‘Yes, Dad, I promise.’
I knew it was important to him and I loved my dad so much that I’d have done anything to make him happy.
None of my friends from school went to a mosque so they all thought it was very exciting, but because of this I didn’t really know what to expect. Would there be handsome men dressed in lovely long robes like princes, waiting to teach us ancient religion?
I was nervous about the other children there. What would they be like? Would they be nice and friendly? Would I make more new friends? The more I thought about it, the more I wanted to start, until I was quite literally counting the days.
My brothers had been going to the mosque for a couple of years but they never talked to me about it. I wondered why. When I asked, Asif told me that they all hated going and I thought that was curious. But I was a girl and I told myself I was bound to enjoy it more than them. They hated everything apart from football and cricket.
Habib had been going to the mosque for so long that he was coming towards the end of his studies. He was fifteen years old and said to be a fine student. He’d read the whole Koran, and now he knew it off by heart. I heard him practising in his bedroom. I hoped that I’d be smart like Habib and that I’d be able to learn the Koran, just like him.
As the oldest, it would be Habib’s job to walk us all to the mosque. I felt sorry for him sometimes because he spent his life babysitting for us. This time he couldn’t object, though. I could spend time with my brothers and there was nothing they could do to get rid of me. This was a new chapter in my life and I planned to enjoy every single moment of it.
Before my first lesson at the mosque, Mum drew me aside and handed me a black cotton scarf. ‘This is to cover your head once you go inside. You must remember to wear it whenever you are in the mosque,’ she instructed. ‘You must be modest, Nabila.’
I took the scarf and tied it the way she showed me so that it covered my neck and hair and only my face was showing. You had to do this inside the mosque so that you didn’t attract men. All Muslim women did it. We were supposed to cover any part of us that might be deemed attractive. Mum had always made a huge fuss of my hair, so I understood that it was seen as something beautiful and, according to our religion, all beauty had to be covered inside the mosque. The scarf could only be removed once you left.
My mum didn’t wear a headscarf at home, but she always wore one when she was out in public. Like me, she had long, thick dark hair. Some other mums were much stricter and made their daughters wear a scarf everywhere except in the family home, but mine didn’t care as long as I covered my head in the mosque. Mum’s scarf was hot and it made my scalp itchy so I decided that as soon as I’d walked out of the mosque door I’d rip it straight off my head.
She also explained that there was a special rule that women and men had to be separated during prayer. She said it was to prevent them being distracted by ‘impure thoughts’. My brothers told me it was to stop something called ‘fornication’. I nodded knowingly despite the fact that at just seven years old I didn’t have a clue what they meant. Judging by Asif’s giggles, I assumed it was something very rude.
School finished at three-thirty so we had just enough time to run home and grab some tea before it was time to go. Before we left home, I washed myself in preparation for prayers, being careful to clean my feet, hands, face and body. Mum explained I had to be clean to pray and that this was something I’d have to do before every trip to the mosque.
That first evening she walked down the road with us. It was a cold evening and the wind blew an icy chill clean through me. I shivered and pulled my winter coat tighter against my body.
‘What’s it like at the mosque?’ I asked for the umpteenth time, but my brothers seemed curiously reluctant to say anything in front of Mum.
I knew I was to learn my lessons from someone called an imam, so I asked what he was like.
‘Very strict,’ said Asif. ‘He’s quite scary.’
I guessed they were exaggerating and making it up to frighten me, just as they had with the witch in the wallpaper. I couldn’t get them to say anything more, though, so I soon gave up trying.
The mosque was around half a mile away from where we lived on the opposite side of the road. Even though the road was long and straight, you couldn’t see the mosque from my bedroom because it was too far and it was hidden by several roundabouts on the way. I’d imagined that it was going to be a big beautiful building, just like Suki’s temple, but it wasn’t. It was new and hadn’t long been built. There were no domes or carvings on it. Instead it was a three-storey, white-painted building with a sky-blue front door, and it looked like any old office building. It stood between a house and a factory, just by a busy main junction, which was controlled by traffic lights.
As we arrived, the lights turned red and several cars queued up in a line. The faces of the white families pressed up against their car windows to gaze at the mosque as if it was a place of mystery. As I watched them, I thought to myself that I was just like the children in those cars – I didn’t know any more about this place than they did.
I was looking up at the mosque when Mum tapped me on the shoulder and gestured towards my head. I remembered the black cotton scarf, which was folded neatly in my coat pocket. I pulled it out and shook it until it was fully open. The wind blew, making the cloth arch out like a mini parachute. I wrapped it snugly around my head, securing it with a fat knot under my chin. It was far too big, even though I had acres of hair, so I tucked it under the edges of my collar to hide the rest of my neck. I wanted to be sure to create a good impression right from the start.
My mother turned to leave us at the mosque door. ‘Just do as your brothers tell you,’ she instructed, before planting a quick kiss on my forehead, and with that she walked away.
I stood and waved after her, feeling forlorn. I’d been excited for ages about this moment but now, even though I was there with my four brothers, I suddenly felt very alone.
Habib sighed and pushed open the heavy front door. Saeed, Tariq and Asif followed him and then it was my turn. The door was too heavy for me to hold so it slipped from my grasp and came crashing to a close with a loud bang. The noise echoed around the empty building and Saeed shot me a look of disgust. I’d already broken the first rule – to be quiet – and I’d only just set foot in the place.
We were the first children to arrive that night. I watched my brothers and copied what they did. As soon as they were inside the hall they removed their shoes, placing them near the door. I noticed that they left their school socks on so I did the same and placed my black shoes neatly alongside theirs. I’d done this many times before at Suki’s house and again at the Sikh temple. I hoped that the mosque would be as joyful as the lovely temple. Maybe there would be singing. If we were lucky, we might even get a bite to eat. However, as soon as I stepped inside the mosque and saw the dreary interior I knew this was going to be very different from Suki’s lovely temple.
Inside there was a large open carpeted space and very little furniture. Long wooden benches had been pushed hard against the sides of the room and above them hung a long bookshelf, which contained all the children’s prayer books. It wasn’t a happy place like the temple; I could tell that this was a serious place – even more serious than the headmaster’s office at school. Suddenly, I began to feel very nervous.
The noise of the heavy banging door had brought the imam down to greet us. He was a tall, gruff-looking man, smartly dressed in a grey tunic and trousers. Like us, he wasn’t wearing shoes. He came towards us but there were no smiles or warm welcomes.
‘Don’t say anything, just follow what we do,’ Habib hissed at me, and I did as I was told, terrified that I’d somehow get it wrong.
Habib straightened his back and shoulders and tried to look confident. He was the eldest, so he wanted to set a good example. He walked towards the imam, holding out his hand. I caught sight of his expression and he looked different