NOV 14 — Six months into our Cairo sojourn, I had offered my time to conduct pro bono English language classes for some Malaysian undergraduates who were studying at Al-Azhar University and other tertiary institutions in the city.
A chance encounter at an expatriate community centre with a fellow Malaysian, Kak Z, got us talking about how each Malaysian, whether abroad or at home, was duty-bound to ‘give back’ to country and society.
Enthused at the prospect of being able to do something meaningful, I offered to help out with the English classes Kak Z had established the year before.
Unfortunately, I didn’t have any teaching experience, and I had always considered myself too impatient or inept to be an educator.
It was actually my significant other who came up with the idea of me ‘giving back’ in this manner, long before we got on the plane to Egypt.
He often asked me to think about teaching English to Malaysian children of modest means or from rural backgrounds, but being the procrastinator that I was (and still am), the idea simply festered in my brain as a result of inaction. Egypt however, provided me with an opportunity I couldn’t miss.
But if truth be told, after I had voiced my keenness to do the classes, I was advised by some well-meaning fellow Malaysians to reconsider my decision, as I may not be the best person to conduct the lessons, not so much because of my lack of training, but because of how I looked.
You see, I do not wear the hijab (or rather, have not donned one yet), and so my unkempt hair is exposed for all to see. I was advised that most of the students, being the seekers of religious knowledge that they were, may feel awkward if I were to stand before them in class with my ‘aurat’ exposed. It was even suggested to me that I should don a scarf when I went to class.
I remember feeling very disappointed at being told that my not wearing the hijab could be a hindrance.
On the other hand, I refused to believe that this intelligent group of students could have such one-tracked minds and were unable to accept being taught by a female teacher who did not cover her head.
I decided that the only way to know for certain was to see for myself what the students were really like.
I’ll attend the first class with another teacher, and from there gauge whether the students’ comfort levels. And if that was the case, then I would yield and leave their English language education in the hands of those more appropriately attired.
Ironically and with much relief on my part, I was instead greeted by an eager bunch of young adults, all of whom welcomed me as the new addition to the small teaching circle (there were only about 4 of us then) with much warmth and enthusiasm. A few of them did give me a second look, but they were looks of curiosity rather than animosity.
One particular incident during that first class remains with me until today. During the introductory session, one of the young men raised his hand to ask me what religion I practised before I became a Muslim.
Some of the other students’ eyes nearly fell out of their sockets when they heard his question. In order to save the inquirer from embarrassment, I asked him in the pin-drop silence as to what was the basis for his question. Was it because he thought I looked Chinese, I offered, as I have been told that I do look like one — and our young gentleman nodded nervously.
How we react to any situation depends on how we condition ourselves. One can choose to either get defensive, become indignant, or remain objective. Better yet if we can see the humour in it all. I chose to remain objective, and I was actually both tickled and impressed by the bluntness of his query.
“I am a Muslim, born and bred” I replied with a smile.
“Always have been, always will be. But my grandmother is a Chinese convert, so you’re not wrong in mistaking me for a Chinese, and that I was probably a non-Muslim before this”, I chuckled.
The sighs of relief from the other students doused whatever little tension or discomfort there was in the room.
That incident tipped the scales for me, and I left my first English class that afternoon fully inspired to help the students as much as it was possible for me to do.
This was not just a series of free English classes to a group of students. It was also an opportunity for them and me to have greater interaction, to build their confidence, develop greater tolerance, help them inculcate a more balanced worldview, and most importantly, to show everyone and ourselves, how Islam actually transcends all boundaries, languages, colours and other barriers — if only we expanded our point of view.
For me it was crucial that these students appreciated the importance and significance of the roles they will need to play in Malaysia and within Malaysian society — Muslim or otherwise. Most of them were undertaking religious studies, and it was my hope that when they returned to Malaysia, they would have a profound and positive impact on others.
Perhaps their youthful exuberance would be able to build bridges with the world-weary, yet spiritually hungry Malaysian youth, particularly with the many young Muslims who seem to drift without much direction.
For example, I remember advising them not to limit themselves to being absorbed into the religious education system in Malaysia when they returned.
Instead, they should strive to leave their mark within Malaysian society as a whole — paint an accurate picture of what Islam is all about and encourage Muslims to subscribe to the true Islamic way of life, which is not just by performing the obligatory requirements like praying, fasting, or performing the Hajj, but just as importantly — to deeply invoke God in our hearts.
I want them to reach out to society and educate them on how Islam is truly a moderate and peaceful faith — that God loves all His creation and will protect and nurture us, as long as we keep Him in our hearts, minds and daily pursuits throughout our lives.
I also want them to recognize that society becomes more intellectually analytical with each passing generation, and that we no longer exist within a mental framework of “You must do it”, but “Why must we do it”.
They must be ready to answer the questions thrown their way, no matter how outrageous, and to always be able to keep a level head and an open mind. It is easy to put a full stop to disconcerting or faith-challenging questions by simply saying “Because that’s the way it is — don’t question”, but it is more enlightening to the inquirer if you use the power of reason.
No doubt, faith and reason can be polars apart, but if we clear our minds of doubt and expand it with objectivity, it is often possible to establish a nexus between the two.
This is the huge task these students will have once they return home. I want and hope for them to follow Dr Asri’s trend – by portraying Islam as a progressive, tolerant and embracing faith, not as a tedious, archaic and exclusive religion as how it is often portrayed to be. I want them to be the next generation of Dr Asris who will expound Islam’s universality.
And by helping these young Muslim scholars to communicate relatively well in the English language, it will provide them with greater leverage and a larger audience. This way, they will not be deterred from their tasks by the challenges of the modern world or from any segment of society simply because of language non-proficiency.
At the conclusion of our English classes with them, the students surprised the teachers by putting together a small high-tea for us. As I watched them frolic about in their youth as they set up the tables, guzzled the food and strike silly poses before the camera, I couldn’t mask the wide grin on my face.
I felt happy being in their company, and grateful that they were comfortable in mine, accepting me as I was. I may not have had a wealth of experience at my disposal nor ‘looked’ the part, but up until the time when I left Egypt, they genuinely made me feel as if I did make a small difference, with what little bits of wisdom and advice I could give on life’s challenges.
I intend to keep a close eye on the progress of this batch of young impressionable ustazs and ustazahs. Whatever it is that they set out to do, I am certain they will achieve it - and I do hope that my little dream to see them blossom into progressive visionaries of Islam for Malaysia will one day materialise.
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