, I wanted to balance things out a bit, so I often wore a baker-boy cap when we went out to do our respective research. The groundskeeper saw a hijabi and non-hijabi walk into the house one day and a niqabi and cap-wearing person walk out of the house the next.
But, one day, we walked into a café in Dorchester and there was a palpable pause. People stared. Shai was in her niqab, which she had worn only a handful of times because, while she’s steely, even she has her limits: she feared how people would react. And her fears had proven correct: even I could see how her being clad in black, coupled with a pair of thick-rimmed glasses, was disconcerting in a sea of white faces.
I wondered how we Muslims have to shed parts of our attire in order for our skin colour to be palatable to others.“I don’t have a problem with you, love. It’s those glasses that kill your outfit,” he said.We laughed. He told us about his time in Afghanistan while he’d been in the army. He’d met plenty of Muslims there; according to him, we weren’t all bad.We nodded.
We continued to talk about light-hearted things like identity, terrorism, and Brexit. Shai was chalking this up to a positive experience – one of the very few she’d had whenever she wore the niqab. She had voluntarily othered herself and appreciated any kindness she received. I had voluntarily made myself more palatable and was resentful of any looks I got.Finally, it was time for our friend to leave – his parking meter was running out.
Wrote this mahsudasnaith in case it interests you? X