Ameena rose from bed early on Saturday morning, not sure what she would do with her weekend. She started by looking through her closet. It was full of hijab. She didn’t want to wear the usual black or brown, and since it was not a holy day, she could not wear white.
She picked out her dark purple robe instead. She liked how her light brown face contrasted with dark color of the robe. It was a robe usually reserved for holy days.
After she modeled it in her mirror, she headed to the restroom, passing her father in the hall.
“You look like a princess,” exclaimed her father.
Her face brightened as she continued to the restroom. As she returned to her bedroom though, she ran into her mother.
“Ameena, what are you doing wearing that robe?”
Without a word, Ameena returned to her room and donned one of her basic black hijab. She also put on her khimar, the headscarf she always wore with her hijab, and fastened it. Only her eyes peered out from the black veil. She returned to the hallway, where her mother was waiting.
“That is much better, but you know you do not have to wear the veil indoors,” said her mother. Mrs. Mansoor picked lint off the plain black robe, making sure everything was in its proper place.
When Ameena arrived downstairs, the rest of the family was already at the breakfast table. French croissants, cheese, and butter waited on a platter, with a pitcher of Mint Tea sitting next to it.
“What happened to your purple robe?” asked Mr. Mansoor.
“I told her to change,” said Mrs. Mansoor.
“Fatima…” Mr. Mansoor pleaded to his wife. However, Mrs. Mansoor folded her arms in protest.
“There has to be a line somewhere,” stated Mrs. Mansoor.
Mr. Mansoor heaved a sigh and began his breakfast. With nothing more said throughout the meal, Ameena felt as if she had created another family argument. She quickly and quietly ate her meal.
Ameena cut a croissant along its length before picking cheese to place inside her ‘cheese mini-sandwich’. She decided on Camembert. The butter knife slid easily into the creamy white cheese. Ameena spread it on both sides of her croissant and squished them together.
As she bit into the croissant, the flaky French bread melted in her mouth. She could still taste the melted butter her mother brushed on the outside of the roll. It mixed perfectly with the creamy texture of goat’s milk in the Camembert cheese.
Ameena poured herself a cup of tea. She washed her food with a large gulp of tea. The mint flavor filled her nostrils. She returned to the croissant, taking an even larger bite than before.
Ameena was in her own little world, imagining she was in some fine Parisian café, far from home.
After breakfast, she helped her mother wash the dishes and then went directly upstairs to her room. She picked a pocket book from the shelf above her bed and began reading. As she flipped each page, she glanced over at the purple hijab hanging in her closet. She could not get the thought of the purple hijab out of her head.
After she finished a chapter, she sat the book on the bedstand. She folded her arms and stared across the room. Finally, she picked up her book and returned downstairs.
In the living room, everyone was still silent. Ameena lay on the large blue area rug in the middle of the room. Her mother sat in the rocking chair, stitching a pair of Mohammed slacks. They were purple, the same color as Ameena’s hijab.
Little Mohammed laid next to his sister, forming a T. He rested his feet across her back.
“Get your feet off your sister,” commanded Mrs. Mansoor, “I don’t want you putting those dirty things on that hijab.”
Ameena heaved a sigh.
Mohammed twisted himself, laying parallel to Ameena. While she laid on her belly trying to read her book, he laid on his back, watching her read. She stared back at him until he finally turned away.
“Mother, why is everything blue?”
“What do you mean?” asked Mrs. Mansoor.
“The fishing boats in the bay are blue. All the doors on the houses are blue. Even my pants are blue.”
“They’re not blue, they’re purple,” Kareem corrected him.
“But they’re kind of blue.”
“I know what you mean, little Mohammed,” said Mrs. Mansoor, “Purple is actually dark blue. Sometimes red is added to make it purple.”
Ameena put down her book and looked at the color to the floor rug. She rubbed her hands against the carpet. The coarse goat’s hair scratched her hands.
“It’s called Tyrian Purple,” added Mrs. Mansoor.
Ameena paused as she looked up at her mother.
“The color of that rug is Tyrian Purple, just like Mohammed’s slacks and your hijab. It was first created in a city called Tyre.”
“That was Phoenicia’s capital city,” added Jamal.
Mrs. Mansoor nodded, “The Phoenicians created a dye called ‘Indigo’. It came from snails found only in that area.”
“That’s why we have it here,” added Jamal, “It was one of the main things the Phoenicians traded with the Greeks. Everyone in Greece wanted it. As they did, it became more expensive, which meant only the kings could afford Tyrian Purple. As emperors were the only ones who could afford it, it became known as Imperial Purple. Eventually, there was also Royal Blue.”
“We’re not rich,” said Kareem.
“Just like mother said, chemists learned to manufacture purple and blue without using dye from snails. At that time, everyone began using it, especially the Moroccans.”
“Why us?” asked Kareem.
“The Iles de Purpuraires, which is the island between the Citadel and Spain, was a major trading post for Tyrian Purple. Since our people had access to the dye, we used it for everything. I guess that just continues today,”
“Tyrian Purple represents so much more today,” said Yusef.
“What do you mean?” asked Mrs. Mansoor.
“Purple Hijab Day is celebrated all over the world,” said Yusef.
“Ameena…” Mrs. Mansoor said to her only daughter.
Ameena glanced toward her mother.
“I think it’s okay if you put on your purple hijab.
Ameena’s eyes lit up. She jumped to her feet and raced upstairs. In only moments, she switched out of her black robe, donning her purple robe. She tucked her headdress into place. Ameena thought the purple hood framed her face perfectly. She thought about sneaking some of her mother’s mascara to accent her eyes, then she realized she had better not push her luck. It was a miracle she even got to wear a colorful hijab.
“There’s my princess,” said Mr. Mansoor.
“You look good, little sister,” said Yusef, plus, you’re celebrating women everywhere.”
“What do you mean?” asked Mohammed.
“On Purple Hijab Day, Muslim women wear the purple hijab to celebrate women’s rights and remember the women were persecuted.”
“What do you mean, persecuted?” asked Mohammed.
“Under old laws, a woman was not allowed to do all the same things as a man. Often, men even treated women worse than their animals. Back then, some men would even beat their women. Today, we realize that women are still different than men, but equals. That’s what Purple Hijab Day represents.”
“I think every day should be Purple Hijab Day,” announced Little Mohammed, “Anyways, our father is right, Ameena does looke like a princess.”
“Okay, okay, okay. I get it. Ameena can wear her purple hijab any day she wants,” said Mrs. Mansoor, “plus, you do look good in purple anyway. You’re our princess.”
Ameena’s heart swelled with pride. She was very glad she did not have to wear the plain old black and brown hijabs like always. Now, she would hold the priviledge of wearing the purple hijab deep in her heart as well as displaying it for everyone to see.
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