Hijab Butch Blues by Lamya H

Author:Lamya H [H, Lamya]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Random House Publishing Group
Published: 2023-02-07T00:00:00+00:00

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And God speaks to me, too, through this surah. Don’t lose yourself. Don’t pander to those with influence, with access to power. Don’t try so hard with the cool kids, not at the cost of denigrating your people, not at the cost of entrenching stereotypes, not at the cost of hating yourself. Don’t expect others to alleviate your problems, your loneliness. Because they can’t, only God can do that, and God will. God will.

VIII.

Join us for a performance of the “Coming Out Muslim” play, the email reads. LGBTQ+ Muslim meetup to follow for people who hold those identities, no allies please. I get this message on an activist email group a few months after the queer birthday brunch, a few months during which I’ve been trying and failing to find queer Muslims in the city. This email with its intentional wording, its nod to privacy and consideration of safety, feels like a sign. It feels like God is telling me to go.

But still, I’m scared. The venue is four blocks away from my mosque. What if someone sees me going in? My cousin has just moved to the city for grad school; what if someone she knows is there? What if no one likes me? What if I’m not legible as queer?

“Just go!” Billy tells me. He offers to walk me into the event, promises me that I can leave if I recognize anyone in there, that he’ll pick me up after if I need a decoy. I am touched anew at his kindness but decline his help. This feels like something I need to do alone.

But as soon as I walk in through the door for the meetup, it’s clear that I’m not alone. The room is in the back of the theater and is small and sparsely lit, but in it are the most beautiful people I’ve ever seen, of varying genders and hairstyles and hijab styles, of varying ages, of varying shades of Black and brown. The space has been set up so thoughtfully, with food in the back and in the front, and a person at the door whose job it is to welcome new folks. She gives me a sticker for my pronouns and directs me to a group of people who are standing around talking. The group greets me like a long-lost friend. They’re talking about the play, telling their own “coming-out” and “not-coming-out” stories, and it’s easy to tell a few stories of my own, to not have to explain my queerness and Muslimness. It’s so easy to just be.

I’m in bliss, drifting between the different groups of people and the snack table, when I see a new friend take the mic. Manal, whom I met a few minutes ago and instantly bonded with over our mutual love of well-labeled food and similar Muslim upbringings, makes an announcement.

“A few of us are going to pray Maghrib now,” she says. “Folks are invited to join us or not, whatever works for you!”

The group separates, and we shuffle into parallel lines.

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