the jihad and hijab of orange county muslim women

The Barbie doll is a phenomenon that has charmed children all over the world for decades. Her demeanor may be static, but her careers are endless—she’s a doctor one day, a lifeguard the next. Even with decreased sales from Barbie dolls in the past five years, she remains a constant in the toy-market, as well as a cultural icon and star of many people’s nostalgic recollections. All this in a disproportionate piece of synthetic vinyl plastic.
In 2003, however, Barbie became ousted from Saudi Arabia and subsequently the homes of many Muslim families. Deemed disrespectful to the practices and ways of Islam, Barbie went from celebrity to pariah overnight. The Committee for the Propagation of Virtue and Vice in Saudi Arabia added Barbie to their website, devoted entirely to items deemed offensive and inappropriate to the country’s strict interpretations of Islam.
With Barbie and the titanic Mattel Corporation run out of town, it was the perfect time for Fulla to make her entrance on to the Middle Eastern toy market. Developed by toy company NewBoy, Fulla is just one of many dolls with a Muslim alternative to the Barbie doll. With nearly the exact same proportions, there are few physical differences between Barbie and Fulla. Although Fulla’s hair is a rich dark-brown, you wouldn’t be able to tell because Fulla usually wears a head scarf that covers her hair and neck. Complete with matching abayas (the shoulder-to-toe length coverings often worn by Muslim women,) she even comes accessorized with a pink felt prayer mat.
Fulla is also accompanied by a completely different set of values from western cousin Barbie. Her hobbies include shopping, spending time with her friends, cooking, and praying. Many reports indicate that Fulla is something of a role model for young Muslim girls, emphasizing the personality traits that mothers hope their daughters grow to have.
It seems that the Quran itself has fated the physical appearance of women in all facets of Muslim culture—even down to the dolls. Like any religious scripture, the writings of the Quran have been highly contested for centuries. But scholars have concluded that the following passage, which dictates the dress of women through the sayings of the prophet Mohammed, indicates that it is mandatory for Muslim women to cover themselves:
“Tell your wives and your daughters, and the women of the believers, to wrap their veils close round them. It is better that way, they can be recognized but not annoyed. God is forgiving and merciful. And say to the believing women that they cast down their looks and guard their private parts, and display not their ornaments, except those which are outside; and let them pull their kerchiefs over their bosoms and not display their ornaments save to their husbands and fathers.” (Quran, sura 24: Light)
The word hijab is often confused with the word for scarf, which is actually khimar. Hijab, rather than being one specific piece of clothing, is more accurately defined as a state of being. This state consists of both thought and dress, one that Muslim women are expected to adhere to. It is a state of modesty, of piousness and humility. It also emphasizes the importance and value of a women’s body, which is often lost in risqué advertisements and images from the mainstream media. Part of what helped make the Barbie-based Fulla such a success was simply taking the western concept and putting it in a hijab. Underneath, however, she’s still made of the same synthetic vinyl plastic.
Despite the Quran’s holy decree for cover, many Muslim women elect not to adhere to this. In Turkey, a country in which 97% of the population identifies as Muslim, only half of the women who cover themselves feel that it is mandatory. This feeling is one that has reached far beyond the country’s borders.
Yasmin Nouh, 19, is a second-year Literary Journalism student at the University of California, Irvine. Her hair, which is stylish and curly, falls loosely past her shoulders. She typically adorns her ears and neck with colorful jewelry and beads, and her outfits are always charming and alternative—thin cardigans over vintage dresses, with elf-like suede boots or gold sandals. She conjures up the storybook image of a gypsy, with her fringes and beaded skirts and bright, attentive eyes. Having grown up in Los Angeles, Yasmin would have no problem fitting in at a rock concert, or at a swanky, hipster-filled art opening.
Yasmin is the second-youngest of five children. Her parents, both Muslim, raised her with the expectation that come puberty, she would begin wearing the hijab. “My mom wears the hijab, and my older sister did—I just started wearing it also,” Says Yasmin.
She displays her California driver’s license, unabashed, which features her wearing a white head scarf. “I don’t feel any less Muslim now, without wearing the hijab. In fact, being without it has brought me closer to God. It has made me more devout in the other traditions of the religion. I don’t drink anymore, and I regularly attend Friday prayer.”
Yasmin had begun wearing the hijab at puberty, like most Muslim girls she knew. It was exciting at first—the mark of her entrance into womanhood, no longer an androgynous youth but a woman whose beauty was sacred and protected. Or at least, that’s the way her mother had tried to make her see it. In the mornings she would allow the scarf to drape over her head, one side lower than the other. She would gather the end of the lower side and swing it around her neck and collarbones, then tuck it in neatly by her cheek. Like many women, she would wear pins to keep her scarf in place, not wanting the day’s exertions to make it come undone.
Despite her covered appearance, Yasmin’s atypical personality did not go unnoticed in the mosque.
“Are you a full time hijabi?” Other girls would ask.
“Yes,” she would reply, “Why do you ask?”
They would answer: “Because you don’t act like one. You’re so loud and outspoken.”
These comments seemed to strike a chord within Yasmin. “I made [the hijab] out to be a source of restriction, something which held me back. I wanted to dance in public and be loud and obnoxious and play soccer with the boys and cuss like a motherfucker without always being questioned. I didn’t feel like I could do all that, I didn’t feel like I should do all that while wearing a hijab.”
Yasmin recalls the day she stopped wearing a hijab, towards the end of her senior year in High School. As she grew increasingly restless with the hypocrisy of many hijab-wearing women, the scarf around head became an uncomfortable and unnecessary adornment, a constant reminder of her divided identity. Finally, Yasmin knew it was time to remove the scarf.
“It was during second period Algebra 2. For the couple months prior to that day, I started taking off my hijab in public and put it back on when I came back home. I felt very hypocritical, making me feel even more disconnected from my Muslim identity. I knew I was going to take it off permanently, but I just didn't know exactly when that would happen.”
And it did. During the class, Yasmin described a sensation of two different people living in the same body: one, the hijab-wearing daughter of a prominent Muslim family, the other a young woman needing to be her own person, and to be true to herself.
“It was like my hands were wrapping my scarf around my head out of habit but my mind was like, no! No! No! This does not belong on your head anymore. You're not this person. You're not acting like you're a good little Muslim girl, anymore. So I went to my car in the school parking lot, and just did it.” Yasmin recalls how easy it was just slip the scarf off of her head. For such a seemingly simple act, the consequences to follow were much more complicated.
Arriving home that day, Yasmin was greeted by the dual looks of disappointment and disapproval from her parent’s faces. Her older sister Aisha had also stopped wearing a hijab, and they did not want Yasmin to follow in her footsteps.
“Is this because you want to start looking attractive for boys?” Her mother had asked. Having been the last thing on her mind, this upset Yasmin.
“You know this is mandatory? Wearing it is a command from God,” said her father. He had not raised his voice, but the words he spoke did not need an additional volume.
During class the next day, a boy sitting by Yasmin commented on her lack of a hijab. “Wow, it’s like a whole new emancipated you.” He had said. But Yasmin did not feel emancipated or liberated like that. Inside, her heart was still with Islam.
“I just felt relieved that I didn’t have to pretend to be something that I wasn’t. My non-Muslim friends supported me. My Muslim friends questioned my actions. Friends of my parents would tell them how sorry they were for them, as though I had done something really punishable. I didn’t care. It’s obviously looked down upon in the Muslim community,” she describes passionately, “But there was so much hypocrisy that went along with it. It just didn’t feel right to me.”
In American, particularly Southern California, girls are constantly bombarded with the images of tall, thin, white women strutting across billboards and commercials. There’s a reason why the Fulla doll has not seen its success in the United States. Muslim girls experience a constant conflict between what is required for their religion and what is required to assimilate to California culture. Yasmin finds the biggest hypocrisy with those women who wear a hijab in public, but accompany it with tight clothes and an attitude that is not respectful or considerate of Islam.
Yasmin has made it a point to balance these out in the way that she dresses. Though without a head scarf, Yasmin still wears clothes that are somewhat baggy and modest. Even so, the clothes are still unique and interesting, some even drawing upon prints and styles based on her Egyptian heritage. Yasmin has found a way to forge a new Muslim identity for herself, one that draws on the same values upon which she was raised but that allows her to be unique.
Yasmin noted that upon removal of her head scarf, she found herself to be much more approachable, though in some cases, she blended in more. “I definitely didn’t stand out as much—when my graduation came up, there were some people who didn’t even recognize me. I was just another classmate that they thought they didn’t know.”
Now, the tradition of the hijab serves as a reminder for Yasmin, something that she respects as representing a protective layer and something one wears for Allah’s sake. One shouldn’t put it on or not because of social or cultural expectations, but because of what it says about their relationship with God.
“I think about putting it back on. What would it be like? Would I have to feel like I should lower my tone of voice or not wear that outfit because it’s too tight? I just want to do what I want to do without always questioning myself and doubting my identity as a Muslim. It’s hard.”
Today, Yasmin remains devout. She attends Friday prayer and abides by most of the rules of Islam. Prayer has been an especially important way for Yasmin to maintain her relationship with Islam. “About a couple months ago I actually started praying again,” says Yasmin. “It feels wonderful. I’m still struggling but insha’Allah (meaning “God willing”) I will be consistent. For now, I’m usually praying four or five times a day. The least is three and that never feels good, and I try to make it a habit to make up my prayers when I miss them.”
Yasmin is by no means solitary in her daily prayers. Though one’s relation with Allah is distinctive, the local Muslim community is close at hand. Orange County’s Muslim population is larger than one might expect: out of the 19 major religious organizations, five of them are Islamic. Based on adherents, Muslims make up the fifth largest religious group, with 16 major congregations spread out over the county and a total of 39,583 Muslims who regularly attend the mosque. Yasmin is pleased to make up part of that number.

Another young woman who falls into that 39,583 is Zoya Ahmad, also a Literary Journalism major at the University of California Irvine. But just as Yasmin made the decision to stop wearing hijab, a Zoya chose just the opposite.
Zoya, 19, ties a scarf around her hair and neck every day as part of her typical dressing routine. Like shoes or a belt, she does not leave her house without it. Sometimes, she wears the abaya over-garment. A candid, straight-shooter type, Zoya strikes you as one who would not feel uncomfortable getting her point across to a large group of people but is just as content to lazily discuss her day-to-day life with an intimate group of friends. Her heavy-lidded gaze and slow but deliberate speech are reminiscent of the coastal-town surfer lingo that is Orange County. She says the word “dude” often.
Currently, Zoya is one of 225 members of UCI’s Muslim Student Union. She attends mosque regularly, and prays five times a day. She winces slightly at the mention of the first prayer, which is often at 5 o’clock in the morning. “You get used to it, though. Some kids actually have their parents call to wake them up in the mornings.”
It was only just over a year ago, however, in winter of 2007, that Zoya began wearing a hijab. Having been raised in Paradise Valley, Arizona, in a family and community of reformed Pakistani-Muslims who did not feel that wearing a hijab was essential, it was a big step for Zoya.
“Culturally, in Pakistan, a lot of girls don’t really wear the hijab. In my community back home there weren’t that many girls who wore it. I was always like, oh that’s cool, I’ll wear it when I get married.” This is a view shared by many Muslim girls who choose not to wear a hijab in their youth, feeling that the modesty it provides is only necessary after marriage.
Upon arriving to college and taking more of an interest in her religious background, Zoya had become increasingly compelled to wear a hijab. She noted the liberation that it provided many of her hijab-wearing friends—no one looked at them in a lustful manner, and they were seen more for their intellect and ideas rather than their bodies. To Zoya, it appeared to be anything but oppressive. Rather, it was a physical reminder, on top of one’s faith, about where their thoughts should be.
Though Zoya’s yearning to wear a hijab grew, she found herself unsure of when the right time would be.
“Me and a friend were talking and we both knew that we wanted to start wearing hijab soon but we weren’t sure when. When is a good time to make that kind of decision? One girl I knew just started doing it. Experiences are different for every person.”
Zoya’s journey to hijab began during a summer camp in Fresno which centered on Islam. As part of the dress code, they required the girls to wear a hijab to procure the feeling of modesty while learning about Islam and praying. Zoya’s original intention was to wear it after the camp, but she found that she needed a longer transition.
“For me it was a progression, I started dressing more modestly, I started trying the hijab more often. When I left mosque I wouldn’t take off my scarf, I would go to the grocery store and pick up some stuff just to get the feel of it.” More and more, the hijab became incorporated into Zoya’s life until it became part of her.
“After the Friday of spring break last year, after I went to prayer, after that I was just going to pick up food and I just kept it on the whole day to just go around and feel it out. That day I decided I’m not going to wait anymore, there’s no point in waiting. It was the fourteenth of April, I started wearing it. I came back to school and people just said- “Oh my god, congratulations. From that point on I wore it.”
But the transition was not entirely over for Zoya. She asked people to take down pictures of her, mostly on internet profiles such as Facebook, where she was not wearing a hijab. When shopping, she tries to use her school identification where she is in a hijab, but occasionally she must use her driver’s license, where her hair is showing. Once while traveling, the security agent at the airport had asked to see her driver’s license again, saying, “Is this your card?” It was the first time Zoya not only realized how unrecognizable she was to many people, but what it was like to feel violated by being seen in public without her hijab.
Contrary to Yasmin’s family, Zoya’s parents were somewhat less than thrilled upon her decision to start wearing a hijab.
“My brother and father don’t believe it is mandatory, they believe it’s cultural. I’ve explained my viewpoint several times but it was hard for them to adjust at the beginning.”
Zoya’s brother had the most difficult time with her transition. At first, he was angry, saying that her intentions were wrong. He claimed that she was just doing it because she liked a guy, to gain acceptance.
“Mom doesn’t wear hijab,” he had said. “You make her look bad.”
Zoya prayed for guidance on this topic, though it frustrated and hurt her that her family was not more supportive.

For these two young women, reconciling a Muslim and American identity has been challenging, but both have been unrelenting in their journeys to unite spirituality and self.
“It’s hard to keep things in perspective, but this whole life is a struggle,” says Yasmin. “That’s what jihad really means. It doesn’t mean suicide bombing or terrorist bullshit. Jihad means the greater struggle. The struggle of yourself, of living every day.” In this “struggle”, Yasmin is not alone.
“Sometimes when I would be around the house without hijab and my Dad would say, ‘you look so much better this way’,” recalls Zoya. “I spent a lot of time thinking about what I wanted to do and I just know that this is the right decision for me. I just want my family to see that.”
With new trials testing their spirits and faith every day, it is certainly more than a Fulla doll will ever have to worry about.

contact the author- colinxchristopher@gmail.com