Many things changed for Fatima Afridi when she and her family moved from Pakistan to Utah in 1995.
For one thing, the family, which observes Muslim dietary restrictions - called halal - had to slaughter its own meat. There were cultural differences that came as a shock, as well.
"When I saw the girls and boys, they were hanging around," Afridi said. "I saw one of the boys giving one of the girls a back massage. He put his hand under her shirt and I started to cry."
There were other things, however, that remained exactly the same. Even in a new country and new culture, Afridi, who now lives with her family in South Jordan, chose to continue to wear the traditional Muslim head covering, called a hijab.
"I see people who look at me, but I don't care," she said. "I'm comfortable."
And it is getting easier to be comfortable. These days the Afridis can buy their halal meat instead of slaughtering it themselves. Three years ago they opened the Desi Market, at 1615 W. 2100 South in West Valley City to help meet the needs of the growing Muslim population.
The Desi Market also sells other traditional foods and spices, as well as a small selection of the hijab and shalwar kameez, a long, tunic-style shirt and flowing pants ensemble. Mona Nisar, who came to Utah from Pakistan in 1985, operates Libas Sari House in Sugar House. Women who visit the by-appointment shop (call 801-467-4137) can find a selection of traditional clothes there as well.
"A lot of Muslims were in need of these clothes, so we opened a sari house," Nisar said. "It's the way we cover the body. In the religion that's what it says, to cover yourself properly."
That is not to say there are not difficult times as Muslim women and their daughters must come to their own decisions about their dress. In one incident in particular, Afridi recalled, a store clerk refused to wait on Afridi and her daughters, who do not cover their heads.
"She wouldn't even look at my face. She didn't even say 'hi,' like I wasn't human," Afridi said. "That was really hard. I cried and cried. I asked the manager why she [the clerk] was pointing and laughing and he started laughing. That time I felt bad."
The incident was enough for the family to take their business elsewhere, but not enough for Afridi to uncover her head. No one forces her to wear the hijab. She chooses to cover, Afridi said, because it is part of her religion. Her religion is one of the most important things in her life, and she wants people to understand that. Afridi's determination is an example to her children.
"It takes a strong woman to cover," said Afridi's oldest daughter, Shazia Arshad. "Look at me. I'm a chicken. I worry about what people think. I'm afraid if I cover I'll get stupid comments. I've seen people look at my mom. I would cry if people looked at me like that."
But many Muslim women, like Noor Ul-Hasan of Cottonwood Heights, agree that it is easier to cover in Utah than other places. Ul-Hasan, who was born in India but came to the United States when she was 2 years old, starting covering in December 2001, soon after the Sept. 11 terrorist attacks. Because her husband was serving as president of the Islamic society, the Ul-Hasans were often in the spotlight.
"Because of that I was interacting with more and more people, going to different places," Ul-Hasan said. "I was feeling more and more uncomfortable being uncovered."
Though she has encountered negative situations, just like the Afridis, Ul-Hasan said most of her interactions - especially with the Western world - have become easier since she started covering.
"There's a certain amount of respect that's given to you automatically when you wear the cover," she said. "It's displaying who I am and what my religion is on the front. Sometimes that's good and sometimes that's bad, depending on who you run across."
The biggest assumption people make about women who cover, Ul-Hasan said, is that they are submissive and ignorant. Ul-Hasan said many people even assume she doesn't speak English.
"When I talk they realize, 'Oh, wait a minute. She knows what she's talking about,' " Ul-Hasan said. "I stick up for my rights. Some people walk away. I don't."
Walking away, Afridi agrees, doesn't accomplish anything positive. It might be easier to live in a Muslim majority, or to go out uncovered, but then no one would learn acceptance and tolerance.
"If you hide everything, they will never understand. And it's not their fault," Fatima said. "It's so easy to live in your community because they understand you. But we should stay and teach the people who we are. If you hide everything, they will never understand."
Lauri Patel of Murray made the decision to help increase tolerance and understanding when she started covering five years ago. Patel, who was born and raised in Utah, converted to Islam 33 years ago. As a teacher at a private Muslim school, Patel wore the hijab at the school, but not in public. She said she has not had any problems since she started covering.
"I thought, 'What was I so worried about?' " Patel said. "No one seemed to care. So I kept covering."
Though she has never covered in other places, Patel thinks it is easier to cover in Utah, even though Muslims are a minority.
"Here you don't see so many people covered," she said. "But I will say that here in Utah, in many ways, they're more open-minded to minorities from different faiths. Does that make it easier? I don't know. I think so."
Despite the difficulties she has encountered, Afridi agrees it is good to be a Muslim in Utah. She can find anything she needs here, including halal food and clothes. Her neighbors are supportive and her children's school friends are kind, she said. More than anything, she wants people to know she is just like them.
"We're not different," she said. "We're the same: human."
Arshad agrees. "If someone has a question about someone wearing the hijab, they should go up and ask them," she said. "They'll be surprised to see who's in there."
http://www.sltrib.com/westvalley/ci_3884647