Stephanie Goes to the Magic Kingdom Part II: It’s All So Strangely Familiar

April 4, 2014June 30, 2015 by ssiam ♥ 21 Comments

Written by Stephanie Siam

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

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

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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Stephanie Goes to the Magic Kingdom

March 26, 2014June 30, 2015 by Corbin ♥ 17 Comments

Howdy, dear readers. It has been an exciting week here at islamwich! Firstly, because snowball stands have reopened in the New Orleans area after an off-and-on winter, and I (Corbin) have had one too many.

Secondly, because Gracie Lawrence was accepted to a PhD program and promptly left the continent. Don’t worry, she’s a busy lady but she will be back to islamwich and to her PhD program.

And lastly but not least-ly because, islamwich is welcoming a new blogger to the team. Her name is Stephanie, she hold a Masters in English (impressed yet?!) and she loves long walks off of short precipices … But let’s let her introduce herself in the third person:

Stephanie Siam, a native of Mobile, Alabama, converted to Islam approximately a decade ago. Currently, she resides in Muscat, Oman, with her husband and daughter, where she teaches English in the Foundation Programme of the country’s top university. When in the US, she can usually be found navigating between Tennessee, Georgia, Florida and Alabama, as these are the four corners of her heartland. In her free time, she enjoys reading, writing and spending time with her family doing various activities. Her intention is to share her perspective on being a non-Arab Muslim living in an Arab Muslim world.

And now it is time for you, dear readers, to snuggle up to your laptop and a cup of tea and hear the tale of how Stephanie unwillingly became a Saudi … kind of.

Stephanie writes:

(To the tune of “Party in the U.S.A”)

I hopped off the plane at DMM

With an abaya and the hubs in hand

Welcome to the land of religious men

Whoa, am I gonna fit in?

Jumped on the bus –

‘Cause I’m not allowed to drive –

Look to my right, and I see a Camel Crossing sign

All the drivers so crazy

Transportation’s so dangerous

So I put my hands up

And say a little prayer

The butterflies fly away

Sayin’ takbir, oh yeah

Make du’a, like yeah

When I put my hands down

And take a look around

I know I’m gonna be okay

Yeah, residentin’ in the KSA

Okay, so I’m not exactly a songwriter. But it embodies those first feelings I had when the conversation my husband and I had several months prior to this event (the one that began, “Why don’t you try to get a job in Saudi?”) culminated in the three of us – me, my hubby and our then 2-year-old daughter – landing in the middle of nowhere with nothing but some luggage and curiosity.

But before we go on, I want to share with you about how we got there in the first place.

After I finished grad school, I became a stay-at-home mom, and I tried to take on that personality of Domestic Diva – the one who cooks and cleans all day and greets her man at the door with fresh makeup and gorgeousness to spare. But it’s not me.

For dinner we’re having repressed emotions. And quiet desperation for dessert.

And, honestly, being a SAHM isn’t me, either. I have a lot of respect for women who do stay at home and raise the children and cook, clean, launder and look fabulous at 5 pm for their husbands. It made me lazy, overly tired (read: depressed), and I felt like I was failing as a wife.

I had been trying to learn Arabic in my free time (when I wasn’t busy being lazy?), but it wasn’t coming along as I expected. We were living in Florida, which is pretty insanely uncomfortable for me in general – plus, I am a hijabi, so just tack on another fifty degrees of perpetual grumpiness because I hate heat. I wanted to work, but I had no idea where to start. I had no contacts, and I had few friends.

Then one day, when my husband’s friend-slash-business partner was over for a visit, he mentioned trying to find a job in the Middle East, specifically Saudi Arabia. At first, the idea was almost a joke. When we got married, it was practically understood that I had no desire whatsoever to ever live in Saudi Arabia. My husband, a Palestinian-by-blood/Jordanian-by-nationality Arab, wasn’t exactly keen on the idea either. But ever-the-open-minded, he said, “Just try it, and see what happens.”

Me: Okay, but I’m not moving to Saudi Arabia.

Hubby: Yeah, yeah, I know . . . let’s just see if they offer you a job . . .

Me (going back inside from our screened-in back lanai): Okay . . . but I’m not moving to Saudi Arabia.

So, I applied for a job, and they wanted to interview me. I got up at some awful hour of the night to be waiting for the Skype call. The interview lasted approximately 3 minutes.

Husband (calling to me in the living room while still asleep): Was that it?

Me: Yeah . . .

Husband: I don’t think you got it.

Me: Ya think?

We went on with our lives, and I continued being a SAHM. I put the idea of working in the Middle East out of my mind, half relieved that we wouldn’t move to Saudi and half dejected because they weren’t interested.

Then out of nowhere, a few months later, I get an offer by email asking me to join the university as an instructor. Shocked, and duly unimpressed by the length of my interview, I sat with the hubby and shared the news.

Husband: I’ll ask (friend) if that’s a good offer.

Me: But we’re not moving to Saudi Arabia, right?

Husband: No, no . . . I just want to see if it’s a good offer.

Me: Okay, but we’re not moving to Saudi Arabia, right?

And he asked his friend, who told him it was a decent package.

So, we’re sitting outside one night after dinner, and we’re talking about the offer. I’m joking around about the likelihood of us ever moving to Saudi, and he’s talking about other countries in the Middle East where it might be nice to find work.

Husband: What do you think if we try it out?

Me: Try what out?

Husband: Saudi . . .

Me: Are you kidding? You want us to move to Saudi Arabia?!?!

Husband: I mean, I don’t want to force you. I was just thinking it would be interesting to . . . try it out.

Me: But what if we don’t like it? It’s a two-year contract.

Husband: If we don’t like it, we’ll come back.

Me: But what if I don’t like it?

Husband: I’m not going to stay somewhere you’re unhappy. If you don’t like it, we’ll leave.

Me: Yeah . . . (I think it over for a few minutes, ever-the-impulsive) Okay. Sure. Are you sure?

Husband: Why not?

Me: And if don’t like it, we’ll leave? We agree on that here? Absolutely?

Husband: Of course, insha’Allah.

Me (most likely cocking an eyebrow): We’ll leave. . . . ? . . .

Husband: . . . if we’re not happy. Yes.

So began the back-and-forth of paperwork and emails and negotiating that, eventually, led to us arriving in the Eastern Province of Saudi Arabia in the near-middle of the night. Luckily, my husband had a family member whose husband was also working at the same university I would be teaching at – different campus, of course. They gave us a warm welcome and some food, and the husband helped us get settled in our apartment, which wasn’t as bad as I expected.

And that is the beginning of our two-year residency in the Magical Kingdom.

Click here to find out if Stephanie likes the Saudi life, if the camels will obey the crossing sign we saw in the beginning, or if she will dress like a man just to get a driving fix. Click here for the continuation

12 Years a Spouse

March 7, 2014August 28, 2014 by Corbin ♥ 16 Comments

Written by Theresa Corbin

In one month, I will have been married for exactly 12 years.

And I don’t just say that because I love the future perfect tense of verbs. I say it because I am proud of this accomplishment. 12 years of fun, failing each other, forgiveness, and friendship. In these 12 years, I have learned a lot. I have learned that most fairy tales end at the wedding for a reason. I have learned a lot about the human condition and myself.

Allow me to introduce us:

My husband and I are both American Muslim converts. We are the same age. We come from the same area of the country. We both lack interest in football. We have the same sense of humor. And we didn’t know the other existed until we had an arranged marriage. The story of how that went down is here in case you are interested. And then we lived happily ever after … LOL

When we tell people our marriage would not have happened and would not work without Islam, the automatic response is “that is sad”. But it really isn’t. If you think about it, why else do people get together? They don’t want to go it alone. And they find someone who has similar beliefs and ambitions and try to make the load of two lives easier. Islam is our common belief and ambition.

And no matter what reason people come together, I think a lot of people treat marriage like it in itself is a religion (I blame fairy tales … lots of fairy tale talk. Probably because I saw Frozen three times and loved the non-traditional message).

Once people find a partner, they tend to approach marriage thinking the other party should offer them extravagant admiration and endless devotion and be perfect and constantly selfless and good smelling and save them from bad situations and on and on, i.e. they expect to be alternatively worshiped and saved. This kind of marriage has the seeds of failure and bitterness sown into its premise.

To me, there is nothing so harsh as expecting someone to be perfect and nothing as absurd as expecting selflessness from others (have you ever met people?). As Muslims, we understand that people should not be worshiped for many reasons not the least of which is that people are sometimes cranky.

Not only does Islam bring us together and give us perspective within our marriage, it also gives us a road map on how to treat each other: argue with manners, smile, treat each other with kindness, don’t be suspicious, respect each other, a good greeting increases love, don’t backbite, the strong person controls him or herself in anger, at least try to smell good for your spouse, what is his is hers and what is hers is hers, and so on.

So to commemorate our 12 year accomplishment, I have compiled a list of things we have said to each other that have enriched our marriage.

One for each year of marriage. I will not tell you who said what (you can try to guess), but I will tell you that with each comment a serious lesson was learned.

12. I am glad you understand that I am funnier than you.

11. I think your feelings are completely unfounded, but the fact that they are real to you makes them matter to me.

10. I grant you Fart Blanche.

9. I opp-o-lop-ogize. I did it on a porpoise. (stolen from someone else’s marriage)

8. Love should totally be conditional. If you killed me, I wouldn’t love you any more (we both agreed on this point).

7. Let’s have a dance party (translation: let’s sit on the couch and eat ice cream).

6. Wake up! It’s time to pray!

5. If you want to talk about money, just email me. It takes the sting out of the conversation.

4. “You’re ruining my life!” In the key of a 13 year-old girl (this is ridiculous and dramatic enough to diffuse any argument).

3. We have to move. We need two bathrooms.

2. Fine! I will learn how to play D&D.

1. I forgive you.

And for my next trick, I will now offer you some sage marriage advice:

1. Don’t take yourself so seriously.

2. You are probably a bigger idiot than you realize (This is general advice. I learned this the hard way).

3. Communicate!!!!

4. Sometimes you don’t like something about your spouse, but it is the very thing that you sometimes love. There is a hadith about this and it is so true.

5. If you are not both in it to win it, it is not going to work. Period.

Disclaimer: I do not parody the title of the movie 12 Years a Slave because I think marriage is like slavery nor do I do it because I think the evils of slavery in America are funny. It was just convenient timing on both the part of the movie and my marriage.

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I Didn’t Meme It

November 13, 2013August 30, 2014 by Corbin ♥ 5 Comments

Just for funsies and because things are getting waAAAAay too serious I have compiled (eh hem borrowed/stolen) some memes from American Muslim Memes.

For the Kitty Cat lover in you

cat

Not recommended but I have to admit I dream about doing this

salam

What my sister thinks when I make wudu at her house

wudu

For the young brothers

beards

For the older brothers

beard 2

For the white converts

white

For all my sisters who are trying to get married

sisters

For all my brothers who are trying to get married

dude

Totally!

sahoor

This post was brought to you by the letter “a”. “A” is for Apple, Allah, and Alrighty I gotta go.

And a special thanks to American Muslim Memes, you rock!

Have a great hump day, everyone!

Make It An Eid to Remember

October 11, 2013December 2, 2016 by Corbin ♥ 26 Comments

Written by Theresa Corbin

As the air becomes crisp and trees lose their leaves, something strange begins to happen in the West.

It commences with people young and old donning garb that might land them in the loony bin any other time of year; sporting baggage that would never make it past the most lax airport security checkpoint; and painting their faces- for one of two purposes- begging for candy or to go parading off to parties and bars.

But, then about a month later, everyone gathers with their kinfolk for awkward, sometimes annoying, and downright passive aggressive conversations while eating to the point of contemplating a trip to the ER for a quick stomach pump. Yes, turkey and stuffing can be that good.

But, then yet another month after that, folks ritually go out and kill a tree so they can drag it into their homes and fill it with lights and baubles. This dead tree will be the epicenter around which presents bought on borrowed money will be shared all while claiming an immortal fat man from an uninhabitable part of earth brought them.

Welcome to the holiday season. There is so much hype and pomp that goes along with it that Muslims often feel drawn to participate in the “cheer”. But why celebrate these holidays when we have the two Eids that can be as cheerful?

But when you live in the West, the Eids pale in comparison to the blow outs the non-Muslims celebrate.

What are our Eid traditions?

1. We wake up. Dress up. Go to the Eid prayer.

2. We may or may not stay for the khutbah (lecture) after.

3. We may or may not go and have breakfast.

4. Since we are in the West and the Eids are not recognized as national holidays, it is highly likely that we will have to rush off to work or school at some point.

Even though the morning is filled with activities, the rest of the day falls flat like a bad souffle (not that I have ever made a souffle).

When I first converted to Islam and for several Eids after, I was bummed that Eid seemed like weak sauce compared to the holiday celebrations I had left behind. It seemed like the entire country glowed around the major holidays, but when the Eids came around, sure there would be tons of congrats exchanged at prayer, but then the Eid outfits would come off and the workaday clothes would come back on. And it was back to the daily grind almost instantly.

But then I decided that if I wanted Eid to be special, then I needed to make it special.

If each Muslim family, individual, or community made their Eid special for themselves and told those around them what Eid is, then Eid would be special. What is stopping us? Do we really need department stores to tell us to celebrate by having a holiday sale? Do we have to be reminded by a hallmark commercial that Eid is time for happiness?

Are we waiting for big corporations to commercialize our holidays? Are we waiting for community events or our bosses to ask you if we want Eid off (it will likely never happen)?

Let’s make the Eids special for our families and communities so that we don’t feel cheated out of holiday happiness. Celebrate your holidays. Take the Eids off. Keep the kids home from school. Make memories. Make it something to look forward too.

Decorate the house. Play games with the family. Make special dishes that everyone loves. Send gifts to your neighbors (if they don’t know what Eid is, then tell them).

And husbands, don’t sit back on the couch while your wife runs around making Eid merry. Get off your butt, and make Eid merry with her!

Download free decorations for your home here or click on the pic below:

Have activities for the whole family. Clickity click here.

Make something tasty for your loved ones. Try some traditional Eastern Eid dishes (recipes here) or make your own fav comfort foods.

from www.craftionary.net — from http://www.craftionary.net

Make it an Eid to Remember!

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Where Were You? Where Are You Now?: The Anniversary of 9/11

September 11, 2013December 1, 2016 by Corbin ♥ 12 Comments

Written by Theresa Corbin

When people remember 9/11/01 they often ask one another, where were you? So, where were you?

I was on the verge of my 21st birthday, and on my way to the first day at a new job. I heard of the first plane crash on the radio (as it was thought to be an accident at that point) and didn’t think much of it, but that it was a sad loss of life.

By the time I reached the mall (I was to be the new sales girl at New York & Co.) and went to the back of the store for training, the morning news anchors on the small TV used for training videos were telling us of the second plane crash.

My new coworkers and I were shocked. We stood around the tiny screen in silence. I can’t remember what happened next except that I sat down. I think the training videos were playing, but my mind was somewhere else.

I felt a certain sense of urgency in the air like a weather forecaster had just announced a Cat 5 hurricane was making landfall in the neighborhood. The who, what, why, or how was unknown.

An hour later, after more was known about the crashes, the mall was closed because our country was officially under attack. I never got to finish watching (or even start) those training videos.

Like most people’s, my life was never the same. At this point, I considered myself an unofficial Muslim. I believed in God, and his messengers from Adam to Moses to Jesus to Muhammad (Peace be upon them). I believed in the original revelation of the Torah, the Bible, and the Quran.

I held these beliefs in my heart, but never made my declaration of faith out loud (the shahada). I had been studying religions since my journey began in 1998–read more about it here, and here.

Then the backlash came. Since “Muslims” were taking credit for the attacks, the natural reaction for the public was to attack back. The religion in whose name the atrocities were committed and all those who followed this religion were slandered, drug through the dirt, tried and convicted as backward, corrupt, and guilty in the court of public opinion.

Life changed for Americans. Life changed for Muslims. Life really changed for Muslim Americans.

I saw the way people treated my Muslim friends. I saw Muslims being cursed in public. I saw Muslim owned businesses close because people no longer went to them or even started rumors about the owners. I saw Muslim women being targeted in public with slander and slurs.

Because of backlash like this, I could not keep quiet while people who I shared a belief with were slandered and suffering. I spoke up. “This is not Islam”; “This is not a part of what Muslims believe”; “Muslims are just trying to make there way in this world, and raise their families, just like you and me”; “Muslims aren’t all terrorists”, “They believe in, we believe in making peace not starting war”.

“Ash hadu an La illaha ill Allah wa ash hadu anna Muhammad ar Rasulullah“: I bear witness that there is no god but God, and that Muhammad is His messenger (Peace and Blessings be Upon Him). Two months after 9/11/01 I said this testament of faith or the shahada out loud, for the world to hear.

I couldn’t pretend to be something other than a Muslim anymore. I couldn’t sit back and watch my fellow Muslims being slandered and not say anything.

After coming out of the closet as a Muslim, it was as if a cloud in my mind had cleared. The world that had been so chaotic, sad, and confusing, came into perfect focus. It was more than metaphorical: it was a physical clearing away of senseless actions that lead to a mass of cluttered and confused paths. Paths that had been lain before me. Paths that I had been pulled toward by the generations that preceded me and pushed toward by those who were waiting to come after.

By the will of Allah (SWT), I removed myself from this deafening destruction that had me chasing my tail and the approval of those who would eternally withhold it. My path became singular. I was made to please my Creator, and that is what I intended to do.

After becoming a Muslim, for the first time in my life I became the “other”. I came to my conversion knowing this would be the case. But the reality of it was both liberating and oppressing. On one hand, I finally knew where I stood.

As a Muslim, I know I was valued as a member of my community and as a believer. As an American, I knew I would be disliked for exercising my freedom of religion. I was still being judged, but at least now I wasn’t being judged for my jean size, I was being judged for standing up for my beliefs.

As a human being, I never knew how lonely it could be to be the “other”. I never knew how hard it could be to be thought of as less than human. I never knew how unnerving it could be to be stared at like a freak.

And I never knew how strong a belief could make me. I never thought I could withstand the curses yelled at me and still smile. I never thought I could love something so intangible as faith. I never thought I could be a better version of myself.

The world has changed since 9/11/01. A lot of it for the worse, but I think there are millions of little silver linings. My life has changed since 9/11/01: a lot of it is far, far better, but nothing in this world is perfect.

So where were you on 9/11/01? And where are you now?

On The Matter of Not Muslim Enough

July 17, 2013November 25, 2016 by Corbin ♥ 32 Comments

Written by Theresa Corbin

Islam is not meant for a specific nation, a specific race, or a specific place. Islam is meant for all mankind for all time.

It can be amazing to see young and old, rich and poor, people from all corners of the world praying together as one, breaking fast together as one big, happy family, and sharing thoughts and knowledge with one another as beloved companions.

It is truly beautiful, and I look forward to this kinship in the masjid (mosque), no matter what city I happen to be living in. And I feel like my home town has a very blessed community with brothers and sisters of great humility and sincerity.

However, I have, in the past seen and heard terrible tales of astounding acts of ugliness that come with the pride of culture or nationalism.

I am referring to any person born into a Muslim family who feels the need to treat converts as if their faith is less valid, always eyeing them as if they cannot be trusted and will apostate at any moment, always excluding them as if they are not “Muslim enough” because they don’t have a certain last name or skin tone (and unfortunately this kind of ugliness is not only dished out to converts).

As many converts have before me, I came to Islam loving the example of the Prophet (PBUH) and his companions (RadiAllahu Anhum: May Allah be pleased with them) and hoped to meet their present day heirs, the Muslims.

I am sad to say that sometimes I and other converts cannot find them. While, I advise new Muslims to be patient and gracious as they navigate the politics and culture of raised Muslims, I do not excuse this kind of behavior.

It must be easy for those who are born into Muslim families to practice, while we converts have to struggle against what feels like the entire world just so we can be practicing Muslims.

Don’t be arrogant, you had no choice in where you were born and to what family. Had you been born in the West to a non-Muslim family, would you have made an effort to look for the truth? Would you have been open to the truth of Islam in the face of all the lies your culture and community have told you about it? Would you have the courage to stand up and say you are a Muslim, even if you were the only Muslim in your school, in your town, in your state?

Perhaps it is the convert that should question the faith of those who claim Islam through their parents and have never had to fight for it. Perhaps it is the convert who should question the faith of those who call themselves Muslims, but only practice what their culture dictates, and then only when it is convenient for them.

No, perhaps not, it is not for anyone to question anyone else’s faith, whether convert or otherwise. Let us leave this to Allah, and we can only know each other through our actions. We will never be able to see what is in each others’ hearts.

BUT Don’t be confused. You may be an Arab, but that doesn’t make you the owner of Islam.

Don’t get it twisted. You may be Asian, but that doesn’t make you the keeper of the faith.

All too often converts come to the masjid to find that it is nothing more than a cultural center. Arabs going to the Arab masajid and Asians going to the Asian masajid.

Brothers and sisters take it upon themselves to become the “haram” police with no manner of tact or gentleness. And for the few fortunate converts that are accepted into an almost tribal clique, the leaders try to impose their own culture (which all too often is confused for Islam) upon the newly converted.

There is nothing wrong with having a cultural community center, but don’t call it a masjid if you are not open to all Muslims. Do not call it a masjid if you are not there to help the Muslims in the community. Do not call it a masjid if you are not there to create a multi-ethnic/cultural, Muslim community.

And please:

Stop asking converts if they know how to cook some dish from your country or dessert your mother made back home. This doesn’t make anyone more or less Muslim. This is your culture.
Stop telling newly converted Muslims that they must wear the thobe, abaya, or a shalwar khameez, because “this is how Muslims dress”. This is your culture. As long as men and women dress modestly, they can wear the clothes from their own culture.
Stop grilling converts about their stance on all aspects of politics in the Middle East and “back home”. They didn’t come to Islam as if it were the Democratic Convention. Teach them the religion. Then discuss politics as a separate matter.

While it is true that if you are Arab, you are from the same general area, ethnicity, and you speak the same language (kind of) as the Prophet (PBUH), but did you forget that it was also the same people from that same ethnicity that tried to kill the Prophet (PBUH)?

While it is true that the Asian persuasion boasts the biggest percentage of the Muslims in the ummah. It is also true that in the Prophet’s (PBUH) last sermon he urged his followers to understand that:

All mankind is from Adam and Eve, an Arab has no superiority over a non-Arab nor a non-Arab has any superiority over an Arab; also a white has no superiority over black nor a black has any superiority over white except by piety and good action. Learn that every Muslim is a brother to every Muslim and that the Muslims constitute one brotherhood.

Say “Salam” to a new Muslim. Even if they aren’t from your tribe, they are still your brother or sister. Don’t be ignorant. Don’t be exclusionary. Don’t be racist. And the fact that I feel the need to even say this reflects the seriously sad state of the ummah.

Have you forgotten that ALL the companions of The Prophet (PBUH) were converts?

And you are supposed to be the Ansar (the helpers).

Truly think about that. If you have had the occasion to meet a convert, have you tried to help them? I mean truly help them by offering protection, financial assistance if needed (many converts lose everything when converting), your time, and effort to teach them how to pray? Or have you spat out a list of haram and halal, and then just lectured them about how they aren’t “doing” Islam right?

Just like those who make dawah (invite to Islam) and give the message of Islam to the people will be rewarded for their efforts, so too will the people who push folks away and out of Islam be rewarded with a punishment from their Lord for their evil actions.

Arrogance, national/cultural pride, haughtiness, etc. have NO place in Islam. We are all Muslims however we came to our faith, in whatever part of the world we originate from, we are all one community, one ummah (nation of Muslims).

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islamwich

one slice muslim. one slice 'merican. and all that comes between.

Category: Convert Central

Stephanie Goes to the Magic Kingdom Part II: It’s All So Strangely Familiar

When I left off, I had just arrived in Saudi Arabia (read part I here)

STARING.

Tune in next time to see how the “Hysterical Woman Syndrome” is still alive and kickin’ in the good ol’ Magic Kingdom!

Stephanie Goes to the Magic Kingdom