I see my hijab really as part of my body. I can’t imagine myself ever
taking it off outside home, I would literally feel naked. The story of
how it became to be such an integral part of me goes far back to when I
was in second grade I think. This is the farthest memory I have of
wearing it. I remember having a green scarf that I occasionally wore at
school when I felt like it. At that period of my life I guess I was
trying to imitate my mom. I remember one day at school when I took it
off, and someone said “it’s been a long time since we’ve last seen your
hair”, this sentence is what tells me that I actually wore it quite
often even at that early age.
Of course, at that age it meant almost absolutely nothing religious to me. I just imitated my mom because she knew best. After all, my opinion of my mom is that she was (God have mercy on her soul) such an extraordinary woman who knew everything and was so wise. In fact, that same green hijab was once hanging in her bedroom when it caught fire from the heater. Bravely and quickly, my mom knew exactly what to do, she took a blanket and covered the fire with it and made it go out almost immediately.
Later on, I got to that stage of one’s life where you’re so influenced by your school teachers, and where all you did at home was to pretend to be one. I remember spending hours and hours torturing my brothers as they sat in my make-belief classroom. I think I was in fourth grade when I had an Arabic class teacher that I adored. Her name was Hanan, I loved her classes so much, to the extent that when they moved me to another class for some reason which I can’t remember, I cried my eyes out and they had to move me back. Miss -as all female teachers are addressed in Jordan regardless of their marital status- Hanan was a Muslim, but did not wear the hijab. I was influenced by her so much that I told my mom: I think I’ll be like Miss Hanan, I’ll be a Muslim who doesn’t wear the hijab. I don’t think my mom had such a strong reaction to this, but I have a vague impression that she made me feel that it must be worn.
As a kid, I used to spend a lot of time at my maternal grandparents house, especially with my grandmother and only aunt. Once, I was visiting, and my uncle invited me to take a stroll outside. It was spring and all the wild flowers were in bloom, we picked quite a few flowers, it was so lovely. I especially liked red anemones that were abundant in Jabal Amman. When we finished and got back home, I was excited to show my grandmother and aunt the flowers we had gathered. But instead of sharing my enthusiasm, they reproached me for having gone out without my hijab. I didn’t really expect this, I think I was in sixth or seventh grade, and I had no idea that I should have a formal commitment to hijab. My mother never pressed me to commit to it. I felt shame and I tried to wear it always after that incident. Although I clearly remember one Eid (Muslim festivity), when I decided to take it off and put it back on afterwards, and the hardest part about this was telling my grandmother and aunt.
So I guess after that I pretty much kept it on. And then it was inevitable that at some point I also had to move on to wearing a jilbab (a coat-like piece of clothing that reaches the feet). This my friends is viewd in Jordan to be the mark of quite religious women. If you wear it, certain things are expected of you. More or less a stereotype of an Arab Muslim woman and how she should behave. Again, I think I saw that as inevitable because my mom wore it. I knew someday I should wear it too. But I wasn’t very excited about it, especially because back in the day, the designs of jilbabs were so bleak and old womanly. But I did start wearing it, and I did look like a geek, little old woman. When I look at old photos of me in high school and early college years, I feel like ripping those photos.
I had a Religion class teacher in tenth through twelfth grade that I respected. Although now when I think back, I don’t share her stand on certain aspects of Islam. Once, in religion club, a super religious girl made a presentation with the teacher’s blessings, on what would happen to you in the grave if you didn’t pray or wear the hijab, I can’t quite remember which it was, but it was pretty scary stuff. After the presentation, a girl that didn’t wear the hijab asked a question about religion, but the teacher totally dismissed her and practically told her to wish to ever come to be like that super religious girl. Nevertheless, this same teacher, was what drove me to commit to wearing the jilbab. I came to school on the first day of twelfth grade wearing the jilbab. It didn’t mean so much to me, but when she saw me she said something to the effect of “so you’ve finally decided to wear the jilbab then?”. Since I respected her and didn’t want to disappoint her, I finally made the transition to wearing it always.
In college, I did try to make the jilbab my own. I liked eighties style, and I especially liked old white sports shoes like the ones worn by Marty’s girlfriend in Back to the Future. I couldn’t afford Nikes or Reeboks but I did buy generic white shoes (that would stupidly have a print that says “Sports” or something like that) and wore them with my overflowing hideous jilbabs. People stared, as Jordanians do when you do something different to what they are used to. It was a rare scene, but gradually it caught on, I’m not saying thanks to me, but it did.
Jilbab designs did improve with time, to the point that even thought I’m on the tiny side, I can’t find a jilbab now that fits me. The jilbab has lost almost all meaning and purpose. It’s all about the tightest and most revealing it can get. The more it squeezes your figure the better. But yet, for some reason, people still think that if you wear a jilbab, then you are religious to an extent that surpasses that of women who don’t.
Now, after having worn the jilbab for fifteen years, I suddenly took it off. The reason is that I moved to Europe to study. I didn’t want to stand out too much, I mean considering how shy I am and how persecuted Islam is these days. My understanding of Islam tells me that there is no fixed dress code, there are only characteristics to abide by. From my view point, I’m abiding by these rules now more without wearing the jilbab, than I did when I wore it.
In addition, I think that wearing regular clothes with the hijab helps in bringing out individuality of expression. So instead of a stereotype of what Muslim women should look like, you would see the same modest characteristics of dress employed in as different ways as there are Muslim women. Besides, leaving the jilbab would show the world that Islam can be modern and is adaptable to the modern world, you can be Muslim and be fashionable at the same time.
Nevertheless, I feel somewhat guilty to take it off, it’s so deeply rooted in my psyche that it’s supposed to be part of my religion. I even wear it on my visits to Jordan, because I’m afraid people would think I’m abandoning my religion. And I even think of this as just being temporary and that I’ll probably go back to wearing it when I move back to Jordan. I’m still not clear on that, but I have to come to peace with how this will make me feel about myself, and how it will affect my family and especially what dad would think about it. That said, I am an independent woman, my family has always trusted me and always believed in my decisions, and gave me the space to make them on my own. In the end, I will make the decision that makes me happy with me.
My story with the hijab seems like it was driven always by external influence. Although such influence was the driving engine for my commitment, I gradually developed the conviction that wearing the hijab is an integral part of the kind of society that Islam tries to create. And I realize now that my deep belief in the hijab actually comes from the person that least pressed me to wear it, i.e. my mom.
In my next post, I will be examining the religious justification for wearing the hijab, and why I believe it is the right thing to do.
Of course, at that age it meant almost absolutely nothing religious to me. I just imitated my mom because she knew best. After all, my opinion of my mom is that she was (God have mercy on her soul) such an extraordinary woman who knew everything and was so wise. In fact, that same green hijab was once hanging in her bedroom when it caught fire from the heater. Bravely and quickly, my mom knew exactly what to do, she took a blanket and covered the fire with it and made it go out almost immediately.
Later on, I got to that stage of one’s life where you’re so influenced by your school teachers, and where all you did at home was to pretend to be one. I remember spending hours and hours torturing my brothers as they sat in my make-belief classroom. I think I was in fourth grade when I had an Arabic class teacher that I adored. Her name was Hanan, I loved her classes so much, to the extent that when they moved me to another class for some reason which I can’t remember, I cried my eyes out and they had to move me back. Miss -as all female teachers are addressed in Jordan regardless of their marital status- Hanan was a Muslim, but did not wear the hijab. I was influenced by her so much that I told my mom: I think I’ll be like Miss Hanan, I’ll be a Muslim who doesn’t wear the hijab. I don’t think my mom had such a strong reaction to this, but I have a vague impression that she made me feel that it must be worn.
As a kid, I used to spend a lot of time at my maternal grandparents house, especially with my grandmother and only aunt. Once, I was visiting, and my uncle invited me to take a stroll outside. It was spring and all the wild flowers were in bloom, we picked quite a few flowers, it was so lovely. I especially liked red anemones that were abundant in Jabal Amman. When we finished and got back home, I was excited to show my grandmother and aunt the flowers we had gathered. But instead of sharing my enthusiasm, they reproached me for having gone out without my hijab. I didn’t really expect this, I think I was in sixth or seventh grade, and I had no idea that I should have a formal commitment to hijab. My mother never pressed me to commit to it. I felt shame and I tried to wear it always after that incident. Although I clearly remember one Eid (Muslim festivity), when I decided to take it off and put it back on afterwards, and the hardest part about this was telling my grandmother and aunt.
So I guess after that I pretty much kept it on. And then it was inevitable that at some point I also had to move on to wearing a jilbab (a coat-like piece of clothing that reaches the feet). This my friends is viewd in Jordan to be the mark of quite religious women. If you wear it, certain things are expected of you. More or less a stereotype of an Arab Muslim woman and how she should behave. Again, I think I saw that as inevitable because my mom wore it. I knew someday I should wear it too. But I wasn’t very excited about it, especially because back in the day, the designs of jilbabs were so bleak and old womanly. But I did start wearing it, and I did look like a geek, little old woman. When I look at old photos of me in high school and early college years, I feel like ripping those photos.
I had a Religion class teacher in tenth through twelfth grade that I respected. Although now when I think back, I don’t share her stand on certain aspects of Islam. Once, in religion club, a super religious girl made a presentation with the teacher’s blessings, on what would happen to you in the grave if you didn’t pray or wear the hijab, I can’t quite remember which it was, but it was pretty scary stuff. After the presentation, a girl that didn’t wear the hijab asked a question about religion, but the teacher totally dismissed her and practically told her to wish to ever come to be like that super religious girl. Nevertheless, this same teacher, was what drove me to commit to wearing the jilbab. I came to school on the first day of twelfth grade wearing the jilbab. It didn’t mean so much to me, but when she saw me she said something to the effect of “so you’ve finally decided to wear the jilbab then?”. Since I respected her and didn’t want to disappoint her, I finally made the transition to wearing it always.
In college, I did try to make the jilbab my own. I liked eighties style, and I especially liked old white sports shoes like the ones worn by Marty’s girlfriend in Back to the Future. I couldn’t afford Nikes or Reeboks but I did buy generic white shoes (that would stupidly have a print that says “Sports” or something like that) and wore them with my overflowing hideous jilbabs. People stared, as Jordanians do when you do something different to what they are used to. It was a rare scene, but gradually it caught on, I’m not saying thanks to me, but it did.
Jilbab designs did improve with time, to the point that even thought I’m on the tiny side, I can’t find a jilbab now that fits me. The jilbab has lost almost all meaning and purpose. It’s all about the tightest and most revealing it can get. The more it squeezes your figure the better. But yet, for some reason, people still think that if you wear a jilbab, then you are religious to an extent that surpasses that of women who don’t.
Now, after having worn the jilbab for fifteen years, I suddenly took it off. The reason is that I moved to Europe to study. I didn’t want to stand out too much, I mean considering how shy I am and how persecuted Islam is these days. My understanding of Islam tells me that there is no fixed dress code, there are only characteristics to abide by. From my view point, I’m abiding by these rules now more without wearing the jilbab, than I did when I wore it.
In addition, I think that wearing regular clothes with the hijab helps in bringing out individuality of expression. So instead of a stereotype of what Muslim women should look like, you would see the same modest characteristics of dress employed in as different ways as there are Muslim women. Besides, leaving the jilbab would show the world that Islam can be modern and is adaptable to the modern world, you can be Muslim and be fashionable at the same time.
Nevertheless, I feel somewhat guilty to take it off, it’s so deeply rooted in my psyche that it’s supposed to be part of my religion. I even wear it on my visits to Jordan, because I’m afraid people would think I’m abandoning my religion. And I even think of this as just being temporary and that I’ll probably go back to wearing it when I move back to Jordan. I’m still not clear on that, but I have to come to peace with how this will make me feel about myself, and how it will affect my family and especially what dad would think about it. That said, I am an independent woman, my family has always trusted me and always believed in my decisions, and gave me the space to make them on my own. In the end, I will make the decision that makes me happy with me.
My story with the hijab seems like it was driven always by external influence. Although such influence was the driving engine for my commitment, I gradually developed the conviction that wearing the hijab is an integral part of the kind of society that Islam tries to create. And I realize now that my deep belief in the hijab actually comes from the person that least pressed me to wear it, i.e. my mom.
In my next post, I will be examining the religious justification for wearing the hijab, and why I believe it is the right thing to do.
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