A deep look at the personal and professional challenges of wearing the hijab while living in the Western world, Modest in the West uncovers the spiritual journey of a girl born a Muslim who grew up not abiding by Islamic practices. While working for one of the largest companies in the United States and most influential in the world, Hadiatou Wann learns to fully embrace her Islamic identity, but could that make her a victim of Islamophobia or help her forge a relationship with non-Muslim co-workers grounded on mutual respect? Islam being the fastest growing religion, non-Muslims and Muslims are bound to come into contact. But can they see eye-to-eye? Here in these pages is a rare look behind the hijab and the woman wearing it.
A deep look at the personal and professional challenges of wearing the hijab while living in the Western world, Modest in the West uncovers the spiritual journey of a girl born a Muslim who grew up not abiding by Islamic practices. While working for one of the largest companies in the United States and most influential in the world, Hadiatou Wann learns to fully embrace her Islamic identity, but could that make her a victim of Islamophobia or help her forge a relationship with non-Muslim co-workers grounded on mutual respect? Islam being the fastest growing religion, non-Muslims and Muslims are bound to come into contact. But can they see eye-to-eye? Here in these pages is a rare look behind the hijab and the woman wearing it.
For two decades, my connection to Allah Subhanahu wa Ta’ala was feeble. I used to be what you call a Muslim by mouth. I went to places where I shouldn’t have been, cut my fast halfway during the Holy Month of Ramadan or sometimes didn’t fast at all, didn’t fulfill the five daily prayers, or open the Qur’an to learn what Allah Subhanahu wa Ta’ala expected of me. Yet when people asked me what religion I followed, I told them Islam.
I did not always dress or behave modestly as a young woman, and having boundaries was foreign to me. I was living my terrible twos in my teens, hoping that if I wasn’t harming others, I was still good. But my carelessness and lack of interest in my religion was hindering my relationship with God. I was so deeply entrenched in the worldly life that I neglected preparation for the Hereafter. I thought I knew it all, but I was adrift spiritually.
Amid being lost in a spiritual maze, I was the life of the party. The center of attention. The entertainer. The girl who had mastered Beyoncé, Ciara, Jennifer Lopez, and Usher-inspired moves and looked for every opportunity to show my skills off. If Beyoncé rolled off her back and landed on her knees to belly dance, I found a way to replicate that scene. If a party was stale and I showed up, it turned up a notch.
Being in the spotlight took me to cloud nine and made me fantasize about being a celebrity. And since I didn’t make it to Hollywood, I brought Hollywood to my school. During talent shows at Manhattan International High School, I was always thrilled to orchestrate dance routines.
I got a taste of stardom when I stood in front of a three hundred-plus crowd, moving my body in ways that made me gain praise and the attention of the lustful male gaze. As I gained some popularity in high school, non-Muslims viewed me as audacious and talented, while some Muslims found me to be too much.
I was born in Guinea, Conakry—a former French colony situated in West Africa. Nine years of my childhood were spent in my native country before moving to the United States and continuing fifth grade. Although Guinea is a predominantly Muslim country, it was rapidly getting sucked into Western influence from when I was growing up.
My first introduction to Beyoncé was as a child, sitting in my Livingroom in Conakry. When I looked up at the Television screen and saw her dancing in a crop top, I recall admiring how flawless her skin was and how care-free she appeared.
While living in tropical Guinea, the town I grew up in for most of the year was enveloped in shocking heat waves and a brazen sun that turned a fair-skinned person shades darker. During the rainy season, the streets were flooded, and the slimy red soil stained our shoes and clothes. Even after several washes the stain barely faded.
Here and there, I spotted girls and women who wore the hijab, comfortably walking the streets of Conakry, and I didn’t think too much of it. In between playing outdoor games and strolling the neighborhood with my cousin and friends, I never sought to find out why they wore the hijab, though I had an understanding that he ninjas/niqabis and hijabis were seen as pious, while the immodest women who did not wear the hijab were considered promiscuous.
From the age of nine, I lived in New York—the city that never sleeps. While in my Bronx middle school P.S. 212, I was not amongst the popular cliques. Nicknaming myself Lil’ Fresh and joining the cheerleading squad was the closest I got to being cool.
I recall shaving my legs for the first time after seeing how flawlessly the popular Latinas in middle school looked in their capris and shorts. In our Bronx cubicle one evening, my older sister found me in the bathroom with a razor. “You know, if you start shaving your legs, they’ll get hairy, right?” she asked, attempting to stop me from making an irreversible decision.
But I didn’t care. I wanted to show off my legs. I wanted to fit in. As soon as my sister stepped out of the bathroom, I closed the door, stretched my legs in the bathtub, and ran the razor over the hair follicles that barely stuck out of my epidermis.
Winter in America was less nerve wracking, it meant I could cover up from head to toe and not feel different, while summertime was usually an awkward season for me. Summertime meant that girls would compete for the boldest outfit and hairstyle to get attention from the opposite gender.
I was stuck between two worlds in summer. I didn’t cover from head to toe, nor was I half-naked. This was a time when girls wore crop tops and shorts; booty cheeks hanging, cleavage peek-a-booing. I was the odd one. When I kept my legs concealed in long skinny jeans even in ninety- or one-hundred-degree Fahrenheit weather, my non-Muslim friends would always ask, “Why don’t you show your legs?”
In New York City, women with all types of beauty and curves roamed the streets. Whenever a curvy woman walked past a group of men, their necks elongated, jaws dropped, and eyes zoomed in on the woman’s backside. “Daggg!!! Shawty packin’. Lemme holla at you for a second, ma. Lemme getcho digits, beautiful,” I would hear them holler as they rushed toward the curvy woman. The girl with the biggest booty always had the spotlight, while less-curvy girls were on stand-by. These men could be found posted on the corner of the street the entire day, looking at any woman that walked by to see if she had a flatty or fatty.
Subconsciously, I began to think that wearing tight clothes that revealed every part of a woman’s intimate parts was the standard of sexy. As my body developed, I too found myself in Fordham Plaza shopping around for the tightest fit. And soon, I was on the phone walking toward my house and a man hollered, “Hey, beautiful! My number is…” I looked over at him, chuckled and kept walking. It was nice being noticed, but I knew full well I would never register his number in my phone.
When Mama, me, and my siblings moved to New York, Papa stayed behind in Guinea. Papa was not home year-round in New York, but my eldest brother (who has my father’s aura) was for a few years. Inside the house, I maintained some level of modesty. I couldn’t walk around the house in booty shorts because my oldest brother would tell me to cover up a little. Though we were family, I grew up not wearing clothes that were too revealing around my brothers. My eldest brother, just like Papa, always encouraged me to ditch extensions and embrace my natural hair. But I was not ready to embrace my truth yet. The West had slid its grasp around me.
What is a Muslim? Islamic scholars describe a Muslim as someone who submits to God’s will, and in turn achieves contentment. Allah Subhanahu wa Ta’ala has given me free will. Every choice or action I take either brings me closer to my Creator or diverts me from Him.
As a Muslim, I must be cautious about how my actions may affect others. If “living my best life” means harming myself and others along the way, there needs to be some adjustments. As a Muslim, I must always keep in mind that God made my body, and He has laid down rules for me to cherish and protect it as much as possible.
That means that I cannot wake up one morning and decide to get a permanent tattoo because I’m feeling adventurous or artsy. I cannot allow all men to have access to my body because I find them cute. I cannot undress myself and stand nude in the middle of Times Square because I find myself stranded in a game of Truth or Dare.
As a Muslim, I must learn to be disciplined and balanced in every area of my life. Though I identified as an African, living in a non-Muslim country in the West for the majority of my life, I found my Muslim identity slowly being neglected. The idea that I needed to sacrifice my old ways and submit to how Allah Subhanahu wa Ta’ala wants me to look and behave felt like a mountain climb.
“The hijab holds me accountable of remaining true to what I value,” explains the author in this honest and forthright read about the how and whys of one woman’s decision to wear the hijab in the West.
The author explains that her “hijab journey” isn’t just about her choice to become more modest. It is also about rediscovering herself through Islam and the hope of eternal reward.
Told in the first person, Modest in the West starts with “What is a Muslim?” In this opening chapter the author explores what this means and describes how she strives to learn how to be “disciplined and balanced in every area of my life.” Born in Guinea, she identifies as African. She relates how living in a non-Muslim country in the West for the majority of her life results in her “Muslim identify” being slowly neglected. This is the story of how she found her way back to that identity.
As a “non-hijabi” living in America, the author receives “several signs” telling her “that I could wake up and become a better practicing Muslim.” She eventually decides to put on the hijab to please her Creator and “gain the love of Allah.” She explains that covering the head and body, the hijab “signifies the wearer’s dedication to do what pleases her Creator and adhere to the Islamic way of life.” Upon making the decision to do so, she rededicates her life at age twenty-six. Moving forward, she chronicles reactions from Muslim and non-Muslims about her decision to wear the hijab. She’s still the same person, she writes, “just more modest.”
The decision to put on the hijab has a domino effect on her life. This includes not needing to be the center of attention in every setting and choosing to watch and listen to content that boosts her spirituality. Challenges of wearing the hijab in a business setting are also noted. This includes shaking hands with the opposite gender and her work as a hair braider at a hair salon.
Quitting her job at the salon for religious reasons, the author finds a job at Amazon, where she also finds acceptance and “kind and open-minded individuals.” There’s also a discussion of Shirk and some of the challenges Western culture presents regarding same.
This is an honest and earnest account of the author’s journey of discovery. Readers are invited into her struggles, doubts and fears as well as her growth, increased understanding, and self-awareness.
There’s a lot about hair in this book and battles with superficiality and “beauty expectations rooted on (sic) falsehood.” Also discussed are motivations for being cautious about what the author wears in public and how and why to wear the hijab properly.
The author steers clear of external judgmentalism, focusing instead on her inner spiritual journey. The writing is sturdy and the style is crisp. Minor editorial issues crop up occasionally. (Example: Use of the word “incentive” on page 85. In context, the proper word is “insensitive.”)
Adult readers interested in a deeper understanding regarding the how and why of wearing a hijab in the Western world as well as some of the challenges of so doing will find much “food for thought” in this book.