All About my (Muslim) Mother(s)

About 6 weeks after I started teaching literacy in Bristol in 2016, my wife gave birth to our third child, and first daughter who came to be known by the pet name Madame Tagore.

My literacy students were a mixed bunch. Native English speakers on the fringes of the city; Russian, Polish and Italian migrants in the outer-inner city; and mostly Somali and Sudanese in the inner city. It was this latter group who I formed the strongest emotional bond with, for reasons that I’m only just beginning to understand.

Throughout my twenties I travelled a fair bit in the Muslim world. This experience nurtured a deep respect for Muslim people and the wide-awake, living-breathing sanctity of their faith. When I began to dive deeper into Islam as part of research for my first novel, that respect was broadened and deepened. I learned about the importance of alms-giving and the haj. About the Prophet’s best-known sayings (the hadiths) and the mystical significance of the Leylat-al-Kadr (Night of Power) which falls on the 27th night of Ramadan and sometimes the 26th. Or the 25th. It changes, you see.

So when I stumped up before my Somali and Sudanese learners, I had a few tricks in my bag; the odd word of Arabic here, mention of Eid-al-Futr there. They were gob-smacked.

There were whispers behind sometimes-henna-patterned hands.

Where did he learn those words? Is he a Muslim? Is he married to a Muslim?

Those who’d known me for a while would answer back reassuringly.

It’s ok. He understands about our faith.

And as surely as if they’d put their communal arms around me, I was welcomed into the fold. And in my heart, I’ve never left.

I think it was a mix of gratitude and relief. That there was an English person whose understanding of Muslim people was derived, not from the media but from, well, meeting Muslim people. Wild, I know.

And there began a joyful and deeply rewarding relationship with some extraordinary women that continued for many years.

And they were the first class to shower me with bags of baby clothes (all from Next); aftershave (?) and mountains of chocolate on my first day back after paternity leave.

And I had to bite back a tear.

There was much more to come…