Love in a Headscarf by Shelina Janmohamed

specific prayers that were done early in the morning, in the afternoon, and in the evening. They combined special movements with words from the Qur’an, and all Muslims around the world prayed in exactly the same way, in the direction of Mecca. I would race to lay out the mats at prayer time and stand next to my mother who would gently direct me as to what to do. At the end of the prayers I would read out loud the most recent chapter from the Qur’an that I had learned.
    After I completed reading the children’s manual, I began the full Arabic text of the Qur’an itself. I found it easy because the Arabic phrases had a simple melodious rhythm and the verses often rhymed, almost like poetry. At the age of six and a half I entered a competition at the mosque to give a talk about the Prophet Muhammad and what we could learn from his life. Diligently, and with the innocence and simplicity of a young child, I had prepared a talk about the good behavior and kindness of the Prophet. I admit to some youthful plagiarism—I copied it almost entirely from a book about the Prophet, simplifying some long words I didn’t understand and couldn’t pronounce.
    At the end of the speech I added one of my favorite stories about the Prophet. Every day he was forced to walk along a particular street where an old woman would throw rubbish at him because she did not agree with the belief in one God that he was propagating. Each day he would come home covered in foul-smelling litter. One day he walked along the street but there was no rubbish. Instead of being happy at the absence of the woman, as most of us would have been, he investigated why she was not carrying out her daily activity and discovered that she was unwell. He went to visit her to see if he could offer her any help. She was shocked that he would show such kindness after her long-standing harassment. Muhammad advised her that looking after even those who show you difficulties is what being a Muslim was all about. I was convinced that the inclusion of this story as the closing part of my speech would win me the prize.
    The mosque was a small converted community center. Some mosques were purpose-built, some were in small converted houses, others were old buildings of worship that had been closed down or in disrepair and then rescued and revived as a place of worship, but this time as a mosque. The floor was covered in large rugs, and as in all mosques, you had to remove your shoes in the cloakroom before you entered. The mosque was the center of Islamic community life. Prayers were held there, along with Qur’an classes for children, lessons for adults, and other religious lectures and events. It was the hub of Muslim existence because it was a center of learning and spirituality, but also a place to meet friends and family and fulfill your social needs.
    When we arrived at the mosque, I would normally have joined my mother in the women’s section, as women and men sat in separate parts of the mosque. Instead, in order to participate in the competition, I had to go into the men’s side to give the talk. Since I was only six, this was okay. I felt slightly strange being the only girl in a roomful of men, all staring intently at me, waiting to see what a young child would say. The bright video lights were glaring and the cameras were rolling. I stood three feet tall and confident and reeled off my presentation, word perfect and carefully intoned, pausing at the right moments for effect. I spoke for five minutes and I performed the whole speech entirely by heart.
    I was awarded only second place, runner-up to a ten-year-old boy, who was commended for his insight and deep analysis. I was disgruntled and reflected that of course his speech would be deeper and more insightful than mine: I was six and he was ten.
    A few weeks later I was asked to prepare a short speech for a presentation day at the end of term at school, which would showcase the religions of all the students. Instead