household that was meant to be a Muslim household but wasn’t. Hence, my name was Jane and my brother’s name was Gavin. Yup, Jane and Gavin!’ These women encountered Islam as something new, something strange, just as their non-Muslim counterparts did. There was nothing in their background that made them predisposed to being a practising Muslim. They had to discover Islam for themselves and embrace it anew. Church and Temple Unlike me, most sisters grew up with some form of religious belief. These beliefs ranged from staunch to lapsed Christianity, from Taoism to Judaism, from Sikhism to Hinduism -1 have met sisters from every religious background. A few sisters shared their religious backgrounds with me. Like most Caribbean women of her gener­ ation, Umm Tariq was brought up a staunch Christian. As she puts it, ‘Our parents were always God-fearing and they always taught us to give thanks to God and to acknowledge our Lord. So we always had the fear of God in our hearts when we were growing up. ’ Umm Muhammad also grew up with strong religious influences: ‘My mum brought us up as Christians: we went to church and Sunday school. We were always taught to fear God and to remember that God can see you. It was a very West Indian upbringing.’ However, Aliyah grew up in a non-religious West Indian family, a fact that could be attributed to her grandfather’s harsh, dogmatic take on religion. ‘We weren’t religious, probably because my mum’s dad was Seventh Day Adventist and he was such a staunch follower that he ended up driving all his children away from any kind of religion whatsoever.’ Mei Ling had believed in God from a very young age: ‘The belief that there was a God had been instilled in me when I was little, for as long as I can remember.’ She spent the first years of her life with her paternal grandmother, who was 62 63

34. FROM MY SISTERS' LIPS MY SISTERS’ PATHS a strong believer in the principles of Taoism, visiting the temple regularly and praying to be reunited with her parents who had settled in the United Kingdom. ‘My parents- were Taoists but not really practising ones - my grandmother was really into it and we just followed her - she was very powerful. We would take part in all the rituals just to keep her happy. However, I never liked the statues in the temple - to me, they were decor­ ation, they were not God. I felt that God was in me, He certainly wasn’t those gold statues.’ However, once in Britain, Mei found herself drawn to the teachings of Christianity, partly due to her exposure to it at the Church of England I school she attended. But, while studying Theology at A Level, she found her faith sorely tried by what they learnt about the Bible and its I origins. ‘I was shocked and horrified to discover that the Bible, the New Testament, was fabricated, that Christianity was like a farce. The New Testament was made up of bits and pieces and the material that they used to write the texts on had deteriorated ... it was like dropping a book on the floor and all the pages falling out and then putting it back together without knowing the page numbers. It just didn’t make sense. Many of the girls in the school were daughters of vicars and, during a class discussion, they stood up and said, “Even though the Bible is fabricated, I still have my faith, I am still firm on this religion. ” That was the day that I took my crucifix off and thought, Forget this.’ But, while Mei made a conscious decision to shed the beliefs she had grown up with prior to embracing Islam, the majority of sisters did not: they continued to be known as Christians, Hindus or Sikhs - the religions they had been brought up in. Deprived Children? As many people view ‘turning to Islam’ as a last resort, there is possibly a feeling that there must have been certain factors, an unhappy childhood perhaps, that triggered it. I know that, in my case, this could not have been further from the truth, having enjoyed a happy and fulfilling childhood and adolescence in Zimbabwe. But maybe other sisters had different stories to tell? For this reason, I asked the sisters to tell me about their backgrounds and their childhoods. It came as no surprise to discover that some came from fairly sheltered, middle-class, two- parent families, with strong traditions and high expectations. Claire, for example, told me about her idyllic childhood on her parents’ farm in I t 64 65

35. FROM MY SISTERS’ LIPS MY SISTERS’ PATHS Ireland: ‘I was brought up as a practising Catholic in Ireland. I had a very sheltered upbringing, a very white, Irish, Catholic upbring­ ing, very family-oriented as well, lots of cousins, lots of aunties, lots of extended family. I grew up carefree ... running round, gathering up the sheep, running up and down the fields...’ Mei Ling too spent her early life in a rural environment, albeit one quite different from the Irish meadows. ‘I grew up with my maternal grandmother on a farm in Taiwan, in a country village. Occasionally, I would go up into the mountains to be with my maternal grandparents where life was really basic: bath time was out in the open, in the courtyard...’ When she was about four and a half, her parents sent for her to come and live with them in England. But life there as the eldest daughter of two hard-working, traditional Chinese parents had its own challenges. ‘At the beginning, it was a bit difficult for me to settle into life in England - a new language, a new culture, and my parents didn’t speak some of the dialects that I knew. There was a strict routine and I had grown up without one -1 had to eat and go to bed when they told me to, whereas in Taiwan I had been very spoilt. Also, in England, I was always with Mum and Dad, whereas in Taiwan I had been with Granny and Grandpa, this uncle, this auntie, these cousins - “Mum and Dad” was a routine I wasn’t used to.’ Some, like Sara, grew up in homes where both parents occupied traditional gender roles. ‘When my parents first got married, it was not a problem for my mother to work. They enter­ tained a lot and did all the things that young European couples do. But when my mum had the children, my father said to her, “Right, that’s it, you stay at home with the children and do the cooking, the cleaning. Your place is in the home.” And my mum just didn’t know what to do with herself. All of a sudden, he had reverted to this traditional Pakistani man and that wasn’t how she had expected him to be. But there was never any doubt that he loved my brother and He had a lot of time for us children, even when they separated.’ Others, like Aliyah, were raised solely by their mothers: ‘Both my parents are St Lucian but I grew up in a one-parent family, just my mum, my brother and me. I don’t have any bad memories of my childhood. My mum was not someone who beat us or raised her voice a lot. I don’t remember any of that during my childhood.’ Listening to sisters describing their childhood experiences, I realized that their backgrounds did 66 67

36. FROM MY SISTERS’ LIPS MY SISTERS’ PATHS not fit any particular mould. It could not be said that all these reverts came from broken homes, or were the result of absent fathers, or abusive mothers, or a lack of routine or stimulation. Like the women themselves, their childhoods were varied and encompassed all manner of experi­ ences. Certainly, these young women’s experiences dispelled the myth that Islam was a last-ditch attempt to escape from unhappy back­ grounds! Nor would it be fair to say that all Muslim converts are essentially no-hopers with few prospects and little ambition. In fact, for many sisters’ parents, education was of the utmost importance. As Jameela told me, ‘Education was the focus of my parents’ lives, it was the be-all and end-all. Us being educated was their primary goal and everything was secondary to that. I think that the reason for my parents’ attitude was that they had come here from over­ seas and realized that to get anywhere in this country, you needed to be a professional. So education was everything.’ Mei was also sent to a private school and expected to perform well, albeit without much parental support. She told me about her parents’ attitude to her schooling and their own responsibilities. ‘My parents wanted me to be perfect, with the spotless frock, clean socks, polished shoes ... but they were always really busy with work, with running the restaurant. They were very motivated and they wanted to succeed. That is a part of Chinese culture: when you die, you have to leave something for your children, for your family, and if you haven’t, then you’ve failed. Even though you love your children very much, ifyou have to work twenty-four hours a day and don’t see them, that is the price you will pay. ’ Aliyah, on the other hand, did not thrive at school, where she found herself living up to the negative expectations that others held of her and ‘her kind’. ‘I was one of the “bad girls” at school,’ she told me. ‘I went to a grammar school where there weren’t very many Black girls; the majority were that if you were Black, you were bad. I started out being good, which was what my mum sent me there for in the first place - to make something of myself. And then after always being accused of doing things you didn’t do, you started to do them. And that was the way I became -1 got a bit of a reputation. And we were really bad - we bunked off school, smoked, bullied the other children and older people, did graffiti everywhere. I left school on the last day of the term, never to return!’ However, it was only when exam time came 68

37. FROM MY SISTERS’ LIPS MY SISTERS’ PATHS that the enormity of her actions hit her. But she was determined to salvage what she could of her education - determined to make something of herself. ‘I wanted to go to college because I felt like I had messed up big time. Towards the end, I realized that it was too late to pass any exams or anything like that. But I had developed a love of cooking while at school and although I got bad reports in every other subject, I always got good grades in Home Economics. I had had the ambition to be a chef from a very young age so I went to college to study that.’ Although Umm Muhammad started off loving school and the whole learning experience, problems at home started to affect her attitude to her work. ‘I had always been top of my class, doing really well in all my subjects and, all of a sudden, I couldn’t get any homework done. I didn’t want teachers telling me what to do and what not to do and I started playing up in class, bunking off school. A girlfriend of mine and I would usually go and register and then leave, not attending any lessons at all. I just wasn’t interested because there were too many things on my mind -1 just couldn’t see the point. In the end, I turned up to one O-Level exam, didn’t turn up for the others and never ever went back for my results.’ Mei went on to university to prepare herself to take over the family business. ‘After school, I went on to study at the university in Nottingham. I was advised by my parents to do something that would help when it came time for me to take over the business so I took Business Studies.’ Claire left Ireland to study Law in Bristol; Sara, having attained a degree in Geography, decided to take time off to travel. On her return, she completed a Masters degree in Development Studies. Far from the common stereotype of the un­ educated, inadequate convert to Islam, there are sisters who thrived in a public-school environ­ ment and others who dropped out, some who went on to pursue Masters degrees and others who left university to establish successful careers. There is no way of fitting them into one stereo­ typical category - these were not ignorant, unsophisticated women incapable of making informed decisions. Career Girls Not only did many sisters go on to higher education, but a good number of them also worked hard at building careers for themselves. After dropping out of university in France, 71 70

38. FROM MY SISTERS’ LIPS MY SISTERS’ PATHS Hajar came to London and spent six years build­ ing a successful career in the music industry, working for a record company in marketing. ‘I had worked my way up from independent record and PR companies ... I lived in, with and for music. I guess it was my religion. My partner, a DJ, and I both shared this passion and I found myself spinning records at clubs and on a community radio station where I presented a weekend breakfast show.’ Picking up Aliyah’s story again, it is clear that, although she had had a poor start, she soon distinguished herself as a competent and en­ thusiastic chef, landing a job at a top hotel while still on her college course. At the time, her ambition was to be head chef and, eventually, to run her own restaurant. After taking time out to have a baby and recover from a heartbreak, she returned to her chosen field and continued to excel. ‘I went back to work at the hotel, got my baby into a nursery, lost a lot of weight and enjoyed dressing up - got my life back on track. At that time, I was doing well in my job and I felt like I had everything: I had the child, my child had everything that he wanted, clothes were not a problem, wine bars on the weekend, if I wanted to travel, I could do that.’ She was living the life she had dreamt of, or so she thought. Mei was also a hard worker, dividing her time between her regular job and her parents’ restaurant, squeezing her social life in between. She described her schedule for me: ‘I would come home from my nine-to-five job about six, six- thirty, get dressed up, have something quick to eat and work in the restaurant until eleven-thirty at night, go to sleep, wake up again, go to work - that was how I got my money and pleased my parents as well. If I wanted a social life, I would go out after I finished work. I was living in Central London and I had a great time, made loads of friends, had money . . .’ Good Times and Party Girls In addition to work and study, these women had active social lives - some of them extremely so! Umm Muhammad told me about some of her exploits: ‘By the time my sisters and I were of age, there was no stopping us. We loved the music, the fashion, the glamour, the excitement, the drama and the whole carry-on. Those were the Eighties and it was all about the leggings, the ra-ra skirts, the baggy trousers and the junk jewellery. We were all big on the rave scene and we raved a loti’ When she left Ireland to go to university in Bristol, Claire found herself struggling to find 72 73

39. FROM MY SISTERS’ LIPS MY SISTERS’ PATHS others who could keep up with her wild ways. ‘I was up for drinking every night, up for taking drugs every weekend but I couldn’t really find anyone to keep up with me. I used to think, For goodness sake, who am I going to get to come to the pub with me at two in the afternoon? No one would do it. I wanted this whole mad experience and I wasn’t satisfied that I was get­ ting it one hundred per cent. When I used to go back to Belfast for my holidays and be with my old friends, then that would be quite hardcore.’ Hajar and her friends were also regulars on the London club scene, DJ-ing, hobnobbing with hip-hop stars and other celebrity clients, organiz­ ing events and parties. She was also able to indulge her tastes in classy restaurants and designer clothes. Others, like Sara, had tamer pursuits, such as seeing art-house films and visiting galleries. Sara also had a passion for travel and, as soon as she had the time and money to do it, she visited several European countries and the Americas. ‘I was travelling, seeing new things, learning new languages - trying to make the most of my experiences,’ she told me. Although Jameela was of Muslim parentage, she too had a social life that was unchecked by traditional restrictions. ‘1 lived a very, very Western lifestyle in every way. It was not a problem for me to wear Western clothes, I could wear what I liked. There were no restrictions placed upon my brother and me. Having said that, we had our own bound­ aries, we weren’t excessive - I mean we weren’t on any hard drugs or anything. We basically had a very free, liberal upbringing.’ Feminists and Rebels Many converts to Islam are seekers - seekers of meaning, seekers of the truth. As a result, it is not uncommon to find them being drawn to several different ideologies en route to Islam, as I was to Black Nationalism. Sara’s journey to Islam was full of detours and lay-bys, as she told me: ‘I was always journeying, trying to find some kind of truth. I never gave up on that. I was convinced that there had to be the right way to live but I just didn’t know what it was. So that was when I started exploring and I became very political. I was particularly interested in development issues in the so-called interest in Socialism. Also, from the age of about seventeen, I became an ardent feminist. One of the reasons for that was, when I lost my father, I realized that that unconditional love from a man had gone because he had been completely 74

40. FROM MY SISTERS’ LIPS MY SISTERS’ PATHS devoted to me. That triggered a lot of things in my mind and I started reading about different theories of feminism. I devoured all the books, discovering Shere Hite, Naomi Wolf, Germaine Greer and the classics like Simone de Beauvoir.’ Claire found her own form of self-expression in the young underground feminist movement, the Riot Grrrls, as she had always been ‘a rage- against-the-machine type person’! She explained the attraction to me: ‘The Riot Grrrls appealed to me because I was really into music, and I used to play the bass guitar with my friend who played lead guitar. I found some Riot Grrrl records at a friend’s record store and I got into it that way. Also at that time, I was into poetry as well and so I identified with their lyrics too. And there was a tongue-in-cheek side to it as we’re not really good at playing any of these instruments, we’re just going for it because who cares?” It’s that rebellion thing I was talking about.’ What Now? But for all their education, money, friends and fun, there was still something missing in these women’s lives. Some were aware of it, others tried to ignore it but, without a doubt, there was a hole somewhere that all the good times in the world just couldn’t fill. Aliyah was acutely aware of the aimlessness of her lifestyle: ‘In the last year before I became a Muslim, I was really low. It seemed to me that I had everything but there was still something missing. I was thinking, There has to be more to life than this. Men who drove Porsches were offering to take me here and there but all that just didn’t appeal to me. I felt like a robot at that stage: you go to work, you get this money, you spend it, you come home - that kind of life didn’t seem like it was going anywhere. So for a long time, I was searching for something - searching for answers to questions like, why do we exist?’ Umm Muhammad told me about coming home from raving and sitting at the window, looking out into the night sky, wondering whether there wasn’t more to life than this, whether her life didn’t have a higher purpose. Even Claire’s hardcore lifestyle began to lose its charm after a while. ‘We went out clubbing one night and everyone was taking drugs. But then everything wore off. I just felt, I can’t do this any more. It just doesn’t feel right. I was coming home at night and feeling totally empty: it just wasn’t “doing it” for me any more. Everything had lost the glitz and the glamour. In the 77 76

41. FROM MY SISTERS’ LIPS MY SISTERS’ PATHS cold light ofday, it all looked really awful to me. Umm Tariq had a different story to tell. Having reached her fifties, after all the distractions ofrais­ ing a family and working, she began to think again ofthe religious faith she had been brought up with. ‘What ifI die? I thought. You grow up hearing about Hell Fire and you know that it is not a nice place to end up. And you know for certain that you are going to die and what will happen to you after death. I started to think more seriously about worshipping God.’ This led her on a journey of discovery, trying to find the true church, the one that truly worshipped God. In every case, there was one moment of clarity, a moment of lucid thought that led to questions and those questions, in a myriad different ways - from spiritual yearning, to life-changing experi­ ences, to a search for the truth - led to answers, the answers of Islam. A Encountering Islam Hajar’s encounter with Islam was as unplanned as it was unexpected. While DJ-ing in a jazz club, she met a new Muslim revert and became friendly with him. On numerous occasions, she expressed her apprehensions about schooling her three-year-old little boy. She wanted him to be schooled amongst well-brought-up children but, I at the same time, did not want to send him to a j private school and ‘end up with a snotty little I brat in my home who would have little or nothing in common with his parents’. Her friend I suggested she try sending him to a Muslim I school. ‘No way! I thought at first. I won’t have him brainwashed by those religious people! ‘But, many a conversation later, I decided to pay a visit to our local Muslim school. I was received by a sister, completely covered in black. I stood there, unsure as to whether I wanted to go through with it but curious about this welcoming voice behind the veil. I was invited inside and the headmistress, whose face I could now see, satisfied my curiosity and I left, relieved at the fact that there weren’t any places available in the nursery.’ However, a week later, Hajar received a call from the school, informing her that a place had become available, inviting her and her son for an interview. After assuring herself that it was only on a temporary basis, she enrolled him and little Faris began attending the Muslim nursery. ‘I don’t really understand what made me put him in that Muslim school in the end. I suppose I thought that at least he wouldn’t be around those rude children that swear and throw tantrums; he would be around these people who 78

42. FROM MY SISTERS’ LIPS MY SISTERS’ PATHS H I were religious and they seemed cool. But I didn’t want him coming home a religious person -1just wanted him to have nice etiquette, to be a nice boy, that was it.’ Indeed, Faris grew to love his new school and came home with all sorts of interesting tales. But he also came home with Islamic rules and etiquette, something Hajar wasn’t quite prepared to accept. ‘Whenever he would tell me that something wasn’t allowed Islamically, I would say to him, “Faris, these people aren’t going to dictate our lives to us. This is how we live and you go to school there, that’s it, full stop.” But then one day, I heard him reciting the Qur’an and it sounded really beautiful. And he came home one day and told me the story of Abraham (Ibrahim), when he was thrown into the fire and Allah made it cool for him. He brought home this piece of artwork that he had done to illustrate the story and it was really beautiful. By the way he told me the story, I could tell that it had really touched i him - and it touched me.’ This led Hajar to make f efforts to find out more about what her son was learning at school. She also began to spend time with Faris’ head­ mistress and her children, who were her son’s I playmates. Soon, she was attending the Friday sermon at the mosque, making sure no work 80 appointments were ever booked at that time. ‘The sermon there was always a revelation to me and I made it a weekly event. I used to go wearing this linen designer coat and a matching chiffon scarf and, when I returned to work, spiritually fulfilled, I would park somewhere isolated and remove them without being seen. This was such a difficult experience every time as I was beginning to enjoy the comfort of those garments. I felt as though I was developing two personalities, two identities, and living two lives. I decided to observe the two lifestyles and decide which was more rewarding and satisfying. Eventually, after reviewing the pros and cons of each, I decided that, without a doubt, my new­ found lifestyle had so much more to offer than the life I had known up to then. My cocoon was ready to burst.’ Umm Tariq encountered Islam during her search for the church that truly worshipped God. Having decided to become more religious, she had made enquiries about different churches. ‘The Pentecostal Church was recommended to me. I went there for a while and the songs that they sing are very catchy and I thought, Yes, this is it. But I soon realized that, no, these people are not worshipping God. How did Jesus pray? Who did Jesus pray to? These people were praying to Jesus, not to God. But Jesus always prayed 81

43. FROM MY SISTERS’ LIPS MY SISTERS’ PATHS to God, as the Bible says, to “the Father”. So j thought, This can’t be right. I never actually questioned Christianity, I was thinking more in terms of different churches. I thought to myself, There must be the truth out there - how can I find it?’ Her son and daughter-in-law had already embraced Islam and, as she said, ‘I was upset when my son became Muslim because I had never heard of Islam. I thought, That is strange; I’ve never heard of it. It must be something new. ‘So I would say to them, “I don’t think it is you who have the truth, I think it is Christianity. It is only a matter of finding the right church.” My son would say to me, “Mum, one of us is in the wrong road.” ‘I said, “Well, it’s certainly not me. ” ‘And although I was often angry with him, I had a burning desire to know who had the truth. But what really changed things for me was when my son came home with the Book of Barnabas. Well, I read it with an open mind and it said that Jesus did not die on the cross and that, to be honest, was how God guided me. That made me stop and think. I thought, God can do anything: why would He let Jesus, a noble Prophet, die such an agonizing death? And I kept reading that book and that was it for me. Allah just lifted the veil from my heart - and I believed.’ Mei was introduced to Islam by her university friends, many of whom had embraced Islam while she was at home during her year out. When she went back up to campus to see them, they asked her whether she was interested. ‘I said, “I’m not interested in this kind of religion. It’s not for me.” I had learnt a little about Islam at school - the five pillars, that sort of thing. But, other than that, I had completely forgotten about it. Then they asked me whether I had a religion, what my religion was. I told them that I did have a religion but that it didn’t have a name. So they asked me what it was. ‘I said, “I believe in a God, but we don’t know what He looks like - he doesn’t have a white beard or white hair or anything like that. He can hear everyone when you need Him. He has the power to do whatever you want. ” ‘At that time, I was doing yoga because I had a really bad back and they say that the moon position is the best thing for your back. And my friends said, “You know what? When Muslims pray five times a day, they go into that position too.” ‘I was like, “No! Really?” ‘So my friend said that maybe my religion was similar to Islam -1 told her not to be silly. But we started talking about Islam and it all started 82 83