I could count the number of times that I’ve prayed in a mosque on both hands. I could count the number of times I’ve prayed in a mosque in the UK on just one finger. The city I grew up in has had a mosque for as long as I can remember, and in recent years it has more than doubled in size. But if you were to ask me about this worship space I’m supposed to call mine, the truth is I couldn’t tell you anything about it. I imagine the carpet in the men’s area is soft, and that the prayer mats are jewel-toned and decorative, and that it is bright and airy. Then I think of the women’s section, and my memory casts me back to a dimly lit, small room I prayed in on only one occasion. Among dozens of women huddled together in the tight space, I tried to finish my prayer as quickly as possible as I knew plenty more were waiting outside.
Like many women across the UK, I don’t feel comfortable going to a mosque. It’s not because I have had a negative experience, or that I’ve been turned away. It’s certainly not because of anything decreed in Islam – a religion that champions the rights of women and gives them equal status to men – it’s because I grew up with the internalised belief that mosques were spaces for men. While my father and my brothers would attend the local mosque every week, my sister and mother never did, and I never questioned why.
