I continue to wear the hijab today because it reminds me when I put it on every morning to

recommit myself to the principles of justice and mercy. Over time, hijab represented to me more

like a warrior's shield. Like if you put on this shield, you have to be ready to fight.

I don't walk around feeling like I am just my hijab.

That's one part of who I am, a really important part of who I am, but it's one of many

other pieces of my identity.

I'm Hibbe Fisher, and I'm Rezana Zayani, and you're listening to Kearning Cultures, a podcast dissecting the

complex narratives of the Middle East through stories. And one story that always kind of

captures my imagination. street's lost culture.

And you're listening to Kearning cultures.

This is part two in a two-part episode.

If you haven't listened to Part 1 yet, we suggest you do that first.

It'll make this episode so much more complete.

Act 3, Irtafar.

Okay. So this thing has to be pretty close to your mouth. Oh. Like right here,ish.

Okay. I just will ignore it. Yeah. It's, yeah, it's invisible. I continue to wear the hijab today because it reminds me when I put it on every morning to recommit myself to the principles of justice and mercy. And

my personal commitment, not only to God, but to stand up for, to make that justice, the divine

justice sort of a reality on earth. My name is Ertafa Bintai Farid. I'm a Bangladeshi-Muslim

American. I grew up in Bangladesh, so I was born there, and I was there until I was 12. And my

village is like right on the border with India. So that's where my father is from. My parents are both doctors. My father was a psychiatrist and my grandmother took care of me most of the day because my mother was a medical student. I grew up with a skeleton in our living room. And my first show and tell I took the hip bone of the skeleton as the piece to show and tell.

And my family is pretty religious.

My father prays five times a day.

...