Madinah
The women here are never alone. They're either with their husbands, weighed down by their many children or they travel together in parties of four or five and never less. I've been here two days. They come to the mosque for every prayer. Never alone. I wonder if there is time to think of God.
I certainly haven't given the concept much thought since I've been here. The days have passed in a blurry haze of desert heat and headscarves and going to the mosque every so often. I haven't really even been alone till now and now I'm looking, hunting for a pen and watching the man sitting on the sidewalk smoking a cigarette with barely concealed envy. Not just because of the cigarette but because he can. Can sit on the sidewalk and smoke a cigarette and not have to worry about his greasy hair.
The Masjid al Nabi is a little like a sports bar. Everyone goes altogether too much, drinks something from a tap and seem to be overwhelmingly fascinated by a phenomena that I am not completely comfortable with. And of course, if we continue to draw parallels between sport and religion, everyone judges you harshly for not being equally enthralled. And so while I sit here on the steps of the haram as the sky fades to a milky purple and the women around me bow their heads in prayer, I catch some looking at me sideways and knitting their eyebrows together.
A very fancy, very crowded sports bar.
It's a little intoxicating being here, watching all these women and all these headscarves rise and fall at the same time as if they're part of something bigger than themselves. It's a little scary that I find that comforting.
More later.
The women here are never alone. They're either with their husbands, weighed down by their many children or they travel together in parties of four or five and never less. I've been here two days. They come to the mosque for every prayer. Never alone. I wonder if there is time to think of God.
I certainly haven't given the concept much thought since I've been here. The days have passed in a blurry haze of desert heat and headscarves and going to the mosque every so often. I haven't really even been alone till now and now I'm looking, hunting for a pen and watching the man sitting on the sidewalk smoking a cigarette with barely concealed envy. Not just because of the cigarette but because he can. Can sit on the sidewalk and smoke a cigarette and not have to worry about his greasy hair.
The Masjid al Nabi is a little like a sports bar. Everyone goes altogether too much, drinks something from a tap and seem to be overwhelmingly fascinated by a phenomena that I am not completely comfortable with. And of course, if we continue to draw parallels between sport and religion, everyone judges you harshly for not being equally enthralled. And so while I sit here on the steps of the haram as the sky fades to a milky purple and the women around me bow their heads in prayer, I catch some looking at me sideways and knitting their eyebrows together.
A very fancy, very crowded sports bar.
It's a little intoxicating being here, watching all these women and all these headscarves rise and fall at the same time as if they're part of something bigger than themselves. It's a little scary that I find that comforting.
More later.
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