Journalist by Day, Muslim by Design
They said wearing my faith openly would hold me back in law. I wore it anyway. They took me seriously regardless.
When I got into built something beautiful from nothing, my aunt said, 'Great, now you'll blend in.' He meant well.
Dakar was a culture shock. Not because of the weather — because of the staring. At the office, I was often the only Muslim in the room. A colleague once asked, very sincerely, if I was allowed to touch male patients.
The real test came during the promotion board. A hiring partner looked at my CV, looked at my my faith openly, and asked, 'Will your... religious requirements... affect your availability?' I smiled and said, 'The same way I handle everything — with excellence..'
The hardest moment wasn't bias from others. It was the voice in my own head during a 30-hour shift, whispering, 'Would this be easier without it?' And the honest answer was: probably.
But I thought about every Muslim man who'd been told he had to choose between faith and ambition. I refused to be evidence for that lie.
I'm a director now. I lead a team of 20. I still fast Ramadan. The same aunt who told me to blend in now introduces me as 'my nephew, the professor.'
Last year, a trainee in a kufi stopped me in the office kitchen. He said, 'Seeing you here makes me feel like I can do this.' I told him what I wish someone had told me: 'You don't just can. You already are.'