Thank you
Saurooon

Ours was a self catering flat, and most of our interaction centred around the kitchen. I remember exchanging food preperation tips and taste testing each others dinners. I remember leaving leftovers on the table with a note to people to help themselves – and helping myself too! (I remember one of M’s visiting friends being very impressed I was having proper British Yorkshire puddings for dinner instead of something international.) I remember long conversations about religion, about the state of the world, about football, about the EU, about the English language and British public transport (both inefficent and terrible) as food baked, roasted, fried, and sometimes burned. I know I’m richer for having known them.

Most of all I remember the last friday afternoon when we were cleaning out our kitchen together, and suddenly half our work force had to disappear off for Friday prayers!

I am a Christian and my husband is Muslim. He comes from Sudan and I was born and raised in Britain from Jamaican parents. Our marriage is a real mixture that has been informed by culture, language, religion and all the other things that have brought our present day personalities into fruition.

On a few occasions he asked me that if he died I was to make sure that I “raise[d our children as] good Muslim kids”. Although I had accepted that our children would be Muslim, he had said it too many times for me not to question the phrase. I decided to ask him what that meant. He said “you know good Muslim kids”. I pursued this, “what exactly do you mean by this. What for you makes good Muslim kids? What are their characteristics?” He went on to say, “that they are honest, respectful, they love their family, decent children that don’t get into trouble.” I looked at him and said “But this is what good Christian children are too.”

I participated in the HANS exhibition photograph session and it raised a lot of questions about us raising children within an interfaith household. I realised as a woman – outside looking in – that the scarf/ hijab through the media has become a powerful symbol of Islamic oppression and male dominance. What if I had daughters? Will they be oppressed, because they can only marry Muslim men? What if they decided to break out and marry someone of another religion or became a fashion model with next to no clothes on? Would I get the blame? If they decide to wear hijab or burqah, what does that mean for me as their Christian mother? How can I possibly be part of this world? Why was I assuming that they will automatically isolate me out of their lives if they are raised as Muslim? What if something happened to their father and I had to raise them as “good Muslim kids?” Could I cope? Could they cope? Would it necessarily follow that if they follow their father’s religion, that they would forget their Jamaican, Christian heritage? Would my daughters resent me for the choices that I had made in marrying their father, by forcing religion on them? How could I help my children (sons or daughters) through Ramadan? Could they celebrate Christmas? Why doesn’t he want them to attend a regular Church ceremony every once in a while? Is that a rejection of my religion and hence a rejection of me? Would I have ot convert to make them “good Muslim kids?” The questions were coming thick and fast and the anxiety grew.

Then I calmed myself in the realisation that we had to have children first!!!! And who knows, I may be blessed with only boys! When they come along then we can make decisions. I spoke to my sister-in-law’s husband. He said that when she first came to England, she would sometimes wear her hijab loose, other times tight. Although he said that he did not mind how she wore it, he stated that quite clearly she had to make a decision to wear it one way or the other. She could not “hold the pole in the middle.” I asked him “why not?” because by default, if we are blessed with children, they will be holding the pole in the middle. Although he thought that I meant that they would be holding a religious pole I then realised that religion informs a lot of things, but not everything. Maybe if we stopped projecting our fears of which side is better or has the correctest philosophy, then we could delineate half the rubbish that they may have to go through? But this is true of whether they are interfaith children or not. As parents we (like many others) can only do our best.

Not-So-Frenetic Insider Participating?
As a mother (Christian, British-Jamaican, academic or other wise) I will have a space in my children’s lives and so will my family. My children (when they come along) will be Muslim. But Islam is only a framework and is not limited in how our children can achieve. I have seen from others that no matter how you raise your children, they do not always turn out how you planned – you can only do your best and hope for the rest. There is some stuff that can be sorted before they come, but right now what I want is healthy kids. There will be a space for everyone in their lives as long as we don’t get too caught up with things outside of their well-being.

But first I gotta have ‘em!

Peace, I-nity and Blessings

Patricia

Kash Choudry

I began to see things differently, British life wasn’t just about alcohol and promiscuity, it was about a sound education system where teachers taught my children to the best of their ability, help was available for the needy in our society, housing, medical help and food were basic amenities catered for in England. Do we have such luxuries in third world countries?

Many people I see around me are not categorised into gender, race, religion or ethnicity, some are just fathers and mothers, working and keeping a living for their family and I simply fit into that category like many others.

Why can’t we all keep things simple, all I know is that I am an ordinary person, a mother, a daughter and so on – I just happen to be a Muslim living in a place that has created fantastic opportunities for everyone to fulfil their goals dreams and ambitions.

Ameena Zameer Hanif

Tip toeing down the street praying
Nobodies watching me
When you see me glide down the street what do you see?

Weighing 30 grams, causing havoc across Capricorn lines
Has repercussions in two worlds
Different styles, motif’s, more than ROYGBIV

Veiled, you only see the windows to my soul
What more do you want?
If I leap in the air with a spinning bird kick
Would you look in amazement, Woo shoo style
Or would you evolve me into a ninja assassin

Flowing garments, swaying delicately reminiscing Mother
India carrying the drink
Draped in sequences and silk; a Mughal princess

I bet you think I can’t even speak English
I’ll quote you Ghazali to Nietzsche and back to Aristotle

Suns ready, waiting to play; it’s not his energy that makes me sweat
Pearls on my head sliding across democracy

On the bus, I’m constricted, an anaconda, slithering, rapping, squeezing
Me to stress

Your post-modern glasses see only Hollywood fiction
So I put it to you, who wears the veil?

This worlds scary, lavish laws evolve legislation into limbo
I yearn the day I raise my Phoenix
Until then
My beeper says hello “Mr. Smith’s 9am appointment for brain surgery”
Ahmed Kahn

When the first mosques were created (usually these places comprised of nothing more than a few rooms in a house) there was condemnation. Questions about whether children born in England should be taught Arabic were raised. Other concerns such as loyalty, identity and assimilation became tabloid headlines.
Instead of conforming to negative stereotypes Birmingham Muslims took a leaf out of the life of Prophet Mohammad (pbuh) and began to illustrate the benefits of Islam through practice. The seeds of understanding were sown and in time they helped to build bridges between the various communities.

As time marched on, and more people were introduced to the tranquillity and compassion of Islam, more purpose built Mosques were constructed in suburbs like Sparkbrook and Small Heath. Islam became visible to the larger community. People began to take interest in the Islamic calendar – Ramadan and Eid became part of school life – and pillars of Islam such as Zakat showed that Muslims were continually engaged in charity.

The social, political, cultural and economical contribution of Islam upon the city of Birmingham continues to resonate. Muslims from such diverse places as India and the Middle-East (and more recently from Eastern Europe) brought with them exotic foods and fashions which boosted trade at the renowned Bull-Ring Markets. Birmingham now enjoys a multitude of delicacies and several areas have become gastronomical landmarks. Curry has replaced fish-&-chips as Britain’s national dish. Middle-Eastern fashion, heavily influenced by Islamic designs, has been incorporated into mainstream haute-couture.

Despite virulent Islamaphobic reportage, from every platform of mass-media post-9/11, people are curious and want to learn about Islam. The Holy Qur’an has become an international bestseller and more people are reverting to Islam. The simplicity of Islam offers a refuge from the chaos of modern life. The philosophy at the heart of Islam, with its potent message about universal brotherhood, is now more pertinent than ever before.

Birmingham, and to a certain degree the larger British community, has successfully integrated Muslims. People have witnessed Islam being practiced by local residents and they have come to realize that it offers an antidote to the many ailments currently afflicting society. Furthermore, Muslims actively engage with their environment to make it a safer place. Facilities are now available where disaffected youth can safely play and where help and advice is also available to gain employment or pursue further education. Muslims have shown that they can rise above prejudice and offer a positive contribution to their city.

Birmingham continues to evolve and now, as we head into the second decade of the new century, Islam continues to rejuvenate the city. The example set by the Muslims of Birmingham has become a beacon of hope to all those searching for peace and security.
Rangzeb Hussain ©

It so happened, one day, that Mulla Naserudin was strolling along the dusty path that led out through the market in the fabled city of Baghdad. His hair was neatly tied up inside his turban and his beard was oiled and perfumed. A smile played across his face and his lips were busy composing a merry tune. His steps skipped and his fingers clicked.

“Salaam, Mulla,” said a passing Merchant.

“Salaam to you, dear brother,” Mulla Naserudin sang back the greeting.

“You seem extremely merry on this bright morning,” the Merchant noticed the Mulla’s happy mood. “Did you happen to pick up a nice bargain from the market?”

“No,” said Mulla Naserudin.

“Oh, you must have inherited some fortune then?” said the Merchant.

“No,” answered Mulla Naserudin.

“Aha, maybe you’ve become a grandfather?” the Merchant continued with his curiosity.

“No,” said Mulla Naserudin again.

“I know, you’ve sold your donkey for a good price?” asked the Merchant.

“No,” replied Mulla Naserudin. “In fact, I’ve lost my donkey this morning and now I’m searching for him.”

“What!” cried out the Merchant. “You’ve lost your treasured donkey and yet you seem so cheerful. Have you lost your senses?”

“No, not my senses, just the donkey,” whistled a merry Mulla Naserudin.

“You’re quite mad!” shouted the Merchant with consternation. “That donkey is your pride and joy and yet you show no concern at its loss.”

“Well, I am concerned,” said Mulla Naserudin.

“But your behaviour is so strange,” said the Merchant. “Aren’t you worried about losing the donkey?”

“I’ve looked for it in many places,” replied Mulla Naserudin. “So far I’ve searched my fields and even looked over into my neighbour’s garden, I’ve gone through the stock of donkeys in the market and now it only remains for me to peek over that hill over there. I don’t think being worried would have helped me much in my search. The thing is, you need a very clear and calm mind for this type of work and so I’ve kept myself cheerful and relaxed. However, if I don’t find my donkey behind that hill, then dear brother, you will be treated to a full scream coming from deep within my breast. You will then bear witness to the spectacle of Mulla Naserudin wailing and pulling out his beard. Then you will see my full grief. But, since I have yet to look behind that hill, I remain hopeful and pray to Allah that my donkey is eating grass over there.”

“A most wise decision,” nodded the Merchant. “Very wise indeed.”

Mulla Naserudin waved goodbye to the Merchant and continued on his way along the path which led to the hill. He whistled a merry tune and skipped gaily as he went.

- End -

Moral:

Needless worry does not help to resolve problems.