Professor by Day, Muslim by Design
They said wearing my kufi would hold me back in medicine. 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 take off the scarf.' He meant well.
Bogotá was a culture shock. Not because of the language — because of the staring. At the conference, I was often the only hijabi in the room. A colleague once asked, very sincerely, if I was able to attend the Christmas party.
The real test came during residency interviews. A senior partner looked at my CV, looked at my my kufi, and asked, 'Are you sure this is the right fit for someone with your... background?' I smiled and said, 'My religious requirements are between me and God. My availability is 100%..'
The hardest moment wasn't bias from others. It was the voice in my own head during a back-to-back client meetings, 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 chief surgeon now. I teach the next generation. I still fast Ramadan. The same aunt who told me to take off the scarf now introduces me as 'my daughter, the engineer.'
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.'