Young. British. Female. Muslim.

Thousands of young British women living in the UK decide to convert to Islam - here are some of their stories

From left: Sukina Douglas, Catherine Heseltine, Aqeela Lindsay Wheeler, Catherine Huntley and Joanne Bailey Its a controversial time for British women to be wearing the hijab, the basic Muslim headscarf. Last month, Belgium became the first European country to pass legislation to ban the burka (the most concealing of Islamic veils), calling it a threat to fem ale dignity, while France looks poised to follow suit. In Italy earlier this month, a Muslim woman was fined 500 (430) for wearing the Islamic veil outside a post office. And yet, while less than 2 per cent of the population now attends a Church of England service every week, the number of female converts to Islam is on the rise. At the London Central Mosque in Regents Park, women account for roughly two thirds of the New Muslims who make their official declarations of faith there and most of them are under the age of 30. Conversion statistics are frustratingly patchy, but at the time of the 2001 Census, there were at least 30,000 British Muslim converts in the UK. According to Kevin Brice, of the Centre for Migration Policy Research, Swansea University, this number may now be closer to 50,000 and the majority are women. Basic analysis shows that increasing numbers of young, university-educated women in their twenties and thirties are converting to Islam, confirms Brice. Our liberal, pluralistic 21st-century society means we can choose our careers, our politics and we can pick and choose who we want to be spiritually, explains Dr Mohammad S. Seddon, lecturer in Islamic Studies at the University of Chester. Were in an era of the religious supermarket, he says. Joanne Bailey Solicitor, 30, Bradford The first time I wore my hijab into the office, I was so nervous, I stood outside on the phone to my friend for ages going, What on earth is everyone going to say? When I walked in, a couple of people asked, Why are you wearing that scarf? I didnt know you were a Muslim. Im the last person youd expect to convert to Islam: I had a very sheltered, working-class upbringing in South Yorkshire. Id hardly even seen a Muslim before I went to university.

In my first job at a solicitors firm in Barnsley, I remember desperately trying to play the role of the young, single, career woman: obsessively dieting, shopping and going to bars but I never felt truly comfortable. Then one afternoon in 2004 everything changed: I was chatting to a Muslim friend over coffee, when he noticed the little gold crucifix around my neck. He said, Do you believe in God, then? I wore it more for fashion than religion and said, No, I dont think so, and he started talking about his faith. I brushed him off at first, but his words stuck in my mind. A few days later, I found myself ordering a copy of the Koran on the internet. It took me a while to work up the courage to go to a womens soc ial event run by the Leeds New Muslims group. I remember hovering outside the door thinking, What the hell am I doing here? I imagined they would be dressed head-to-toe in black robes: what could I, a 25-year-old, blonde English girl, possibly have in common with them? But when I walked in, none of them fitted the stereotype of the oppressed Muslim housewife; they were all doctors, teachers and psychiatrists. I was struck by how content and secure they seemed. It was meeting these women, more than any of the books I read, that convinced me that I wanted to become a Muslim. After four years, in March 2008, I made the declaration of faith at a friends house. At first, I was anxious that I hadnt done the right thing, but I soon relaxed into it a bit like starting a new job. A few months later, I sat my parents down and said, Ive got something to tell you. There was a silence and my mum said, Youre going to become Muslim, arent you? She burst into tears and kept asking things like, What happens when you get married? Do you have to cover up? What about your job? I tried to reassure her that Id still be me, but she was concerned for my welfare. Contrary to what most people think, Islam doesnt oppress me; it lets me be the person that I was all along. Now Im so much more content and grateful for the things Ive got. A few months ago, I got engaged to a Muslim solicitor I met on a training course. He has absolutely no problem with my career, but I do agree with the Islamic perspective on the traditional roles for men and women. I want to look after my husband and children, but I also want my independence. Im proud to be British and Im proud to be Muslim and I dont see them as conflicting in any way. Aqeela Lindsay Wheeler Housewife and mother, 26, Leicester As a teenager I thought all religion was pathetic. I used to spend every weekend getting drunk outside the leisure centre, in high-heeled sandals and miniskirts. My view was: whats the point in putting restrictions on yourself? You only live once. At university, I lived the typical student existence, drinking and going clubbing, but Id always wake up the next morning with a hangover and think, whats the point? It wasnt until my second year that I met Hussein. I knew he was a Muslim, b ut we were falling in love, so I brushed the whole issue of religion under the carpet. But six months into our relationship, he told me that being with me was against his faith. I was so confused. That night I sat up all night reading two books on Islam that Hussein had given me. I remember bursting into tears because I was so overwhelmed. I thought, This could be the whole meaning of life. But I had a lot of questions: why should I cover my head? Why cant I eat what I like?

I started talking to Muslim women at university and they completely changed my view. They were educated, successful and actually found the headscarf liberating. I was convinced, and three weeks later officially converted to Islam. When I told my mum a few weeks later, I dont think she took it seriously. She made a few comments like, Why would you wear that scarf? Youve got lovely hair, but she didnt seem to understand what it meant. My best friend at university completely turned on me: she couldnt understand how one week I was out clubbing, and the next Id given everything up and converted to Islam. She was too close to my old life, so I dont regret losing her as a friend. I chose the name Aqeela because it means sensible and intelligent and thats what I was aspiring to become when I converted to Islam six years ago. I became a whole new person: everything to do with Lindsay, Ive erased from my memory. The most difficult thing was changing the way I dressed, because I was always so fashion conscious. The first time I tried on the hijab, I remember sitting in front of the mirror, thinking, What am I doing putting a piece of cloth over my head? I look crazy! Now Id feel naked without it and only occasionally daydream about feeling the wind blow through my hair. Once or twice, Ive come home and burst into tears because of how frumpy I feel but thats just vanity. Its a relief not to feel that pressure any more. Wearing the hijab reminds me that all I need to do is serve God and be humble. Ive even gone through phases of wearing the niqab [face veil] because I felt it was more appropriate but it can cause problems, too. When people see a white girl wearing a niqab they assume Ive stuck my fingers up at my own culture to follow a bunch of Asians. Ive even had teenage boys shout at me in the street, Get that s*** off your head, you white bastard. After the London bombings, I was scared to walk about in the streets for fear of retaliation. For the most part, I have a very happy life. I married Hussein and now we have a one-yearold son, Zakir. We try to follow the traditional Muslim roles: Im foremost a housewife and mother, while he goes out to work. I used to dream of having a successful career as a psychologist, but now its not something I desire. Becoming a Muslim certainly wasnt an easy way out. This life can sometimes feel like a prison, with so many rules and restrictions, but we believe that we will be rewarded in the afterlife. Catherine Heseltine Nursery school teacher, 31, North London If youd asked me at the age of 16 if Id like to become a Muslim, I would have said, No thanks. I was quite happy drinking, partying and fitting in with my friends. Growing up in North London, we never practised religion at home; I always thought it was slightly old-fashioned and irrelevant. But when I met my future husband, Syed, in the sixth form, he challenged all my preconceptions. He was young, Muslim, believed in God and yet he was normal. The only difference was that, unlike most teenage boys, he never drank. A year later, we were head over heels in love, but we quickly realised: how could we be together if he was a Muslim and I wasnt? Before meeting Syed, Id never actually questioned what I believed in; Id just picked up my casual agnosticism through osmosis. So I started reading a few books on Islam out of curiosity. In the beginning, the Koran appealed to me on an intellectual level; the emotional and spiritual side didnt come until later. I loved its explanations of the natural world and

discovered that 1,500 years ago, Islam gave women rights that they didnt have here in the West until relatively recently. It was a revelation. Religion wasnt exactly a cool thing to talk about, so for three years I kept my interest in Islam to myself. But in my first year at university, Syed and I decided to get married and I knew it was time to tell my parents. My mums initial reaction was, Couldnt you just live together first? She had concerns about me rushing into marriage and the role of wome n in Muslim households but no one realised how seriously I was taking my religious conversion. I remember going out for dinner with my dad and him saying, Go on, have a glass of wine. I wont tell Syed! A lot of people assumed I was only converting to Islam to keep his family happy, not because I believed in it. Later that year, we had an enormous Bengali wedding, and moved into a flat together but I certainly wasnt chained to the kitchen sink. I didnt even wear the hijab at all to start with, and wore a bandana or a hat instead. I was used to getting a certain amount of attention from guys when I went out to clubs and bars, but I had to let that go. I gradually adopted the Islamic way of thinking: I wanted people to judge me for my intelligence and my character not for the way I looked. It was empowering. Id never been part of a religious minority before, so that was a big adjustment, but my friends were very accepting. Some of them were a bit shocked: What, no drink, no drugs, no men? I couldnt do that! And it took a while for my male friends at university to remember things like not kissing me hello on the cheek any more. Id have to say, Sorry, its a Muslim thing. Over time, I actually became more religious than my husband. We started growing apart in other ways, too. In the end, I think the responsibility of marriage was too much for him; he became distant and disengaged. After seven years together, I decided to get a divorce. When I moved back in with my parents, people were surprise d I was still wandering around in a headscarf. But if anything, being on my own strengthened my faith: I began to gain a sense of myself as a Muslim, independent of him. Islam has given me a sense of direction and purpose. Im involved with the Muslim Pub lic Affairs Committee, and lead campaigns against Islamophobia, discrimination against women in mosques, poverty and the situation in Palestine. When people call us extremists or the dark underbelly of British politics, I just think its ridiculous. Th ere are a lot of problems in the Muslim community, but when people feel under siege it makes progress even more difficult. I still feel very much part of white British society, but I am also a Muslim. It has taken a while to fit those two identities together, but now I feel very confident being who I am. Im part of both worlds and no one can take that away from me. Sukina Douglas Spoken-word poet, 28, London Before I found Islam, my gaze was firmly fixed on Africa. I was raised a Rastafarian and used to have crazy-long dreadlocks: one half blonde and the other half black. Then, in 2005, my ex-boyfriend came back from a trip to Africa and announced that hed converted to Islam. I was furious and told him he was losing his African roots. Why was he trying to be an Arab? It was so foreign to how I lived my life. Every time I saw a Muslim woman in the street I thought, Why do they have to cover up like that? Arent they hot? It looked oppressive to me.

Islam was already in my consciousness, but when I started reading the autobiography of Malcolm X at university, something opened up inside me. One day I said to my best friend, Muneera, Im falling in love with Islam. She laughed and said, Be quiet, Sukina! She only started exploring Islam to prove me wrong, but soon enough she started believing it, too. I was always passionate about womens rights; there was no way I would have entered a religion that sought to degrade me. So when I came across a book by a Moroccan feminist, it unravelled all my negative opinions: Islam didnt oppress women; people did. Before I converted, I conducted an experiment. I covered up in a long gypsy skirt and headscarf and went out. But I didnt feel frumpy; I felt beautiful. I realised, Im not a sexual commodity for men to lust after; I want to be judged for what I contribute mentally. Muneera and I took our shahada [declaration of faith] together a few months later, and I cut my dreadlocks off to represent renewal: it was the beginning of a new life. Just three weeks after our conversion, the 7/7 bombings happened; suddenly we were public enemy No 1. Id never experienced racism in London before, but in the weeks after the bombs, people would throw eggs at me and say, Go back to your own country, even though this was my country. Im not trying to shy away from any aspect of who I am. Some people dress in Arabian or Pakistani styles, but Im British and Caribbean, so my national dress is Primark and Topshop, layered with colourful charity-shop scarves. Six months after I converted, I got back together with my ex-boyfriend, and now were married. Our roles in the home are different, because we are different people, but he would never try to order me around; thats not how I was raised. Before I found Islam, I was a rebel without a cause, but now I have a purpose in life: I can identify my flaws and work towards becoming a better person. To me, being a Muslim means contributing to your society, no matter where you come from. Catherine Huntley Retail assistant, 21, Bournemouth My parents always thought I was abnormal, even before I became a Muslim. In my early teens, theyd find me watching TV on a Friday night and say, What are you doing at home? Havent you got any friends to go out with? The truth was: I didnt like alcohol, Ive never tried smoking and I wasnt interested in boys. Youd think theyd have been pleased. Ive always been quite a spiritual person, so when I started studying Islam in my first year of GCSEs, something just clicked. I would spend every lunchtime reading about Islam on the computer. I had peace in my heart and nothing else mattered any more. It was a weird experience Id found myself, but the person I found wasnt like anyone else I knew. Id hardly ever seen a Muslim before, so I didnt have any preconceptions, but my parents werent so open-minded. I hid all my Muslim books and headscarves in a drawer, because I was so scared theyd find out. When I told my parents, they were horrified and said, Well talk about it when youre 18. But my passion for Islam just grew stronger. I started dressing more modestly and would secretly fast during Ramadan. I got very good at leading a double life until one day, when I was 17, I couldnt wait any longer. I sneaked out of the house, put my hijab in a carrier bag and got on the train to Bournemouth. I must have looked completely crazy putting it on in the train carriage, using a wastebin lid as a mirror. When a couple of old people gave me dirty looks, I didnt care. For the first time in my life, I felt like myself.

A week after my conversion, my mum came marching into my room and said, Have you got something to tell me? She pulled my certificate of conversion out of her pocket. I think theyd rather have found anything else at that point drugs, cigarettes, condoms because at least they could have put it down to teenage rebellion. I could see the fear in her eyes. She couldnt comprehend why Id want to give up my freedom for the sake of a foreign religion. Why would I want to join all those terrorists and suicide bombers? It was hard being a Muslim in my parents house. Ill never forget one evening, there were two women in burkas on the front page of the newspaper, and they started joking, Thatll be Catherine soon. They didnt like me praying five times a day either; they thought it was obsessive. Id pray right in front of my bedroom door so my mum couldnt walk in, but she would always call upstairs, Catherine, do you want a cup of tea? just so Id have to stop. Four years on, my grandad still says things like, Muslim women have to walk three steps behind their husbands. It gets me really angry, because thats the culture, not the religion. My fianc, whom I met eight months ago, is from Afghanistan and he believes that a Muslim woman is a pearl and her husband is the shell that protects her. I value that old-fashioned way of life: Im glad that when we get married hell take care of paying the bills. I always wanted to be a housewife anyway. Marrying an Afghan man was the cherry on the cake for my parents. They think Im completely crazy now. Hes an accountant and actually speaks better English than I do, but they dont care. The wedding will be in a mosque, so I dont think theyll come. It hurts to think Ill never have that fairytale wedding, surrounded by my family. But I hope my new life with my husband will be a lot happier. Ill create the home Ive always wanted, without having to feel the pain of people judging me.