Fruit stall ninja
I don’t like market shopping with young children at the best of times. There are too many people and too many interesting things to catch the eye of a curious preschooler. Annabelle was secure, but Jackson, four and a bit, had outgrown the constraints of a stroller. I was only just managing that precarious balancing act of child as counter-weight to hanging grocery bags. One wrong move and our produce would have catapulted onto the sticky market floor.
Jackson lingered in my general vicinity but was enjoying the freedom of wandering amongst fragrant and colourful produce. I was feeling up avocadoes when a little hand tugged at my sleeve. It was followed by a little finger pointing, and a little mouth exclaiming, in a voice entirely too loud, 'Mommy look, a ninja!' I glanced up, and there, directly across from Jackson, was a tall woman in a black niqab. We could see her eyes through the narrow slit of her face covering, but the rest of her body was swathed in black fabric. Even her hands were covered in long black gloves.
I quietly reminded Jackson that it wasn’t nice to point and said, 'She isn’t a ninja, buddy.' I could see disappointment cloud his features. 'Really?? But she looks like one!' How could I explain religious garments to a child who possessed a glorious imagination and a brain constantly shuffling ideas but had never really been introduced to the concept of religion?
Our veges purchased, I wheeled the stroller to the next stop, calling Jackson to follow behind. There was time now to answer the question I knew hung in his mind. 'Those clothes that lady was wearing, the long dress, and the head and face covering, are part of her religion, what she believes. Her face covering is called a niqab. She and her family believe that when ladies go out of their house, their skin shouldn’t be seen by men who aren’t in their families. So, when she goes out to do the things she needs to do, like go to the market or take her children to school or go to Kmart, she wears those clothes.'
I was thoroughly relieved that Jackson didn’t seem particularly interested in why this lady and her family believed that men shouldn’t see her skin. He was more concerned that she would be too hot and couldn’t see properly. After all, we were in Australia, and it was summer. The three of us were in shorts and tee-shirts that were, in Jackson’s mind, the obvious choice for the situation. I assured him that while she might be hot, she was also used to wearing those clothes and might have lighter clothes on underneath. When she got home, she would take the outerwear, head covering and gloves off.
Jackson was satisfied with this information. He didn’t want to know everything. It was enough for me to acknowledge his observation, offer clarification, limit my immediate answers to what I did know and leave the door open for further conversation.
Unsplash image by Elin Tabitha
The Takeaway:
You don’t have to know everything.
