I don’t know much about the Muslim faith, or any faith, to be honest. As someone who was raised agnostic, I struggle to fully comprehend how folk are able to have unwavering belief in a divine, all-powerful God. 

Since I was originally from a small, white, farm town, my first experience interacting with a Muslim person was in 6th grade, when a new student joined my middle school class. Her name was Nada, and I was a bit infatuated with her because she was absolutely stunning, had a nose piercing, and wore the most lovely sheer hijabs. We became quick friends, and going to hang out at her home was pretty remarkable to me. She lived in a huge house that was decorated beautifully with rugs of rich colors, and it always smelled really unique because of the different spices her parents cooked with. 

I remember her first time participating in Ramadan at our school – telling me that she was unable to eat or drink during the day. This really shocked me, and I doubted that I would ever be able to fast for an entire school day. There was one day that it was unusually hot – it must have been 65 and sunny, and she couldn’t play with us at recess because she didn’t want to get overheated without being able to drink water. She never complained though, she always had a gracefulness about her. 

My high school was predominantly white, and while my college was more diverse, its non-white population was largely Haitian and Cape Verdean, so I didn’t interact with any other Muslim folks until moving to Portland after graduation. 

My first job out of college was a long term substitute kindergarten teacher, working the first 2 months of the school year in a diverse school with a low socioeconomic status and a high Muslim population. 

My Massachusetts degree was in grades 1-6, and kindergarten was undoubtedly out of my experience/comfort zone. Kindergarten teachers were expected to do home visits for their upcoming students, and fellow staff members at the school warned me that my home visits would likely be challenging. I was coached on cultural differences, and to expect that many adult Muslim men wouldn’t use eye contact with me, shake my hand, or engage in ways I’d typically expect a student’s parent to engage with me. I was told this was because I was a woman, and that was hard for me to hear as a young, aspiring educator. 

As a lifelong, passionate feminist, these stereotypes about Muslim men shaped some worrisome associations. I have always denounced any form of sexism, and have been vocal and passionate about gender equality. I worried for my fellow sisters in countries that were predominantly Muslim and didn’t have laws to protect them. I even worried about arranged marriages. 

All of that being said, I’ve since grown. I’ve realized that these misunderstandings were nothing more than damaging stereotypes- they were a single, inaccurate story about an incredibly prominent religious culture.  Stereotypes like this are the things that are actually oppressive to Muslim women.