TayoBlog

My experiences of Islam in Germany has been rich and varied. Finding time to write about these has been more elusive. A brief reflection on my visit to the Migrant Mosque (al-Muhajirin) is the subject of my shorter Blog.

The mosque is located in a basement. As I entered, I could not avoid the towering Church in the square. Going down into the mosque was symbolic of the architectural and public hierarchy of two religious spaces.

The sermon (khutba) was given in Arabic, and the subject was generosity. The ethic of giving was emphasized, in stark contrast to the spatial role that I felt when entering. Giving was an uplifting experience; a mark of one's place in the bounty of God. As you gave, you were simply helping in the redistribution of grace and value that ultimate belonged to God. As I sat on the ground in this place of worship, all feelings of being in the basement was quickly overcome.

The politics of space is important, but sometimes we need to go beyond the antagonisms that it generates. Many of us seem to derive a sense of self from our place, from our selves in the mirror of the other. The deep ethical value of giving turned this conception upside down.

We could then use this new conception to reject the sociology of the public square. From a vantage of a new ethic, all others could be belittled and rejected. However, this example illustrated for me how I had created the binary of high and low in the first place. I was the one who allowed the public debate in Europe to inform my perception, and I translateded it into the spatial organization of mosque and church. When the sermon challenged me, I must first of all challenge my preconceptions, not lash out at the System.

The language of the sermon was simple standard Arabic. Not as elegant as the one I heard a few weeks earlier in Masjid Nur (also in a basement, but making up in size and expanse, and eloquent Arabic).

More interestingly, the sermon was translated in German half-way through. When the first part of the sermon was over, the preacher sat down and a young man moved up to the front. He delivered a verbatim German translation of the Arabic sermon. It was equally strong and to the point. For all the talk about German not being used in mosques here, I come accross it quite often! Different in each case, but still present nevertheless.

A small story of the name was also interesting. The mosque was called the Muhajirin mosque. Upon some brief inquiry, I learnt that the "people" from this mosque had been at another mosque before. This was the beautiful Imam Ali Moschee which is the Shi'a mosque in the city on the Alster Lake. I vaguely remember that this particular mosque was used by the Tablighi Jamaat in 1997 when I first visited Hamburg. This was confirmed for me, but so also the fact that "people" moved around a bit.

Individuals seem to move from one mosque to another, until they restrict themselves to one or two. More interestingly, groups also seem to move around until they settle. I have not yet been to a Turkish mosque which is the more dominant tradition here. I have avoided them since I do not understand Turkish. Perhaps I should visit them, since languages seem not to be too fixed. And German is a common language.

Continuing with my visit to mosques in Hamburg, I set out for a Pakisani mosque. After some asking around, I realized that the mosque had probably moved. I then headed to another mosque, near one that I attended previously (Masjid Nur).

At the time, I thought the this building in Pulverteich was representative of the Muslims in Germany. It was a divided along ethnic lines. The Arab mosque (Masjid Nur) was in the basement, the South Asian mosque on the first floor, and an Albanian mosque on the first floor.

But the divisions tells only one story. One has to go in to get some more. This is what happened when I found myself on the ground floor.

It was a small space, and when full, could not accommodate more than 150 people. It was smaller than most other places I had attended until now. In other places, the size and mass presence (especially on Friday) left one with a sense of space, size and fullness. For me, it was also  a bit over-empowering. This mosque was soon full.

I did not see any women, but they were present in some other unseen section of the mosque.

The sermon was presented in German by someone I had seen around at the University. Abu Ahmad attended many of the programmes on inter-religious education and dialogue. He seemed to continue this theme in the mosque.

Abu Ahmad spoke to those present in simple German, directly addressing them in a very personal and warm manner. He is a short, roundish man who could easily play the role of the friendly grocer in the neighbourhood. He was giving sensible advice, advice that seemed so natural.

He asked Muslims to consider the anxiety of Germans. They had not faced so many immigrants in their history, and they needed time to get used to it. Muslims needed to give them time! This was very interesting, since Germans who are sympathetic with the concerns of Muslims usually ask Germans to give Muslims time to settle down. Abu Ahmad had turned the table around!

Breaking the unified view of the Germans, he also related how a woman in one of his dialogue meetings told him that she was really ashamed of her people. What was significant about this meeting was the fact that it was given one week after the Swiss voted on a constitutional change to prohibited the building of new minarets. Abu Ahmad and this mosque was on a different wave-lenght. 

The mosque was not only remarkable for its sermon and its preacher. It consisted of highly mixed audience: Arabs, Turkish and Pakistani. There were also a large number of people of African descent. Ritually, the people followed different traditions.The German language, and also Islam of course, was the commong groun!

Abu Ahmad recognized me, and invited me for tea with some people. His wife and daugher joined, but also people from different backgrounds (Afghan, Syria, Libya, Pakistan, Egypt and Turkey). We first spoke Arabic, but had to turn to German.

I asked them about the history of the mosque, which soon led to a discussion on the divisions among Muslims. They lamented the inability of Muslims to be united, and asked me about South Africa.

Abu Ahmad who was himself from Libya made a short comment that left me with food for thought. He too lamented the division of Muslims, but suggested that the mosques with their distinctive languages provided a sense of home.For the most part, Muslims in Germany were workers fully engaged in the economy. Coming to mosque on Friday or participating in religious meetings in weekends was a way of expressing another aspect of their identities. Their overwhelming link with German society was ignored while focussing on their religous commitment for a few hours a week. 

The group was aware of the problem for younger Muslims who did not appreciate the same level of tension between public and private identities, and also between languages. However, introducing German into the mosques and private clubs could not happen until German could express the religous and spiritual values of Muslims. Clearly, the problem was more than a simply matter of language. 

What do mosques, then, offer Muslims? And why do Muslim go to mosques. A visit to this one mosque taught me a great deal. It seemed to highlight the fact that Muslims had accepted the differentiation of a society (religion, economy and society).

There was an ideology that declared a unified vision; but the vision was contradicted by the choices that Muslims made.  Some of these visions did go beyond the mosque walls. They clashed clearly with plural societies all over the globe. More importantly, we need to recognize how these visions disrupted the lives of Muslims who lived these divisions.  

I attended the Eid prayer in Hamburg this year (2009). Having previously decided to visit different mosques in the city, I decided to visit a new one for Eid. Hamburg has an interesting webpage that lists all the mosque in the city. With these addresses and Google maps, and of course the U-bahn, I was on my way.

Like many mosques in the city, this was also in the vicinity of the Main Railway Station. Located on the first floor, men and women walked up together to their respective rooms. The men's room  filled up quickly. The women had disappeared (from my view at least), except an occasional reference from the preacher. The mosque had a powerful sound system that ensured the message flowed in one way.

A man (I learnt later that he was also the Imam) soon approached the mike, and reminded the congreation to read the takbir as loudly as possible. The Takbir in Medina, he reminded, reverberated through the city in the time of the Prophet. The takbir was a form of praise to God read on Eid days. It declared the greatness of God, and the praise due to him. It was read at the end of the pilgrimage (hajj), symbolizing the completion of this most important ritual.

With this advice, people started reading the takbir, filling the mosque quickly with a beautiful chorus. It was not led by anyone, but it was hard not to be impressed with the way in which eveyone, from baritone to soprano, melted into each other. It was not difficult to imagine the takbir rising from every mosque around the globe, and flowing into the chorus emerging from the pilgrims in Mecca. It reminded me of the Swedish film "As it is in Heaven" of the beauty of pure sound.

But this was unfortunately not to last. Within a few minutes, another person took the mike, and told the congregation that they should not recite together. They should recite individually as loud as possible, but not in unison! Adding a small tweak to the advice of the Imam was quiet disastrous.

For the next five minutes, there were about 400 men in that room trying to keep out of sync with each other! This was probably the most akward attempt at not doing the obvious and the beautiful.

Thankfully, someone with a presence of mind got hold of a mike and started reciting loudly. The congregation then followed him in the lead, and keeping in step. No-one objected, even though I thought that one of the brave young men sitting in the front of the moque would stop this nonsense. Perhaps it was because the third intervention did not come from the mike. The last man did not take the floor at the front of the mosque. Concealed from the view of most, he could lead the popular sentiment.

Sitting in the mosque, I felt reassured that, after some dispute of how to read the takbir, the popular will of the people had take over. In many other places, like most mosques where I grew up, the symphony of the people had been banished for good. There, the argument had been to read the takbir quietly. Actually, the instruction was to recite it audibly only for oneself. After successive admonitions, a hush and a muffled drone has overtaken these mosques, leaving only the voice of the preachers. And boy, do they preach! 

In this Hamburg mosque, in contrast, the popular will had won. It had reasserted itself against the directions coming from the mike. And it had done so, not by quoting yet a third proof from the past, but by asserting its own tradition.

Thinking back now, I realized that there was a difference between the takbir led by no-one, and that led by someone. The first was a spontaneous wave, and the second was directed. It was a matter of time when the people's voices will be suppressed by the mike. More technology and more tradition will ensure this.

The sermon confirmed this.  A fascinating reading of the story of the Prophet Ebrahim (Abraham) in Hamburg at the beginning of the 21st century, it will have to wait. 

Now, I want to continue thinking about the power and management of sound.

In my next visit, the Imam of the mosque was one of the best reciters of the Qur’an in Cape Town.  And the city has some world-class reciters who can move hundreds and thousands to ecstasy and tears. The imam this night lived up to the reputation.
In the small selection recited, a popular one that many Imams read, beauty and threat were intimately intertwined. He recited it in the most melodious and enthralling fashion. Does one enjoy the rendering, or feel the shiver down the spine at the threat? Or are they both together combined in an overwhelming experience.

Moreover, the selection recited declared the power and God and the worthlessness of man and woman. It addressed man and woman before they were something. “Were you not a mere drop of semen gushing forth?” In that state, can one speak of a person? Who and what was being addressed?

Before the tarawih (prayer of rest), the Imam  gave an introductory talk. The talk was bit of a ramble, with a few noteworthy points. He was here and there, and everywhere. However, the most remarkable thing was the Imam opened up an Apple Mac from which he spoke. Now this was an updated and modern Imam!

It is interesting how this gesture might actually impress. It signifies the desire to keep up with the times, or at least to be doing so. Most Imams, we often complain, are so outdated. They are still busy with the yellow books (as they say in Nigeria and Indonesia). They need to be relevant and speak of the world! They must not shy away from technology! Opening his Mac, has the Imam caught up with modernity?

What was the substance of the message, though? All the right buttons were pressed.  References made to the world, recession, and materialism. Religion, methinks, was lost. There was little spirituality; hardly any of the direct address to the self before it was something. Maybe the Imam should simply have translated his recitation.

This is not criticism of an Imam. In fact, this is a difficult BLOG to write. The desire to modernize and become relevant often leads to a bargain with modernity. The problem is that one is not always sure which of modernity to take up, and which to leave behind.

If I may be permitted my own ramble, let me close with another observation. Like many mosques in Cape Town, this one was adorned with some beautiful reading of dhikr (praises to God). After every four cycles of prayer, one person from the congregation led the rest. His strong voice shook the mosque for a few minutes, followed by a chorus that filled the nooks and crannies of this beautiful space.

Now this was something worth setting aside time for…

My second BLOG on Ramadan comes after visiting a mosque in a different part of the city. Being a lower middle class neighbourhood, there were not as many cars obstructing the road. Most people have walked to the mosque, and there was not much for carguards. But the streetlights were down, making it both quiet and peaceful, and somewhat ominous.  This mosque was a neighbourhood mosque, and contrasted sharply with mosques surrounded by cars rather than homes and people on the streets.

There was so much more activity in this mosque. Worshipers streamed in and out all the time. I got there a bit late, but I was not alone. Many groups completed the primary prayer, and then joined the  main congregation. And during the night prayer (tarawih), people kept going out after 2, 4, 6 and 8 cycles. When I walked out after 10, I found some young men standing outside. Not yet ready to go home, they were not also going inside.

The night prayer (tarawih) was led by trainee reciters. They made a few mistakes in remembering their portion of the Qur’an. Sometimes they found their way quickly back to the texts that they had memorized, but sometimes they needed more extensive prompting. Their reading was clear, pronouncing the words and elongating at the right places. But it was also clear that this was the beginning of a long career.

This was not unusual. Children memorized the Qur’an and were given an opportunity to show their skills. They waited eagerly to be invited to step forward to lead the prayer. During Ramadan, adults supported them with words of encouragement. There was no shortage of attention directed at them until the end of the month. In fact, huffaz (those who memorized the Qur’an) became mini celebrities during Ramadan. Everyone knew them. In Cape Town the Boerhaanol published their names in a special catalogue.

This tradition ensured a steady flow of students of the Qur’an, with aspiring parents waiting to hear 11-year or 12-year-olds reciting the Qur’an in front of the whole congregation. In the last few years, many girls have started memorizing the Qur’an. I am not aware of any opportunity for them to show and support their skills.

The recitation this night did not cover a "perceived" over-riding theme. It dealt with a whole range of topics: virtue, retribution, inheritance, Ramadan, superstition, pilgrimage, jihad, menstruation, marriage, and many more. Each topic was dealt with briefly, perhaps too briefly, before moving to the next. Many issues were left out, and many questions remained unasked and unanswered.

In some way, this rapid succession showed that all aspects of life were important. They together were part of a life lived in the shadow of the divine. Fasting and other rituals were part thereof, but so too was the importance of bequeathing something for one’s parents, and other relatives. Entering homes through the front door was also part of it, but so was responding in like measure to aggression. Do not go too far in responding to retaliation, but do not turn the other cheek!

On the other hand, the brevity of treatment of each topic conveyed something else. The details of these acts were not that important, the spirit counted above else. Fasting you must, but you can do it another day when travelling or ill. I am near, God said. Good relations between husband and wife must follow clear guidelines, but do not let an oath bind you from doing good, and acting justly.

You might find the treatment of each topic in the Qur’an inadequate. I will not argue with that. But you might miss the gems of ethical guidelines deeply embedded in these brief treatments. For example, the best of provisions is self-conscioussness.