My Accidental Jihad (Book Review)

“My Accidental Jihad” is a book which proves that sometimes all it really takes to pick up a book is the title. In that, Krista Bremer was successful – I was certainly interested by the cover, and the blurb that describes her book as an “unlikely love story” between the author (an all-American surfer gal) and Ismail, a Libyan man raised in what could very well be an entirely different world.

The author is clear that her book is a very personal memoir, a journey that explores her own subconsciously held stereotypes and prejudices against the mysterious ‘other’… even as she fell in love with and married an Arab-African man. Her honesty is commendable even as it is uncomfortable; excerpts like the following made me wonder if I could make myself finish reading the book:

“Suddenly the regal Arab before me was gone, replaced by a cartoon Arab, a Disney character on a magic carpet. Now he was a dark bad man in an Indiana Jones movie, part of the hypnotized throng who prayed on all fours to the evil lord of fire, chanting mumbo jumbo and raising their backsides into the air. Or he was the bloodthirsty Libyan hell-bent to slaughter the brilliant scientist in Back to the Future, the one who ca¬reened through the mall parking lot in a VW bus, his checkered head cloth snapping in the wind as he sprayed gunfire like rain onto the asphalt.”

While I did realize that the purpose of mentioning such things was to highlight her ingrained prejudices, I still felt a sense of aversion to the turns of phrase utilized.

Ms. Bremer does a lot of compare and contrast between her own upbringing and background, and that of her husband’s; and the many unexpected challenges that arose during their marriage. From the purchasing of a new car to haggling over diamond rings, the author ruefully and good-naturedly talks about the beautiful ups and challenging downs of her inter-cultural marriage. The differences between Ismail and Krista are more than just cultural. Ismail is careful, deliberate, and serious, his outlook on life shaped by a harsh, poverty-stricken childhood in Gaddafi-ruled Libya, while Krista is the product of a luxurious, consumer-driven American society, longing for all the trappings of the American dream. It is interesting to note the author’s admission of being unable to relate to her husband’s background, with how she tries to look at her own culture through his eyes, and realizes that it may not be as glamorous as she’d always thought.

Each chapter reads somewhat like an anecdotal essay; by themselves, easy to digest, although it lends the book a somewhat choppy feel.

However, what really drew me into the book was the author’s description of her first visit to Libya – and many of her thoughts and experiences echoed my own, down to the agony of a first pregnancy in a foreign country where the concept of personal space and privacy are nearly non-existent.
The awe and wonder, as well as the confusion and frustration, of being surrounded by strangers who are now considered family; of sights and smells both pungent and oddly appealing, of a lifestyle that had deeply held traditions mixed with wisdom and superstitions… reading Ms. Bremer’s story reminded me of my own past, and much more able to relate with her reflections.

One thing which I found disappointing – and which had the potential to really capture a reader’s interest, and emphasize the ‘point’ of the book – is that the author mentions her own foray into Islam, and her earliest prayers, only as a casual aside. I wanted to know more about her spiritual journey, which, surprisingly, was not discussed in much depth.
Though her husband is a Muslim, religion does not play as direct a role in their story as one might think… although she was frank in how she struggled with the first Ramadan, particularly the somewhat noxious oral side effects. Perhaps most of the most interesting anecdotes was that of her young daughter’s choice to start wearing hijab, and her own internal struggle with how others would view her daughter – and how she herself viewed her daughter’s decision. It was this, more than anything else in the book, that truly highlighted the message that Ms. Bremer was trying to convey… the paradoxes, contradictions, immense frustrations, and imperfect beauty of an unconventional love.

“My Accidental Jihad” leaves one with – at the very least – a glimpse into another person’s unique experiences, with reflections both new and familiar. What readers derive from it most likely depends on what the reader brings with them when they start reading; for myself, I was not particularly swept away or impressed, but I was most certainly able to appreciate those experiences which were so similar to my own.
This book may be a helpful read to those with non-Muslim families who may not have been exposed to or interacted with many Muslims (or inter-faith marriages involving Muslims). For some, it can be an educational experience or simply an enjoyable read; all in all, “My Accidental Jihad” is a welcome contribution to the ever-increasing material of the collective Muslim narrative.

Rating: 3 out 5

Book Review: Brutal

Brutal is the heartbreaking true story of a young girl who was molested for several years by the imam of her local masjid, her madressa teacher. The author, Nabila Sharma, recounts her childhood as the only daughter of immigrant Pakistani parents, who settled in the UK with four older brothers. In the tradition of many desi immigrants, Nabila’s father sought to provide a better future for his children by owning and operating a small newsagents shop, in addition to working extra jobs, while his wife
helped run the shop and look after the children. Nabila’s life was that of any little girl – playing with her toys, going to a new school and making friends.

At the age of seven, Nabila joined her brothers in attending the local masjid’s madressa to learn Urdu and how to read the Qur’an. From her description of her first experiences there, it is obvious that these were the early days of Muslim immigrants in the West – where madressa was taught by harsh, unloving teachers who felt no qualms in beating their students and made no effort to teach
the young pupils the beauty of Islam. What is unfortunate is how such a negative experience obviously pushed young Nabila away from loving her faith or searching a deeper understanding of it; the first two chapters show how much more she was attracted to the Sikh religion instead.

After several teachers came and went, the madressa found a new, permanent imam to teach the young Muslim children who attended regularly. It was then that Nabila’s years-long nightmare began.

Following the typical pattern of child abuse, the unnamed teacher began to shower Nabila with unusual attention – first looking at her constantly from afar, then calling her aside and choosing her for the ‘special task’ of cleaning his private quarters. Then, as soon as he had her alone, the abuse began, in slow but ever increasing intensity.
The description of the abuse - of the psychological impact it had on young Nabila - is harrowing. As the abuse continued for years, from the ages of seven to eleven, Nabila fell into self-harming as a way to cope with the horrific experiences she was forced to go through. Her every attempt to try and stop her abuser, including when she offered herself in place of a young girl who was to become his next victim, was to no avail; even when her parents found out what was happening, they made no move to remove her from the madressa or to report the teacher to the police.
At the age of eleven, Nabila was finally able to leave the madressa, and her abuser, forever. However, she had been so traumatised from the events that had taken place, with no recourse or even therapy to cope with it, that her life afterwards continued to suffer.

While the lesson of the story is that child abuse occurs much more often than we would like to think and that there are far too many adults who fail to protect the children under their care, I found other morals to be derived from the narration of this horrific story.

First of all, religion plays no role whatsoever in the terrible crimes that are committed by the adherents of the faith. Whether Catholic priests, Muslim imams or atheist teachers, child abuse and rape are the province of filthy, twisted individuals who have no qualms about wielding power and control over their vulnerable victims.

Secondly, without any positive spiritual relationship at a young age, it is all too easy for victims of abuse to relate their abuse to the faith under the guise of which they were abused. One particularly heartbreaking sentence from Nabila which shook me was “after that night I never said my prayers again. What was the point? No one, or no god, was ever going to rescue me.”

There are certainly those survivors of abuse who are able to move past the religious trappings of their abusers and to seek the truth of God, but for many it can be difficult to separate the relationship between religion and abuse. In other cases – in this context, Muslims in particular – the link between the two can push them to seek another religion entirely, without even understanding their own correctly first. From many of Nabila’s descriptions, it seems that through all the years at the madressa, there was no discussion or awareness whatsoever about Allah I or even the basic pillars of Islam. It was all about ‘memorising prayers’. Even for those who are not abused, this lack of spiritual education is crippling and dangerous.

Brutal is a sobering reminder of the crimes that can be committed even by those whom we, as Muslims, are most likely to trust: those whom we look to for leadership and guidance. On the other hand, it is also a sharp wake-up call to parents to be keenly aware of their children’s lives and of their responsibility to be true guardians over their charges. There is never an excuse to place cultural notions of “family honour”, “reputation” and “shame” over the physical, sexual and psychological safety of a child. On the Day of Judgement, any adult guardian who knowingly allowed their charges to continue to be harmed in any way will stand before Allah and be held accountable for the grave transgression of their duties.

Nabila Sharma’s account of the abuse she suffered as a child at the hands of someone who should have protected her and taught her the Deen should be a brutal reality check for those of us who still deny that such things happen in our communities. As Muslims, it is our duty as an Ummah to hold such criminals accountable for their evil deeds and to protect the vulnerable against the injustices perpetrated against them.

Zainab bint Younus (AnonyMouse) is a writer, social justice activistwannabe and absent-minded bookworm. She writes for SISTERS Magazine, SaudiLife.net and blogs at http://www.thesalafifeminist.blogspot.com.