|
Toronto Star,
LIFE
Tuesday, July 30, 1996
Such a to-do
about a simple piece of head covering.
The desire for
anonymity is one of the reasons Muslim women cover their heads.
The other reason is personal choice. That choice
is under fire.
One morning, I
start covering my head. I make a commitment to myself to wear it
for one year.
My family is
surprised but they support me implicitly. They know that for a
Muslim woman, covering her head is not deviating from
the norm,
but rather the accepted thing to do.
My husband warns
me not to be defensive and to wear it with pride, if I decide to
carry it through.
My reason? A
deep, spiritual longing to be visible as a Muslim woman, and to
position myself in solidarity with other Muslim women who are
suffering a backlash due to their choice of dress. I want to
know first-hand what discrimination and stereotyping is all
about.
I come to work
with my head covered. No comment. A week later, when colleagues
notice that the head scarf has become a permanent fixture, some
curious glances.
My boss walks by
my desk, does a double take and retraces
his steps.
"Is this the
new look?" he asks. "Yes, it is." He continues,
"Is it due to spiritual reasons?"
I explain why I
have decided to cover my head. He smiles encouragingly and
says,"Good for you."
A female
colleague comments, "It looks so oppressive." I
suggest she use a less hackneyed term.
"Did I look
oppressed when I didn't cover my head?" I ask.
"No," she replies. "Maybe your perception is
affected by my outward appearance." She concedes the point
but is still not convinced. I'm not there to defend the cause.
To those who are
genuinely interested, I spend time explaining the cause. To
others, I simply say that I've discovered a new defense against
UV rays or that I turned bald overnight.
I find that
people are more accepting of the look, once they understand the
conviction behind it and the fact that the decision has not been
forced on me.
At the subway, a
woman pointedly moves a few feet away from me. I laugh and say,
"I did take a shower this morning."
She smiles
sheepishly, showing surprise that I can elucidate my point in
passable English. I try not to take offence when an ignoramus
refuses to sit next to me. All this is a learning experience.
I receive mixed
reactions from friends and acquaintances. Some drop me like a
hot brick. Others try to change my mind for me.
The closest and
most sensible ones take a little time to realize that I am still
me. I have not changed. Only my outward appearance
has changed.
I arrive at a job
interview in my headscarf. There are many contestants, but I get
the job. My new colleagues accept me without comment. I'm
totally at ease with myself and the world around me.
I try to remain
socially active, so that I can gauge responses. I attend my
children's school functions and one child asks my son, "Why
does your mother wear an earring in her nose?"
The perception of
a child who is fascinated by my nose ring and unconcerned about
my head covering amuses me.
On a few
occasions, I'm invited as a guest speaker on a panel. When the
organizers see me for the first time, they look embarrassed. I
inform them gently that my head covering does not make me brain
damaged. They relent and apologize.
I realize that
the ones who are critical and uncomfortable are the ones with
inadequate knowledge about Muslim women.
Vacationing in
Bermuda and standing at a street corner, I hear someone say,
"Salaam Alaikum" (the Muslim greeting meaning
"peace upon you"). From my head covering, two young
native Bermudians have identified me as a fellow Muslim.
I feel goose
pimples along my arms and a catch in my throat. I never thought
that my visual identity would be a bonus in Bermuda.
I am at
peace.
Copyright
© 1996 Toronto Star, All Rights Reserved.
|
