Fall Quarter '08: 13 Stewart Street
⊆ 1:40 AM by A. Liebendorfer | ˜ 2 comments »When I gulp, I gulp loudly, like they do in movies.
I actually circled the block before arriving; the front door of 13 Stewart Street was in the back. Ahead of me were a few concrete steps, a well-kept garden and a sign above the door reading something to effect of "MSA Islamic Center of Athens."
Why I was standing there was a culmination of things this week. First we had an assignment in our learning community seminar. I ended up enjoying it: we took personality tests and had to respond to them. According to Jungian typology, I'm an "Inspirer" borderline with "Adventurer/Thrill-Seeker." Being typed like this really makes you look at the world through tinted glasses. Couple that with giving a speech in Public Speaking --maybe the biggest adrenaline buzz I've ever got-- and I was on the prowl all week for something nuts to do.
Then two young men spoke at my Religion, Gender, and Sexuality about Islam. They said where their mosque was and that everybody's welcome to come and learn. Their day of prayer was Friday and they said that would be a good day to stop by. No question.
Their "mosque" is nothing more than a house that's been cleared out to accommodate muslim worship. I knew exactly where they were talking about since it's literally next door to my dorm building. I'd seen children playing outside.
Though being so close, it still carried that continents-away feeling. What was in there? The night before, when I elected to give it a try, I rehearsed every possible outcome. I couldn't manage to find a worst-case scenario; each thought kept getting worse and worse. Actually the best-scenario was that a wall of hookah smoke would hit me and they'd slam the door in my face.
I gulped. I'd seen people taxiing in and out of its big green front door. For this reason, I traipsed in without knocking or really thinking about it.
I walked in and the smell inside immediately brought me back to visions of musty old parishes and spaghetti dinners. I could do this, I thought.
The sign above in the foyer said to take off your shoes, so I did. To my left was a library, my right stairs, and ahead of me an open room with striped carpet. From the room emanated rolling Arabic so I went there. In one corner of the room a man was praying which is much harder to describe when you witness it than you might think. It's a very powerful prostration; I'll leave it at that for fear of failing with words.
A man was sitting and flipping through forms with another. They were the source of the talking. The man glanced at me inquisitively a couple times and his companion didn't notice me at all. I went back to the foyer and went upstairs.
I was greeted by a "alaykum" from a face down the hall. A room's worth of young muslim men turned to greet me. They were confused seeing me but once I told them what I was out to do, two sprang up and said we should go down to the library. The other two would come down later, after they were done with homework.
And so began my education of Islam. Mohammed, a kuwaiti and the taller of the two, began by asking me what I knew. Relatively nothing, I told him, it was similar to Christianity.
"That's very true," he said. Then he went into the Five Pillars of Islam. By the end of the lesson, it seemed odd to me that we even have different religions at all. You aren't considered a muslim, he told me, if you don't adhere to the teachings of the Old Testament and Jesus. It all seemed like sweet talk, but Mohammed soon outlined the compromise: Muslims pray directly to God, not even to Jesus, just God. Maybe this is a shift in my "convictions" but that idea appealed to me.
The other, Rahiif, was an Indian with more broken English but had several good points, especially when it came to Sunnis versus Shii'as. Sunnis predominantly outnumber Shii'as I learned, probably 90% to 10% according to Rahiif. The difference, he told me, was purely political: same Qu'ran, same language, same prophet ["bless his name"].
After a while, I let them go and started back for the door. The told me to come back. The other two from upstairs came down and were disappointed to see me leave. I promised them I'd come back and they slapped me on the back.
October 10, 2008 at 11:10 PM I know what you mean about the "continents-away feeling." I walk by the Islamic Center everyday, but I never feel like I should, or even chould, enter. I'm proud to see you had the balls to walk through that green door.
October 11, 2008 at 3:01 AM It's a pretty sweet place. The first few seconds were the most awkward, just not seeing anybody and hearing arabic and just standing there, but they're all about talking about stuff. It was nice, they didn't try to persuade me or convert me, just educate me. The books they gave me were pretty clutch too.