Hijab - Our Family's Uniform

ﺒﺴﻤ ﺎﷲ ﻠﺮﺤﻤﻦ ﻠﺮﺤﻳﻤ

Today I was so blessed – I experienced the profound bond of Muslim brother- and sisterhood. And it came to me, all because of wearing my hijab…

I went out this morning with my mother, further than my familiar route to the neighbouring suburb. It was lovely to get out a bit after feeling rather isolated again at home. After lots of studying and work, completing my sewing course and doing some final editing on my book, I was thirsting for some more Muslim company. The last time I saw Muslims had been the week before in the fabric shop, and further back, on Eid-ul-Adha. I once again longed for the time when I could leave home to study Islam – next year January, insha’Allah. In our suburb, going out in public did not mean I would encounter any Muslims, let alone see any; it is a rare sight.

So imagine my delight when going to the second-hand clothing shop; the first stop on my itinerary with my mother. We had not even parked when I saw a fellow Muslimah wearing a grass-green knee-length khimar with a matching skirt – a khimar even longer than my waist-length ones, which have the potential to be noticed like an island in the Christian sea of people! In my excitement, I found myself involuntarily pointing out the lady to my mom (who has been wonderfully tolerant of my Islam, masha’Allah).  I was so excited; at last I could share my salaams!

The lady did not see me as I entered the shop, clothed in my chocolate-brown wrist-length veil and black skirt, and soon disappeared – but not before I quickly waved a silent greeting in her direction.

Having looked around at the clothing, to my amazement, I saw yet another Muslimah in yet another knee-length khimar, light brown in colour; this time in the shop! I had a special opportunity to make eye-contact with her, and shyly greeted her with “Salaam!” as I walked past. I glimpsed the beginning of a smile as I walked on. I felt myself in company; I was not alone in my hijab; there was another wearing the same.

We were sisters, who had not met until now…

After going to the shop, my mom and I went to the library. In the parking lot, I glimpsed yet another khimar-ed lady in the distance; this time the khimar was of a dark blue colour. I couldn’t help marvelling that I saw so many ladies wearing veils like me – all in one hour! J Wow…

I walked on to the library, ahead of my mother. To my surprise, I heard someone to my left, say: “Salaam aleikum!”

I looked and there was a man; he had greeted me!

“Wa aleikum salaam!” I replied

“How are you?”

“I’m fine, alhamdulillah!” I said with a smile, as I walked on, feeling honoured and with my gaze lowered in bashfulness.

Wow, what amazing barakah the morning held! I thought to myself, before entering and taking out some awesome books I wouldn’t have found in my local library – having practically exhausted the reading supply there, I had gone to the library in the next suburb, which was bigger.

As I returned home, I was eager to share these special moments with you, my readers. Why? Because it was too good to leave unsaid. Once again, I felt so happy that Allah Ta’ala has guided me to Islam, and blessed me with the gift of hijab. It is truly our uniform as Muslims – and what makes it such a lovely one, is that we could wear it in our own style and colours. It is an uniform without uniformity; diverse in its style, yet homogenous in its essence.

Wearing the uniform of our hijab – or, for men, dressing modestly, and wearing a beard, fez, skullcap, topee,  kurta, etc. as a symbol of Islam– we show our membership of the Ummah; not only do we identify ourselves to other Muslims around, we do silent da’wah, inviting non-Muslims to ponder on the reality of Islam, as well. If me and the other ladies I saw today (who were Africans) were not wearing hijab, how could one have known if the other was a Muslim? How could the man have known that I – a Western lady, from Christian, European stock – was actually a Muslim? How could we have said our salaams?

Hijab binds us together; it brings total strangers from different cultures and races, to a level of familiarity. I didn’t know the ladies at all, yet I felt as if knew them from somewhere… it was like déjà vu.  I am such a shy person; I don’t usually talk readily to strangers unless they speak to me first – yet here I was waving to a lady I never saw before and greeting another just-as-unfamiliar face! Then in turn a stranger greeted me; a brother I didn’t know.

All because of a common faith; a common ideal…

Never before have I felt such a kinship with others; not as a Christian, or even a Catholic. On the contrary, even as a Christian, I felt a greater kinship with Muslims. Now, as I found my way home through the grace of Almighty Allah, I thank Him for being a part of such a wonderful family, wearing such a wonderful uniform. Alhamdulillah! Islam is truly an awesome Deen!

Salaam

Saadiqah

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P.S. I began reading one of the two exciting library books I brought home; it could be a good subject for a future post, insha’Allah… J

"Masha'Allah!"

ﺒﺴﻤ ﺎﷲ ﻠﺮﺤﻤﻦ ﻠﺮﺤﻳﻤ

This morning, I once again recalled to mind an episode which happened a few months ago. I had not related it before, but wanted to share it with you, as it makes me smile each time I remember that day… J

I was still living at the Home at the time; it was Ramadaan. Choosing to change my name to celebrate my becoming Muslim, I went out one wintery August day to apply for my new ID document – something I wanted to do for months already. I wore one of my favourite wrist-length khimars,  black in colour, along with a black robe – my most conservative outfit. Afterwards, having fetched me, the driver had some of his own business to attend to. As we walked down a busy town street, the drizzle falling in a gentle mist, we prepared to cross a narrow side street.

Suddenly I heard a man’s voice behind me: “Masha’Allah!” I turned, and saw a small group of men on the street corner, taking shelter under a roof  from the rain. One of them saw me look back, and smiled at me – probably the one who spoke. I lowered my gaze, turned and carried on walking, wondering why he behaved in the way he did.

Then I asked the driver if he knew, and he said that it was most likely due to the way I was dressed – in full, conservative hijab. The men, who were clearly Muslims, expressed their joy at seeing a woman in full hijab. To a modern Western mind, it may seem offensive: “Yes, they like their women to be shut up in oppressive secrecy!” but to me, it made my heart soar. I felt so truly liberated! Here I was, practising something I firmly stand for – modesty – and it was appreciated by men, whom, I believe, felt so tired of lowering their gaze in the face of the shameless female nudity of modern times. I felt respected by men; at the same time respecting them by covering. It reminded me that we as brothers and sisters – not only in the Deen, but in humanity –  must help each other on the good path. Judging from their remark, I must have brightened up their day.

One thing I’m sure of – they definitely brightened up mine.

Masha’Allah! J

Salaam

Saadiqah

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Experiencing my First Eid-ul-Adha

ﺒﺴﻤ ﺎﷲ ﻠﺮﺤﻤﻦ ﻠﺮﺤﻳﻤ

Salaam aleikum dear readers! I am writing so little these days, even though I returned home and have more time on my hands. Yet, I have used that time to complete my dressmaking course – it is 99.99% finished, alhamdulillah. I have also practically finished the draft of my book about my journey to Islam! If I haven’t mentioned anything about this, it was born from a day back in June when I chatted to a social worker at the Home about my reversion journey. With tears in her eyes (and knowing I want to be a writer), she said that this must be my first book, insha’Allah. That very month I began work on it, and have now completed its format. At the moment, I am looking for a publisher before anything can come of it! Please make du’aa for me… J

I wish all my Muslim readers a rather belated Eid Mubarak, and hope that Allah Ta’ala answers all your du’aas. For all my readers who will be returning from Hajj, may Allah Ta’ala accept your Hajj, forgive you all your sins, and grant you a safe journey home. Ameen!

This special time in our Islamic year has been such an emotional time for me – especially as it is my first as a new Muslimah; watching the Hajj images on TV and listening on the radio as the pilgrims chant “Labbaik Allahumma labbaik…”  I felt tears come frequently.  My heart thirsted to go to the Beitullah… Fasting on the Day of Arafat, I was aware of my attachment to food, and my sorrow at not being able to tuck in a good meal! I realised with a jolt, just how attached I still am to the pleasures of this dunya. I also realised my need to sacrifice of that which is dear to me; all that distracts me from the remembrance of Allah – things like, which pretty, new materials to buy for making skirts – or that novel which I can hardly put down, even though the athaan for Ishaa salaah went off an hour ago! Yes, I admit it: I am guilty of delaying salaah without good reason! :O) Astaghfirullah! I need to change my ways… Then, what sweetness it is to weep tears of taubah and make the most intense, meaningful and attentive salaah in a long while! It is as if Allah SWT gives us a taste of Himself, calling us to come closer to Him.

If only we can keep on coming…

After a week or two of not being with any other Muslims (apart from another visit to the material shop!) I was determined to get out and be with them when Eid came around. Fortunately it was on a Sunday this year, so most people were relaxing at home or with loved ones instead of working. I went to my friend’s house for an informal visit after lunch, and was so delighted when she said that they were planning to go to a qurbaan sacrifice later that afternoon! I couldn’t have asked for anything better; it was the central rite of the day, and provided me with an opportunity to delve into its meaning. Fortunately, I had seen an half-hour documentary on TV earlier that afternoon, about the significance of the rites of Hajj and Eid-ul-Adha. With a little education, it made the rites just a little more special.

The qurbaan took place in the grounds of a big house. There were lots of people there; they had been there all day, slaughtering 14 sheep. When I arrived there with my friend and her husband and daughter, there were only three more sheep to go. We greeted others, before going outside to see the action.

A deep hole had been dug in the middle of the garden, and planks were placed on its one edge on the opposite side to the qiblah. Surrounded by the men helping with the slaughtering, a sheep was fetched from the pen out of sight, and placed on its left side, facing the qiblah (the sunnah practice). It was given water from a jug; I was told this is due to the thirst that the dying experience. I remember thinking just how humane this was; to comfort the sheep and make it a little more calm.

Aware that I was going to witness my very first slaughtering –  and that I was a rather squeamish type – I got a little nervous, but also felt some excitement. I kept on saying to my friend and another lady that the sheep are blessed, even though they are going to meet their death; that they are like martyrs, because they are part of a sacred ritual – not merely a routine slaughter for the dinner table!

Then the knife was sharpened, brought and placed in position. My heart began to flutter. Not even a second later, the blood began to pour into the hole in torrents; the men taking up the chanting of the Takbeer recited on Eid: “Allahu akbar, Allahu akbar, Allahu akbar, La illaha illallah, Allahu akbar, Allahu akbar, wa lillahi hamd.”  I looked away, before taking another glance, joining in the chanting. The nausea abated in my interest at how they massaged the body to drain out the blood. I saw how perfectly the jugular vein was completely severed. Not a sound was made by the sheep; it was so swift. After a few post-death spasms (resulting from the blood draining out), the sheep was still; it was then dragged to the garage which was turned into a temporary butchery! When the two last sheep were sacrificed, I stood a bit further to the side. Despite my squeamishness, I was fascinated, especially when they began skinning the last one on the spot.

Experiencing this ritual sacrifice of the sheep, I saw firsthand that Islam indeed has the best and most humane manner of slaughtering animals. I was convicted of this. The animals were understandably nervous, yet they were given water to drink; they were handled gently; and when the knife cut, they uttered no sound at all. What could suffer pain and not utter any sound –  except that which dies instantly? Allahu Akbar!

One hundred people could feed off each of these sheep; that made food for 1400 people. The significance of the day came to mind. Nabi Ibrahim was on the brink of sacrificing that which was very dear to him – his son, Ismail (alayhimus salaam), and was rewarded by Allah SWT with a substitute – a sheep, which he slaughtered in the way we Muslims still use nowadays. He was willing to give up something dear, and was rewarded with keeping his son alive, as well as being provided with a sheep to sacrifice in his place. Not only that, but, because of his obedience and faithfulness, Allah Ta’ala’s favour was upon him. He became the friend of Allah SWT. In remembering this episode on Eid-ul-Adha, we are reminded to sacrifice of that which is dear to us, thereby earning Allah Ta’ala’s pleasure, as well as helping the needy. In doing so, we, too can become friends of Allah.

“By no means shall you attain righteousness unless you give freely of that which you love; and whatever you give, Allah knows it well.”  (Sura Imran 3:92)

Salaam

Saadiqah

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