Her new life was already teaching her what kind of religious leader she wanted to be – although she had not yet realized she wanted to become one.
At UCLA, she stopped wearing the headscarf on campus and felt uneasy at the comments from other Muslim students. “As if wearing the scarf made you some sort of Muslim goddess,” Noor reflected later. She saw it as an attempt at oppression and she was defiant against it.
After graduating, Noor worked at California State University in student affairs for five years. During a social justice workshop, she helped a young gay student come out. She reflected on how, in Pakistan, being gay was portrayed as a deviant ‘lifestyle’ choice. “I believe that they were who God made them to be,” she said.
In 2013, Noor’s sister Samia Bano, then 27, had purchased a ticket for a business conference in downtown LA, as a birthday gift for Noor. Noor wasn’t overjoyed at going to a business conference for her birthday, but they both went, and there, Noor had a revelation.
When the speaker talked to the audience about everyone’s “fascination factors, the thing that lights you up”, Noor immediately thought about her faith. She stepped outside to breathe. Her sister sat next to her on a bench. “It was my calling,” Noor recalled, about realizing she wanted to be a spiritual leader. That night, in her prayer, she begged God to guide her.
“She speaks about faith in a really powerful way, that inspires people,” Sheila Merchant, a young Californian lawyer who has been influenced by Noor’s guidance, said. “She created that safe space for me where I could really share and open up and be my whole self.”
Her sister Samia Bano, now 39, was also having similar revelations. Unlike Noor, Bano wore a tight scarf over her ears and would never miss a prayer. Certified as a happiness coach, Bano believed her calling was to share with people how she had learned to “find peace and happiness in my life”.
But there was a journey before she arrived at that happiness. At the age of 12, Samia was sexually abused by a relative in Pakistan. The little girl, once bubbly, shut down. She found refuge in silence and in Ann Frank’s diary, a book found unexpectedly at a local market in Karachi. “I realized I wasn’t alone,” she said.
Bano kept the secret. She didn’t receive help until she started college, also at UCLA. On campus, she saw a counsellor and practiced yoga. On her mat, she learned how to stand straight, tall, high like a mountain. She wanted to provide the same for others and became a certified counsellor, working at a hotline for victims of sexual abuse.
“I had guessed something like that had happened,” Noor replied in anger, when her sister finally told her of the assault in 2014. “All of a sudden, you were not the same,” she added. Noor also told her she had guessed who the perpetrator was. Bano, who carried the guilt for years, was relieved. “Tasneem was instrumental in my process of healing,” she confessed.
When the Women’s Mosque of America opened a year later, Noor and Bano signed up and soon became among the most active members. During her first khutba in July 2016, Noor was so nervous, her voice was shaky. In between many deep breaths, she talked about fear of judgment by others and “ugly stereotypes”. Bano was hired as operations director for setting up prayers. Bano’s first khutba, a year later, was about doing no harm and loving yourself – the Ramadan values that mattered most to her.
The sisters had always meditated together at home. Now, on her praying rug, before prostrating, Bano stood strong on her feet, rock solid, and was committed to challenging the patriarchy she saw in Islam. “It’s not women’s duty to hide, but up to men to lower their gaze,” she said.
Noor and her sister have faced many questions about their choices to become imams.
“Samia, we heard you lead prayers. Did you really do that?” asked a group of women one day outside the Culver City mosque. Bano confirmed it was true. “Oh, so you think it is allowed in Islam?” They challenged.
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Multicultural Meanderings 