By
Saliha Nakito
When
I returned to Islam, the religion of our inborn nature, a fierce
debate raged about girls observing the hijab at schools
in France. (Hijab means veil, not scarf. Hijab
literally means screen, curtain, partition and concealment. As
a verb, it means to conceal oneself or hide from the view. In
Islamic Shari�ah, the word means to cover, conceal or hide
oneself from the view of ghair-mahram.) It still does.
The majority, it seemed, thought that wearing the head-scarf
was contrary to the principle that public schools supported by
the State should be neutral with regard to religion. Even as a
non-Muslim, I could not understand why there was such a fuss
over such a small thing as a scarf on a Muslim student�s head.
Muslims contributed a proportionate amount of tax to the state
funds. In my opinion, schools could respect religious beliefs
and practices of students as long as they did not disrupt the
school routine, nor pose a threat to discipline. However, the
French faced, apparently, increasing unemployment and they felt
insecure about the immigration of Arab workers. The sight of
the hijab in their towns and schools aggravated such
insecurity.
More and more young people in Arab countries were (and are)
wearing the hijab, despite the expectations of many Arabs
and non-Arabs alike that it would disappear as Western
secularism took root in Arab societies. Such a revival of
Islamic practices is often regarded as an attempt by Muslims to
restore their pride and identity; both undermined by
colonialism. In Japan, it may be seen and understood as
conservative traditionalism, or the result of anti-Western
feeling, something which the Japanese themselves experienced
following the first contact with Western culture during the
Meiji era; they too reacted against a non-traditional lifestyle
and Western dress.
There is a tendency for people to be conservative in their ways
and to react against anything new and unfamiliar without taking
the time to see if it is good or bad.
The feeling still persists amongst non-Muslims that Muslim women
wear the hijab simply because they are slaves to
tradition, so much so that it is seen as a symbol of oppression.
Women�s liberation and independence is, so they believe,
impossible unless they first remove the hijab.
Such naivete is shared by �Muslims� with little or no knowledge
of Islam. Being so used to secularism and religious
eclecticism, pick and mix, they are unable to comprehend that
Islam is universal and eternal. This apart, women all over the
world, non-Arabs are embracing Islam and wearing the hijab
as a religious requirement, not a misdirected sense of
�tradition�. I am but one example of such women. My hijab
is not a part of my racial or traditional identity; it has no
social or political significance; it is, purely and simply, my
religious identity.
For non-Muslims, the hijab not only covers a woman�s
hair, but also hides something, leaving than no access. They
are being excluded from something which they have taken for
granted in secular society.
I have worn the hijab since embracing Islam in Paris.
The exact form of the hijab varies according to the
country one is in, or the degree of the individual�s religious
awareness. In France, I wore a simple scarf which matched my
dress and perched lightly on my head so that it was almost
fashionable! Now, in Saudi Arabia, I wear an all-covering black
cape; not even my eyes are visible. Thus, I have experienced
the hijab from its simplest to its most complete form.
What does the hijab mean to me? Although there have been
many books and articles about the hijab, they always tend
to be written from an outsider�s point of view; I hope this will
allow me to explain what I can observe from the inside, so to
speak.
When I decided to declare my Islam, I did not think whether I
could pray five times a day or wear the hijab. Maybe I
was scared that if I had given it serious thought I would have
reached a negative conclusion, and that would affect my decision
to become a Muslim. Until I visited the main mosque in Paris I
had nothing to do with Islam; neither the prayers nor the
hijab were familiar to me. In fact, both were unimaginable
but my desire to be a Muslim was too strong (Alhamdulillah) for
me to be overly concerned with what awaited me on the �other
side� of my conversion.
The benefits of observing hijab became clear to me
following a lecture at the mosque when I kept my scarf on even
after leaving the building. The lecture had filled me with such
a previously unknown spiritual satisfaction that I simply did
not want to remove it. Because of the cold weather, I did not
attract too much attention but I did feel different, somehow
purified and protected; I felt as if I was in Allah�s
I company. As a foreigner in Paris, I sometimes
felt uneasy about being stared at by men. In my hijab
all I went unnoticed, protected from impolite stares.
My hijab made me happy; it was both a sign of my
obedience to Allah
I
and a manifestation of my faith. I did not need to utter
beliefs, the hijab stated them clearly for all to see,
especially fellow Muslims, and thus it helped to strengthen the
bonds of sisterhood in Islam. Wearing the hijab soon
became spontaneous, albeit purely voluntary. No human being
could force me to wear it; if they had, perhaps I would have
rebelled and rejected it. However, the first Islamic book I
read used very moderate language in this respect, saying that
�Allah recommends it (the hijab) strongly� and since
Islam (as the word itself indicates) means we are to obey
Allah�s
I
will; I accomplished my Islamic duties willingly and without
difficulty, Alhamdulillah.
The hijab reminds people who see it that Allah
I exist, and it serves as a constant reminder to
me that I should conduct myself as a Muslim. Just as police
officers are more professionally aware while in uniform, so I
had a stronger sense of being a Muslim wearing my hijab.
Two weeks after my return to Islam, I went back to Japan for a
family wedding and took the decision not to return to my studies
in France; French literature had lost its appeal and the desire
to study Arabic had replaced it. As a new Muslim with very
little knowledge of Islam it was a big test for me to live in a
small town in Japan completely isolated from Muslims. However,
this isolation intensified my Islamic consciousness, and I knew
that I was not alone as Allah
I
was with me. I had to abandon many of my clothes and with some
help from a friend who knew dress-making, I made some trousers;
similar to Pakistani dress. I was not bothered by the strange
looks the people gave me!
After six months in Japan, my desire to study Arabic grew so
much that I decided to go to Cairo, where I knew someone. None
of my host family there spoke English (or Japanese) and the lady
who took my hand to lead me into the house was covered from head
to toe in black. Even her face was covered; although this is
now familiar to me here in Riyadh. I remember being surprised
at the time, recalling an incident in France when I had seen
such dress and thought, �there is a woman enslaved by Arabic
tradition, unaware of real Islam,� (which I believed, taught
that covering the face was not a necessity but an ethnic
tradition).
I wanted to tell the lady in Cairo that she was exaggerating her
dress, that it was unnatural and abnormal. Instead, I was told
that my self-made dress was not suitable to go out in, something
I disagreed with since I understood that it satisfied the
requirements for a Muslimah. So I bought some cloth and made a
long dress, called khimar, which covered the loins and the arms
completely. I was even ready to cover my face, something most
of the sisters with whom I became acquainted did. They were,
though, a small minority in Cairo.
Generally-speaking, young Egyptians, more or less fully
Westernized, kept their distance from women wearing khimar and
called them �the sisters�. Men treated us with respect and
special politeness. Women wearing a khimar shared a sisterhood
which lived up to the Prophet�s (Sallallahu`alaihi wasallam)
saying that �a Muslim gives his salaam to the person he crosses
in the street, whether he knows him or not�. The sisters were,
it is probably true to say, more conscious of their faith than
those who wear scarves for the sake of custom, rather than for
the sake of Allah
I.
Before becoming a Muslimah, my preference was for active
pants-style clothes, not the more feminine skirt, but the long
dress I wore in Cairo pleased me; I felt elegant and more
relaxed.
In the Western sense, black is a favorite color for evening wear
as it accentuates the beauty of the wearer. My new sisters were
truly beautiful in their black khimar, and a light akin to
saintliness shone from their faces. Indeed, they are not unlike
Roman Catholic nuns, something I noticed particularly when I had
occasion to visit Paris soon after arriving in Saudi Arabia. I
was in the same Metro carriage as a nun and I smiled at our
similarity of dress. Hers was the symbol of her devotion to
God, as is that of a Muslimah. I often wonder why people say
nothing about the veil of the Catholic nun but criticize
vehemently the veil of a Muslimah, regarding it as a symbol of
�terrorism� and �oppression�. I did not mind abandoning
colorful clothes in favor of black; in fact, I had always had a
sense of longing for the religious lifestyle of a nun even
before becoming a Muslimah!
Nevertheless, I balked at the suggestion that I should wear my
khimar back in Japan. I was angry at the sister�s lack of
understanding: Islam commands us to cover our bodies, and as
long as this is done, one may dress as desired. Every society
has its own fashions and such long black clothes in Japan could
make people think I am crazy, and reject Islam even before I
could explain its teachings. Our argument revolved around this
aspect.
After another six months in Cairo, however, I was so accustomed
to my long dress that I started to think that I would wear it on
my return to Japan. My concession was that I had some dresses
made in light colors, and some white khimars, in the belief that
they would be less shocking in Japan than the black variety.
I was right. The Japanese reacted rather well to my white
khimars, and they seemed to be able to guess that I was of a
religious persuasion. I heard one girl telling her friend that
I was a Buddhist nun; how similar a Muslimah, a buddhist nun and
a Christian nun are! Once, on a train, the elderly man next to
me asked why I was dressed in such unusual fashion. When I
explained that I was a Muslimah and that Islam commands women to
cover their bodies so as not to trouble men who are weak and
unable to resist temptation, he seemed impressed. When he left
the train he thanked me and said that he would have liked more
time to speak to me about Islam.
In this instance, the hijab prompted a discussion on
Islam with a Japanese man who would not normally be accustomed
to talking about religion. As in Cairo, the hijab acted
as a means of identification between Muslims; I found myself on
the way to a study circle wondering if I was on the right route
when I saw a group of sisters wearing the hijab. We
greeted each other with salaam and went on to the meeting
together.
My father was worried when I went out in long sleeves and a
head-cover even in the hottest weather, but I found that my
hijab protected me from the sun. Indeed, it was I who also
felt uneasy looking at my younger sister�s legs while she wore
short pants. I have often been embarrassed, even before
declaring Islam, by the sight of a woman�s bosoms and hips
clearly outlined by tight, thin clothing. I felt as if l was
seeing something secret. If such a sight embarrasses me, one of
the same sexes it is not difficult to imagine the effect on men.
In Islam, men and women are commanded to dress modestly and not
be naked in public, even in all male or all female situations.
It is clear that what is acceptable to be bared in society
varies according to societal or individual understanding. For
example, in Japan fifty years ago it was considered vulgar to
swim in a swimming suit but now bikinis are the norm. But in
Islam we have no such problems; Allah
I
has defined what may and may not be hared, and we follow.
The way people walk around half naked (or almost so), excreting
or making love in public, robs them of the sense of shame and
reduces them to the status of animals. In Japan, women only
wear makeup when they go out and have little regard for how they
look at home. In Islam, a wife will try to look beautiful for
her husband and her husband will try to look good for his wife.
There is modesty even between husband and wife and this
embellishes the relationship.
Muslims are accused of being over-sensitive about the human body
but the degree of sexual harassment which occurs these days
justifies modest dress. Just as a short skirt can send the
signal that the wearer is available to men, so the hijab
signals, loud and clear: �I am forbidden for you�.
The Holy Prophet (Sallallahu`alaihi wasallam)once asked his
daughter Fatima radhiallahu anhaa, �What is the best for a
woman?� And she replied: �Not to see men and not to be seen by
them�. The Holy Prophet (Sallallahu`alaihi wasallam) was pleased
and said: �You are truly my daughter�. This shows that it is
preferable for a woman to stay at home and avoid contact with
male strangers as much as possible. Observing the hijab,
when one goes outside, has the same effect.
Having married, I left Japan for Saudi Arabia, where it is
customary for the women to cover their face outdoors. I was
impatient to try the niqab (face cover), and curious to
know how it felt. Of course, non-Muslim women generally wear a
black cloak, rather non-chalantly thrown over their shoulders
but do not cover their faces. Non-Saudi Muslim women also often
keep their faces uncovered.
Once accustomed to, the niqab is certainly not
inconvenient. In fact, I felt like the owner of a secret
masterpiece, a treasure which you can neither know about, nor
see. Whereas non-Muslims may think they are life imitating
caricatures when they see Muslim couples walk in the streets,
the oppressed, and the oppressor, the possessed, and the
possessor, the reality is that the women feel like queens being
led by servants.
My first niqab left my eyes uncovered. But in winter I
wore a fine eye covering as well. All the feelings of un-ease
when a man�s eyes met mine disappeared; as with sun glasses, the
visual intrusion of strangers was prevented.
It is an error of judgment to think that a Muslim woman covers
herself because she is a private possession of her husband. In
fact, she preserves her dignity and refuses to be possessed by
strangers. It is non-Muslim and �liberated� Muslim women who
are to be pitied for displaying their private self for all to
see.
Observing the hijab from outside, it is impossible to see
what it hides. The gap, between being outside and looking in,
and being inside and looking out, explains in part the void in
the understanding of Islam. An outsider may see Islam as
restricting Muslims. Inside, however, there is peace, freedom,
and joy, which those who experience it have never known before.
Practicing Muslims, whether those born in Muslim families or
those returned to Islam, choose Islam rather than the illusory
freedom of secular life. If it oppresses women, why are so many
well-educated young women in Europe, America, Japan, Australia,
indeed all over the world, abandoning �liberty� and
�independence� and embracing Islam?
A person blinded by prejudice may not see it, but a woman in
hijab is as brightly beautiful as an angel, full of
self-confidence, serenity, and dignity. No signs of oppression
scar her face. �For indeed it is not the eyes that grow blind,
but it is the hearts within the bosoms, that grow blind,� says
the Qur�an (Al-Hajj 22:46). How else can we explain the great
gap in understanding between us and such people?