Jilbab

All in a rush to be at the mosque on time, I dashed in & bought this ($2, Italian silk) jilbab at the nearest mall.

The woman helping me to pick it out also pinned it on. "My friend," she said to me, indicating another woman behind the counter, her voice poignant, "She says you're so pretty; you're so white. Your skin is just so pretty, because it's so white."

White it is. Still, for me there's an untested edge to accepting a compliment that's essentially on my race. In a veil shop, in Jakarta, is a compliment on the color of my skin different than a saleswoman's compliment on the color of my eyes or the shape of my face? Here, as in many countries, the 'prettiest' Indonesians on TV are half white, very pale, & these women are dark skinned. Does it matter who's giving the compliment or how many people of my complexion there are around?

But I said thank you, because that's what you say.
In the moment, it was simple. Maybe it still is.

To my surprise, the jilbab felt almost normal to wear on the street, in the cab, at a restaurant. Or, rather, I should say it didn't feel very strange. Being unaccustomed to it, however, I fussed (& failed) to keep it from slipping off my forehead (as it has slipped in the photo here). As with wearing makeup & fancy clothes, it improved my bearing a little.

For me, this was fashion for a day & an easy hoop: a requirement for my entering the giant Istiqlal mosque, the largest mosque in southeast Asia. It was not everything else that I tend to think about when I think academically about hijab--the general term for Islamic covering--or about how many women are now wearing jilbab around the world these days (more & more), or their highly varying reasons why. Women are not permitted to enter the Istiqlal mosque at all during Friday's mid-day prayers.

But all this is another story. Suffice it to say: I was not at the mosque on time.