The Call

For the first time in my life, I am in a space that is more Islamic than the place where I am from.   This is only apparent to me in the number of women wearing the hijab, the general lack of alcohol, the call to prayer, and the description on Wikipedia.  Otherwise, it feels quite similar to the unadulterated chaos in lush green landscapes that I have witnessed in other predominantly Buddhist areas of Southeast Asia.  And, it certainly feels nothing at all like The Debo.

I am quite excited about being amongst the majority-Islam vibe.  It’s new cultural territory for me.  And, it’s refreshing not to have to deal with sloppy drunk men (there has been at least one crowd in every other town I have ever ever ever visited the world over).  Best of all, it gives me an excuse to write about the call to prayer.

The first time I heard the call, I was living in Cape Town.  I think it took me a good few weeks to figure out what the hell was going on.  “Hmm, that’s interesting.  Didn’t I hear that loud singing yesterday?  Hmm, it seems like this singing happens every day.  Hmmm, it seems like the singing happens at the same time every day.”  I got there eventually, finally factoring in the mosque around the corner and the well-known Muslim community just a few blocks from me. 

I came to love it.  It stamped the day with a particular rhythm.  It became one of the endearing regularities of my life in that great city (along with that annoying dude on Kloof Street who always asked for ‘money for the train’ and one of my favorite Long Street characters, Ooooweee Icky Icky).  The call had nothing to do with me, but I knew it meant a lot to a number of people in the homes around me.  Although I was in no way connected, I liked the idea of a melodic component bonding that community.

As I have begun to weave my way through Java, I have found myself appreciating the call yet again.  I like that a few times a day, a chant invites everyone within earshot – Muslim or otherwise – to contemplate something greater, something outside themselves, something that references the bloody miracle that we are all moving and grooving on this planet.   It makes me realize that often full days pass without me stopping to consider what a wonder the Earth is.  

The man on the amplifier seems to be asking everyone to just stop for a few moments.  I’m sure he would prefer for everyone  to get on his praying train, but I suspect he would be happy that even non-prayers like me are paying attention to his call.

…

An aside:  I’m not going to lie.  When that dude started chanting from the mosque two doors down so loudly that it seemed he had put a speaker right outside my bedroom door AT 4AM, I did not find it very endearing at all.