The athlete, in popular imagination, is often reduced to a universal image: sculpted by discipline, defined by endurance, and celebrated for strength. Yet for Muslim women, the pursuit of sport is rarely so straightforward. What appears to outsiders as a matter of competition is, in reality, a negotiation between devotion and ambition, cultural expectation and institutional policy. Islam encourages movement, but culture often restricts it; faith opens the door, while society places hurdles at the threshold. The simple act of stepping onto a pitch, court, or track becomes a quiet confrontation with history, prejudice, and visibility.
In an interview with Fuxma Media, Fauziyya Shuaib, a 20-year-old goalkeeper in Kaduna, Nigeria, rises for Fajr before heading to a two-hour practice in her hijab and long sleeves. “People stare, question, and sometimes laugh. But when I save opponents from scoring, it makes all the whispers fade,” she says. Her story is one of countless echoes across continents, where Muslim women navigate religious observance, societal scrutiny, and the relentless pursuit of athletic excellence.
The intersection of Islam and sport has always been layered. In the mid-20th century, women’s participation in public sports was rare in many Muslim-majority countries, constrained not by doctrine but by cultural interpretations of modesty and gender roles. Slowly, nations like Turkey, Indonesia, and Morocco began promoting women’s sport. Yet barriers persisted woven from expectations around domestic duty, the policing of femininity, and deeply entrenched social norms.
Saudi Arabia only permitted female athletes to compete internationally in 2012, when Sarah Attar ran the 800m at the London Olympics in her hijab and long sleeves. “There is now a generation of Saudi girls imagining themselves on the Olympic stage,” Attar reflected, underscoring how mere visibility can recalibrate cultural imagination. In Iran, women continue to negotiate restrictive dress codes in order to compete abroad, their struggles often invisible to audiences who see only the medal count, not the compromises behind it.
For decades, attire has been contested ground. Hijabs, long-sleeved jerseys, and loose fitting garments clashed with kits designed for speed and ease of movement. FIFA once banned hijabs, citing safety concerns; FIBA and the International Boxing Association issued similar restrictions. These regulations carried an implicit message: religious identity could be an obstacle to participation.
“I want every young person, regardless of religion, race, or gender, to know that anything is possible with perseverance,” said Ibtihaj Muhammad, the first U.S. Olympian to compete in a hijab. Her bronze medal in fencing at the 2016 Rio Olympics was both a personal triumph and a cultural watershed, proof that faith and excellence can not only coexist but thrive together.
Alongside Muhammad, athletes like Attar, Nassar, and Moroccan footballer Nouhaila Benzina who became the first player to wear a hijab at the 2023 Women’s World Cup continue to challenge stereotypes. “It was never about me. It was a message to all the girls who were told they couldn’t play,” Benzina said. Nassar echoed that sentiment: “My sport is part of who I am, and my faith is too. They aren’t separate things. They make me stronger.”
Their presence at the highest levels of competition has sparked conversations in countries where women’s sport was once peripheral or even forbidden. Visibility, in this sense, is not just symbolic, it is transformative.
Yet barriers endure. Prayer breaks, Ramadan fasting, and gender segregated training remain inconsistently accommodated across sporting institutions. For Muslim athletes, the month of Ramadan presents unique challenges: fasting from dawn to dusk while maintaining peak performance. Some leagues and coaches have begun to adapt, shifting sessions to evenings and providing nutrition support. In the WNBA, for instance, teams have introduced flexible schedules and tailored meals after sunset, a sign that faith is increasingly being recognized as integral to holistic athlete care.
At grassroots level, however, progress is patchier. Female-friendly facilities are scarce, and some federations continue to perceive modest attire as a limitation rather than a choice. Sponsorship remains another hurdle: without visibility, funding dries up; without funding, talent never flourishes.
Representation matters beyond individual medals. Each hijab on a podium or pitch is a challenge to the entrenched belief that strength and modesty are incompatible. Social media has amplified these stories, enabling athletes to bypass traditional gatekeepers. The hashtag #HijabiAthletes went viral, connecting young women from Cairo to Kuala Lumpur, Kaduna to Paris, weaving a virtual community of affirmation. The digital arena, in many ways, has become as critical as the physical one.
From the grassroots upward, change is taking root. Fauziyya Shuaib in Kaduna, Zeina Nassar in Berlin, young footballers in Indonesia all reflect a growing wave of determination. But their journeys underscore a broader truth: support structures matter. “We often focus on the athlete,” says Coach Habeeb, who manages a local club in Kaduna, in an interview with Fuxma Media. “But the parents, brothers, and male coaches who encourage them are just as important. When a father tells me he’s proud of his daughter for playing, it sends a message to the whole community that this is not only acceptable, but celebrated.”
Benzina’s World Cup appearance did not just normalize modest attire, it normalized Muslim women in sport on a global stage. Many now extend their influence beyond competition, mentoring younger players, launching initiatives, and building programs that merge faith with ambition. In Egypt, grassroots projects blend football training with cultural awareness, offering a model increasingly viewed as best practice in inclusive sports development.
The landscape is shifting. Policy reforms, commercial interest in modest sportswear, and the emergence of athletes like Nigerian sprinter Rahma Yusuf and Pakistan’s rising cricketers point to a widening pool of talent. With better infrastructure, consistent coaching, and amplified media coverage, Muslim women are poised to reach competitive levels previously inaccessible.
The next decade could witness their increased visibility across football, basketball, athletics, boxing, and even combat sports. But for this to happen, advocacy must remain relentless, institutions must evolve, and sponsors must invest.
Muslim women in sport are no longer anomalies; they are a movement. Their triumphs demonstrate that faith and athleticism are not adversaries but allies. Real inclusivity demands not token gestures but structural, cultural, and social transformation. Federations must adapt, communities must embrace, and media must amplify. When these forces converge, the next generation will compete freely not merely for medals, but for recognition, equality, and the right to dream without compromise.
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