My journey away from Islam Part 1

My journey away from Islam    Part 1

It’s been quite a journey for me to get here and I so I do apologise if I don’t go into full detail, however, my struggle out of Islam has taken me on a long narrow path to intellectual enlightenment and meaning for life. For the past 23 years I’ve been a moderate (if there is ever such a thing) Muslim compared to my extended family as I had the privilege of growing up in a secular country. What I mean when I describe myself as a ‘moderate Muslim’ is by the standard average regular Muslim that you might see or know. The one who prays, fasts during Ramadan and celebrates Eid but has never read the sharia law or the hadith in detail. I admit it, I was naive and unaware of the fundamental principles of Islam and the reason for it was because I inherited my religion as I suspect most Muslims have. I was never given the opportunity to really question what it means to be a Muslim and why I believed the things I do. It was ‘you’re a Muslim, Prophet Mohamed is the last messenger, you have to pray 5 times a day and fast’ and you can’t colour between the lines. It was a robotic cycle of what I was brainwashed to believe if I was to ever escape from burning in the everlasting hellfire. So for 23 years I allowed myself to be lied to until I went to Somalia. Everything changed. I changed.

It’s funny looking back to my first day coming to Somalia how many rules I violated. I was the only person without a hijab or a long abaya on. For those of you who aren’t familiar what an abaya is, it’s a long traditional dress that’s often black and very long. It kinda reminds me of the Harry Potter cloaks but minus the wand and magic. Nowadays, you may have seen some abaya’s that are bright in colour or the new kinds with a lot of lace on them to make it look extra fancy. That’s today’s so-called modern Muslim feminist trying to push their agenda to dull the masses into thinking that such clothes are fact ‘liberating’ rather than ‘oppressing’ them but, hey what do I know, right?

 So, let me take it back to when I was on the plane. So far, no one looked at me funny so I didn’t think anything of it. Little did I know what a mistake I was making. Once I got off the plane and made my way through the terminal doors every single person had their eyes on me. I tried distracting myself as I waited for my bags but I can feel a million eyes burn into me and I felt powerless. I became uncomfortable in my own body and wanted to nothing more than to disappear. Whilst I was racking my brain on why Somali men act like wild animals compared to their male counterparts around the world, I felt a tight grab on my upper arm. I turn to look who it was and luckily it was only my uncle.

‘Stand at the back, I will get your bags’ was all he said. There were no hugs or any ‘How’s the flight?’ There was no warmth or joy in his tone and I got the feeling he didn’t like my presence at all. I gave up trying to create a conversation with him and decided to walk towards the back to where the rest of my family was waiting…

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