My mother was fortunate to be raised in a family environment where, despite the limited knowledge and inconsistent practices, God was worshiped. The Prophets of God, the last messenger and his blessed progeny especially, were dear to their hearts. At the mere age of 14, she visited the Martyrs’ Cemetery after the last day of the school year. She stopped by a sea of people to witness the burial of two recently martyred men. She stood in awe watching the process– men dug the graves and lowered the bodies into them– she was mesmerized by the ritual. Suddenly, as she stood quietly, a large rock that seemed to have come out of nowhere struck her head. There was a custom that she was not aware of known as “تحية الشهيد” or “The Salutations of the Martyr,” during which bullets are shot into the air and rocks are thrown. It was seen as an expression of farewell, albeit, a dangerous one.

Her body froze and became flushed with heat as she collapsed on to the ground. Between when the rock struck her and when she lost consciousness, she managed to experience a brief moment of clarity that would become a catalyst for her new journey.

She awoke to the pressure of a needle against her stitched scalp and her mother’s face with a pained look. She glanced over to the dress she was wearing when the rock had struck her – it was soaked in blood. Unfamiliar of her surroundings and uncertain about the severity of her condition, she clenched her fists tightly and prayed for God to keep her alive. She had hope that his limitless Grace and Mercy would see her through and give her a second chance at life. She was painfully aware of how little she knew about the afterlife.
She whispered to God under her breath:
“Extend my life so I can search for You”.
Moments later the doctor who was assessing her spoke to the nurse: “The injury is very deep, she’s fortunate to have survived.” In a whirlwind of emotions, my mother made an oath; she vowed to put on the hijab, an Islamic head covering, for 10 consecutive days in public. She didn’t know it was a religious obligation for Muslim girls once they reached the age of nine lunar years. With her limited knowledge, she thought donning it for 10 days was a generous way to give thanks.

After leaving the hospital, feeling immensely grateful for the blessings of health, time, and a newfound love for God, it dawned on her that the journey forward would not be easy. Question after question popped into her head – “Where will I buy a scarf that’s big enough?” Typically those that wore hijab wore it as a bandana.
“What will people think of me? Will my family and friends accept this change? Will I be able to cope with people’s unpleasant remarks?”
Slowly she began to sort through the barriers. She started by searching for fabrics at home, sewing them together to make something large enough to cover her properly. She wore what she made whenever she went out in public for the next 10 days.

She vowed to understand why wearing hijab was seen as virtuous. She decided to keep the hijab on while seeking to understand the philosophy behind it. Throughout her search, she realized that hijab not only represents modesty, but liberation. It was a stance against objectification and sexualization of women.
She began to understand that Islam sought to elevate her status with modesty, and that the hijab is not merely a scarf, but a way to free oneself from societal expectations that instill low self-esteem, jealousy, narcissism, and many other vices. It was to free oneself from a society that was telling women that their worth was determined by their appearance. She no longer felt the need to conform to what the “norm” was perceived as at the expense of divine principles that sought to uplift the spirit of an individual.