apropos of anything

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This past weekend I attended an event that had been billed as girls-only, so I took advantage of the opportunity to dress up a little and to actually do my hair.

(For those who don’t wear hijab — to make the scarf sit properly on your head, you pretty much have to pull all your hair back into a braid or a bun or some other similar device that will prevent your head from looking funny-shaped. Most women also wear a tight-fitting cap to help keep the slippery scarf material in place. That cap is the death knell of any hairstyle outside of Demi Moore’s ‘do in G.I. Jane.)

I wasn’t the only one. Several other hijabi girls had put in a little extra effort with hair, and even with clothes; all-girls parties mean sleeves don’t have to go all the way down to your wrists, either. We were looking forward to a rare chance to sparkle.

Divested of hijab, I was talking to a friend when suddenly her expression changed, and she said, “Huda, there’s a video camera.”

I turned around, and yep, there was the honoree’s mother, quietly taping the goings-on in the main party area. I ran for it, slipping past her and turning into the foyer, where another group of hijab-wearing girls had just arrived and were removing their scarves, jackets, and shoes.

We huddled for a few minutes and then turned to the hostess, who had come out to greet the new arrivals.

“I’m really sorry,” I said, “but can you please not record the party while we’re out of our hijabs?”

She smiled at me. “Oh, don’t worry about it. We’re only going to show it to a few of our aunts who couldn’t come.”

Right. That makes me feel so much better.

Once my image is on somebody else’s recording, it’s out of my hands. I cannot guarantee that someone who shouldn’t see me with my hijab off won’t see me with my hijab off. Digital data is never sacred. It’s too easy to reproduce and distribute. Just ask the major television and film studios. As soon as a copy of the media leaves the original source, there is no longer any guarantee that anyone will never know exactly how many copies exist in the world.

But even if I am being irrationally cautious about protecting my image, the point remains that the other girls and I specifically requested something not happen, and we were ignored. Looking back, I wish I’d left the party at that point.

The video recording continued throughout the party, always random and unannounced, so that hijabis couldn’t even duck for cover if they preferred not to be in the shot. I tried to keep an eye on the camera as much as possible, and the girls I was sitting with helped out as well, sometimes serving as a physical block to the lens, but I know I’m in that movie more than one time. Later they started taking pictures — again unannounced — and I finally admitted defeat, took the hijab out of my purse, and put it back on.

My hijab is important to me. It is not something I do lightly. If you think so, you have no idea the amount of effort that goes into hijab. And if you do not think so, you would never for one second have entertained the idea of turning on a video camera in the presence of an uncovered hijabi. You would just as soon have recorded your girlfriends walking around topless.

If I sound upset, it’s because even now, days later, I am.