Halima Al Ahmed, Somalia

You see me as a one, who is trapped in darkness,
One who is held back in time,
One who is subjected to the ruling of men,
One who is a follower of a faith that oppresses her,
One who is veiled,
One who is tortured and disrespected all under the acceptance of her religion.
You see me as the illiterate woman who cannot know
Right from wrong
Left from right
Darkness from light
Happiness from sorrow!
you think my sense of dressing as a sign of obedience to men, out of fear for men
But do you know my hijab symbolizes my sincerity to my faith?
My love for my creator
My respect for the Mothers of the believers
The respect for my body
My need to be independent
My desire to be recognizes as a woman of intellect
Why did most of the respectable women in history cover?
Virgin Mary!
Mother Therese?
Play boy women seldom make history!
I am independent!
Islam is not a religion that traps or enslaves me but rather a religion that liberates me
Makes others view me as a woman and respect me.
Indeed, the status of women in Islam can never ever be equal to that of the western perception
The first person who accepted Islam was a woman
And the first martyr of Islam was a woman!
The Prophet peace be upon him said “paradise lies under the feet of your mother”
How can you possibly say Islam oppresses me?
Tortures me?
Abuses me?
Don’t you see sister for interviews you wear clothes that reveal your body, in order to be selected.
You sell your dignity in order to please the men,
Your self-esteem depends on the men who praise you, the more you show, the more you are showered with praises.
You are dependent on men!
You waste your soul and beauty,
You sell your dignity and respect,
You’re fooling yourself,
And you think I am slave to men?
If your definition of freedom is pleasing men and enslavement defines respecting oneself, then I chose the latter with pride!

Elisa di Benedetto, Belluno, Italy

Flickr/Jdl Deleon

“I’ve always been intrigued by the use of scarves and hijabs and I actually have one with me each time I go out.
I got used to that five years ago, during my first journey to Afghanistan. The wind and the dusty roads required me to wear a scarf to protect my hair and my face. But it also represented a sort of “pass” when meeting the locals, both as a sign of respects towards their culture and religion, and a way to be accepted by them.

I was introduced to the hijab during my stay in Lebanon, two years ago. A very kind lady gave it to me just before my meeting with one of Hezbollah’s leaders. “You should wear this”, she said, helping me in covering up with an elegant hijab. “It’s gonna be terrible”, I said to myself, thinking about how hot Beirut can be in July.
It turned out to be the most useful gift I could receive in that situation. It was both protecting me and making me feel confident in a context extremely different from the one I had grown up in.

I sometimes wear scarves in Italy, too. For example, when visiting some Muslim friends and their families. Or when, covering cross-cultural and religious issues, I’m invited to assist to religious events.

In Italy there’s a big and controversial debate on veils, scarves and hijab. They are perceived as a threat and identified with religious extremism. But some women wear it only to show their own identity and keep alive their culture and traditions. I find them very elegant and beautiful.

The veil unveils real beauty and make people pay attention to the woman’s face, on her eyes and expression.

Lucy Chumbley, Washington, USA

“After a recent trip to Egypt to take part in a journalism conference titled “Reporting Across Borders,” I have been thinking about hijabs, the headscarves worn by Muslim women.
 
I grew up in the Middle East, so hijabs were something I was accustomed to seeing, and I had never really given them much thought. I just accepted them as a part of life in that region, an expression of faith. But after reading some of the accounts of my colleagues, who described some of their perceptions and misperceptions about these headcoverings, I began to ask myself this question: What do I really think of hijabs?
 
And the answer surprised me a little.
 
Looking back at the photos of our time in Egypt, I noticed that the salty Mediterranean breeze had given me an unusually long run of bad hair days, which are now preserved forever on Facebook. I realised that “bad hair days” don’t exist in quite the same way if you are wearing a hijab: it’s more of a private matter.
 
The Mediterranean sun can be harsh on hair, as any woman in the region can tell you. Women who don’t cover their heads in this climate will soon have dry, coarse and damaged hair if they are not careful. As I thought about sun-damaged hair, I remembered a story my grandmother told me about her childhood in the American South.
 
Every winter, my grandmother said, she would beg her mother to let her wear knee socks to schools like the other girls did. And her mother refused, insisiting that she wear tights. “In the spring,” my great-grandmother explained, “the other girls’ knees will be all cracked and chapped. But YOUR knees will be smooth and pretty.”
 
In both cases, beauty is enhanced by not being on display. The covered knees remain smooth. The covered hair remains silky.
 
British researchers recently reported a surprising statistic, which was quickly siezed upon by women’s magazines everywhere: Women who reveal 40 percent of their skin are most appealing to men.
 
Forty percent. Less than half.
 
The reason given by the researchers was that as more flesh was exposed, the signal changed from “allure” to one indicating general availability and future infidelity.
 
What men really want, it seems, is someone special. And any self-respecting women will tell you that if you’ve really got it, you don’t have to flaunt it.

Ruth Eglash, Jerusalem, Israel

After seven days in Alexandria, I wondered if the head scarves donned by Muslim women were down to fashion or religious observance. It took less than three days in Egypt for me to decide that I just had to have a hijab. “Why do you need one?” quizzed my colleague as I tried on a dizzying selection of different head scarves – single colors, multi-colored, silk, cotton, pashmina and more. “You are a secular Jew living in Israel, do you really need one?”. The irony that as a secular Jew I felt wholly compelled to buy myself a Muslim head-covering was not lost on me or my colleague. The pull was clearly not a religious one, but what was it that was pushing me to mull covering up, at least for the duration of my stay in Alexandria? I was sure it wasn’t caused by the constant attention – bordering on sexual harassment – from local Egyptian men (although this might have been a subconscious reason) but, rather, it seemed to be led by the fashion-victim factor”… Read more in Jerusalem Post