As the father

I prayed that insha'allah she would be ok, there was nothing I could do for her at this moment. As a man I had no idea how hard it was to wear the khimar and to feel so different from those around me, it wasnt something I had to deal with. Allah had bought me into my wifes life for some reason and it was our fate that Zara would see life without total Islam, that was something we had to deal with.

Sometimes I was shocked at how strange it felt walking next to her with her head uncovered. I noticed noone staring extra hard, why would they? They didnt know she used to cover it! It was during these walks that I started to truly reach out and understand my daughter, yes hijab was in the Quran for men and women but it was still something that people chose. Yes we know there are consequences but there is no compulsion in Islam, thats what I was always raised with by my parents.

As Zara walked around the streets on errands that needed to be done, I watched as she composed herself, how she talked to people, helped the old lady with her shopping, I listened as she was praised by numerous people while she stood blushing looking to the floor. After Zara took off her scarf I began to see the person the scarf had made her, maybe this is why I couldnt understand why she had decided to take it off. I asked her once this in the line of a question, her answer? 'the scarf didnt make me this person, it just hid it from everyone else. From a muslim it was expected, so hidden and from a non muslim the scarf wasnt looked past' My child has grown into such a caring woman alhamdulillah

Maybe that was why the colour change was such a shock to me. It wasnt the woman I had come to know over the last few months, that woman didnt need the shock factor. That scared me, I had never pretended to know Zara, now I thought that I was beginning to and for that I was grateful. However, now I was back to not knowing her again.

I lowered my head as I pulled on my coat and reached for the door to escape my thoughts and the tensions in the house. I closed the door to the soft weeping of my wife in the kitchen.

As I rest my head in my hands I wonder where it all began, was it my fault she had turned like this? why didnt I choose Islam earlier so she hadnt already been used to the bad world out there? First it was the ripping off of her hijab, the change in schools and now the hair colour, is this what I had done to my own mother? I was given no respect and it wasnt just me, I could see how this was affecting her father too as he sat across the table from me massaging his temper to try to calm himself.

I lean towards him, push my hand to the middle of the table in some sort of comfort, he places his hand ontop of mine, holds it gently and says so quietly that I have to strain my ears to hear his words 'what more can we do?' I pray that we dont give up on Zara because I know how it feels to be lost in this world without a faith, I had been through that and I believed that taking Islam as my own was a gift I was giving to my children from my creator. I only prayed that she saw this before it was too late.

Yusuf stood up from the chair and moved to the window, he placed the kettle on the stove just as Hawa walked through the door and at that instance my mind ran away from me imagining how this would affect her. Would we have to go through the same thing? she sat on my knee tired after running from her friends house down the road. She was only 2 years younger than Zara but never really remembered not being around Islam as much as Zara, she had followed her father around more when she was a child so was exposed in that way. She had been wearing hijab for 2 years now, was in the same Islamic school as Zara had been but showed no signs from changing things as her sister had.

In hind sight, we should have known problems were coming, it was only a matter of time. As I sat with her on my knee I hugged her so tightly I thought I would never let go until she fidgeted and told me 'Mum, i have to go. Me and asma are learning a new surah so I have to go sort it out.' I nodded as I let her go and just as she walked out the door I wiped a single tear off my cheek. As if reading my mind my husband walked past me, kissed me softly on the head and told me 'she will be ok, insha'allah' Insha'allah I reminded myself

My child

It all started one evening when I got home from school, well that was when it started for my mum and for the rest of my family. Things were out in the open from that evening Zara, thats me, was always the odd one out and had now come home with pink hair over her natural straight black hair. I had also had it cut into a bob length when it had never been past my mid back since I was little, but I was sick of conforming to the family and needed to be my own person. My mum hadnt been happy when I told her 5 months earlier that I was taking off my hijab and leaving the islamic school I had joined 3 years earlier to find myself in a public school, with white kids, black kids, children from broken homes, with drug and/or alcohol problems and kids with more metal in their front ends than most of the cars we had ever owned. I was sick of being the muslim girl.. yes I was still muslim but I wanted people to know me before they knew my beliefs and in hijab I couldnt do that. I didnt feel comfortable wearing it anymore when I knew in my heart that I was beginning to question those very beliefs that had been instilled in me since I was a young girl.

Let me explain my family a little. My mum came from your average middle class white family, her father worked hard to get her through school, college and then at university, away from home for the first time, she met my father. He was a recent immigrant into UK, coming from Africa to find a better life for himself away from famine, war, oppression and death. It was hard for him, he couldnt find a job and didnt speak much english so he contacted a number on a local notice board for english lessons in return for information regarding Africa for research. That teacher wasnt my mum, but the teacher couldnt make his first lesson and convinced my mum to take just this one lesson for 10 pounds (which was a lot in those days), she agreed finally and thats how they met. She learnt about his religion, in time they got married, without my mums family present, 1 year later I was born then 5 years later she accepted Islam. Even at that age I realised the restrictions that Islam put on women, I stop playing outside with the boys, I covered my skin and in time I had to cover my hair. I never once blamed my mum, my father doted on me and I knew they were trying to do their best for me.

Now to the present, I walked in the door saw the shock on my mums face and before she could say anything I stormed upstairs and slammed my door to shouts of 'young lady, get down here' from my father. I sat at my dressing table and brushed my new hairstyle, I was happy but it hurt for the pain I had caused my family... but this had to be done, I wasnt a child anymore and they had to understand this. I was a teenager now!!