The Veil

When a woman crosses the invisible line of innocence, it does not always mean that she will reach the goal of wisdom. But then perhaps, she does.
Ayesha wakes up before dusk is replaced by the soft glow of sunrise. She stirs, sits on the dormitory bed and heads for the wash room. She cleans herself for Silaat or Muslim prayer. A few minutes later, she comes back to the room she shares with Teresa. She takes out a clean mat from her cabinet and carefully places it on the floor near the window facing the rising sun. Just as carefully, she puts on a white hijab or veil to cover her hair. She takes out her slippers, faces in the direction of Mecca, stands erect, head down, hands at the sides and arranges her feet so that they are evenly spaced.
Allaahu Akbar! Allaahu Akbar…
She starts to intone silently, afraid that her roommate would wake up from her prayers. Teresa knows the ritual by heart. They have been roommates in the dormitory for almost three months now. She has learned to pretend to sleep throughout these prayers not wanting to embarrass Ayesha or disturb her. She watches silently as Ayesha stands in attention and brings her hands to her ears with palms forward and thumbs behind her earlobes. Ayesha is now engrossed in Qiyam- the opening plea. She places her right hand over her left hand at chest level then she drops her hands to her sides. She bends from her waist with her palms on her knees and her back parallel to the ground. She looks at her feet while bending.
Ayesha rises from her bent position and stands with her arms at her sides. Placing her hands on her knees, she slowly lowers herself to a kneeling position. Then she touches the ground with her forehead and nose while placing her palms on the ground taking care that her elbows do not touch the ground. Finally, she bends her toes so that the top of her feet face the Qibla or direction of Mecca.
“Subhaana rabbiyal’ Alaa! Subhaana rabbiyal’ Alaa…
Somehow, the chanting lulls Teresa into another world inhabited by women in chadors, mosques, camels and clusters of dates in an oasis. The two students are freshmen at the University of the Philippines in Diliman, Quezon City. They met at the start of the semester during the orientation for all the freshmen students in Kalayaan Dormitory. They would not have recognized each other again in the sea of faces in the auditorium except for the fact that they found out later that they are roommates. Besides, Ayesha stands out in the crowd because of the veil that she wears to cover her hair.
“Which province do you come from? In Mindanao?” Teresa asks.
“I grew up in Riyadh but my mother is from Cebu and my father is a Tausug from Zamboanga.” Ayesha answers quickly. She must have been asked the same question a number of times.
“How about you?” she continues.
“I come from the northern Mindanao city of Butuan, where they discovered the Balanghai boats” Teresa retorts proudly.
“Do you know that Butuan was ruled by a Tausug prince in the 14th century? My father says this is the reason why there are a lot of similarities between the Tausug and Butuan dialects” Ayesha informs her new friend.
“I can understand Butuanon but I don’t speak it fluently” says Teresa.
“That’s okay, I don’t speak Tausug” Ayesha chides her.
That was the start of an uneasy friendship between the two. There is something in Ayesha that Teresa finds disconcerting. For one thing, she prays five times a day. In addition, she does not eat pork, shrimps and crabs. She always wears loose pants or long skirts and long sleeved tops and she never goes out without a veil on her head. Also, she neither drinks alcohol nor smoke cigarettes. Ayesha is never tempted to stay too long in the dormitory cafeteria to chat with the others. There is an aura of aloofness about her that seems to say yes, we can be friends but not too close, please.
Teresa is not a stranger to the Muslims of Mindanao. They roam around her city selling brass wares, batik and malong. Some have stalls in the market where they also offer exquisite South sea pearls. As a child, her yaya used to scare her that a Muslim warrior in a vinta boat will snatch her away from her family if she does not behave like a good girl. She is always warned by family and friends to be careful with the Muslim people. Her mother tells her they can not be trusted in business and that sometimes their men run amok brandishing the Kris, their favorite weapon. Their women stay in their houses or mind their stores in their signature malongs, veils and beautiful jewelries. These people largely stay among themselves. Teresa wonders where they have been hiding their children. Thinking about it now, she does not have a classmate in school back home who is a Muslim. Ayesha is the first Muslim girl she comes very close to.
As Salaamu ‘alaikum wa rahmatulaah…
The chanting stops. Ayesha pauses for a moment as if gazing at the minaret of a mosque in Riyadh outside her window. She looks at Teresa who smiles at her.
“Did I wake you up?” Ayesha asks her.
“Yes, but its fine. We have no class in English today; we are going to a film showing, instead”. Teresa reminds her.
“Yes, I remember and this coming weekend, we will go to Matabungkay beach”.
“So, Ayesha, everybody is curios if you will still be wearing your veil when you go swimming”.
“I know, I will bring my Muslim swimming clothes so that they can watch me”.
“I always wonder how your Mom takes it, living in Riyadh. You told me she is Christian?”
“But she has converted to Muslim a long time ago. My Mom is a better Muslim than my Dad now” Ayesha laughs.
“That is strange; I always thought that women are treated as the weaker sex in your religion. Your Mom swallows that?”
“It is not true, Teresa. There are a lot of misconceptions about our religion. In fact, we believe that women have a very special place in our society.”
“Sorry for all my questions, it is not my intention to question your beliefs.”
“I guess you are just as curios as everybody else what I will be wearing in Matabungkay beach” Ayesha says cheerfully, without sarcasm.
The two girls start giggling. They are both enrolled in the Bachelor of Science in Biology course in UP Diliman. It is a block section which means that they have exactly the same schedule. It has become a habit to wait for each other when they go to school and back to the dormitory again. Conveniently, they go to the cafeteria together for their meals and to the study room when they prepare for their examinations. They have also gone to the shopping center in the campus and to some eatery in Area 1 and 2 on their free time a couple of times. The arrangement suits both girls.
“Hurry up, everyone. You can board the bus now.”
The house mother walks around like a hen exhorting her wayward chicks inside the pen. Ayesha’s hijab glares under the morning light. Beside her is Teresa clad in blue jeans and a baby shirt. Her belly ring peeps out of her navel. The students are in a festive mood. They line up to board the bus that will take them through the tree lined streets of the campus to the audiovisual room in the College and Arts building.
“You don’t feel hot in those clothes and veil?” Teresa asks.
“I am so used to these clothes; it feels like second skin already. Perhaps I would feel naked without my hijab. In Riyadh, we wear chadors but that would look really weird here” says Ayesha.
“Don’t you ever feel like wearing clothes like mine?”
“I don’t know it does not cross my mind. This is me. I happen to be a Muslim woman and as such I wear clothes that don't reveal anything except my hands and my face.”
“You are not uncomfortable that you look different from everybody else? Somehow I feel lucky that I can wear a veil and take it away anytime when I want to!”
“No, Teresa. I don’t feel uncomfortable. It just never ceases to amaze me. As much as people preach the importance of accepting differences, they still stare when I walk through the door. It's the same old reaction every time.”
The bus slows down in front of the College and Arts building and like children going to an excursion, everybody scramble to go out of the bus. The two girls silently join the queue. Ayesha comes out of the bus first. She waits warily for Teresa. She sees Fernando in the entrance of the corridor, talking to the other students, who always gather around him before and after class. They exchange the usual smile of salutation. In his smile, she saw her smile, his lips invisibly pressed to her cheeks. Ayesha immediately blushes. She feels a touch on her sleeve and turns to find Teresa beside her.
“I can see that you and Fernando have already met” Teresa whispers to her.
“Of course, he is in our block section.”
“And he is my charming town mate.”
“Come, let’s go to the audiovisual room, I don’t want to miss the film showing” Ayesha grips Teresa’s hand.
Ayesha left Manila at the age of three. Her father works as a computer programmer in a Riyadh company. He brought his family to the Middle East and they have lived there ever since except for the annual holidays to the Philippines. The children go to International School in Riyadh. Ayesha is also not a stranger to the Christian way of life. Among her classmates are children of expatriates coming from all over the world. Back home, it is unthinkable to feel any admiration for the opposite sex. The Riyadh air does not seem to encourage this. Manila gives her the urge to socialize. It does not matter if he is a Muslim or Christian, Ayesha reassures herself.
On the way to the audiovisual room, there is a whiff of anxiety in the air. Something is up, Ayesha tells herself. She can feel that the students are staring at her veil more than usual. She sees fire spreading throughout the campus and it is threatening to engulf her. The two enters the dark audiovisual room.
“Class, please calm down but something is happening in New York and we are suspending the film showing for now” Miss Fabular, their English teacher says. “Instead, we will watch the CNN report”. “Please take your seats.”
The small television set that is hastily placed in the middle of the room comes alive with a picture of an airplane crashing into a building interspersed with the grim faces of the reporters narrating the attack. And right before their very eyes unfolds the second plane that crashes into the neighboring skyscraper. The crowd gasps. Ayesha closes her eyes.
In the next few days, the horrible events in New York have become the subject of discussions and speculations in the campus and everywhere else. Osama bin Laden and Al Qaeda are thrust into infamy. Everyday, the horrors of September 11 are shown on TV and written about in the newspapers. Muslims begin to suffer from public perception.
“You should stop wearing your veil, some people are really uncomfortable with it” Fernando tells Ayesha.
“I am not a terrorist!”
“We are just trying to help you” says Teresa.
The three classmates sit on a bench in the sunken garden. They come from the library where a group of students heckled at them when they pass by. It is not an isolated incident. Sometimes, people just stare at Ayesha with accusations in their eyes and gestures. The incident that happened thousands of miles away is anguishing the young student.
“Veiling goes beyond religion for me. No matter how my faith fluctuates, veiling is something I just don't compromise. There wouldn't be any sense in wearing it one day and throwing it away the next day. When I walk around without my hijab, I always feel bare” Ayesha explains to her friends.
Teresa and Fernando look at each other. There seem to be no way their friend will listen to them. They just hope that things will settle down in the next days.
“Let us walk back to the library, we still have to finish our research” Fernando tries to change the subject.
They stand up silently and when they come close to the student hecklers, Ayesha slowly takes off her hijab. She uncovers her neck and then her hair. She folds the veil ceremoniously and places it in her bag.
Her long, black hair catches the red glow of sunset.