| Starbucks Muslimah |
| I am sitting in a petite café just five blocks away from my apartment in Queens, New York. At this moment I am sipping my favorite coffee drink - a café latté in a perfect crème colored latté mug, no sugar needed. I smile at the cute heart- shaped design the barista created on top of the foam. Just two blocks away is the largest coffee purveyor in the world. You guessed it! Starbucks it is and I work there. I have been working at Starbucks for almost 7 years now which means that Starbucks has been right there beside me during my reversion from Christianity to Islam. That’s right! I am a blue-eyed, blonde-haired American convert to Islam. I am an American Muslim. I wear the Islamic headscarf - hijaab, including when I am working at Starbucks making your skinny lattés and not so skinny Frappuccinos! The day after I took my Shahada or testimony of faith, I somehow managed to wrap a black scarf onto my head and went to work. Boy was that scarf slippery and never mind that it was transparent. Amateur! I walked into the East Village store where I worked full of conviction and determination. All I said to my co-workers was, “I’m wearing this now”. I was absolutely fearless and fully intent on doing as my new religion taught me. Some people had an “ummm, ok” reaction and just kept quiet about it. But my regular customers who knew me for the past two years did not keep quiet. When they saw me they sometimes stopped, stared blatantly and seemed confused. At times, they would look away so as to avoid my eyes. Other times, my customers would completely lose their ability to speak and forget what they wanted to order! Some of them would become really angry. One man who used to tutor me in French, asked, “What is that rag on your head?” Another assumed that I was doing it for a man, “You must really love him!” “Who, God?”, I asked.” Some customers even asked me, “Are you really that cold, honey?” Alhamdulillah (praise be to God), there were many customers who were Muslim themselves and my presence, I think, brought them humility because I could see the tears well up in their eyes when they talked to me. Their presence has helped me too, to not feel alone, to know that there is an entire community on my side even though they do not even know me. The Muslim men who came in treated me with a respect that only my husband has shown me in this life. He has defined for me what respect really means. I now share with you that blessed day when I embraced the beautiful religion of Islam. |
The mercy of Allah Subhana waTa’ala in His wisdom in guiding me to Islam and opening my heart is my inspiration. Alhumdulillah, I feel very special to have been chosen
to follow the path of Islam. That is why I have decided to create an anthology of stories about others like me who have embraced Islam. The anthology is called, “Muslim
Like Me”. In writing this book, my hope is to change the way the world views Muslims - one word at a time. With compassion and understanding, I hope to create a safe
space for the community of converts through the pages of this book, Inshaallah. Assalam Alaykom Wa Ramatulahi Wa Barakatuhu. Kim Joseph.
After my husband waited a while he found me sitting in the office upstairs where Miriam had taken me to embrace my new religion, wearing my first hijaab. Seeing me, he totally
freaked out asking me a stream of questions, “Are you sure? Do you know what you’re doing? Are you ready for this? Do you know what this means?” The rest of the words
were in Arabic, I had no clue what he was saying but he sounded really excited. Arabic speakers always sound excited and animated when they speak so I just sat silently and
waited for him to calm down.
I also had to explain to everyone that I didn’t feel nervous or scared. I just felt peaceful, calm and ready. I told them that I loved reading the Qur’an and that I didn’t have any
questions because it just all made sense to me. I had finally found a way to worship the one and only true God, without any need for intercession during prayer! I could believe in
all of the Prophets I’d known from Christianity and I even have a Holy Book that remained unchanged! What more could I want? My search was finally over because the core
teachings of Islam taught me how to worship God alone. Islam also includes everything I’d always believed in anyways - the principals encompassed in these core teachings of
Islam are equality, a commitment to education, asking questions and gaining an understanding, compassion and the nurturing of self-integrity throughout every daily ritual and
practice within the tradition.
In that tiny office at the mosque sat a peaceful me, my still in-shock husband, smiley Miriam, a teary-eyed translator with his infant son on his lap and a friendly and scholarly
Sheikh with warm, welcoming eyes. We all finally settled down and the Sheikh asked me to repeat three times after him my testimony of faith, the Shahada in Arabic. Stumbling
on the foreign syllables while looking in my husband’s eyes for help in correctly pronouncing the affirmation, I said for the first time, “ Ash hadu an la illaha ila Allah, wa ashadu ana
Muhammadan abduhu wa rasoolu”. I testify that there is no God but God, I testify Muhammad is the slave and messenger of God.
It has been five Ramadans and almost four years since I took my Shahada. The syllables are not so foreign anymore but I still look to the gentle, loving brown eyes of my dear
husband for affirmation. He is my best friend, my life, my omri, the love of my soul, my habiby ruhi. He has shown me respect, love and friendship that can only come from the
purest most selfless place. Alhumdulillah.
freaked out asking me a stream of questions, “Are you sure? Do you know what you’re doing? Are you ready for this? Do you know what this means?” The rest of the words
were in Arabic, I had no clue what he was saying but he sounded really excited. Arabic speakers always sound excited and animated when they speak so I just sat silently and
waited for him to calm down.
I also had to explain to everyone that I didn’t feel nervous or scared. I just felt peaceful, calm and ready. I told them that I loved reading the Qur’an and that I didn’t have any
questions because it just all made sense to me. I had finally found a way to worship the one and only true God, without any need for intercession during prayer! I could believe in
all of the Prophets I’d known from Christianity and I even have a Holy Book that remained unchanged! What more could I want? My search was finally over because the core
teachings of Islam taught me how to worship God alone. Islam also includes everything I’d always believed in anyways - the principals encompassed in these core teachings of
Islam are equality, a commitment to education, asking questions and gaining an understanding, compassion and the nurturing of self-integrity throughout every daily ritual and
practice within the tradition.
In that tiny office at the mosque sat a peaceful me, my still in-shock husband, smiley Miriam, a teary-eyed translator with his infant son on his lap and a friendly and scholarly
Sheikh with warm, welcoming eyes. We all finally settled down and the Sheikh asked me to repeat three times after him my testimony of faith, the Shahada in Arabic. Stumbling
on the foreign syllables while looking in my husband’s eyes for help in correctly pronouncing the affirmation, I said for the first time, “ Ash hadu an la illaha ila Allah, wa ashadu ana
Muhammadan abduhu wa rasoolu”. I testify that there is no God but God, I testify Muhammad is the slave and messenger of God.
It has been five Ramadans and almost four years since I took my Shahada. The syllables are not so foreign anymore but I still look to the gentle, loving brown eyes of my dear
husband for affirmation. He is my best friend, my life, my omri, the love of my soul, my habiby ruhi. He has shown me respect, love and friendship that can only come from the
purest most selfless place. Alhumdulillah.
| A smiling woman wearing a silver velvet dress and a white scarf that almost matched the color of her glowing face interrupted my thoughts. “Hi, my name is Miriam and you?” “I’m Kim.” Thankful for the ice-breaker, I felt my entire body relax. “Are you fasting?” she asked and offered me some dates and milk to break my fast. “Yes,” I replied, thanking her. “Are you Muslim?” she asked me. No sense in wasting time, I thought. “No.” I said, smiling back at her. “Do you believe that there is no God but God, and Muhammad is the last Prophet and Messenger of God?” she asked, her face still luminous with that smile. “Yes,” I answered. “Then you’re already Muslim,” She said. “Really? I am?” I exclaimed joyfully like a little girl who just met her new best friend. “Yes! She replied. Do you want to go talk to the Sheikh when we’re finished with our breakfast? All you have to do is state your declaration of faith with two witnesses present and… you’re Muslim.” “Okay,” I said without any hesitation in my heart or mind. I was ready. It was really that simple. All I needed was a friendly little nudge because my heart was already ready to accept Islam. The call to prayer melodiously echoed off every ounce of my very being and told us it was time to break fast. I watched the women get up and stand together for prayer, knowing soon that would be me. Afterwards, food was offered for our first meal of the day and even though I had fasted all day, my plate was still half full of roasted lamb, rice and salad by the time I was done eating. My new Muslim sisters gathered around me offering advice, giving me hugs and congratulating me simultaneously. They lightheartedly argued about the best way to wear a headscarf and somehow managed to get it on my head before I went to the office to declare my new faith. They also gave me a strange green and white one-piece prayer outfit, which I had no clue what to do with. It’s basically a big bed sheet type thing with a place cut out for the face and sleeves used during prayer, though not all women wore it. My facial expression clearly displayed my inability to disguise my cluelessness with this bed sheet thingy so the sisters suggested that I just try it on. I got lost somewhere inside this mass of material and couldn’t find the hole for my head so someone helped me before I passed out from embarrassment. While I struggled for air my husband unknowingly of the events that were occurring in my life at the moment was waiting outside. |
Hands intertwined, we walked down the slippery Queens sidewalk avoiding the rain puddles, my wet feet begging for the mercy of dry land. I looked up at my new husband and
laughed. Reassuring me, he said, “We’re almost there habibty.You really need new socks, so let’s go in here.” We went into a nearby store and I picked out some plain black
socks because black matches with everything. “Are you sure you don’t need anything else?” He asked. “Nope, I’m good. Plus, I don’t want to carry anything.”
Bending down on the dusty tiled floor, he took my foot in his hand. Gently taking off my shoe as if I was Cinderella, he took off my soaking wet socks one at a time, never
allowing my feet to touch the ground. Watching him express his love for me in this way, I asked myself, “Who does this?” “I mean really - what man does this?” I placed my face
in my hands so he didn’t see the tears glistening in my eyes. I said, “You’re making me cry.” He wiped my runaway tears and said, “This is the life, Kim. This is how I love you;
now give me your beautiful smile...that’s better. Okay, let’s go.” He gently took my hand in his and we walked back into the wet streets. A peaceful silence fell upon us until we
arrived in front of the brass doors of the mosque. Like a couple standing at an alter, we stood facing each other our eyes and hands inseparable and oblivious to the world around
us. Searching my green eyes for loving affirmation during this holy month of Ramadan, he tells me, “Okay enjoy your break-fast and after the Isha (evening) prayer I’ll meet you
outside”. I grasped the cold door handle and stepped inside.
Safe from the rain and wet streets, I paused for a moment to take in the new surroundings. Lined with some sort of bluish-green plastic, ten steps led downstairs to a built-in
wooden shelf for shoes. I placed my shoes inside and felt the coldness of the teal-colored tiled floor upon my bare feet. The sound of running water led me to the bathroom
while randomly scattered shoes made a pathway to the prayer room. Curious faces looked up at me as I made my way to the far side of the room, the soft plush carpet soothing
my feet with every step. My curly blonde hair bounced in stride and my jeans made that swish-swish sound which made it difficult to make a quiet entrance.
I chose a free spot on the floor and sat by myself taking my English translation of The Holy Qur’an out of my denim Gap bag. I read silently this book that easily made sense to
me, as though it was something I’d been reading my whole life. When I first began reading it three months ago it felt like it was what I’d been searching for all my life. “How
could that be? I’m Christian,” I thought. The Bible never made any sense to me though and I don’t think I ever finished the entire thing in the 27 years of my life. It just
confused me because there were so many versions and so many authors. I often wondered, isn't God supposed to be the author? Looking down in my hands I held a Holy Book
that has never been changed since its revelation, The Holy Quran. Revealed to Prophet Muhammad (peace and blessings be upon him) through the angel Gabriel by Almighty God
and I was holding a translation of it in my hands.
laughed. Reassuring me, he said, “We’re almost there habibty.You really need new socks, so let’s go in here.” We went into a nearby store and I picked out some plain black
socks because black matches with everything. “Are you sure you don’t need anything else?” He asked. “Nope, I’m good. Plus, I don’t want to carry anything.”
Bending down on the dusty tiled floor, he took my foot in his hand. Gently taking off my shoe as if I was Cinderella, he took off my soaking wet socks one at a time, never
allowing my feet to touch the ground. Watching him express his love for me in this way, I asked myself, “Who does this?” “I mean really - what man does this?” I placed my face
in my hands so he didn’t see the tears glistening in my eyes. I said, “You’re making me cry.” He wiped my runaway tears and said, “This is the life, Kim. This is how I love you;
now give me your beautiful smile...that’s better. Okay, let’s go.” He gently took my hand in his and we walked back into the wet streets. A peaceful silence fell upon us until we
arrived in front of the brass doors of the mosque. Like a couple standing at an alter, we stood facing each other our eyes and hands inseparable and oblivious to the world around
us. Searching my green eyes for loving affirmation during this holy month of Ramadan, he tells me, “Okay enjoy your break-fast and after the Isha (evening) prayer I’ll meet you
outside”. I grasped the cold door handle and stepped inside.
Safe from the rain and wet streets, I paused for a moment to take in the new surroundings. Lined with some sort of bluish-green plastic, ten steps led downstairs to a built-in
wooden shelf for shoes. I placed my shoes inside and felt the coldness of the teal-colored tiled floor upon my bare feet. The sound of running water led me to the bathroom
while randomly scattered shoes made a pathway to the prayer room. Curious faces looked up at me as I made my way to the far side of the room, the soft plush carpet soothing
my feet with every step. My curly blonde hair bounced in stride and my jeans made that swish-swish sound which made it difficult to make a quiet entrance.
I chose a free spot on the floor and sat by myself taking my English translation of The Holy Qur’an out of my denim Gap bag. I read silently this book that easily made sense to
me, as though it was something I’d been reading my whole life. When I first began reading it three months ago it felt like it was what I’d been searching for all my life. “How
could that be? I’m Christian,” I thought. The Bible never made any sense to me though and I don’t think I ever finished the entire thing in the 27 years of my life. It just
confused me because there were so many versions and so many authors. I often wondered, isn't God supposed to be the author? Looking down in my hands I held a Holy Book
that has never been changed since its revelation, The Holy Quran. Revealed to Prophet Muhammad (peace and blessings be upon him) through the angel Gabriel by Almighty God
and I was holding a translation of it in my hands.
| Kim Joseph |
| Islam is my way, my hope for a better life, a better world and peace. |
| Copyright © 2008 AMAANY Magazine, All Rights Reserved. |
| Send your comments and questions regarding this article to: faithandinspiration@amaany.org |
| All rights are reserved by the author. Copyright 2008, Kimberly Joseph. |
| Check out Kim Joseph's blog at www.muslimlikeme.blogspot.com If you would like to contribute to Kim Joseph’s forthcoming book, "Muslim Like Me" please send your inquiries and submissions to: muslimlikeme@yahoo.com. |
| Photo credits: Sana Manzoor |
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