Boy vs. Girl (9 page)

Farhana shut out the world and lost herself in the prayer. She wanted to pray as if she was
standing before Allah, as if she could see Him, knowing that He could see her.

In that prayer, she asked for forgiveness for all past wrongs, for every slip-up, for every oversight, every sin. She poured her heart out and let repentance in. And she emerged from the
salah
cleansed, ready to move forward.

When they sat next to each other on the way home in the car, the twins did not need words. They both knew, almost instinctively, that that night was a turning point.

The first thing Farhana noticed when she stepped out of the house on the way to school the next morning was how warm her ears felt. She had left Faraz behind as he was running late. She wanted to get to school early this morning.

The white cotton was snug, not too tight, but close enough to frame her face and keep her hair from escaping.

She had tried many different styles and had settled on wearing the scarf low over her brow, rather than high up near her hairline as other girls did. It suited the shape of her face more and, strangely enough, emphasised her high cheekbones and the slight dimple in her chin.

You are so vain, Farhana
, she told herself, and felt a stab of guilt. This was not a beauty accessory, like one of her many different hats or her fuchsia
pashmina. This was worship. And that was just what she had tried to tell Ummerji when she had come down to breakfast in her scarf. Dad and Faraz were still upstairs getting dressed.

As soon as Ummerji had caught sight of her, she had taken a deep breath. “Farhana,” she had said, “why are you dressed like that?”

Farhana was so taken aback by the irony of her mother's question that she almost laughed.

“Like what, Ummerji?” she had asked, trying to sound normal, but hating the look of fear and incomprehension in her mother's eyes.

“Like
that
!” Ummerji had raised her voice. “That is not part of your school uniform, is it? What are you trying to do? Cause a problem for your father and me with the school? Show everyone how religious you are?”

* * *

Shazia screamed when she recognised Farhana coming to meet her at the bus stop. “Oh my God!” she shrieked. “I can't believe you really did it! How do you feel?”

Farhana giggled. “Warm!”

They both started laughing.

“Has your mum seen you?”

Farhana nodded and bit her lip.

“What did she say?”

“She wasn't pleased, let me put it that way…”

That was an understatement.

     “No, seriously, I feel good. I feel like it's the right thing to do and that now is the right time… does it make me look weird, though?”

“Well,” said Shazia, putting her head to one side and eyeing her friend critically. “I must admit, it does suit you. It can really drain some girls but you, you're still stunning but in a really innocent way – makes your eyes look massive!”

“Well, I did tell Faraz that I wouldn't be doing it to look good – it has to be from the heart or it isn't worth it, is it?”

“Depends on whether you have a choice or not, I guess,” murmured Shazia ruefully.

“What do you mean, Shaz?”

“Look, Farhana, I've told you before, the only reason I wear scarf is that my dad would go ballistic if I ever tried to leave the house without it. As far as he's concerned, Muslim girls must wear scarf, end of story, case closed. And I know that he's right,
but he never appreciates how I feel about it…”

“But you're just doing what I should have been doing all along…”

“Yeah, but it's different, see? You know what it's like to have guys tell you you're pretty, to fancy you. I may never have that…”

Farhana looked down, thinking of the many tears she had shed over Malik. “Believe me, Shaz, it's not all that great. It really isn't. Sometimes I envy you because you've been protected from so much rubbish, stuff that we did that we knew we shouldn't really be doing. And I see that now. I think you should rethink your reasons for wearing
hijab
– it's your life, remember? You only get one chance…”

“Yeah, I guess so… still, would be nice to know that there is someone out there who could see something in me. But I guess that's life, isn't it? Come on, here's the bus.”

As the two girls boarded their bus, they didn't notice Faraz coming up the path. Next to a tree, he stopped, just hidden from view, and watched them as they disappeared up the stairs.

* * *

That first day in
hijab
was strange for Farhana.

On the one hand, she felt really pleased that she had had the guts to actually put it on and come to school. Some of the other Muslim girls congratulated her, asking her how she learnt to tie it like that, when she started, how she felt. These were the religious girls, the quiet ones, the ones who weren't allowed to attend most school functions, the ones everyone ignored. She didn't want to become like them but she admired their quiet faith and their gentle manners. She would do well to spend a bit more time with them.

On the other hand, she had to deal with the incredulous looks and comments from some of the other girls.

Robina was fulsome in her disdain. When she saw Farhana in the first lesson, she rolled her eyes dramatically.

“Oh, not you too, Farhana, honestly! I know you've been hanging with that auntie of yours but there's no need to go all extreme!” That got a laugh out of some of the other girls, Robina's party people. “And just because Malik dumped you doesn't mean you need to go all Islamic on us…”

Her corner of the room erupted. “Oooohhh, you didn't go
there
, Robina?”

Farhana looked at Robina then - a long, searching look.
Remind me why we are friends
, she thought to herself.

“For your information,” she said at last, taking her seat, “this was my decision. It doesn't have anything to do with anyone else, OK?”

One of the white girls, Clara, piped up: “I think it looks really great on you, Farhana. I bet it was a tough decision to make…”

Farhana smiled at her gratefully.

“But why, Farhana?” one of the other non-Muslim girls asked. “Is it cos it's the month of Ramadan?”

“To be honest, I've been thinking about it for a while now – and I feel ready…”

“Ready to become a social outcast, you mean,” snorted Robina. “Honestly, Farhana, you have everything going for you! Why throw it all away just so that people think you're a bit religious? My sister reckons most girls who wear scarf are hypocrites anyway. They want everyone to think that they're all Islamic but they're up to all sorts. I mean, it's fine if you want to play that ‘good religious girl'
game but it takes more guts to just do what you like anyway, regardless of what people think of you.”

“Is that what your sister says?” asked Farhana.

“Yeah it is, and she should know. She does whatever the hell she likes and she doesn't give a damn about what ‘the community' thinks. I ain't never gonna live my life according to what people think I should and shouldn't do – life's too short for that, eh, girls?”

“Innit, tho!” There was loud agreement from Robina's friends, but thoughtful silence from the rest of the girls.

Farhana burned with frustration. She wanted to grab Robina by her arms and shake her, make her see sense. She was a Muslim, wasn't she? How come that didn't count for anything? But how could she turn around and start preaching now? It would sound too ridiculous coming from her so, for the first time in a long while, she backed down from a debate.

“Well, if it makes you feel any better, this isn't about what people will think of me. It's about my own journey, my faith. And especially in this month, in Ramzan, that is something we should all be thinking about…”

The other girls fell silent then, and as their English teacher, Ms Robinson, walked into the room, they returned to their seats and straightened their tables.

Ms Robinson greeted the girls, then proceeded to hand out the essays she had been marking over the weekend.

“Farhana Ahmed?” She glanced up, expecting to see the green eyes and glossy black hair that she had grown accustomed to over the year. It took her a moment to register that the girl in the white scarf was Farhana. She raised an eyebrow.

“Yes, Miss?” came the reply.

“Farhana? You look… different…”

“She's on her way to a
burqa
, Miss!” cried out one of the girls, and Robina's crew cracked up.

Ms Robinson smiled indulgently. “I'm sure Farhana is much too smart to end up in a
burqa
, aren't you, Farhana?”

Farhana was taken aback. A quizzical expression crossed her face.
What was that all about?

“Sorry, Miss?”

“Oh, nothing, Farhana, nothing at all…”

Something inside Farhana's head shifted into gear. She recognised it from her many hours spent
on the debate team. She wasn't going down without a fight. This English class had been a battleground many times. Ms Robinson encouraged the girls to express themselves freely and openly challenged them to defend their arguments and ideas.

“Miss,” she began coolly, “do you think that the way a woman dresses makes her more or less intelligent?”

“No, of course not,” was her teacher's response. “Every woman has the right to dress the way she wants.”

“And do you see nuns as oppressed?”

“No, of course not, that's their choice…”

“So is choice the issue then? What if a woman chooses to wear a scarf? Or a
burqa
, for that matter? Does that make
her
oppressed?”

“Well, the crucial issue here is choice and the fact is that many Muslim women don't have a ch…”

“Is that an assumption, Miss? Or a fact?”

Pause. Several girls shifted in their seats, waiting to see where this discussion was going.

“An assumption, I suppose…”

“Exactly! So what if an intelligent, educated, ambitious woman decides, of her own volition,
to wear a scarf, is she any less intelligent than a woman who doesn't wear one?”

“Well, Farhana, it was merely a passing comment…”

“Well, Miss, I take issue with the fact that you or anyone else is prepared to judge the level of my intelligence by what I choose to wear on my head. I think it's wrong, just as I think it's wrong to judge you or any other woman by the length of your skirt. Wouldn't you agree?”

Several girls broke out into cheers as Ms Robinson smiled and nodded her head, prepared to concede the point.

“Fair enough, Farhana, you've made your point. Now, can I get on with handing out these essays?”

“See that, Miss,” called Clara, “she's still cheeky, scarf or no scarf!”

Farhana grinned, her cheeks burning. That was more like it. One thing was for sure: the scarf wasn't going to stand in the way of her being herself at school. She was still Farhana Ahmed, after all.

And don't you forget it,
she thought, smiling at the A grade on her latest essay.

Faraz could hardly concentrate in class that morning and, the first free moment he had, he rang the number on Imran's card.

The phone rang about six times before anyone picked up.

“Hello…
asalaamu alaikum
,” began Faraz, rather hesitantly. He was not used to calling up virtual strangers and he felt the sweat break out beneath his collar.

“
Wa alaikum salaam
,” replied the voice on the other end.

“Imran?” Faraz was fairly sure it was him but didn't want to make a fool of himself.

“Yes, this is Imran,” came the response. “Who's this?”

“Err, it's Faraz… we met at the mosque the
other night… me dad owns the newsagent's in Harcourt Street?”

“Ah, yes, of course!” The recognition in his voice was unmistakable. Faraz breathed a sigh of relief and wiped the sweat from the back of his neck.

“How're you doing, bro?” Imran asked.

“Yeah, I'm fine… listen, I had a look at your website at school yesterday.” Faraz had never been one for small talk.

“Uh huh?”

“And I thought it looked brilliant… just brilliant.”

“Ah, great, glad you liked it… are you interested in anything in particular?”

“Well, I love art, y'see, all kinds. And I really liked the Arabic graffiti guy – what's his name again?”

“Oh, you mean Ahmed Ali? Yeah, he is very talented,
masha Allah
…You into graffiti?”

“Well, I've done some pieces at school, nothing serious, nothing on any walls or anything…”

“Would you like to see Ahmed Ali at work?”

Faraz's eyes widened. He could hardly believe his ears. “Of course! I mean, yes, yes, I would!”

“Well, it just so happens that he will be spraying a mural in the town centre day after tomorrow. It's part of our Ramadan Awareness programme. Why don't you come along? I could introduce you to him.”

Faraz fumbled for a pen and wrote down the name of the building and what time Ahmed Ali would be there. His heart pounded in his chest and he could hardly contain his excitement. He would definitely be there the day after tomorrow,
insha Allah
.

“OK, bro, I have to go. Will you be at
tarawih
prayers tonight?” asked Imran.

“Yes,
insha Allah
, I hope so… see you later then, maybe?”

“Yeah,
insha Allah
, see you later. And if not, then tomorrow, OK?”

“OK!”

Imran rang off.

Faraz could hardly wait for the day to end. It was only the thought of Mr McCarthy's lesson at the end of the day that kept him going.