The Signal
This feature was my final project in journalism school. The full story is five sections long. I’ve uploaded the three of those sections here so you can get to know some of my feature writing.
The Blue Jays game
Jerome Clare wasn’t paying attention when the Toronto Blue Jays played the Baltimore Orioles on July 3, 1996. People usually dread workplace team-building trips, but Clare was beyond excited for his, and not for the baseball.
After asking a coworker the origin of her name, Clare found himself apologizing. This was, evidently, a poor choice of ice breaker; his coworker said it was a rude thing to ask. He clarified. In his hometown of Sackville, Nova Scotia, people said whatever was on their mind.
Clare loves asking questions — lots of them — especially to strangers. It’s easy to answer Clare, a man with a kind face and full beard who laughs at all the right times. Clare listens earnestly, and it’s clear he adores the sound of other people’s voices. He has to. Sound is how he tells people apart. Clare has been completely blind since birth.
Clare was born blind to Irish Catholic parents in Newfoundland — and looks it. His hair has a slight ginger tinge and his family name is spelled like Ireland’s County Clare. The family moved to Halifax so Clare could attend the School for the Blind. When he started public school in grade 3, Clare learned that most of his friends were African Nova Scotian when a teacher said they probably got along because of a “different-embrace-different kind of thing.” Clare couldn’t see what made Black people different and started learning about Black culture and history. That’s how he eventually learned about Malcolm X and hip hop.
Clare first encountered the name “Allah” when reading The Autobiography of Malcolm X. As a teenager in Sackville, Clare would lean out of his bedroom window, radio antenna extended to pick up CKDU, Dalhousie University’s radio station, who played hip hop. Over the airwaves, he heard “Allah” again and again, strengthening his curiosity.
So, when his coworker said yes, her name was Arabic, Clare asked, “Are you Muslim?” By that point, Clare had been reading about Islam for years and wanted to start practicing. The two began a sincere conversation. For every question Clare asked, his coworker answered. Clare was thrilled, not because the Blue Jays won.
Later that night, in their workplace common room, Clare converted to Islam.
The converts’ dinner
Across a dozen tables, converts trade conversation starters for talking about Islam in the workplace. One woman decorates her office for Islamic holidays; another leaves chocolates on coworkers’ desks. The converts don’t want to be misunderstood. A 2020 survey by the International Civil Liberties Monitoring group, a coalition representing 45 Canadian advocacy groups, found 52 per cent of Canadians thought Muslims “can only be trusted ‘a little,’ or ‘not at all.’”
At a mosque in Halifax’s North End, fifty converts gather for dinner. English translation Qurans and pamphlets lay on a corner table. The organizers encourage taking one home. The mosque wants converts connected to the community.
Nobody pauses when the doors swing open. Volunteers pull trolleys stacked with deli containers, putting salads, chicken and rice, and hibiscus juice on every table. No one reaches for the food. Almost everyone here has not eaten since before sunrise.
Muslims observe Ramadan, the ninth month of the Islamic lunar calendar, by fasting. For up to 30 days, from sunrise to sunset, Muslims across the world abstain from food and water. You can’t avoid the feelings of hunger and thirst. That’s the point. Fasting intends to foster empathy for the less fortunate and gratitude for what one already has. Every day, the fast breaks at sunset with a glass of water, date fruit, and a meal. In March 2025, Nova Scotia’s Muslims fasted 13 hours a day. (In 2014, Ramadan fell in July. That fast lasted 16 hours a day.)
While waiting for sunset in Halifax, few converts look out the window or check the time. They’re busy talking about how conversion changed their lives. The converts tell each other to be kind, find allies and know their rights.
Women remind each other that in Canada, wearing a hijab is a constitutional right. Quebec passed Bill 21 in June 2019, which prohibited religious symbols in the workplace including crosses, yarmulkes — and hijabs. In 2022, Halifax Regional Council passed a motion opposing Bill 21 and officially reaffirmed religious freedom in Halifax.
Despite legal protections, the converts remain nervous about expressing their faith. A 2023 Department of Justice study study found that hate crimes killed more Muslims in Canada than any other G7 country. The same study says in 2021, hate crimes targeting Muslims increased by 71 per cent. In response, the federal government appointed a Special Representative on Combatting Islamophobia in 2023, who aims to help governments address Islamophobia by training public servants and improving hate crime reporting measures.
In 2025, Muslims in Canada have to contend with heightened – and possibly growing – uncertainty. In March 2025, the New York Times reported the Trump administration was considering a 41-country travel ban. The move echoes 2017’s “Muslim travel ban.”
The call to prayer begins and everyone hushes. The sun has set. Everyone reaches for small sips of water and fruit, but don’t start their meals. That comes after praying. For now, the converts are quiet, listening to the call to prayer. It’s a reminder of their faith — and why they’re willing to fear being misunderstood.
Mecca
The city smelled like cumin, cardamom and coriander. The smell came from street food vendors and carried on desert air, hot and thick with the breath of thousands of people.
Clare hopes he never forgets the smells and sounds of Mecca. It took three flights, several buses and countless hours in airport customs for Clare to begin his February 2001 pilgrimage to Mecca, the holiest city in Islam.
Mecca was loud. All Muslims (if able to) visit Saudi Arabia on a pilgrimage at least once in their lifetime. In 2001, according to the Saudi government, 1.9 million people completed pilgrimage to Mecca. That many people created a dense noise, the kind of human rumbling you’d associate with spectators before a baseball game. Clare loved the sound. “It’s like a mosh pit for your spirit.”
The call to prayer was even louder than the crowd. Clare heard the testimony of faith through the grand mosque’s loudspeaker, surrounded by thousands of people. Between pauses, he could hear the call echo off marble walls. It filtered through the city’s mosques, calling worshippers to pray together.
Clare thinks about the call to prayer in Mecca almost every day. He still hears Mecca in his dreams.
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