In my old homeland, Uganda, my mates and I sang along with Helen Shapiro’s “Don’t Treat Me Like A Child” and Sam Cooke’s “Only Sixteen”. We turned up our waistbands to bring our skirts to way above the knee, hid stashes of make-up, went to Elvis movies, and had trysts with spotty boys. Parents moaned about uncontrollable kids, mosque leaders sermonised about duty and obedience, chastity and sobriety, but Muslims, even the most devout, did not lock themselves away in sterile, religious ghettoes.
They believed in education, absorbed ideas, adopted lifestyles, and bought stuff from the West and East.
Most marriages were arranged, not forced. One cousin painted risqué pictures of women in wispy clothes, while the son of the mosque caretaker sang Bollywood songs at parties. We didn’t feel oppressed or beleaguered. Being a young Muslim then was easy and, mostly, joyful. [inews.co.uk] Read more
