To Hijab Or Not To Hijab?

It’s time for me to address another of the common questions I have been posed since my conversion: Will you wear a hijab?

My favourite example of being asked this was by a man I had just been introduced to my a friend. It was quite soon after I had converted and she had given my old name, then corrected herself to Nazmeen. The next section of conversation went as follows:

Friend: Sorry, Naz just recently converted to Islam and I am trying to get used to using her new name.

Man: (disgusted look on face) Why?

Me: It felt like the right thing to do.

Man: Are you wearing a hijab?

Me: (touching my own hair) Umm..no, guess not.

Man: Well, maybe in the future it will seem like the right thing to do.

Me: Well, then I will do it. (Turning away from ridiculous,abrasive man)

As I mentioned in my post Second Class Citizen, many non-Muslims see the hijab as a symbol of everything that is wrong with Islam: it hides women, it takes away women’s voices, it oppresses women, it encourages wife-beating. Quite a feat for a piece of cloth.

The real meaning of the hijab, however, is not oppression and sexual inequality. Rather, it is a way for the wearer to show their humility before Allah. It is worn in the same way that many Muslim men choose to wear a taqiyah or topi – a small cap that can be worn either alone or under a keffiyah or scarf. I wonder why people observing men in these don’t worry about how oppressed they are?

In a similar way to the hijab, there is a man’s version of the burqa. It is a plain, loose-fitting shirt and pyjama-style pants, designed to be modest and not accentuate any bits that could lead to impure thoughts. That is, to be pure of thought and deed requires us to not be distracted by the thousands of things that could potentially pull us off course. Boobs being the most distracting thing known to man, we women have to help them in their quest for purity of soul by keeping our funbags under wraps. Women, on the other hand, like to claim that we are not so easily distracted, but I’m basically a bit of a perv and a good-looking guy in a tightish t-shirt can hold my attention for a good seven to nine minutes.

The final point about the hijab is that it serves as a physical reminder of the mental veil we should wear. Only Allah is perfect. Only Allah has the right to boast and to brag about all he has done and created and continues to do. Hubris has no place in a Muslim’s heart, and the hijab and taqiyah remind us that there is someone above us, looking down with love and affection.

Personally, I am not ready to start wearing a hijab. Maybe in the future it will seem appropriate to me, but I’m not there yet. However, I have nothing but the highest respect for my sisters who do so.

Here Comes The Groom

Last Friday was Ikram’s wedding so, interested to experience a traditional Bangladeshi marriage ceremony, I headed to the village to have a look.

I had been told to go on Thursday for his gai holud ceremony. Other than its name, I could get little information about what it actually entailed. All the family were at Ikram’s house, ready to start the proceedings, but the power was out so we had to wait. I tried to use this time to find out what gai holud actually was but, other than being told “body yellow” I didn’t succeed.

When the electricity finally came back on, Ikram sat on the bed in the living room with two big, heart-shaped boxes of sweets, an empty plate and a small bowl of yellow paste in front of him. One by one, family members went and sat with him, smeared the paste on his face, fed him the sweets and put some money on the plate. When everyone had finished painting him, we had dinner and a bit of dancing around in the living room. Hard to do without a drink, I tell you.

The next day, suitably attired in my new sari,

Doing my ‘Deshi best in a sari.

I went back to the house for the main event. I’d been told to be there by 10 a.m. but, in true Bangladeshi fashion, nothing happened until close to midday. We had photos at home with Ikram all dressed up in his fineries, posing on the soon-to-be marital bed, which the men had decorated with flowers the night before. (Must have been fun for Ikram’s uncle and brother-in-law who had slept on it.)

We then piled into minibuses and cars and drove to the bride’s village. We were greeted by her family members who through flowers over everyone and gave us more sweets. Ikram was photographed more times than I could count but, and here is the start of the strange part, no sign of the bride. I assumed that she would make some big entrance to the Bridal March or whatever the ‘Deshi equivalent is.

The groom was placed on a small and brightly decorated stage while we all had snacks. The imam came and, with no ado at all, spoke to Ikram, his brother-in-law and the bride’s father. Some papers were signed and that was it – he was married. But, still no sign of the bride.

Lunch was served and eaten, lots of chit-chat, no bride. Around 3:30 p.m. and our minibus was ready to leave back to Jessore. I couldn’t quite comprehend that I was about to leave a wedding without having seen the blushing bride, so I made a few inquiries and was taken out of the back of the tent, into the family home, and guided into a room bustling with people. There sat the bride, on a bed, stunningly attired but not moving and  looking to be on the brink of tears. We had a pic (I smiled, she didn’t) and then I left.

As it turns out, the bride is expected to look sad because she is leaving her family home. However, I’m not sure if the groom is expected to look as confused as this one did!

The groom on his stage, one of the few shots of him smiling and not looking confused!

Striking Blow

It’s election year in Bangladesh. While in the UK this would signal the onset of endless door-to-door canvassing (go away!) and party political broadcasts (boring!), in Bangladesh things happen a little differently.

One of the main tools in a political party’s campaign box is the hortal. This is a nationwide strike, either in all public sectors or just of the transport system. To be honest, I haven’t quite figured out how this can help an election campaign – I mean, yes, it gives the public a day off, but it also disrupts the lives of millions of people as they can’t conduct their daily business.

Hortals can be called by any party, normally with a day’s notice, and it depends on the party how seriously people take it. For example, there was a strike today (officially 6 a.m. to 6 p.m.), but by 4 this afternoon it was pretty much business as usual. On  the other hand, a 3-day hortal was strictly adhered to last Sunday, Monday and Tuesday.

As if random days off were not enough fun, there has also been some protesting going on around the country. Initially, peaceful gatherings were taking place in Dhaka by people seeking the death penalty for the war criminals from 1971. Two weeks ago, one of these men was found guilty and sentenced to hang. Those in opposition to the verdict countered the protests, and  violent clashes broke out around the country.

The skirmishes quietened down, but more verdicts are due over the next few weeks. Scaremongers say that civil war is on the way. The people I meet in the street, however, feel that once the election is completed it will be situation normal.

As Bangladesh is my adopted home, for a while at least, I have a simple prayer: That a peaceful resolution be found before any more violence is committed, and that the people of Bangladesh can continue to develop democratic solutions to their differences.