The Ups and Downs of Halaal vs. Haraam

One of the biggest adjustments as a new Muslim in a non-Muslim household, is adjusting to a halaal diet. Never before have I been so careful to read labels – and me who was originally a label-reading fussy eater to start with! Not only that, but being in a really awkward series of situations where I have to try and explain why I can’t eat from that pot, or have even that small dollop of gravy on my rice!

The hardest challenge is when the food is doubtful (“mushbooh”) and I wonder whether I must eat it out of charity when being a guest… or decline as politely as possible. In the end I usually abstain as far as possible from doubtful foods, but I admit, I have once or twice eaten them to keep the charity! For example, once we were invited to my brother’s place to eat flapjacks, and he added a little vanilla essence to the mixture. I looked at the bottle and didn’t see alcohol listed on the ingredients, nor did I smell any (vanilla essence containing a lot of alcohol), so, although I was not happy, I just gave in so as to not cause ructions. At the time,  neither he nor my sister-in-law knew I was Muslim (I hadn’t yet told them).

As the only Muslim in my family, I constantly remember that I am a representative of Islam to them, and try to not be too fussy; Da’wah is important, even though Allah (SWT) alone guides them to Islam, be it His will. As they eventually come to know I am Muslim, I will gradually inform them (as I am doing now with my parents) as to what I can and cannot eat, and ease into more stricter halaal practice. For now, I have to do what I can with good intentions…

My parents have been quite bewildered at why I can’t eat certain types of food now, but as time passes they are more accommodating. In the beginning, it wasn’t so easy. One day, soon after my reversion, I was asked at lunchtime if I wanted some ham. So I refused, and when I explained I can’t eat pork anymore, I was on the receiving end of a vexed retort! Another challenge, was to try and explain recently why I couldn’t eat of the homemade soup, even when the meat cooking with it was taken out. How could I explain that meat or no meat, it was still cooking in the meat juices? Sigh!

There is yet another issue to deal with – washing the dishes. With our pet dog being allowed to lick off the supper plates sometimes (which I stopped letting her do now with mine!) and with the wine glasses, the water is officially “mutanajjis” –  impure. So I would have to re-rinse my dishes. I am still slowly moving towards using separate ones, which would help a lot in removing frustration. I say “slowly move,” because again, it has to do with explaining…

Alhamdulillah, it is a little easier now in some ways. I am fortunate that, although the halaal issue seems silly to my parents at times, they don’t press the issue. I try to accompany them when they buy groceries, especially dairy products. As for meat, I had become a vegetarian already before my reversion, as it suits me better. This was originally for the reason that I am not too partial to meat; being more the “tall, thin, ectomorphic vegetarian type” person, meat is sometimes a little too heavy for me – and another reason was that meat is so expensive. When I reverted, there was another good and convenient reason: the meat we buy is not from a special halaal butcher, but the supermarket in a 2% Muslim country! So when it comes to meat dishes at home, I stay away from them completely. Lentils have become my staple protein and they work very well for me; with pasta or rice – or even on their own with a sandwich or toast – they are delicious!

As difficult as it can get in the adjustment, I still feel so happy and fortunate that I have come onto this wonderful road of Islam. I would like to finish off by relating some funny incidents, as it really has been an adventure – sometimes with an ironic hilarity!

Take this for example – one day my dad wanted to buy a tub of ice-cream. Careful to ensure that it would be halaal (I LOVE  ice-cream!) I asked that he buy the same brand as previously. Why? Because it had the halaal logo on it, and so neither him nor I could go wrong…

So, off he goes out to the shops. And guess what he came back with? The same brand of ice-cream – but probably the ONLY one without a halaal logo on – rum and raisin! Rum! I thought: “Oh, Daddy, why rum of all flavours???” Alarm bells rang in my head… rum = alcohol: DON’T eat it! I turned over the tub, and compared it to the old one. There was the kosher logo (Jews being allowed alcohol), but the place where the halaal one was on the other tub, was blank. I’d better not go for it, I thought. So…no ice-cream for me!

I don’t need to say, but that tub lasted a loooong time!! J

Then there was the time my mom made a delicious chocolate cake. She put yoghurt in the icing as usual, which makes it very nice. Just that this particular time the yoghurt was one of doubtful origin. One of the ingredients – gelatine! Was it made from pork or beef? No idea! I’d better stay away! So I avoided eating the cake until I was alone and could sneak into the kitchen and scrape off the icing on a piece…

Next time Mom made cake, I made sure that I could eat it, even down to asking her not to add vanilla essence (to her puzzlement)!

My mother had read of this clever idea to keep bar soaps from getting soggy, and began to use it. When I became a Muslim, it suddenly dawned on me that it was not such a good one… What was this idea? Beer bottle tops stuck under the soap. Beer lids! Haraam lids. What a reminder; every time I wash myself, I see “Hansa Pilsener” staring back at me! I don’t know whether to laugh or grimace!

Finally… one day, I was the butt of a little joke. I was walking in a shopping mall with my parents and my father walked into a liquor store to buy wine. As I did with the pork section in the supermarket, I kept a clear distance from the offending place! After purchasing the wine, Dad walked out to meet Mom and I who were waiting outside. Suddenly, Mom, in one of her mischievous twinkle-in-the-eye moments, offers for me to carry the wine, knowing that I am Muslim and not allowed alcohol. So I veer off, saying: “No Mom! Muslims and wine don’t go together!”

Just imagine the oxymoron: a hijabed woman, carrying wine! Not helpful to Da’wah, is it? J

Set Free From a 15-year-long Addiction

This is getting on a rather personal topic, but it has been so life-changing that I couldn’t not share it. Allah Ta’ala has been SO good to me in this, and it is truly one of the best things that Islam has  worked in me! I am talking about an addiction that I had for over 15 years, which had damaged my self-esteem and made my life a misery – an attachment to images. It is really hard to talk about it, but I want to show what Islam did for me…

I was a lonely child and often kept my own company. In a way, I lived in my own fantasy world right up into my adulthood, when I started practising Christianity seriously in 2005.

I mark the beginning of my attachment to images to when I was 11 years old and had an interest in the music of the composers Mozart and Beethoven.  Then two years later when puberty set in, I had a major obsession with Michael Jackson. I had seen his 1997 HIStory concert on TV at my friend’s house, and got hooked on his music. One of my brothers worked at a music store and he brought home these CD’s of Michael Jackson which I avidly listened to.  I was a BIG fan, and like any teenager, I had posters of my favourite celebrities on my bedroom walls.  Apart from Michael Jackson, I also liked celebs like Leonardo DiCaprio, Paul Gross (of the series “Due South” fame)  and Guy Chandler (the star of the series “Early Edition”). But Jackson was my biggest obsession, and I think it was then that I had my first brush with the possibility that my attachment was harmful. I will never forget how my mother warned me that I musn’t idolise him. That got me thinking and I was quite scared – I grew up with a deep fear of God and hell, so I didn’t want to do what was wrong. Soon after this, I gave up my “crush” on Jackson. But it didn’t stop there…

Soon after, when I was about 15 and had astronomy as a hobby, I had two more images which I treated as “friends”. (The second one was one I made after the first was ruined; it was a terrible feeling when it was, and I quickly made another the same as the first – I just couldn’t cope without having an imaginary “friend” to “chat” to!) These were the craziest images of all – and I’ll leave it at that.

Then when I was 17, I developed a major interest in the artist Van Gogh, which lasted almost two years.  I also liked the composer Bach. Later, when I started looking for churches to go to, I liked the Protestant reformer Martin Luther. Along the way I also had a few other “friends” which I made up entirely, and named.  But if there were any others I idolised as much as Michael Jackson – and more – it was Van Gogh and Luther. I was obsessed with them!

At this moment in reading, one may think I was a crazy weirdo with no social life, and I don’t blame you for thinking so! In truth, I was not a happy person. I had suffered from terrible anxiety since the age of 13, and later suffered from depression for three years until 2005. I had few friends, and socialising was a painful and anxious thing, so I avoided people, creating an alternative way to quell my loneliness. Nevertheless, I knew in all the time I had these “imaginary friends” that it was not normal, they could not hear me and talk back, and that I should stop. But I couldn’t. I hated myself and my self-esteem plummeted, but I was helplessly addicted. Some teenagers did drugs, others alcohol – but I did images.

The way that my attachment to images worked, was that I used to talk to these pictures like the person they depicted was really in my room; I substituted them for real people. I couldn’t live without them and used to think of what would happen if they were destroyed. Sometimes I even took them out with me! It was terrible! Allah had hardly any place in my life; He was just relegated 5 minutes of prayer time when I woke up in the morning and when I went to bed at night.

In 2005, I sought Christianity and Jesus (pbuh), because I believed that the only reason for my recovery from depression, was because Allah (swt) intervened. Just that I believed back then that He and Jesus (pbuh) were one (Astaghfirullah!). A year later, all my “imaginary friends” I got rid of at last, and I felt I was cured at last. I felt free – but was not yet completely free.

You, see, the attachment to images transferred into a religious sphere. I got images of Jesus (pbuh) which I spoke to – or “through” to Jesus, as I used to put it. Believing that he was God, I thought at least I can worship him; that these images were okay to have, as he could hear me and speak back to me in my heart. I had more peace, but still felt like I was being childish talking to pictures! Later, when I became Catholic, I added images of Mary, his mother (may Allah be pleased with her) and a favourite Catholic saint, which I called my “spiritual sister”. (These three were my “room companions”, and what made them different to my “pre-Christian” images, was that I spoke to them anywhere, not just in my room. Nevertheless, my room was still the base  of numerous “monologues”.)  Even at this time I was aware that my self-esteem still suffered from this attachment, and I longed to be free from it. There were times I craved an uncluttered relationship with my God, without images. Sometimes  I removed them, but always – a few days later, I replaced them back as it was too much for me to be without their faces looking at me!  I don’t think in all these years that I was without images for longer than a week.

Then Islam came into my life. One of the things that made me hesitate about it at first, was its dislike for any images of people (or animals). If I wanted to be a Muslim, I would have to scrap my images. A few months later after my last try at the convent life, I couldn’t resist the call of Islam and did become Muslim. One by one, the three images were taken down.

First Jesus…

then Mary… (pbut)

then finally – a few hours before my reversion – the sisterly saint.

Blank walls stared back.

It was just me and Allah at last.

At the moment I write now (the evening of 22 April 2011), I have been Muslim so far, for exactly two months, and it is still Allah Ta’ala and me – just the way it is supposed to be! I have finally been set free; the path has been cleared of debris, and I have not looked back since; instead I am now looking outward to others more than ever before, and am now comfortable with no images.  In my heart I have found peace, and my self-esteem is recovering. Alhamdulillah! I have surrended to God and am truly free at last after so many years.

I hope my sharing has been an inspiration to you to see what Islam can do… I don’t know if there are many who had the kind of wacky addiction I had! But whatever situation you find yourself in, Islam has the solution.

A Period To Be Grateful

It is now my second month of being a Muslim, and after hearing what women can and cannot do when it comes to salaah, I came to find that we women have some wonderful privileges men do not have. Yes, they are privileged to sit in the masjid right in front with the imam; they are able to call the athaan and pray louder; they can take the lead – while we have to sit out of their sight… But there are some things they cannot do – like have a reflective  “week off” from salaat per month!

Yes… I am talking about hayd –when  “that time of the month” comes again, and you have to sit out of prayers and pack the Quran away for a week – unless of course you are fortunate to have a husband to read it to you!

You probably ask: who would want to have a week off when you cannot pray? Who would not want to be able to touch the Qur’an for the selfsame period of time? Who would not mind being seen as “unclean”? Is this not something to feel offended by? Is this not some patriarchal rule which limits women?

Call it what you will, but I feel privileged to be a Muslim woman! Excuse my pun, but what a grace and blessing from Allah (swt) this period of time is!

This is what I learned in only two months…

When the time of the month comes, my body gets so sore and tense. My shoulders ache; my head aches; my abdomen cramps up and I feel so moody and weary! One day I was performing salaah and I wondered why I felt so dizzy. It was difficult to kneel down to go into sudjood (prostration); I felt like an old lady! The mystery was solved when I discovered shortly afterwards that hayd had come.  My first reaction was to go: “Oh, yippee!!! I can rest now! In the morning I can sleep in later; at night I can read for longer…”

It was actually a good feeling – for a while! As much as it is a great blessing to rest, that evening I was to go to masjid for a class, and was so looking forward to salaah there in congregation – but I had to sit out. This was hard! And if it wasn’t that, it was the thought that I couldn’t touch my beloved Qur’an for a week!

Hard as hayd can be, it is a blessing in disguise. I have more time to read good Islamic books and study more about my new Deen, learn my Arabic, and so on. After the first (and physically worst) three days pass, I begin to look forward to the time when I can spread my prayer mat and don my prayer-clothes and long khimar; when I can read my Qur’an again… These desires grow in the days that pass; days in which I read some favourite Qur’anic ayats which I scribbled down on pieces of paper from the English translation, stored in a little box for this time. (This would be a lovely subject for another time…!)

And then comes that blessed day… You have just had enough of hearing the athaan on the radio and not being able to respond to it… when your period is over. You go outside and tell the blue sky and the birds that you can pray again, and whoop for joy, saying “Subhan’Allah! Alhamdulillah!” over and over again! Then you jump longingly into that ghusl shower; a tunnel taking you to the other side of purity. As the water flows and cleanses your entire body, you rejoice as if you are going to enter the paradise of Jannah! Then, oh, what JOY! You can pray again!

I spread out my mat (which has its own story for another time!), put on my prayer outfit, tune my radio and follow the athaan, excitement welling up from my heart, switch off the radio and pray. Then I get up and reach for the Glorious Qur’an, waiting for me on its high shelf, recite the Ta’awwud and Bismillah, take it to my mat, kiss it and open it. As my fingers touch the blessed pages, I smile from the depth of my heart, before reading. It is as a reunion between lover and beloved! Yes, I have returned. Returned from my confinement into freedom. I am back in the main stream of Islamic life. Alhamdulillah!

Is this not such a privilege granted to us women? Allah Ta’ala has indeed blessed us. He has given us the opportunity to rest, and also the opportunity to be grateful for the gift of Salaah. In the week we cannot pray, we can reflect on the blessings of prayer. We can thank Allah Ta’ala for such a gift and prepare our hearts to be grateful, so that next time we step into the rhythms of salaah, we step into it with renewed eagerness and vigour.

"You Should Have Been Born a Muslim!"

I will never forget that day… when that innocent, offhand comment deeply impacted on me.

My mom and I were shopping in our local mall. Though I don’t know the date, I do remember it was two years ago and in winter (or thereabouts), because I remember wearing one of my thickest and warmest pashmina scarves on my head. Strangely enough, I also remember that we were going down an escalator to the bottom level. I was gazing around me at the glittering shops, when out of the blue, she said:

“You should have been born a Muslim!”

I was quite amused and was just as casual when I replied:

“I know!”

Why did I say that? Probably because I agreed with her that I was behaving very Islamically, even though I was not a Muslim (yet!). Islam seemed to come natural to me – and particularly the hijab in this case! I could have added in my comment to her: “I know I should have been born a Muslim, because, yes, I do behave like one, and I don’t fit in with the world’s (and the church’s) way of seeing things. God alone knows how many people have mistaken me for a Muslimah! I cannot help but believing in what Islam teaches about modesty and veiling!”

Her comment struck in my heart a renewed kinship with Muslims, and at that moment I wished I really was one. Perhaps it was then that my fascination for Islam really took off from the milder interest and respect it was before. All through my three-year journey as a Catholic (four if you count the year I was in Catholic classes), through the convents I stayed at, through my fighting for modesty to be upheld – and fighting the nuns who told me to remove my veil in church! – through all of this, my love for Islam tugged at the back of my mind and demanded to be explored.

And in the end, alhamdulillah, I was reborn a Muslim.

It was recently, that I began reflecting on my mother’s comment after hearing people on the Islamic radio stations reiterate that we are all born as Muslims. It is so ironic what she said to me that day, because little did she know how right she was! We are born Muslims!

We were all created with this innate desire (fitrah) to submit in worship to the One God – Allah (SWT). Then, when we grew up, our culture and family religion was taught to us and we believed what we were taught, at risk of losing that fitrah given to us at birth, or associating others with Allah Ta’ala. If our family belonged to a religion which associated others with Allah, one would often end up thinking that this was okay. Raised Christian, I never knew a time when I did not believe that Jesus and the Holy Spirit were also God, even though it didn’t make sense logically. It was a challenge to leap into the total truth about the Oneness of God (tawhid), because it was not easy giving up a belief I had had all my life. But by the grace of Allah Ta’ala, the Infuser of Faith, I came to believe. All it takes is a desire to believe – and if this is strong enough, nobody can take it away from you. Being born into a Muslim family, a child is fortunate indeed, but to be a revert is also an immense privilege, because reverts can appreciate Islam from an outsider coming in.

I have returned to fitrah; I have come back to tawhid.  And, now, if my mother ever had to say:

“You should have been born a Muslim!”

I can reply in all confidence:

“I was!”

My Journey with Hijab

One of my very favourite topics as a Muslimah is hijab, because it has been something dear to me for some years already (so you can expect more from me in the future on this topic, insha’Allah!). I can honestly say it was the biggest signpost to me on the road to Islam. 

So how did I come to love it so much? And why was it not an issue for me – like it was for so many other ladies when they reverted?  In most of the large amount of stories I read, many (if not most) found it a big challenge when they reverted, because it was so visible to the world around them. Families of new Muslimas knew something was different when their daughter/sister/wife, etc. started donning a scarf on their head and threw out their skimpy clothes for long skirts and dresses. However, for me, by the time I became Muslim, it was already a natural part of my life which my family was used to.

As a Christian, I started becoming interested in covering my head for fashion reasons. Not that scarves were in fashion at the time – or that I even followed the fashions! I have really always been somewhat of a fashion rebel! J Since I was around 17 and interested in art and self-expression, I developed the style which still remains with me to some degree – long, loose, flowing and simple – rather like a peasant or a hippie! And of course, one of the things making up a hippie outfit was headscarves! I started off with small rectangular or square ones (folded in a triangle) which I tied behind my neck. But it was only in late 2006 that I began to wear my headscarves every day, and for a deeper reason – I felt a call to dedicate myself to Allah (as Christians see Him) and live as a celibate, aiming to become a nun.  My dress code became more dowdy until 2009 when I made long pinafore-like dresses . This was when my interest in dressmaking became a more serious hobby.

As time went by, I delved into every resource about veiling which I could find, mainly on the Internet, and developed a list of my own reasons for veiling, so that if others asked me I could tell them.  I focussed on the Christian perspective, but could not help learning about Islamic hijab, too – and agreeing with it! I was well aware of the Muslim ladies in my area who stood out from the “80% Christian” crowd of South Africans around them, and I deeply respected and admired them for having the guts to go against the flow of the secular society. I wondered what it was about Islam that they have retained the modesty code, whilst the Christians largely forgot what it meant in terms of dress…

Most of my fellow church parishioners thought I veiled because I wanted to be a nun – or that I was actually a nun already! By the time I got to the Catholic church I was veiling every day, so I never attended one service with my head uncovered in all the three years I was there. I was frequently greeted: “Hello, Sister!” even in the shopping centre, and I later got really embarrassed! This was due to the fact, that, as my list of reasons developed and my desire to live the otherworldly and counter-cultural life of a nun increased, my scarves became larger until all my hair was hidden. I wore them with plain blouses and skirts, and a cross/crucifix. Yes… what else would I expect them to think? That I am a married woman? Or maybe a “hip, fashionable” young person? …Yeah right, are you kidding me? Yet, I was not a nun either…

To try and remedy this rather two-faced problem, I began to tie my scarves so that the ends hung down in front. They still thought I was a nun. So I began wearing them tied in front as Muslims, despite being really self-conscious, and browsed online many times to learn how hijab was tied. By this time, the “hijab bug” had bitten me for good. From 2008 I wore hijab – mostly large rectangular pashminas wrapped around my head in various styles which either showed my hairline or not, depending on my mood. (One of these styles is shown on my profile picture along with an underscarf; I usually cover all my hair now as a Muslimah).

I will never forget an incident in the shopping mall about two years ago, which stuck with me ever since as it meant so much to me. It was winter and I was wearing a thick, warm pashmina, when my mom said to me: “You should have been born a Muslim!” I remember replying: “I know!” before thinking in the back of my mind what it would be like to be one…

Still, I was Catholic, and aiming for the nunhood. Why would I even consider leaving my beloved Catholic faith, despite loving Islam and Muslims with such respect? It was unthinkable at the time, even though I faced such loneliness being the only woman in my church who covered her head. I attacked the immodesty I saw around me in church, by writing letters to the national Catholic paper, but in the end, it was a bitter fight which took me nowhere. Nothing was being done about it, and I became unpopular, because I got on the Catholic Feminists’ nerves!

On top of that, when I visited a certain convent and stayed there for some months, I was told to remove my veil! This was really hard, and they thought I was too attached to it. I obeyed, but when I stayed there the second time the following year, and was told to remove it in the church service (Mass) as well as everywhere else, it was too much for me to bear for long. I soon left, wondering why on earth nuns of all people discouraged veiling, even though I understood it was an exercise in detachment. Still, it served to exacerbate the anger I felt about the lack of veiling in church. I began to feel out of place. When my fifth convent visit ended unsuccessfully, the road to Islam was cleared and I walked home into the arms of the ummah the following month.

I had looked like a Muslim, wearing the hijab scarf and long, loose dresses for two years, and now I was a Muslim on the inside as well, alhamdulillah! No alteration needed to be done to my wardrobe, except that I started wearing more “obviously Middle-Eastern-looking” robe-like garments in public, which I had envied for some time, and which some of my dear sisters gave me. My family didn’t have reason to suspect anything, until I told them I was Muslim, because they were used to me being a Catholic hijabi!

Presently, I love to sew my own long robe-like dresses, because the Islamic clothing shops are quite a distance away from where I stay, and transport to them is usually not possible. It is hard, but in a way, I enjoy the challenge of making my own clothes and scarves.

I believe that hijab doesn’t mean a Muslim needs to wear Middle-Eastern style robes, just as long as the clothing of their choice meets the Islamic standards – that they cover the awrah, are not transparent or reveal the shape of the body, that they are not clothing proper to the opposite sex, or frivolous, indecent worldly fashions. But I enjoy dressing in a relatively traditional way, because it is so comfortable and shows the world that I am Muslim (and not a nun! J).

It gives me such JOY to go out in hijab; I feel so cosy in my veil and protected from the stares of men. Never have I felt so beautiful as I did when veiled;  I have long felt that modesty and veiling make women look more beautiful than any other accessory or cosmetic! The world around me – and especially that world portrayed on the TV – has long been a cause for pain for me. To see how the women are half-dressed and the men look at their bodies with eyes of lust, stirs up anger and sorrow in me. In my heart, I am truly convinced that modesty is the solution to many evils in our society, and I am so proud to be an ambassador in this worthy cause! It is a passion of mine to promote this forgotten virtue. Alhamdulillah, Islam knows so well that if you let the door open one crack, the devil will come in! There is truly great power in prevention.

My First Visit to a Masjid

It was six days after my reversion when I had the chance to go to the masjid (mosque) for the first time. How excited – and nervous – I was! One of my new friends was attending a Monday evening class taught by the maulana at her local masjid, which was the second-closest one to where I stayed. These specific classes were aimed at those who are going on hajj, but all were welcome, so she invited me to come along. As it was late February, and still summer, maghrib salaah was performed first before class, then Isha salaah afterwards, before we went home.

This particular masjid is really beautiful – simple but spacious with good facilities. What I found really great, is that the women’s section is not relegated to a basement or gallery, but is next to the men’s main section, in a corner at the back, on the same floor. There is a side-entrance for us, and a door leading to the foyer. Despite not being able to see the imam and the mihrab from where we prayed, the walls surrounding our area did not go all the way to the top, but gave a view of the high roof – and the sound of prayer descended around us in a beautiful way. The classroom was off the foyer to the side. We women sat in this room, which leads into the men’s section via double doors, which were opened for class. We had a view of the maulana only; the men sat out of our view behind the doors in their prayer area.

This particular first evening, I was looking all around me in awe. I thought to myself: “I am actually in a mosque! I never thought I would ever find myself in one!” I was continuously waiting to be instructed what to do, and followed what I was told. It was fairly hot, so the the fans blew furiously above our heads. I had only practised salaah sporadically for one week before I reverted, along with the six days behind me, so I had to still use papers with the Arabic on for certain prayers. I think I only knew the Fatiha by heart as well as the short Tasbeehs of ruku and sajdah (bowing and prostrating). When I recited the Tashahhud and Salawat (Durood), I needed to glance at my papers on the floor next to me. The funny thing was, that with the fans blowing, my papers kept fluttering away and I had to hold them down with my bag! I was red in the face with self-consciousness, and when I got stuck I just tried to pick up from where I could to keep up with the others. Because I was new to it, I prayed slower than the rest. I was not to worry though – I was soon able to pick up pace in the weeks to come…

Despite my being SO self-conscious, it was an incredible experience for a new Muslim like me to pray Fardh Salaah in unison with the others. The mu’adhin and imam both had beautiful voices; I felt like I was in Paradise as the chants were so unearthly and pure, echoing around and outside! They seemed to spiral outwards and upwards, before returning to embrace us – like Heaven and Earth were joined in that blessed moment… I felt such peace.

It is said that to pray in congregation is far more powerful than on one’s own; indeed it is! I felt such strength within my heart and soul. What a communion it is – with Allah Ta’ala and with the ummah.

The first class was also a wonderful experience – even though the lesson was a little bewildering for a revert still on the bottom rungs of Islamic education! The maulana learned I was a new revert and spoke about me to the class, welcoming me warmly to the fold of Islam. One thing I love about being Muslim, is the use of the title “Sister…” or “Brother…” I really felt as if I was home with my family! But I was even more touched when he said that I must pray for them – that due to me being a revert, my sins were removed from me and I was as sinless as a newborn baby, hence my du’as would be powerful. Immediately I started thinking of the possible sins I may have committed in the first six days as a Muslimah! J It was a truly humbling, lump-in-the-throat moment; I felt near to tears…

That night I fell asleep with a smile in my heart, strengthened in my new Faith, as I would always feel each time I stepped into that hallowed place of prostration.

Brief Introduction to me, and how I came to Islam

Salaam aleikum (peace be with you) dear reader. My name is Saadiqah and I am a South African, English-speaking, Dutch/Afrikaner Muslim.  What a mouthful! But I thought I’d mention it, as it is not a common occurrence to be this in SA… Most Afrikaners speak mother-tongue Afrikaans; most are Protestant Christians – and most Muslims in SA at the moment are of Malay/Indian descent, making me a minority twice over! So if you have just reverted and find yourself rather alone… join the club!J It’s  so good to know though, that Islam goes far beyond mere race and culture, even if it doesn’t initially seem that way!

I grew up in a Pentecostal Christian home, before setting out on a long journey six years ago, to seek the Truth. I tried the Methodist church, became an Anglican, developed a great desire to become a nun – due to their devotion to a life of prayer, structure, purity, modesty, simplicity and holiness – and eventually became a member of the Roman Catholic Church in 2008. Since my early teens I loved the formal, traditional and ritualistic nature of Catholicism, and that they were fairly united and universal under the Pope in Rome, but it took reaching adulthood before I actually explored it. After five years of living a life of celibacy, and staying at five different convents, I finally realised that the life of a nun was not for me.  My life came to standstill at a crossroads.

It was then that my interest in Islam – which was with me since at least 2008/9 led me to embrace this beautiful Way of Life. By the grace of Allah Ta’ala, I reverted to this wonderful Deen on 22 February, 2011 (18 Rabi-ul-Awwal, 1432). In Islam I found all that I valued in Catholicism and nunhood – and much more: I found a place to belong at last. Being a new Muslim in a largely non-Muslim neighbourhood can be a pretty isolating experience, but alhamdulillah, I couldn’t be happier! A month after becoming Muslim I published my reversion story online. It can be found at www.islamreligion.com – published under “Stories of new Muslims, Women” and using my other, original (Christian) name Stephanie – if anyone is interested to read more…

I had learned valuable treasures in the past five-years – I developed a deep love for veiling, a firm conviction for high standards of modesty, discovered the mystery of my womanhood and what it implies for my life, learned more about myself, developed a passion for writing – and an interest and skills in dressmaking, which I am studying at the moment via correspondence.

As I absolutely loooove writing, I thought how lovely it would be to share some thoughts and experiences with others in case it will help them! I am sure that there are many other reverts to Islam out there – or those who, like me, are seekers of Truth and who are considering Islam at this time in their lives, and who may well identify with the issues I face. It would be a great joy (in this technological day and age) to “e-walk” alongside you, and give you encouragement and support in your journey of discovery! In my writing, I endeavour to avoid offending anyone, which may well be nigh impossible, but do know that I write from my own experiences and reflections, which are not necessarily the general views of Muslims as a whole. May Allah (swt) guide us all in submission to Him, and to praise His greatness and glory. Inna lillahi wa inna ilayhi raajioon. To Allah do we belong, and to Him shall we all return…