On Wednesday afternoon, I set off on my standard weekly shopping trip into Exeter city centre. There was nothing remotely extraordinary about the tasks on my to-do list, but this week I was doing them dressed in a niqab.

I wanted to see for myself, and show other students, the huge difference in the way non-Muslims and Muslims are treated, and the extent of negativity innocent Muslims are met with on a daily basis.

My housemate, Gemma, helped me assemble my niqab, which was a lot harder than it looks!

At the bank

Reluctantly, I withdrew the last pennies of my student loan from the ATM and went inside. Usually I can’t escape being pestered by the over keen employees as soon as I set foot inside the door, but this time the two representatives blatantly saw me and purposely hung back.

I had to approach them to ask for some help, and when one of them obliged, she was clearly wary of me and made no attempt at small talk, as employees in that branch have always done before.

Suspicious looks galore as I withdrew money from an ATM

Condom shopping

An essential part of student life, yet an activity I was sure would raise eyebrows when carried out by a niqabi, I felt quite nervous entering the pharmacy.

A man walking towards me swerved into another aisle, one cashier glared at me for several minutes, the woman next to me on the escalator pointedly clutched her handbag tighter as she noticed my niqab.

The cashier who served me failed miserably at hiding her astonishment when she realised what she was about to sell me.

Shock, a female student being prepared and buying her own condoms! Nah, somehow I don’t think she was startled because of my gender – rather my suggested religion.

My request for a photo in front of Exeter’s finest landmark was met with perplexion.

Playing tourist

At the cathedral, I looked around for someone to take my photo. Finding a willing volunteer was more difficult than I’d anticipated.

I know locals aren’t usually too keen to interact with students anyway, but in my niqab, barely anyone would even make eye contact with me.

Eventually I approached a lady and asked her politely to take my photo. She seemed extremely confused but agreed.

Guildhall Shopping Centre

Probably the most intimidated I felt was during an encounter I had with a gang of Exeter College students, who we all know can be menacing at the best of times.

One of the girls spotted me walking towards them and called to her friends, “behind ya, behind ya!”

I looked directly at the group just as they all turned towards me and burst into devilish cackling laughter.

“I’m seeing more and more of those Muslims in Exeter,” said a middle aged woman to her husband. Looking me up and down and speaking fairly loudly, she made no effort to hide her disdain.

A passing teenage girl made eye contact with me, then turned to her friend and uttered, “Oh my God.” She didn’t elaborate, but her friend knew it was a reaction to me.

An elderly lady glanced at me and did a double take.

“Fuck off,” she whispered under her breath. Charming.

This man craning his neck to stare at me was one of the milder reactions I received.

I’d been in town wearing my niqab for just over half an hour when I decided I’d had enough.

I didn’t want to be alone anymore, so I met up with my friends. They asked me how I’d found the experience; I told them it was traumatising. I hadn’t realised, but one friend noticed that I was shaking.

It terrifies me that genuine hijabis and niqabis have to endure these disapproving sighs, menacing glares and prejudiced jeers, every single time they leave their home. And the fear I felt wearing my niqab is a feeling I never want to experience again.