It was 1998 and I was on my way to Lübeck, upon the invitation of Germany’s young social democrats – to witness the general elections and eventually, Gerhard Schröder’s defeat of Helmut Kohl. As both I and the Estonian social democrats were poor, I arrived with what I believe was a pretty shabby cargo ship. Most of my memories of that trip have faded, but I do recall that the border guards clearly thought I was an Eastern-European prostitute.

This didn’t make me as angry as it should have. Partly because I was more worried about getting into the country than about my reputation; partly because my feminist sensibilities weren’t yet fully formed; but mostly because I was 18 and a virgin at the time and found the suspicion pretty hilarious. That said, I felt ashamed and uneasy and I don’t think it’s a coincidence that this is the only aspect of the visit I can clearly remember today. The reason I bring it up is however not related to my late sexual development, but to the refugee crisis. This (the latter) is such a sensitive subject with so many nuances that I will refrain from activating the full rant mode, but allow me two thoughts.

I find it astonishing that many Estonians and our neighbours fail to see the parallels between how we were treated – and sometimes still are treated – by richer, older democracies, and how we are now treating refugees. And it astonishes me that while we are convinced that it’s our right to work in Finland, to study in UK, to do business in US, to live in France, to spend 3 months hanging out in Thailand, we deny the right of shelter to people fleeing war. Not to mention our scorn for people who are not facing certain death, but “just looking for a better life”. When I hear this from Estonians living in London, my capacity for empathy is entirely exhausted.

The two main conversations in Europe today are about terrorism and refugees and whether justified or not, the arguments about both tend to end up as discussions about Islam. I am an atheist and don’t have particularly warm feelings towards any of the institutionalised religions. But it’s obvious that my understanding of Christianity is much deeper than my knowledge of Islam. As an immigrant living in Brussels, it’s high time to make an effort to be more informed: if there is one thing I believe in life, it’s that more knowledge is better than less knowledge. If you feel something similar, here are four easy places to start:

1. Islam and the Future of Tolerance by Sam Harris and Maajid Nawaz. This is an easy, enlightening read, a write-up of a conversation between a Western atheist and a former Islamic fundamentalist. It asks if Islam can be the religion of peace, where radicals come from and what we can do to prevent this. It’s not comprehensive by any means, but that’s all well and good for our purposes here. I appreciate the idea of such a dialogue and the attempt to establish the playing field and maybe, if we are lucky, to find some common ground. I didn’t agree with everything in the book (mostly I disagreed with Harris), but it helped enormously with structuring my confused thinking about Islam. I now want to read Nawaz’s Radical as well.

2. Islamic History: A Very Short Introduction by Adam J Silverstein. This is a wonderful introduction to the history of Islam from the wonderful Oxford University Press series. It manages to be both academically rigorous and a joy to read. What makes it especially valuable in the current context is that it explains why and how the past of Islam is important for its present and future. In the same series, there is also an introduction to the Koran – a more technical book, but worth reading as well.

3. Laughing all the way to the Mosque by Zarqa Nawaz. If you don’t know anyone who’s Muslim and you’re more interested in what it means to be one, rather than Islam in the more abstract sense, this book could be a good entry point. The author is a Canadian comedian who created Little Mosque on the Prairie, the hit television show about the life of local Muslims. The book is funny and light and often insightful. I’m fully aware that it isn’t representative of most Muslim experience in the world, but one needs to start somewhere. And it might be helpful to start in a place where you don’t feel totally lost.

4. In the Shadow of the Sword by Tom Holland. I hesitated for a long time about including this examination of the origins of Islam. First of all, it isn’t a good starting point. Not because it’s difficult to get into – Holland is a great, witty writer – , but because Holland’s theories are controversial (not only for Muslims) and it’s best to confront them with at least some basic knowledge. It’s also not among his best works and I found him much stronger sketching broader trends – like the rise of monotheism – than on Islam specifically. The main reason it’s on the list is the conversation it sparked, the reactions and reviews that you can easily find on the Internet. And it’s still a fascinating book, despite the shortcomings.

5. The Bible. You didn’t see this coming, did you? Every time someone talks about the violence and backwardness of Islam, I recommend reading the Bible. Religions have changed and will continue to change. For why this is relevant and offers hope, see book no 1 on the list.

Enjoy all these with a cup of Omani tea and halva.