Disclaimer: Ustagi’s are instructors who teach students about Islam, the preaching’s of Islam, how to read and understand the Quran and much more. I attended Arabic school for 12 years and had more than six Ustagi’s. The ustagi I refer to here is a combination of all my instructors. This is not a description of all Islamic instructors – I’ve just had some really bad ones.

Dear Ustagi,

I am now 20 years old and I have not been in an Arabic class in more than two years. To many people within the Islamic faith, this would be an outrage. I have not finished reading and memorizing the Quran and there is still so much about Islam I don’t know. However, I do not foresee myself stepping into an Arabic class anytime soon – I’m not sure whether that is fortunate or unfortunate.

For many of my peers, attending Arabic school on Saturdays and Sundays was like taking another class in school. It was the same as gym or English or math. You had to wear your Islamic uniform and there was test involved. Many of my peers skated through Arabic school with absolute ease and it did not solicit any emotional responses. It was the complete opposite for me.

I completely dreaded Arabic School. I would get anxiety just thinking about it and while most young people looked forward to Fridays, I didn’t because that meant when I woke up the next morning I would have to go to Arabic school. One time, it got so bad that I intentionally ingested Maggi Seasoning so that I would be sick and wouldn’t have to attend class. You see, my African parents did not believe in missing class under any circumstances – unless I was extremely sick. My mom did not have the opportunity to complete her Arabic/Islamic lessons so she imposed them on us because she felt they were absolutely necessary. Little did she know coming to class every Saturday and Sunday with you would lead to a lifetime of performance anxiety and a number of emotional turmoil.

Your job was to teach us and ensure we had a good understanding of the deen. However, it seemed as though you preferred intense discipline and ridicule. When we made mistakes – as students do – your physical discipline and verbal degradation was relentless. There is a thin line between discipline and brutality and clearly you didn’t know the difference. We were scared shitless whenever exams came because we knew how hard you would be on us. It came to a point where we tried every cheating and memorization techniques possible just to pass and the meaning and richness behind what we were learning was lost on us.

You made me constantly feel less than. I was a good student academically, but when it came to Islamic lessons I failed horribly because my ustagi did not care about teaching us or helping us learn from our mistakes. That anxiety I felt whenever exams approached was crippling until I just quit. You noticed. I didn’t care how much you hit me. I did not care to show up. I would be gone for weeks and come back extremely nonchalant. You did not make me feel as though I could learn and understand if I kept trying so I gave up.

You made it clear that the only students you valued were the perfect students who understood everything easily. This is a dynamic that is extremely prevalent within our community. Brilliance is valued and anyone who falls short is shunned and seen as a nuisance. Do these students not deserve nurture and support? Why do they get more attention from the whipping board then from the person who has all the knowledge they are working to obtain? This contributes to why so many of us feel as though we have to perfectionist – because perfection was all you tolerated and that was the high expectations we had to live up to.

Please, do not get me started with the misogyny! It goes without saying that misogyny is ingrained within the fabric of our people – but boy, did you take the cake. A grown-ass man, teaching young girls from the hood – there was a lot of tension. Your west African misogyny would not let you teach girls as you taught the boys. You felt as though every time we questioned you or spoke up for ourselves that we were basically emasculating you in the most degrading of ways and you got extremely violent. You knew you had the power and authorization to discipline us and you had no problem with running with that. Early on you taught us that we needed to be silent when we were wronged. Even if we face an injustice we should not react because it will never be our place to voice our grievances. You tried extremely hard to ingrain this misogyny into us as well so that we would always view men as our superiors. I’m afraid you may have succeeded.

I am 20 years old and the 12 years I spent with you were some of my toughest years. Arabic school, held in holy masjids, did not feel like safe spaces to me. I dreaded going there and when I got the freedom I ran away from the masjid which made me lose touch with Islam. You, a person who spent years learning about the religion and its preachings seemed to miss the parts about loving one another, kindness and peace. My mom wasn’t an Islamic scholar and we expected you to bridge the gaps that she couldn’t. I was five when I met you – I could’ve learned so much from you if you intended to teach and not to control.

However, I thank you. The distance that formed between me and Islam gave me my own perspective. So many people just inherit the religion with no choice. You pushed me away from it which gave me the chance to form my own relationship with Islam because I had to rely on myself to do it and no violent third party trying to influenced me. Islam was not just something that was forced onto me every Saturday and Sunday from 9-12 – you failed at that. My relationship with Islam is all my own and I am proud to say that!

Sincerely,

Asamia "Iysha" Diaby