Rumbled: My stories of (not) belonging in the UK

A few years back, when I was married and lived in Birmingham, I spent a year using Uber services twice a day going to and from work. Each time I used Uber, I had a recurring conversation.

‘Where do you come from,’ a driver asks.

Damn my accent, you’d think 12 years in England would cure this malady. Or perhaps it was just my name….

‘Azerbaijan,’ I say expecting a question most people ask me in the UK: ‘What? Where’s that?’

Some drivers do, but most surprise me:

‘Is it a Muslim country?’

‘Yes.’

And for a moment I feel warmth and welcome from a driver.

‘Ah salamu alaikum.’

‘Alaikuma salam.’

I know the conversation is not over and I dread the next question:

‘Are you a Muslim?’

I want to say: It’s complicated. We were under the Soviet rule for 70 years and were not allowed to practice religion. I was actively taught atheism at school and university. Sure, there were some religious people, like my grandma’s brother, but most people drank vodka and didn’t know how to pray. Religion became a part of the culture. Nowadays I’m spiritual, rather than religious.

Instead, I fudge it: ‘I was brought up as a Muslim.’

I genuinely hope that the conversation would end at this point, or I’d reach the destination. But most of the time, they rumble me.

‘Your name is not Muslim.’

‘Yes, I’m married.’

‘To an Englishman?’

None of your business, I want to shout, but I’m supposed to be a ‘good’ girl, so I oblige.

‘Yes.’

‘He is a Christian.’

It’s not even a question; it’s a statement. I can’t tell him my husband is an atheist. He won’t get how someone may choose to believe nothing, even though my husband would argue that that is indeed a belief.

‘Yes, he was brought up as a Christian. But he’s very respectful of my heritage.’

‘Do you pray?’

By now I want to jump out of the car.

‘No.’

The air feels frosty now. I sit anxiously awaiting the drop off. He thinks I’m an infidel. I have a series of petty thoughts going through my mind, including ‘He’s going to rate me down as a customer. He’ll ruin my uber profile.’ Or I have a go at myself: ‘Why do you even have to answer his questions?’ Either way, I feel upset.

How strange that my most intense experiences of not belonging in England came from these conversations.

If you’d like to find out more about just how complicated my religious upbringing was, check out my memoir.