Being A North African Muslim Women In Canada

I first moved to Canada when I was four. I was really young and barely remembered much of my home country, Libya. What I do remember is that I didn’t know how to speak English, and I didn’t understand the “norms” of a white society, especially here in Alberta. Growing up, I always tried to fit in with the other kids. I went to a Catholic school for most of my education. While it never changed my beliefs about Islam and being Muslim, it did allow me to gain knowledge and better understand the similarities and differences between the two religions. I always told myself I was strong, someone who couldn’t be swayed easily. But now, looking back, I realize that wasn’t completely true. I truly did try to change myself for others. Before I wore the hijab, I would constantly straighten my hair. I saw my big curls as unfitting, not beautiful enough. I felt like my hair had to be tamed for me to be accepted, to be seen as normal. And it didn’t stop there. The way I spoke, the way I acted, none of it aligned with what I actually wanted or needed. It came from a place of craving validation, of hoping that if I changed myself enough, others wouldn’t look at me differently.
Then came junior high, and an experience I never thought would happen to me or my family. Something I thought only existed on the news or social media. It was December 2023. My family and I were driving home after dinner. We weren’t speeding, didn’t run a red light, we were simply on our way home. Suddenly, we got pulled over. We were confused. The officer came to my father’s window and started giving instructions, but because of my father’s broken English, he didn’t understand what was being asked. My little brother, who was only eight at the time, and I also didn’t understand what was going on. Then things escalated. The officer started yelling. I remember pulling out my phone, recording the whole interaction in case anything happened. And just my luck, everything you wouldn’t want a fourteen-year-old to witness, I saw. They dispatched twenty two cop cars for three people, two of whom were minors. One visibly Muslim: me, in my hijab. By force, they pulled my father out of the driver’s seat. I remember pushing back one of the officer’s hands from my father. He had a taser in his hand and I still remember the moment he pointed it in my face, yelling at me to stop before something happened to me. But all I could think about was my dad. He didn’t do anything. He wasn’t resisting. He wasn’t fighting. His only mistake was not understanding what was being said to him. And yet, I watched as five officers pinned him to the ground and tased him. Why? I will never understand. Somehow, through all of it, I kept recording, the cars, the beating, the words they threw at us, the helicopter flying above us. When I tried to get to my dad, they kept pushing me back, yelling that I was now on a crime scene and that if I moved any closer, I could be charged. In that moment, everything felt like it was falling apart.
Is this what we came to Canada for?
Is this the better life we were promised?
To leave a war torn country, only to come here and feel like we still don’t belong?
They took my dad. I was angry, furious. I kept trying to get to him, but eventually, they pinned me to the side of the car and tased me too.I never thought something like that would happen in my life. And what hurt even more? I could hear some of the officers laughing in the background, like it was all just a game.From that point on, I told myself that life would never be easy as an African Muslim woman. But it is up to me to create a life for myself, to shape my own future. That experience was just one of the many painful and damaging moments I’ve lived through, and I continue to face others like it even now. I’m almost 17 now, moving into my final year of high school. And despite everything, I have big dreams. I have goals to make the world a better place, not just for me, but for other kids who grow up thinking they’re not good enough because they’re not white. Why is it that just because we were born Arab, Black, Asian, Indigenous, we are seen as different? We’re not. We’re all human. We all feel, we all dream, and we all want to live together in peace. God created us to learn from one another, to see beauty in our differences and to build unity through love and understanding. I hope that once I enter adulthood, I can create a space where all people feel safe, welcomed, and like they belong. Because I know the little girl in me would have wanted that. And I know there are still children out there who feel just like I did.

O humanity! Indeed, We created you from a male and a female, and made you into peoples and tribes so that you may ˹get to˺ know one another. Surely the most noble of you in the sight of Allah is the most righteous among you. Allah is truly All-Knowing, All-Aware.
-Al-Hujurat (49:13)
يَـٰٓأَيُّهَا ٱلنَّاسُ إِنَّا خَلَقْنَـٰكُم مِّن ذَكَرٍۢ وَأُنثَىٰ وَجَعَلْنَـٰكُمْ شُعُوبًۭا وَقَبَآئِلَ لِتَعَارَفُوٓا۟ ۚ إِنَّ أَكْرَمَكُمْ عِندَ ٱللَّهِ أَتْقَىٰكُمْ ۚ إِنَّ ٱللَّهَ عَلِيمٌ خَبِيرٌۭ ١٣