Love in a Headscarf by Shelina Janmohamed

Author:Shelina Janmohamed [Janmohamed, Shelina]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Biography & Autobiography, General, Social Science, Religion, Family & Relationships, Personal Memoirs, Arranged marriage, Great Britain, Women, Marriage, Religious, Self-Help, Personal Growth, Love & Romance, Sociology, Women's Studies, Conduct of life, Islam, Marriage & Family, Religious aspects, Rituals & Practice, Muslim Women, Mate selection, Janmohamed; Shelina Zahra, Muslim women - Conduct of life, Mate selection - Religious aspects - Islam, Arranged marriage - Great Britain, Muslim women - Great Britain
ISBN: 9780807000809
Publisher: Beacon Press
Published: 2010-10-12T01:23:39+00:00

Hijab Marks the Spot

It was an average Tuesday at work. In the office our row of desks looked out of the full-height glass windows of the fifth floor. We were perched above the Thames and could see the Houses of Parliament at one end, and past several bridges and into the blurry, crowded money-scape of the city at the other. Behind us was a busy London street.

The weather was averagely autumnal; dry, crisp leaves colorfully littering the streets; collars now upturned on the city types who click-clacked their smart city shoes on the gritty pavements as they rushed home on the ever-so-slightly-closing-in September evenings; thicker and longer than average coats on the slick all-in-black media women.

I sat next to Emma, an unpredictable Anglo-German woman of highly strung intensity and brow-furrowing naivety. Behind me were Elaine and Nicola, two women, about my age, who were excited about moving to London after graduating from their university. Opposite me was handsome, well-traveled, courteous Jack. He was a tall, affable all-American college boy who charmed effortlessly and unknowingly, pulling wonky faces at managerial nonsense and participating in peer-to-peer banter with good will and kind heart. Jack was optimistically American and realistically New York savvy. His humorous self-deprecating cynicism meant he had blended in nicely in London.

We sat punching away at our keyboards, post-lunch, pre-home time. E-mails flew backward and forward, the Internet was surfed, and digital decisions were made. On the other side of the room there was a whisper.

Heads lifted across from me and I heard a voice shout, “A plane has crashed into the World Trade Center!”

I looked up. The room was full of agitated rustling, eyes squinting, eyebrows rising. Everyone was restless but there was as yet no sense of shock or fear.

I heard the words again: a plane has crashed. I imagined it to be a small glider and wondered how it could have entered a well-monitored area like Manhattan and then lost control. I didn’t imagine it to be anything other than a horrible accident.

I carried on typing. Suddenly, there was a loud, frantic shout: “Oh, my God, I think we should watch this on the large screen in the canteen!”

Chairs scraped, shoes clattered, and bodies moved hurriedly. We raced to the open space where we sat and ate our lunch every day. As we ran, our eyes remained glued to the large television screen above us that was playing a live news feed. The camera was static on the stark image of two of the world’s most famous buildings standing tall against the autumn blue sky. We were stunned: the World Trade Center had swathes of menacing black smoke billowing out of it.

We remained frozen with horror. It was completely unbelievable; we couldn’t understand exactly what was happening. Then, before our eyes, a second plane came into view and crashed into the second tower.

I was in shock as they kept replaying the second crash. This can’t be true, I thought, this is just a sick Armageddon Hollywood blockbuster.

No one knew what to say.

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