I’d been swiftly shunned by the mosque aunties, who, taking on the role of spokespersons for Islam, ruled that my actions made me a Bad Muslim. Suddenly there was no place for me in that sacred place of worship that had once been a source of comfort and stability. Worried I’d be a bad influence on their daughters, the aunties watched my friends like hawks to ensure that none of them would so much as respond to my “Assalam-o-Alaikum” greeting. Worst of all, they made my mother feel as though she’d done a bad job raising me. My rebellion had been a direct challenge to that central tenet of
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Why always the aunties arghhhh elah
