Shadia: Tangled in the layers of hijab

Unveiled: A Muslim Girl in O.C.

December 09, 2011|By Mona Shadia

Editor's note: Staff writer Mona Shadia has gotten used to fielding questions about Islam and Middle Eastern culture in our newsroom. Whether it's fasting during Ramadan, Eid, hijabs in the workplace, the Irvine 11 or the Arab Spring, Mona has educated her co-workers (and bosses) about her faith and experiences. Those conversations led us to realize how little some Americans understand about Islam and the Middle Easterners who live among us in this era of Islamophobia in America. My hope is Mona can pass along her perspective and insights to our readers. This is the first of her new weekly column, Unveiled: A Muslim Girl in O.C.

I grew up in Cairo, raised by my mom and her six brothers.

Uncle Gamal, whom I call "Uncle Beautiful" because his name means beauty in Arabic, had the greatest influence on me. On one of Cairo's warm and sunny days, when I was maybe 6 or 7, my uncle gave me a blue hijab to cover my hair and upper body every time I went outside.


Growing up in a Muslim country, I saw many women wearing hijabs. But my mom, Shadia, whose first name I have taken as my last, was curiously not one of them.

My sister, Marwa, and I would walk fully covered next to our mom while she showed her hair, but we never really understood why her hair flowed freely and ours did not.

It was easy for Uncle Beautiful, who practiced a conservative form of Islam, to make me and my sister hide our locks from public view, but no matter how hard he tried he couldn't make our strong-willed mom do so.

When I was about 12 and became more aware of my surroundings and my developing sense of fashion, I grew to resent covering my long, dark brown hair. I imagined what it would be like to walk outside showing it.

By that time, my mom had decided to cover her own hair. She said it was her decision, not her brother's, which didn't help my case.

When I asked why women have to cover, Uncle Beautiful said because your hair is part of your beauty, and Muslim women and girls must show modesty.

Then he startled me by comparing uncovered women to slaughtered animals hanging in a butcher's shop and covered women to beautiful diamonds.

With each day, I grew more resentful of having to hide my hair and of my uncle, to whom I would not speak to for a decade.


Unveiled in America

Fast-forward a few years. About two weeks shy of my 15th birthday, I moved to Southern California with my mom and sister to join my grandma, three of my mom's brothers, her sister and their families.

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