This is a letter of struggle. I come from a family that thinks they are religious. I always resisted their hijab coercions, but when I entered the university, my father said, “Either you become a hijabi, or you are not going.” I resisted so much, I remember the days I went to my room to cry every day very well, but I wanted the degree as well; I had to do it. So, I did it. I went to another province to study, but my family’s fear of forcing me to drop out of school was more potent than my desire to take my hijab off. I graduated, started to work, got married, but I was not happy deep down because I wasn’t actually me. I was young, but my soul was like it belonged to an older person. I felt like I lost all my confidence. I didn’t want to socialize, and I ran away from the mirrors. I didn’t go shopping because I had to buy things I didn’t want every time.
I am 25 now, and I decided to take my hijab off. When I told my husband, he said, “You don’t have my consent.” I replied, “I don’t have my father’s consent and my husband’s consent, but what about mine?” After that, my husband shared it with his family, and they took me to a sorcerer to make a spell on me. When the result did not change, my mother in law said to my husband that I am mentally ill. I just wanted to take my hijab off, and I was neither in need of a spell nor mentally ill. My husband couldn’t resist my sadness anymore and left the choice to me at last. He said, “I don’t love you for your hijab; I love you for you.” At that moment, I felt like the strongest woman in the world. As I decided, after the holiday, I will go to work without my hijab. I am already excited. I know people will talk, but never forget that they will always find something to talk about.
(Image: Pierre Mornet)