Gay, proud and Muslim

While marking off the first week of the holy month of Ramadan, a time of heightened devotion for Muslims, Muhsin Hendricks, an imam living in Cape Town, says: “Our mosque does not have a big congregation, but when it comes to times like Ramadan, people like to come here.

For some, it is the only time they really can come into the mosque. But now that it’s closed, it’s a loss for a lot of people who are diverse in terms of their gender and sexual orientation.”

Hendricks is an openly gay imam and has been a queer rights activist for 23 years. The mosque he is referring to is one he founded. It is South Africa’s first mosque catering to LGBTIQ+ Muslims.

Living openly at the intersections of identity and faith, Hendricks has been helping queer Muslims reconcile Islam with their sexuality through The Inner Circle, “the longest-standing, largest and most influential human rights organisation in the world that deals with Islam, gender and sexual diversity from an Islamic theological perspective”.

An article by the World Economic Forum, published in 2017, carries this description: “Hendricks sees a more inclusive future for his fellow faithful, and his mosque may have started a trend.”

It quotes Hendricks as saying: “Since the mosque opened, alternative places of worship have popped up with increasing frequency. These spaces provide LGBTIQ+ Muslims with a renewed sense of hope that they, too, have the right to practise their faith; to love and be loved.”

Ashraf Booley (29), a writer and the president of Impulse Cape Town, an Aids healthcare advocacy and support group, is open about his queer identity, both to his family and the Muslim community.

“Being Muslim and being openly queer is like mixing oil and water. Some still regard it as taboo, but there are progressive Muslims out there who have restored my faith in humanity,” he says.

Booley came out to his sister when he was 16 and says he was privileged to have her receive his disclosure without judgement. But when he told his mother, she was visibly upset and disappointed, telling him it was just a phase.

“Her exact words were: ‘This isn’t allowed in Islam.’ I went from a God-fearing Muslim boy to a vocal, proudly queer person of colour,” he recalls.

Booley says the tension between his queer identity and his religion was palpable, especially with regard to the ways in which homophobic and misogynistic religious leaders had misconstrued Islam.

This tension and disconnect had spilt over into his family in many ways: “I felt personally attacked at Friday Jumu’ah [prayers] when the imam would preach about how homosexuality is a sin and that it’s un-Islamic. I resolved never to step foot in a mosque again.”

That was until his university days, when he attended a conference hosted by The Inner Circle.

“I started writing poetry at a young age. I have used this as a tool to not only write about my experience as a queer Muslim, but also as a way to heal and let other queer Muslims know that they matter,” says Booley.

Hendricks was born in 1967 to an orthodox Muslim family in Cape Town. His mother was a teacher at a mosque; his father was a spiritual healer and his grandfather had been the imam of the mosque.

For Hendricks, coming out after a 29-year struggle to address his sexual orientation was about acknowledging his authentic self: “I thought it was a dangerous decision to make because I knew how my community could get about things like this. But I thought to myself: ‘If I should die, at least I will die as my authentic self.’”

Describing his coming out as “a very personal journey”, he says: “I often tell people not to force themselves to come out because, in some cases, it can be even worse than their current situation.”

The one thing that stood out for Hendricks was how important authenticity was within Islam – accepting your fitra, your innate nature.

“I think it is the faith itself, the values of Islam, that nudged me in the direction of making the decision to come out all those years ago.”

Hendricks says there are safe spaces for queer Muslims.

“We run an inclusive mosque, which means anybody is welcome. What makes the space safe is that we don’t force women to cover up, for example, if they are not comfortable doing so; and we promote the idea of women leading prayer and doing the sermons on Friday. This is also a space where people can meet one another.”

Booley, referring to the Iftar, the evening meal with which Muslims end their daily Ramadan fast at sunset, says: “Being a queer Muslim in South Africa means having to constantly challenge this bigotry and having to constantly fight for my seat at the table.”

There has always been a backlash against queer Muslims from certain members of the Muslim community, but they are not God, he says. “It’s a mixed bag, as you can imagine. Some are supportive, while others continue to remain ignorant.”

Booley is not currently quarantined with his family and says it is difficult as this is the first time they are unable to get together for Iftar.

Ramadan is a time of sacrifice and worship, but it is also a time of togetherness, which is not possible now, given the Covid-19 coronavirus outbreak and the social restrictions currently imposed on South Africans.

This article was produced in partnership with The Other Foundation

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