Islamic dress is the solution

BROADSIDE - ROSEMARY MCLEOD

There was an interlude, at the end of her life, when my mother took to Islam.

It was a decision that baffled me, but it had its moments. I am thinking of a delightful Afghani man, petite and moustachioed, who sat on her chaise-longue one evening and read us Persian love poetry.

Persian, Habib said, was the one true language of love. We didn't understand a word, but we got the drift.

Islamic men, to my mother's mind, possessed several advantages over other possible suitors. In the first place, they did not drink. My mother had a special tone of voice for pronouncing the word "boozer". It was one of her most serious insults, and wrote a man off in a word. She couldn't tolerate alcohol herself, and saw no reason why others would.

In the second place, Islamic men had old-fashioned attitudes to women which she enjoyed.

To put it bluntly, there was a definite chance that, having hooked one, he would pay the bills. We had rather a lot of bills, tucked away in a kitchen drawer, and a paucity of dosh.

My mother spent her entire life waiting for the white knight with the cheque book to arrive, and hitherto had squandered all efforts to locate him. It seemed a small personal price to pay, then, to have to live the life of a Muslim woman.

She was well trained in housewifely skills, and had always expected a life pretty much like theirs, in which a man would be dominant and all- paying, and she would be admired for her good looks.

And so the Muslim men entered our life for auditions. She bought teach-yourself books on Arabic, and on Islam. Her cooking changed.

She lauded their beliefs to the skies, and told me I should marry one, too.

Life would be pretty peachy, she said, in Afghanistan, where we would be a welcome novelty. She did not add, though she quite possibly thought it, that we would be performing medical miracles on the women and children of our tribe with the aid of aspirin, and our fame would spread far and wide. There could well be statues in our honour in Kabul.

Alas, Arabic was hard to learn, and the available Islamic men were wary of marrying a woman much older than themselves. Her enthusiasm waned.

BUT I still appreciate another advantage of the Islamic faith which no doubt had struck my mother, who was no fool. Though she was an attractive woman she put on weight with age, as women in my family do.

What better solution than taking to Islamic dress? A multitude of bosoms, tummies and bottoms can be hidden beneath it, and become nobody's business.

I thought of my mother when I read that there will be an Islamic fashion parade today at the Kilbirnie Library, in Wellington. She would have trotted along.

Naturally it will be women- only; to have men attend would be immodest. About 25 Muslim women from Pakistan, Ethiopia, India, Sri Lanka and Bangladesh will model traditional clothing, and some modern variations. Only hands, feet and faces will be visible; everything else will be draped.

This sounds remarkably like what I wear most of the time, though more for aesthetic than religious reasons. It's more dignified than having your tattooed stomach bulging over the top of your jeans if you're young, and if you're no longer young, it hides everything you'd rather not look at yourself.

We should all be in Islamic dress. Just think of the money we'd save on fashion clothing.

The only drawbacks I can think of are the headscarves and the footwear.

It pains me to see Islamic women wearing men's lace-ups, as they often seem to do, and I won't wear anything on my head. It feels stuffy.

There may be an issue with wearing the get-up in hot weather, but you run no risk of melanoma. Islamic women also don't have to shave their legs, slather themselves in fake tan, bare their flabby upper arms, or worry about hiding their bodily flaws. They're hidden already.

So much for that TV programme that helps women look good naked.

As any woman knows, if she looks in her bathroom mirror with a candid eye, the less seen of most of us the better.

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