In my student days I owned what I maintained was a trendy duffel coat. It was expensive, made by Timberland and indicative of the urban/street fashion that motivated me in those pre-Islām days. I’d come home for the spring break and was now standing on a platform with my trusty rucksack by my side, waiting for the train that would take me back to university. This scruffy looking bloke walks up to me and says in friendly manner “Did you get that one?” I look at him puzzled “Get that one, what?” He had a small notebook with lots of numbers scribbled on it and his pen was poised ready to write, he asked me “That one that just came through?” I was thinking what an earth does this strange little fellow want from me? I looked again at his note pad, it slowly dawned on me that my fashion sense had led him to conclude that we were kindred souls; that we were both train spotters aimlessly standing on platforms watching trains go by and now he wanted to compare engine numbers with me. I was most offended by his assumption; surely the Timberland motif was proof that, whilst technically it was a duffel coat, it was in fact a cool duffel coat and therefore negated any possibility of me being interested in the year particular locomotives were made?

Al-hamdu lillāh, Islām replaced my concern for what people think with a concern for what Allāh is pleased with. However, with my Islām came a different set of misunderstandings and other forms of mistaken identity. So I thought to elaborate on some misconceptions that I’ve faced as a white Muslim revert in my interactions with other Muslims.

I don’t know why but I have come across this “You all look the same to me” mentality from some Muslims. A presumption that every white Muslim is in fact actually the same person. Which I found kind of ironic considering that it was whites that historically were racist enough to joke that other nationalities all looked the same.

A predisposition that makes someone believe that having met or seen a white Muslim the next one that they meet is probably the same person. The first time I noticed this phenomenon was when I entered a masjid slightly outside my area; an older brother bounded over to me happily “Hey, long time no see!” Well if never having met you before comes under that phrase then it certainly has been a long time no see. “Erm sorry, but I don’t believe we’ve met.” “Yes, sure we have, I saw you at the Tablīghi Jama’at markaz.” I explained that I’d never been to the markaz but that I was nonetheless happy to meet him, made my excuses and left.

It could have been a one off, people do get confused when they meet someone who looks like a person they know. Like my younger brother when he was around 8 and walked up to a lady on the high street in Edinburgh. “What’s in the bag Mum?” and pulled at the handles to look inside. The woman reacted with shock and held the bag close to her side and my brother looked up, realised his mistake and burst into tears.

But I started to notice this was happening to me more in Islām than it had before. A brother sat beside me on a train and dived straight into conversation, I thought he was fairly enthusiastic as strangers go but was happy of the company for the journey. He was due to get off before me and so stood up to leave “Well it’s been great seeing you again, al-salāmu ‘alaykum Yusūf!” *sigh* That’s not my name. Then there’s the butcher who’s convinced that my name is Nūr al-dīn, his smile is just so wide when he sees me that I haven’t got the heart to tell him that he’s confusing me with someone else. It happens more often than you’d expect, I can be in a queue in the supermarket and someone tells me “You’re [mentions a name]’s husband aren’t you? Tell her I said salām.” Well, if I ever marry someone with that name, I’ll be sure to pass it on.

Once a heated argument came my way, a brother approached me upset “You’re such-and-such brother who is married to such-and-such sister.” “Err, no that’s not my name and not my wife’s name either. But hey, don’t feel bad akhī because I’ve often been mistaken for someone else.” “Yeah well, she has been saying x, y, z about my wife and she was supposed to meet my wife to sort all of this out and I’m not happy because…” “Sorry, but do you mind if I just stop you there for a moment? I’d like to restate that the person you’re looking for is another white Muslim - not me!” He gave me an unconvinced look but took me at my word and left.

The other bizarre assumption I’ve repeatedly come across is that by being a white Muslim I must therefore personally know every other white Muslim within a 500-mile radius. Strangers will ask me expectantly “Oh, there’s another white revert like you called Ibrāhīm, do you know him?” It’s like that “Where are you from?” phenomena on holidays when someone says “Oh! You’re from London, you must know my friend Bill from London - he normally wears a brown jacket?” Err no, the population of London stood at around 7 million last census and it might surprise you to know this, but we haven’t all met.

Closely related to this is a belief that, as a revert, I accepted Islām along with a tribe full of white women in tow. On numerous occasions total strangers have approached me and after asking if I’m Muslim have immediately followed up with “Brother, I want to marry a white sister, can you introduce me to one?” These enquiries are at times passport-application related but can also be a preference thing. So I’d just like to publicly state that I didn’t accept Islām along with any marriageable sisters from my clan; additionally, I don’t tend to ‘hang-out’ with sisters as a general rule and so I haven’t got any “white sister” friends in the background that I can hook people up with.

And seeing as I’ve getting this off my chest, could I also point out that I’m not overly keen on the zoo mentality in some masjids? Where some Muslims seem to feel that the best way to react to a white man in a mosque is to stare at them for the entire khutbah? If zoo rules are going to apply here then I want rights similar to those of other exhibits and I insist that I be fed peanuts. 

My very first experience in a masjid wasn’t entirely welcoming. My friend had persuaded me to come along and experience a jumu’ah. We’re walking up the stairs to the prayer area and my friend suddenly announces he needs the toilet. Before I can squeak “Don’t leave me” he disappears and I’m left standing alone, nervous and feeling entirely out of place. I kept telling myself that I’m here for Allāh and I should just bear any discomfort that I’m feeling for His sake. The Imām walks in the building and starts to ascend the stairs towards me. As he gets closer I can see this dirty look that he’s throwing in my direction. He eventually becomes level with me and pauses, his eyes narrow, and he looks me up and down. I’m standing there in my hoodie top and baggy jeans “Alright?” I offer with a nod of greeting and I break out a nervous smile to reassure him. He continues his stare a little longer, seems to finish whatever internal computation he’s processing in his head, turns his face from me and walks away without offering any speech. I suppose it is technically possible that some random white guy could have just wandered in off the street and thought that hanging out on the masjid stairs was a cool thing to do; but it would have been nicer to have greeted even that hypothetical stranger with something warmer than an intense glare.

So if you are ever in the situation where you find a stranger in the masjid, having been that stranger myself, I’d like to point out that even something as simple as smiling at him can make the world of difference. “Your smiling at your brother is an act of charity (sadaqah).” (al-Tirmidhi)

All of this has been a bit of a heads up on what I’ve come across. I’ve definately found countless Muslims who’ve gone out of their way to welcome me in my years in Islām and to who I’m eternally grateful. However, for anyone that still gets a little hung up on seeing white skin, can I just point out we’re all individuals, aren’t all necessarily related, and some of us have even managed to grasp some of the elementary teachings of our religion and don’t need to be repeatedly asked if we know how to pray yet? And if you ever spot one of us wearing a duffel coat whatever you do, don’t offer him a notepad filled with a long list of numbers.