My British Hijab

BISMILLAH.

My head scarf has been an essential part of my existence and wardrobe since I was twelve years old. It has identified me yet plagued me; given me inner peace and emboldened me; at times it has crowned me, at other times condemned me; it has made me an object of ridicule but also one of respect; at an early age it gave me nightmares and set me apart from my peers. My friends wondered why a girl with gorgeous thick black hair would cover her locks like an old woman. It was even partly responsible for the spectacular collapse of my first, ever-so-brief dalliance with marriage. As I grew older, my pretty beige scarf became an all-enveloping black gown. For a short while I even wore a veil to cover my face. As I wear glasses, the veil would force my breath up my face and steam up my glasses, which was incredibly uncomfortable. Today my scarf is pretty and pink again, and is no longer the discomforting item of my apparel it once was for me.

 Over the past twenty years, I have seen the headscarf, the hijab, reassert itself proudly all over the world. It may only be a small piece of cloth to the un-initiated, but the message it sends out to the world, often inadvertently, seems to be clearly huge. Young Muslim women have flocked to wear it in their droves. Generally confident and boisterous governments have been reduced to crying, inarticulate bumblers in order to justify the banning of this small piece of cloth. Some women wear the hijab because it reflects their religiosity and perhaps improves their piety. Others wear it as a badge of camaraderie, to identify themselves with their sisters-in-faith throughout the world, especially those in Muslim countries trying to throw off the yoke of intellectual colonialism. For some women it is a gesture of defiance, a fashionable way of raising the proverbial two fingers at a godless world. For many others, it is simply a fashion accessory that gets them noticed; in a world of uniform fashion where clothes seem to drop out of a monochrome grey machine, the headscarf in its myriad of colours and adorned with glitzy hairpins and brooches is the ultimate piece of bling. And other girls simply wear it to earn their parents’ trust; a daughter who stays out until late at night simply cannot be up to mischief if her head is graced with a headscarf.

I began to wear the hijab when I was twelve years old and in secondary school. In later years I began to wear a long black gown (jilbab or abaya) as well. The next step was to wear a veil (niqab) to cover my face. To be perfectly honest, I found the veil oppressive, but loved the scarf and gown. It made me look elegant and distinguished, like the dress of a medieval lady of breeding.

 In fact, some years ago I attended a medieval re-creation in an Essex castle, complete with a jousting tournament, court jesters juggling, princesses in brocade finery, and the servant classes tending to their needs. Music was played, the knights rode and duelled impressively, and the princess waved her handkerchief perfectly. During the show a knight came up to me and my sister, both of us wearing long flowing gowns and pretty scarves, and thanked us for coming in costume. He was evidently under the impression that we had come dressed as medieval English ladies. His comment made me wonder why my outfit was considered so bizarre in modern Britain if it had once been the fashion in medieval Britain. After all, fashions do come and go. Nevertheless it was considered strange in North London where I grew up, and it certainly made my adolescent years quite difficult.

I rarely wear the long, black robe now, preferring jackets in pretty colours with long skirts or trousers and matching scarves. Issues of integration and citizenship, as well as theological debates on reform of classical understandings of Islamic law now dominate my thinking. But why, a reader may well ask, have I changed my appearance so drastically? Having worn the veil to cover my face for so many years, why would I discourage my daughter from wearing it? The answer, I would suggest, is that the London bombings of 7 July 2005 changed my outlook on my own life and society around me. I was in a gym (women’s only) on that bleak Thursday morning, burning away the calories on an electric treadmill. The music programme blaring out from the radio was suddenly interrupted by a newsflash, with news of a series of bomb blasts in central London. Trains had exploded as had a bus, all within an hour of each other. The death toll was as yet unknown, but it was expected to be large. The explosions took place at the height of the morning rush hour, when commuters were filling all the trains and buses in London in their hurry to get to work or study. The blood drained from my face as one by one, all the women stopped their lifting and running exercises to listen to the radio. The first blast was thought to be an accident, but as more bombs exploded, this explanation was shunned. The explosions seemed too co-ordinated to be an accident. The dreaded words ‘terrorist attack’ were now being used.

 Please God, I whispered to myself. Please, please let it not be Muslims. Please let it be a mechanical problem that caused the explosions. Please let it be Tamils, the IRA, anyone. Please let it be anyone but Muslims.

Tears streamed down my face as I ran into the cubicles to change. I was desperate to get home to watch the television news. And I was very frightened. Terrorist attacks happened in other countries, not here in London. Not at home. My mobile phone rang. It was my mother, frantic with worry as I had not been answering my phone at home. Where are you, she asked in Urdu in a hushed whisper? There has been a bomb in central London. I am not letting your brother go to uni today, and you need to stay at home as well. I’ll tell Usama to stay home as well. Allah rahem karay. (May God have mercy on all of us.)

Tears streamed down my face as I ran into the cubicles to change. I was desperate to get home to watch the television news…

Read the rest of ‘My British Hijab’ at https://kholahasan.wordpress.com/2021/06/07/my-british-hijab-part1introduction/