Tuesday Night Perceptions of a Masjid

By Nur Laura Caskey

A hard woman, she looks like smiles abandoned her years ago. Now she commands with dark stone eyes and a cleaver’s edge to her voice: “Focus! Qur’an is ALL ABOUT focus!” The four boys sitting in a circle of ennui around her sigh and slide their chins further down their arms.

Behind her swathed in a pink scarf over a black abbaya a woman who continuously wears a secret smile hidden in rose blooms on her cheeks watches over her young daughter doodling on an MCA flyer. Not too far away a serenely content mother in green satin hijab sits in a circle of girls braiding her giggling and wiggling daughter’s unruly curls as she calmly dictates out Qur’an to be memorized.

Like shooting satellites about the prayer hall small children run to and fro, some barely knee-high to a grasshopper toddling head- or stomach-first after older brothers or sisters. One short boy is pushing an upturned white plastic chair about the carpet like a steamship, spluttering imaginary steamship noises to himself. Mothers balance and bounce wide-eyed babies between conversations in circles of cotton, satin, and rayon. A nasally whining hum of children emotionlessly repeating words they do not understand back at their teachers sings throughout the room.

A scratchy scuffle broadcast by stereo hums in anticipation then announces:

“Alllaaaaaaahu akbar! Alllaaaaaahu akbar! . …Allaaaaahu akbar! Alllllaaaaaaahu akbar! Ashahadu an-laaaaaaa illaaahaaaa illaaalllaaaaa. Ashahadu aannnnnaaaaa Muhaaaammmadaan rasoooloolaaaaah. Haya al asalaaaaa. Hayaaa al asalaaaaaa. Hayaaaa al l-falaaaaah. Haya al l-falaaah. Qad qaamatii salaaaaa. Qad qamati salaaaaaaa. Allllaaaaaaahu akbar! Alllaaaaahu akbar! Laaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa illaahaaaa illllaaalllllllllllaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa!!”

-and a rustling flock of skirts, veils, shawls, abayyas, and jeans rush into a shoulder-to-shoulder chain across the room.

A quiet covers the two-toned blue carpet. The older children snuggle up next to their parents or, in an act of stubborn independence, mold into their own line a few stripes ahead of their mothers. The younger children nestle into the forts formed by their mothers’ purses and jackets piled on the stripe ahead of the women and busy themselves with exploring hidden treasures like hand sanitizers and cell phones just waiting to be discovered.

A calm spreads through the close-knit line, ruffled only by an occasional flitter of fabric or suppressed cough as all lids lower reverentially and eyes gravitate as one to the floor, all still facing the same focused point in space, mind, and heart. From the speakers comes the hum of an On-switch and a voice clearly states in a matter-of-fact tone: “Allahu akbar.”

And the prayer begins.

Nur Laura Caskey is an aspiring amateur writer, comic artist, and recent graduate of UCLA in Women’s Studies. She was born and raised in South Louisiana and still calls the place home after fourteen years of living in other parts of the U.S. and traveling across the world. She is currently working on a series of short comics of the lives of American Muslims.