I was the only person in my grade who wore the hijab. Whenever we had high school swimming carnivals, staying home to work on my assignments seemed to be the most hassle-free option.
Back then, before modesty fashion was a multi-million dollar industry and long before model made history wearing a burkini on the front cover of Sports Illustrated, I considered burkini designs to be an eyesore and wouldn't be caught dead in one.
When we’d go on family holidays to the mid-north coast, I went to great lengths to hunt surf shops to curate an incognito modesty surf look wearing ordinary clothes and would avoid wearing a burkini by matching a Billabong rashie with three-quarter board shorts.
Yusra clutching her first learn to swim award. Source: Supplied
But it didn't always work. At one swimming carnival, I was pulled aside by a pool guard on a hot day when we went to cool down and splash about in the kid’s swimming area. The lifeguard approached me to tell me that I wasn’t supposed to be swimming in non-lycra material.
This wasn’t the first time I felt policed at the swimming pool. I remember going for a swim during a family trip to Egypt.
Writer, Yusra Metwally. Source: Swim Sisters
In the change rooms, I put on my special blue rash shirt with floral printed sleeves and my black swimming shorts. They smelt of the chlorine at Sydney's Greenacre pools. To my dismay, the Egyptian swim teacher took a look at me, pointed at my classmates, and told me that I couldn’t swim in "those clothes”. She pointed to what I should be wearing, as modelled by my classmates who all wore one-piece swimsuits. It was a swimsuit or bust. No shorts or rashies allowed.
I was dumbfounded, disappointed and distraught. Yet, I didn’t have the confidence to argue against the stern teacher, nor did I have a strong enough grasp of the Arabic language to string my thoughts into a sentence. I sat on a wooden bench as I watched my classmates have the time of their lives. The splashes of water that came near my foot was as close to the water as I was going to get.
I cried to my mother when I arrived home about the unfairness I had experienced. I learned a valuable lesson about escalating concerns about unfair experiences. My mum organised to meet with the headmaster as she argued my case and successfully disproved the "hygiene" argument, telling the principal my swimwear was recommended for children in Australia because it provided adequate UV protection.
All these layers of political complexities surrounding what to wear while swimming as a Muslim woman who chose to wear the hijab meant that I was most comfortable swimming when I didn’t need to think about it. I felt I could literally let my hair down at women’s only swim spaces – at pool parties at friends' houses or women’s swim times available at select pools. Discovering the McIver’s Baths for women in Coogee in my 20s was incredible, melding the best of both worlds – the ocean and the pool.
The Swim Sisters in action. Source: Swim Sisters
It wasn’t until France introduced a controversial burqini ban in 2017 that I realised the impact of feeling self-conscious and how much fearing being potentially identifiable as a Muslim women in a modesty suit had prevented me from being the water baby I was. In response, I started the Swim Sisters group. With the support of a group of women with me, I acquired the confidence to embrace the beaches and iconic ocean and swimming pools Sydney had to offer.
Not long after the group launched, mainstream companies began offering slick and streamlined variations of full body suits. It provided overdue validation that a body suit is simply another option. It gives me great joy when I see versions of this suit being embraced by non-Muslim women (and men) who choose to wear it simply out of choice and the benefit of added coverage it offers from the harsh Australian sun.
For three consecutive years, the Swim Sisters team has participated in the MS 24 Hour Mega Swim - an ocean swim fundraiser at the Sydney Olympic Park Aquatic Centre. It is the same pool Ian Thorpe set world records at the Sydney 2000 Olympics, wearing his iconic full bodysuit.
Muslim women's group Swim Sisters on the beach. Source: Swim Sisters
It is our hallmark swimming event. We rigorously plan and train for it and ensure adequate food, pop-up beds and water are supplied, as we tag team to keep swimming through the 24-hour marathon period.
Yusra and the Swim Sisters team at the MS Swim marathon. Source: Supplied
In 2018, our first Ramadan experience of the swim, former Olympian David Kowalski swam a few laps with us thanks to the help of our swim coach who drew him in.
We happily swam through the night and as dawn was about to break, I jumped out of the pool and sculled my caffeine, while hydrating with Berocca and water before the Fajr Adhan played on our phones, marking the beginning of the new fasting day.
The joy experienced at the event would often fill me with wonder and regret at my adolescent years missing out on swimming.
Yusra and the swim sisters team. Source: Supplied
I loved the MS night marathon because it felt like a swimming carnival crossed with a slumber party. The swim was my way of making up for lost time. I could relive the childhood excitement I missed out on.
Whether it's swimming with a sausage sizzle and in speedos, or in a bodysuit munching charcoal chicken, there are many ways to be an Aussie water baby. It's taught me that sometimes you have to find creative ways to centre yourself, and fight to expand to make a new mainstream to include a diversity of bodies, shapes, sizes, cultures and ways of being.
The key? Jumping in and being fully yourself.
Yusra Metwally is a policy advisor, community diversity health advocate and solicitor. She started Swim Sisters team in 2016. You can follow Yusra on Twitter at Follow the Swim Sisters on Instagram and on .
This article is part of the SBS Emerging Muslim Women writers' series, edited by Sarah Malik. The series will expand to include men and male-identifying writers in 2021. If you have a pitch contact Sarah on [email protected].
