Glimpses of the Island

New Friends

Cathy was busily planning dinner and the necessary grocery shopping for the next week when the phone rang. "Hi, Cathy, it's Anna. I'm going over to visit my dear friend Fatima Maktoum for lunch. You met her when you took your classes. Anyway, she has permission from her husband to extend an invitation for us to visit her home. Why don't you ask Mark if you can come along with me?"

"Sure, I'd love to go. I'll send Mark an e-mail right now. Oh, is there anything special I should do? I've never been in the Muslim section of town."

"Don't worry, there aren't any Taliban. No religious police on every corner. Let Mark know you need to dress conservatively, long skirt and no bare arms. It would be polite to have a scarf over your head too but it's not mandatory. Oh yeah, don't expect a ham sandwich and a beer for lunch either."

Cathy laughed. "I know that much. Okay, let me see what Mark thinks. He keeps telling me he wants me to get out of the house more, so I'm sure he'll approve. What time?"

"How about I pick you up at 10:30? Fatima is going to fix a Middle Eastern style lunch. Trust me, you'll want the falafel recipe. Unless I hear from you I'll assume we're on for then."

After she finished talking to Anna on the phone Cathy went into the living room and sat down at the computer. She wrote out a quick summary of Anna's call in an e-mail to Mark and asked if she could accept. As an afterthought she included the part about a scarf. Clicking the send button she sat back and thought about Anna's call.

She and Mark came from Southern California, one of the more cosmopolitan parts of the United States, but even so she didn't know much about the Middle Eastern way of life. Cathy did remember that Fatima had mentioned she came from the Emirates, a modern country with a standard of living comparable to Europe or America. The contrasts to her own upbringing would be interesting to see.

Mark must have been busy because he didn't answer. She hesitated, unsure if she should go, but he had made it clear she could go out during the day at her own discretion, as long as she let him know. She couldn't think of any reason he would object.

Based on what Anna had said on the phone Cathy knew the dress she had on wouldn't be appropriate for the visit, so she went into their bedroom to change. She even found a scarf for her hair. Taking one last look in the mirror she checked to make sure her appearance wouldn't be outside Mark's preferences. She'd ask him when she got back but she was satisfied there were no glaring violations.

Anna pulled into the driveway a few minutes after ten thirty. Cathy remembered to grab her travel card before she went out the door. She got in next to Anna.

It didn't take long to drive to the Muslim section of town. The biggest change Cathy could see was the sign lettering, primarily in Arabic but often with an English translation underneath. The majority of women on the street wore traditional garb, but not all. She even saw one woman in a western style dress with a collar around her neck.

Anna turned off the main street and parked in front of a house. When they got out of the car they were met by Fatima at the front door. She invited them in and showed them around the house before they sat down for lunch.

"Do you mind if I ask you about those long tent-like dresses you have to wear?" Cathy asked. "Doesn't it bother you that you have to go out in public covered up like that?" She sipped at the oddly flavored tea, very sweet and hot by American standards.

Fatima laughed. "No, it doesn't bother me at all. That's a common misconception by those raised in western countries. Where I grew up the hijab , that's the Islamic dress code for women, is universally accepted. I suppose it's all in one's viewpoint. I think you would be pleasantly surprised at the changes if you were to, what is that American expression, walk a kilometer in my shoes?"

Cathy was quiet for a moment, thinking about what Fatima had indirectly suggested. What if she did "walk a mile" as a proper Muslim woman? "Could I actually do that, go out in public dressed that way? Would it offend anyone, or violate some island law?"

"You would have to have your husband's permission of course. Because your collar and travel card would be covered as well, you should have something in writing from your master that he has allowed you an exemption. I can't imagine why anyone in the neighborhood would object, as long as you didn't go in the mosque or act in an disrespectful manner. Besides, if you think about it, how will anyone know who you are? All you have to do is wear a niqab , that's the veil which covers the face except for the eyes."

"A veil too? That sounds so exotic. Oh, what about the card? Don't I have to show it in public? How is that handled?"

"When wearing hijab the law specifies you must carry the card and present it on demand but you do not display it. That would defeat the purpose if your features are to be concealed from strangers." Fatima opened her purse and took out her card. "Notice the picture on the front? The scarf means I am required to cover my head in public." She turned her card over. On the back was a stamp in one corner with some Arabic script. "This stamp indicates I am required by my husband to meet the minimal hijab standards when in public and not in his company. Face and hands only may be uncovered, clothes must be loose-fitting and in a feminine style. The workplace is exempted if it's indoors."

Cathy nodded. "So that's why you can wear a suit when you teach the classes?"

Fatima answered, "Yes, but work is not public. I don't have the card with me. My husband has to drop me off and pick me up. I can't leave the building on my own."

Anna added, "There are several stamps that can go on the back of the card. Take Fatima's for example. There can be one to require the niqab , the veil, or it might restrict her to more conservative dress, either a chador or a burqa . The burqa completely covers you from head to toe. The veil is an integral part, with only a small lace rectangle for you to see through. It's not a common practice outside of Fatima's community here. It's a matter of what goes into your ownership agreement. If there are no stipulations regarding religious practices then the subject doesn't come up." Cathy handed the card back to Fatima.

"Mark has a rule that I have to wear a skirt or dress. Could he have done the same thing, have the Records office put some mark on my card?"

Anna shook her head. "No, Cathy, it's used only for matters of faith-based practices. The church John and I belong to have tenets that specifically interpret the Bible to require women to dress in a certain way. The same with Fatima and the Koran. Both our husbands agreed to ensure we do not, well, I guess 'sin' is the word, we do not sin by breaking the commandments we must live by."

"I understand," Cathy said. "Mark and I are not religious, so his rule is sort of private? He is the only one who enforces it?"

"Exactly," Anna told her. "The general principle is that your owner, husband in our case, is responsible for the details on how you are to behave, not society as a whole. Where we all play a part is to see that the minimums are kept. Those of us who accept ownership status also agree to public enforcement of a certain standard of behavior. Part of the uniqueness to living here on the Island is that those standards can be extended for certain groups. We know what it means to wear a collar. Some of us have an additional set of rules to live by. If I were back in Alberta it would be voluntary; here it is mandatory. I would behave the same in either place, but I feel better about it here."

Cathy turned back to Fatima. "So if Mark does give his permission I could maybe go out with you some time, wearing all those things? I don't want to impose on you."

"It would be my pleasure Cathy. I'm sure I have something to fit you. I will have to ask my husband first, but I don't think he will object. As long as we don't go to prayers I don't see any harm."

That night over dinner Cathy told Mark about her visit. "So I thought I'd better learn how this hijab dress code works just in case I forget and wear something you didn't approve of beforehand." Mark laughed at her reasoning.

"Seriously, Mark, I'd like to see what it's like, mostly out of curiosity. It's quite a contrast. Fatima and her family come from a modern country, same standard of living as us, but they have such a different approach to how they structure their lives. She takes for granted what I've had to struggle to recognize and accept."

Mark leaned back in his chair, rubbing his chin in thought. "My only concern is if you violate some religious prohibition or tradition. If your friend Fatima is confident there won't be a problem then yes, you can do it. I'll write out a note stating you have permission, just on the off chance someone complains."

The next morning Cathy called Fatima. Her husband had also given his approval with some restrictions. Cathy agreed to the conditions, which seemed reasonable. They set a time for tomorrow afternoon to meet.

When Cathy arrived the next day Fatima took her right to the wardrobe. "First you start with a jilbab ." Fatima took what looked to be a cross between a dress and a coat out of her closet. Expecting drab black or brown Cathy was surprised at the bright blue floral pattern. She asked Fatima about it.

"It varies by locale. Observant conservative Muslims do not approve of color, while those of us from more liberal countries feel variety is not haram , that's the word for sinful. In your own country, in New York City, you have the Orthodox and Reformed Jews. Islam has the same spectrum. I have a plain black chador too, from a trip to Iran several years ago, if you'd rather try that on? Personally, I think this one is prettier."

Cathy felt the material. "So do I. I've seen pictures of those black things. I sort of expected that's what you would have for me. This is much nicer. Can I try it on?"

Fatima helped her change. "This isn't everything of course, just the start. Make sure it's a loose fit."

"I thought it would be much heavier. This is really very comfortable." Cathy looked at herself in the mirror on Fatima's dresser.

"It's summer wear, cotton cloth. In winter we wear wool if it's cold. Next you must cover your head and shoulders with what we call the hijab ." Fatima took what appeared to be a long triangular scarf out of a drawer. "You must completely cover your hair, everything except your face. " She showed Cathy how to start at the top of her head and finish with it draped over her shoulders. "A couple of clips to hold everything in place and you're ready." She took a handful of small plastic clips out a box in her drawer. "There you are. You now meet the minimum requirements for a good muslimah . Take a look in the mirror."

Cathy marveled at the change. Mark wouldn't even recognize her. The only skin showing was her face and hands. Her figure was all but invisible. "I thought there was a veil too. Is that something from the movies?"

Fatima opened another drawer. "It is called a niqab . In strict terms it's not directly ordered by the Koran. In most countries it is up to the individual. My husband doesn't usually require it, but there are times he asks me to wear one. Basically it's just a light scarf with a loose weave so you can breathe through it." She held up what looked like a regular scarf. "Let me show you. First we need to undo your hijab …"

When Fatima finished Cathy looked in the mirror again. All that were visible were her eyes. No one could possibly recognize her now. "This is amazing. There's no way to tell who is underneath all this. How do you recognize your friends if you pass them by on the street?"

"First of all, we aren't supposed to be walking the streets to socialize. The telephone or the internet is the preferred way to keep in touch. We visit each other in our homes. Remember, and this applies to you too, we aren't supposed to leave the house without our husband's permission.

"Aside from that, not too many choose to cover their face. For those who do," Fatima took a large light blue dress type outfit from her closet, "they may wear either a niqab , as you have on, or a burqa like this one. It completely covers your head. You have this small lace covered square to see." She pointed out a panel in the head dress.

"How do I recognize my friends? Usually by voice, or sometimes the outfit. Or I don't recognize them. Where burqas are common you have to rely on the voice, or perhaps a small child with their mother. My husband's grandmother was born in eastern Iran, a place called Baluchistan, which is very conservative, like your Bible Belt in the States. Two years ago we visited his relatives there. The entire time a burqa was all I could wear in public."

Cathy took the burqa from Fatima and held it up to examine it in closer detail. "I'm not sure I could go all day in something like this."

Fatima laughed. "In certain parts of the world you don't have a choice. Either you stay indoors or you go out properly dressed. Besides, if your husband decides it is required you do as he says."

Cathy nodded, "Yes, there is that. I suppose if Mark told me what to wear I'd have to do the same." She stopped, realizing he had done just that.

Fatima changed into a jilbab and hijab similar to Cathy's, but without a veil. "I usually visit the park to watch my son's soccer practice after his school is over. Would you like to come with? Afterward we can stop at the grocery store. It will give you a small look at a typical day. I think you will find our little community here is not so different from any other neighborhood."

Cathy wanted to go but hesitated. "I can't speak Arabic."

Fatima smiled. "Few Muslims can. English is the common second language here. Otherwise we'd have to learn Farsi, Urdu, Pashto, Malay, Turkish, all kinds of languages. Don't worry; you won't be at a disadvantage."

"Then I'd love to go see soccer practice. How many children do you have?"

"My son Tariq, he's 12, and daughter Aliyah, she's 16." Fatima finished dressing, tucking in a few stray wisps of hair. "There are a few items to go over before we go outside. My husband asked that I mention this to you. Unless you need to transact business you should not speak to the men. If you are introduced, do not offer or shake hands. You should not sit next to a man either. The sexes are supposed to be separated as much as possible, so we will have our own sections in the park. Just follow me and watch what I do."

Stealing one last glance in the mirror Cathy decided to go for the full experience. "Would it be okay if I wore the veil outside?"

"Of course, but you will have to keep it on. It is in bad taste to take off a niqab in public."

Outside the front door Fatima pointed to their left. "The park is that way. School should be ending right about now." Several older children were passing by on the sidewalk. "Oh, I almost forgot. What is your father's name? I will need it if I have to introduce you."

"My father?" Cathy was puzzled. "His name is Frank, Frank Wainwright. Why do you ask?"

"In Arabic custom you would be introduced as Cathy bint Frank Wainwright, the son or daughter of your father's name. In Islam a woman does not change her name when she marries. It's more common to follow western practice here on the Island. If you remember I used my husband's last name at the school, Fatima Maktoum. My legal name is actually Fatima bint Ibrahim Aziz. That's the form I use if signing a document in Arabic. Not everyone follows the custom, but our family is very traditional, as you might guess."

"I didn't know that. Cathy bint Frank it is for the afternoon."

The two women continued their walk to the park. At one point they passed by several men working on the street, replacing a section of buried pipe. In Los Angeles Cathy knew she'd receive looks from all of them and maybe a crude comment or two after she passed by. Here they didn't even look at her. After they were out of earshot she asked Fatima about it.

"It is said that the hijab frees a woman from the prison of a man's stare. We dress only to please our husbands, and then in private for his eyes alone. Every time I hear a woman from Europe or America telling me how bad off I am I struggle not to laugh. She is the one who is oppressed, forced to exhibit herself for all to see." She stopped and put a hand on Cathy's forearm. "Tell me, am I having a bad hair day?"

Cathy laughed. "I see your point."

They arrived at the entrance to the park. The soccer field was busy with several teams practicing. Fatima pointed to one side, where several other women were sitting or standing by some bleachers. "That section is set aside for the unescorted soccer moms like myself, come to see how brilliantly their son is playing while roundly cursing the team manager for not letting him in the game more often." She waved to one boy leaning against the fence changing his shoes. "That's my son, Tariq. Come, we can sit down and watch." She led the way to an empty place on the benches.

"Are you concerned about raising kids here on the Island?" Cathy asked during a lull in the practice session on the soccer field.

"No, not at all. My husband and I talked about it many times. We came to two conclusions. First, as parents we have a right, perhaps even an obligation to pass our values onto the next generation. And second, neither of us is ashamed of whom we are or the life we have chosen." Fatima stopped and gestured toward a group of teenage girls approaching them. "That's my daughter, Aliyah, in the peach colored scarf."

Fatima said something to her daughter in Arabic when the group reached the bleachers. She quickly switched to English, which everyone seemed to understand. "Aliyah, this is my friend Cathy Sturgis bint Wainwright."

"Pleased to meet you, Mrs. Sturgis." Aliyah spoke English with the same trace of British accent. She turned to her mother. "We were going to go look at some new CD's at the mall. Is it okay if I go along?"

"Be back before your father gets home." Fatima turned back to Cathy as the teens left, shaking her head. "By a remarkable coincidence the boys tend to gather at the fast food place just across the way from the music store. I remember what it was like when I was a teenager, and as long as they stay in a group I don't worry too much. She's a good daughter and wouldn't do anything improper. My husband would have her in purdah , locked away in a room far away from adolescent boys but I managed to persuade him to be a little more modern. Truth is, he goes soft and gives in whenever she wants something, a common problems with fathers. I'm the one who has to tell her no."

Cathy nodded in understanding. "My father was the same way. Fatima, if you don't mind me asking, what does your daughter think about our lifestyle, here on the Island? Do you want the same for her?"

"I don't mind. She is old enough now that we talk about it. I explain to her why I'm here, why I wear her father's collar, and how I believe it is consistent with Islam and a woman's place in the world. Both my husband and I also make sure she understands she has other choices. We hope for her to study abroad when she graduates, perhaps Britain or the States. If she finds another path in life we will support her. Meanwhile we teach both of them how to make their own way in the world, like parents everywhere."

Out on the soccer pitch the team split up and began playing against each other, practicing offense and defense. Fatima pointed out her son and explained what the striker position in soccer meant.

When soccer practice finished the two women left the bleachers and went to meet Tariq. At that moment Cathy's veil began to slip off. She tapped Fatima on the shoulder to get her attention. Fatima saw the problem at once. She called out something in Arabic and several of the other soccer moms gathered round. "Not to worry, Cathy. Looks like one of the clips fell off. Happens all the time, I always carry a few extra." Though her face was exposed while Fatima worked, the other women crowded around to make sure no one could see her. When Fatima finished she said something else in Arabic. The group dispersed.

Fatima explained while they waited for her son by the gate. "Remember that part of the classes, where we talked about the obligations on all of us to preserve our way of life here on the Island? What you just saw was part of it, though the tradition goes back much further. It was your duty to make sure your face was properly covered. We all made sure you could honor your obligation. By the way, you made a good impression on the rest of the team mothers, especially the older ones." Cathy had noticed she wasn't the only one with a veil.