Synopsis

When Ailsa Keppie puts on the hijab for the first time, it solidifies her commitment to her new, chosen religion. She gives up the lights and action of the circus for the position of wife and mother, learns Arabic, and moves to Morocco.

A new mother living in a strange country, under foreign rules, Ailsa experiences isolation and racism, as well as romance and sisterhood, in her quest to fit in with her new community. She welcomes another wife into her marriage hoping to experience the peace and joy of a pious life. As the story progresses, cracks appear in her relationships. Things are not as blissful as Ailsa would have others believe. We are drawn into her inner struggle, often seeing the folly of her choices, but championing her to prevail. Torn between her inner voices of duty, shame, longing, and hope, she is determined to find the light that will get her through darkening times.

Ailsa’s story is easily recognizable by women who have dimmed their light in order to survive. For any woman who has faced similar constraints of marriage, religion, or culture, Ailsa’s story will help bring clarity and a sense of knowing she is not alone.

This is the story of a woman struggling to reclaim her own power and identity after making life-altering decisions at the age of twenty-five. By the Light of the Crescent Moon is Keppie’s eighteen-year odyssey that begins when she dons a burka for the first time and truly commits to embracing her husband’s culture. The more she tries to find herself in her new role, the more she loses who she is and becomes enveloped by the all-consuming nature of her new life.

Keppie wrote her memoir after returning to Canada as a way to process what was a difficult period in her life after she talked to friends and family about her experience and they wanted to know more about it– why she became a Muslim. Why she wore a burka. How did it feel? How could she move to Morocco, so far away from family and friends? What was it like for her husband to have another wife? She realized that it was an unusual experience and people wanted to know more about it. She also felt a need to go back and find meaning from the struggle she’d had over those years. Uncertain of why she converted in the first place but remembering the draw to Islam as part of finding a sense of belonging. Putting on hijab meant that suddenly she was a member of a community. She remembers it being a spiritual connection entwined in a love story, which made it all the more difficult for her to get out.

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Guest Post

How the voice in my head became a character in my memoir

Ailsa Keppie, author, By the Light of the Crescent Moon

We all have them, at least I believe we do, those voices in our heads. Sometimes we call one of them the Inner Critic, or sometimes a voice is reminiscent of our mother’s voice, or a teacher from the past. The idea of using one of these voices as a character in my book came about as I was studying about the effects of trauma. The idea was put forth that we sometimes split off parts of ourselves and create these separate ‘voices’ in our own head, as a way of staying safe when the world seems overwhelming.

My particular voice that I chose was along the lines of an inner critic. This voice wanted me to be perfect or at least really good at whatever I was doing and got really nasty if I wasn’t living up to these standards. The desire to excel at whatever I was doing was a pattern laid down early on in my life. It was a way of ensuring I would be accepted and praised by parents, teachers and other grown-up people whom I looked to for validation and self-worth.

The fact that this striving to be the best often meant sacrificing my desires and pleasure in life became a larger and larger issue as the story progressed. Until I finally broke down and realized I would never live up to this unrealistic ‘voice’ and even if I did, it would not make me happy.

When I began writing in earnest, a few years ago, I felt that this voice was such a big component of and a reason that the storyline moved forward in the way that it did. I allowed the voice to have a persona in my mind. I could sense the tone of voice in which it spoke, the gender, the look of the voice if it was personified. I could describe its qualities, just like a real person.

Finally, giving the voice a fuller personality and body in my imagination allowed me to play with it and because it could be imagined outside of my own self, I could find humour in engaging with the voice. It became less in control of me, you could say.

The voice became more complex for me as I worked with it. It was not strictly critical, sometimes it would whisper quietly that for my own good I should do this or that. Sometimes it seemed almost loving.

I believe many of us can relate to these voices in our heads, although we don’t often give them a chance to really speak out. For me, allowing my inner voice to speak as a character, allowed me to relate to it in a healthier way. It no longer controlled my emotions or actions. I could listen to it and give it consideration without allowing it to rule me. This turned out to be a surprising benefit of writing my story. I have been able to integrate my own mean voice and to realize why it’s there.

I hope others might find this character similar to something they recognize in themselves and perhaps can find the space to allow their own unheard voices come to the surface, be heard, and put in their proper places. I have even found love for my inner voice in a new way after writing my book, gratitude even. One never knows where their characters will come from when writing a story. I’m glad one of mine came from inside my own mind.

About the Author

Ailsa is a lifelong student of self-awareness and spiritual connection. She finds expression of her personal view on life and relationships through writing, coaching, and working with the body. Expanding the feeling of aliveness both in herself and the people she comes into contact with is something she finds enriching and fulfilling.

In her younger days, Ailsa desperately sought fulfillment and inner peace. She studied music, science, dance, and the performing arts in an attempt to find her place and a way to contribute to the world. During this time of expansion and exploration, there was an underlying fear. Fear that she was not enough, fear of not being perfect, and a fear of being seen. At the age of twenty-five, these fears consumed her and she retreated into Fundamentalist Islam, and a polygamous marriage. She started wearing a burka in an effort to regain some sense of herself. Over the years, as she nursed her mother-in-law and raised four daughters, the containment of her chosen life became too constricting and she began to wonder if this path was truly the one for her. Finally, the overwhelming desire to once again be seen in the wider world prevailed and she left her life in Morocco to return home to Canada.

She continued to raise her daughters on her own and spent a decade learning and practicing the healing arts, which has finally led to a readiness to share her story, from a place of self-knowing. Through the process of diving deeply into the religion of Islam and living that way of life for many years, she has learned to embody the diversity of another culture as well as the ‘way of peace’ that is Islam. Ailsa continues her work these days with somatic coaching, teaching, and writing. She focuses on healing relationships—with ourselves, others, and the planet.

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