The Face Behind the Veil

by Donna Gehrke-White

  Yuko’s rebellion extended to church doctrine. She began having second thoughts about the idea that only Jesus was the answer to salvation and that non-Christians automatically didn’t go to heaven. “That meant everyone on Mother’s side was going to hell,” Yuko says, a thought she found disturbing.

  Again, Yuko went to church leaders to answer her questions. What if her mother’s family hadn’t been told of Christianity? How could they be doomed if they never knew Jesus? She asked her mother whether there had been missionaries in Japan and her mother vaguely remembered some when she was in her twenties. Bolstered with this evidence that her mother’s family might have never had the opportunity to know about Christ, Yuko asked her youth leader how could they be doomed to hell. “Basically, he couldn’t answer me,” she remembers. He just reiterated that people had to accept Jesus Christ into their lives in order to go to heaven, and warned her: “Don’t ask all these questions. It’s the devil at work.”

  Yuko accepted it, at least outwardly. But, she says, “In my heart I didn’t agree with him. I kept thinking, God gave me this mind and I can’t use it?”

  After graduating from high school, she decided to leave the church. She felt terrible—she missed her faith. She began searching for a new religion.

  Yuko found it in a doctor’s office.

  In a magazine left in the waiting room, she saw an article about Islam. She became fascinated by the religion. “This, of course, was no accident: I believe this was an answer to my many prayers for guidance,” Yuko claims. She became attracted to its diversity, its welcoming all races and anyone interested.

  “I loved it,” she says. “Islam is a lot more tolerant. It’s amazing how much diversity you see.”

  She started wearing a scarf over her hair, and soon got used to her new Muslim ways.

  She met her future husband, Ahmad, a Lebanese student studying engineering. He had a diverse background too: His mother’s side was Turkish; his father’s family was from Syria. Some of the family members looked European, others more Middle Eastern.

  Yuko didn’t know it at the time but Ahmad was looking for a wife. In the Middle Eastern way, he felt he couldn’t come right out and ask Yuko for a date. He needed an intermediary. So Ahmad hooked up with a friend from the mosque, who also knew Yuko. “Do you think he’s cute?” the matchmaking friend asked Yuko.

  “He’s got Coke-bottle glasses,” she replied. (This was the 1980s; now, thanks to technology, he has thin lenses.) They didn’t talk to each other for a month. But when they did, Yuko became interested in him—Ahmad was a serious young man who wanted to take care of a wife and children. They began a formal courtship, chaperoned when they saw each other. “We talked mostly by telephone,” Yuko says. “This was pre-Internet.”

  Her mother approved of the formal courtship, which resembled how it was done in Japan. Both she and her daughter were impressed with Ahmad’s gentle ways, and his regular attendance at mosque. They were married three months later.

  They’ve now been married for seventeen years, and have five children: Safiya at sixteen is the oldest; Malika the youngest at three. They gave their oldest son a name that had both Arabic and Japanese roots. Unfortunately, Osama—which means “king,” in Japanese—is now indelibly linked to terrorism. The boy now goes by his “safer,” more neutral middle name, John (the name of Yuko’s father).

  Yuko is grateful for her close family. They read together, play together, go to mosque together. Yuko’s mother lives with them. “Thank goodness my husband is Middle Eastern and is used to in-laws living in the same house,” Yuko jokes.

  She keeps an immaculate house. There’s no clutter; the family lines their shoes up against the wall. For now, Yuko home-schools Safiya, their eldest. But Safiya is looking forward to going to high school next year—she will be a junior. Their other children are going to public schools. When her youngest starts kindergarten, Yuko will go back to school, too. “My husband says it’s my turn.” Probably she will major in psychology or religious studies at college. Like many other American women, she plans to have a career after all her children are in school.

  They now live in suburban Phoenix and Yuko is grateful for its Sunbelt openness. No one says much when she wears her hijab in public. Arizona has been much more accepting of her Islamic dress than Louisiana, she reports.

  The Muslim community is growing in Phoenix, and Yuko and Ahmad have become volunteers at their mosque, helping new arrivals adapt. Ahmad has been a leader, teaching about Islam to the non-Muslim public as well as doing administrative work for the mosque. Meanwhile, Yuko teaches Islam to children in classes held at the mosque. Eager to help Americans understand Islam, she recommends that visitors read the Quran, and gives them a prayer rug—along with her homemade cookies and other delicacies. She is eager to talk about the religion that has brought so much peace and spiritual renewal to her. It is a faith open to anyone, she says. She likes that her mosque has both immigrants and non-immigrants, converts and those born into Islam. She and her husband regularly read the Quran and pray the required five times a day. In particular, Yuko appreciates what she calls the “physical aspect” of Salat, the prescribed prayers, “the physical mechanics of worship.” It puts her closer to God.

  Their Islam, she adds, is a far cry from the extremism that has Imams calling for holy wars. To her, this is a misguided minority—although it gets most of America’s attention.

  “We are mainstream Muslims,” Yuko says.

  And they are comfortable with American ways. Ahmad, for example, shakes the hands of women; more traditional Muslim men do not. At home they wear jeans and T-shirts just like anyone else.

  For Yuko, Islam became not only a religion but a way of life. It has helped make her family strong and widened her circle of friends. Her life, she says, can’t get any better.

  26

  ZULY: A LATINA FINDS ISLAM

  A LATINA TEXAN, Zulayka Y. Martinez (nicknamed Zuly), has discovered cultural differences at her mosque and a backlash after 9/11. In her own words, “Zuly” tells her story:

  “In 2000, I converted to Islam during December, the month of Ramadan. You can say I am a typical Latina. As the child of a strictly religious family in Houston, I went to Catholic youth groups. I even dreamed of one day becoming a missionary nun.

  “But as a young woman I converged on another fate and faith: Islam. My story begins with a group of friends that I went to middle and high school with. Back in those days, you never spoke about religion, and I had no idea that some of my close friends were Muslims.

  “After high school, I kept in touch with a few of them, and one day I found out that a cousin of one of my best friends had arrived from Lebanon. I went to welcome him and to tell him that he would find in me a good friend—just as his cousin and I were friends.

  “He simply smiled and said, ‘Thank you for your kindness but I don’t believe in friendship between a man and a woman.’

  “That confused me. When I asked my friend (who was a guy, by the way) why his cousin said that he told me not to worry about it.

  “Months passed by, and as I used to hang out with that group of friends, I bumped into the cousin again and asked him why he felt that men and women couldn’t be friends. That’s when he brought up Islam. To be honest, it was a religion that I had never thought or heard about.

  “To make a long story short, I decided that he—and his religion—were wrong. I could not get it through my mind that there was a religion that didn’t believe in Jesus as the Son of God. I decided to prove to him that he was wrong.

  “I began to research this religion and to find any fault with it that I could. One day, while at a Catholic retreat, I brought a Quran (which had been given to me). I read it during the times of silence and reflection. It spoke to my heart, which made me very confused about my faith and whether I was a Christian.

  “Of course, as a good Catholic girl I went and confessed to my priest that night at the retreat. The memory is still vivid
of how he responded. I remember him promptly telling me, ‘I’ve read the Quran. I’m not saying Muslims are bad people, but I assure you that our faith is correct and theirs is not.’

  “When I tried to ask other questions, he looked at me and said, ‘Never doubt your faith nor question it.’

  “His response only made me more curious. I began to ask my Muslim friends for more information. Meanwhile, I read any material I could find about Islam.

  “After a few more years of studying, I took the plunge and followed in the footsteps of thousands of Latinas. I became a Muslimah in a ceremony at the mosque.

  “Now, four years later, I see how my way of thinking has changed. Islam has made me a better person in understanding myself and getting closer to my family. It’s allowed me to have a one-to-one connection with God. And it has taught me to love everyone. Whether you are Muslim, Christian, or Jewish, we are all loved by the Almighty. I feel that I’m very open-minded. I’m friends with Christians, Jews, and Muslims.

  “Before the 9/11 terrorist attacks, people were very courteous when they learned I am a Muslim or when they noticed my Islamic head covering for women. Here in Houston, they smile at me, hold the door, and greet me. I have encountered some ignorant people, but in general Texans have been wonderful.

  “At first it was hard to let my family know. I come from a family of thirteen children, of whom I am the baby. I’ll never forget something one of my brothers-in-law said at a family gathering (which as typical Mexicans we have almost every weekend). He told a friend of the family, “I’m proud of Zuly and I’ll back her up in her choice of becoming Muslim. I’ve seen her change and now she’s made the right choice. May God guide her and all of us.’

  “I’m a wedding photographer. I also take pictures of families and beautiful scenery. When I am working, people are stunned to find out that I am a Muslim, since they think that as a Muslim woman you are supposed to be locked in the house all the time. Some of my co-workers, you could say, make jokes about me being a Muslim or tease me. I just hold it in, because I know how a few people can be pretty closed-minded. But the majority respect me and don’t bug me.

  “There was a big difference in how I was treated after 9/11. Before then, I used to wear a hijab—and it was easy. They didn’t know who you were and they didn’t care. They figured you were like a nun. But, of course, it got hard after 9/11. People started thinking all Muslims were terrorists. The sudden difference in how I was treated was a big shock. I’m a very sociable person, not the type to stay at home. So I started not wearing the hijab just so I could go on with my life without being stared at. Another reason is that when I was doing my photography while wearing my head covering, people would look at me like they were wondering, Why is she taking pictures? Is she going to blow something up? I felt more at risk.

  “I do not wear long gowns like some Arab or Pakistani women do. I dress in a westernized way, because that’s who I am. After all, I’m a Mexican American. Not that I wear a miniskirt—I never was into that, it never has been my style. I dress comfortably but conservatively. I dress like Turkish women. I love the very Western and very modern way they dress.

  “Unfortunately, I have encountered discrimination as a Muslim woman in America, even among my own race. I would be wearing the hijab and they didn’t know I was Hispanic and I could hear them say things in Spanish like, ‘Look at one of the wives of Saddam Hussein,’ or ‘Look at that Taliban woman.’ I would then start speaking Spanish loudly on purpose so they could understand I was a Latina. And they would just freak out.

  “I thank God for the type of woman I am. I feel and am independent.

  “Everyone assumes I am married to a Muslim from the Middle East. That must be, they figure, why I became attracted to Islam. But I tell them, no, I didn’t convert for a man but for God. They are invariably shocked.

  In fact, I myself was shocked and dismayed at the marriage process. I would be introduced to a man at the mosque or at a Muslim function and after a two-hour conversation, he would say, “You seem like a good prospect. Do you want to get married?” That blew me away. As they were trying to get me to marry them, they would say, ‘Marriage is your deen [way of life].’ I do want my own family one day. But I believe in my rights as a woman. I do not want to be pressured.

  “I am not worried. I am very happy the way I am. And I know I will find my future soul mate, Inshallah.

  “As a Latina, I didn’t feel well received when I converted to Islam. The Arab and Pakistani-born women at the mosque were not that welcoming—or maybe they are not sociable like I am. It was hurtful. I felt more like an intruder than a sister.

  “Now it’s different, and I helped make it that way. In Houston there’s a growing community of Hispanic Muslims and now we throw a party for the new girls. We have a class about Islam for them in Spanish. We tell them we were the pioneers and that we are happy we are here for them as they discover Islam. We tell them we are their friend, their sister.

  “I am grateful to Islam. It has changed my heart. I believe in one God and that is what brought me to Islam. It was always very hard for me to kneel down to the Virgin Mary and the other saints in the Catholic faith. Other girls could—and would start crying, too. I couldn’t do that. I believe in worshipping one God and nothing else.

  “And so I am content in the Islamic faith. It has brought me peace and harmony.

  My recommendation to new Muslims is this: You have to open your mind and listen to your heart.”

  27

  ANISAH: LIVING VEILED IN RURAL SOUTH DAKOTA

  ON SOME MAPS, Bushnell, South Dakota, doesn’t even exist. But nestled off Highway 14, less than seventeen miles west of the Minnesota state line sits the hamlet: all four paved streets, two stop signs, and twenty-seven homes.

  “I think we have about as many animals—dogs, cats and horses—as we do people,” speculates Anisah David.

  She’s not joking. The town is so small, its roads so little traveled, that it has become known for such eccentricities as a horned white goat named Schnee (German for snow). Schnee liked to rest in the middle of one of the town’s roads. Bushnell residents had to carefully select when they were going to travel: They didn’t want to butt horns with Schnee. If disturbed, Anisah remembers, “He would stand up and lower his head, threatening to ram his horns into your radiator.”

  But the town tolerated the goat—until he passed away of old age—just as it does the human residents who admittedly march to a different drummer. This is a town, after all, where a six foot eight resident—“just a big walking wall of a man,” Anisah says—dons fairy wings, leotards, an aviator cap and goggles on Halloween to launch pumpkins from a medieval catapult. Then there’s the woman who liked to walk her mule on a leash. Most residents are artisans: They paint, sculpt, and weave. There are also songwriters, dancers, and potters.

  Anisah, forty-two, fits right in. She’s a webmaster, Muslim matchmaker, community activist, lecturer, writer, and textile artist as well as an Islamic convert who since 1988 has worn some sort of head covering as well as long dresses. No one notices what elsewhere might seem unusual clothing. Anisah still marvels at the level of tolerance not only in Bushnell but throughout South Dakota and, indeed, her stretch of the Midwest. She says she only receives an occasional stare when she ventures out to do business in larger Brookings (population 18,604). Or she may get a few long looks if she travels to the even bigger Sioux Falls—with just over 100,000 folks—south of Brookings. “I would be wearing an extremely big cape and a long gown, and some not used to diversity would point at me and stare. Sometimes they would only be a foot away from me. I would usually wave at them.”

  South Dakotans, she says, have made peace with the state’s unusual religious groups, which include Native American and conservative Anabaptist Christian sects. “They’re extremely tolerant. I have been so amazed. I’m just as welcome here as anyone else.”

  Or at least she used to think that.

  Anisah has had
to reconsider that after a South Dakota judge recently ruled against her daughter, Cassy David, in a custody case (see chapter 14). The judge decided Cassy’s estranged Egyptian husband, who has a Ph.D. and a large extended family, is better equipped, at least for now, to care for their baby daughter, saying Cassy’s extended family was “questionable at best.” The judge singled out Anisah as a poor influence, citing her online Muslim matchmaking service, her pro-polygamy views (Anisah, who is monogamous, says she accepts it in theory, as the Quran tolerates polygamy under strict guidelines), her Muslim garb, and her past criticism of the Israeli occupation of Palestine.

  “He used every derogatory, inflammatory claim against me to make me look like a raving fundamentalist. I was attacked for encouraging Muslim women to wear the veil and I was even attacked for having done matchmaking. The judge claims that I may have the right to free speech, but he can use that against my daughter in making his decision.”

  Only a couple of other incidents have made Anisah feel unwelcome in the Heartland, and they all occurred after 9/11. On one occasion, a man made a menacing gesture when he saw her at a grocery store. Luckily Anisah’s six-foot-five husband, Eric, who is also a Muslim convert, was nearby to intervene.

  Throughout the years, neighbors have shown their support for Anisah and her family. Anisah got numerous supportive calls when a high school teacher told Anisah’s son that he shouldn’t use his study hall to go to mosque on Fridays. She told him he needed to go to “Sunday services like normal people.”

  Anisah was incensed, but local folks were even more so. The controversy made the regional newspaper and people approached Anisah to tell her how wrong they thought the teacher was.

  She’s also found that, as a Muslim advocate and founder of the not-for-profit organization Human Interactions for Religious Understandings, people will listen—including other judges. Anisah once helped a young woman who had converted to Islam and was trying to go to Egypt to be with her new husband. The only problem: Her father sued for custody of the woman’s five-year-old son, saying his grandson would be safer with him. According to an Associated Press report, the grandfather claimed his daughter “had been engaged in some bizarre behavior, including wearing Muslim garb and declaring herself a Muslim.” Anisah says the man submitted to the court pictures of his daughter wearing a veil at her ceremony in which she formally became a Muslim.