Lemar-Aftaab Oct-Dec. 1997 - Articles - In Search for an Open Door

In Search for an Open Door

By Zarlacht Atiqzoy

When I was asked by my sister if I would attend a lecture with her, I thought that it would be fine. She continued on to say that the lecture was based on Islam, and that there would be discussions and readings from the Koran. This was my cue to panic for I would fall into the category of being born into the faith, and not exploring its potential. Eventually I reasoned with myself that this was actually something that I had wanted to do for a long time, and the opportunity was now.

I have satisfied myself with several translations and my Mother's stories; yet I always yearned for more; there had to be more. This was my chance; however, at the age of 20, I was a bit hesitant and embarrassed. Embarrassed of my ignorance and lack of practice no one else to blame but myself.

The evening didn't start off too well; we were given misguided directions and had to pace the highway a few times. Along side a service road, we drove into a shopping center and we spotted a small sign reading: Islamic Association of Carrolton, and a bold arrow drawn below.

We followed the arrow, and my sister walked in on an African ritual humming praises to Christ. Immediately she withdrew herself, and a young gentleman walked out and informed us that it was across the building.

So we tried door number two, and Wagma found herself halted at the door. No woman allowed said the eyes of an Egyptian dressed in his native clothes.

We waited outside, and after a few minutes, he came out to greet us, and quickly gave us the itinerary for the evening. He didn't hesitate to inform us that we were improperly dressed and offered some chadars for us to cover ourselves with; the man added , "I can't force you to wear them, but its the correct way, and you might feel awkward since all the ladies will have them on."

My sister and I looked at each other with a puzzled look. Partly because we should have known, and partly because we thought it was only going to be a lecture.

Inside, we were greeted by the man's sister-in-law, who spoke little, if no, English. At eight o'clock sharp, a man's voice came over the small speakers posted above the door, and immediately the room was swept with silence. I have heard this before I thought. Such ease, such grace, a warm glow grew inside me. It was the beginning of the evening prayer-- shom. I was taught by my mother how to pray just last summer and still among strangers, I found myself so lost and with no direction.

The Imam's voice was gradual (in Arabic of course), and indistinguishable. He was from India, and blessed with a heavy accent.

After the prayer, we sat in a small room, with two other woman. Empty, cold, and closed off from the men with a green curtain. The separation was understandable, but I thought that there would be a woman to speak on our behalf.

Instead, we spent the next hour struggling to understand the broken English of this very intelligent Imam.

His words were selective and few. However, his meanings and expressions were overwhelming. He spoke on many issues. Mainly the point of understanding Islam not for religion's sake, but for the sake of man. Of understanding one's self through prayer and the word of God. Islam is a complete way of life, a submission. And yet so many of us fail to make it a priority due to the daily routine we are so absorbed in.

He stopped for questions, but both rooms ceased to respond.

At nine thirty, another prayer was issued. By this time, Wagma and I had made our way to the car. Both of us are compelled with such different impressions of the evening.

Wagma agrees that it lacked structure and organization. We were both expecting a different outcome. So does this explain why many Muslims our age neglect attending meetings such as these. That maybe, just maybe, if the Imam was more intuitive to his audience, then maybe they could hold our attention span. I even caught the older woman gazing at the four walls and the sheer curtain that revealed the shadows of the men in the next room.

I look at this experience not as discouraging, but as the beginning for my search to Islam. I clearly see how so many cultures devote their time and energy into feeding their communities with the greatest gift that they can-- the words of God.

Personally, I feel it is how they go about educating and acknowledging Muslims that can make a difference in the attendance. I can't think of a better way to learn and aspire about one's own religion then freely discussing the scriptures with your fellow brothers and sisters.