Islam

 

These words were scribbled onto the outside wall of a mosque in San Francisco. The mosque is located in a rather sad/economically oppressed part of the city, on Jones Street a few blocks away from the Civic Center Bart station. The phrase on top is “asalaam alikum,” which in Arabic means “peace be unto you.” The scribble done in a different handwriting directly underneath reads “wa'alikum asalaam,” which is the response to asalaam alikum, and means “and peace be with you.” This is the nicest graffiti exchange that I have seen in while, and I liked it even more due to the where it was located. On a street populated with many homeless people (across the street there was a line of about 70 people waiting to be seen in the free clinic) it was like a little candle of hope, a flicker of beauty. To me, this is what all religions are about – the search for meaning in life, the purpose of life, knowing your inner self.  It is impossible to put down exactly in writing, but if you stand on the same street and see the same scribble, you will know what I mean.

So for the participant observation part of this anthropology project, I decided to take part in salat (prayers) at a mosque. Salat can also be done at home, but the man who I talked to as I followed him up to the third floor of the building (which is where the prayer room was located) said that for him it was more spiritually beneficial to pray among others. It was also very special to him because he brings along his three-year-old grandson. He has many memories of his own grandfather and father taking him to the mosque back in Egypt, where he was born. It is a way to keep family tradition alive in a new country, and also to keep strong his relationship with Allah/God. He says he looks forward to his visits to the mosque, and tries to go at least five times a week, especially on Fridays. When we finally get to the third floor, we part ways as he heads off towards the water fountain to purify himself. There is a shelf right outside of the Sister’s entrance where you are meant to leave your shoes. I take mine off, and then tiptoe over to the back part where there is one woman doing salat. Not knowing exactly what to, I sit quietly on the green and red carpeted floor and wait for more people to come. I see the man and his grandson walk in through the Brother’s entrance. The man stands, then bends over, and then prostrates himself on the ground. We all face the mihrab, which is a little niche in the wall that faces Mecca. To the right is the minbar, a sort of pulpit where the imam delivers Friday sermons, but that day (a Thursday) it was empty.  An old woman walks towards me, saying something in Arabic. I tell her I don’t speak Arabic, and she mimes that I need to cover my hair. She pulls a tan headscarf out of her bag and tells me “five dollars.” I don’t have any cash on me, so instead I wrap a blue and pink scarf that I had been wearing around my neck over my head. She looks at me, and I must have looked funny or not have had it wrapped properly, so she took pity on me and lent me the tan square scarf. She spoke only a few English words, but we were able to determine that she was from Morocco. “Islam, very good, very good,” she tells me. “Thank you, Allah.” We wait a little bit longer. Many more men come, and a few more women. Then the imam, who sits in the very front row of men, sings out a verse in Arabic from the Qur’an. All the women stand up and hold hands in a line, just as the men do in front of us. I copy the woman next to me. We put our hands up, then lean over, and then bend down to the ground and say “Allahu Ahkbar,” which means God is great. This is repeated many times. During the moments when we stand, we hold our hands in a cupped position as a long verse is spoken in Arabic. This lasts for about 20 minutes. When it is over, some people sit calmly a little bit, some read from their Qur’an, and some slowly drift over to the shoe shelf and leave. The old woman from Morocco tells me to come back tomorrow for Friday prayers. “Now, you talk to Imam,” she says and leads me over to a room just outside of the prayer hall. The imam is a very relaxed man, happy to talk to me about Islam. (The conversation that we had is recorded in the next blog entry). After we finish our conversation, I walk back to the Bart station and think about the experience I have just had. I find myself remembering the Santeria article that we read for homework a while back, the one that talks about using your body in new ways to create meaning. Lowering myself onto the floor and saying God is Great is something that I have never done. I have been taking Ballet classes for several years, and on the dance floor you are meant to hold yourself in a royal way. People watch you and clap for you. But salat gives you a feeling of humbleness. As one lowers themselves to the ground they are reminded that there is a higher power than humans, something grander and more beautiful than anything we have ever seen. Lowering oneself is a reminder to submit to the will of God in all aspects of life. It was a very beneficial experience, and I have learned much from it. I recommend everybody try it at least once. 

Shokran to all the individuals who made me feel welcome to visit.