Muslim Girls Talk About Life on Campus
Torn between two cultures, female Muslim students must redefine their relations to their male counterparts, justify their lifestyle choices to other Muslim women and integrate into the receiving society. They face many challenges; each meets them in her own way. Most Muslim college girls don’t wear head-coverings and religion does not play a large role in their daily lives. But even among the most observant students, the girls’ attitude towards the veil they wear and outlook on the receiving society varies widely from one group to another, even from one student to another. Contrary to stereotype, Muslim girls are not all alike: in fact, they have many faces.
“Under my veil, I feel beautiful and free”
Serene and her friends consider it normal that their meeting room at John Abbot College, an English-language post-secondary educational institution located in Montréal’s West Island, is separate from the one for boys. “Here, we get together among girls. There are things we don’t want to share with the guys,” she explains. “It makes sense,” adds Rafif, “because we wear the hijab so as not to be looked at by men.”
“I feel free under my hijab,” says Sedra. She feels beautiful, too. “We wear our hijabs in a beautiful way. We are modest in our way of dressing, but we try to do what’s right. The hijab is not necessarily a kind of black veil to be worn every day. Some people say they like what we wear.”
Sedra is a tall brunette who was born in Canada to a family of Pakistani immigrants. She is in her second year at John Abbott College. She and her friends—Serene, Rafif and the others—are not taken in: they recognize the critical looks. “But,” they declare philosophically, “it’s not so serious.” True, there are people who find them too withdrawn, who think that their families force them to cover their heads, who feel sorry for them. They are aware of all that. But they try to rectify the stereotypes.
“Religion gives us our rights”
Among other things, they blame television. Because people swallow everything that TV spits out, they “assimilate all veiled women with the women of Afghanistan or Saudi Arabia, who don’t even have the right to drive a car,” protests Rafif. “But that’s a matter of culture; it should not to be confused with religion, which gives us our rights.” Nonetheless, Rafif admits that she has been subjected to that culture here in Montréal. “When I took part in a fundraising activity for my homeland, Pakistan, I had a negative experience with guys from my culture. They really think they are superior to women.”
But we also must turn a critical eye on Western culture, and Rafif has her opinions on that. “Here, society reduces a woman’s body to a sexual object that is put on display,” she says. That is one of the reasons she wears the veil. “I don’t want my body to be like that, I’d rather protect it.”
Although they are aware of the prejudices toward wearing the hijab, the veiled girls at John Abbot have a positive impression of their daily environment. They believe, in general, that “people are open-minded and tolerant.”
At Vanier College, another English-language institution in Montréal, Nadine and her friends do not share that view. These Muslim girls, who wear head-coverings, often get together in their prayer room, where they talk among girlfriends. “At Vanier, you don’t get criticized because you wear the hijab. But there are ‘innocent’ questions that come up all the time: why are you wearing that on your head?” Sabah says sarcastically, noting that it’s a disguised way of protesting against wearing the veil.
A tall, attractive 19-year-old, Nadine has an Oriental face and a very shy voice. She is half Lebanese, half Iranian. She is at her second year at the college. Until a few months ago, Nadine looked forward to arriving in the morning at 821 Sainte-Croix Boulevard in Ville Saint-Laurent, where Vanier College is located. Not only because she enjoyed studying social sciences, but also because she liked spending time with her many friends from various ethnic groups. At the same time, she was becoming increasingly fond of going to the prayer room for Muslim girls, almost all of whom wore the veil, although she didn’t.
Then she decided to follow in their footsteps. Ever since, her life has been turned upside down. “It’s one of those moments when you really feel part of an unrespected minority,” she confides. Overnight, all her non-Muslim friends started putting her down. No one speaks to her anymore, except for one Jewish friend. But Nadine has no regrets.
Since she started wearing the hijab, the prayer room reserved for Muslim girls at the college has become a refuge for her. She meets up with like-minded girlfriends who help her deal with the prevailing contempt. “Even the bus driver no longer answers me when I say hello and goodbye, whereas before, he would give me big smiles,” she complains.
The veiled girls at Vanier have lots of stories to tell about the behaviour of bus drivers. Sabah, of Pakistani origin, is preparing to study biochemistry at Concordia University. One morning, she woke up with a strong desire to change her way of dressing. She put on a white ibaya (a veil that Saudi Arabian women wear that covers the entire body except the face). At the bus stop where she was waiting, the bus driver braked just long enough to let a woman off, then, seeing her white silhouette, drove off again quickly. Often, she claims, the other students show intolerance, too. She tells the story of a veiled girl who expressed an opinion during a class discussion and was told, “Why don’t you go back to your own country if your religion is so important to you?”
“The climate here is not encouraging,” says Asmaa, whose parents are from Pakistan. “The profs don’t let us leave classes to say our prayers. When there are discussions about Islam, they are skeptical towards us. And there is that look that always judges us because we wear the hijab.” Nadine adds, “Some teachers say to us, ‘Keep your religion out of the classroom.’” All these factors explain why the girls spend so much time together. “We must be there for each other if ever someone attacks one of our sisters.”
“Let’s all go to the sugar shack* with our families”
Despite situations like this, it’s easy to meet veiled women who live their difference positively, “as true Quebecers.” Elsie, of Lebanese background, came to Quebec at the age of 2. She is now 19 and a student at the French-language Collège de Maisonneuve. “Just because I wear a veil doesn’t mean I want to go unnoticed,” she says. “I do stand out, and I want people to talk to me and notice me. I want them to see there’s a difference, and especially, I want people to come and ask me questions.” She explains her position. “The first thing to change is not Quebecers, it’s Arabs. It’s true that we cut ourselves off from others, but that’s not what we should do. We should move towards them.” Elsie loves explaining her religion and learning from others. Whereas her non-veiled friends introduce themselves by saying, “Houda, Tunisian,” and “Siham, Moroccan,” Elsie views her identity differently. “Maybe I seem to be sucking up, but I feel Québécoise above all. Quebecers don’t have a limited culture that makes you feel rejected. We all go to the sugar shack with our families. The only difference is that my roots are Lebanese.”
The non-veiled students, who make up the majority of female Muslim college students, have no problems communicating with those who do wear the veil. Elsie gets along just fine with her friends from North African countries, who “really into fashion.” But at Collège André-Laurendeau, the situation is different.
“They [the veiled girls] tell me what I should do,” protests Fadwa. “We all have choices to make in life. They just have to respect my choice like I respect theirs.”
Not all non-veiled girls demonstrate the same openness to ideas that clash with their religious culture. Fadwa hangs out with Sarah and Feriel. They often tease her because they find her “too Québécoise” for their tastes. For example, they have different opinions on the rights of gays. “I am in favour of gay marriage and the adoption of children by gay couples,” says Fadwa. “I think I’m the only one. Everyone gets on my back me when I come out with that.” For her birthday, she asked her “conservative” girlfriends to go with her to a gay bar. “We made a sacrifice for her!” they say, laughing.
Translated by Christine York.
* A sugar shack or "cabane à sucre" is a building in a maple stand where the sap of maple trees is boiled to make syrup, taffy and sugar. Traditional Quebec dishes are served. Every spring, during “sugaring off time,” visiting the sugar shack in Quebec is a time for family gatherings and outings among groups of friends and colleagues.
* Rafif, Sedra, Serene and other girls, all students at John Abbott College, in their prayer room.
This article is part of a series on the diversity of values and religious beliefs in colleges and universities and is presented with the financial support of:
