By Dr George Askwith
George is a member of our editorial team and a volunteer for Faith to Faithless, which is Humanists UK's programme supporting people leaving high-control religions. She lives in Peterborough, UK. For this article, George sat down with Noor and Fittoon, ex-Muslims who have left their conservative homelands for safety in the UK. Their conversation reveals the emotional struggles of leaving behind faith, family, and cultural roots while navigating new identities and building a sense of belonging in a foreign land.
Faith to Faithless supports people who have left high-control religion. For some, this means coming to the UK for safety, and some people can only do this through claiming asylum as apostates or atheists. Recently, two of our service users, who have come to this country from highly conservative Islamic countries, sat down and talked about their experiences, and losing their homeland. It was a conversation full of laughter and emotion and loss.
Noor and Fittoon are ex-Muslims and members of the LGBTQ+ community, born and raised in conservative Muslim countries. Noor was forced to leave her country and claim asylum in the UK when her safety was at risk because of her lack of religious belief and because of her sexual orientation. Last year she was granted refugee status in the UK and has been dealing with the grief of losing her home, and the challenges of starting her new life. Fittoon came to the UK to study and, fearing for her safety if she returned to her homeland, decided to stay and was able to find a sponsored job. For her, the sponsorship was an important way to find an identity in the UK.
“I believed fully in Islam growing up, I was devout. Losing my faith and my homeland means I’ve lost the sense of continuation. It’s as if I’ve died and been reborn in a different life.... For me the UK is now home, not my land, but my home.” Noor
Noor: I think about my homeland every day. I miss it, I really, really, miss it. I remember the day I left so clearly; I started walking the streets and staring at everything like an idiot, the people, what they were wearing, their interactions, in vivid details. I just walked and walked. It was almost like knowing you were going to die and never see this world again. It feels like another life, and the grief was intense. If I close my eyes, I can put myself back there.
Fittoon: I don’t think about my homeland so often. Partly because I have ADHD, and part of that is “out of sight, out of mind”, so it often doesn’t come into my mind, but also, I never felt I belonged. I had a freedom as a young child, having picnics with my family and exploring, but growing up, I lost that and could only watch from the sidelines. I wasn’t allowed to see the land or experience it in the same way as my brothers. They could explore, but I had to stand and watch or not even leave the house. As a child I was freer, and I resented losing that.
I miss the nice things about my land, but I’m conflicted because it never felt home. It’s a beautiful country, and I enjoyed its scenery. I miss the petrichor [the scent that arises when rain falls on dry ground], I miss the food. The fruits and vegetables are so much fresher. The richness of flavour and smells. For me, it is sensory memories rather than a sense of belonging. I love the nature, but the culture never felt comfortable.
Noor: My homeland means my roots; those two ideas are synonymous in my head. My land is where I’m from, but my home is the UK – land is land and home is home. Home is where I started and who I am at my core. It is where my early learning and figuring out life happened, and so for me, my roots will always be there. So much of me was created there, even being someone who sleeps in the day and wakes at night suits that society!
Fittoon: Yes, everything is open in the evenings, not just restaurants but malls. You must have felt that coming to the UK! I was so confused that everything closed early and only pubs and bars are open in the evening! And the long days stopped me sleeping – when it stays light, I think it must still be daytime!
Noor: Before coming to the UK, I had been to a lot of Islamic countries. I felt at home because of the shared Islamic background and because my family are from different countries, so I have a sense of connection to many places. As a family, we’d eat food and drinks from these different countries, so there was a sense of culture and family that was important to me.
When I claimed asylum, it was the hardest decision I’ve ever made. I started grieving long before I left, maybe five years, as I started to disengage from my religious faith. I was increasingly uncomfortable, and then realising it might be unsafe there. When you are in danger it is like leaving a burning house. In the moment, you are not thinking about your home, about the memories and the things you will lose, you just need to leave. Only once you’ve left can you start to process the loss and grief. And processing this has been so hard.
Fittoon: Yes, it isn’t just the loss of the land and the places, it is everything, identity, family, home. Now, smells, sounds, tastes, all trigger memories and suddenly I am back there, and the memories are there and alive, the feelings, situations, and people.
Noor: I feel I get attached to the places I stay in. Before I came to the UK, I would go back to previous homes I had lived in, and the memories. I attach my memories to places so much, and the phases of my life. The first flat I lived in when I came to the UK, I think about how I was a different person arriving and leaving.
I can’t go back to my land now, but I hope to one day. Before I can do that, there would need to be so many changes to make it safe for me. That is not happening, and I can’t see it happening any time soon. I follow the news to look for improvements, but so far there are none. Without fundamental change it just wouldn’t be safe.
Fittoon: I disconnected completely and never follow the news in my home country. I just don’t think about it unless something specific brings it to mind.
Noor: I follow the news from home more than when I lived there, because it is safe to do it from here. It was impossible to follow dissidents online when I lived there, but I can do it here. I enjoy the freedom of being able to do that and not worry about my online history. I also have a couple of cousins I’m in touch with.
Fittoon: I have no one to reminisce with and miss that. If I ever go home, I would eat, explore and enjoy the nice things; I would go as a tourist, and feel like a tourist. It would not be about friends and family, I’ve lost them. I can still visit my country if I wanted, but now the thought makes me anxious because of my safety. I will go when I have a British passport.
Noor: I believed fully in Islam growing up, I was devout. I even felt my own parents should do better! Losing my faith and my homeland means I’ve lost the sense of continuation. I’ve been forced to move and cut off from everyone, but it is also a complete change in my identity and core beliefs. It’s as if I’ve died and been reborn in a different life. I’m different, the people are different, this country is different, the rules are different. So much of what we take for granted have been lost to us. We are created where we’ve grown up, and having that completely taken away, including your identity, the way you dress, your expectations for life, the way you interact, it is like that person died and this is new one. Now, I can’t relate to the me that was, I struggle to understand me as a teenager!
Fittoon: That’s interesting, as some elements of me have gone, but not all. I never fitted in an Islamic society and challenged everything, which did not make me popular. I tried to fit in, but never felt part of it. My sisters are all believers, but I’ve never had that. I’ve never had a home where I felt I belonged, so I don’t miss it. I did Umrah [pilgrimage], as a last attempt to try and believe. I travelled to Mecca with a work colleague who was very religious, and it just all seemed too strange. It was amazing to see people from all around the world come together, but it was like I was observing something that didn’t make any sense to me.
Noor: I did Umrah, and it felt good. If you sincerely believe that you are connecting to the Creator of the universe, it feels upbuilding, and I did believe that. Now I miss some of those feelings.
Fittoon: My older sister was very devout, but they kicked me out of the mosque and madrassah because I kept talking and I was distracting others – ADHD saved me!
Noor: For me the UK is now home, not my land, but my home. It feels different as a home because other people don’t perceive it as my home. It isn’t just that other people make me feel an outsider for not being British, there is a lot to catch up on with culture and language, so I need to work at here feeling like home and not feeling out of place. I need to figure out how to move in the world again.
Fittoon: I feel the same and now we have to learn history and take an exam to be citizens!
Noor: Technically I’m stateless. I can’t use my home passport anymore. A passport is a document that says you are under the protection of that country, but I’m not under their protection now, so it is a useless piece of paper. I can’t even use it to prove my identity – I need to work out how to travel, how to prove my identity, even for things like volunteering!
When your home is a country that you are not a citizen of, there is always a fear of being removed. You keep doing everything by the book, following all the rules, but there is a fear, always, there that you will be kicked out.
Fittoon: Yes! It is hard to feel settled! But being in the UK is a chance to be myself. In my home country, I was only known as the sister or daughter of someone, but here, with my career, I’m able to be myself. I’ve lost my pension, my savings, some land I owned, but I have autonomy and safety.
Noor: Being stateless affects the way I think about land and home because it shows how fragile the idea is. I lost my home, my land, my roots, in a day. I think about when people get over-invested in their nationality, it can change overnight. Land, the idea of your homeland, whether it is where you are from or where you choose to live, is complicated!
Endnote
Umrah means pilgrimage to Mecca, Saudi Arabia, that Muslims can undertake at any time of the year, unlike the Hajj, which has specific dates in the Islamic lunar calendar.
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