This article was originally written in September 2003 and published on blog.luxzenburg.org in December 2004. It is republished here as a historical document and reflects the author’s experiences at the time of writing.
My interest in Islam began after a trip to India, where I came into contact with an Indian Muslim who became a very close friend of mine. His mother is Dutch and his father is an Indian Muslim. We discussed faith, the values of a good life, and all manner of things related to spirituality on a regular basis. We also talked about our doubts, choices and feelings. All those conversations inspired me enormously.
In August/November 2002 I was living and working in Belgium. Everything revolved around business. I felt so homeless — the way of life was so hollow, I felt so empty, so ‘unclean’ in those days. During that difficult period I decided to take part in Ramadan. Everyone thought I was crazy for fasting in those demanding circumstances — we worked from seven in the morning until one at night. But rather than breaking me, the fasting brought calm and strength. I truly enjoyed it.
In November I returned abruptly to my family in the Netherlands. Shortly after, I visited my Indian friend and his family, and I invited several Moroccan friends for iftar. It was an enormously stimulating and informative period. I studied Islam intensively. It was also a period of calm and reconciliation.
One incident must be mentioned. In the summer of 2002, after a football match with friends, my Indian friend suddenly called out that he considered me more of a Muslim than many of the Muslims present. He said I was already living much like a Muslim. This was before my time in Belgium, but it influenced that period enormously.
After Ramadan, I was regarded as a Muslim by my Dutch Muslim friends. I took part in prayers and was taken to the Pakistani mosque in Amsterdam. I spoke with my friend’s father — a noble and wise man in my eyes. He said I was already regarded as such, but that I needed to think about how I would tell my family. The mood in the West at that time was not pro-Islamic. His wife, a Dutch convert, advised me to keep quiet and live as a good Muslim — to show them that I was still the same Erik. Then they might not be afraid.
I underwent a period of intensive study, from December 2002 to May 2003. This was not an academic study of a social phenomenon — as I had previously studied Buddhism or joined a political party for practical experience. My study of Islam was one of conviction and genuine interest.
But then I discovered the drawbacks of staying silent. My family knew nothing and reacted strangely when I told them I was no longer doing certain things. Some friends thought it was a phase. Others reacted with outright rejection. One became angry at me — merely being Muslim was enough to see me as an aggressive oppressor of women and a terrorist. Later she took back her words and apologised.
I grew up with the idea that a higher power exists — some call it God, others Allah, others still Nature. And Islam gave me the anchor I needed: the support, the wisdom and the strength.
My conversion ultimately took place in November 2002, three years after my trip to India. My third Ramadan was approaching, my second ‘birthday’ as a Muslim. I said the Shahada with my friend and his parents, and went home with my prayer mat and the advice to first become a stronger Muslim before stepping forward publicly.
That went against my philosophy of openness. But anti-Islamic sentiment in the Netherlands had reached new heights after 9/11 — including within my own family. To ease my conscience I put my story on a webpage and added the link at the bottom of my emails. That way they could read it. It took nine months before my family read that page. Nine months of weekly emails. Then they asked: “Are you a Muslim now?” I answered: “You can read — what does it say on the site?”
My parents wanted to return to the subject later, but never did. In the meantime they began consulting me whenever Islam was in the news. They noticed changes in me — far less alcohol, more patience, more respect and helpfulness — but did not attribute these to Islam.
In February 2004 I gave in to a Muslim friend who was working hard to change the Dutch image of Muslims. He had arranged an interview for a conservative magazine, with several converts, and wanted me to participate. I agreed, but asked the journalist if I could play a small role. She promised to try.
At that point I was in India for my Indian friend’s wedding — where I had the honour of reading the Quranic verses in Dutch for the Dutch guests. When the article appeared I was still there. Title: ‘Erik is in Allah’. My face on the cover. That was not what I had wanted.
When I returned I kept a low profile. Until my father’s birthday was approaching. A week beforehand my mother called: “What is that article? Why did you never tell us? We’ll discuss it next week, bring it with you.”
And so I sat at the family table — my parents, my sister and her boyfriend, my brother. Others would arrive later. Islam was in the dock. They began with reproaches: I had never told them. I did not deny it. I answered that we would never agree on the matter of ’telling versus not telling’, because I thought I had made myself clear enough in August 2003.
When the doorbell rang and friends arrived, the conversation was over. My mother would return to it later. Since then she never has.
There was one exception: my younger brother. He was the most non-religious of all — but he was the only one who said: “Bro, I respect your choice to become a Muslim.”