When I arrived
in Palestine (7 years back), to work alongside charities in Gaza and the West
Bank, I took with me the swagger of condescension that all white middle-class
women (secretly or outwardly) hold towards poor Muslim women, women I presumed
would be little more than black-robed blobs, silent in my peripheral vision. As
a western woman with all my freedoms, I expected to deal professionally with
men alone. After all, that's what the Muslim world is all about, right?
On my first
trip to Ramallah, and many subsequent visits to Palestine, Egypt, Jordan and
Lebanon, I did indeed deal with men in power. And, dear reader, one or two of
them even had those scary beards we see on news bulletins from far-flung places
we've bombed to smithereens. Surprisingly (for me) I also began to deal with a
lot of women of all ages, in all manner of head coverings, who also held
positions of power. Believe it or not, Muslim women can be educated, work the
same deadly hours we do, and even boss their husbands about in front of his
friends until he leaves the room in a huff to go and finish making the dinner.
Is this patronising
enough for you? I do hope so, because my conversion to Islam has been an excuse
for sarcastic commentators to heap such patronising points of view on to Muslim
women everywhere. So much so, that on my way to a meeting on the subject of
Islamophobia in the media, I seriously considered buying myself a hook and
posing as Abu Hamza. After all, judging by the reaction of many women
columnists, I am now to women's rights what the hooked one is to knife and fork
sales.
So let's all
just take a deep breath and I'll give you a glimpse into the other world of
Islam in the 21st century. Of course, we cannot discount the appalling way
women are mistreated by men in many cities and cultures, both with and without
an Islamic population. Women who are being abused by male relatives are being
abused by men, not God. Much of the practices and laws in "Islamic"
countries have deviated from (or are totally unrelated) to the origins of
Islam. Instead practices are based on cultural or traditional (and yes, male-orientated)
customs that have been injected into these societies. For example, in Saudi
Arabia, women are not allowed to drive by law. This rule is an invention of the
Saudi monarchy, our government's close ally in the arms and oil trade. The
fight for women's rights must sadly adjust to our own government's needs.
My own path to
Islam began with an awakening to the gap between what had been drip-fed to me
about all Muslim life – and the reality. I began to wonder about the calmness
exuded by so many of the "sisters" and "brothers". Not all;
these are human beings we're talking about. But many. And on my visit to Iran
in September 2010, the washing, kneeling, chanting recitations of the prayers
at the masjids I visited reminded me of the west's view of an entirely
different religion; one that is known for eschewing violence and embracing
peace and love through quiet meditation. A religion trendy with movie stars
such as Richard Gere, and one that would have been much easier to admit to
following in public – Buddhism. Indeed, the bending, kneeling and submission of
Muslim prayers resound with words of peace and contentment. Each one begins,
"Bismillahir rahmaneer Raheem" – "In the name of God, the
Merciful, the Compassionate" – and ends with the phrase "Assalamu
Alaykhum wa rahmatullahi wa barakatuh" – Peace be upon you all and God's
mercy and blessing.
Almost
unnoticed to me, when praying for the past year or so before that, I had been
saying "Dear Allah" instead of "Dear God". They both mean
the same thing, of course, but for the convert to Islam the very alien nature
of the language of the holy prayers and the holy book can be a stumbling block.
I had skipped that hurdle without noticing. Then came the pull: a sort of
emotional ebb and flow that responds to the company of other Muslims with a
heightened feeling of openness and warmth. Well, that's how it was for me,
anyway.
How hard and
callous non-Muslim friends and colleagues began to seem. Why can't we cry in
public, hug one another more, say "I love you" to a new friend,
without facing suspicion or ridicule? I would watch emotions being shared in
households along with trays of honeyed sweets and wondered, if Allah's law is
simply based on fear why did the friends I loved and respected not turn their
backs on their practices and start to drink, to have real "fun" as we
in the west do? And we do, don't we? Don't we?
Finally, I
felt what Muslims feel when they are in true prayer: a bolt of sweet harmony, a
shudder of joy in which I was grateful for everything I have (my children) and
secure in the certainty that I need nothing more (along with prayer) to be
utterly content. I prayed in the Mesumeh Masjid in Iran after ritually
cleansing my forearms, face, head and feet with water. And nothing could be the
same again. It was as simple as that.
The sheikh who
finally converted me at a masjid in London told me: "Don't hurry, Lauren.
Just take it easy. Allah is waiting for you. Ignore those who tell you: you
must do this, wear that, have your hair like this. Follow your instincts,
follow the Holy Qur'an- and let Allah guide you."
And so I now
live in a reality that is not unlike that of Jim Carey's character in the
Truman Show. I have glimpsed the great lie that is the facade of our modern
lives; that materialism, consumerism, sex and drugs will give us lasting
happiness. But I have also peeked behind the screens and seen an enchanting,
enriched existence of love, peace and hope. In the meantime, I carry on with
daily life, cooking dinners, making TV programmes about Palestine and yes,
praying for around half an hour a day. My steady progress with the Qur'an has
been mocked in some quarters. I've been seeking advice from imams and sheikhs,
and every one has said that each individual's journey to Islam is their own.
Some do commit the entire text to memory before conversion; for me reading the
holy book will be done slowly and at my own pace.
In the past my
attempts to give up alcohol have come to nothing; since my conversion I can't
even imagine drinking again. I have no doubt that this is for life: there is so
much in Islam to learn and enjoy and admire; I'm overcome with the wonder of
it. In the last few days I've heard from other women converts, and they have
told me that this is just the start, that they are still loving it 10 or 20
years on.
On a final
note I'd like to offer a quick translation between Muslim culture and media
culture that may help take the sting of shock out of my change of life for some
of you.
When Muslims
on the BBC News are shown shouting "Allahu Akhbar!" at some clear,
Middle Eastern sky, we westerners have been trained to hear: "We hate you
all in your British sitting rooms, and are on our way to blow ourselves up in
Lidl when you are buying your weekly groceries."
In fact, what
we Muslims are saying is "God is Great!", and we're taking comfort in
our grief after non-Muslim nations have attacked our villages. Normally, this
phrase proclaims our wish to live in peace with our neighbours, our God, our
fellow humans, both Muslim and non-Muslim. Or, failing that, in the current
climate, just to be left to live in peace would be nice.
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