I have been of the mind set that everytime the economy in this country is on the down turn, the race card is flashed all around by those who are against people that are not white or from a diferent religion.
With the rise in membership in the BNP, there has also been a rise in hate, racially and religiously motivated attacks on people.
The dissent that those people who support such views have brought is so shocking and scary it’s unbelievable that there are not as much campaigning to get them off the streets as there is for those who speak out against Muslims who use the excuse of “freedom of speech” to make known their views on the various wars for example, that the country is involved in.
Then there was the shambolic tripe spewed by the leader of the BNP on a program which I so much enjoyed watching.
I do sound like a broken recored I know!
But the question still remains, why are countries that say/ claim that freedom of speech is integral to their society, seem to come down hard on those born and bred in that same country, for expressing their dissaproval for actions that their government take on their behalf?
I started this article about a month ago when I was in an angry and very frustrated mindset so I put it aside.
But today( 31/ 01/ 2010), I’m back at my desk with a slightly different look on things.
I still believe that there is a tad of institutionalised racisim going on in the political arena, social front, and at “the grass roots” but it does go both ways too.
I can’t sit back and ignore the fact that as much as some people may enjoy some of the freedoms afforded to them (free health care, government aid, schooling being the main ones), they also find the way of life here so demeaning, uninspirational,very immoral (to them) and unjust (legal system), but they choose to remain due to the economical power the country has over I’d say 90% of the world.
But to go back to countries that they had to fight to leave in the first place is hard. Because there, the corruption is rife too.
Although many countries have made some progress and are developing on some levels, the poverty rate, death rates, health of the people, crime rates and general standard of living is still so far down the scale compared to the “developed” world that they know there is nothing to go back to. They have family back home relying on them to stay here and work to send them money for their survival.
Without them being here, situations for their family would be dire.
I know many people who work their socks off to pay for tuition fees for siblings back home, send money for food and clothes, they are the bread winners in their family.
But you know, the work they do here are usually low paid. The jobs are the ones British born and bred people refuse to do as they see it as below them. I know many and have heard many people born and raised here say that they would rather live on welfare that have a job as a cleaner, a maid, a cook, road sweeper or even constuction worker, sales personnel etc as they are low paid.
They say that to live on those type of wages would not meet the basic standard of living in this country because (roughly working out), for every £5oo a person earns, £100 of it goes out in taxes before daily living expensis and bills have been taken into account.
But the flip side to this is, these foreigners who come into the coutry, are greatful to at least have a job of any kind are seen as the bad guys when the economy is on the downturn.
All of a sudden the shouts and pitchfork invasions start up again of “immigrants come here, take all our jobs, council houses, pretending they are here seeking asylum, commit the most and worst forms of crime, enter the country illegally……..”
(Another deep sigh).
I mean, some of these people they are talking about, are of the same skin color as them, some can trace their ancestoral roots back to those countries, their country is the one bombiing them, conning them and pilferring from them everything they have, so why would they not want to come here?
From what I get of the European laws, people from members of EEU, have the right to seek refuge in countries that are also members or their country is run by that particular government (last traits of colonialism) or they have proven their status (passports, visas, background checks, border controls etc etc), to have the right to remain where ever it is they have gone to, to escape from what ever atrocities that are happening in their own country.
Most of these immigrants are running away from wars, human rights violations, political unrest, I don’t know. The list is too vast for my little head.
But not all those immigrants are leeches coming to richer countries to suck out of it every Pound (£) or Dollar ($) they can get.
Nor are they easily let into the country. The have to go through so much stringent checks, homelessness, abject poverty themselves (and are forced to lie and work illegally to live) before they get that so called cushy council apartment, job working as a cleaner, litter picker, cockle picker, cheap labourer etc, greatful to get a bit of pride back into their lives because they have been raised to know you can’t live unless you work.
A flip side to all this though, is a lot of people from these “rich” countries, can afford to benefit from the cheap labour, package holidays to these poorer countries where duty free goods are bought a pound to the dozen, exotic foods can be purchased for pittance, many, many benefits that in their own country, would cost them hundreds of times more.
I believe that this hatred for immigrants during these times, still have their roots firmly planted in the historical view that “the foreigners are lesser than us” mentality so any abuse, degrading and attackes are justified.
Although something is being done about this problem, there will always be those amongst every nation, who believe there is a deficiency in other people, their cultures, their mentality and way of life therefore, it is ok for them to be mistreated when they try to “rise above their station”
The slave master has not died all these hundreds of years later. He , it, they have just evolved into different forms over time and the whip is still cracking.
She taught me to walk, to talk, how to dress and how to impress.
Impress??
Yeah!
She always said to me, that if I used my mind, took out some time and thought about what I wanted in life, went for it and tried, there was no one in this world who would not be impressed.
She’d be there by my side, sat at the hospital, holding my hand.
She’d take me to church and clearly from the choir section I’d hear her. Singing her heart out for what she believed in.
When I went to the palace to meet the Queen, there was no other person I could think of but my mother to take with me.
There in her black and gold attire, she looked as wonderful as all the rich and famous, mingling by.
Her headdress drew compliments even from the Queen, her husband and her sons too.
Strong and powerful, comfortable in her own skin, she spoke with the best of them and still held her own.
That christmas, when the Queen did her speech, who was in the background but my mother. In all her splendour, she too looked like a Queen.
The camera obviously loved her since they were the biggest news crew there.
When I left home, heart torn out, I remembered with affection, that it was my mother, who’d spent the time and taught me to cook. She’d shown me how to pay the bills, where to get food. She’d shown me that being a woman was not easy.
That hard work got you somewhere. Even if that somehwere was a clean house and underwear!
Her smile outshone everyones no matter where we were.
Always friendly and ready to roll her sleeves up. Everyone was her friend and she was always with them til the end.
Strong in personality, but never over bearing.
She gave me the freedom to make my own mistakes but never gave that “I told you so” look when it all went wrong.
I did disappoint her on more than one occassion, but to the rest of the world, I was still a bright star in her world.
Proud was She of me.
When She saw her grandchild for the first time, the pride from her did shine. She held her, kissed her and rang.
Rang everyone and anyone, to tell them that she was a gran.
That’s my mother.
She clothed and fed me, even when there was not much around.
She’d sit and cry as she ate, thinking of family afar, wondering on that night, what was keeping them fed.
Not once did her tears unshed, stop her from not caring for them.
Sacrifice.
That’s what she did.
Everything she had if it meant I had that bit more.
Unwavering and strong, she’s kept going for this long.
For all that I am, I owe to this wonderful lady that I call MUM.
In the rush of things, we forget just how much our mothers do for us, what they have already done and will do.
We forget, that they’ve never let us down yet.
Screamed and shouted, yes.
Punished and reprimanded definately, but never to the point of hating us.
Some do not have a mum, others have just lost theirs.
It’s time for us to reflect on all that our mothers do.
It’s time to call your mother, and let her know, that to you, she is truely amazing.
Back in the early 1990′s, my step brother came home one day and I noticed that the top of his underwear was showing so I told him to pull up his jeans.
Turned out that it was a new fashion craze in the world of hip hop to wear yourtrousers low slung so that people could see the waist band of your underwear thus checking out what brand of y- fronts/ boxers males wore.
I thought he looked pretty stupid at the time and there was many a time when people would tell him and every male person they saw doing that, to pull up their trousers.
But this stupid craze has not died out more than ten (10) years later but has been taken to new heights of stupidity and ridiculousness.
Have you seen the young teens recently with their skinny jeans on (jeans that looks like a girl from grease the movie should be wearing?) with the trousers not just hanging off his hips any more but clinging on for dear life around the third half of his thighs!?
Ha ha ha! It’s like they are trying for a fusion of “gangster” hip hop look, mixed with “punk rocker” chic and Bart Simpson under wear to show that they are still only a mummies boy underneath it all.
It is sooo annoying that I want to start going around and ask these cool dudes if their backsides need that much air around it, is it a new form of air conditioning that I’ve not been told about, do they really think that people want to see potential skid marks leaking out from between their crotch? WHAT exactly is the point???
I am so glad my brother (he’s only called a step bro to make clear the actual relationship) has seemingly grown out of that faze and now hoistes his trousers back up to a level that borders on decent.
But doing this article, hase given me so much laughs that I’ve forgotten half the things I wanted to say.
I’ll get back to you on this one too.
My ribs are hurting right now and kiddo thinks I’ve gone crazy as I’m sat here laughing hysterically with tears rolling down my cheeks. Whoooo!
I was married at the age of fourteen (14) to my cousin AbdulRahman when he had just turned eighteen (18).
I’d been raised into a strict family where education although important, was left to the wayside once your periods started.
My Mother, had married at an even younger age. Raising five (5) children, had been her sole job for as long as I had been alive.
Being the youngest and the only girl, I felt that my brothers got away with blue murder all the time whilst I had to be the perfect child just to get an easy life.
My brothers , Hussien aged twenty five (25), Khalid, twenty three (23), Abdul Hakim aged twenty (20) and Saheim sixteen (16) at the time, were so upset when my father gathered us all together and announced my upcoming wedding.
When I look back on that moment now, sat here with my own children, watching their children running up and down the hall way, I don’t look on my life with as much regret as I did back then.
Now, an old woman, I thank my husband from deep inside, for being truely, a good husband and father.
Being raised in a poor family such as ours, we had grown up not knowing much outside of our small village.
My husband, being a man with dreams though, had decided soon after the wedding that we would be leaving the village and making a new life nearer to the city.
There, he’d found us a room close to a few friends of his.
I, frightened at being taken away from all that I knew, far from my family and the security they had provided, spent my first few weeks locked in the room, too frightened to venture out into the fresh air.
My husband, shy to begin with, merely left me to it as he got up everyday and went out seeking any job he could find to provide food for each day.
After the first few weeks, he’d tentatively taken my hand and took me out at dusk, taken me down a small stream and we’d walked along silently for a while. Near this huge tree, he’d sat me down and I’ll never forget his words.
“Even though we are young, and you, a wife at such a tender age, there is not much things in this world that I can promise you. But as long as we work together, strive together and want to be together, all that I have will be yours.
I’ll treat you better than any queen in this world. Our palace may only be a measly room for now, but I will always work hard to provide for you. I will never leave you and regardless of how hard things may get, as long as you choose to remain my queen, there is nothing in this world that I will not work with my bare hands to provide ofor you”
He’d sat there, such an intense look in his eyes and for the first time since getting married, I’d looked at him and saw a true man and my husband.
I did not know what to say to him at the time, so I’d simply shuffled closer to him and allowed him for the first time to put his arm around my tiny shoulders. I’d laid my head on his chest and we’d sat in silence and watched the sun set.
Everyday, I’d wake up, make him some food and wave him off on his search for success.
I’d sit by the front door waiting for him to come home, pottering around and reading the books and newspapers he’d bring home for me.
A few years passed and he’d finally bagged a stable job working as a porter in one of the hotels in the city.
He’d managed to save money to move us closer to his job and AbdulRahman always had facinating stories to bring home.
Fancy ladies, dressed like movie stars, lips shinning with crimson lipstick, wraped in expensive perfumes that lingered in the air.
Men dressed in fine suites, constantly talking business to people from all over the world.
Some times AbdulRahman would come home with presents given to him by some of these people or a wallet full of cash when he’d been paid.
Slowly but surely, our small apartment turned into a cute little palace, friends came for dinner every Wednesday and Friday evening.
And as always, AbdulRahman, always had something to say that would make me laugh out loud just when I did not want to.
In all honesty, I had to sit back sometimes and admit to myself that I was happy.
Finding myself married to a relative stranger to begin with, I could not see my life without him.
The day he’d come home waving this peice of paper frantically had been amazing.
“I’m here to change your life”
He’d shouted as he ran up the road from the bus stop.
Crazy man I’d thought. Hyper from a good day with his friends and now ready to disturb my peace.
But that bit of paper was to change my life truely.
He’d enrolled me onto a course to learn how to read and write properly. I’d always dreamed of becoming a teacher or some fancy lawyer one day. And there he’d stood with the acceptance letter that would lead me on many adventures of my own.
I remember him taking the day off to go on the bus with me for the interview and again on my first day.
He’d held me the night before and told me how much he believed in me. How I would be so sucessful, he’d have to pretend he was the chauffer. And when I became rich, he would remain my poor husband.
How I’d laughed back then.
But five (5) years later, as I’d stood on the stage recieving my first diploma, he’d been there, clapping like a maniac, the biggest grin on his face. We’d gone to the fanciest restaurant we could afford and ordered the most expensive food and deserts to celebrate.
Never once, had my king let me down.
When the children started coming along, he refused to allow me to stop my studies. Instead, changing his shifts round, AbudulRahman stayed at home with us during the day, helped with the twins and then kiss us all gently on the forehead as he went to work at night.
I could tell he was tired, overworking himself. But there was no telling that man.
Now I sit here, smiling, watching my children laughing amongst themselves, watching the grandchildren running up and down the hallway.
When I’d graduated from university, I was twenty six (26) having taken a few years out to look after the children.
My grades had been high enough for me to get a good job working for a law firm in the city as a junior to the only female laywer in the company.
Specialising in business law, Mrs Sitar had been good to me. We’d become friends and she too became a regular feature at our dinner nights with friends.
My brothers would come every so often with their wives and children and my parents travelled down once (1) a month and spent the weekend with us.
My husband had made sure of that.
Every month, we’d put aside some money in the hopes of getting a car so that going out with the children was not such a chaotic trial.
Now that car was another luxury that got upgraded when I landed my first promotion. With it had come the biggest paycheck we could have hoped for, so as a suprise to my wonderful husband, I’d bought him the car he’d been eyeing up in the magazine.
Now the look on his face that day was precious.
My brothers had called his parents and we’d booked everyone into hotels so as not to ruine the supprise.
When the truck had arrived with this bright red car on the back, he’d whooped and gone knocking on the neighbour’s doors asking which one of them had struck gold without telling him.
To be handed the keys, seeing his dear mother and father who we had not seen since the twins birth had made us all cry so much.
Things had gone well for us I must say. Through every hysterical tantrum I had had, AbdulRahman had been there rubbing my back and telling me we would see it through. Through every school play, meeting and graduation, there was AbdulRahman, greying hair clapping and whooping his children on. That same beaming smile, blinding us all with elation.
When our first grand child had been born, AbdulRahman was the first to hold her.
That love of his, unceasing, unflinching and so powerful we all knew that without it, we’d not be where we are now, had engulfed us as he held her. The beaming smile back again.
So here I am, old and grey, my bones are weak and tired, watching my children laughing amongst themselves, the grandchildren happily running up and down the halls.
AbdulRahman is no longer here but I can smile to myself, as I slip into eternal sleep remembering that I married a true man, one (1) made of tue love and devotion.
My husband.
Made of true honor.
End
Or put another end to it. All contributions welcomed.
When I was younger, a family friend of my mother’s consisted of a man and his daughter and they used to attend the same church we did.
The girl and I were pretty close and would visit each other regularly so one day I steeled myself to ask her why her mother did not live with them.
Her answer was that her mother was not very maternal towards her and had given up her rights to look after her from a very young age. She’d been brought up by her father all her life and she liked it that way.
Back then, I was in my early to mid teens and thought it was cool to be raised by a dad only since it made a change to single mothers. It was my first meeting with a male single parent.
Now the girl, (I’ll call her Miss V), was down to earth, street smart, doing well in school and the bond between her and her father, was refreshing to see (my opinion).
They talked to each other openly, he worked, they cooked for each other, all the stuff you’d expect a parent to do, was happening.
I remember with fondness my shock when one day she shouted for her dad to buy her some sanitary towels as he left to go to the shops.
I was like “how can you ask him to do such a thing! I would never ask a man to do that let alone my own father! That means he knows when you come on!”
Her response was “and who do you think talked to me about periods in the first place and gave me the lecture on sex?”
Yesterday, as I got off the bus to pick up kiddo, a young man got off too pushing a baby girl in a pushchair and it made me think back to my friend.
I did wonder to my self, if that young man was left alone for what ever reason, with out much family support, how would he cope with being a single parent. Did being a hands on father make him more attractive to females. And most important of all, how would he feel about having rasie the precious bundle all by himself?
All the fathers I knew, were with their girlfriends, some had gone on to marry, some had married before having their children and all of them were great fathers but only for limited amounts of time.
If they had to have their children all day, lets say one is in nappies and feeding on milk only, one is walking toddler and the other a boisterous little one full of energy and wanting attention, they would be ringing up asking for the mother to come home as they had had enough of the demands and constant running around they were doing.
Some of them freely admitted that limited time was enought for them as they could not deal with the crying, stinky naappies and mess everywhere. Their biggest problem was the not having much time to sit and relax since a parent has to be alert all the time to keep their children safe.
But there are a lot of unsung single dads out there. Some are coping with bereavement, affairs, general family breakdowns or what ever that have left them being the ones holding the baby.
These dads are brilliant and there is no doubt.
When it come to dealing with kids, a father’s approach is noticeably different to mothers and just as good.
Children brought up with both parents playing active roles in their lives appreciate them so much and have (in my opinion), a slightly better balance and hold on life.
There are so much benefits to having both parents in ones life.
But sometimes, that may not be the case. Some people are lucky and the missing parent is replaced by a step mum/dad, foster parent or maybe an adoptive parent/s.
I’ve never had that fatherly bond that I’m trying to express (which is why I seem to be struggling to find the right words) but I’ve seen many people who have had that bond and I see a difference in them compared to myself.
For all of them, there has been an occassion where talking or spending time alone with the father, brought a unique experience to them that has stayed with them through out their lives. They cannot imagine what it would be like not to have a dad.
To me, this time is the make or break as to how much time a father spends around his children later on in life.
Fathers that did not have the chance or chose not to be with their babies during the first few years of the child’s life, seem to find iut harder to bond later on.
Don’t get me wrong, no parent absolutely has no love for their child and whether that missing parent is the father or not, does not mean that they stop caring, loving or wanting their children (unless there maybe some other underlying issue).
What I want to know is, when it comes to the parental role, if men took up the chance, could/ would they outshine single mothers in the same boat?
I am seeing more young men pushing the prams alone and doing the school run and I think it is beautiful to see.
Why do we not like to encourage men to be as hands on with babies rather than expecting women to just “know” what to do with their screaming bundle of joy?
I am writing this particular article from a very personal point of view. It may be seen as biased or idealistic and not the “norm” for some but again, like all my other topics, everything is up for discussion so feel free to add your opinion.
Now what has made me bring up this topic is the fact that a lot of stereotypes about being a Muslim woman tend to be born out of pure ignorance, lack of understanding for the religion, cultural misunderstandings that have been added into the religion, media influenced lack of knowledge about the true lives of Muslim women and frankly, some people just purely do not want to get to know other people, races, cultures, religions or life styles.
Some people will freely admit that they prefer to stick to things that are familiar to them, are willing to stay boxed up in their perceptions of other people and do not want to try to understand how other people live their lives.
And fair play to them as long as that view does not impinge on the people who they would prefer to keep at a distance.
But as we all know, if you do not understand fully why a person may do things in a different way to you, that does not make them weird, oppressed, subjugated, forced or brainwashed into doing something that seems unusual to you or is against their wish.
Now when it comes specifically to the issue of Muslim women, the heated debates tend to focus on the hijaab/ niqaab, poligyny, womens rights, forced/ arranged marriages, freedom of speech and freedom of movement.
So, lets try to put one of these issues into prospective. Hijaab or Niqaab? Why are Muslim women supposed to cover all of their body and Muslim men seem to be allowed to wear whatever they like?
And what is the difference between wearing the hijaab or niqaab?
To answer the first part of the question, physically speaking, men and women are different in body shapes, functions, strength, emotions and no one can escape from these facts. As opposite members of the human race, we compliment each other in unique ways. Dressing differently, is a part of that compliment and distinguishes on sex from the other.
Without going too much into the religious rullings on how men and women are to dress, lets just ask our selves this simple question:
Would you like your husband/ wife to be dressed exactly like you? Or lets say your a man and your wife also has a beard or moustache, as you walk down the road, no one can distinguish between you bar the clothes you have on. Does that sound plausible?
Specifically, what attracts one sex to the other if they are both the same, with the same attributes, strength, size, shape, gait, laughter etc?
Why is it that women look better dressed and covered compared to men who can afford to bare their chest as they are built differently.
Since women’s bodies have sexual organs in the top and bottom half, it is logical that a woman would wish to cover both halves of her body whereas men, tend to only need to cover ther lower halves of their bodies as it protects their modesty. Men in Islam, have to cover from the navel to the knees as a bare minimum. Simple facts.
Moving on from those two areas, women in Islam are told in the Qur’an and the sunna to protect their beauty to stop them from being molested. Molested in the sense that a man is more likely to want to give in to his sexually charged physical urges upon being around women he finds attractive than what a woman is. This does not mean that men do not know how to control themselves. It is just part of the natural animal instinct that lies in all humans. Women tend to be easily jealous of each other too (which I actually find wierd. Why compare youself to others when genetically, they are different from you so you will never be like them?)
Also, there is more of the female form that is attractive to males than what is attractive of males to females so it is only logical that women should cover more of their bodies as a form of protection. Some of the areas Muslim women have to cover, are obligatory upon them as part of being modest. This includes covering the hair, neck area, breast area and body shape, down to the feet. The areas mentioned, are all agreed upon as what a woman should cover if she wishes to leave her home for any reason.
When it comes to the wearing of the veil (niqaab), there are differences of opinion as to whether a woman should use it to cover her face or not but all the knowledgeable scholars agree that a woman who chooses to do so is rewarded for doing it. So it can be viewed as a noble act upon the woman to cover more of her self for the sake of her religion and modesty. So any woman who chooses to do so, should be encouraged, protected and not forced to take it off.
Now, when I became Muslim, covering my body became a big issue for me. Not that I dressed immorally in the first place but comparing myself to other ladies who covered using looser clothing, head scarves, socks and other attires, I felt the need to change my dress sense to meet what was required of me as an honorable Muslim woman.
I was advised by sisters to take my time, to study what was meant by “covering your body”, to take a gradual process in that change so that every change was made upon a firm decision rather than in haste.
And every step of the way, they were there to answer my questions and provide some of their own clothes to help me take the next steps. More importantly, they provided the moral support I needed.
So I began my research into how Muslim women were supposed to dress. Now, what I found most amazing was that a woman could wear anything she wanted as long as it covered the hair, neck, body shape and went down to the feet. (Feet being covered with socks/ tights and shoes) Anything was acceptable as long as it was not see through or tight.
So the first step I took was to start wearing skirts over my tight jeans, longer and baggier tops to cover my upper body (like tunic style tops, t- shirts over tight tops or cardigans etc), covering my hair with pretty scarves the sisters gave me and observing how other sisters dressed.
I still wanted to be fashionable so I adapted everything to suit my fashion sense as well as meet what was expected of me as a Muslim woman. Make no mistake, this process took more than just a few months. (Hey clothes are not cheap you know!)
All the while, these sisters complimented, encouraged and aided my every move as best they could. Some donated clothes, accessories, fashion tips etc to help with the process.
Non chastised or put me down for being different or not dressing “traditionally”. It was made clear that different cultures dressed differently but as long as the areas that needed to be covered were covered, there was no problem with what I chose to wear.
My first Eid celebrations allowed me to meet women from different cultures and parts of the country and I saw how differently everyone dressed. This was also my first time meeting sisters who wore the face veil.
Now, I had many a question to ask these sisters as I wanted to explore whether I would choose to go that far in my dressing and once again, without being offended, they answered honestly and openly why they had chosen to wear it.
It was a case of “do the research then decide for myself scenario” so I started looking for books and articles about the pros and “cons” of the veil.
I also asked brothers that worked at different mosques, book shops and friends what the rulings about the veil were and what opinion did they have regarding it.
Now most of the brothers were a bit supprised that I chose to openly question them about their own views on it, but with a bit of explanation, they too were happy to answer my questions. (Mind you, there are etiquettes in how a Muslim man and woman who are not related interact with each other so understand that I asked direct questions and got direct answers back. And through the proper channels!) But it all still came down to I had to do the research, decide for myself if I wanted to wear it, and be sure if I chose to go down that route.
So for about a year, I studied all I could on the subject, listened to lectures and experimented at home with a veil.
I prayed on the subject too and became stronger in my resolve to wear one.
By this time, I had moved to an area where I found that many women wore it and moved freely about their daily lives without much hassle or restriction. I was totally excited and amazed at how dignified a lot of these women looked to me. Their mannerisms were not timid, restricted or awkward. They were not the “walking zombies”, “women draped in black sheets” or “bin liners” that some people opposed to the niqaab/ burqah made them out to be. Rather, they were independent, charismatic, knowledgeable, dignified women of every form and background. And to throw their argument out of the water, not all of them were dressed totally in black if at all. HA!
I’m talking from doctors, authors, business women to students, mothers and teenagers still finding their feet in this world.
The day I chose to start wearing it outside of my home was a nerve wracking one. I had a daughter who had never seen me wear one. I was more worried about her reaction than anyone else’s. I mean, she would be the one who would have to get used to knowing who I was in a big crowd without seeing my face. Being so young, I wondered if it would be a shock or distressing situation for her. We did not come from a Muslim background so it was up to me to teach her all that I knew.
So I sat her down and showed her my veil. I explained that I was going to be wearing it every time we left the house. She asked lots of questions of course and I answered as honestly as possible.
To make our first time experience easy on both of us, we went grocery shopping down the road. I felt like everyone was staring at me because I recognized them but it was not until they saw my kiddo that they knew it was me!
After a few days of this, I realized that a lot of my thoughts were influencing how I thought other people saw me. As I became used to wearing my veil, I became less aware of how I looked to others, my nervous feelings died down, my kiddo did not see the change as strange and going about my daily life went back to the non entity it had been before.
There was one occasion when I did forget to put it on when I left the house. Ha ha ha! I felt the wind on my face (it was pretty cold) realized my mistake and went running back into the house! My kiddo laughed, I was paranoid at who had seen my mistake but it did not faze us too much. Back on it went, and out we went to get on the bus for a day out.
Wearing the veil, was a truly enlightening experience for me. The first big change I noticed was the fact that a lot of men did not know how to approach or speak to me. They seemed not to know exactly where to look (directly into my eyes or away from my face), whether to speak casually or in a formal manner, whether to help or refrain from helping (especially if they saw me struggling with shopping for example), many different things.
The second thing that became very obvious was how some people (strangers) openly expressed their disgust at my attire, did not want to communicate on a civil level with me, did not want to be in close proximity to me especially on public transports and thought it was ok to hurl abuse of every kind towards me regardless of whether I was with my child or not. I had to learn very quickly, that not only did I have to educate my kiddo to understand that every person was different, that what some people were saying was not right nor was it alright to have to tolerate abuse of that nature, I also had to learn to walk away from situations that in other circumstances, I would have reacted in a negative and aggressive manner towards, to speak more clearly and slightly louder to compensate for people not being able to see my mouth moving (we all lip read without realizing) and to make my self more “approachable” by smiling with my eyes more and over exaggerating some of my mannerisms just to compensate for people not being able to see my face. All of this did not matter too much as long as I continued to feel comfortable with me. The me that I, my family, friends and associates knew.
After a few weeks of wearing it, I was so used to it that the thought of not wearing it became more of an issue for me. I found that I liked the fact that no one knew who I was facially. No one could prejudge me by how much or little make up I had on, how many spots were on my face, whether I had bags under my eyes etc. All they had to go on was my voice, the words I used, how I carried myself and nothing more.
And to be truthful, no one has ever come to me and been directly negative. Any person who has been negative, has always done it from afar (see article titled “Weak idiots”) but never in close proximity. Those who knew me before I chose Islam have maintained our friendships, I have not lost family members because of it (although this is not the case for so many girls. Also, although my family do not agree with every choice I have made, they have not rejected me because of them) nor has my change of life style been detrimental to my kiddo or me.
In fact most of the people who have seen my change would agree that it has made me into a better person. Not only am I calmer, more patient, tolerant and just darn nice (ha ha ha), but I’ve had to learn what it means to be a woman. I mean it with the best intentions when I say this but I used to be a right idiot. I allowed things to happen purely because “everyone else was doing it” rather than being a person who truly had her own mind and opinions. So with my transition from hijaabi (Muslim woman who wears covers what is obligatory) to a niqaabi (Muslim woman who covers her face with a veil), I must say, life has become peachier by the day.
Now with all the issues surrounding Muslim women living in Western continents adopting a style of dress seen a “backwards”, my one request is for people to actually spend some time in my or ony Muslim woman’s company and genuinly ask her what life is like for her.
As Muslim women, we have certain restrictions upon us (based on Qur’anic and hadith texts) but are our lives honestly that miserable?
And if we are living in self imposed prisons, why, when we live in countries that have laws to help us escape from these so called prisons, do we choose to stay within them?
What benefits do we find in our self inflicted shackles that make us comfortable to be in them?
And why are more women, brought up in cultures that promotes freedom and equality, choosing to embrace a culture that some see as man made to satisfy men with archaic egos?
Questions must continue to be asked for the promotion of learning and development.
At the age of twelve (12), Amy is smarter than the average girl of her age group. She’s wiser and more in tune with her surroundings than people give her credit for.
But she’s still just a child. One that knows life is not full of roses but rather, full of pain. Emotionall and physical pain that cannot be described.
When you see Amy, you see a quiet and shy girl.
Dark hair to match the dark eyes. Shoulder length hair, neatly plaited in two (2) french plaits finished off with bobbles to keep them from unwravelling.
Clutching her books close to her chest, she is silently making her way out of the school building on her way home.
The walk should only take ten (10) minutes but Amy drags it out for as long as she can, preferring to feel the sun and gentle breeze on her skin instead.
Amy crosses the field onto the park area near her home.
There’s the same group of teenagers sat on the swings drinking from bottles with what looks like coke in them but Amy knows better. Judging by their clothes and the slurring of their voices, Amy knows they’ve been there some time now.
She can smell the heady scent of weed in the air so knows this is not the time to look to see if her brother is with them.
Head down, she quickens her steps and pulls the hood of her jacket over her head.
“Aaaaammyyyyyyy!!!!”
It’s Sacha, the meanest of the group. Always taunting her and getting away with it.
What her brother saw in that evil cow was beyond her.
Amy just lowered her head further and stepped up the pace trying to get past them quickly.
Sacha runs out of the gates at the other end of the play area and blocks the path.
“What? Can’t stop for a chat silly fool. Where’s your brother any hows?
Tell him I’m waiting here for him an if he aint here in the next ten, your gonna get it you get me?”
Sacha steps closer and the smell of hard liquor and weed makes Amy want to slap the idiot across her face.
Instead, she gives a slight nod of the head, side steps Sacha and continues walking as fast as her legs will carry her.
Amy is near the corner of the road now, next to the corner shop.
Mr Patel, the shop owner waves to her. The same sympathetic look on his face.
She waves back and tries to give a smile but her heart is too heavy for that today.
She steels herself and crosses over the road.
Deep breath in, and she opens the gate.
Before she even has a chance to put her keys through the door, she can hear shouting from within.
Not again! Her dad must be back from where ever he’s been for the last few weeks.
That’s always when things kicked off in this house. When he was around.
Amy tries to close the door as quietly as she can.
As she takes the first step to go upstairs, her brother comes out of the adjacent living room.
The look on his face says it all.
High and angry, he grabs his jacket, gives her a quick hug and tells her to stay in her room til things calm down.
“And stay away from him”
He’s out the door, slamming it behind him.
Amy’s dad comes through the kitchen doors at the end of the hall way.
“Hey babycakes! Where you been darling? Come give me some sugar nuh?”
Amy mumbles something about how she’s pleased to see him. (Lie 1)
She hugs him and makes an excuse about having loads to do and needing to clean her room. (Lie 2)
Amy runs upstairs and sits on her bed. Looking around her, she reaches out for her special pencil case. The one with her tools in.
There’s a knock on the door and she hides the case under her bed just as her dad walks in.
He sits on the bed and puts an arm round her shoulders.
Amy just wants to be away from him right now. If she makes a sudden move, he’ll just start asking questions again so she stays as still as she can.
Looking down, she clenches her fisted hands together and hopes he just want to “talk”.
“Look at you pretty lady, growing up fast eh?”
Dat chest of yours must be drawing nuff attention from de bwoys dem!”
With disgust tearing at her stomache, she wants to slap him too. Shout at him for being so crude and perverted to think such things.
The only person concerened with her chest is him!
Blasted man! Why did he have to come back now?
It had taken her ages to even hint to Jamal what had happen the last time he was around and now here he is and Jamal is out the house.
He promised to never leave her when dad was around but obviously Sacha was more important.
Amy’s dad started to unbutton the two (2) top buttons on her school shirt all the time never making contact with her eyes.
So she stares at him. Hoping the anger in her eyes would shoot out flames that would burn him right there and then.
His hand brushed against her nipples and you could hear the gasp he tried to hide.
“Get changed princess”
“Come on, before your mama starts to wonder where I am.”
Amy stands up silently, goes to her wardrobe and sifts slowly through her clothes hoping SOMEONE would shout for her or come bursting through the door.
“Why you taking long? What? You don’t miss your pappy? Come on, hurry up”.
All he wants to do is inspect his “goods” as he calls her.
Amy puts a skirt on over her trousers and then take off the trousers. Trying to play smart, she does the same with her top but he’s right behind her now.
He places his dirty hands over her chest and squeezes her tiny breasts really hard.
She can feel that hardness too as he pulls her towards him.
“You getting too big for our “special games” baby cakes huh?
What am I gunna do wid out you”?
Her dad has been playing “special games” with her for as long as she can remember.
But now they were not as innocent as he’d made her believe.
You see, during lessons today, Miss Moore, the physical education teacher from the council had been talking about “physical relations” between men and women.
The whole class had to sit through a nasty film about what it means to have sex. What it meant to be “doing it” without using contraception.
The film showed things that Amy and her dad had been doing for as long as she could remember!
But the way the teacher was talking about it, was not how her dad had described what they had been doing!
Miss Moore said couples did those kind of things. Men and women who were in love, not a child with her father!
Sex was supposed to be special, girls were supposed to wait and look for the right person who they would marry!
But obviously, girls did not marry their fathers so what had she been doing all this time?
Amy was almost sick in class and had run out before the lesson finished.
Locking herself in the toilet cubicle, she’d sat there for ages, trying to stop herself from letting out the raw and hurt scream that wanted to rip out of her. Rocking back and forth, she’d lied when the teacher came looking for her. Said she’d started her periods and needed a towel.
She’d waited for the teacher to bring her one and made excuses to get her out.
That was not the time to cry back then and now with her dad stood behind her, the hurt turned to pure hatred and anger.
Amy turned round to face him.
Giving him that look he liked so much.
The one (1) that made him think she wanted him to do his filth on her.
As he went to sit on the bed, Amy pretended to look for her shoe under the bed.
Instead, she reached into her pencil case and took out the sharp scissors kept for when things got too much.
I’ll chop off that nasty thing of his once and for all the bugger!
Amy looks up at her father, still smiling.
He lays back on the bed his voice husky with perverted desire.
Downstairs, Amy hears the front door slamming.
It does not register fully.
Her mind is focused on what she is about to do.
Dead eyes, smiling mouth looking down at her father. The man meant to love her. But not in that kind of way.
The man meant to protect her but instead, the perpetrator of grievious sins against her.
She straddles him, right hand behind her back.
That sick smile spreads across his face, he closes his eyes. She has been trained well. His trust in her unwary.
Amy brings her hand foward, ready to stab him with the scissors.
Jamal bursts into her room.
Horror fills his eyes in that split second. His father pushing his sister off him, his sister still with the scissors in her hand falling to the floor.
The filthy lust pushing at his father’s trousers.
Fire instantly rages in him. Disbelief replaced by a millisecond of truth for everything his sister had told him.
Jamal flies at his father, rage making him stronger than he had ever been.
He’s screaming at his father, Amy is trying to pull him off their father.
Back to his senses, rather than trying to make excuses, father is hitting son, punching and kicking him.
Amy’s mum comes running up the stairs wondering what all the sudden banging and commotion is about.
Chaos meets her eyes.
Amy still with the scissors in her hand, trying to get Jamal off their father, Jamal is bleeding and fighting with all his might. His screaming in incomprehensible and there is her no good baby daddy beating six (6) bells out of his son.
Wait? Did she just hear right?
Jamal, did he just say that his dad was trying to have sex with his own daughter?
Amy stops sunddenly, frozen to the spot.
Jamal falls to the floor.
“You pervert! You filthy pervert! I’ll kill you for what you’ve done to her!”
Jamal is still screaming, trying to get up.
No! that can’t be right!
Him, sleeping with his own daughter?
Why is Amy not saying anything?
But her kids never lied to her. NEVER!
They might do some crazy stuff, but not once (1) had she ever allowed them to lie!
Realisation kicks in.
She lunges at her baby daddy.
Forgetting she is still holing the kitchen knife in her hand, she punches him in the chest, but the knife is still in her hand!
Too late.
The wide eyed look on his face says it all.
There’s a warm wet feeling on her hand. She looks down to see red on her hand, kitchen knife clutched tightly in her fist. Dripping with crimson blood.
What has she done!
Silence falls in the room as the father stumbles to the floor clutching his chest.
Last year, there were a series of documentaries by channel 4 called “Make Me White” and a documentary on BBC1 with a smilar title which addressed the phenomenon of dark skinned people (Black and Asian) using chemically based products to lighten their skin tone.
Men as well as women wanted to “look European” facially, in skin tone and body shapes. They deemed that the most attractive attributes of the human race lay within those who had fair skin, small noses, long hair, were of a certain height (especially in the male sexes) and even eye color and speeche, was the way to get a higher staus in life.
Some of these people believed that the darker a person’s skin tone, the more chances of them getting lower paid jobs, being seen as lesser in society, ugly, and many other demeaning notions.
All the people taking part in the documentaries were looking for that perfect and magic lotion or potion that would make them fairer in skin and “attractive” to the point of undergoing drastic surgeries, skin peeling, using lotions that had been banned under the health act, risking skin cancers or hypersensitive skin without the end results that they wanted.
In chasing this typical European look that they wanted, some were prepared to have their legs broken and reset to make them grow a few millimeters more than what they already were. Minus the lotion based “options”, many of the procedures ran into the hundreds of thousands to get and maintain.
But the concerning issue, is that this chase of “white beauty” has been going on for decades now.
In the Asian culture (Indian and Pakistani), the fairer your skin the more attractive you are to the point of women being taunted on the streets by family members and strangers for being dark skinned.
Family occassions turn into running the gauntlet of who’s gone darker and who’s the prized future daughter in law based on fair skin.
In magazines made for the Asian community, it’s become a sad fact that majority of models used are NOT even Asian. The only Asian thing about them is the expensive wedding outfits and jewellery they are hired to wear for the shoot.
If they are Asian, and reasonably fair skinned already (thus the reason why they got the job), layers of make up is piled onto the skin to make them even more fair then the actual pigmented make up (eye shadows, lipsticks, blushers etc) is piled on top giving a rather plastic look when you’re close up to the model.
In the Black community, this phenomenon does not stop at just wanting to make the face look whiter but rather, women are undergoing breast reductions to get the “barbie” look (this pathetic doll has alot to answer for!), nose jobs (think Micheal Jackson before he went too far), the facination with using chemicals to straighten kinky hair, weaves to get longer hair, slimming diets and pills to keep the weight off, the list is very scary.
For most of my life, I’ve been what people call on the skinny side but I have never been unhealthy per se.
I used to wish I could put at least half a stone (7 pounds) extra on so that I filled out more but I always (and still get) two (2) forms of reactions from other women about my size.
On the one hand, many would say that I needed to eat more and in the same breath wish they could fit into the size clothes I wear.
Others would just outright wish that they were like me in size since they thought it was so much easier to buy clothes.
But when I admitted to them that I was having to buy most of my clothes from the childrens section, then their views quickly changed.
You can’t be womanly if your clothes are made to fit an eleven (11) year old can you?
Saying that, back to my first article (again), the clothing industry does not seem to differentiate much between a growing child and a woman so it was easy for people not to notice too much that my clothes were made for children.
But back to the skin lightening issue.
Women who have damaged their skins through bleaching find that they will never be able to go out in the sun again without causing serious harm and burns to the thin layers of skin they have.
They find that they have a very high risk of cancer and premature ageing.
The lotions are made for use on the face so what about the rest of their body? Or is it all about the face?
The beauty they are striving for is not natural to the cultral background that they are from.
A LOT of men would still not be attracted a Black or Asian woman based on the fact that she has made herself artificially lighter so the journey to gain a fairer skin is futile.
There are a lot of men (especailly from Black backgrounds) who like some aspects of the “European” look and activley encourage women to have that look.
The most common of this look I’m talking about is the use of chemicals to straighten hair or the wearing of weaves and wigs.
I’ve heard numerous times men and women saying that having straight hair is easier to maintain, less fussy to style and gives a “better image”!
WOW!
What ever happened to natural beauty?
And diversity.
How about the fact that women risk burning their scalps every six (6) weeks and waste money just to have straight hair?
There was a time when many Black women knew how to style afro hair, plait and accessorise their hair without the need for chemicals but now that’s becoming another rare sight to behold.
Apart from hairdressers, not many women can do their hair from home based on this inability.
We are all playing a really sick game of what is considered beauty and it’s shocking when we take a step back and look at the bigger picture.
As times are changing, the images of what is nice and pretty seems to be getting more and more distorted.
My final curious question is:
Why is fairer skin equated with success, acceptance and beauty when we have all “been made into nations and tribes so that we may know each other”. (A loose translation of a verse from the Qur’an minus the word “we”)
A publication is going around stating that the French government are planning to aggree on “partial banning” of the Niqab.
This ban means that a woman wearing the veil must take it off in schools (when collecting their children), hospitals, public transport or any facility deemed a public place.
Rather than a fine, women who refuse to take off their veils, will just be frefused what ever service they are there to recieve including not being allowed to pick up their own children from school or if they recieve state benefits, they will not be allowed access to that money.
“Under the proposals, a woman who fails to remove her veil inside when using any realm of the statethose public servicin such cases would not face a fine for breaking the law, but would be refused access to the service. She would not, for instance, be allowed to collect her child benefit payments or take the bus” (the spelling mistakes are not mine)
Mr Sarkozy has been quoted ask saying that a solution needs to be sought where “no one feels stigmatised” but from the report, this is just the first phase in other steps being taken to make sure all Muslim women are banned from wearing the veil completely.
What has drawn a big concern from me is the quote from an MP which I am cutting and pasting here:
“We have to make life impossible for them in order to curb the phenomenon,” one MP told the French daily Le Figaro.
Make life impossible?
WHY?
The women who this ban will affect, will definately feel that life is impossible. Their freedom of movement will be hindered, their chances of progressing nil, their children will be taken out of schools since they may not have their husbands or other male members of the family there all the time to collect those children, access to medical care will be very limited (unless individual medical centers and staff choose to be forgiving and turn a blind eye), the consequences on these women will be catastrophic!
I’ve met about five (5) French Muslim ladies who told me the kind of abuse and distress they used to recieve in France just for wearing the hijab or the veil with it.
Ya Rabb! We turn to you seeking protection for our sisters, we ask for mercy upon them and steadfastness in their plight Ameen!
These women had been taken out of the country by their families in the hopes of finding refuge from this trial.
All of them were asking for prayers for families left over there and support to be free to live Subhan Allah!
This situation is escalating people and there are many here who support the French in trying to get the same legislations here.
The driving force behind this mentality has been made clear.
I’ve noticed over the past few years (after taking more interest in politics) that as it nears major election dates, these same rhetorics are bounced around by all the political parties whether major or minor.
The “fight” to curb terrorism is heightened, the security threat is even more “severe” three (3) to four (4) months before votes take place, a major terrorist is caught, a bomb is placed on plane or other forms of transportation, Mr Bin Laden comes out of the wood works with some tape claiming responsability for some fool commitng a crime but it’s still so hard to find him and bring him to justice.
How do these tapes get out then?
How do people in Al Jazeera manage to get a hold of these tapes but what ever informants and connections they’ve got have no chain link back to the source (Mr Bin Laden himself)?
I don’t tend to go with suspicious conspiracy theories but I’m starting to wonder what is really going on within the intelligence offices.
What exactly is the BILLIONS of Pounds (£), Dollars ($) and Euros going on that they cannot find one (1) man?
How has the security threats changed since before 2001 and how come so much is known about imminent threats but not a lot seems to be done about them til some idiot sets fire to his underwear etc?
Theres more to come on this news and it’s all a waiting game at the moment but I’m keeping my eyes peeled on this subject.
It affects my very being and I for one, am very concerned and interested in how other countries will adopt these policies if the French bring it into legislation.
Being beautiful is supposed to be in the eye of the beholder.
Being a woman who chooses to hide my beauty (or the lack of it), I’m seen as an extreme person in the country I live in.
But you know what?
I have worked in a few pubs, bars and bingo halls before becoming a Muslim woman and yes it’s true, I know what that life style is to a degree.
One of the first things I started to notice as I learned more about my religion was the fact that women ARE still on uneven groundsin the “gender equality” race that we all foolishly play. And people should know that in many areas, women will never be on the same level as men or vice versa.
I have noticed more and more that it’s viewed as ok for women to show as much flesh as possible regardless of where they are or their personal safety.
These same women delude themselves into thinking that they are on par with men the same age when it comes to sex, alcohol, drugs, aggression and everything that is associated with the “laddett” culture.
This article shows what I cannot express about how WRONG AND DELUDED women truely are about the whole “sex sells” industry. Looking at the women portrayed, how many versions of “that look” do you see on the streets now?
Especially in the summer or any given Thursday, Friday or Saturday night?
How respected do you think these women truely are?
And what is there to respect?
A pitiful quote from a “lady” apparently went something like this:
” I want to do this to make my mum proud”
Of what exactly?
That the beautiful baby girl she had is now parading herself on a bed for a room full of strange men with nothing but her knickers and bra on?
That these men all have their mobiles and cameras trained on her taking as explicit an image as they can get?
Or does she want her mother to be proud of her prostituting herself for the price of a magazine shoot which will pay her maybe a months wages but will never sustain her for the rest of her life?
What company would in their right minds hire a woman like her to manage their high flying international corperation?
And talking about parents, how does daddy feel about the whole thing?
Does he not mind his darling princess showing off her crown jewels to a bunch of strange young men who would never dream of marrying a girl who does the kind of thing she’s doing?
Or knowing that he used to think in the same way these young men are thinking, what advice does he give to precious daughter before she leaves the home dressed in nothing more than a bra and “batty riders”?
This is the extremes I see women going down on a daily basis and I’m the one being called a freak because I actually WANT to wear clothes when I leave my home.
I’m the one who is taunted and abused for refusing to follow the crowd and want to be judged according to my personality rather than my bra size.
These women say they are liberated. They can dress how ever they like and still get respect but I beg to differ.
Looking at the pictures does not conjure “respect for them” in my mind let alone some hormonal man who aint had any for a fair few days/ weeks/ months or years.
These ladies, when everything is heading down south, their still single or maybe floating from one relationship to another, producing children along the way, children who need a mum who is stable to be their role model and rock, what will they have?
What kind of respect can they master from the crowd when they walk into a room?
When will it be the right age to give up that kind of job?
What job description would their “careers” come under?
Or what kind of job can they expect to get after that will bring in the same kind of money that they are used to?
Girls are meant to aspire to be like the sucessful women of their time.
So now, wearing fake tans, mini skirts, make up and a footballer for a husband is the way to go?
Now that’s a real sad state our children’s future is in.
Final question: How much money would a person need to earn to maintain this kind of look?
Most if not all the “women” featured in the article have had breast implants (which need maintanence), teeth whitening (but they still drink and smoke which leads to staining of teeth), lip injections (which unfortunately, not many white women have plump lips so that’s the only way to get fuller lips), some have had botox, nose jobs, variouse “lifts” of the face……..
Wow! The list is piling up already.
These surgical procedures are not cheap.
And everyone can’t be rich so what would a woman need to do to maintain this kind of look long term?
