Sarah Safiyah's Experience

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This is a fantasy I have had for some time. Usually my family is around, and I'm a busy dad, so there's no way I can live out my fantasies. But with my wife out of town and the kids with their grandparents this Saturday I finally got the chance to live out my fantasy for real.

The clothes and stuff I needed were packed in a plain plastic bag, I dressed in worn and raggedy clothes I would not miss. I grabbed loose change just enough for a bus ride to the city centre, leaving my wallet, cell phone and everything else I usually carry around. I grabbed a spare key to my house tied it on a string and hung it round my neck.

Leaving my apartment I picked up the plastic bag and carefully locked the door. The bus brought me to the centre or the city, and a 20 minute walk led me to the big hospital.

In the big lobby for children's specialities building (also the lobby for the women's obstetric ward, maternity ward and children's delivery ward) there are toilets for the patients to the now closed receptions (remember it's Saturday). The doors to these are quite hidden, and after a quick look around I sneak in to a big toilet for people in wheelchairs, this large room gave me some room for the change of clothes.

Stripping nude I pull out a razorblade and shred my trousers, shirt and underwear. My only way out of this is wearing the clothes I brought, female clothes, muslim clothes, a muslimah's outfit.

Starting the transformation is two pairs of panties. Nothing fancy, just white cotton, they're tight to hold back any embarrassing movements of my male thing. Black pantyhose is next, a padded bra, filled with silicone in plastic bags gives an ample bust, it's almost sad no one will see it. A white silk shirt, black spandex pants and black socks complete the underwear.

The next layer is the layer a muslimah normally would wear at home, in the presence of her family only.

I tied the small black under scarf over the hair and knotted it at the back. I stepped in to a silken slip and tied the string at my waist in the back. The Black jilbaab came next. It's a typical Arabic style long dress, high in the neck and closed all the way down the front. Next came the big white hijab covering my head and body almost down to the waist. I also slipped soft sandals on my feet.

Now dressed as a muslim lady would be at home I looked in the mirror to check that the clothes and scarves were corret, that nothing but my face from chin to eyebrows and hands were visible.

Rigth about this time I heard someone outside the door, someone jerked the door handle a few times, and moments later I could hear the person walking away. I cannot tell you how my heart raced during these seconds, even though I knew the door were properly locked.

A true musimah doesn't show her face and hands to strangers, and my bearded face swathed in the hijab would surely make me a celebrity, so on to the next layer.

From the bag I pulled a long wide skirt with a drawstring. The skirt is so long I have to tie the drawstring right under my bust, like a dress in the empire style, yet it reaches all the way down and completely hides the jilbaab and my feet. The skirt has a dark olive colour, similar to the khimar I'll soon put on. I'm sure you all have seen this garment, Somali sisters were the ones to make it popular, it's a semi circle of fabric sewn with a hole for the face. My khimar is long and reaches halfway down the calves of my legs. But before I put on the khimar I tie the four layer black niqab over my face. My niqab is one of a kind. The innermost layer is cotton witch is cool to the touch. Layer 2 through 4 is thin chiffon, each layer is longer than the next. There's actually a fifth layer, a opaque fabric to be thrown back hiding the strings and knots keeping the niqab on. With the niqab on I carefully put the khimar on. There's a special feeling putting a long garment without arms or arm holes on, you have to try it to know. The two innermost layers of the niqab I leave inside the khimar, so that the khimar holds the fabric close to my face. There's no drinking or eating now, neither any chance for exposure. The two outermost layers of the niqab hang loose in front of the khimar, giving me the chance to lift these if I need a better look at something.

The last thing is a pair of black nylon gloves. To these gloves I have sewn buttons with mating button holes on the arms of my jilbaab. Finally I close the snap buttons on the cuffs of my jilbaab, sealing me in my cloth cocoon.

Finally dressed for going out, I dispose of the platic bag, now empty, and the sad remains of my manly clothes.

I take a deep breath and open the door.

Outside the door now sit two muslim women and a girl. They're obviously visiting a friend with a new born baby as I can see their presents. The moment I'm out of the door the girl (maybe 9 or 10 years, wearing hijab and long narrow skirt) races into the toilet and slams the door. I wonder how long they have been waiting for their turn. The women (both with hijab and jilbaabs) say "Salaam" to me, I nod back at them and walk hastily towards the exit. This I hadn't planned for, speaking with other muslimahs, but I decided to keep quiet. A muslimah like me doesn't let her voice be heard in public.

I head out into the park surrounding the hospital, seeing the looks from an ambulance driver as I pass him.

Now I have to get home somehow…

I'll tell what happened the rest of my veiled day later.

Editor's note April 2013: Unfortunately we've had no contact with Sarah Safiyah but this account for a continuation to be unlikely.

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