East London is a city where the sea is restless – and so are we, the women who refuse to be silent. Every wave that crashes along this coastline reminds me of our persistence. Here, I work with a feminist organisation that unsettles the status quo. And here, as a Muslim woman, I’ve learned that our greatest challenge isn’t poverty or violence – it’s the backlash against women who dare to demand change.
Backlash takes many forms. Sometimes it’s loud – mockery, slander, the accusation that I’ve become “too Western.” Other times, it’s quiet – the polite silences, the whispered doubts, the doors that quietly close. When I speak out against gender-based violence, I’m told I dishonour men. When I fight for girls’ education, I’m accused of rejecting tradition. When I create spaces for survivors, I’m called rebellious.
But what they call rebellion, I call faith in action.
Because my Islam does not silence me – it strengthens me.
The Qur’an itself commands justice:
“O you who believe! Stand out firmly for justice, as witnesses to Allah, even if it be against yourselves, your parents, or your kin…”
(Qur’an 4:135)
This verse is my anchor. It reminds me that justice is not optional – it is a divine obligation. To resist oppression is not betrayal; it is obedience to God.
I grew up surrounded by strong Muslim women – mothers, aunties, teachers – who held their communities together while battling unseen walls. Their strength was quiet, often unacknowledged. When I began naming that strength for what it was – feminism – I realised our resistance didn’t start in conferences or policy papers. It began in our homes, our kitchens, our mosques – in the ways our mothers refused to give up.
When I teach young girls that knowledge is their right, I remember that the Qur’an’s first command was “Read.” Education is not rebellion. It is worship. It is survival.
In the girls’ clubs we run across East London – in Duncan Village, Mdantsane, Amalinda – I see young women finding their voices. Some whisper their stories. Others shout their truth. All of them are brave. Each one reminds me why I must keep speaking, even when it’s hard.
Because backlash doesn’t come for what is weak – it rises to crush what is powerful. And that tells me we’re doing something right.
My veil is not a cage. It is a banner.
My feminism is not foreign. It is rooted in the Qur’an.
And my place in this city – in marches, classrooms, and boardrooms – is proof that Muslim women are not waiting to be rescued. We are leading.
The ocean outside my window is relentless, returning wave after wave. That’s how I see our struggle. The backlash may try to knock us down, but like the tide, we keep rising – stronger each time – until resistance becomes revolution.
So, I call on you – whether you’re a parent, teacher, faith leader, or simply a citizen – to stand with us. Teach your daughters their worth. Challenge harmful traditions. Hold leaders accountable. Refuse to be silent.
Because the struggle against backlash is not mine alone – it’s ours.
And together, we can turn resistance into a new future for Africa’s women.
When the backlash rises, so do we… Muslim women leading change, grounded in faith and courage.
Muslim feminist and proud.
#PushForward4Equality
(Written by Farida Myburgh, Muslim Feminist and Gender Advocate, writing in her personal capacity.)