It is Who I am

Photo courtesy of askforislam2008

 

The nightmares were so real.  I’d be walking around in broad daylight amongst the general public, when suddenly I realize something is wrong.  I run around, hiding behind big structures, thinking that everyone is going to see me.  I make it to a deserted alleyway, and then run through the woods cautiously, taking cover behind the trees, my eyes darting about madly, trying to make sure there is no human life in the vicinity, only moving when I feel it is safe.  Finally, I reach the precipice of the field and know that it’s a few blocks until I can feel safe because the area is open, there is nothing to hide behind. – I’ll have to run as fast as I can and pray that no one sees me.  So, I put my hands over my head, trying desperately to cover my exposed hair, close my eyes, and race blindly through the streets to the house I know so well.  And then I wake up, feeling exposed, never knowing who may or may not have seen me without my hijab.
 
My dad, in trying to explain the meaning behind the nightmares, urged me to increase my worship of Allah SWT, maybe the message was that I wasn’t being as good of a Muslim girl as I could be.  And I listened, because when it comes to my hijab story, my father always takes centre stage.
 
He’d been trying to convince me that I should wear it since I was nine years old.  He wasn’t pressuring, mind you…okay, well, maybe just a little.  But my mom always sought to convince him that I had to come to it on my own, that in order that the hijab be a permanent fixture inherit to my identity, I had to be the one to embrace it as such.  
 
I grew up in Winnipeg, Manitoba at a time when Muslims were about as rare as not having snow in October – or April for that matter. The kids I went to school with were all, well, white as snow. I already stuck out, and if I were to don the hijab, then I knew I’d officially take the title of “the outcast”.  I was proud of my faith, yes, I loved it with all my heart – but was I ready to accept the challenges that wearing the hijab would mean?
 
The answer came in the form of the new boy in my seventh grade class.  He was Sikh, and I was no longer the darkest person in school.  He also wore a turban.  So, one day, as my father is dropping me off, he sees said Sikh boy.
 
“Look at him, Heba, all proud of his faith.  But you worship Allah, and you aren’t proud of yours.”

I’ve been wearing the hijab ever since, and I can honestly say that I consider the hijab as a mark of identity. It is who I am. I worship Allah and so I am proud.  Of course, from that day on there have been experiences that cement this reality (yes, I have a few stories to tell). 
 
It is through those experiences that the role of the hijab in my life has become so much more than a piece of material I use to cover my head.  It is through those experiences that the nightmares that plagued me where I was without my hijab found shape.  You see, those nightmares happened after I started wearing hijab.
 
I needed to have them, not because I needed to increase my worship of Allah SWT(although that’s always a good thing), but because I needed to embrace the hijab as my identity.  It is who I am.  And I don’t have those nightmares anymore.

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Visit igotitcovered.org for more information about the project or to ask questions or to submit your own hijab stories.  You never know whose life you can make a difference in.

And like always, I’d love to hear about your projects, email me at heba@iamsheba.com

You’ve Got a Way About You…

Consider the cases of two little girls with two very different mothers:

#1

Little Zainab loves the way her mother puts on her hijab.  As if trying to memorize the technique, she watches as she pins it down.  Her mother sees her daughter and turns to her lovingly, “so Zainab, what do you think?  Does mama look pretty?”  And Zainab giggles.  “Can you put it on me to?”  When daddy enters the room, he see his two women looking lovely in their hijabs, and before he can even think of a compliment, Zainab’s mother speaks.  “You are a very blessed man.  You have a beautiful wife and a beautiful daughter, mashAllah!”  Her smile is smug and Zainab basks in it – she’s as beautiful as her mother!

#2

Little Hannan enters her mother’s room.  She watches as her mother pulls at her hijab in frustration.  Her mother turns to her angrily, “what do you want?”
“Daddy told me to tell you that we have to go, we’re late.”
Her mother rummages through her other hijabs.  “I can’t find anything to wear – I look ugly in everything!”  Hannan offers her suggestion, reaching for a large black scarf.  “How about this?”
Her mother takes it from her daughter and hastily wraps it around her hair without the aid of a mirror.  She grabs her daughter’s hand and runs to her waiting husband.  “Please don’t say anything – I already know how fat my face looks in this!”