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Source: Author Photo. Heinemann AWS edition of Distant View of a Minaret.

A caption under a picture of Alifa Rifaat in a 1993 Middle East Times (Egypt) captures Rifaat's intentions for writing about women's lives and sexuality: she is inspired, the caption reads, 'by a woman's Islamic right to a fulfilled emotional and sexual life'. - Barbara A. Olive on Alifa Rifaat's Short Stories.

Alifa Rifaat (the pseudonym of Fatimah Rifaat, who was born in Egypt in 1930 and died in 1996) began to write early - when she was nine she wrote her first story, about the village where her family lived in the summer - with rural Egypt becoming the setting for most of her stories. Unfortunately, writing for Rifaat came with its (external) challenges. Starting early in her life when Rifaat was strongly reprimanded by her older sister for writing.

Rifaat attended Misr al-Jadidah primary school, the Cultural Centre for Women, and the British Institute in Cairo from 1946 to 1949 - where she studied English. When Alifa Rifaat expressed interest in continuing her education by enrolling in the College of Fine Arts in Egypt her father first arranged a marriage for her to a mining engineer - this marriage lasted eight months, and then arranged for her to marry her cousin, a police officer.

For the first few years of their marriage Rifaat’s husband let her write and publish stories under her pseudonym. She published her stories from 1955 until 1960, but later her husband denied her the right to publish her stories. This period of denying Rifaat the ability to right happened for more than a decade, with her husband even forcing her to swear on the Qu'ran that she would stop writing. As noted in a 1985 The Middle East journal,

Her husband was furious, not so much because of the subject matter, but because writing gave her a kind of independence and was perceived as undermining his authority as a husband and head of the family. She continued to write, using pen-names, but when he found out, her husband forbade that too. He threw her out of the house. She went back to her own family, but received no sympathy from her father, who also said she should stop writing.

But against those people who urged her to get a divorce, Alifa Rifaat argued that "it is better to be an unknown wife than a well-known writer". For the next 15 years she wrote a little, and then only in secret. But being forced to repress the urge to be read brought her close to a nervous breakdown, a state vividly evoked in some of her stories.

Finally, in the early 1970's, her husband relented and she began to write again. The result was her collection of short stories, 'Distant View from a Minaret', which dwell on the tensions, dilemmas and dreams of women in marriage.




Profile of Alifa Rifaat

Rifaat continued to publish short stories through the 1980s following the death of her husband - she was widowed at the age of 48 and raised three children on her own. Her best-known work in English is Distant View of a Minaret (1983), consisting of fifteen short stories which are set in provincial Egypt. One of the stories, My World of the Unknown, follows the female narrator's sexual encounter with a djinn.


As expressed in the 1985 article in The Middle East Journal,

While much of Rifaat's later writing is deeply rooted in her experience, the most important theme in her stories centres on the sexual and emotional problems encountered by women in marriage. ... in the years she spent travelling around Egypt with her husband (in the course of his work as a policeman) she met many other women and learned of their problems. "We used to talk freely and we discussed especially the question of sexual fulfilment - because our society does not allow us to experience sex as freely as a Western woman does", she told Sarah Graham.

Rifaat, however, is not a feminist in the Western-sense. 'Women', she says, 'have a right to be fulfilled in their sexual and emotional lives', though she does not question marital relationships as such. What she does argue is that men should wield the power they have over women in marriage much more responsibly than they usually do. She also argues for more sexual education for women, 'if only through books'.

As Barbara A. Olive further comments,

Rifaat's fiction has met with a range of responses, from conservative efforts to keep her fiction out of bookstores, to encouragements from her literary acquaintances to write even more boldly about the lives of women.

Alifa Rifaat spoke and wrote only in Arabic - about stories that were deeply rooted in the Arabic and Islamic traditions, and also dealt with themes of eroticism and sexuality, which is said to have distinguished her from other male and female writers in the Arab world, where explicit references to these topics are typically considered taboo. Olive further notes that Rifaat's fiction has not gained wider recognition, and offers the following reasons:

Although she is self-educated, having read methodically through a number of small libraries during the years of her exile from writing, Rifaat does not possess a university degree and thus does not have direct connections to academic literary groups. With the exception of two pilgrimages to Mecca and one visit to Europe, she has traveled little, remaining a quiet secret for most readers outside of Egypt. Finally, Rifaat's professed devotion to Islam has allowed for easy categorisation of her fiction as limited, with critics often interpreting her female protagonists as weak or submissive.

Alifa Rifaat became a member of the Federation of Egyptian Writers, the Short-Story Club, and the Dar al-Udaba (Egypt), and also attended the First International Women's Book Fair (London, England) in 1984 where she spoke about the rights of women in Islam and the topic of polygamy. In 1984 Fatimah Rifaat also received the Excellency Award from the Modern Literature Assembly. Alifa Rifaat produced over 100 bodies of works in her lifetime that have been translated into multiple languages and have been produced for television and read on BBC.
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Mariama Ba around 25. Source: UNESCO

Yes, this is the first time that I wrote a serious novel. I have written before when I was a schoolgirl. I wrote essays for homework which were published. I wrote a dissertation which was published by the ‘Review Espirit’ a long time ago. I have written articles for newspapers, lots of them, but this book is my first serious effort to see the light. This is my first book.


So, said Senegalese writer Mariama Bâ in a 1981 interview with Barbara E. Harrell-Bond. The year before this interview, 1980, Mariama Bâ was awarded the first Noma Award - an annual prize of $3000 endowed by Japanese publisher Shiochi Noma to African writers published within Africa. The award was presented at the Frankfurt Book Fair, which in 1980 had a Black Africa theme.


Mariama Ba being awarded the Noma Prize in 1980. Source: AUFS Report, 1981.


This was for Bâ’s first novel, Une si longue lettre (So Long a Letter) - one of the most widely read works of Francophone African literature. Published in 1979, it follows a Muslim, French-educated, middle-aged Senegalese school teacher, Ramatoulaye, during her iddat, the mourning period of four months and 10 days prescribed for Muslim widows. In this long ‘letter’ written to her best friend Aissatou, Ramatoulaye looks back on her life with Modou Fall, her husband of 30 years, providing readers with a specific insight into her own experiences as well as those of other women.

In her acceptance speech for the Noma, Bâ remarked that she was surprised at winning:


I was very surprised. Even more so because I did not know of the existence of the prize. And even more, I did not even know that my book was being considered for any prize … A friend came to my house to tell me I had won. I was unaware of it. I didn’t even realise that there was prize money … I was even more proud and happy because it was not only a prize for Francophone Africa, but a prize for black Africa. That is, all of French- and English-speaking Africa. There were many candidates, so it was a prize which obviously was important.


Bâ died a year after she received the Noma award after a long battle with cancer, and before her second novel, Un Chant Écarlate (Scarlet Song), was published. Bâ briefly spoke about her second novel during her 1981 interview, when asked if she was ‘working on another book’, and worked on the revisions in order to prepare it for publication after her death:


Yes, and it is finished. I do not know if it is going to receive the same reception as 'Une si longue lettre'. As a matter of fact, it is the reception of 'Une si longue lettre' which makes me more and more hesitant to deliver this work to publishers. This first reception was so good, the book has been so well liked, that I wonder what kind of reception will be given to this other book.

Scarlet Song, published posthumously in 1986, also received international attention. The book deals with an interracial relationship in Senegal and the struggle of women to overcome the traditional system of polygamy and gender discrimination. On the book, Bâ goes on to explain:


I have taken the white wife and the African husband as the theme. Here, if a black woman married to a white man, we can easily accept that, at least more easily accept it … The colonialists took black women as wives and it never was a tragedy, you see … Because here in Senegal, it is the woman who is given into marriage, and belongs to the husband’s family. It is not the same thing with a man. The man bears the family name. He is the root of the tree which flourishes to give fruit. The fruits contain the seed which will make the race live again and nourish the ground. Thus the problem of a white wife is more interesting from the point of view of the mentality of the man’s mother, and from the point of view of society. There are more possible situations. So my book is about a white wife and a black husband.


The book was also set in Senegal and not France because ‘otherwise it would not be interesting’.

If they were in France there would not be any problem. If the book was set in France, in Europe, anywhere else, there would not be a problem. They could isolate themselves from the parents and the others. It would not be the same thing.



Writer and teacher, Mariama Bâ was one of the pioneers of Senegalese literature. Born in Dakar, Senegal in 1929 to a Muslim Lebou family, her father, was a civil servant, 'a teller in the Treasury of French West Africa.'  He was also a politician and was the first Minister of Health after the decentralisation bill was passed in 1956. Her paternal grandfather 'Sarakhole (from Bakel) ... was an interpreter in Saint-Louis, then in Dakar where he died.'

Bâ lost her mother when she was very young - 'I only know her through photographs,' she remarked in a 1981 interview, and was raised a Muslim in the traditional manner by her maternal grandparents on an extended family compound close to a mosque. She received her early education in French, while at the same time attending Koranic school with Dakar’s leading clerics. Bâ’s grandparents did not plan to educate her beyond primary school - they did not believe that girls should be taught beyond that. However, her father’s insistence on giving her an opportunity to continue her studies eventually persuaded them, and she attended French school.

I had the good fortune to attend the French school (which is now Berthe Maubert School on Avenue Albert Sarraut) thanks to the perseverance of my father who, whenever he had a holiday, would come to beg my grandparents to continue to grant him this favour.

During school holidays I continued my Koranic studies at the residence of the late Amadou Lamine Diene … He had become the Imam of the main mosque in Dakar, and his nephew, the current Imam, El Hadji Mawdo Sylla, was my teacher. The fact that I went to school didn’t relieve me from the domestic duties little girls had to do. I had my turn at cooking and washing up. I learned to do my own laundry and to wield the pestle because, it was feared, 'you never know what the future might bring!’

Bâ eventually obtained her school-leaving certificate, and won admission to the École Normale, a teacher training college for girls in Rufisque (a suburb in Dakar):

A year after the Primary School Certificate Examination in 1943, I had the joy of coming first in French West Africa at the competitive examination for entry to the École Normake in Rufique. My father was away in Niamey and Mrs. Berthe Maubert (primary school teacher) had the lonely task of overcoming the resistance of my family who had had enough of “all this coming and going on the road to nowhere.”

Her earliest works were essays she wrote (on nationalism) while at the École Normale. Some of her works have now been published. Her first work constitutes essentially a useful method of rejection of the "so-called French assimilationist policy". École Normale is also where Bâ met Mrs. Germaine Le Goff who “taught me about myself” - “taught me to know myself. I cherish the memory of rich communions with her, which have made me a better person."

Bâ also credits her father with strengthening her education:

A man of finance, but also a man of letters, my father taught me to read. A flood of books accompanied his homecomings. It is from him that I learned how to express myself orally. He would have me recite in French what I had learned, and never tired of correcting me.

Bâ graduated as a schoolteacher in 1947, and taught from 1947 to 1959, before transferring to the Senegalese Regional Inspectorate of Teaching as an educational inspector due to her failing health. However, her teaching had been so exceptional that in 1977 President Leopold Senghor founded the Mariama Bâ  Boarding School to honour her legacy as an educator. Bâ later married a Senegalese journalist and member of Parliament, Obèye Diop, but divorced him and was left to care for their nine children on her own. By the late 1970s, after most of her children were adult, Ba became a vocal activist for women's rights and a critic of the neocolonial system that had evolved in most of the newly independent African nations.

In addition to So Long a Letter and Scarlet Song, Bâ also wrote La Fonction politique des littératures Africaines écrites (The Political Function of African Written Literatures) in 1981, arguing that Africans should embrace and feel pride in their culture and achievements. While Bâ’s activism was most prevalent in her literature, particularly with her focus on women’s experiences in a traditional Muslim and patriarchal society, Bâ also worked as a journalist where she wrote about women’s issues and participated in women’s organisations.

Bâ was also known to be active in women’s associations and a defender of women’s rights. She emphasised women’s right to education, recognised the importance of women’s education, and fought for it – among other rights – through speeches and articles published in local newspapers. However, similar to African women writers of her generation, such as Flora Nwapa and Buchi Emecheta (women who I will also feature in this series), Bâ refused the label of feminism so as to reject notions widely associated with white feminism, such as the belief that women were better or more important than men. Thus, the label feminism with its negative connotations was rejected. 

I end with Bâ ’s last words during her 1981 interview on her thoughts on the Noma prize:

Really, in some ways one can say that the Noma prize has rekindled the fire of hope … This Japanese publisher thinks of promoting African books, to give something so that African literature goes forward. That is the meaning of this gesture for me. The existence of all such prizes is always an encouragement. That is what it really shows. As I was saying earlier, books are an instrument for development and books must not die. We must encourage people to write, to allow the great flourishing of writing.
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undefined by Kelly Izdhihar Crosby. Image via creativeummah.com

LitHub recently did a post on 10 contemporary novels by and about Muslims you should read, which included writers such as Laila Lalami and Leila Abouela. Inspired in part by that post, but really (if I'm honest) by my own identity as someone with a Muslim parent, I wanted to look at 10 contemporary African Muslim women writing mainly fiction - although I have included one non-fiction writer. This is in no way an exhaustive list - for one, I am focusing only on books in English. Nonetheless, here are 10 books by African Muslim women writers you should check out.

Leila Abouela's The Kindness of Enemies
Sudanese writer, Leila Abouela's fourth novel tells the story of Natasha - a half Russian, half Sudanese history professor living in Scotland. It weaves the lives of Natasha, the 19th century Muslim leader (Imam Shamil - who led the resistant against the Russians) Natasha is researching, and Oz (Natasha's top student and descendent of Shamil). Natasha is torn between her identities, and while she chose her (Scottish) stepfather's surname and has tried very hard to fit into Scottish society she never quite felt at home. However, meeting Oz and his family changes that. That is until Oz is arrested, which changes things for Natasha.

Bim Adewunmi's non-fiction pieces
While the list is formed primarily of novels and poetry collections, I'm making an exception and adding one of my favourite Muslim writers, Bim Adewunmi, who openly writes about Islam and being 'not a model Muslim' - something I can relate to on many levels. Some of Adewunmi's writing includes I Love Ramadan - it makes me feel connected, For Muslims Like Me, Trumps Words Are A Daily Nightmare. Of course Adewunmi doesn't only write about being Muslim and writes amazing and hilarious pieces  centred on culture including this one on African immigrants writing the best stories about African immigrants, this one on The Walking Dead, fanfiction and nuanced narratives of black women on screen and this one on Solange's A Seat at the Table'. Adewunmi also wrote a story on tokenism in popular culture in Nikesh Shukla's The Good Immigrant. 

Safia Elhillo's The January Children
Sudanese, by way of Washington, DC, Elhillo is the co-winner of the 201 Brunel University African Poetry Prize and winner of the 2016 Sillerman First Book Prize for African Poets. The January Children is Elhillo's first full-length collection and depicts the experiences of navigating the postcolonial world as a stranger in one’s own land. The poems in the collection explore aspects of Sudan’s history of colonial occupation, dictatorship, and diaspora. 

Along with Fatimah Asghar, Elhillo is also co-editing the anthology, Halal If You Hear Me, 'with the hopes of amplifying the voices that so often get left out of the conversation about Muslimness.'

Laila Lalami's The Moor's Account
Winner of multiple awards (2016 American Book Awards, 2015 Arab American Book Award, 2015 Hurston-Wright Legacy Award), The Moor's Account is Moroccan, Laila Lalami's third novel. It is the fictional memoir of Moroccan slave, Estebancio, who was one of four survivors of the Spanish conquistador Pánfilo de Narváez's expedition. As little is known about Estebancio, gives him a history: as Mustafa, the vibrant merchant from Azemmur forced into slavery and a new name, and reborn as the first black explorer of the Americas, discovering and being discovered by various tribes both hostile and compassionate. 




Summaya Lee's The Story of Maha
Born in South Africa, Summaya Lee's debut novel The Story of Maha was shortlisted for the Commonwealth Writers Prize (Best First Book - Africa) in 2008. It follows Maha - who grows up in a claustrophobic suburb in Durban with her grandparents. A free spirit, as a teenager Maha learns how to weave the strict boundaries of Muslim life to experience first love and partying. However, as Maha gets closer to her twentieth birthday, it gets harder to avoid a 'suitable husband', but will this lead to a life of excitement and love or one of perfectly round rotis?



Yasmeen Maxamuud Nomad Diaries
Somali, Yasmeen Maxamuud's Nomad Diaries tells the story of Nadifo - a Somali woman who comes to Minneapolis as a refugees in the mid-1990s during Somalia's civil war. In it, Maxamuud highlights the challenges Somali women like Nadifo (and their families) face as they transition to life in America. Living in the high-rise Cedar Springs Luxury Apartment, these women deal with language barriers, hardships, and a new country  where everything is vastly different from what they were used to.


Nadifa Mohamed's The Orchard of Lost Souls 
Somali writer, Nadifa Mohamed's second novel, The Orchard of Lost Souls, is set in 1988 Hargeisa at a time when Somalia is at the brink of civil war. It follows three women: nine-year old Dego who was born in a refugee camp, Kawsar and ageing widow confined to a bed after a savage assault at the local police station and Filsan - a young soldier from Mogadishu. And as the country is unravelled by a civil war that will shock the world, the fates of the three women are twisted irrevocably together. 


Ladan Osman's The Kitchen Dweller's Testimony 
Born in Somalia, Ladan Osman's poetry is centred on her Somali and Muslim heritage. Winner of the Sillerman First Book Prize for African Poets in 2014, The Kitchen-Dweller’s Testimony - Osman's debut poetry collection - asks: Whose testimony is valid? Whose testimony is worth recording? Osman’s speakers, who are almost always women, assert and reassert in an attempt to establish authority, often through persistent questioning. Spectres of race, displacement, and colonialism are often present in her work, providing momentum for speakers to reach beyond their primary, apparent dimensions and better communicate. The Kitchen-Dweller’s Testimony is about love and longing, divorce, distilled desire, and all the ways we injure ourselves and one another.


Warsan Shire's Teaching My Mother How to Give Birth
Kenyan-born Somali poet and writer, Warsan Shire won the inaugural Brunel University African Poetry Prize in 2013 and was the first Young Poet Laureate for London (also in 2013). Published in 2011, Teaching My Mother How To Give Birth was her first poetry pamphlet depicts the experiences of women's bodies as they are impacted by war and displacement. 

Note: The last two books I am adding to the list are from women (who like me) come from families where one side is Muslim. 

Sefi Atta's Everything Good Will Come
Nigerian writer, Sefi Atta's - a writer of Muslim parentage (with a Muslim father and a Christian mother). Beginning in the early 1970s and written in the voice of Enitan, Everything Good Will Come it is a coming-of-age story that traces Enitan's friendship with Sheri Bakare - the daughter of a Muslim Nigerian man and an English woman. It depicts the struggles of women in a conservative Nigerian society by charting the fate of two girls - one who is prepared to manipulate the traditional system and one who attempts to defy it.

Sofia Samatar's A Stranger in Olondria
Somali-American Sofia Samatar describes herself as Mennonite and having family that 'is Mennonite [on one side] and Muslim on the other.' Her multiple award-winning debut novel, A Stranger in Olondria, follows Jevick - the pepper merchant's son - who has been raised on stories of Olondria, a distant land where books are as common as they are rare in his home. When his father dies and Jevick takes his place on the yearly selling trip to Olondria, Jevick's life is as close to perfect as he can imagine. But just as he revels in Olondria's Rabelaisian Feast of Birds, he is pulled drastically off course and becomes haunted by the ghost of an illiterate young girl. In desperation, Jevick seeks the aid of Olondrian priests and quickly becomes a pawn in the struggle between the empire's two most powerful cults. Yet even as the country shimmers on the cusp of war, he must face his ghost and learn her story before he has any chance of becoming free by setting her free: an ordeal that challenges his understanding of art and life, home and exile, and the limits of that seductive necromancy, reading.

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Founded in 2011, bookshy represents two things: the young me who was so shy I escaped through books, and the older me whose shelf is always one book shy of being full.

bookshy is a space where I celebrate, promote and recognise contemporary African literature - although sometimes I go back in time to commemorate the greats. It is about the books I love, the books I have read and the books that I am dying to read.

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