Black Muslim Women Matters

Just Look At The Little Terror Today was the day that I almost lost it. Today I didn't like my little dictator of a toddler...I love him regardless, but today, I absolutely didn't like him. Do I feel bad about this? No. No I don't because I literally had to count to three before I let loose in the car every single marble I had left. Mothering four children ain't easy. Not in the least. As much as I'd like to get it right every single time, sometimes I mess up. Sometimes I yell at the kids to stop yelling, or crying, or fighting, or to simply bring me the darn remote. Parenting is so messy, and today...well today was one of those days. My morning started off around 6:45am because I ignored the first and second alarm I set. My body clearly needed me to slow down and who was I to protest that?  I arrived at school and commenced to teaching in a classroom that not only doesn't have air, but is right smack dab by a set of trees and plants that our en

When society mentions Birth Control, the burden of taking it or using it almost always falls on the shoulders of the woman. When the woman is married and Muslim, this presents even more of a dilemma as religious doctrine  can complicate family planning further. This can lead to women feeling alone and depressed because they may not necessarily want more children but they also don't want to expose their body to harmful medicinal interventions. As a black muslim woman with four children already, I can honestly say that birth control has been a major source of anxiety in my life Now, I come from a very humble background. When I say humble, that means I was a ramen noodles eating, peanut butter and honey sandwich making, hand-me-down type of girl. So due to my upbringing, I was acutely aware that if I wanted to get ahead financially, I had to be responsible with the amount of children I chose to bring into the world. Fast forward to twenty-one and there I was having my first baby

Jamila Mapps new book, "Hijab-ista"! Save for a few misses, our family tries to make sure we’re present at the African American Book Fair that’s held every year on Community College of Philadelphia’s campus. For me, it has always been important to have books on my bookshelf that my children could see themselves in. What’s always undoubtedly missing from this fair is black muslim authors. I hope this starts to change as more and more black muslim women I know delve into publishing their own books.  Over the past couple of months, preorder and debuts of children’s books written by black muslim women have made its way to the market. One of those books happens to be by a high school friend of mine, Jamila Mapp. Jamila was inspired by the two littles she has at home to help make the literature market a little more diverse by penning a book about a little girls search for the perfect hijab called “Hijab-ista”. When I received this book in the mail, I was so excited to

Growing up in North Philly's Raymond Rosen Projects, I remember knowing that I was different. My skin was brown, my hair was “nappy” and its color resembled that of crows...only less shiny. My lips, well they were big...and my peers never let me forget it. As a result, I didn’t like what I saw when I looked at my reflection. I remember actually hating my features so much, I walked around with part of my lips tucked inside my mouth. Despite my parents best efforts to tell me I was beautiful, I just didn’t believe it. After All, the television shows, books, pictures, and songs all confirmed my point of view. As a kid, I hadn’t the vocabulary to call it racism or white supremacy just yet, but I knew I was different and less valuable to society. In school, this was reinforced in history textbooks with very few non-White heroes or figures. It was in the starting of Black history at slavery and lumping Egyptian Civilization into the study of Eurasia. There was just no way a society