A and I were on a long bus ride to Central London yesterday. It was a particularly wet and rainy day, so motivation for venturing out of my warm, well-insulated home was low. But out we went anyway. We hopped onto the bus to Waterloo and sat ourselves down on its upper deck. On days when our schedules are lax and we didn't have to be somewhere at a certain time, A and I would often take the bus and take the long route - often without a set destination. "Shall we stop at St Paul's? Or maybe Waterloo?" I asked. "Lets stop somewhere in between," A replies.
The bus yesterday had a daredevil driver at the wheel who swerved in and out of tight city corners with ease. He took us through the main hotspots in North London before arriving at the city's centre. Enroute, we passed by Stamford Hill. We didn't have to read the signs or look it up on Google Maps to know where we were. Having lived in North London for 3 years now, we have familiarised ourselves with that area and its residents. Through the window of the bus, we could see many well dressed Orthodox Jewish men walking the streets. Smart black jackets on, curly hair on either sides of their face, dark beards and very distinguishable furry hats. These hats were large and circular - one could spot it from a mile away.
We passed by what I gather must be a Jewish school - with young boys, with their white circular hat on their heads, were being picked up by their parents. Some mothers were present with many children in tow. Further down the street, there were similar looking moms, pushing prams, talking to one another. Dressed in black knee length skirts, with wigs on their heads - the women too were very distinctive. We passed Kosher supermarkets, synagogues and other shops written in Hebrew. It felt very much like a Jewish version of the Muslim London capital of Whitechapel.
As an outsider briefly observing their community, the first thought that came into mind was how unapologetic they were about who they are. They wear their faith visibly for everyone to witness, and that takes great bravery. Akin to Muslim men who grow beards and wear taubs, or Muslim women who don the hijab, it takes courage to be outwardly different to the norm. With Muslims in the UK, we are not removed from normal society - we have one foot in our faith and one foot in the normal day-to-day life in this secular country. But with the little knowledge I have regarding the Orthodox Jewish communities in London, they strive to maintain their community out of the throws of modernity. They have their own language, own schools, own businesses and own communities. Just makes me wonder whether it is easier to uphold traditions of faith in isolation? Is integration a threat?
In my own experience of being a Muslim in this city, being different has actually added to my faith rather than diminish it. In times of loneliness and being apart from loved ones, I seek God more here than I do in Malaysia where many hold the same faith. In a community where I am "the other" I would have to explain my actions and decisions more to those who don't know them, and that takes more learning and knowledge on my part. But in Malaysia, no one would ask why I prayed, everyone just does. And I don't have to worry about where I should pray when going out, because there would always be a prayer room available. And I guess in a way, the easiness of being Muslim in a Muslim majority country makes me take my faith for granted. The added struggle to practice my faith here has strengthened it. I understand that other people often have a different experience to mine when going abroad, because one can easily lose their faith too when tested.
Before I go on an even larger tangent, yesterday I learnt that possibly us Muslims have similar struggles with our Jewish brothers and sisters. That man wore that furry strange hat yesterday because he had the bravery and gusto to do so. And that somehow gives me the courage to do the same with my hijab. We are both embracing our "otherness", albeit in slightly different ways.
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