I went with some colleagues today on a tour of the Raleigh Women’s Correctional Facility. It was one of the most “mixed feelings” experiences I’d ever had.

I walked in there having decided two things: first, that I’d smile at every inmate I made eye contact with; second, that I’d say “Wa alaikum assalam” to any of the Muslim inmates who called out to greet me (if there were any). I also was a bit apprehensive because…well….it’s a prison.

I had done some research for work about women’s correctional facilities, but I still wasn’t really sure what to expect. TV skews your perceptions of things - and indeed, the first thing the Deputy Warden, the two caseworkers, and the officer who walked us around said was - “This is nothing like what you see on TV.”

The Dep. Warden told us that it was more like a college campus, and that prison didn’t necessarily mean jail cells and handcuffs, but not being able to do what you wanted to do at any particular time. I couldn’t believe it was like a college campus, but then when we walked into the yard - it was true. It really was like a quad, with women walking around pretty freely, some reading, listening to music, talking. They were wearing different color uniforms according to the length of their sentence, but they were not chained or confined in any way. This was surprising and heartening. The facility is mixed, all the way from really minor crimes to four women on death row. I guess I expected armed guards walking around and really severe restrictions on anything that could be used as a weapon - but one woman had some crutches, many had headphones. I was happy that these women weren’t living in a violent environment where a fight could break out any second (I’ll write another reflection about the men’s prison next month when we tour there……)

I met two Muslim women while I was there. As we were walking around to the classrooms, vocational areas, and living facilities, a lady called out “Salam Alaikum.” I turned and saw a lady waving at me from one of the buildings, so I smiled and said “Wa Alaikum as-Salam” and waved back. Later, we visited the Tourism center and mail center (apparently, when you call NC Tourism for ideas on where to go, an inmate picks up and helps you! They’re really nice), there was a Muslim lady stuffing brochures into envelopes. She was wearing a nice hijab, and as our group came in she just kept her back turned to us and kept working. I couldn’t take my eyes off her. Later, as our group was leaving the room, I asked the case managers if I could go speak to her. They called to her and I walked over to her. Her face split into a big smile and her eyes brightened up. We hugged, and she told me her name. We didn’t really talk about anything, but it was really nice to meet her. I asked the case managers later, and they said that as long as they know of an inmate’s religion beforehand, they accommodate as much as possible. She didn’t have to ask to wear her hijab, there is Jummah prayer at the facility, and they adjust her meal schedule during Ramadan. I was impressed and happy that it was relatively easy for her to practice her religion - they could’ve made it much harder for her.

The whole experience is really depressing, though, despite some of the uplifting things I described above. The pregnant inmates go offsite to deliver, get one day with their babies, and then go back to jail. Phone calls are collect only, and the family might not be able to pay to receive them.

The saddest thing of the whole experience was talking to an 18-year old inmate who was in for second degree murder. She was with her boyfriend when he murdered his grandmother. She said that she had a good family growing up, caring parents, well off, but that she just wanted to rebel - so she started sneaking out and hanging out with her older boyfriend. She was really peppy, bubbly, and said that even though it was hard, she was happy to be there because it was a learning experience for her. She’ll get out when she’s 27. “I have no friends here, but it’s better that way,” she said. It was kind of sad that she was happy with her situation…..but I guess you have to make the best of what you have. She told us that when she gets out, she wants to help youth not make the same mistakes she did.

My biggest hope for these women is that they get out of jail and stay out - that they get jobs and reconnect with their families in a meaningful way. The warden (plus my own research) explained that most of them have drug addictions - so I hope that their time in jail helps them overcome it. Most of all, I hope I don’t forget the women I met, because they deserve to be remembered.

My mom and I were driving home from somewhere and realized that we were both really hungry. Mama started telling me about this spicy, saucy, ranch shrimp wrap she had in Mexico. So, of course, we had to recreate it when we got home!

We made a chipotle ranch sauce for the crispy shrimp and made a sweet relish to balance the smoky-spiciness. I really recommend the arugula instead of normal lettuce because the pepperiness goes well with the spice!

Frozen popcorn shrimp
Chipotle peppers in adobo sauce
Ranch dressing
One bell pepper, red or yellow
One mango
Fresh cilantro
Tortilla wraps

1. Bake the shrimp according to package directions.
2. Puree the chipotle and adobo till smooth. Mix with any amount of ranch dressing until it is as spicy as you want. We mixed about 2 1/2 tablespoons with half a bottle of ranch dressing.
3. Dice the bellpepper finely, and do the same with the mango. Really, you could use any sweet fruit here - pineapple, peach, even jicama. Add some finely chopped cilantro, and add cracked black pepper and a hint of salt.
4. Toss the shrimp with the sauce and mix to coat.
5. Put down some arugula on a warm tortilla. Top with the creamy, spicy shrimp, and then with the yellow pepper and mango relish. Wrap up and eat!

Best read in coordination with: “So, where are you from?” and “Law School Society and the “I’m Muslim” dilemma”
(Glossary at the end for those unfamiliar with the Arabic words).

As a law student-going-on-lawyer, I’ve realized that so much of being a perceived as a good attorney rides on your appearance. Well-tailored suits are an absolute must for both men and women. A lawyer does not look like a lawyer unless he or she is, as we say in Pakistan, “suited booted.” Business casual is rare, especially in government jobs, and even then is expected to be respectable enough to receive a client or colleague.

In some way, I win here. I recently read an article about male judges’ reflections on what female lawyers wear in the court room, and the “old boys” (and “old girls”) lawyers I’ve met through the Susie Sharp Inn of Court seem to echo the same sentiment – “You’re in court, not at a party. I don’t need to see that much leg or that much cleavage.”

Sweet – no problem on either front for me. Indeed, I agree with the sentiment itself, too. Showing that much skin is not only disrespectful to the court and the institution of the law, but also to yourself. It gets you stared at for the wrong reasons (yes, it does, even if you don’t ask for it, it does. Eyes wander, that’s what they’re meant to do – look) and diminishes you in the credibility and respect you deserve. Fine, Lady Lawyers, I’ll give you an okay on below the knee skirts and short sleeve shirts (maybe even sleeveless if it’s tactful), but no cleavage, please. Not acceptable.

But in other ways, I lose. Buying my definition of halal suits is not an easy task. Choices are limited to (at most) mid-calf skirts (more usually knee length or shorter). Jackets come up to right at or above the waist, and combined with a fitted pant or skirt, the butt is completely bare and distinguishable. Not okay for me. Blouses and shirts are either spandexy (too tight) or low cut or too short (again, see the butt problem). You can get suit jackets that are longer (mid thigh or knee), but they’re expensive and hard to come by (and often cut for an older fashion sense).

Alhamdulillah, I’m lucky that when I find one of these longer, well cut suits, my mom or dad will get me multiples stitched in different colors from Pakistan. That helps very immensely, so I’ve got a whole set of well cut, well covered suits. I shake it up with a pretty colored shirt and hijab (and apparently people notice), so there is an element of fun to it - but moreso once I’m comfortable with who I’m with and where I am. I stick to blues, grays, whites for first days and big meetings.

Here’s where the real issue is for me: my headcover.

I’ve worn hijab for 11 years now, Alhamdulillah. In that time, I’ve gone from tentative uncertainty to gradual comfort to unabashed self-confidence.

I believe that wearing hijab is good for me on many levels: it fulfills a religious requirement and provides spiritual and moral benefit, it allows me to express a carefully tailored Islamic identity, it makes me a walking (and hopefully, counter-stereotypical) symbol of Islam and gives me the opportunity to teach others the truth about my faith, and it earns me the respect of my Muslim and non-Muslim friends and colleagues.

I’m very proud of my hijab and my choice to wear it, and Alhamdulillah, I’ve never doubted my decision.

But in the past year, I’ve come to be uncomfortable and nervous in situations that would never have affected me before law school. It’s always been nerve wracking to be a muhajjibah when you’re going to a small Southern town, where the stereotypes in your head are activated and you find yourself thinking, “That man looks like he might shoot me if I make one wrong move.” But as long as you smile, stay polite, things usually turn out okay in those situations. (Note that sometimes, part of the art of wearing hijab also means gracefully ignoring prejudicial comments from the peanut gallery).

Wearing hijab as a law student, soon to be lawyer is nervewracking on a different level. For the first time ever, when I attended my first professional/social event, I found myself nervous when I walked into the hall full of attorneys and judges - butterflies-in-my-stomach, a stomach-twinging kind of nervous.

I couldn’t help thinking, “What will they think of me?” For some of them, especially the older men “old boys” types, maybe this would be their first encounter with a Muslimah, a brown and hijab-ed one at that. Would they doubt my abilities as a lawyer? Would they think I’m a little “too diverse” for their tastes? Would they let me fit in to their profession?

I hate feeling like that. I hate that, when I walked into my first job interview with Justice Timmons-Goodson at the NC Supreme Court, I thought “what if I won’t belong here?”

I had left those feelings behind on the first day of high school, when I started wearing hijab and emerging from my middle school chrysalis. What were those emotions doing back here, in my throat and stomach, when I was about to meet a state Supreme Court Justice?

I was nervous, shaky, and agitated – but thankfully (and this is a testament to her greatness), the Justice took me into her office, spoke to me kindly and with an obviously real interest in my opinions, and finally gave me the job. I still look to her, a beautiful African American woman (the first on the NC SC) who worked hard and proudly stands for what she believes in, as an example of who I want to be. Her clerks were also like her – Saad, a Muslim clerk of Pakistani origin whose intelligence blew me away from the start, and Jenny, a mother of four whose absolute skill in excelling in both work and family life inspired me and let me dream of having a life like that, too. And of course, there was the unforgettable Ms. Elaine – an open minded, loving woman with great hair who has deep and hilarious conversations with you no matter who you are.

I was ashamed of how nervous I was - not because I did not have confidence in my skills, but because of what I thought others would see when they saw my hijab.

Imagine my annoyance, then, when the same feelings sprang back up when I walked in for an interview with the NC Attorney General’s office for my current summer internship. Justice Timmons-Goodson had come with high praise from some of my most respected advisors, and I had a feeling that, being a minority herself, she would not be as weirded out by a muhajjibah. But I felt twice as apprehensive while waiting for my two interviewers at the AG’s office. I’d never seen these women before and had only spoken to them on the phone. They’d been attentive, engaging, and friendly on the phone - but what if they’d just been expecting a normal brown girl, not a muhajjibah?

They didn’t flinch when they both walked into the lobby, where I stood anxiously looking at pictures of former NC Attorneys General. They were everything kind, polite, engaging, and fair (and have continued to be so as I’ve started working here). I was simultaneously at ease, and exasperated and embarassed for my suspicions. Hadn’t I done just to them just what I was afraid they’d do to me?

Stereotyping is contagious.

Still, I can’t help feeling the nerves.

I still feel that when I speak in class or express an opinion (especially one having to do with war, national security, or civil rights), I’m often speaking as a symbol of Islam (this is part of what kept me relatively quiet in my National Security Law class, and if it was not for the absolute kindness and open mindedness of Professor Scott Silliman, I would never have opened my mouth. My classmates are the people I will be working with for the rest of my life, so I didn’t want to be branded as ‘That crazy liberal Muslim girl from law school.’).

I still feel that, to some degree, I will be judged by what I wear on a different level than a woman who wears a revealing shirt or skirt - because my kind of clothing marks me as distinctly different and possibly foreign (and to some, dangerous), instead of just a little too liberal in fashion sense. Maybe I’m just imagining the looks from the “old boys,” the lawyers who’ve been working for longer than I’ve been alive. Maybe not.

But really, in the end, most of them will not treat me differently, at least not in the public interest law field that I’m working towards. I’ve still got the unabashed confidence for 99% of the time. In the end, overwhelmingly, I feel respected, not rejected.

And the most important thing is that I know what I am doing is right for me (both wearing hijab and being a lawyer), and it makes me happy to do it.

But it’ll always be in the back of…or, I guess, on top of…my head.

The last day of my internship at the NC Supreme Court, Jenny took me aside and told me how proud she was of me for wearing a scarf. She told me that there would always be people who would treat me differently because I wore a scarf, but that I wouldn’t want to work for those kinds of lawyers and law firms anyway.

Thanks, Jenny. You’re right.

Glossary:
Hijab: the Muslim woman’s (Muslimah) religiously mandated style of dress and behavior that is meant to embody and encourage modesty, spirituality, and ethical goodness. The term “hijab” means more than just a particular item of clothing, but it is commonly used to refer to the scarf that covers the head and neck. A Muslimah who wears hijab is called a muhajjibah.

Halal: (an extremely simplified definition) what is allowed by Islamic law.

Alhamdulillah: “Praise be to God.” Used to express thanks.

Best read in coordination with: “The Professional Hijab”

What does that question really mean?

It can mean a lot of things. “What’s your hometown?” or “Where’d you go to high school?” or “Sweet tea or ‘iced tea with sugar?’”

But coming from some people, it certainly feels like “Oh, you’re brown. What kind?”

There’s a duality to that question that is inescapably strange - at once both uncomfortable and amusing. The duality is something you have to experience to understand, to hear in the tone of voice and the manner of speaking (forced polite interest, instead of rabid eagerness), the look in the eyes (polite but subtly wandering from your hijab back to your eyes). There’s just….something else there, something behind the query.

Am I being racist? Or just paranoid? A little of both, I think. I definitely give a straight answer to brown people more often than I do to white people, because my first instinct is to assume that the latter don’t really want to know what American city I’m from. And I’ve noticed that the older or younger the questioner is, the more likely I am to give a straight answer - it’s middle aged questioners that really bother me (again, only those with the duality in their voice).

But really, I think there is something to it. Some people mean more than just “Where are you from?”

For those “duality” questioners, especially those with a not-so-masked desire to really know what kind of brown I am, the interrogation usually goes like this:

“Oh, well where are you from?”

“Raleigh. Actually, I’m in the borders of Cary, but my street address is in Raleigh. It’s weird.”

“Oh, well were you born in Raleigh?” (now I KNOW what they’re doing).

(laugh) “No.”

“Oh.” (knowing smile) “Well, where were you born?”

(smile) “New York. While my father was getting his PhD from Cornell.”

Spare me the theatrics. I took Drama in 8th grade. I know what you’re doing.

It’s really hilarious when the conversation takes this turn.

“Well, your English is great.”

“Thanks. I’m in law school. They teach us pretty well there.”

Sometimes the convo ends this way:

“No, I mean where are you from?”

“You mean, what’s my heritage?”

“Yes!”

“Oh, my parents are from Pakistan.”

“Oh. Is that next to Palestine?” (seriously. not making this up).

Let it be known - I have no problem at all telling people my ethnicity or cultural background. I always have been, always will be, proud of who I am and where I come from. I wear it on my sleeve….and my skin. (and head, too, but more on that later). But if you really want to know, just ask me straight up. Don’t beat around the bush; it’s patronizing. Stop pretending to be interested in my street address, and just ask me what my heritage is. I’ll tell you, and I’ll be nice about it. I promise.

I finally got around to baking a cake in the pan that my Mom-in-law and Maryam got for me. It is a heritage bundt cake pan from Williams-Sonoma. Without exaggeration, it may turn out to be my favorite default cake pan. The cake…was….gorgeous. I did a lemon cake mix with strawberries in it. They all sunk to the bottom, which turned out to be the top, so there was this beautiful tie-die layer of strawberries as a top crust! I was afraid that it would stick because of all the curves, but it did not stick at all.

Thanks, Mom and Maryam!

(Everyone knows what a Bundt cake is, right?)