My favourite photo booth picture

My favourite photo booth picture

It was 1997, during my second year at university, when my accidental interfaith girl gang and I – a Catholic, a Protestant, a Muslim and an atheist (plus her boyfriend at the time) – piled into a photo booth. We spotted the little selfie-kiosk during a spontaneous Saturday out in Staines – the closest fun town we could get to from our leafy Surrey campus.

The resulting picture captures a formative moment for me. I was navigating a different, sometimes challenging, identity as a new hijab wearer. Back at home, several people hadn’t exactly welcomed my decision. One grimaced, another called me a nun, a few asked if I was now a fundamentalist. Headscarves were rare in the late 90s, and here at university, I worried about how people might react. But, as I grappled with unsupportive reactions and snide remarks, the women in the picture were my rocks.

Dom, Abi, Hannah and I bonded right from freshers’ week. We studied classics and English literature between us and chatted over Tesco Value toast and tea until the early hours.

When I’d first moved into student halls, I felt out of place as I unpacked; finding a corner of a shared bathroom to hide my lota (basically a bidet, Indian style), which was actually a measuring jug. I was nervous about wearing my simple black hijab in a public setting for the first time. But, while I didn’t escape the odd uncomfortable remark from other students – once a guy in a lift grabbed hold of the end of my hijab and sneered, “What is this?”, another scoffed that I must know all about women’s rights – these three women took me for who I was from day one, measuring jug and all.

They carried me towards more confidence. They helped me step into a space where I could feel more rooted in my faith and myself. They often joined me for student Islamic society events – granted, they were mainly there for the food, but it also felt natural for my non-Muslim friends to be part of that world with me.

Meanwhile our uni house was known to have the best parties – anyone and everyone could join. There’d be bottles of booze in the kitchen, and when it was time to pray, I’d sneak off to my room, sticking a paper sign on my door saying, “Prayer in progress”, so my housemates knew not to barge in. Although one of them thought it would be hilarious to cross through the word “prayer” and scribble “smoking” instead. I keep that scrap of paper in my student diary to this day.

This humble picture is more than just a photo booth image. It’s a visual reminder of how these three women were a core part of my story. They helped me feel more certain of who I was. I don’t remember a time I have ever felt more safe.

This article first appeared in The Guardian on 6th November 2025. To view it click here.