As a French Muslim woman you may find
yourself in unwanted and uncomfortable situations more than you’d want, especially
when you are out there, surrounded by people who ignore what the practice of
your faith requires. I guess that’s fine, you just learn how to juggle it.
But really, you just shouldn’t feel like
that when you are going to your local mosque. Well, if you are lucky enough
to have one not too far from your place of residence that has enough room and accepts women.
It was a day of joy and celebration; it was
Eid al-Adha 2012. It’s on the 10th day of Dhul Hijjah, the latest
month of the Islamic year, the month of Hajj. Eid al-Adah is not a surprise
event, where you only know for sure it is happening the night before like Eid al-Fitr. You have 9 days to prepare
it, to make your mosque ready to welcome the abundant rush of worshippers.
I don’t really go to my local mosque.
I usually attend the one in the next big city because I love the Imam there.
But, when it comes to celebrations, early morning celebrations during a weekday,
with the thick and hectic traffic you can get, I make the strategic choice to
attend the local mosque (yeah the mosque is local but still a 15 to 20 minutes
drive away from my place in a fluid traffic).
I arrived at the mosque 5 minutes before
prayer, yeah, I had hoped to arrive before, but I had underestimated the traffic
and was surprised to see the council had started roadwork right on the route
that is usually considered a shortcut to avoid the busy, annoyingly slow moving
city centre.
Our only local mosque is still under
construction. Well, the main part is done, but it’s reserved for men. So women
are always staying in the old original building of the site: a old house used as storage for all sorts of things (including women). It’s been like that for a while and
I’ve been used to it. Consequently, I was not annoyed about our praying
conditions.
But, there was a large flow of women, way
more that for the previous Eid. It’s nice, heart-warming to see that many
sisters… expect there was not enough room and it was raining so there was no
way we could pray outside, and no one had actually thought of clearing enough
space indoors just in case…
Women were agglutinated at the entrance of
the house, trying to get in the main room. As we were not moving, one lady
called me saying there was room upstairs. I climbed up, following her
and accompanied by another woman and her son. We arrived upstairs, in a room that
was definitely not supposed to welcome us. Low ceiling, upside-down tables, chairs,
wheelchairs, an old wooden cupboard, piles of outdated computer towers and all
sort of mats, old and dirty pieces of rugs (which I suspected to be leftovers
from the men’s area), and plastic mats looking like the ones we normally use
outdoors, and to give the finish touch, a broken plastic clock hanging down the
wall. As I was helping to clear out and lay the dirty pieces of rugs supposed to welcome our foreheads and noses, I really felt like I was up in
somebody’s attic.
The small attic was quickly filled by
dozens of women, I was pushed at the back of the room. I prayed my greeting to the mosque… attic, with a lot of
animation and movement around me as well as some head to butt action, pushing me back further, until I was completely stuck my back against a pile of chairs. Needless
to say it was real hard to focus.
We had been sitting down for about 5 min
when one of the ladies spoke up asking how we would know when the prayer would
start… Yes…Ummm... None of us had thought of that. There were no speakers in the attic
and the only window had a brick wall vis-à-vis, we couldn't hear a thing. Yeah, we had no clue what was going
on. We couldn’t hear the men chanting and the takbir truly is the best part
about Eid prayers… Once we slowly came to
realised we were completely ostracised, some women started to get up and leave.
At that moment, I felt irritated and tears
pooled in my eyes. It was supposed to be a special moment, supposed to make you
feel belonging to your community, a yearly moment of worship amongst your brothers
and sisters in Islam that helps you feel less lonely, that increases the bond between us. I was starting to really feel
angry at the complete lack of organisation, of anticipation from the mosque's
committee, from the sisters who should have known better the women’s area needed to be prepared. They had 9 days to prepare the place, make some
space, clean up, and decorate… IT’S A CELEBRATION! I was pissed.
The attic was almost empty. Resigned, I got
up, grabbed my bag and walked towards the door. At that moment, four women got in line and started to do
takbir. I turned around and quickly joined the line throwing my bag against the
wall in excitement, not carrying about where and how it would lend. We prayed. During the prayer, I felt
relieved and tears pearled down my cheeks, releasing my quickly built up
disappointment/anger. At least!
When we finished, as I was saying the
salaams, I realised the room had filled up behind us and that it was the brave
sister who had led me upstairs who had taken the initiative to led us in
prayer. I was in admiration. I felt so grateful toward her; I looked at her and
beamed. I also remembered me throwing my bag, it was now far behind me, next to some sister, I turned and leaned over with all my body length to get it. As we all got up, I felt pleased and started greeting my unknown sisters,
wishing them a happy Eid, kissing them and smiling at their kind words and prayers.
Unexpectedly, in a matter of minutes, Eid
prayer went from a complete letdown to an intimate and blissful moment. God had worked His magic in the attic.
Allahu akbar wa alhamdulilah.
