Welcome to the sisterhood

The charity I work for was thrilled to be contacted directly by a Project Coordinator for a Muslim womens’ society. They wanted a representative from our charity to speak to ladies at a Welfare Centre in London about our work. As my boss was leaving her job, I was asked to go to speak to this hard-to-reach community. I’ll be honest, I was mildly apprehensive about going to a mosque to conduct a workshop about mental health. I haven’t come to terms with my spiritual beliefs and am still on the road to figuring them out, like many people are. But I was to be tested and my conceptions were to be challenged. Here’s what happened...

I spoke to the Project Coordinator over the phone to organise the visit, who came across as gentle and humble. She mentioned that there would be some second generation young girls at the workshop with their first generation mothers, so that language barriers might be a mild issue.  I casually mentioned that I was a second generation Moroccan and her voice changed. I knew that she was smiling. She was delighted that I understood the clientele. I could feel her warmth from her voice transcend from her office into mine and I felt that I was welcomed into the sisterhood. I was slightly taken aback by this ‘telephone embrace’.  People who participated in vibrant religious communities probably felt this all the time, but living in Norwich where there are only a few second generation Moroccans – and most of these are my family, meant that I rarely felt this sisterhood-type welcome. I felt like I was granted an access card into their world. In her words "the girls would be able to relate to me better" because I understood the culture that many of the girls came from.

Now, I felt slightly uncomfortable with this. I felt like a bit of a fraud. I thought about these feelings for a long time and then decided that I wasn’t a fraud – I am a second generation immigrant – I wasn’t lying. I felt like a fraud because I thought that everyone would assume I was a practising Muslim because a persons’ culture is often automatically tied to the dominant religion from that area. I felt that their pre-conceptions of me as a Moroccan woman would be skewed. I realised that I was simply being confronted with a part of my identity, my roots, that I didn’t come across very often. I thought about the etiquette I’d been taught as a child when I was in Morocco and in the company of any fellow Moroccans – that women were seen and rarely heard and covered their hair and body when in male company. Morocco isn’t as strict when it comes to these conformities though – a lot of the women in my family actually rule the roost and are quite domineering.

The day of the workshop came and I turned up at the ladies’ part of the Mosque with my volunteer, whose father is from the Middle-East and also happened to understand the Muslim way (coincidence). We took our boots and Converse off before entering. We had bought scarves with us in case our heads were required to be covered. I was unsure whether I would actually wear a headscarf however – I think I really would have felt like a fraud if I did, but I wanted to be respectful and was prepared to wear it if asked, although I did wonder if my ex-boss would have done the same.

The Project Coordinator greeted me in person with the same warmth that she presented me with over the phone. I extended my hand to the male mosque director to introduce myself then remembered that women should always wait for the man to extend his hand his hand first. I was asked where I was from and replied ‘Morocco’ because that was the answer I knew he was expecting. I smiled when he asked my volunteer where she was from and she replied ‘Brighton’ (see earlier post - Pleased to meet you... hope you guess my name?). He nodded then replied to me in Arabic to which I replied I didn’t speak the language. Awkward. The Project Coordinator smiled and carried on looking for the laptop charger.

The women in the group were mothers, daughters and grandmothers. They were school children,
volunteers and directors. The women were grateful to learn about our line of work and were respectful and non judgemental. Burkas were lifted from faces rarely seen by the steely streets of London. I was happy to hear the women ask pertinent questions, and felt honoured to be in their company and for them to share their thoughts and feelings with me. I felt connected to them through our human emotions and shared experiences. I wondered why I had felt so apprehensive. I left the Muslim Welfare Centre empowered and proud to be a second generation Moroccan with roots steeped in a religion which was peaceful, compassionate and forgiving, despite how it is often presented in the media. What I wasn't prepared for was how touched I felt to be surrounded by women who enjoyed learning, were intelligent and strong and yet whose voices still struggled to be heard in society. Some of them don't speak the same language as their doctors, social workers or local police. Some of them are oppressed, depressed and powerless. It humbles me that there are organisations out there who are listening and giving a voice to these women. People who care about education and empowering women. I hope I will get to meet more of these amazing women in the future - Inshallah.