A decade ago, in 2012-13, I told friends that I had left Islam. By then I had been an atheist for about five years – though I sometimes feared to acknowledge this even to myself.
I left the religion for so many reasons. Firstly, there was my understanding of science. Secondly, my developing conscience and personal philosophy didn’t really rhyme with the nastiness of Islam, sharia law and jihadism. Then there were the human rights abuses and the stagnation of the religion.
Perhaps most importantly of all, I hated the fact that my personal opinions didn’t matter. I had to shut up and accept that someone – many years ago – had thought out my life for me, had decided what my future would be. That person had also decided what kind of person I must be, and had given me orders about what I should think and how I should behave. I hardly ever obey orders.
And so, by November that year, word had reached my father via concerned friends and family that “Mubarak is saying things he shouldn’t”. My father replied, “We know and we suspect it’s a mental illness”. That was when pressure mounted to make me see a psychiatrist.
I thought this was an insult but, after months of upheaval and sanctions imposed by my family – including the withdrawal of all financial and emotional support – I agreed to see a doctor. I was sure that the diagnosis would be in my favour, and that this would prove that my family were wrong, so I insisted that they came with me when I saw the doctor.
We sat down in Dr. Mansour’s office and he looked at us, trying to work out who the patient was but we all looked OK. Then my family set out their complaints – that I said there was no God, that I had stopped praying, that I told people bla, bla, bla.
Dr. Mansour smiled and said, no this is not a mental illness. All you need do is to preach to him. But, they said, he knows more about the religion than we do! Well, he said, the only thing left is to pray for him.
We went home and I told my father what had happened. I knew it would anger him and I was right. His response was to tighten the noose and impose more sanctions. He seized my car, took back the house that he had given me, stopped my allowance and denied me food.
You should know that my Hausa culture is conservative and opposes personal independence. No one is supposed to leave home until they marry – unless they are working outside the state – and so it is normal for both men and women to remain celibate before marriage.
It was now June and Ramadan was approaching. In addition to refusing to pray, I would then be refusing to fast and I would be eating during the day. So my father decided to take things more seriously. He selected a reliable doctor and arranged for him to see me. This time my father would be present….
(To be continued)