one slice muslim. one slice 'merican. and all that comes between.
Author: ssiam
I'm in ESL educator currently living in Oman.
When I'm not teaching, I can be found spending time with my husband and daughter, writing, reading or cooking. I'm a true introvert in every sense of the word, but I love a good conversation online!
As Ramadan 2014 progresses into its midway-point, most of us have established a daily routine that incorporates suhoor (pre-fasting meal before dawn), dua’a (supplications), salaah (prayer), dhikr (remembrance of God in word and action), and iftar (fast-breaking meal at sunset), often culminating with tarawe’eh (supplementary evening prayers offered during Ramadan) and witr (supplementary midnight prayer).
For most, iftar is a time we gather around the table with our family and/or friends, joyfully sharing food and fellowship. We laugh and talk about the day’s events; we contemplate our fasts and discuss stories of our Prophets (peace be upon them). And as we sit around our living rooms, lounging on sofas in post-fast dazes, we look at our children playing and the spirit of this blessed season overcomes us, and we say, “Alhumdulillah wa shukr!” (Thank you, God!)
Our children are the greatest gift Allah bestows upon us, and we owe it to them (and Him) to provide, support and protect them at all times.
Yet, not every child has a parent who can – or will – care for and love them. And so it is, at this time, I want to share with you, dear readers, a noble and worthy cause and opportunity for zakat (tithing) and sadaqa (charity) during this holy month: Home of Hope.
Photo Credit: Home of Hope
Home of Hope opened in 1991 in Beirut, Lebanon. Established by the Lebanese Evangelical Society (Christian-based, but it doesn’t matter – we’re talking about CHILDREN!), it “serves the misfortunate, abused, abandoned and orphaned children of Lebanon.”
It also provides a home and shelter for refugee children coming from neighboring at-war countries, such as Syria and Palestine. And one of the best aspects of Home of Hope is that it doesn’t discriminate based on religious affiliation. That’s right – they accept every child.
A 3-yr-old refugee arrives in the middle of the night/ Home of Hope Facebook
But the problem is they’re running out of room (or have possibly run out by now), supplies, and just plain financial support. As this month progresses, more and more children have been taken in by their organization, in an effort to save the kids who generally live on the street from being arrested. These are children who have no parents, whose parents are in jail for various reasons (sometimes legitimate, sometimes not), whose parents have cast them aside due to being illegitimate, whose parents force them out on the street to work and earn money for them.
Boys sleeping on mattresses with barely a blanket to cover them/ Home of Hope Facebook
Just a few of the problems they’re experiencing are:
insufficient heat during the winter due to not having access to a generator during country-wide electricity rations
lack of protein-based food supplies (i.e., meat)
shortage of beds and bedding
not enough clothing, including undergarments and coats, for children of all ages
These are children who, after reaching the age of adulthood and leaving Home of Hope, will never be considered legal residents or citizens of Lebanon. These are children who have no agency. Children who will always be at risk of arrest or detainment, simply because they’re alive.
What does Home of Hope do besides provide shelter, food and clothing for homeless/refugee/orphaned children in Lebanon?
Our aims for the Home of Hope are many and multi-faceted, but they all focus on creating a nurturing, encouraging, and helpful environment, which shall: first of all, help them to recover from the traumatic events which they have passed through; and second, to educate and raise the children to be intellectually, emotionally, and spiritually prepared to face an increasingly biased future.
Secure online donations are being accepted through Tying Vines. Go to https://www.tyingvines.org/donate/ and select Project 1302/Home of Hope. All donations are tax deductible.
To make a donation to Hope of Hope via bank transfer:
Lebanese Evangelical Institute for Social Work & Development
USD IBAN : LB43 0001 0005 5266 1512 0030 4001
LBP IBAN : LB53 0001 0005 5266 1512 0010 4001
SWIFT CODE : FSAB LB BX FRANSABANK– Hazmieh Branch
Contact Person:
Maher Tabarani
Email: mtabarani@lesociety.org
Phone: +961 71 798 879
And for the sake of Allah, please remember these children in your prayers and dua’a this Ramadan. . .and always!
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Like many reverts to Islam, my conversion did not come without its share of awkward and unsure feelings: Was I making the right choice? Would I still be accepted in my circles? How would I be perceived by friends and family?
Alhumdulillah, I had a supportive network of friends, and I have family members who, above all, respect my inherent right to make such a profound decision on my own.
graphic by Nicole Elmasry
Now, I understand the commonly-held belief that when we’re born we are, in the literal sense of the word, Muslims (in complete submission to Allah). That is why many consider themselves “reverts” instead of “converts”.
But in terms of being spiritually-identifying and religiously-practicing individuals, we are not anything. For most people, whatever religion (or non-religion) their parents ascribe to will be the one they also follow into young adulthood (and quite often far beyond). But this doesn’t mean they’ve necessarily chosen it.
For a great majority, they’ve gone along with it, without questioning.
Yet, being a practitioner of a religion requires conviction in the heart. As a certain Elder once reminded me:
Just because your mother or father are a certain religion doesn’t make you that religion. This is NOT DNA people! We do not inherit it!
Unfortunately, not everybody around the world is afforded this inherent right to choose their religious affiliation (or non-affiliation).
One of the biggest news stories circling the globe as of late is the case of Sudanese doctor Meriam Ishag, who was accused of committing adultery, apostatizing from Islam and, ultimately, sentenced to death. Though current rumors (which I pray are true!) announce Ibrahim will soon be freed from her unlawful incarceration, the distress this issue has caused in the international community is still highly tangible – and will continue to be for a long time.
How can we call ourselves The Religion of Peace when those who act as the talking heads and spokespeople of all Muslims continue to misappropriate, bend and twist the sayings of our dear Prophet Muhammad (SAW) and verses of the perfect Qur’an?
How can we stand up and say, “Islam is the religion of human rights”? Proclaim that it “provides rights and equality for women”? Defend it against naysayers who call Muslims, collectively, “terrorists” and “barbarians”? (Or maybe a better question might be, “Why should we have to defend it?” But, that’s for another post. ..)
And it boils down to this next sentence:
Trying to convince a person about something when they are adamant their opinion is correct is like trying to move the iceberg out of the way of the Titanic.
graphic by Nicole Elmasry
What we have is a giant ship of people (take your pick: Muslims, Christians, atheists, whatever) heading toward a giant problem (the issue of apostasy and its possible punishments).
As much as we’d like, we can’t move the issue (iceberg). If we did, another one would just come up at a later point in time, we’d be back at the beginning. Specifically, someone else would defect from their religion, possibly bringing a harsh verdict down upon themselves. And, in the case of Sudan, illegal.
That’s right. It is illegal, since the sentence directly contradicts Sudan’s 2005 Interim National Constitution, which
provides for freedom of religion in Sudan. In Article 38, on Freedom of Creed and Worship, the Constitution assures that “[e]very person shall have the right to the freedom of religious creed and worship … no person shall be coerced to adopt such faith, that he/she does not believe in, nor to practice rites or services to which he/she does not voluntarily consent.”
Sudan also ratified the International Covenant on Civil and Political Rights (ICCPR) in 1986. The ICCPR is legally binding and is monitored by the Human Rights Council. Furthermore, Sudan is a member of the UN, an organization that recognized the importance of freedom of religion or belief in the 1948 Universal Declaration of Human Rights. In addition, Article 27(3) of Sudan’s Constitution expressly states that international human rights instruments ratified by Sudan shall become part of the Constitution [. . .] — Sudan Democracy First Group
Be that as it may, I am not here to argue the legal or penal code of Sudan (though it clearly needs enforcement).
What I want to do is draw attention to the basic insinuation that has landed Dr. Ishag in prison to begin with. The very idea that apostasy should be addressed by an Earthly council so that the apostate can be punished in the duniya (the physical life prior to the spiritual Hereafter).
All too often, people of various religious persuasion take it upon themselves to enact punishment (vengeance?) upon those who do not conform to the ideals or standards of society, theology, or indoctrination. Whoa, that was a loaded statement. Basically, it’s the mindset of
You are wrong. I am right. You don’t agree that I am right. I am going to punish/kill/imprison/maim/torture you.
But where did humans — HUMANS — get this balderdash idea that Allah needs humans to protect Him? Why would the Creator of the known and unknown universes, the artist of ultimate perfection, need an imperfect creature such as man to force atonement on others for not choosing to do something that is…….a CHOICE?
Let’s not forget there is no compulsion in religion (Qur’an 2:256):
There shall be no compulsion in [acceptance of] the religion. The right course has become clear from the wrong.
But that verse is always given as a shield by those who oppose mistreatment of not only apostates, but anyone who chooses not to follow or conform to Islamic teachings. Let’s look at a few others that should serve to remind us that we, mere humans, are not the judge and jury of others when it comes to dealing with actions that directly (and predominately) affects a person’s soul.
Take, for example, Qur’an 5:54, which tells us that Allah does not NEED us, as he can replace us at any time with another believer:
O you who have believed, whoever of you should revert from his religion
– Allah will bring forth [in place of them] a people He will love and who will love Him [who are] humble toward the believers, powerful against the disbelievers [. . .] That is the favor of Allah;
He bestows it upon whom He wills [. . .]
Or Qur’an 9:67, which reminds us that if we forget Allah, He will forget about us:
[. . .] They have forgotten Allah, so He has forgotten them [. . .]
And yet, the basic truth is this:
There is NO surat (chapter) in the Qur’an, or verse therein, that advocates, prescribes, suggests or commands execution for the apostate of Islam.
Furthermore, the actions that were permitted by the Prophet (SAW) during his time to clarify vague descriptions in the Qur’an were done as example. Yet, neither the Prophet nor any of his companions ever sentenced anyone to death for renouncing their faith, though they had ample chance to do so. If the punishment were not only permissible, but indeed recommended, the Prophet would have been the first to cast a stone to set the example.
Now, am I saying there is no punishment for apostasy? No. The Qur’an tells us in 9:74 the punishment for apostasy is jahannam (Hellfire). But that punishment is Allah’s to dole out, and Allah’s alone.
So, this brings us back to our ship, heading straight for disaster, as nobody can agree on a solution to avoid the problem.
So, then, how do we avoid running into the iceberg?
We must find an answer that allows all people involved to be true to their respective beliefs, dogmas, ideas, interpretations. In simple terms, we must agree to disagree, while at the same time agree to take action based on a common – no, core – similarity. But what is that similarity?
The answer is the acknowledgement of humanity.
If you take a group of various theist/atheist scholars (or regular Joes) and ask them a pertinent, faith-based question, you’ll more than likely get a different answer from each attendee based on their ___________ (fill in the blank with your choice of beliefs, religion, interpretation of theological text, agenda, etc.).
But ask them a direct, logic-based question that you might ask a 1st-grader, aka Someone Who is Not Affected by Theological/Atheological Thinking, such as:
Is it right to kill another human?
graphic by Nicole Elmasry
Unless they are inherently evil, all of these individuals who can’t even agree on how the Earth was made can unanimously utter a single word:
No.
Now, I see your wheels spinning, Readers (a few unnamed ones, specifically). Here’s the follow-up question:
If there is NO PHYSICAL VIOLENCE involved, is it right to kill another human?
Again, No.
And I think we can agree that it is wrong to take a mother from her children if she isn’t physically neglecting or harming them. Or a child from its father. Or to separate spouses because an intangible entity (government) decides their marriage is not valid by some inane ruling.
Therefore, the only logical solution that allows us to avoid certain catastrophe at the hands of too many captains at the helm is:
When in doubt, do no harm.
And, that, dear Readers is the bond of humanity that will save the ship from going down.
If we can’t agree on the “right” answer, we can at least agree that leaving apostates alone to answer for their own choices on Judgement Day is the least harmful answer in this Life. Perhaps by granting clemency, by truly following the peaceful path, the apostate may be brought round. Maybe he won’t. But, in the end, it’s not our decision to make. Because Allah brings to Islam whom He wills.
And if we execute a person who renounces his faith in Allah, what we’re ULTIMATELY doing is usurping the WILL OF ALLAH to guide him home.
#TakeBackIslam
Read more about our Take Back Islam effort: here, here, here, and here
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When I reverted to Islam in March 2005, I have to admit I was afraid. Okay, perhaps nervous is a better choice of word, as I wasn’t scared or frightened. And I know I’m not alone in admitting this feeling, especially with female converts. The process of transitioning into Islam from a previous faith/belief system (because face it, even if you don’t believe in God, you believe there is no God) is daunting:
What will my friends think? How will I be received by the public? Does this mean I have to start dressing like an Arab or East Asian-er? Do I have to start my life over from the beginning, rethinking every choice I’ve ever made?
While all of those are valid concerns, and ones that I did contemplate at some point in time post-reversion, they weren’t what I was afraid of. My fear came from telling my father.
Not my family. Not my Mother.
My Father.
Now, before you start thinking my dad is this overbearing and close-minded totalitarian who lives for controlling others’ lives, he’s NOT. In fact, he’s the polar opposite. He’s one of the most open-minded individuals I’ve ever known in my life. And if there is a perfect antonym for overbearing, that describes him, too. I mean, for Heaven’s sake, the man used to sit and logically discuss with me the reasons I should pick up my toys when I was 3 years old. If there’s anything my dad is not, it’s overbearing and close-minded.
So, why was I scared of telling my dad I had become Muslim?
My father has a strong head on his shoulders (don’t confuse strong with stubborn). His choice of worship was not made based on how he was brought up (Nazarene). He didn’t look to his parents to tell him how he should worship God or practice his religion (Christianity). Instead, he went to a Christian college, studied the history and lineage of the Bible and Christianity, and majored in Bible Studies. His goal: to become a preacher.
When he became a member of the Church of Christ denomination, he did so knowing full-well that it represented the beliefs he personally held based on his extensive studying. To him, it was correct.
Now there I was, his 23-year-old daughter, midway through my graduate school program, and I’d converted to Islam. And I had to tell my Father. The samefather who responded to my 16-year-old self’s idea of becoming Baptist with, “I’ve failed as a father!”
So, one day while my parents were in town for a wedding, my father and I drove over to the beach at Gulf Shores. We had lunch, talked about religion a little bit, and mostly discussed general life topics. (My father is also a severe introvert, like me, and idle conversation is not a forte of his.)
After lunch, we walked out on the beach. I’d planned my delivery. I asked him what it was exactly that he believed about life and death. He started out with the history of religion (he always starts with the history behind the pertinent question), and then he transitioned into his personal beliefs. Once he finished, I offered my part. I told him nobody had ever really asked me what I believe. It was always just assumed because I was part of a certain family or church that I shared the same beliefs. But, obviously, I didn’t.
Then came the time to deliver my blow. I told him I was thinking about becoming Muslim. (I couldn’t own up to it full-force yet; I needed time to let the idea sink in for him.) Surprisingly, he didn’t stop walking. He didn’t yell (not surprisingly). He just said one thing, and his response has stayed with me every day since. It has had my back when people were against me. It has given me conviction along my chosen path. And those words were:
As your father, it is my job to let you know that I think you’re wrong. But you’re an adult. And if you chose to believe something just because I told you so, that would be just as wrong.
It was all I needed. I didn’t need an “I support you” or a “That’s wonderful”. And I know he still doesn’t like my choice. And I know there have been many tears shed on his side on my behalf. But I also think both he and my mom have come to conclusion that after nearly a decade, a husband and a child, I’m not going through a phase.
And as each day goes by, I never lose hope that one day my family will join me in truly understanding the history, relevance and authority of our beautiful Islam, insha’Allah. Until that day comes, I will continue to enjoy the avid discussion my father and I have about our beliefs, and I will rest easy knowing that despite our differences, we still respect each others’ beliefs … and rights to have them.
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man goes to the doctor complaining of stomach pains; gets Rx. Woman goes to the doctor with same problem; gets straight jacket. graphic by Nicole Elmasry.
Let’s get ready to rummmmble!!!!!!
The late 19th century (probably before and most certainly until some point after) saw a Western cultural predominance of labeling people according to disorders. If you’ve ever taken a look at literature or societal psychology from this time period, you’re sure to be acquainted with ideas such as leeching or frontal lobotomies.
Of course, if you spent more than 3 seconds looking at the recipients of such pleasant treatments, you’ll notice they often have one thing in common: the “fairer” sex.
Ah, yes. Throughout history, women have continuously been dealt the bad reputation of being unpredictable and emotional. Therefore, we tend to be considered weaker and prone to act irrationally based on our feelings at any given time.
Unfortunately, though the West has (mostly) progressed past this deluded mindset, other nations are still far behind understanding how a woman’s body works for – or against – her.
Not only that, but when it comes to women’s rights and inclusion, many societies base their ideologies on misappropriated ayat (verses) from the Qur’an and/or ahadith in order to subjugate, dismiss and maintain the patriarchal status quo on the (irrational and idiotic) basis that:
Women are easily confused and should not be given full responsibility or choice due to their precarious emotional states.
Go with me now to the year 2012. . . . .
We are still in Saudi Arabia, but it is nearing the end of my contract. We will be moving soon, and as the end grew ever nearer, I realize I am happy to go. Our time has been pleasant, but it is finished.
My husband’s niece has gotten engaged, so we make a weekend-trip to Kuwait for her engagement party. Now, I’m no extrovert, and I hate parties – but, it is for family, so I have to go to show support.
On the way to the border, we stop and eat lunch at a Hungry Bunny (fast food burgers) with bathrooms so clean I would eat off the floors. We hit the road, and I grab a cup of ice to go (because I have pica, and I crave ice).
Once in Kuwait, we get settled in the hotel (apartment) with my sister-in-law, and then we head to my other sister-in-law’s (mother-of-the-bride) for dinner. I don’t feel too well, so I don’t eat much. I think I am just tired from traveling. It was a long week at work, and there are lots of people in the house. I nibble.
Change scenes. We’re at the mall. Everybody’s happy and laughing. I can barely walk. Once again, I attribute it to being tired, plus I have major back issues, so I thought, “Eh, figures.” I sit and watch them walk around, having a grand time. I’m labeled as unsociable.
It’s the night of the party. I get all dolled up, and I even do my hair (it was just for women at the beginning). Get to the party. Start to get a migraine. I’m thinking, “Great….perfect timing.” By the middle of the party, I have to leave and go sit in the car. I’m dizzy, my head is throbbing and I’m pouring sweat.
The next day, we go to the movies. I’m still feeling queasy, but I warrior through. Afterward, all the family wants to go out to do something (I can’t even remember, I was so sick). I said I couldn’t, and I asked my hubby to take me back to the hotel. I barely got back to the room before I was choking and throwing up. He said, “I feel sorry for you, but I’m happy because now I can tell them there’s really something wrong!” (It sounds insensitive, but I understood what he meant.)
We finally get back to Saudi, and I start feeling better. I thought it was just a stomach bug. Then, Laila gets sick. And mine returns.
So, we head to the doctor. While Hubby takes Laila downstairs to the pediatrician, I wait to be seen by the doctor upstairs.
Now, you must understand this: I have a laundry list of medical issues that puts me at the doctor quite often. I have several chronic conditions that require treatment and stabilization — and they have been. At one point in the past, however, I had some chest pain. I knew there was nothing seriously wrong, but when you present with chest pain, they do the heart tests and make you see the heart doctor for a follow-up.
While I’m waiting to see the doctor, the heart doctor is sitting nearby talking to a nurse. . .about me. They’re speaking in Arabic, but he keeps motioning toward me. She keeps looking. Then the nurse of the doctor I’m waiting to see comes by and joins in the conversation. They continue talking about me. The gist: I’m there all the time. . .or, I’m a hypochondriac.
When it’s finally my turn, I go in to see the doctor (whom I’ve seen before). I run down my list of symptoms: sweating, fever, nausea, diarrhea, pain, etc.
Again, please note: The nurse did not take my temperature, and even though my blood pressure was high, it wasn’t seen as important.
The doctor asks about my husband. Yes, that’s right. My husband should be there to verify my problem.
“He’s downstairs with my daughter,” I say.
“Oh, is your daughter sick?” he asks.
“Yes. She’s got like the same thing, but not as bad.”
It’s like a light bulb goes off in his gray-haired head. “Are you worried about your daughter?”
I’m confused. “No, I’m not worried about her. I mean, of course I’m concerned for her health, but I know she’ll be okay. . .”
“I think you’re a little anxious. You’re probably upset because your daughter is sick.”
“No, that’s not what’s wrong. . .” To prove his point, I start tearing up.
“I’m going to give you a shot of _________” (I don’t remember the name, but it was an anti-anxiety medicine….Xanax, maybe?)
“I don’t need a shot. . .”
He sends me out of the office to wait for the nurse.
In the meantime, my husband comes up to check on me. He finds me crying.
“What’s wrong?” he asks.
“He won’t listen. I told him what’s wrong, and he thinks I’m just worried about Laila.”
“What?” He goes inside and speaks with the doctor. “Honey, come inside. . .”
I go back inside the office, and the doctor breaks down and checks my temp (imagine the concept!). It’s very high. Suddenly, he realizes I am sick, and he hands out a list of various medicines to collect from the pharmacy downstairs.
Royally pissed, we go to get them and leave for home.
That night, I can’t sleep, and I end up in the bathroom for hours. Anything that goes in comes out five minutes later. I can’t eat, and all liquid makes me nauseous.
We go to the emergency room, where the resident runs a bunch of blood tests.
“I have an idea of what’s wrong,” he says, standing beside my bed. “But I’m waiting for the tests to confirm it. I’ve ordered a Widal test.”
“What’s that?” I ask, completely out of energy.
“It tests for typhoid fever.” He leaves the room.
“Oh, my God!” I’m terrified. I don’t know exactly what typhoid fever is, but I’ve heard of it. And I know it doesn’t sound pretty.
The doctor comes back and confirms the test is positive. I have to be admitted. And I can’t have any human contact except for those whom I’ve already been around.
What is typhoid fever? It’s untreated salmonella poisoning which, if left untreated, can result in death. It takes months to recover from completely, and it took me nearly ten days in hospital to reach a level of being able to be around people again.
I had a “Do NOT Enter Without PROTECTIVE GEAR” sign on my hospital door!!!!
That’s right. I came *this close* to death, and I was labeled “emotionally unbalanced”. . . a hysterical woman.
I had my husband go down to the doctor’s office who had written me off with a diagnosis of hysterics.
His response? “Oh, really?” No apology. No realization of what could have happened. Just an, “Oops.”
Alhumdulillah rab-il al-ameen! Thank you, God, for your unending protection! It was a long road, and I recovered.
And I’d like to say this was a one-off. I’d like to blame it on Saudi Arabia.
Unfortunately, I can’t.
The moral of this story?
When women are quickly labeled as emotional and, thus, not even able to appropriately gauge whether their OWN BODIES are acting erratically, it can be more than just a simple “oops” that results. To allow the diagnosis of hysteria to persist as a cultural norm only risks further maltreatment for women in those locations. To be frank, it puts them at a clear risk for death.
This is why careful study and interpretation of religious doctrine is necessary and why biased and flippant prose that condescendingly discounts a gender is dangerous. When such verses are misappropriated to serve a specific purpose, they propagate the stereotype that women carry too much emotional baggage to think clearly.
Of course, by saying that women are the “weaker” sex and inclined to hysterics, what’s really being said is that men are the opposite. That they’re not prone to emotions because they’re “stronger”. That their judgment is solid and unwavering. That they think with their heads, and not with anything else (like their HEARTS). That they’re not easily swayed by gossip and don’t make rash decisions.
Yet, in this story (as well as many, many others), we can see this isn’t always the case. At times, we are all led by emotions instead of logic and clarity. This doesn’t make us “weaker” or “stronger” than the other. It makes us human. And, as humans, we must respect each other to create a stronger, united ummah (brotherhood) and present a positive image of Islam to the world.
But unfortunately for me, it didn’t end in Saudi Arabia.
So, join me next time, when we travel to Oman, and I continue the story of The Hysterical Woman Phenomena.
Oh, and PS. . .wondering what caused the salmonella? I suppose those bathroom floors weren’t as clean as they looked. Never eat ice from a border-town fast food restaurant.
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First, let me apologize. This is NOT the Hysterical Woman Syndrome post that was last promised. Insha’Allah, I will get to that next time (and I did. And that is here). Instead, I decided to respond to the comments and questions left on my previous post. As they appeared, I read them . . . and after a few, I realized it would be easier if I created an open-letter type response.
So, here goes . . . and here’s hoping this clarifies a few points left unanswered from theseposts
My Saudi Expectations:
I can see why many may consider the previous post to be a little negative or pessimistic towards the Saudi culture or country, in general. I mean, hey, I start out by saying I NEVER, EVER wanted to go there. How can one make that decision without having any real knowledge about a place?
Here’s some backstory:
Waaaaay back in 2004, I married a Saudi and remained in this tumultuous marriage for 18 months.
So I married a Saudi
Through it all, I also garnered some information about Saudi culture and mindset. This particular Saudi considered himself “modern”. We sat with other couples (older than us, mind you), he cooked (for himself), and we split costs 60/40 (mostly he paid 60).
But he told me about Saudi, and he tried to teach me about Islam – despite not wanting to be married to me (long story for another post, so stay tuned). So, he had that going for him.
My best friend – and sister by another mister (brother/mother, pun, ah . . .) – was ALSO Saudi. And she was the ANTITHESIS of anything Saudi you could ever dream of – or so I thought. Until I moved there and learned she was pretty run-of-the-mill, modern-day girl (a few years younger than me). She also introduced me to Saudi mindset and culture.
So, I didn’t exactly move to Saudi without any knowledge whatsoever. I may have had prejudiced notions based on other peoples’ opinions, but I had a basic taste of what to expect:
My other observations were made once I actually hit the ground running in the Kingdom.
It’s important to understand that several generalizations about Arabs can be considered correct.
For instance, in my history of knowing Arabs from all around the world – from different countries – of different ages – I’ve noticed that it is difficult – nay, near impossible – to find one who considers time important.
Otherwise, time is fluid. Party starts at 8? Great, I’ll be there around. . .10:30. Class begins at 10? Is 10:20 okay to show up? I’m getting MARRIED! Come to my WEDDING! It’s at 9 pm! (But I won’t arrive until 1 am!!!)
Secondly, Arab hospitality is second-to-NONE on God’s green earth. There is no such thing as dropping by for a quick cup of coffee.
Hospitality is second to none
If you come for coffee at 11 am, you’re lucky to leave after dinner at 8. And the order of events, and the steps and. . .oh, it’s so exhausting to a Westerner who understands, “No, I don’t want anything,” as meaning, “No, I don’t want anything.”
However, the hospitality is usually localized to one of two kinds of people: a) Bedouins (in the country) or b) people who know you (in the city). You’re not really going to find a stranger at the supermarket invite you to their house for dinner. But you WILL find a stranger in the desert invite you into their home to sleep, especially if you’re a weird foreigner (hasn’t happened to me personally, but I’ve heard tales).
But, to each the good and the bad.
What the West gets wrong about Saudi:
Of course, many (probably most) generalizations are wrong.
Arabs are not inherent terrorists.
They are not ignorant. While many may be uneducated, their knowledge of life far surpasses anything I know on most levels.
They are not scary. But their driving is.
They are not out to destroy the West. Indeed, they embrace the West and its traditions in many capacities.
They are not hell-bent on forcing others to conform to their ideals.
Blending In:
Ah, the concept of “blending in”.
It’s been mentioned that I should not feel weird being stared at because I am different. I should note my husband, who is only a shade or two darker than I am, was not stared at. He is clearly not Saudi Arabian, yet he seemed to blend just fine.
The idea of staring seemed less to be about confusion or interest in “different”, and more of a lack of manners. When a person glances at me and looks away (in America or otherwise), I consider that interest or curiosity. When a person plays the “no blinking game”, as noha called it, the intent seems to be intimidation and rudeness. THOSE are the prying eyes I want to poke with a pencil. But I don’t. Because I usually don’t have a pencil with me. Ha.
Frankly, gracielawrence and Corbin say it best, and I fully support their comments:
I think that the root of the problem comes in when people confuse their religion for their culture. When you see people trying to imitate a culture that you where raised in, it is only natural to feel superior because in a way the imitator is saying they think you are better (and if this happens we have to resist this urge to act on base instincts). And I think this is where some Arabs are confused (and the rest of us become infuriated). NO! we […] are not trying to be Arab or participate in Arab culture when we practice Islam. […] Islam is for all of humanity. Period. Once everyone understands that and leaves this clique-ish behavior in the past maybe then, Insha’Allah, we can start to resemble an ummah. – Corbin
If you are wearing sunnah, but always look like you are going to eat my face, are nasty with your fellow man, or just have a negative and ugly personality….I am not buying […] – gracielawrence
And finally, Toilet Paper:
I was raised using toilet paper. I know many Arabs were not. Once I was introduced to the water hose, or watering can, or bidet, I just didn’t find myself clean enough without it. But I don’t like walking around with the feeling of freshly-peed pants. So, I supplement with toilet paper. As do most of the female Muslimah converts I know.
In the end, I want to say my overall conclusions about Saudi were totally positive. In fact, had my job been a better place to be, we might have extended our stay. Unfortunately, my university and position there were ruining my health. I was truly going downhill on a bicycle with no brakes, and we had to get outta there.
Sure, there were negatives. There were annoyances. And there were things that made me want to pull my hair out and slap people silly (which, yes, I refrained from). But overall, the positive far outweighed the negative in terms of what I EXPECTED before ever moving there.
We had the chance to go to Medinah and Mecca for Umrah, alhumdulillah. We visited Riyadh a couple of times. I rode some camels. I ate some camel (and then made wudu’u). And I even drove a car. Up the street. By my compound. With the guards smiling and waving.
Ultimately, what I learned was:
Don’t have expectations. If you do, you’re only going to be let down. If you don’t, you can ALWAYS be pleasantly surprised.
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When I left off, I had just arrived in Saudi Arabia (read part I here)
to begin my two-year contract in a country I’d previously vowed NEVER to go to — except for the once-in-a-lifetime Hajj (and only then with very clearly made plans of day-to-day activities and contact information) …
During the ride to the compound — which ended up looking like an abandoned concentration camp, replete with barbed wire fences and TWO guard booths — I noticed Saudi Arabia didn’t look as strange as I thought it would. I mean, sure, the airport bathroom had no toilet paper and I got my first glimpse of the infamous “squatty potty”. But the scenery was rather normal.
There were cars. A mall or two (oh, the Saudis and their MALLS!). Lots of highway and shops. There was even a Holiday Inn at the
Oh, those Saudi Malls
end of the street where our compound was located. It definitely wasn’t a desolate, barren wasteland that looked run-down and war-torn. In short, it didn’t look like the TV version of the Middle East. And all of this was apparent at night.
Even the apartment was better than we imagined. While the exterior compound left a lot to be desired (think: absence of landscaping), the interior was pretty nice. We scored a 2BR/1BA apartment with a living room, dining/kitchen combination and SEPARATE laundry room with hook-ups for a washer AND dryer. Unless you’ve lived in the Middle East…or, frankly, outside of most Western countries (and even in some European ones), coming across a dryer is a rarity. Turns out, the compound we were living on had formerly been a military compound back in the…..70s? 80s? Of course, all of the pipes and walls were full of asbestos, but — HEY — they were getting rid of it.
So, we get settled in, and I report to work. The university was out in the middle of NOWHERE (now picture desolate, barren desert), surrounded by sand dunes. But it was modern. And pretty to look at. And I got my own office.
As the days, and then weeks, went by, Saudi Arabia started to kind of feel like home. We went to the supermarket, and we dined at
Can you guess what this is?
restaurants (family area only!). We visited the Corniche (waterfront, kind of like the boardwalk) and took our daughter to the park. After we got our multiple-visas, we even left on the weekend to visit Bahrain, which was only a short (not counting the traffic through the border) drive across the connecting bridge.
But there was still one thing that just didn’t fit.
I learned quite early people in Saudi don’t smile. Okay, sure, I don’t expect Saudi men (or Muslim men, in general) to walk past me, smile, and say, “Assalamu alaikum.” But I kind of thought that, you know, being in a Muslim country, I’d get a friendly, “Salaam”, from a sister as she floats by — wafts, in her abaya — STARING.
Yes, that’s right.
STARING.
If there was ONE thing I’d looked forward to when we decided to move to the ME was the ability to blend in as a Muslim. For my fellow Western-based Muslimah reverts, I’m sure there has been at least one occasion where you just wanted to be invisible.
Maybe it was 9/12 (NO, that’s NOT a typo). Maybe it was at the airport. Maybe it was just at Starbucks, drinking your coffee like any other normal person.
I remember the time (in America) I was walking down an aisle in the grocery store, and an old lady walked past me. She caught my eye, and she tried to stare me into the floor. I could have averted my gaze, stared at the floor, made a cross-eyed, googly face. Instead, I just smiled at her and kept walking.
So, there I was in Saudi Arabia, thinking, “Dude, I’m Muslim. I’m wearing an abaya. I’m covering my hair. WHY ARE YOU STARING
What is she? American? Muslim? Some strange hybrid!?
AT ME???” And then I decided, “Try smiling.” And I did.
And they didn’t smile back. They hardly ever smiled back. And, trust me, even though the majority of Saudi women are niqabis, you can tell when they’re smiling. But they didn’t. In fact, their stares seemed to get colder as time went on.
I talked to my husband, whose only consolation was, “Honey, you’re just lighter. They can tell you’re not Arab. It’s different.”
“What’s different?” I asked. It wasn’t like we moved to the boonies of Saudi Arabia and I was the ONLY Whitey McWhitePerson. We lived in Al Khobar. Next to Dammam. Which housed Saudi Aramco. . .that’s the Saudi Arabian – American Coop for Oil. Al Khobar was built FOR Aramco. It’s full of white people. Non-Muslim white people. Non-hijabi white people. American white people.
“They’re just not used to it. You’re a foreigner,” he said.
Confused, I sat with my friend – the OTHER Whitey McWhiteMuslimah – and discussed the irony.
We leave the US – a country where Muslims are often ostracized as outcasts because they look different or act different – and move
Can’t a fish just live in the trees in peace?
to a country where Muslims account for 99.9999999999999% of the population (give or take a .9999999%). And what happens? I’m stared at and regarded as strange because. . .I look different or act different (yes, I bag my OWN cucumbers, thank you very much!).
It leaves me wondering. . .where can I go to blend in? Where can I go that nobody will stare at me because I’m different? I just want
to be me. To not be questioned by others’ eyes or regarded as an “outsider”. To just be one of the crowd.
Tune in next time to see how the “Hysterical Woman Syndrome” is still alive and kickin’ in the good ol’ Magic Kingdom!
Part I is here and Stephanie clears the air about this post here
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