WHEN Hasun asked me to marry him he explained that as he was Muslim I would be expected to convert to his religion. It was 2001 and we had been together only around six months With one dead husband behind me and not being a big fan of marriage particularly, the prospect of being married and becoming a Muslim at that, did not appeal one bit.

Over the months we spent a lot of time talking. He explained to me that he would not have been a Muslim had he not been born to a Muslim mother, despite this, the Islamic customs and beliefs were very deeply ingrained within him whether he was conscious of them or not.

I explained to Hasun that I had my own individual spiritual point of view and that, although I was from England, I wasn’t a Christian. I said that if it made him and his family happy I would convert by saying the words but in my heart I remained the same person – a strong believer in a Higher Consciousness but never a Muslim.

We talked a lot about what he needed from me in terms of his religious views, it included not eating pork (which I had stopped doing when we got together), covering up and dressing appropriately when I visited his family and, if I wanted to, fasting during Ramadan.

He accepted that in my heart I could never be Muslim and we both agreed that to his family we would present the image of a Muslim couple but we would continue to drink, smoke and do whatever we did when we were away from the village. Not being a good Muslim was something that Hasun lived with, albeit subconsciously.

We had talked about being married but had not discussed a date. I didn’t think anything of it when Hasun came to me one day and asked me to write and learn some Arabic words phonetically on a piece of paper.

I came home from teaching one day and found the paper on my laptop and when on another day I absent mindedly moved it, it appeared again. I did learn the words but I had no idea when we would get married and Hasun never mentioned a time but I knew that he wanted to do it fairly soon. I believed that Hasun loved me. I also knew the village was putting a bit of pressure on him.

On 20 December 2002 we got ready to go to his cousin Mangsot’s wedding in the village. I spoke no Thai as Hasun’s English was so great. As I couldn’t really communicate with the villagers, the trips to the village quickly became boring for me once the initial excitement of the cultural experience wore off. I would usually take a book or sleep or play with Hasun’s nieces and nephews.

It was not unusual for the locals to gawp at us out of curiosity even after we had been together a few years. Hasun was the only person in his village with a foreign partner.

We arrived in the village and the party was well underway. As Muslims don’t drink there was none of the loud thumping music and free-flowing whiskey that occurs at other kinds of Thai gatherings. Today of course Hasun was a good, demur, Muslim man.

Part the way through the day Hasun called me over to the wooden Thai house that belonged to one of his family. I asked him what he wanted but he just walked ahead and I followed. I nervously walked up the wooden steps and into the room. I was shocked as I was greeted by the male elders from the village. I quickly scanned the room and in the corner I saw the women, heads covered and dressed in white. I remember whispering. ‘What’s happening Hasun?”