Stay-at-Home Moms, Beauty Making, and More

There are no mommy wars here. In the expat community in Malaysia, all of the moms are stay-at-home (SAHM). The exceptions include those in business for themselves, but even they are not beholden to a 9 to 5.

Residence in KL gave me an opportunity to further test the waters as a stay-at-home mom. But place matters in the experience. The unique feature of my SAHM experience in KL is that I have connected with women from all over the world, literally.

Yahya's young ears have already had close encounters with several world languages--Spanish, Portuguese, Arabic, Mandarin, Bahasa Malaysia, Bahasa Indonesia, Hindi/Urdu, French, Farsi, Japanese, Russian--as he plays with children whose mothers converse with me in English, interrupting to remind or guide their children in their mother tongue.  

Connecting with other SAHMs, I've also discovered one of the more glorious aspects of staying at home: cultivating one's more artistic passions and talents. Two women especially brought this home for me at the same time that their friendships have helped me move beyond the boundaries of race that color my past.

The first is KJ. She represents the way in which I have connected with women from the United States whom I ordinarily would not have in the United States.

Yes, KJ is white. We met through our husbands who have both worked in the Islamic finance sector. Our last play date, I had the opportunity to visit KJ's home.    

Her condo reminded me of one of my favorite translations of the Arabic and Qur'anic word "muhsin," or "beauty maker" as rendered by Shaykh Hamza Yusuf. The muhsinun are those of beautiful character and action. Shaykh Hamza's commentary inspired me to think of the muhsinun as those who make and create beauty in every manner. It inspired me to put extra effort in adorning my home, then in Chicago. 

"Malaysian Tea Party" - Representing main three ethnic groups there: Malay, Chinese, Indian 

KJ is an artist, an illustrator of children's books. The art that she selected or crafted for her walls demonstrated her aesthetic appreciation. The impressive collection of children books, what I found at the heart of her son's play room, demonstrated her grasp that the cultivation of beauty should begin at the earliest. 

I left KJ's home inspired again to be a beauty maker. I also thought how wonderful it was that she was blessed with the time and space to blossom as an artist. Something that she could not commit to if she worked a regular 9 to 5.

As I open myself to new possibilities, reflected in my newfound friendship with KJ, I admit that I am still easily drawn to the familiar, that is, black women.

But again, in this far land, that which seems familiar isn't at all. Here's where Anjelia enters. I first encounter her walking across the street from my condo. She is tall, coffee-complexioned, poised, and wears a natural afro puff that sits on her head as if to mark a queen. She is the only woman in Malaysia wearing this crown. 

We are both delighted to encounter the other. Strength and warmth together color her voice. She introduces her daughter, almond-complexioned, long, curly hair. 

Anjelia is from Brazil. She is married to a white man from Argentina. Her struggle with English is the earliest indication that we are black women from different worlds. I admire her ability to be different in this place. Perhaps she is my reflection.

The day I visited her home, it wasn't planned. "Come," she said, as we met on an afternoon stroll. The lobby of her condo was one of the finest, most tranquil on our block.

Pillows out of their jackets lie on her sofas wide enough to hosts several guests. She asked me to excuse the place as she quickly put cases on the pillows. They were the colors of the Brazilian flag. "I made them myself." My admiration for this woman grew.

When she showed me family photos, primarily of her white family, I couldn't get past the picture of her locking arms with her four sisters-in-law. This shows how far removed I am from black-white interracial couples in the United States, or black-white interracial friendships for that matter.

Blacks and whites are not separated in the same way as in the US, Anjelia tried explaining to me in her earnest English. While racism has its mark on Brazilian society, striking features of Brazil are the number of interracial marriages and the normalcy of its category mixed race.

Reared in a society in which black women are the least likely of any group, including black men, to marry interracially, I wondered what it would be like to see the world through Anjelia's eyes, racial lines blurred a degree, or several degrees, more than through my eyes.

Sipping on tea in Anjelia's living room, I noticed lovely paintings of a beach sunset and a flower garden. When I complimented them, she responded, "They are mine," in a manner both humble and proud at once. 

"You painted them?"

"In Chile, I met with a woman who taught me."

Later in her kitchen as I snacked on a buffet of papaya, avocado, and pistachios, she told me again, "Come." I followed her to the room across from the wet kitchen, most likely designed for the live-in maid. Anjelia had reinvented it as her sewing room, a large table covered with fabrics and other supplies fit snugly in the room.  Magazine pages of models on runways, black and white, splashed the walls.

"I made this handbag just yesterday." Totally impressed, I grabbed the bag to take a closer look. "How did you learn to make this?" She just smiled. She showed me more bags, the unconventional styles and fabrics gave away that they were customized.

"I love the handbags of the Japanese women. I want one so I made it myself."

I've also looked twice at the chic fashions of the Japanese women who dominate my condo, like the one in the photo at the top of this post.

As a stay-at-home mom in KL, I've also found some time to reconnect with my passion, and that is writing the stories of American Muslims. In the case of this blog, it has been my story, but I've also rediscovered my long-time desire to write about the beginnings of Islam in America for many, and it took a woman from a very different background to help me realize that it is something I must do.

In the last two months I've begun substantial work writing a book on the Nation of Islam. In graduate school, several of my term papers related to some aspect of the Nation of Islam, but my dissertation topic took me in a different direction.

However, almost all of the talks I give on the topic of Muslim women include an account of my mother's journey to Islam via the Nation, as does one of my publications, "Through Sunni Women's Eyes."

On my way to KL last summer, I received an email from a scholar in the UK inviting me to write a book with her on the Nation, and here I am on the other side of the world doing it. Google docs has made it all possible.

Twelve years ago as a young graduate student, if you told me that I'd be writing a book on the Nation with an Irish, non-Muslim woman, I would not have believed you. Back then, I was just starting to realize that black people were not the only ones writing about the Nation, and certainly not the only ones fascinated by it.

Everything comes full circle. I never imagined that all the way in Malaysia I'd return to my roots while connecting with others beyond my roots in such vast ways. What a treasure!  I am reminded of the Alchemist.

This I Believe

http://zleqha.blogspot.com/

That, with prayer, what is meant for you will not pass you by. Today at a mall in Kuala Lumpur, I saw a woman with a long, beautiful, elegant, dress and thought, I must get that for when I return to the U.S. But the woman was a few feet away and I was too busy with the boys to stop and ask where she got the dress from.

As she walked away with her friend, I said, "If it's meant for me, O Allah, please let me see her again to ask." I wasn't really counting on it, and it wasn't really a big deal, it was only a dress...but it was perfect for me. Two hours later, I went to the food court and decided to sit way in the back near the window so Yahya could have a nice view of the trains go by. It wasn't our usual seat. Normally we sit in the front.

About 10 minutes into our meal, I hear women friends chatting and laughing behind me. I turn around, and there is the woman! And this was no small mall, swarming with thousands of people.

She told me where to buy the dress online, zleqha.blogspot.com. Now I have to find the exact dress (though she has some other cool stuff on there), and figure out how to buy it. No job in KL!

Christmas in Malaysia

And I thought the decorations for Eid in Malaysia were something to write about! Is it me and I just don't get out during the Christmas season in the States, or are the mall decorations way more elaborate here in KL? I mentioned this to a German woman whose son Yahya played with on the playground.

"No, you're right. All of the holidays they make a big production of here."

I'm intrigued at how they create such pretty winter wonderlands in the tropics. "Ooh, look at the Gingerbread Man," I pointed out to Yahya, the protagonist of one of his favorite stories.

Now a parent, I can't help but think about how our first-generation Muslim parents did much to make us feel that we weren't missing out during the Christmas season in the States. I now wondered if Malaysian parents feel that their children's religious identity might be threatened by Santa Claus, the Gingerbread  Man, and plastic candy canes.

I doubt it because Hari Raya Aidilfitri still reigns supreme here. Nonetheless, I should ask my handful of Malaysian friends. I would hope that they share my sentiments that it's cool to be in a place where multiple religious holidays receive wide public display.

But while I celebrate this religious pluralism, I can't ignore that capitalism drives much of it.  First the Eid al-Fitri sales, then the Deepavali sales, and now the Christmas sales. But who's complaining about endless sales?

In all seriousness, though, I'm treading close to Malaysia's greatest political debate, that is, how to maintain the primacy of Islam as the official state religion while also safeguarding the rights and interests of the country's substantial religious minorities (40% of the population).

My Chinese real estate agent was the first to share with me concern that some of the religious bills introduced in parliament increasingly alienate non-Muslims. My hope is that the zealots will not prevail in the Malaysian government.


Rather the country will take lessons from the best achievements in Islamic civilization. From the literary renaissance in Islamic Spain to the Taj Mahal in Mughal India, various cultural and religious traditions collaborated and coalesced under Muslim rule.

The Qurayza Jews: Not a Topic I Would Choose for a Short History of Islam

When teaching the biography of the Prophet Muhammad, I am keen to point out that at the same time that the Qur'an demands that we redress wrongs, commanding the early Muslims to fight (9:13-16), it also urges us towards the higher road of forgiveness and patience (42:36-43).

"There is no cause to act against anyone who defends himself after being wronged, but there is cause to act against those who oppress people and transgress in the land against all justice...though if a person is patient and forgives, this is one of the greatest things" (42:41-43).

I was moved by Shaykh Hamza's 2010 Eid sermon when he reminded us that the Qur'an instructed the Prophet Muhammad to argue with his enemies in the most beautiful way. As we face attacks against Islam in the current climate, we should respond to them in the footsteps of our beloved Prophet, with forgiveness, forbearance, and patience.

I thought to share the sermon with my friend Rebecca (see previous post) who I had been meaning to write since moving to Malaysia.

This was her response: 

"Thank you for your thoughtfulness and the link to the utube message. I have been reading the Qur’an rather slowly but also have a book called Islam in Context: Past, Present, and Future by Peter Riddell and Peter Cotterell. In one of the sections as it gives some of the history of Muhammad’s life it tells of the massacre of the Qurayza Jews. I am confused by what Shaykh Hamza Yusuf said in the first part of his message (7.40) “…you saw how the Messenger of Allah behaved. You read his Sirah. You saw how he dealt with his enemies. You saw how he dealt with them with magnamity.” 

"I am not trying to find fault with his talk, I just wondered how what he said can be reconciled with this event. I do not know if this subject is brought up often by critics because I really only have a limited knowledge of Islam, so it is an honest question of mine."

Here's my response:

I was very happy to receive this thoughtful response from you. I won't be able to respond to everything in this short note. I wanted to write to at least let you know that you and your questions are important to me.

The question about the handling of the treason of the Qurayza Jews is not an issue in the forefront for everyday Muslims. In other words, this event is certainly not foremost in how we understand and love the Prophet. The traditions and stories of his generosity and mercy are most emphasized. 

The Qur'an states that he was sent as a mercy to humanity. Also, the Qur'an repeatedly tells Muhammad not to grieve over the fact that his tribe does not initially accept the message. (And remember, we believe the Qur'an is God's word, speaking to Muhammad, his tribe, and all humanity.) God tells him this over and over because he is saddened by the consequences they will face if they continue in their unjust, evil ways. Muhammad's concern was not to dominate people with his religion, it was to bring them a message that would save them from hardship in this life and the next.

I'm not escaping your question. I hope to get to the issue. Just wanted to emphasize that Sh. Hamza's appeal to Muslims to remember Muhammad's mercy and love is one that resonates with us and softens the hearts of many. Muhammad's gentleness is how Muslims most know him.

Also, everyday Muslims don't engage in the process of reconciling the Qurayza story with other more beautiful traditions about the Prophet because many don't even know about the Qurayza massacre. Again, it's not what is emphasized which means that it doesn't immediately instruct or inform our behavior as Muslims.

I did not learn about the story of the Qurayza Jews until I read a biography of the Prophet for college (and remember, I was born Muslim). And I thought about this topic more when I taught the biography of the Prophet and how I would explain it to students.

To really understand this topic from my perspective and other academics, Muslim and non-Muslim, would require a paradigm shift in how you think about a sacred figure. The author Karen Armstrong, a non-Muslim,  is most useful in helping you do this. I assign her book Muhammad: Biography of a Prophet to my students, and I recommend that you read this book carefully, especially the chapters "Holy War" and "Holy Peace." 

But in a nutshell, what Armstrong encourages Christian readers to do is take a moment to realize that unlike Jesus, Muhammad is both a sacred figure and a political leader. He is forced to become a political figure because his tribe persecutes his community simply because they want freedom to practice their religion. They seek asylum in Medina, but even there, they are not safe from their tribe determined to wage war. What makes matters worse, the Jews of Medina who signed a contract to never go to war with Muhammad and his followers, secretly help the enemy tribe attack the Muslims. In other words, they commit treason. 

If you look up treason on Wikipedia, you find the following:

"In English law, high treason was punishable by being hanged, drawn and quartered (men) or burnt at the stake (women), or beheading (royalty and nobility)."

Death as one of the crimes for treason is almost universal, and especially in the premodern societies of which Muhammad's community is one example.

I understand that Muhammad was actually enforcing the Jewish punishment since he was dealing with Jews, and it was actually a close ally of the Jews, now in Muhammad's community, who came up with the punishment, but of course Muhammad approved.

But the point is that Muhammad had to make some tough political decisions that most Christians are not used to seeing associated with a sacred figure.

Even still, as a political figure, he made overwhelming concessions and demonstrated mercy countless times. This is why you should read "Holy Peace" in Armstrong's book.


Also I can't help but note that the pre-modern English Law savagely killed women traitors. In the case of Qurayza, the women and children were spared.

If you study Muhammad's life, you will find that he made several reforms in several areas including war, women's rights, orphan's rights, and slave rights. And while these reforms do not always measure up to our post-enlightenment American ideals, they actually surpass what Europeans and Americans were doing as it relates to women and slaves in the 19th century. (For example, Muhammad did not abolish slavery, but he ruled that once a slave woman had a child by her master, the child was no longer a slave.* This prevented slavery from becoming generational. Imagine how that ruling would have totally reduced the scope and impact of slavery in the US.)

I hope this helps. I have to run. Here is a short clip of Armstrong on understanding Muhammad:

This concludes my letter. 

* When commenting on the Islamic legal ruling on the children of slave owners, I made a mental note to check and see if there is a Prophetic tradition on this matter. My sources indicate that the ruling came about later but is often linked back to the Prophet's precedent with the slave woman Mariya.

A Race-Conscious Hijabi: Prelude to a Letter on the Prophet

In KL, Malaysia, I improvise story time with my sons at a Borders.
Wouldn't it be cool to see Islamic artwork for sale at a
Borders in Atlanta?

When I made plans to attend story time at a nearby library in Atlanta last April, I didn't give much thought to the social implications, that is, that I would be socializing with other moms.  

The library was in a recently gentrified neighborhood. My first time attending, I was the only black mother there. But Yahya wasn't the only African American child. All of the other black children there were with a daycare provider.

The rest of the children were all white and with their moms, and a couple of dads. (I should note that I've been to other story times in predominantly black areas in Atlanta, and there were many children with their mothers. Also, at another story time in a mixed neighborhood, the dominant participants were black and Latina nannies with white children.)

After the story, read by an African American librarian, it was coloring time. Trying to draw Yahya's attention from the buttons on a nearby radio to the paper and crayons, I noticed the other women socializing.

This wasn't my usual crowd, and I wasn't initially outgoing, but I looked forward to the opportunity to cross lines of difference.

For me, the dominant line of difference between me and the other women was race.

Why do I have this tendency to view and assess a given context from the lens of race? That is, to note the racial makeup of a space and to imagine others seeing and relating to me a certain way from that lens?

Living with this lens as a black American woman is not the surprising thing, or at least it shouldn't be. Historian Evelyn Higginbotham describes this way of interpreting and relating to others as the  the "metalanguage of race."

Because African Americans have been profoundly shaped by a society "where racial demarcation is endemic to their sociocultural fabric and heritage--to their laws and economy, to their institutionalized structures and discourses, and to their epistemologies and everyday customs," many African Americans see race as the dominant power dynamic in social relations ("African-American Women's History and the Metalanguage of Race" 254).

Seeing through this lens as a black American hijabi is what I'm more interested in thinking about. I should be more clear.

Why wasn't I conscious of my hijab when I joined the other mothers at story time? Why didn't I imagine or care about the assumptions they might make about me as a Muslim woman? Why was I more interested in an opportunity to break racial barriers than to teach or defend Islam?

Even in a context in which Islam is regularly misrepresented and misportrayed, I am not immediately conscious of my hijab.

Perhaps the reason for my relative hijab unconsciousness--and this goes for almost any space in the U.S. regardless of race--relates to the following:

1) I've been wearing the hijab for twenty years now.

2) Since I was a girl, wearing the hijab, or scarf as I normally call it, was modeled to me by pious, strong, beautiful, intelligent women like my mother. Associating the scarf with these qualities, I learned to wear it with confidence and pride. (Though, as a teenager, I must admit there was some resistance to wearing it at first.)

3) I haven't been made to feel that the hijab negatively affects how people respond to or treat me. Rather, it's brought positive attention, at least based on that which has been communicated to me.

But this ease with wearing the hijab could all change, as many fear with the growing anti-Muslim sentiment in the U.S. After all, in the days immediately following 9-11, while I did not remove my hijab, I modified it to draw less attention. Instead of wearing it draped around my neck, I wore the bun-style hijab, actually the way I wore it as a teenager--a style also worn by non-Muslim African Americans.

I didn't think about the fact that the other women at story time might especially take note of my hijab until noticing my reflection in the library window as I hurried Yahya toward the entrance.

And it wasn't until I had a conversation with one of the other mothers that I realized that my identity and presence might represent an opportunity to change perceptions of Islam.

The irony of this is that educating about Islam is a clear and obvious goal I bring to the classroom at Spelman. But in a different context, among white women whom I share the joy of motherhood, I initially imagined achieving something altogether different.

Rebecca initiated our conversation during coloring time, and if I recall correctly, my mentioning that my childhood Muslim private school was in the same area as the library opened a window to talk about Islam.

I was quite surprised and impressed with Rebecca's knowledge of Islam. She was familiar with some of the writings of a Muslim woman with anti-Islam sentiments. In that first conversation, Rebecca demonstrated a genuine desire for clarity on women's experiences in Islam. I was particularly impressed that she had started reading a copy of the Qur'an.

A few weeks later when I told Rebecca that I'd be traveling to Malaysia, she kindly offered to come to my house and watch Yahya while I packed. I liked the idea and, once again, thought in racial terms how nice it would be to break barriers and have a play date with a white family for the first time.

I failed to take Rebecca up on her offer, but fortunately the possibility of getting together outside the library gave us the opportunity to exchange emails. She also wanted me to pass along a few titles on Islam.

My new friendship with Rebecca, her questions about Islam, and the growing anti-Muslim sentiment in the U.S. make me realize that I should be more conscious about how my hijab brings opportunities to dialogue about Islam, perhaps a realization more obvious to other hijabi women who may not think about race as much as I do and who might also socialize with white women more than I do.

(I am just now reminded of a section in my book in which young American Muslim women respond to a lecture by Dr. Umar Faruq Abd-Allah in which he encourages increased outreach and education on Islam to white Americans. While one African American Muslim woman rejects the notion that we should direct da'wah efforts to "suburban whites" when they are not the people most receptive to Islam (African Americans are), a Bangladeshi American Muslim woman commented that Dr. Abd-Allah's suggestions were eye-opening. She realized that she hadn't thought before to give da'wah to white people, a realization she was now ashamed of because she concluded that her not thinking about white people in these terms meant that she really didn't care about them, a sentiment most likely influenced by her "resentment of what a white government has done.")

I can relate to Shaykh Hamza Yusuf's point made in a recent blog post that American Muslims need to educate ourselves on the extent of negative information on Islam and how this misinformation is more accessible to non-Muslims than is actual dialogue and friendship with Muslims. In his words, "try and experience what a person curious about Islam and Muslims is likely to find if he or she browsed the Internet or bookstore shelves."

Rebecca has given me a greater understanding of how many of the controversies surrounding Islam that I bring up in the classroom are disproportionately emphasized in popular books and media on Islam. The difference for my students is that they can count on me to provide multiple perspectives and to explain hard issues in the appropriate historical, cultural, or political context.

In my next post, I will share my answer to one of the questions that Rebecca recently posed to me over email about a controversial event in the life of the Prophet, prayers and peace upon him. Even there, though, I couldn't help but return to the "metalanguage of race."  

Responding to Media Depictions of Islam

I've discovered a forerunner blogger, Margari Aziza, who also reflects and writes on the intersection of Islam, gender, and race. Her latest post is an excellent letter in response to ABC's 20/20 regarding "Islam: Questions and Answers." View her letter here.

This kind of writing is critical, especially in the current climate of widespread misunderstanding and prejudice against Muslims.

If I were at Spelman this semester, I would use this letter as a model for students. A central part of my Introduction to Islam course is responding critically to media depictions of Islam and Muslims.

In my next post, I will share a recent letter I wrote to a new friend answering a difficult question about Islam, also an example of how I imagine my students taking knowledge from the classroom to better represent Islam to others.

Ramadan and Eid Malaysian Style, Part 2

As Eid neared, I wondered what to expect of our first in Kuala Lumpur. Lonely, I imagined. But deep down inside, I dreamed that our friends Erwan and Feezah would rescue us.

The locals expected Eid, or Hari Raya, to be an occasion marked by family and good food, as are our big holidays in the U.S.  

Most would be leaving KL to visit family in their hometowns. But before leaving for these more remote and traditional areas, they would take advantage of life in the big city for any last minute preparations and purchases. 

Impressed by the crowds, my husband snapped the photo above in a department store two days before Hari Raya.

My family and I got lucky (blessed) again when friends let us use their car for the last few days of Ramadan. My husband convinced me that this was my opportunity to experience Ramadan in a KL mosque, I better take it.

Generally, I tend to think more about race than gender dynamics, except when I step into a mosque. Arriving at the courtyard of Masjid Wilayah, my Islamic feminist side was quite pleased. Families sat together to break their fast, in contrast to my experience in some U.S. mosques where gender segregation trumps family cohesion, (logistics and attitudes playing a part).  

At the mosque, we prayed before having our main meal (for the relevance of this, see Part 1 of this post).  A woman and her daughter befriended me as we left the prayer ranks, escorting me back to the courtyard for our meal. 

They confirmed the good stereotype that Malaysians are the nicest Muslims in the ummah. In the self-serve food line, the daughter grabbed my plate and filled it with rice from oversize pots. 

As for the night prayers, it was impossible for both my husband and I to perform them with the two boys. My husband suggested that we take turns. He prayed the last portion of the prayers while I watched the boys in the courtyard.

Ready to go home at this point, I watched Indonesian women workers bring out trays of food. I noticed one woman leaving her circle of family on a courtyard mat to help herself to the late night treats, beating the crowd of worshippers who would later line up for snacks after the prayer.

I eyed the green dessert she piled on her plate, but dismissed it. Up to that point I wasn't too excited about Malaysian desserts, many of which have the consistency of jello which I've never liked.

But gratefully my husband joined the food line and brought a plate of the green dessert, also known as seri muka, to me and Yahya, and I couldn't help but try. I was delighted to find a gluten-free dessert that I really liked. I ate at least three pieces.

I've since found a place to buy seri muka, which explains this photo of the dessert on my table. However, I'm still looking for a place to buy it in Mont Kiara.  Anyone out there who knows a place, let me know.

The sweetness of this sacred time and space didn't stop that night at Masjid Wilayah. We made plans to spend Eid with other expat Muslims at a brunch in a nice KL hotel.

We looked forward to our time with the other expats. We did not expect it to feel like Eid at home given that we are new to this community, but this would be the local ummah with which we would most connect and depend upon during our time here.

At the same time, we were granted the wish of an inside view into a Malaysian Eid when Erwan and Feezah came to the rescue as I secretly hoped. They invited us to Feezah's aunt's home the eve of Hari Raya. On Eid day, we spent the night at Erwan's parents.

As you can see, Feezah's aunt insisted that we feel at home. Lut and Yahya received Hari Raya envelopes with money as though they were children in the family. When I asked more about this tradition, I discovered that Malays generally don't buy Eid gifts for spouses and parents but focus on giving these money-filled envelopes to children.

This made me wonder about the extent to which Eid gift-giving patterns among American Muslims are influenced by our larger culture. With the Christmas shopping frenzy in mind, I asked, "If gift giving isn't the focus, then what about all the Hari Raya shopping and sales?" Feezah explained that this was a time for wearing new clothes to the endless Eid parties, called Open Houses, that go on for weeks.

After iftar, the family chanted the Eid takbir. It was during the dhikr that I felt most vividly how Eid traditions in Malaysia are linked more to family than community as I am accustomed. As the daughter of converts, the community was my Muslim family. My strongest Eid memories as a child are ones in the midst of community members, not in another family member's home. This is changing, I explained to Feezah and her mother, as my extended family members are increasingly Muslim. Yahya and Lut have Muslim grandparents and cousins on both sides of the family while I have none.

The next morning, we spent Eid prayer at Masjid Wilayah. Here a woman kindly takes a photo with me. Feezah let me borrow the scarf which is the latest hijab style here. Influenced by Indonesian hijabs (though some disagree about origins), it is commonly called the express hijab because there is no tying or tucking.

Lut sits in the arms of an expat Muslim from South Africa. Most of the expat Muslims here are from the UK, and most are of South Asian descent. As I find myself on the other side of the world among women with Indian features conversing in British accents, I think about the myth that Arabs dominate the global ummah. No, desis do.

Here we are at brunch at Erwan's parents' on the second day of Eid after spending the night there. Erwan's mother and her helpers were constantly preparing fresh dishes. With several hands to help with and engage Yahya, I rested in the guest room whenever I pleased, and woke up to delicious food. This I would miss.

The following weekend we attended an open house at an Indian Malaysian's home. The majority of Indian Malaysians are non-Muslim, but there are some who are Muslim. I'm curious to discover how their culture and outlook compare to others in the Indian Muslim diaspora.

"Have all the seri muka you like," the hostess of the party warmly told me.