Tag: the tempest summary act 3 scene 3

Categories
Gender Love Life Stories Inequality

I am way more than the cloth on my head

Photo by The Lazy Artist Gallery from Pexels [Image Description: Woman wearing hijab stands against wall.]
Photo by The Lazy Artist Gallery from Pexels [Image Description: Woman wearing hijab stands against wall.]

I made the decision to wear the hijab at the age of 12.

While over the years I had experienced minor instances of discrimination due to my hijab, I didn’t feel like I was forced to critically think about how people perceived hijab until I was much older.

I would say that it hit me in the face like a brick when I spent summer 2011 in Istanbul, Turkey.

In Turkey, the headscarf is a very contentious political issue, as more liberal Turks see it as a threat to the secular Turkish state. As a foreigner who wore hijab and was on her own, it was overwhelming for me to be thrown into that tense mix. 

To those looking in from the outside, it appears initially that there is no problem with the hijab in Turkey, as there are many women wearing the hijab. However, the actuality is that the problems surrounding the hijab in Turkey run surprisingly deep.

I slowly came to understand after talking to many women who lived there and after spending time there, that institutionalized discrimination existed against hijabis. Women under no circumstances are allowed to wear hijab in a K-12 school, regardless of whether the institution is public or private and only very recently was there a huge political debate as to whether women could wear the hijab at the university level. 

I was shocked.

My experiences there really got me thinking critically about hijab in general and what it means to wear hijab. I wondered because, at the end of the day, it is just a piece of cloth that Muslim women wear on their heads. 

Why do people make such a big deal out of it? If a woman wore a scarf around her neck out of modesty, instead of on her head, why does that not have a religious connotation?

Similarly, if a woman only wore long sleeves out religious modesty, why do we not classify her as a “long-sleeves-wearer” and have certain expectations for them and what they are like and how they “should” be? I realized that perhaps the reason for such a religious connotation with the headscarf, in particular, is because it is one article of modest clothing that Muslim women wear that most people do not wear on a regular basis. I still do not believe that this gives people the right to politicize it so much and apply so many labels and stereotypes to this one article of clothing.

We are always defining women by their wardrobe choices. We judge a society by how the women are dressed. Mini skirts, burqas, hijabis, sluts. Yes, we live in a superficial society where we just want to size people up in one glance. 

But I’ve realized it especially occurs to women. 

Why do we just reduce women to their wardrobe choices? What are we telling ourselves when we focus so much on outward appearances, that our bodies, not our minds, are what define us?

I also started to realize how even on the personal level, people use hijab to define people. That there is a common idea of what it means to be a “hijabi.” This one outward visual representation of faith is associated with all these ideas. 

That this veiled woman is pure, pious, and religious. Perhaps prudish, conservative, fundamentalist and extreme as well. 

While many of these traits are not necessarily negative, like any stereotype, it can put an unrealistic and often unfair projection onto someone.

After I came back to the States from Turkey, I became more aware of these projections, from both Muslims and non-Muslims alike. While it is often subtle, and people are often not aware of it, it is still frustrating to feel like someone expects you to be a certain way because of your headscarf. 

Thanks for getting to know me!

I encourage people to critically reflect on their own biases and perceptions of women who wear hijab. While I love wearing hijab and believe that is has been an important part of my spiritual development, I would prefer to be defined by my overall faith as a Muslimah as opposed to one visible act of faith.

Categories
Love Life Stories

I struggled with being homeless

Lee Jeffries

“You hate me, don’t you?” I said it while clenching my teeth. I was huddled in the darkness…I was almost growling. I was beyond angry. Some days were like that. Others, I was sobbing and nearly begging…why me?

I felt a boulder wearing my body down, my chest tightening. My daughter was asleep on the floor. Other than cursing and crying, I felt lifeless. I was angry at Allah. I was angry because I felt cursed to live the miserable existence of a single mother. Just months earlier I was traveling in Tunisia, kissing aunties and in-laws feeling incredibly loved and accepted by my then-husband’s family.

I felt for once our marriage got an injection of good vibes that would carry us down the road into old age. But then, old problems reemerged, and within a few weeks he declared the divorce. It wasn’t nearly as heartbreaking as what came after. I remember his words to be like gun shots in my chest.

“Go find another place to live.”

“But what about her, what am I supposed to do? I don’t even have a job!”

“That’s not my problem.”

I never cried so much in my life. I never questioned love so much. I believed that God hated me, that He wanted to let me know that I particularly didn’t deserve the things I saw in so many other peoples’ lives.

I spent 19 years in an abusive home growing up. When I eventually attended university I reached such a sense of peace and clarity because I finally felt free to fashion my own destiny. Back then, Allah’s name was always on my lips. Then I met him. I checked a few boxes and married him “nobly.”  I trusted in Allah to allow the rest to happen.

After the divorce, I hit rock bottom and the idea of death sometimes filled me with a longing for release from this life.

For months I struggled with homelessness with my daughter who was then 1 years old. I slept on my best friend’s apartment floor and called shelters. I wrote my other friends and complained, thinking they would offer me refuge. I went through bouts of misery and desperation. I sometimes called him, thinking that my tears, the Quran, the sheikhs’ recommendations, the promises he made me when we got married, our daughter….something would turn his cruelty into mercy. I just never expected that he would do that to us. I understand why some women want to leave Islam when their Muslim husbands turn into demons. It’s hard to put your trust, energy, love, and dedication to someone….believing your souls would meet in heaven one day…only to find that they would treat you worse than a despised stranger without question or regret.

Somehow though, I never doubted God’s existence. But, I did doubt His Love.

I can’t describe what happened between those dark days and the slow path to healing. It was like climbing a jagged mountain, and taking breaks to let the cuts heal every day. But I climbed, even when it got harder. I blogged and sometimes forced myself to thank God for the minute things. I journaled daily. I began to tinker and create things. I had dreams and thoughts that drove me to a pen and paper, as well as hours on my sister’s computer.

Eventually, the concept of The Sultaness was born. It started off as a hobby to keep me going. I did this in between getting denied for jobs and trying to stretch the small money I had left. My best friend and I lost her apartment when she experienced a divorce of her own.  Soon I was sharing a couch with my daughter for several months in her parent’s basement. In my isolation, for the first time, I began ask Allah for my test to end.

I told the Almighty in prayer, “THIS is enough. Give me better. I want it.”

During that Ramadan, I whispered my desires with every cell in my body. The room around me seemed to disappear when I did. All that existed was my need to be answered, heard, and loved.

I thanked Him for the happy child who knew nothing, for the safe place we were sleeping, and for the kind family that embraced us. I asked for even more, and I even asked for peace. Instead of seeking relief from the creation, I gave all of it to the Creator.

Almost overnight, I began to see the pieces falling slowly back into place. I started to smile, laugh and believe in good. I got a lawyer. As a result, my sister and I were able to find a home by the beach in a beautiful neighborhood. Despite a few set- backs, my hobby, which started shortly after my divorce, grew into a viable business. I reluctantly embraced this change in my life. I didn’t imagine I could actually utilize all my passions and talents to create something beautiful in the world that would gather so much support. Sometimes, the level of happiness and joy I feel in my life today is immeasurable. My best friend is now coming on as Vice President. We also secured an investor.

Allah put me at rock bottom so I could have more blessings on my way up.

I have always been told in my life not to despair. That Allah gave me my experiences, the abuse, the lack of a family support system, a bad marriage, the divorce, and homelessness for a reason.  I know now it was not out of cruelty, but His overwhelming Love. He created my soul to withstand faith-shaking pain and suffering because He knew I would come looking for Him. And even when I didn’t ask for it, it was as if he whispered back to me “More and more will come to you.”