My name used to be Christina but as of ten months ago they call me Yasmina. That’s my Muslim name. One with a meaning. It means Jasmin flower. Beautiful. I am now a part of a huge Muslim community that spans all over the world. And no matter what, it’s still growing.
I started out as a non-Muslim going to WSU with a major in Social Work. My parents were Christian and me; I didn’t really have a so-called religion. Since I lived in such a diverse community and there was such a huge Muslim population, I was familiar with them but never really looked into it. That is until I became close friends with Aisha. She asked me to accompany her to this thing called an Eid gathering.
She explained to me that after the holy month of Ramadan which entailed all Muslims to fast for 30 days, sun up to sun down, they had a huge celebration afterwards. Muslim sisters and brothers would come together and join in all kind of festivities. I’d never seen anything like it before.
Aisha put this beautiful sari on me adorned with sequence and beading, she also put a hijab (scarf) on my head to cover my hair for respect. I felt good to be dressing up like everyone else. After prayers is when I first saw him.
Amin was this fine chocolate man, tall and gorgeous from head to toe, with a dazzling smile and wavy hair. I couldn’t keep my eyes off him as he greeted brothers. I elbowed Aisha in the rib, “Who is that?”
She squinted through the crowd and then smiled, “Oh, him…”
Aisha asked her older brother about him and one thing led to the next. He approached us outside just as we were leaving. “Asalam’alakum, sisters,” he looked at me with a shy grin.
I was glad to know the Islamic greeting and replied, “Wa’alakum a’salam.”
Later I found out that he was a student at WSU as well. At first we’d talk online and then we’d go on campus for lunch or sit and talk in between classes.
A few months later, I decided to convert and I never looked back even though my family detested it. It didn’t matter though. I was still going to school and working. Being Muslim didn’t change any of my goals and eventually they’d come around.
Like most female converts I didn’t choose to be Muslim because of a man. I didn’t do it do “go with him” so to speak. I did it because something inside was calling me to the truth. I couldn’t deny anything that the Quran said. I couldn’t deny that the bible which my parents taught me from had fallacies. I did believe that everything we did had its weight and that we all weren’t going to heaven. But instead would be judged on the good and bad things we did on life. I enjoyed being around positive Muslims and I felt clean for the first time in my life. Even though I’d talk to Amin about Islam I didn’t learn everything from him. I went to my local mosque to get information about Islamic rules. Or if I couldn’t figure out a verse then I’d try and talk to my Imam for clarification.
For me Islam was great but I was human and like humans I had my weaknesses. A few of mine were the way I dressed. I wasn’t ready to make that leap yet. Of course I covered my hair but my clothes weren’t as modest as they could’ve been. And some sisters would turn their noses and scoff whenever they seen me.
I couldn’t believe that Muslim sisters could be so cruel but as time went on, I reminded myself that every religion and culture had its bad apples. And that Islam wasn’t exempt. It was ok because I was a new Muslim still and I was working on myself first. So no matter what they said or didn’t say, I kept it moving. They wanted me to get ghetto, they wanted me to lose my cool. So I killed them with kindness.
That saved me…and them.
There was a group in particular that hated my guts. They were angry that I was associated with Amin. From what he told me, they stalked him on fb and he denied them. They even went as far as trying to get other brothers to convince him that they were a better pick. How thirsty was that? I thought. I listened and didn’t say anything. But he did tell me that they were going to target me, spread lies and all that good stuff. “So they are basically Muslim equivalents to hood possums?”
We both had a good laugh at that one.
At some points they went as far as texting his phone. The messages were about me of course, calling me every name in the book. So Islamic I thought. If I had met this broads before I converted I dreaded to think that I would’ve even converted after seeing the way they acted.
One day at Jumah they got real bossy and cornered me after prayer. It was funny to me because most of them were all abaya-ed up and one even wore a veil on her face. Still as ghetto as they wanted to be. “Salams,” one said, I think she was the ringleader her name was Amenna.
I slipped on my shoes, “Wa’alakum asalam.”
“So, sister,” she said with emphasis on sister. “How do you like being Muslim?
“What kind of question is that?” my eyebrows scrunched together.
“Well we just wanted to know how it was going, you know with how to dress and everything. We saw you were having a hard time with dressing correctly.”
They all giggled simultaneously while I stood there in shock. Did she really just insult me?
The veiled one spoke up, “How long have you been Muslim anyway?”
“Long enough,” I pushed past.
They laughed and one yelled, “Just because you put a scarf on ya’ head don’t mean you Muslim boo!”
The other shouted, “Hey convert, he needs a real Muslim woman!”
I stopped in my tracks and turned around slowly. They weren’t going to disrespect me in the mosque like that. Who did they think they were messing with? These hood Muslims in black were about to get a beat down, New Muslim style. “What did ya’ll just say? I unpinned my scarf and tied it up in a bun. I plucked my earrings out and put them in my pocket. All I could see was excitement in their eyes, they were about to get what they have wanted all along.
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