Hotdogs, souvlakia and shawarmas: my life, my culture

A few days ago I was invited to a New Muslims dinner with Canadian converts to Islam.  It was refreshing to see a culture opposite to your typical Arabic culture.

(That means we were eating pasta, deviled eggs, taco dip and banana bread instead of your usual shawarma, rice and hommus mix.  )

It was funny because at one point one of the Canadian-born sisters was sitting next to me and because we were relaxing so much she crossed her leg and the back of her foot happened to be facing me.  We both laughed because she said she was sorry so I won’t take offense.

Right away, I knew what she was referring to.  In the Arabic culture, if your foot is facing another person, that is one of the most demeaning insults you can make to a person.  (Remember the whole Iraqi journalist-slash-Bush-slash-shoe-throwing incident?) I told her not to worry because I’m not Arabic to begin with.

But it was interesting because the other Canadian sister beside me saw us and said, “Oh, that’s why my father-in-law was so angry when I did that to him?!”.  She was a brand new convert and got her first shockwave of Arabic culture.

When people first convert, some think that they have to become “more Arabic” to become more pious.  Instead of sister, they call you “ukhti”.  Instead of hotdogs, it’s kebabs.  Instead of a baseball cap, it’s the traditional headdress Saudis wear.

I thought like that too at first but with proper knowledge of Islam, I started to realize that I don’t have to be an Arab.  There is nothing wrong with being an Arab, but I can just be myself - a Canadian Greek Muslim- as long as I take the good from each culture.

For example, in the Canadian (and sometimes even Greek) society these days, it’s very normal to see some kids violently swearing at their parents and yelling at them or treating them with no respect whatsoever.  Obviously, this is totally against Islamic principles.

But then there are other cultural things in Canada that I like, like saying please and thank you.  (I was told not to say thank you in Athens, otherwise they will consider me to be a foreigner!)

And then it gets really confusing for non-Muslims (and sometimes Muslims too) to try to figure out what is culture and what is Islam.

For example, my Canadian friend was telling me one of those “horror stories” of a Muslim friend in the Indo-Pak region that is being completely denied of her financial maintenance rights from her husband.  Obviously this is completely unIslamic but without proper knowledge, someone can easily look at that and so, oh, see what Islam does to Muslim women?!

So, in the end, culture and religion is not a black-and-white issue, choose-one-or-the-other idea.  Muslims come from cultures in every country and every continent and they are as different as fingers of my hand. No one is better than the other, but we are one hand and one nation united by one belief,

There is no object worthy of worship

except the one true God (who created everything).

The next time you see one of the 30 million Chinese Muslims, what will you think?

Don’t you just hate Muslims? So did I.

Surrender.  That’s precisely how to describe it.  So many converts to Islam have said the same thing.   It’s not that I wanted to become Muslim.  I hated Islam.  I was running away from it.  But it was this persistent nagging of my soul that kept dragging me back.  While my brain was fleeing far away, my heart was magnetized to Islam and the intense need to get answers to life. 

I couldn’t understand how someone could betray their family, their way of life, their “Greekness” and become a traitor to our civilised culture.

I barely knew anything about Islam but I did know that whoever would sell their soul for some backward religion is wacko.  When I met Muslims in my university program, I was befuddled.  You can imagine the hot debates we had – trinity, salvation, women, violence and on and on.  

When I didn’t know the answer, my arrogance and defensiveness would kick in.  In retrospect, I think my debater could call my bluff, but respectfully didn’t.  So, what did I do?  The only sensible thing.  Go back to the church.  And I did.  I started to open up my dusty Bible that I received after graduating from Sunday school.  The inscription reads,

“Holy Bible presented to …. May this be an inspiration throughout your entire life.  God bless you.”

Signed, my teacher

Little does my teacher know her supplication was answered.  The Bible was the first step that led me to Islam.  I became obsessed with Christianity.  Of course, I was the only young person at church during the week and my mom was really proud of me. But something happened.  Things just didn’t make sense.  There was a clear contradiction between what my Muslim classmates were telling me and what I was studying.  And I needed to prove them wrong.  So, when no one was looking, I would sneak into the library to grab any information I could about Islam to attack them with it (this was pre-Google days people!).  I even met with my priest to see if he could clear up my confusion, but no success there.

After months of studying secretly and debate after debate, continuously searching for loop-holes so I can dismiss this weird religion and get my sanity back, inside me, I knew I was losing, even though I would never admit it, even to myself.  I was fighting a fight that couldn’t be won but I would die trying.

Until one day, I just knew there was no more.  And the only thing left for me to do was surrender to the truth.  Islam. 

No wonder Islam means surrender.