Dawn Ostrem
Northern News Services

Yellowknife (Oct 01/01) - I wait on the steps outside the Yellowknife Muslim Centre, a recently purchased $10 scarf wrapped around my head.

Samiiro, 15, Hodman, 13, and Falahdo, 16, moved to Yellowknife Aug. 20 from Somalia. - Dawn Ostrem/NNSL photos

I am waiting for Yesef Hashi, president of the centre, who invited me to Friday prayer.

A man soon walks toward the door.

"Is Yesef in there, do you think?"

"He should be here soon," he said, glancing at my rainbow-coloured head-dress.

I push past my nervousness and go in. I remove my shoes at the door and enter the room. Once inside, I talk to a few of the men.

Hashi soon walks in with his three teenaged daughters, Falahdo, Samiiro and Hodman, who recently moved here from Somalia.

Hashi asks me to sit with the other women, and to arrange my scarf, or hijab, like theirs.

I shyly rearrange my multi-coloured scarf, motioning to the girls that I am somewhat confused by the request.

The girls come to my aid and properly arrange my scarf. Then they tuck my long bangs underneath the cloth.

"Good," they say, smiling. They do not know much English.

The men move to the front of the building. The floor is strewn with decorative carpeting. The room soon fills with the repeated sounds of Arabic verse. The three girls repeat some of the poetic-sounding verses.

Their prayer routine feels familiar, kind of like Christian rituals.

When the service ends, the three girls and I eat and laugh as we compare the English and Somali names of vegetables over a meal of stew.

"For you!," they exclaim, passing me a bowl.

We have surprisingly good communication without using many words. I ask about school, Somalia, TV and what they watched.

I ask about the airplanes flying into the World Trade Centre towers in New York. Samiiro catches on and draws two towers on the window with her finger.

Falahdo acts out her version of the hijacking by holding her hand out like a gun beside her sister's head.

"Good or not good?" I say.

"Not good! No, no!" they reply.

I knew it was a stupid question as soon as I asked. I knew "not good" would be the answer. And there it is, three teenaged Muslim girls surprised I would even ask.

Still, they have felt first-hand the emotional waves from the terrorist attack on the United States.

A man ran by the Yellowknife mosque that day and tore down the sign. A worker at the Igloo Inn, which is located across the street, witnessed the vandalism.

I never fully understood Islam.

But after Sept. 11, I started reading about the religion, including portions of the Qur'an-an, and visiting Muslim residents in Yellowknife.

I still don't fully understand Islam.

I am a 27-year-old white girl who was raised on a farm in Alberta. My religious experience is limited to God-fearing Christian dogma.

I had only seen Muslims on TV when I was in my teens, many of whom were holding rifles.

"In every religion you find some bad people," Hashi tells me. "The Muslims who come here see themselves as part of their community and the horrible thing that happened is far away from us, so I never thought it would affect us here."

Religious beliefs

Fadil Memedi has never seen the Middle East. He is an Albanian from Macedonia. He is also a Muslim who has driven a cab in Yellowknife for the last six years.

Memedi was recently asked by a passenger if he was Palestinian. Memedi has lived in various parts in North America for 23 years.

"Besides my accent, I think I am more North American than many North Americans," he says.

I wonder how a man, who is so well-travelled, can respond to inappropriate questions from others.

On several occasions he has been treated with disrespect, as have his children. Memedi, who speaks six languages, relies on a steady cache of patience.

"It just seems like, more so in North America, education of what is happening around the world is not clear to the public.

"If you look at all religions, they all pretty much believe the same thing," he added. "It doesn't make it right for me to say all Christians are terrorists."

Common enemy

The Taliban, a self-proclaimed Islamic organization with strong political ties in several Middle-Eastern countries, is a black eye on the face of Islam, according to many local Muslims.

"The Taliban is a common enemy for both of us," says Ali-reza Givehchian, a Yellowknife dentist. He's originally from Iran.

The scene at Givehchian's home is not unlike what you'd see in anywhere in Yellowknife. When I arrive, Ali-reza's wife, Maryam, is playing on carpet with baby daughter, Niko. Her name means "nice" in Persian.

"Once you have a child you see the world in colour instead of black and white," says Ali-reza proudly.

The family offers me tea and wonderful desserts.

Ali, as he is often called, and Maryam both studied in Michigan, but now feel quite at home in their Yellowknife apartment.

"I don't feel like I am a stranger in Canada," he says. "I feel like I belong."

But Maryam has not been outside the apartment much lately.

"Just to go shopping," Maryam says.

She patiently accepts public curiosity about her traditional dress, but has been a bit worried since the Sept. 11 attacks.

"People look at me but I get used to it," she says quietly.

Ali seems to be accepting when Canadians ask questions, but that feeling changes when talking about the Taliban and their former alliance with Americans.

"We have suffered from terrorism, we have seen it ... How can I expect someone to know about Islam, or my country, or Taliban," he said. "To many, all the people are the same, it is just one country, it is called Middle East and all the people are Muslims, and they are just fighting with Christians and Americans."

Ali's voice drops as he makes his point. He talks about those who choose to remain ignorant.

"I blame them a little bit. Why they don't take efforts to learn this?"

I finish my tea. But, again, I am somewhat embarrassed that many of my questions have sounded naive.

I leave the Givehchian home with Ali's words ringing in my ears:

"I don't feel that I am a stranger in Canada, I feel like I belong."

Adjusting to a new life

I see the three Somali girls standing outside their school on the same day I visit the mosque.

It is windy and cold, and they are waiting for Hashi to arrive.

They run toward me shouting, "Cold!," and "Hurry up Daddy!"

As he pulls alongside the curb, Hashi asks if I want a lift. We all pile in the car.

Along the way we talk about school as the girls list off courses they are taking.

In the back seat they shiver as they speak -- trying to get accustomed to life in the North ... and in North America.