Dusty Wentworth

The Islam I Knew vs. The Islam I See in Britain If I could return to any point in my life, it would not be the easy days—it would be the formative ones. The hot days. The strange days. The days when everything smelled of jet fuel, dust, and possibility. It would be Saudi Arabia, from 1973 to 1984. A long way from Suffolk, but nowhere has ever felt more like home. The Islam of My Childhood As a boy, I grew up in Saudi Arabia and later Oman. My family were not Muslim. My father had a deep love of the Middle East and, out of respect for our host nations, he made sure we were schooled in Islamic religion and culture so that we could show proper understanding. It was never about conversion; it was about respect. Back then, Islam was not simply a religion observed at certain moments; it was the framework of life itself. The call to prayer rolled across the desert air, marking the rhythm of the day. Mosques stood not as political statements but as anchors of community. At King Kha...