4 comments/ 11384 views/ 3 favorites British Feminist Becomes Muslim By: Samuelx Why is a religion which seems mainly based around empowering men while subjugating women and relegating them to the status of third-class citizens on the world stage attracting so many educated, liberated White women from feminist backgrounds? That's what puzzles many men in the Western world. I have the answer to that question, guys. Birds who have never seen cages before and don't know what they're about might enter such cages willingly. Caged birds dream of freedom. Free birds are fascinated by the concept of cages. Now do you understand? My Muslim name is Adilah Abdul-Bari. I was born as Odessa Adams-Bartleby in the City of London, England. What I'm about to share with you is the path my life has taken since I converted to Islam, renounced my British citizenship and moved to Yemen to be with my Muslim husband, Yemeni citizen Yassin Abdul-Bari. Like I said before, I was born in the City of London, Capital of England and Crown Jewel of the United Kingdom. The most magnificent town in the Western world. My parents, Matthew Bartleby and Jennifer Adams raised me in the Protestant faith. Just an old-school British couple. Dad worked as a barrister or lawyer and mum worked as a schoolteacher. I grew up in a nice, quiet suburb of the Great City. At eighteen I was six feet tall, honestly kind of chubby with long blonde hair and pale blue eyes. I played soccer for fun, and also enjoyed swimming. I attended UCL, also known as University College London. The leading multicultural and multidisciplinary University in metropolitan London. I was exposed to a myriad cultures in the University setting. I found myself fascinated by Somali people and Arabs, especially. The Muslim culture was so different from everything I knew. It fascinated and repelled me at the same time. Like a lot of White women in the vastness of England, I was drawn to the Islamic culture. I met this tall, dark and handsome young man named Yassin Abdul-Bari at University College London. He was born in Yemen to a Somali mother and Yemeni father. He was biracial. I thought he was half Black and half White at first but he proudly told me that he was Afro-Arabian. Hmmm. Cool. Yassin and I had some classes in common. We became friends, and I grew fascinated by this tall, handsome and well-spoken, highly intelligent and charismatic young man. Yassin wasn't like the other Muslim students at University College London. He didn't dress like a Western person. He wore Muslim-style clothes. He carried a copy of the Koran with him everywhere he went. And he didn't shake hands with women. He considered it haram or forbidden according to the tenets of Islam. He aspired to become an Imam someday. He was already worth tens of millions thanks to his Yemeni father Hassan Abdul-Bari's oil fortune. Wow. Yassin Abdul-Bari and I began seeing each other. He taught me about his culture, his heritage and about the Islamic world. According to him, only three nations in the world were true Islamic nations. The Kingdom of Saudi Arabia. The nation of Yemen. The Kingdom of Jordan. All others were fast becoming Westernized. In most other Arab nations, the seeds of democracy and feminism had been planted thanks to the insidious influence of Western nations. Several Arab nations had women soldiers in their armies, especially Libya. Yassin feared the Westernization of the Islamic world far more than Western powers feared the growing Islamic influence in certain Western nations. A lot of Yassin's views were odd to me. He believed that a woman's place was in the home. He didn't believe that women should be soldiers, policewomen or University professors. I told him that his views were sexist and he admonished me, saying that I was brainwashed by the godless and materialistic nature of the Western society. I was offended by that and told him as much. Yassin looked at me strangely, then laughed and told me he was kidding. I laughed at that. For a moment he really had me going there! Yassin was conservative in his views, but he was also the friendliest man I ever met. On the subway, he helped pregnant ladies. He also helped a blind old man cross the street. He once gave a hundred pounds in bank notes to a homeless man in a street corner. I found his kindness and generosity quite frankly amazing. And I wasn't the only one. Many students at University College London respected Yassin Abdul-Bari for his powerful personality and friendliness. I considered myself lucky that he considered me one of his friends. Yassin and I grew fond of each other. He confided in me and told me that I wasn't like other Western women he met throughout his stay at University College London. He commanded me on my good habits. I didn't smoke. I didn't drink. I didn't party. I simply went to school, and stayed home. You see, I didn't have many friends. Most of my friends from secondary school went to University outside of metropolitan London. Many went to Australia and New Zealand. A few went to America, Canada and even Switzerland. Me? I stayed in the City of London in good old England because I lacked a sense of adventure. I was same old, boring old Odessa Adams-Bartleby. When I said that, Yassin seemed sad. He told me that I was an extraordinary woman and that he appreciated my talents far more than most people who knew me did. I really blushed when Yassin said that. People never say such things to me. When most people look at me, all they see is a tall, chubby White chick with a big butt and a plain face. I wear thick nerdy glasses. I excel at school but suck at life. At the age of twenty four I was still a virgin and I'd never had a boyfriend before. Yeah, I'm just Plain Odessa. To everyone except Yassin, who assured me that I could become more. I found Yassin's words hard to believe. Did he really believe all those wonderful things he said about me? When I asked him, he nodded and said yes. And he told me he was fond of me. I realized that I was falling for this wonderful young man and decided I would do anything to be with him. Yassin asked me how far I was prepared to go for him. I told him that I would do anything for him. Yassin smiled, and told me that he wanted to be with me but he could only share his life with one of the Faithful. I nodded, and told him I wanted to convert to Islam. Yassin smiled, and began teaching me about the Koran. A month later, I converted to Islam and said the Shahada to an Imam named Abdullah the Wise inside a Mosque in southeastern London. From that moment forth, I was a Muslim woman. From that day forward, my life changed. I donned conservative clothing, and never went anywhere without my hijab on. My friends and family were stunned. Yassin told me that their opinions didn't matter. We were Muslim. The opinions and indeed the very lives of non-Muslims didn't matter to us. We were a special kind of people. The Chosen of Allah. The Faithful. Only the lives and opinions of Muslims matter in our view of the world. Only us. Not Christians. Not Jews. Not Pagans. Not Atheists. Only us. I heard Yassin's words and believed them wholeheartedly. When we both graduated from University College London, I decided to move to Yemen with him. Yassin told me that he couldn't bring a British bride to his mother and father. Even a Muslim one. They didn't think much of Westerners. I understood what I had to do. I underwent a long and arduous process to renounce my British citizenship. Then I moved to Yemen to be with my husband. When I moved to the City of Sahar in Yemen, I experienced a brand new world. I met Yassin's father Hassan Abdul-Bari and his Somali-born wife Sagal Abdul-Bari. They were fascinated by me, a six-foot-tall, blonde-haired and blue-eyed former Christian and former British citizen who converted to Islam and wanted to marry their son. I thought all was set for us getting married, but Yassin's mother Sagal pulled me aside and told me that there were certain things which had to be done if I was to become a proper bride for her son Yassin Abdul-Bari. I told Sagal, my future mother, that I would do anything. In Somali culture, as well as the Shia sect of Islam, unmodified women are considered impure. To purify the woman before marriage, she is, um, modified. They perform circumcision on her. Upon hearing that, I was afraid. Sagal smiled at me and told me with pride that she had the procedure done by her own mother in Mogadishu, Somalia, years ago. I was quite afraid when I heard this, to tell you the truth. Sagal and I sat down and talked, woman to woman. She told me that if I refused to have the procedure done, I wasn't really a Muslim woman. Ninety nine percent of women in Somalia had the procedure done. It was both to purify them and satisfy their future husbands. The process would render them chaste and pure, instead of having them become wanton, disobedient sluts who would rebel against husbandly authority in future times. While many Islamic nations didn't practice this, it was coming back in style after the Arab Spring. Long banned in Egypt, Libya, Tunisia and Turkey, it was coming back in style. Sagal told me that I would be the first White female Muslim convert this procedure would be done to. She told me she was quite excited about it. I thought of my beloved Yassin, and nodded. Sagal and a trio of women, two Somali ladies and one Yemeni woman, held me down and performed the procedure on me. It hurt, but I told myself, through tears, that I was doing it in order to be a good bride for the man I loved. Yassin would be so pleased when he heard I consented to do this. A month later, Yassin and I were married inside a beautiful Mosque in metropolitan Sana'a, the Capital of Yemen. On our wedding night, I at last found out what sex was all about. I had never had sex before I married Yassin. I felt quite a bit of pain as he lay on top of me, thrusting into me and fucking me. I am sure that every woman goes through this. Still, I thought there was supposed to be a bit of pleasure for me during these proceedings. I guess someone lied to me. Or maybe I can't feel pleasure during sex because of the religiously mandated procedure I allowed to be done to myself in the name of love for my husband Yassin. I wept during my wedding night. Yassin thought they were tears of joy. They weren't. I told myself to stop crying. I made my choice. I am no longer a feminist. I am no longer British. Yes, I'm still White but so what? I'm becoming a citizen of Yemen soon. I am with Yassin and I am happy. I hope to bear him only sons instead of daughters, which the men of his culture consider to be useless. This might be difficult for you to understand but I love my new life and I accept my faith. I am Muslim and proud. Peace be unto you.