Wearing a Hijab Changed Me
When I emailed a local Muslim community center and asked to meet, I didn’t know what to expect. It was Ramadan 2024, and I had just bought a plane ticket to Morocco. I wanted to learn more about Islam and its people than my family, with a Christian nationalist lens, had taught me. I wanted to see if they fit the perceptions of my family, or if they were different. I wanted to ask the questions I had always been scared to ask. They invited me to an Iftar community outreach event, and I decided to go with questions in tow. Should I wear a hijab? Do I speak Arabic, or would they find that insulting? I opted for the hijab, at least, my best version. I opted to, with a small, nervous voice, say “Ramadan Mubarak.” I soon realized that this was the most welcoming community I had ever met. I had women tugging at my arm– “Come sit with me; come meet this person.” The woman I sat next to was Hadeel, someone who would become a true friend for a time. We ate a date to break the fast and drank spiced tea. We laughed. This was a celebration.
I asked many questions that night, in the panel discussion and at my table. What if a Muslim woman doesn’t want to have children for health reasons? Family is so important in Islam. What does jihad really mean? The words in the Quran say, and excuse my memory, that jihad means to struggle toward God, not against other people. Radicals take it out of context, Hadeel told me– they take it to mean war, outside of Allah and the Prophet’s true intentions. There are radicals in every religion, I realized. Why is the spotlight on Islam? Christianity has been used to commit crimes against people for centuries. As much as we claim as the United States to have freedom of religion, this is a Christian nation. And people look at those with darker skin and hijabs differently, especially in Texas. I certainly have done my fair share of staring in my younger years. I have family members who are petrified of Muslims. But there at Iftar, I realized that my Muslim neighbors are just people like you and I. They are seeking connection with God. They are kind. I realized we are all struggling toward connection in some way, be it God, friends, nature– we all seek divine love. And something surprising? “It’s all the same God,” Hadeel told me. “We Muslims believe in one God. Christians, Jews, and everyone all worship Allah in their own way. One God.”
“But why do you call him Allah?” I asked.
Hadeel laughed. “Allah means ‘God’ in Arabic.”
I asked the burning question. “Why do you wear the hijab? Are you required to?”
“No,” she said, “It is every Muslim woman’s choice. There are some who choose not to wear it. But for those of us who do, it connects us to Allah and those around us.” I thought that was beautiful, but I didn’t understand.
Before I left, someone gave me a hijab. It was gray and soft orange with camels on it. “For Morocco,” she said, teaching me how to wear it. “May Allah bless your trip.”
Morocco is exciting on steroids. I have said this before. The medina and the souk are large and sprawling, with men in shops wanting your attention and to show you their goods. There are men in fruit stands offering samples and hustling you to buy. There are men with monkeys which cost 20 Dirham to hold. The local women slip by and go deeper into the dusty streets to buy groceries in the real Marrakech– quiet corners outside the Berber part of the souk where my Riad was located. I learned to act like them– offer a smile or a nod, but walk quickly and without stopping until you’ve found what you were actually looking for. I found fruit stands outside the medina. I wore the hijab I was given. Something happened when I put it on– an ego death of sorts. Suddenly the men in the souk called me “sister”. Sometimes, “habibi.” I responded to that catcall and made a friend. I spoke Arabic with them, and they mistook me for an Arab. When the Arabic failed, I asked them to teach me. Out came the stool and someone would hurry by claiming to be a cousin and was told to go fetch the tea, a prized symbol of Moroccan hospitality. Of course each of these men wanted me to buy their goods. But there was a level of respect exchanged. I want to be one of you, I admire your culture, my hijab said. I accept you as one of my sisters, and I want to teach you more, the tea would reply. It was an honest, beautiful connection I experienced. For example, with my friend Tahar. I would not be able to meet the locals on that level if it were not for the hijab. It was a message I sent in that way. But it was also a pathway for connection with myself.
It’s hard to describe. I think in some ways the hijab made me humble. Every day my curly hair went up in a low bun and was covered by the fabric of my hijab. I wasn’t trying to be beautiful– my hair is often what makes me feel beautiful. But I found that I felt perhaps even more beautiful with it covered up. I found a part of my soul, a connection to the real me. A real me that doesn’t care to be front and center, though I often am with or without a covering and have learned to embrace it. A real me that is quiet. A real me that finds worth in myself regardless of what I do, say, or look like. Something my therapist wants me to tap into; something I haven’t been able to find. I don’t believe in magic or God. But in Morocco I found a sort of magic in the hijab, and I finally understood why Hadeel and all those other women wore it. It’s a highway to a higher self.
I often wonder what would happen if I covered my hair here in the states. I would certainly be looked at differently. There would certainly be nagging questions from friends and family. And confusion. No, I’m not a Muslim. But yes, this is a part that I like. I often wish that everyone would get out of their comfort zone and meet someone new. Seek to understand, even if you don’t agree. Share a laugh if things get awkward. In good faith, try to open your mind to your neighbors who may look or think differently than you. As someone who has spent two years traveling the world and the metroplex in this pursuit, I can tell you that it’s worth it.