The cultural event I attended was the Islamic Friday prayer—also known as
Jummah prayer—at the local mosque located across the street from campus on April 1st,
2016. I arrived at the mosque—or masjid—at 2pm and noted that there were two
different entrances: one for men and one for women. I entered through the men’s side and
was greeted—with the customary “Assalamu–Alaikum”—by a gentleman wearing jeans,
an American Eagle t-shirt, and a Wichita State lanyard dangling from his back pocket—a
student, no doubt; he removed his shoes and placed them in the shoe rack located along
the right wall; I followed his lead, removed my shoes, and followed him up the steps into
the actual prayer area.
The room itself was not incredibly large and was fully carpeted; there was one
window and a fan running in the corner; aside from two money containers that said
“Masjid Donation” and “Zakat” (Donation for the poor and needy), I did not see any
pictures or other art on the walls. When I asked a congregation member at the end of as to
why there were not any decorations, I was told that the prayer area should be free from
distractions; since prayer should be a focused, unhindered activity, any wall art and
pictures provide a potential distraction for someone who is trying to focus.
A handful of men—no women—were scattered across the floor—some deep in
prayer, others reciting from the Islamic holy book (The Qu’ran), while a few were
holding conversation in hushed whispers; some had on traditional outfits while others
looked like they were stopping by between work shifts or classes—a level of diversity I
was not expecting; there were two little boys—around the age of four or five—who came
in with their father’s. At the front of the room was a wooden stand from which I guessed
the preacher, or its equivalent, would deliver his sermon; sure enough a middle-aged
gentleman with a long grey beard, traditional shirt-pant outfit, and a white cap stood in
front of it; the cap was similar to the ones worn by Jewish men.
I found a seat against the back wall of the room, and two men seated nearby
whispered, “Assalamu–Alaikum;” I smiled and nodded in return. The middle-aged
gentleman positioned himself in front of the stand, raised his hands to his ears—palms
turned slightly outwards—and faced away from the audience. He began the call to
prayer—or the Azan—and everyone around me became silent; the call lasted about a
minute and had a slightly musical quality to it; while he was not singing, as Western
culture defines it, there was a rhythmic and chant-like quality to it that was very new to
experience in person. The Imam—the specific word for preacher—then turned around
and began the sermon.
