The Hijab Boutique Page 4

  Mom’s lips turn up in a smile. “So are you.”

  Together we dress up some mannequins with party hijabs. Finally, we stand in front of the large boxes in the corner. Mom asks me to open them, and I do. This time a selection of long denim dresses, shawls, Saudi-style abayas, and raincoat-type cloaks meets my eyes.

  “As you know, these garments complete the Muslim outerwear look,” Mom explains. “They help us protect our modesty.”

  Mom and I take the overgarments and put them on the different mannequins, arranging some of the hijabs over the coats and cloaks. In seconds, their nakedness is masked from view.

  “Are we all done?” I ask once all the empty boxes have been thrown away.

  “As a matter of fact, you haven’t seen everything,” Mom says. “Aunty Sheila and I have other things tucked away in the storage room that we’ll be selling here which will help to bring in extra income.” She takes my hand. “Come on, let me show you.”

  The storage room is cooler than the storefront. Its wooden shelves are stacked with an incredible amount of stuff, some of which I recognize.

  “Let me try to guess everything that’s here, okay, Mom?” I ask.

  “Go for it,” she says.

  “Hmmm,” I say, tapping my cheek with my finger. “There’s kohl, incense, black seed oil, and honey.” I now stand on my tiptoes to see the uppermost shelf. “Oh, and let me add prayer carpets, silver jewellery and Islamic diaries to that list.” I look at Mom. “How did I do?”

  Mom laughs. “You’ve done a great job, Miss Investigator. You spotted just about everything.” She extends her arm to the top shelf. “You just left out these two items – although, in your defence, they’re small and hard to see from your angle.”

  Mom lowers her hands and I pull them open. Sparkling pins meet my eyes, while my nostrils are met by breathtaking aromas. “What have you got there, Mom?”

  Mom first shows me a pin with a pink rhinestone heart dangling from it. “This is a hijab pin. We can use these pins to keep our hijabs in place with style.”

  My fingers play with the pin’s dangling heart. “How cool!”

  Mom then opens her other palm to reveal tiny bottles marked ‘pure essential oil’, with names like ‘sandalwood’, ‘amber’ and ‘musk’.

  “These are natural perfumes, essential oils made without alcohol,” Mom explains. “I’m holding three different scents in my hand. Have a sniff.”

  I inspect each bottle and put them close to my nose. “Wow, these perfumes smell divine!”

  Mom dabs a tiny drop of amber essential oil on my neck and plants a kiss on my cheek. “These oils are very strong and Muslim women shouldn’t wear them outside or in the company of strange men, but we’ll be heading home soon and you’re still a girl,” Mom says, smiling. I smile back, enjoying the exotic scent.

  Our work finished, we tidy up the last bits of packaging and then Mom and I exit her new store space.

  “Let’s pick up some vanilla milkshakes after all our hard work,” Mom tells me. “Then we’ll have to head home. I want to be home before dark, and we need to say our evening prayers on time.”

  “You won’t hear any objections from me!” I say, as we walk to the convertible.

  Mom laughs. “That’s good.”

  “Mom…” I say, with sudden heartfelt emotion. “I hope and pray that ‘The Hijab Boutique’ will be a big hit.”

  Mom squeezes my hand. “Thank you. Inshallah. ”

  “And I think that your hijabs are really special. I can’t wait to show them to the girls at school, to show how they represent you.”

  “Is this for a school assignment?” she asks.

  I nod.

  Mom puts her arm around me. “Tell me more about it…”

  5

  HIJABS IN THE SPOTLIGHT

  I’m standing in front of my class.

  Everyone is staring at me.

  Zillions of butterflies are fluttering in my stomach.

  I’m all set to give my International Women’s Day presentation, and I’m just waiting for my cue to begin. I may be a few days late, but I’ve met Ms. Grant’s deadline. This means I won’t have to wash any chalkboards with dirty spat-on rags. Yay! Okay, all this nervous energy is making me slightly hyper. I must remember to breathe. ‘In. Out. In. Out. Repeat. Be calm,’ I say to myself.

  Ms. Grant switches our classroom lights on and off. “Listen up! Listen up! Listen up, EVERYONE!” she shouts to our unruly class. “Farah is now ready to begin her presentation.”

  Ms. Grant looks at me and waves her hand with an imaginary flag. Translation: like a race car driver, I’ve been given the signal to take off. I begin by tapping into my ‘honesty well’.

  “This has been the toughest assignment I’ve ever had to do,” I admit to my fellow classmates with clammy hands. “I really struggled to find something to present about my mother.”

  I hear Tammi release a fake cough to cover her snicker. The other ‘Cool as Ice’ girls, Juliet and Stacy, copy her. I totally ignore them. Nobody and nothing will stop me today, my inner voice tells me.

  I clear my throat loudly to regain everyone’s attention. “I turned my house upside down looking for something that resembles what all of you have brought in about your mothers. Only I didn’t find anything like that. As a result, I thought my mother seemed pretty boring in comparison,” I state. “That’s why I came to school empty-handed.”

  Normally quiet Roxanne lets out a gasp. Even the puff of air she releases from her lips is tinged by her Texan accent.

  Ashanti catches my eye. She smiles at me broadly. I take it as my cue to continue.

  “This may have been the toughest assignment of my life, but it’s also been the most eye-opening,” I explain, with my head held high. “I’ve learnt a lot in the last few days about my mother. I see her under a new light now. Yes, she’s ‘different’—but those differences make her unique. Without them, she wouldn’t be the person that I love.”

  “Cut to the chase, Farah,” Tammi says, rolling her turquoise eyeballs. “What have you brought in to show about your mother?”

  “Mind your manners, young lady,” Ms. Grant cautions. “Farah’s experiences are relevant to this class assignment.”

  Ms. Grant looks at me. “Carry on, dear.”

  “For today’s presentation, I’ve brought in my mother’s most obvious outward difference—her hijab collection,” I announce.

  Stacy throws her silky black hair behind her shoulders, and shoots up her slender hand. “I’ve heard the word ‘hijab’ before. What does it mean, anyway?”

  I was expecting this question. “In Arabic, the word hijab means ‘curtain’ or ‘cover,’” I say after pulling a cue card out from my uniform pocket. “In my religion, Islam, modesty is important for both men and women. Some people think that hijab refers to just the head covering Muslim women wear, but actually the word hijab also includes the idea of modest dress.”

  “What’s the point of all this covering-up-your-body business?” Stacy remarks in a tone weighed down by self-importance.

  “Simple,” I respond matter-of-factly. “We believe that building good character and a close relationship with our Creator—Allah—is top priority. So in Islam, we value inner beauty over outer appearances, which can be a distraction. One day, all of our earthly beauty will fade, and only the memory of our good deeds and character will remain.”

  Stacy shakes her head. “Aren’t Muslim women forced to wear hijab?”

  “No,” I say, crumpling up the cue card in my hand. I decide to speak from my heart. “‘Well, it depends. Mostly not. Most Muslim women wear hijab as a personal choice.”

  Juliet chomps down on her bubblegum. “Yeah, right, Farah,” she says looking at Tammi for approval.

  Juliet gets a favourable nod from her leader, and some other girls also chuckle under their breath.

  “Fine, let me put it this way,” I declare firmly. “God, Allah, isn’t like some big boss in the sky wh
o orders everyone to pray to Him, or to go all day without food or drink during the month of Ramadan, or to give to charity with an open heart. A believer does those things because he or she wants to. In the same way, after a young woman reaches puberty, she has to decide if she’ll follow His commandment to cover everything except her hands and face. Some girls start wearing hijab when they are very little, because their parents dress them like that so that they can get used to it. Others start when they reach puberty. Some girls find it hard to wear hijab when they are teenagers, but they might start when they go to college or get married, or even later when they have children. And some will just start at any time, because they have become more religious. It’s like people of any religion; a person might be brought up in a religion, but not necessarily be religious. Or they might end up more religious than their parents; it just depends.”

  “I don’t get it,” Stacy remarks, tucking her lead pencil behind her ear. “Don’t a lot of feminists think that wearing hijab is unfair to women?”

  I bite my lip for a moment. “I think that girls and women should work together—not against each other by judging each other’s beliefs or styles of dress,” I finally say. “Every woman should have the right to choose what she believes is right. If that means wearing hijab, then that’s her choice. Many Muslims think that hijabis are the ultimate feminists because they don’t want men or boys to see them as objects. Muslim women want to look respectable in public. At home they can dress up.”

  “But aren’t all those clothes hot, Farah?” asks another girl. Several girls nod and murmur.

  “Well, the people who live in the hottest parts of the world, like the Sahara desert, wear long, loose clothing. It actually keeps you cooler than wearing tight or short things, because the fabric shades your skin and protects it from the sun’s harmful rays, and then when you sweat it cools you down. My Mom says that when you cover up, your skin stays young and healthy. Your hair is also protected from drying out and getting full of dirt and grime. Anyway, that’s how most of the people around the world dressed until a few hundred years ago – even in Europe and America.”

  “Well, if you ask me,” Juliet says with an uncontrollable smirk, “hijabs are meant for women who have zero fashion sense.”

  “JULIET!” Ms. Grant exclaims, rising to her full height. “That type of talk is not acceptable in this classroom. Do I make myself clear?”

  Juliet slumps over her desk like a deflated balloon. “Yes, ma’am.”

  Ms. Grant smiles at me. “Farah, you’ve done an excellent job in answering your classmates’ questions,” she says. “This form of lively debate is exactly what I wanted for this International Women’s Day project. Please continue.”

  She smoothes her knee-length skirt and sits down.

  I glance at the familiar faces of the girls in my class and find the courage to go on.

  Looking at Juliet, I say, “You’re mistaken if you think hijabs can’t be fashion savvy. Women who wear hijab express themselves through fabric choices, patterns and different lengths and styles of hijab. There are even hijab fashion shows for all-female audiences.”

  Several of my classmates start to talk at once. My latest statement has started a heated reaction, and I decide to seize the moment.

  “Now comes the exciting part of my presentation, ladies!” I reach down to grab a large box that I’ve kept hidden from view. “As a surprise treat, I’ve brought in sample hijabs for all of you to see. You can pass them around while I demonstrate how they look on real women. I need volunteer models.” I raise an eyebrow. “Who wants to be a model?”

  Funny enough, Ms. Grant is one of the first volunteers to stick up her hand. Next in line is Ashanti. Then—gasp!—the leader of the ‘Cool as Ice’ girls, Tammi, says she wants to be a model. Both Ms. Grant and Ashanti quickly file to the front of our classroom.

  Tammi sashays towards me, full of confidence. “I know I’ll look the best in my hijab,” she says in a loud stage whisper.

  Ms. Grant wags her wise finger at Tammi. “Tsk, tsk, conceit is nobody’s friend,” she says in an equally loud stage whisper. “Who says these old bones won’t look better than you?!”

  Everyone in our class laughs at their off-the-cuff theatrics. For the first time ever, Tammi and I smile warmly at each other. Who would have thought that this assignment would help melt the iceberg between us? That thought brings me back to the task at hand.

  “Let’s get back to business, everyone!” I say, taking charge of my presentation. I pull different hijabs from my box. “As I dress up our volunteer models, you can see and touch the different styles of hijabs that I’ll be passing around. They’re all marked with masking tape so you can identify their type.”

  I hand out hijabs in every colour and shape imaginable, and then silently get my models ready, without uttering a word. My hands move expertly as I dress them up. I can hear the oohs and ahhs echoing behind me.

  “I just love the fabric on this floral square hijab!” I hear someone gush.

  “This two-shade shayla hijab is cute…” someone else states.

  Pretty soon there are more comments circulating than oxygen. I try to contain my excitement, focusing on the job in front of me. Finally, I’m done dressing up my volunteers.

  “Eat your heart out, girls! Our models are all set!” I tell my classmates, and their attention quickly moves to the front of the room.

  “First we have our glamour girl, Ashanti, who’s decked out in a party hijab,” I say.

  Ashanti does a funky twirl so that her look is showcased from every direction. The silver sequins in her hijab sparkle under our classroom lights.

  “Strike a pose, girlfriend!” I tell Ashanti.

  She plants one hand on her cheek and the other on her hip. Ashanti stands frozen on the spot to hold her fashion magazine look.

  Our classmates laugh and clap.

  “Next we have Tammi,” I say. “This Queen of cool has been dressed in a Malaysian crinkle hijab.”

  Tammi does a jaw-dropping spin. The crinkly material of her hijab catches her every movement.

  “Strike a pose!” I tell her.

  Tammi whips her head to the side and arches her back. She, too, freezes like an editorial fashion spread.

  My classmates clap with appreciation.

  “Last but not least, we have Ms. Grant,” I tell everyone. “She’s wearing an embroidered under-cap and a flowing Turkish hijab.”

  Ms. Grant gets up and does a sophisticated swirl.

  “Ms. Grant’s look requires one final touch,” I add, while reaching into my box of goodies. I pull out a glittering star-shaped brooch and secure her hijab with it, then step back, and turn her face from side to side. “There. You look perfect.”

  Ms. Grant humbly strikes a pose with the tilt of her chin.

  Our teacher gets a standing ovation.

  Once everyone settles down, I’m ready to conclude. “Of course, not all Muslim women are interested in fashion, and many prefer plain solid colours, like pastels, white or black. Others wear long khimar-style hijabs that reach down to the waist. That’s just part of the diversity of the Muslim world. I’ve prepared a handout of different styles of hijabs and overgarments worn by women from different countries around the world.”

  I pass out the handouts while girls lean over them to get a closer look.

  “But as for you fashion-conscious types,” I continue, “let me reassure you that these colourful scarves will also look ultrachic wrapped around the neck. And worry not: you don’t need to fly across the globe to get hold of these looks…” I pause dramatically, and blow on my henna-decorated fingernails. “As of today, you have a direct connection.”

  “Really? How?” Stacy asks.

  “You’re looking at the daughter of a budding businesswoman. My mom doesn’t have this huge collection of scarves just for herself: Mom is the co-owner of ‘The Hijab Boutique’ – our local hotspot for all things Islamic. Think: scarves. Think: inspirational diar
ies. Think: natural, exotic perfumes. Mention my name, and you’ll get a discount.” I smile at Stacy. “Come on up, and I’ll give you a business card...”

  CONCLUSION

  It’s been one year now since my presentation for International Women’s Day at Miss Peabody’s. Let’s just say a lot has happened. It’s about time I got you up to speed!

  First of all, Mom and I have moved into a super cute, two-bedroom house with a single garage and a quaint courtyard garden. Our new home may be small, but it’s oh-so-cosy, and it’s been freshly painted. I keep the weeds out of our front yard and garden because Mom is too busy with the boutique most of the time. My latest project has been designing cards with dried flower petals using the flowers that grow in our garden. I’ve sold a lot of them, and for each dollar that I earn, I give something to charity and put away some in savings.

  Our new neighbourhood is not as chic as our old one, but there’s a friendly mosque nearby which has classes and activities for girls my age. It was Mom’s idea for me to sign up for the Muslim Girl Scouts. At first I made a face, thinking it would be dorky, but in the end I decided to give it a shot. Boy, am I glad I did! I’m having an amazing time making friends with girls whose mothers are a lot like my mother. It feels great to be able to relate.

  As for the ‘Cool as Ice’ girls, they’re still around. Though I don’t care so much about what they think anymore. Read: I don’t live and breathe for their approval. I guess I’m getting older, and have my own ideas and opinions. I’m happy to report that my social circle has grown. I’ve got a new friend at the mosque, Amina, who loves art, too. Guess what? We had a fund-raiser for earthquake victims recently, and Amina and I had the idea of putting together shoeboxes to send to women and girls after the last big earthquake. I remembered my Dad’s work with the homeless shelters and his idea that “a man’s home is his castle”, and I figure that a woman’s home is her castle, too! So we decorated the frames of unbreakable mirrors that girls and women could hang inside their tents, and included a hijab and a small, lightweight prayer carpet in each box – along with a hairbrush, comb, toothbrush, nail file, mini solar flashlight, and a bit of dreamy essential oil perfume, which we hope will make their lives a bit brighter. We included handwritten notes saying, ‘Never give up hope – dare to dream!’