Dhugal Gardner Cultural Immersion

Cultural immersion.

On Friday, June 8th I went to Friday prayer at the Islamic Center Al-Furqan with Hamad. Going with Hamad certainly did reduce some anxiety; I would’ve been completely lost going alone. So yes, I did take a bit of an easy way out but the experience was compelling all the same.

Before actually going, I did some online research on proper mosque etiquette. I wanted to blend in as much as possible. Traditionally, it is proper to wear white, and no shorts. Shoes must be taken off before entering the mosque. During the sermon and prayer, you should not talk and you must look straight ahead. Easy enough.

I picked Hamad up and we headed to the mosque. I wore a white button down and tan coloured corduroys, and he dressed similarly. He told me to follow his lead. As we pulled up, and saw the Muslim faithful getting out of their cars (fathers with their sons, scruffy college kids and the elderly alike), I felt like a spy infiltrating an enemy camp, or an explorer approaching a native tribe.  I was calm on the outside yet I became overtly conscious as my adrenaline pumped. The entrance way was crowded with people taking off their shoes (racks were provided). We walked into the main chamber and sat on the floor, when shortly after the Imam started speaking from a pulpit located in the east corner of the room.

I must preface this next part with an explanation of my own ideals: I do not believe in a god and have strong feelings against the institution of religion. I have only stepped into a church two or three times before. Over the course of the sermon (in English thankfully), I found myself vacillating between the part of objective observer and frustrated critic, which I know is not the point of this exercise. I will therefore withhold my thoughts and feelings on the sermon-about lust, homosexuality, sodomy, and masturbation-of which I cannot comment on without projecting my own views.

Traditional garb 

The prayer following the sermon was much more pleasant. For this part everyone stood up, shoulder to shoulder, and someone other than the Imam led the prayer. The prayer was in Arabic, and was very lyrical. I followed everyone’s lead in the different positions of prayer: standing with head bowed, bent over with hands on knees, kneeling back on the feet and finally, the well known crouch with he forehead and nose on the ground towards Mecca. All the kneeling down and standing up made me light headed, which sort of added to the altered state of mind I was beginning to experience.  We stood shoulder to shoulder, breathing as one, the hymn washing over us. I felt a calmness that I don’t think I’ve ever felt.

The last part of the ordeal was a social affair. After the prayer, we had left the mosque to stand out front on the grassy knoll, putting our shoes back on in the process. Everyone, silent until now, greeted each other warmly, and I was introduced to some of the guys our age, some from CIES. It was good to see some familiar faces.

Hamad and I

I took away a couple of things from the experience, one being the spirituality of it all. The prayer was in essence a group meditation, at least for me. The second thing I took away was the absence of women. Women are not required at Friday prayer, and if they do come, they pray in a separate room, with speakers projecting the very same sermon the men listen to. What struck me was that if the Imam goes on a rant about sexuality, the men and women are separated. Furthermore, the majority of women are at home. This break in the dialogue strikes me as problematic, but what can you do?