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<p>Khadija Tijjani</p><div class="hCpZj6aq" style="clear:both;float:left;width:100%;margin:0 0 20px 0;"><script async src="https://pagead2.googlesyndication.com/pagead/js/adsbygoogle.js"></script>

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<p>The first day I was picked up by a hijabi Uber driver, I felt as if I had won a million dollars.</p>
<p>I had just finished writing a professional exam in downtown Edmonton and switched on my phone to call my husband. He was unable to pick me up at that time, so I decided to book Uber instead. It was a boundless joy for me when I clicked on the app and it matched me to a female driver!</p>
<p>Within 5 minutes, my driver, let&#8217;s call her Sister F, parked in front of the test centre where I was eagerly waiting to meet her.</p><div class="KE6YeuEq" style="clear:both;float:left;width:100%;margin:0 0 20px 0;"><script async src="https://pagead2.googlesyndication.com/pagead/js/adsbygoogle.js"></script>

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<p>With mutual excitement, we exchanged the best of greetings:<br />
&#8220;Assalam Alaykum. Are you Khadijah?&#8221;, she asked.<br />
&#8220;Wa&#8217;alaykumus salaam. Yes, it&#8217;s Khadijah&#8221;, I responded.<br />
I jumped into the front seat of the Hybrid Toyota Rav4 as she extended her hand for a firm handshake.</p>
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<p>Not only was it the first time I sat in that spot for an Uber ride, it was also the first time I was open to a conversation with any driver. Had it been a male driver, I would have pressed the &#8220;ignore&#8221; button like I always do. Once the driver attempts to have a conversation with me, I will just start making unnecessary phone calls to keep myself unavailable for small talks ð.</p>
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<p>I remember one of those days, when a Nigerian driver picked me and started telling me all the Nigerian news I didn&#8217;t send him. The guy was getting too emotional, hopping from Tinubu&#8217;s election to Nnamdi Kanu&#8217;s extradition and Buhari&#8217;s balablu&#8230; All I could say in my mind was &#8220;Ki lo wa kan mi bayii?&#8221;, while praying that I reach my destination in peace.</p>
<p>Anyways, back to Sister F, my newfound East African driver cum friend. The 22-minute drive began on a very pleasant note. We got to know so much about each other within that short period. She told me how she quit her former job because of her children and had to take up driving so that she could support herself. As a single mother in her late forties, things have been quite difficult but she tries her best to raise wholesome children.</p>
<p>While empathizing with her, I told Sister F that I was new to the city and looking for a good Muslim school for the kids. She advised me against the Muslim schools because most of them condone racist behaviours against black kids. She said her children left a particular school and moved to a public school because of this reason. I also informed her that my kids attended a public school before we moved to the city but I&#8217;m no longer comfortable with the kufritic agenda they&#8217;re pushing in those schools.</p>
<p>I thoroughly enjoyed the ride and wished it was a bit longer. Our connection happened so fast, and the small talk was much more relatable than one would have expected with a complete stranger. She pulled over at our parking spot where we had another 5-minute talk before we parted ways. We exchanged phone numbers and ended the meeting with another warm handshake.</p>
<p>As I walked back into the house, I thanked Allah for the opportunity to meet a fellow Muslimah and have deep conversations about life, family and deen. I also gained some insight into the struggles of single motherhood. Sis F might be seen as a strong independent woman, but it&#8217;s hard being a breadwinner especially in the Western world. I can only imagine how she usually feels when she picks up male customers; just like I would feel when I&#8217;m in the car with male drivers.</p>
<p>May Allah bless Sis F and grant her ease in all her affairs. Aameen.<br />
.</p>
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