Pegged as an Outsider

In reference to my previous post about wearing hijab to the mosque, I found myself on the opposite side of a situation that I initiate all the time – It’s me who is usually the one who awkwardly asks people where they’re from.

Example: At the Asian festival in Columbus, I spoke with a woman at a stall selling traditional Chinese art. I could tell by her accent that she was probably from Beijing, or at least northern China. I told her I was interested in the Chinese paper cuttings, and that I had lived in Lanzhou, Gansu. We chatted about western China for a while, and then that dreaded moment came.

“Where are you from?”

“Michigan.”

“Welcome to Ohio!” I said, and left it at that.

I find myself in this situation all the time, and I know that it’s me who is at fault. I’m genuinely curious about other languages and cultures - I’m not judging people for having an accent or different customs. But citizenship, nationality, and identity are touchy subjects for most people.

Another example: I met a woman from Uzbekistan a few weeks ago. When I first asked where she was from, her answer was "Well, I was born in Asia, then my family moved to Russia, and now I live in Cincinnati." We had been talking for about 10 minutes when I realized she must be from Kyrgyzstan or Uzbekistan, so I asked, "Which Asian country were you born in?" She was so surprised that I was familiar with her country!

So my turn came at Masjid Noor, a mosque in Dublin. I was washing my hands in the bathroom when a teenager smiled at me in the mirror. I smiled back and said hi.

“Where are you from?” she asked me.

I was completely caught off guard, not only by the words of her question, but by her unspoken assumption that I was different.

“I’m from Columbus.”

“Oh, cool. Did you come with someone today?”

“Yeah, I came with my friend. We work together.”

Being on the other side helps me to understand better. It made wonder what reasons the girl had for (correctly) guessing that I didn’t quite belong. But at the same time, I recognized her interest in me and my story for how I ended up at the conference at Masjid Noor. And then she hit me with this one:

“You look really beautiful in hijab.”

The First Time I Wore Hijab

I can tell a good friend by how she suggests we spend time together. I got this text at work yesterday:

“I’m going to a conference tonight at Masjid Noor and was wondering if you’d like to come. There’s going to be some really great speakers. Let me know.”

Movies, a bar, shopping… not so much. A conference? On Islam? Heck yes. Friends for life.

“So I wanted to let you know, in case you were wondering, that you do not need to cover your hair at the Masjid. You can if you’d like, but it’s your decision, and totally ok if you don’t want to : )”

She came over after work and we ate portabella mushroom salad, and then I put on hijab. It was so normal, and that’s what I’m writing about. I put it on and walked out the door. We went to the bank and chatted with a woman at the ATM. I don’t even think she noticed my head covering. So normal. We drove to the mosque. All the women were in hijab, so of course it was normal. We did salat. So normal. We listened to a speaker. We did salat again, because it was that time. Another speaker. And salat. And a speaker. Beautiful.

Have you ever learned so much in one evening, yet you feel like you knew it all along?