Hijab (Short Story)

Early evening found me walking home as the sun set behind the palms, the shadows grew longer as I reminisced on the events of the day. Listening to the wind flapping in the trees and off the edges of my Niqab. Nothing would have occurred to me normally, nothing much happens of much interest, let alone for me to be thinking of as I was making my way slowly back to my home, but today had been different, and something worth remembering had indeed taken place.1

In the marketplace I accidentally ran into a woman who was walking the other way. She turned out to be from America and, as I apologized profusely in her native language, and she smiled and asked if we could take a moment to discuss a concept of Islam that was controversial back in the US. It turns out the concept of hijab, or modesty has become a point of discussion as far as the degradation of Islam itself. It seems in America that this issue has been blown out of proportion, the misconception being that as in the extremist societies it is necessary to wear the burqa, they see this piece of cloth as a symbol of oppression. While the fact of the matter is, I proudly wear my Niqab as a a declaration of faith and that I follow this belief that’s been a foundation of my religion.2

We talked for a long time, discussing the pros and cons of how our two societies have a relatively skewed perspective of one another and how easy it is to fall into prejudices and common misconceptions about another culture by only seeing what you’ve been told, and accepting it as the only truths. It seems to be a common mistake, after being given such a distorted perspective of America and the West, it’s easy to see how in the schools of Hamas and the Taliban, the children come to hate it so. When we are not given full information on any issue or aspect of an idea, or only one side of it, it seems easy to jump to conclusions about it. We have to remember that there’s always more to a story than what we’ve been told, and this is one of the many ways to try and keep an open mind.3

As we talked we both realized that though there are these misconceptions, or gaps in understanding there are a few ways to alleviate this. I told her of all the channels on TV we get, how FOX could be on the same bill as Aljazeera, she was astounded at the wide spectrum of ideas offered by the media. We realized that even if this piece of cloth to one people can be an issue to a foreign culture, even if they mean well, if they don’t look into the other side of the issue, any attempt at reconciliation is a joke. If the problem well meaning Muslims were trying to solve for America, giving all the poor women more clothing to save their dignity, of course they would be met with many an odd stare, if not a few hostilities. The gaps across cultures can only be bridged by an open and well meaning soul who seeks to learn with an open mind, accepting the fact that some views might directly contradict their own.4

As we parted ways, well into the afternoon, we both were thankful for the encounter and how it turned out. I thanked her for talking with me as it was wonderful practicing my English. She, in turn, thanked me for opening her eyes to the truth behind the ideas she had been exposed to. It was good she said, to learn that the media hadn’t always told her everything, so she appreciated hearing it straight from my lips. We hugged, and parted ways, she to her hotel and me back to my home. It was early evening and I found myself walking home in the fading light.5