Leaving Islam: 20 Years in the Shadow of the Sheihk

LEAVING ISLAM

20 YEARS IN THE SHADOW OF THE SHEIHK

RAINY WINTER

Copyright © 2012 by Rainy Winter.

Library of Congress Control Number: 2012918532

ISBN: Hardcover 978-1-4797-2761-2

Softcover 978-1-4797-2760-5

Ebook 978-1-4797-2762-9

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the copyright owner.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to any actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

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CONTENTS

Chap. 1

Chap. 2

Chap. 3

Chap. 4

Chap. 5

Chap. 6

Chap. 7

Chap. 8

Chap. 9

Chap. 10

Chap. 11

Reflections

CHAP. 1

I WAS BORN AND raised on a large peppermint farm in Indiana, My parents were godfearing people with a deep passion and respect for the land. We dealt with drought, grasshoppers, and the occasional tornado. Growing up on the farm as an only child meant that I had to do the chores usually done by a son, so I was a tomboy. It meant that at four a.m. I was dressed in jeans, boots, and a heavy flannel shirt, topped off with a cowboy hat I’d won at the state fair. Back in my day, girls didn’t often practice shooting. However, with a tomboy, the rules went out the window. I became a pretty good shot and dad was very proud of my skills. Mom, on the other hand was small boned, petite, and very lady like. She really wanted her little girl to be soft spoken, studious, and with clean nails. However, life on the farm dictates real life decisions, so mom learned to live with my boyishness. She often sat with me next to the fire, while she read Dickens, War and Peace, and the occasional novel. Mom always got a little thrill when she read fast paced novels. To this day, I enjoy reading novels due to mom’s influence. Mom taught me the true value of a good book, it sure motivated my home schooling, even doing target practice with dad took on a whole new meaning. She brought novels to life when we read together. Dad was a robust man, with hard features honed by the years of toil. He was always attentive to my needs as a young girl growing up on the farm. We always had plenty of food and if I needed a new pair of boots, he just went and got them for me. I was an only child, therefore Dad assigned me the same chores he would have assigned any son on the farm. I attended home schooling at the table with my grandpa, an avid fisherman that had served in the marines. He also took the time teaching me how to shoot. It didn’t matter that I was a girl. The only thing that mattered was that I could point at my next target, then make a kill shot. It helped my self confidence being a marksman. He also brought my studies to life with stories of his worldwide travels when he had served overseas. The long hours spent with my grandpa have instilled the work ethics and attentiveness to detail that I employ to this day. Mom was a petite woman with incredible moral strength and character. She arose each morning well before we started our chores. She prepared a huge plate of homemade sausage that made my mouth water as I awoke each day.

Homemade sourdough bisquits, a dozen eggs, and fresh milk from our dairy cow was the usual fare to start our day. I helped mom cleaning the dishes then I went to start the tractor, I had 10 acres of soil to prepare for the planting.

After 3 days in a row tilling the field I sat at the table with grandpa learning my schoolwork. I didn’t have any boyfriends growing up on the farm, I was too far away to date a boy even if I found one. The years flew by in a blur when one day I found myself a full grown woman. I felt the need to get my degree and to learn a little about life beyond the perimeters of the farm. My family was worried, yet they felt college should be safe enough, after all I would have 15 credit hours of studies keeping me focused. I told grandpa what could happen? I’m just going to college I guess you could say I was an awkward girl as I got on the bus headed to college in Ct. I knew more about practical agriculture than any of the other well dressed girls in school. When I started college I was still wearing mail order jeans, boots, and flannel shirts from Sears Robucks.

I kept to my studies keeping up with grandpas sound study advice. Before the year was up I earned a 3.7 G.P.A. I went back to the farm for the summer, helped dad with the crop, then it was time for school again. Me, a second year student still searching for my major in school. Well, I decided on the way.

I enrolled in the agricultural program. Life improved for me at school due to my previous years on the family farm. It seems I already had all the answers, I just needed the right teachers to bring me out of my shyness. Then I could join in with the class discussions of the day. My first real speech happened in the class of World Politics, a real arena of various viewpoints. I was shocked when they all started clapping after the speech was over, as it taken me a very long time getting it all out. College began to shape me into the woman I’d always aspired to be one day.

I took to studying in the school coffee shop, a veritable hodgepodge of every student imaginable, all of us poring over reams of books while a steaming cup of coffee was sipped on in quick bursts just to get us through the chapters. One day I was just getting situated at my favorite table in the corner when a dark swarthy foreign looking guy sat down next to me. I was perturbed when he came into my 6 feet of personal study space. He apologized for his boldness, then proceeded to tell me about himself, he said he came from Egypt on a student visa and that he was looking for a wife, I told him to try the next table, that I had no intent of marrying anybody. He then asked me when I was born, well, that was weird. It got even more strange when he got excited about my birth date. I was giving him the blank look that most people recognized as go away please He noticed.

He again apologized and asked could we please start the conversation over, just talk about school and how could he enroll in the agricultural program. Well, I said to myself, it couldn’t hurt to help him with that. So, within a month I found myself tutoring this Arab in the essentials of farming, crop rotations, and the like.

He approached me one day in the school cafeteria with a tall muscular Libyan, then asked if we could talk about the Palestinian plight. The friend was very silent, his measuring of me quite evident. I’d noticed Arabs have strange concepts starting conversations, so I figured it was due to their religion which forbade their conversing with unmarried girls. It was interesting as I’d not heard many of the things he shared with me. Then he started telling me about the religion of Islam and how misunderstood Islam is to the western world. I found it intriguing and he arranged for me to meet with the local Islamic leader for a dinner party. When I arrived the wife met me at the door, welcoming me as if I was her daughter. It was nice to see that kind of warmth from a stranger. Then her husband came up and shook my hand, I should have known something was up when he greeted me with the American greeting, as a cleric never touches another woman’s hand. Ahhh, his intent was marrying me off, which I handled very well for the next 3 months, until finances made the decision for me. Well, one dinner led to many more dinners, each one more interesting than the next. I learned the history of Islam, its followers, and the reasons behind the basic muslim belief system. At the age of 18 it seem to have great allure. I was green from years on the farm, and this Islamic religion appealed to me. Within 2 months I decided to become a muslim, so I stood in front of the Imam and his wife to recite the SHAHADA the declaration of faith. I then learned from Sheihk Ahmad that I had to learn to pray in arabic, it was mandatory. So, after I went home I contacted the local mosque asking if they had any arabic books for beginners, the man that answered the phone went and got one of the leaders who said yes and asked where I was located. I told him I was a full time student at the University and that I could be found in the cafeteria. The man said he had a friend that would bring the book and would I please wait for him. I was already studying in the coffee shop, so I felt it ok. I continued studying deep into a chapter on the rules concerning chain of evidence until I felt a shadow looming overhead. I looked up and there was Aidel’s Libyan friend, just as tall and large a man as I’d ever seen. He was smiling as he set the heavy arabic book on the table, so I told him please sit down, we can talk. He started the conversation by telling me to cover the little bit of hair peeking out of my skarf, so I complied . . .  as he had brought the expensive book. He just sat there and kept staring straight into my eyes, it was disconcerting having that much attention from a man.

I started to thank him for delivering the book when he interrupted saying

when were you born?

Strange question as muslims are forbidden to celebrate a birthday, and this Libyan was obviously a strict practicing muslim.

I thought to myself, he must not be a very good muslim. I went ahead and told him I’d been born on March 8, which made his smile even wider. Then thankfully, he stood up and thanked me for the conversation, I nodded. It wasn’t much of a conversation, it was a sort of inspection. Oh well, I went to the first chapter starting to learn arabic, it was hard and filled with strange punctuation symbols. However, I dug in and within an hour I found myself in the zone. I saw a pattern to learn with and I went with it, learning rapidly. The next few weeks flew by as I studied my regular subjects along with the new written language. I taught myself to read and write Arabic in 3 months. However, that’s a long way from speaking arabic, as I would soon learn.

I found myself dressing muslim attire, albeit a bit more modern with my hair showing under my skarf and my long sleeve shirt untucked. An amazing situation popped up with surprising frequency, it was the Imam of the local mosque. Ahmad was his name, and he felt like it was his mission from Allah to