“The one you are looking to for help and guidance needs patience and good treatment too. No Muslim is perfect, whether revert or born into a Muslim family, student or Islamic teacher, layperson or scholar.”

—from the journal of Umm Zakiyyah

It took years before I realized how others saw me. In my mind, I was still that self-conscious girl whose voice was trapped inside her in a world that belonged to other people. I was still the girl who would walk the boisterous halls of middle school with the daily hope—and prayer—that no one took notice. I did not want anyone to see the white cloth on my head. It was the double-take that scared me most. If someone looked twice, I knew a snide remark or sneer was coming…and then maybe them yanking off my hijab.

O Allah, protect me from them. That was my heart’s daily plea. The banging of lockers slamming closed. The whirling whisper of combination locks turning. And even laughter. These were the most terrifying sounds to me.

In elementary school I fought back—once. But the school had swiftly punished me for harming the boy who had harmed me daily. So I knew better than to seek comfort in teachers or administrators. My only hope was in wowing them with my wits. They were on the other side, opposite me. Their cordiality was an obligation, their kindness a contract term that expired at the end of the day. But their hearts were aligned with students who hovered near my locker, saying, “What would you do if we snatched that rag off your head?”

At such moments, my words were a gift, a miracle even. And I was often in awe at the effect they had on others, the effect they had in protecting me.

“But you’re Umm Zakiyyah,” a friend and colleague said to me one day when I came to her for advice regarding some problems the teachers were having at our school.

“What?” I said, taken aback. I had no idea what my being a published author had to do with addressing our concerns.

“People expect a lot from you,” she said, almost apologetically.

After a few more moments of puzzlement, my heart dropped in understanding. If I spoke up, people would think, What’s her problem? Who does she think she is?

And like a prophecy, my friend’s words kept manifesting themselves around me. “I never expected this from you,” an administrator said to me when I asked if my workload could be lessened. I was teaching more hours than my contract stipulated, and I was also being given unofficial administrative responsibilities. I did not think I could handle much more. “You’re not the type of person I’d expect to complain about doing extra to help the school.”

Oh my God, how do other Muslims do it? This is the question that stays with me today. How do imams and scholars, public figures and Islamic teachers, and even overtly “strong Muslims” and those active in their communities carry the burden of benefiting others while managing to be viewed as human at the same time?

And I am not talking about excessive workloads. I am talking about the expectations that others have of you. The inability to make a mistake. Having no right to a bad day. The requirement to get everything right. The swift criticism if your words inadvertently offend someone—or if someone feels you could have done more for them.

“I’m only human,” I have often said.

“But you can’t expect others to see you that way,” I was told.

Years ago, I would have taken these words to heart, believing that I myself should deny my humanity simply because others expected me to. But today I am more realistic, more hopeful even. Because now I understand that each of us has a similar struggle as we seek spiritual direction and help others along the way.

But there are still times that I feel like that girl in the boisterous halls of middle school, hoping and praying that no one does a double-take and sees a person who is distinctly different from them.

Umm Zakiyyah is the internationally acclaimed author of the If I Should Speak trilogy and the novel Muslim Girl. Daughter of American converts to Islam, she writes about the interfaith struggles of Muslims and Christians, and the intercultural, spiritual, and moral struggles of Muslims in America. She also writes under her birth name Ruby Moore. Currently, she is working on an independent film project to turn her first novel into a movie. Visit her website at uzauthor.com

Copyright © 2015 by Al-Walaa Publications. All Rights Reserved.

WRITTEN FOR VIRTUALMOSQUE.COM

Photo: Justin Kiner

My Perspective Counts: Part I

In this series of My Perspective Counts, we will be exploring the unique and inspiring lives of Muslims from all backgrounds, faith practices, age ranges and all other variables. Through interviews, we will learn about their struggles, perspectives, passions and wisdom. The following questions were specifically tailored to this young Muslim woman.

Tell us a little about yourself: Your name, grade, personality/interests, a little background on where you grew up and your family. 

My name is Ramsha. Even though I’ll be 13 in about 3 months, I’m a rising 8th grader. I’m a “girly girl” who loves nail polish and clothes. My little sister is also my little model! I also have a younger brother and a loving mom and dad. I was born in the United States but I grew up in Vancouver, Canada. I lived there for about 12 years.

As a young person, you seem interested in Islam. How did that start and what role does Islam play in your life?

Islam is my way of life. But it wasn’t always like that. About 3 years ago my parents went for Hajj. When they came back, I saw that they were more practicing. We started to put more deen (religion) into our lives. I started to wear the hijab (head covering) not too long ago. I got my first job delivering newspapers last year. My mom didn’t tell me to wear the hijab or not. She just said, “It’s your choice, but I’m telling you, it’s better to start from day one rather than from the middle.” I decided to start wearing it from that day. It was actually the day before my 12th birthday. As I started wearing the hijab, I felt myself getting stronger and stronger in my faith. It was just like lip balm. It contains an ingredient that makes it addictive, so the more you put on, the more you need. All it took was for my mom to give my wagon a little push.

What are some of the challenges you face as a young Muslim woman?

People at school come up to me with many questions. Some I didn’t know how to answer at that time. For example, this girl once asked me, “If you have Jesus, Moses, and Noah in your religion, why aren’t you Christian?” Of course I don’t answer every question I get, because we are all still learning. Others can have really long answers. I once posted a picture saying, “Smile! It’s sunnah!” The following day, everyone was asking me what sunnah was. Others are just plain silly. Along with the usual “Do you have hair/ears?”, the weirdest question I have ever gotten was, “Do you have Voldemort hidden in the back of your head?”

Another thing I face is stereotypes. I have had people at school dare each other to tell me racist jokes and ask me racist questions like, “Your mom is so stupid she thought the twin towers were runways,” and, “Have your parents ever belonged to a terrorist organization?” Of course they did get caught, but I felt sad that this is what they think of Muslims.

Please share a story of a time where you explained Islam to someone else. What did they ask, what did you say and how was your experience?

I was once going out on the field after lunch when a girl came and asked me, “What are you?” I decided that because she was my age I could joke around with her. So I said, “Oh, I’m a human,” and our conversation continued:

Her: Yeah, I can see that but like what part of India are you from?

Me: It may seem surprising but I am not Indian. I am from Canada. I am just Muslim. It’s a religion, not an ethnicity.

Her: So, why do you wear that on your head?

Me: I’m obeying God’s orders. And it’s not just in Islam. For example, even in your church, you never see a picture of Virgin Mary with her head uncovered.

Her: I understand. But aren’t you hot?

Me: Honestly, yes. I can get a bit sweaty, but the human body’s an amazing machine. It can get used to anything. And besides, it’s just like a hat protecting me from the sun.

Her: I wish I was you. It gets really hot here in South Carolina.

I felt really excited and gave a smile.

Her: Hey, do you know that guy Osama bin Laden?

Me: I know what you’re going to ask. And no, I don’t look up to him. Even though he was Muslim, he was also misguided, got lost, went astray.

Her: Oh ok. Hey, my sister told me you guys pray 500 times a day. Is that true?

Me: [giggles] No, it’s only five. One at the break of dawn, one after midday, one when the sun is at eye level, one when it sets, and one when the sky is completely dark.

Her: Oh, so do you pray at school?

Me: Before the time change, I used to go behind the curtain to pray at lunch. When the clocks moved forward, I could pray my noon prayer as soon as I got home, if my bus was on time.

Just then, a boy tapped me on the shoulder.

Me: Could you please not touch me?

Her: Oh, you don’t like being touched?

I quoted directly from the seminar: In Islam, there is no touchy-feely, no try-it-before-you-buy-it, and such. I am the one in control of who touches me.

Her: So are you allowed to have, like, a boyfriend?

Me: No, but-

Her: Then how do you get married?

Me: If I like someone, then I tell my parents. It’s their job to invite his family over and find out from who’s in their family history, all the way to what do they post on instagram. So basically the parents do the dating for you.

Her: I thought that the parents choose for you?

Me: That is an option though.

[bell rings]

That girl and I ended up becoming good friends.

Anything else you’d like to share?

I would like to tell every Muslim girl: remind yourself that it’s all temporary. Don’t get attached. Look in the mirror and say, “I am a Muslimah; I am strong, and I am beautiful.”

I would also like to share a few good books (other than the Qur’an, of course) that I have come across. There is “Reclaim Your Heart” by Yasmin Mogahed and “The Prophet’s Methods of Correcting People’s Mistakes” by Muhammad Salih al-Munajjid. I also follow @islamicquotes on Instagram and would like to give them a shoutout.

—Ramsha