What is the most blasphemous thing you have done, while in Saudi Arabia?
Well, Saudi Arabia was the place that first saw my doubts in the complete veracity of Islam creep in, so I suppose you could say that the most blasphemous thing I did there was to begin to entertain those thoughts.
I know that’s not quite juicy enough, though.
I guess two things come to mind, both naturally having to do with sex in such a repressive environment. (And because “blasphemy” wasn’t very high on my bucket list when I was a salafi.)
When I was a newlywed, my wife and I stayed at the now-demolished Sofitel hotel, just across from the entrance to the Marwa gate, overlooking Masjid Al-Haram. We checked into the hotel sometime before Isha, having already combined the prayer with Maghrib using the exception given to travelers to do so.
Anyhow, being firmly within the “honeymoon stage,” our newlywed bodies had trouble staying off one another, so as we watched over the throngs of worshippers taking part the prayer happening below, she and I got a bit frisky. She motioned to close the curtains, when I assured her that the windows were reflective from the outside so there was no need to worry about privacy. Our bodies plastered against the floor to ceiling window, we went on to mate like mammals in full view of the House of Allah.
It wasn’t until we went downstairs for tawaf and dinner that I looked up and noticed that, contrary to my prior assurances, the windows were completely see through. Counting the five floors up to our room’s level, it was clear to see that anyone who might have looked up during our encounter would have gotten an unobstructed and X-rated view of the all action. She was super embarrassed but found the humor in it. I was secretly kinda proud – even more so now.
The second thing has to do with the “secret habit,” as the Arabs call it, from before I was married. Everyone does it, sure. But it’s so much harder in a place with restricted internet access, no TV (I didn’t have a TV as a student), and where you only ever experience femininity in the form of piercing eyes or tight abayas.
To supplement my imagination, I soon caught on that the center page of the Arab News newspaper was almost always dedicated to a portrait of an extremely attractive Bollywood actress, Lebanese singer, or Hollywood movie star - always with a gorgeous smile and in some sort of revealing clothing. I did read the stories, and as I was there during the heat of the Iraq war, I truly was interested in what was happening around the world. But unbeknownst to the shopkeeper who’d keep a copy on reserve for me to pick up after thurh every day, that center page was really what I was spending the two riyals on.
Like a prisoner with a collection of calendar girl posters, I ended up with a stash of Arab News papers that I kept in my room – not just to review the articles when I wanted to know more about the Iraqi invasion.
Again, not very juicy. But at the time it truly was a huge scandal in my mind. I really was trying to be a good salafi.
Just shows you how repressive an Islamic environment can be and how it forces you to spend so much of your time worried about something that is not really even an issue.
If you could change one thing about your experience with Islam, other than having left it sooner, what would you change?
This is an interesting question. I had to spend some time thinking about it as it really is hard to answer. The answer I feel most comfortable with right now is to say that I wish I never went through the stage of taking it so seriously. It could definitely be argued that had I not taken it so seriously for the time that I did, I probably would not have been in a position to scrutinize it enough to realize that it was not Ultimate Truth. Still, I’m not convinced that that would have been such a bad thing.
As I think about the other Muslim kids I grew up knowing, virtually none of them went as far as I did in delving into Islam. It was, at best, a matter of identity, community, and comfort for them. While I can go on and on poetically about how I’d rather have a harsh truth than a comfortable lie and yadah, yadah, yadah, I believe now that the process of losing my faith took more from me than it could ever stand to give me.
To clarify, I’m not saying I still wish I had the confines of dogma or the restrictions of religion. I’m saying I wish I was in a position to not have to worry about any of it as much as I have for so long. It just doesn’t even matter enough to have taken up so much of my time and energy.
Some of my friends I knew growing up went on to complete graduate and post graduate degrees in their fields, have good jobs, date, start families, etc. So what if they now believe that going to a mosque on a magical night in Ramadan will give them bonus Allah points?
Other friends I knew growing up are serving time for crimes they did when they were young and silly. So what if, in the loneliness of an incarcerated night, they believe that The Most Merciful is protecting them and has forgiven them? Is it all really that bad in the grand scheme of things, when none of it really matters anyhow?
Me having to say F U to Islam was also me saying F U to people and things that were familiar to me. And for what? Because an ancient myth turned out to just be an ancient myth? Was that worth getting rid of it all?
The people I know who never took Islam too seriously have the luxury of never having made the commitment to it that I did, while still reaping the benefits of social bonds and ties to a heritage that truly is theirs. I wish I didn’t take that away from myself.
That’s the answer I feel comfortable with right now.
Are you single and ready to mingle?
Just give me a time and place.
Topic: Happymurtad Interview thread!