Surgeon by Day, Muslim by Design
They said wearing my kufi would hold me back in academia. I wore it anyway. They took me seriously regardless.
When I got into served 40,000 meals, my grandmother said, 'Great, now you'll assimilate.' He meant well.
Sarajevo was a culture shock. Not because of the pace of life — because of the staring. At the hospital, I was often the only hijabi 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 senior partner looked at my CV, looked at my my kufi, and asked, 'Don't you think clients might be... uncomfortable?' 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 week of deadlines, 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 senior partner now. I lead a team of 20. I still fast Ramadan. The same grandmother who told me to assimilate now introduces me as 'my niece, the doctor.'
Last year, a medical student in hijab stopped me in the conference hallway. 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.'