Young. British. Female. Muslim.

[Al-khiyal]

Young. British. Female. Muslim.

May 29, 2010 -- It’s a controversial time for British women to be wearing the hijab, the basic Muslim headscarf. Last month, Belgium became the first European country to pass legislation to ban the burka (the most concealing of Islamic veils), calling it a “threat” to female dignity, while France looks poised to follow suit. In Italy earlier this month, a Muslim woman was fined €500 (£430) for wearing the Islamic veil outside a post office. And yet, while less than 2 per cent of the population now attends a Church of England service every week, the number of female converts to Islam is on the rise. At the London Central Mosque in Regent’s Park, women account for roughly two thirds of the “New Muslims” who make their official declarations of faith there – and most of them are under the age of 30.

Conversion statistics are frustratingly patchy, but at the time of the 2001 Census, there were at least 30,000 British Muslim converts in the UK. According to Kevin Brice, of the Centre for Migration Policy Research, Swansea University, this number may now be closer to 50,000 – and the majority are women. “Basic analysis shows that increasing numbers of young, university-educated women in their twenties and thirties are converting to Islam,” confirms Brice. “Our liberal, pluralistic 21st-century society means we can choose our careers, our politics – and we can pick and choose who we want to be spiritually,” explains Dr Mohammad S. Seddon, lecturer in Islamic Studies at the University of Chester. We’re in an era of the “religious supermarket”, he says.

Joanne Bailey

Solicitor, 30, Bradford

“The first time I wore my hijab into the office, I was so nervous, I stood outside on the phone to my friend for ages going, ‘What on earth is everyone going to say?’ When I walked in, a couple of people asked, ‘Why are you wearing that scarf? I didn’t know you were a Muslim.’ I’m the last person you’d expect to convert to Islam: I had a very sheltered, working-class upbringing in South Yorkshire. I’d hardly even seen a Muslim before I went to university. In my first job at a solicitor’s firm in Barnsley, I remember desperately trying to play the role of the young, single, career woman: obsessively dieting, shopping and going to bars – but I never felt truly comfortable. Then one afternoon in 2004 everything changed: I was chatting to a Muslim friend over coffee, when he noticed the little gold crucifix around my neck. He said, ‘Do you believe in God, then?’ I wore it more for fashion than religion and said, ‘No, I don’t think so,’ and he started talking about his faith. I brushed him off at first, but his words stuck in my mind. A few days later, I found myself ordering a copy of the Qur'an on the internet. It took me a while to work up the courage to go to a women’s social event run by the Leeds New Muslims group. I remember hovering outside the door thinking, ‘What the hell am I doing here?’ I imagined they would be dressed head-to-toe in black robes: what could I, a 25-year-old, blonde English girl, possibly have in common with them? But when I walked in, none of them fitted the stereotype of the oppressed Muslim housewife; they were all doctors, teachers and psychiatrists. I was struck by how content and secure they seemed. It was meeting these women, more than any of the books I read, that convinced me that I wanted to become a Muslim. After four years, in March 2008, I made the declaration of faith at a friend’s house. At first, I was anxious that I hadn’t done the right thing, but I soon relaxed into it – a bit like starting a new job. A few months later, I sat my parents down and said, ‘I’ve got something to tell you.’ There was a silence and my mum said, ‘You’re going to become Muslim, aren’t you?’ She burst into tears and kept asking things like, ‘What happens when you get married? Do you have to cover up? What about your job?’ I tried to reassure her that I’d still be me, but she was concerned for my welfare. Contrary to what most people think, Islam doesn’t oppress me; it lets me be the person that I was all along. Now I’m so much more content and grateful for the things I’ve got. A few months ago, I got engaged to a Muslim solicitor I met on a training course. He has absolutely no problem with my career, but I do agree with the Islamic perspective on the traditional roles for men and women. I want to look after my husband and children, but I also want my independence. I’m proud to be British and I’m proud to be Muslim – and I don’t see them as conflicting in any way.”

Aqeela Lindsay Wheeler

Housewife and mother, 26, Leicester

“As a teenager I thought all religion was pathetic. I used to spend every weekend getting drunk outside the leisure centre, in high-heeled sandals and miniskirts. My view was: what’s the point in putting restrictions on yourself? You only live once. At university, I lived the typical student existence, drinking and going clubbing, but I’d always wake up the next morning with a hangover and think, what’s the point? It wasn’t until my second year that I met Hussein. I knew he was a Muslim, but we were falling in love, so I brushed the whole issue of religion under the carpet. But six months into our relationship, he told me that being with me was ‘against his faith’. I was so confused. That night I sat up all night reading two books on Islam that Hussein had given me. I remember bursting into tears because I was so overwhelmed. I thought, ‘This could be the whole meaning of life.’ But I had a lot of questions: why should I cover my head? Why can’t I eat what I like? I started talking to Muslim women at university and they completely changed my view. They were educated, successful – and actually found the headscarf liberating. I was convinced, and three weeks later officially converted to Islam. When I told my mum a few weeks later, I don’t think she took it seriously. She made a few comments like, ‘Why would you wear that scarf? You’ve got lovely hair,’ but she didn’t seem to understand what it meant. My best friend at university completely turned on me: she couldn’t understand how one week I was out clubbing, and the next I’d given everything up and converted to Islam. She was too close to my old life, so I don’t regret losing her as a friend. I chose the name Aqeela because it means ‘sensible and intelligent’ – and that’s what I was aspiring to become when I converted to Islam six years ago. I became a whole new person: everything to do with Lindsay, I’ve erased from my memory. The most difficult thing was changing the way I dressed, because I was always so fashion-conscious. The first time I tried on the hijab, I remember sitting in front of the mirror, thinking, ‘What am I doing putting a piece of cloth over my head? I look crazy!’ Now I’d feel naked without it and only occasionally daydream about feeling the wind blow through my hair. Once or twice, I’ve come home and burst into tears because of how frumpy I feel – but that’s just vanity. It’s a relief not to feel that pressure any more. Wearing the hijab reminds me that all I need to do is serve God and be humble. I’ve even gone through phases of wearing the niqab [face veil] because I felt it was more appropriate – but it can cause problems, too. When people see a white girl wearing a niqab they assume I’ve stuck my fingers up at my own culture to ‘follow a bunch of Asians’. I’ve even had teenage boys shout at me in the street, ‘Get that s*** off your head, you white bastard.’ After the London bombings, I was scared to walk about in the streets for fear of retaliation. For the most part, I have a very happy life. I married Hussein and now we have a one-year-old son, Zakir. We try to follow the traditional Muslim roles: I’m foremost a housewife and mother, while he goes out to work. I used to dream of having a successful career as a psychologist, but now it’s not something I desire. Becoming a Muslim certainly wasn’t an easy way out. This life can sometimes feel like a prison, with so many rules and restrictions, but we believe that we will be rewarded in the afterlife.”

[Al-khiyal]

Catherine Heseltine

Nursery school teacher, 31, North London

“If you’d asked me at the age of 16 if I’d like to become a Muslim, I would have said, ‘No thanks.’ I was quite happy drinking, partying and fitting in with my friends. Growing up in North London, we never practised religion at home; I always thought it was slightly old-fashioned and irrelevant. But when I met my future husband, Syed, in the sixth form, he challenged all my preconceptions. He was young, Muslim, believed in God – and yet he was normal. The only difference was that, unlike most teenage boys, he never drank. A year later, we were head over heels in love, but we quickly realised: how could we be together if he was a Muslim and I wasn’t? Before meeting Syed, I’d never actually questioned what I believed in; I’d just picked up my casual agnosticism through osmosis. So I started reading a few books on Islam out of curiosity. In the beginning, the Qur'an appealed to me on an intellectual level; the emotional and spiritual side didn’t come until later. I loved its explanations of the natural world and discovered that 1,500 years ago, Islam gave women rights that they didn’t have here in the West until relatively recently. It was a revelation. Religion wasn’t exactly a ‘cool’ thing to talk about, so for three years I kept my interest in Islam to myself. But in my first year at university, Syed and I decided to get married – and I knew it was time to tell my parents. My mum’s initial reaction was, ‘Couldn’t you just live together first?’ She had concerns about me rushing into marriage and the role of women in Muslim households – but no one realised how seriously I was taking my religious conversion. I remember going out for dinner with my dad and him saying, ‘Go on, have a glass of wine. I won’t tell Syed!’ A lot of people assumed I was only converting to Islam to keep his family happy, not because I believed in it. Later that year, we had an enormous Bengali wedding, and moved into a flat together – but I certainly wasn’t chained to the kitchen sink. I didn’t even wear the hijab at all to start with, and wore a bandana or a hat instead. I was used to getting a certain amount of attention from guys when I went out to clubs and bars, but I had to let that go. I gradually adopted the Islamic way of thinking: I wanted people to judge me for my intelligence and my character – not for the way I looked. It was empowering. I’d never been part of a religious minority before, so that was a big adjustment, but my friends were very accepting. Some of them were a bit shocked: ‘What, no drink, no drugs, no men? I couldn’t do that!’ And it took a while for my male friends at university to remember things like not kissing me hello on the cheek any more. I’d have to say, ‘Sorry, it’s a Muslim thing.’ Over time, I actually became more religious than my husband. We started growing apart in other ways, too. In the end, I think the responsibility of marriage was too much for him; he became distant and disengaged. After seven years together, I decided to get a divorce. When I moved back in with my parents, people were surprised I was still wandering around in a headscarf. But if anything, being on my own strengthened my faith: I began to gain a sense of myself as a Muslim, independent of him. Islam has given me a sense of direction and purpose. I’m involved with the Muslim Public Affairs Committee, and lead campaigns against Islamophobia, discrimination against women in mosques, poverty and the situation in Palestine. When people call us ‘extremists’ or ‘the dark underbelly of British politics’, I just think it’s ridiculous. There are a lot of problems in the Muslim community, but when people feel under siege it makes progress even more difficult. I still feel very much part of white British society, but I am also a Muslim. It has taken a while to fit those two identities together, but now I feel very confident being who I am. I’m part of both worlds and no one can take that away from me.”

Sukina Douglas

Spoken-word poet, 28, London

“Before I found Islam, my gaze was firmly fixed on Africa. I was raised a Rastafarian and used to have crazy-long dreadlocks: one half blonde and the other half black. Then, in 2005, my ex-boyfriend came back from a trip to Africa and announced that he’d converted to Islam. I was furious and told him he was ‘losing his African roots’. Why was he trying to be an Arab? It was so foreign to how I lived my life. Every time I saw a Muslim woman in the street I thought, ‘Why do they have to cover up like that? Aren’t they hot?’ It looked oppressive to me. Islam was already in my consciousness, but when I started reading the autobiography of Malcolm X at university, something opened up inside me. One day I said to my best friend, Muneera, ‘I’m falling in love with Islam.’ She laughed and said, ‘Be quiet, Sukina!’ She only started exploring Islam to prove me wrong, but soon enough she started believing it, too. I was always passionate about women’s rights; there was no way I would have entered a religion that sought to degrade me. So when I came across a book by a Moroccan feminist, it unravelled all my negative opinions: Islam didn’t oppress women; people did. Before I converted, I conducted an experiment. I covered up in a long gypsy skirt and headscarf and went out. But I didn’t feel frumpy; I felt beautiful. I realised, I’m not a sexual commodity for men to lust after; I want to be judged for what I contribute mentally. Muneera and I took our shahada [declaration of faith] together a few months later, and I cut my dreadlocks off to represent renewal: it was the beginning of a new life. Just three weeks after our conversion, the 7/7 bombings happened; suddenly we were public enemy No 1. I’d never experienced racism in London before, but in the weeks after the bombs, people would throw eggs at me and say, ‘Go back to your own country,’ even though this was my country. I’m not trying to shy away from any aspect of who I am. Some people dress in Arabian or Pakistani styles, but I’m British and Caribbean, so my national dress is Primark and Topshop, layered with colourful charity-shop scarves. Six months after I converted, I got back together with my ex-boyfriend, and now we’re married. Our roles in the home are different, because we are different people, but he would never try to order me around; that’s not how I was raised. Before I found Islam, I was a rebel without a cause, but now I have a purpose in life: I can identify my flaws and work towards becoming a better person. To me, being a Muslim means contributing to your society, no matter where you come from.”

[Al-khiyal]

Catherine Huntley

Retail assistant, 21, Bournemouth

“My parents always thought I was abnormal, even before I became a Muslim. In my early teens, they’d find me watching TV on a Friday night and say, ‘What are you doing at home? Haven’t you got any friends to go out with?’ The truth was: I didn’t like alcohol, I’ve never tried smoking and I wasn’t interested in boys. You’d think they’d have been pleased. I’ve always been quite a spiritual person, so when I started studying Islam in my first year of GCSEs, something just clicked. I would spend every lunchtime reading about Islam on the computer. I had peace in my heart and nothing else mattered any more. It was a weird experience – I’d found myself, but the person I found wasn’t like anyone else I knew. I’d hardly ever seen a Muslim before, so I didn’t have any preconceptions, but my parents weren’t so open-minded. I hid all my Muslim books and headscarves in a drawer, because I was so scared they’d find out. When I told my parents, they were horrified and said, ‘We’ll talk about it when you’re 18.’ But my passion for Islam just grew stronger. I started dressing more modestly and would secretly fast during Ramadan. I got very good at leading a double life until one day, when I was 17, I couldn’t wait any longer. I sneaked out of the house, put my hijab in a carrier bag and got on the train to Bournemouth. I must have looked completely crazy putting it on in the train carriage, using a wastebin lid as a mirror. When a couple of old people gave me dirty looks, I didn’t care. For the first time in my life, I felt like myself. A week after my conversion, my mum came marching into my room and said, ‘Have you got something to tell me?’ She pulled my certificate of conversion out of her pocket. I think they’d rather have found anything else at that point – drugs, cigarettes, condoms – because at least they could have put it down to teenage rebellion. I could see the fear in her eyes. She couldn’t comprehend why I’d want to give up my freedom for the sake of a foreign religion. Why would I want to join all those terrorists and suicide bombers? It was hard being a Muslim in my parents’ house. I’ll never forget one evening, there were two women in burkas on the front page of the newspaper, and they started joking, ‘That’ll be Catherine soon.’ They didn’t like me praying five times a day either; they thought it was ‘obsessive’. I’d pray right in front of my bedroom door so my mum couldn’t walk in, but she would always call upstairs, ‘Catherine, do you want a cup of tea?’ just so I’d have to stop. Four years on, my grandad still says things like, ‘Muslim women have to walk three steps behind their husbands.’ It gets me really angry, because that’s the culture, not the religion. My fiancé, whom I met eight months ago, is from Afghanistan and he believes that a Muslim woman is a pearl and her husband is the shell that protects her. I value that old-fashioned way of life: I’m glad that when we get married he’ll take care of paying the bills. I always wanted to be a housewife anyway. Marrying an Afghan man was the cherry on the cake for my parents. They think I’m completely crazy now. He’s an accountant and actually speaks better English than I do, but they don’t care. The wedding will be in a mosque, so I don’t think they’ll come. It hurts to think I’ll never have that fairytale wedding, surrounded by my family. But I hope my new life with my husband will be a lot happier. I’ll create the home I’ve always wanted, without having to feel the pain of people judging me.”

[Suki]

I think religious convictions and conversion is a very intimate and personal decision. How anyone could paint with a broad brush and equate terrorism and 'oppression' with conversion to Islam is beyond me.

That is a personal choice for many people. There is a diversity of religions in Europe. There always has been. Islam is not a 'new' religion. It has been around for a very long time. And the vast majority of Muslims are decent family-oriented people who want to practice compassion, love and peace and take care of their neighbors, families and friends.

I think it is a fear of the 'foreign' and of blame. They must blame someone for what is not going right in Western society. All problems are to a certain extent internally created. And if you let fear get a hold of people, there is never a solution.

I also read the Autobiography of Malcolm X when I was 15 years old. And it moved me greatly. Because it is a great human story. And it captured the time period in history. Why do people equate or put false values on what should be a journey for spiritual truth? I would like to see the opinions of other women on this matter. What do you think?

I did not know it was that bad in Europe. Has it gotten worse? Or do they see more acceptance of Muslims in Europe over time? What do the people think about this on Algeria.com?

[Serenity]

Greetings Suki,

That was a beautiful reply you made there I must say.

I think you hit the nail on the head that people are just reacting the way they are out fear of the 'unknown' and also there is the media which doesn't help.

I must say as a British muslim born and bred in London, I have definitely felt a change over the years. I've had some not so great experiences with people who are very frank and think its ok to be insulting towards me. Its hard because I really try to stay neutral and not give them upper hand by reacting in an angry manner.

I remember a verse from the Quran which for me personally is relevant to the time it goes:

''The faithful slaves of the Beneficient are they who walk upon the earth modestly, and when the foolish ones address them answer: Peace''

'The Criterion' Chapter 25 verses 63-70

Recently I started a new job over a month ago and I work a friend who is not a muslim. She recently started to be very honest with me what she thinks about the status of the muslims in the UK, and Lo and behold the subject of immigration came up. Then she went on about the same tirade of stereotypical issues surrounding muslims, the words Saudi Arabia and Brit muslim bombers came up.

I am so tired of hearing the same thing over and over. I am tired of the sweeping generalisations. But at the same time I know I am not doing enough to build bridges of understanding.

Things have got worse here in the UK. Recently a right-wing extremist group called the English Defence League have been carrying out open attacks on muslims in East London. They plan to cause havoc in many muslim-populated areas this summer. This week I have had to leave work early twice out of fear that I may cross-paths with them.

My dream is to show the world what Islam really is. I just wish everybody would take the time to read the Quran instead of believing everything they see that the TV spews out. Then there would not be this perception of us.

But I know that we muslims are just not trying hard enough, in fact I know alot of us are very much asleep!.

Sorry for the long rant.

I appreciate your open mind and willingness to understand. Thank you.

[Suki]

Serenity, as you say...they don't try to understand. All great things start with trying to understand the unknown.

Ignorance is not bliss. In fact ignorance can and is a deadly thing.

Well today someone came out of the blue today and started accusing me of endorsing violence and terror. I thought why?

It wasn't because of my religion. For I am not a Muslim and the discussion wasn't about religion. It was about politics. And in my country if you want independence then you must be a terrorist and wanting violence. Why do they think that? Because of lies and propaganda Serenity.

No one actually picks up a book on the history of country and reads it carefully for accuracy and does research. Too much work. They would rather believe lies and propaganda.

Ignorance is very common indeed Serenity. Sometimes it overwhelms me. But we need to be very tolerant too. Because all of us are ignorant about something in the world. At some time in our lives. All of us have ignorance and live in ignorance about so many things.

I wish I could speak Arabic. Such a melodious language. I don't speak it. I am ignorant about it. I accept that I am ignorant in the language and as such I don't try to claim to be knowledgeable about it.

What I find discouraging is when people never acknowledge that they are ignorant about something.

Admit it. And remedy it if it interests you. If you want to change.

How could I fear the 'other' Serenity? Since I have been the 'other' my entire life? People fear what they don't understand. Fear of the unknown is common. Once they know the 'unknown' and shed light on it...then there are the beginnings of understanding.

You take things one day at a time.

What attracted you to the Muslim religion Serenity? What are most British women? Anglicans? Protestants?

I never lived in GB so I don't know. The impression I have that in Europe including in the UK not having any religion or taking the traditional one seriously is not a priority. Most Europeans (especially youth) are mostly Christians or not really active in any religion, and are highly engaged with secular activities mostly. Is that accurate?

See how ignorant I am? I have no clue. I have never considered myself an Anglophile by any means. My knowledge on England, UK, or GB is very sparse indeed. I hope you enlighten me Serenity. You are English?

[Serenity]

Hello again!

you have displayed yet another beautiful eloquent piece of writing.

You are totally right about everybody having some type of ignorance and the only way is to at least try to build bridges and try breaking the ice.

I am very aware of the danger of the right-wing media in the states its scary how much people have been brainwashed by so much propanganda. Recently found out yesterday that Joe Lieberman wants the internet regulated, him and others at the top don't like what they see, all this freedom of thought on the internet and they think its best to flick the switch before people start waking up.

I don't know everything about the states but I read and watch things here and there.

Your view of the UK is right. Britain is a secular country. I know alot more agnostics and atheists than religious people. Then there are people who say they belong to a religion but don't practice it. So there is a mix. Yes there are native brits here who are anglicans, protestants, catholics and methodists. Then you get others in the minority religions. But in general people are quite secular minded but some also do believe in freedom of religion as well. The rest of Europe is mostly secular in their constitutions and recently as you know places like France have taken a tough stance on their secularism.

I am not a revert. I am a born muslim. I was born and bred in London and I have Indonesian heritage. But I am from a creole malay community in sri lanka. But when people ask me what I am I just say Indonesian because I can't be bothered to go into detail.lol.

In the previous post I was just talking about my religious conviction and how it grew stronger as I got older, especially when studying at university as I spent alot of time by myself I began to think how I really wanted to live my life. So Islam to me is what I feel is truth. I began researching it more and became more immersed. So you can say that I rediscovered by faith. The fundamental principle of God being one with no partners and Muhammed being the last and final messenger is very profound to me. What I love is putting my head to the ground when in prayer, prayer helps me to recharge and it helps me realise that I am not alone. This is what I feel comfortable with.

I just wish that some people would understand this but at the same time I think I just have to accept that some people just don't want to know even when you tried to show them who you are and what you believe.

Nevertheless we must keep positive eh as the saying goes I think Chebba_Mami posted some time ago ''Be the change you want to see in the world''.


In the meantime I'm trying my best to avoid deep political debates. In my opnion sometimes politics just divides people. Sometimes debates like that can bring out the worst in people and it tarnish friendships. Right now I want to be making friends rather than the opposite lol!.

What is it like living in the states? and what do you believe?