At her university Suze paid for daily food from the funds
she had been given at the beginning of her enrolment by her benefactor. The man
had told Suzie to let him know when she needed more, but as a responsible and
trustworthy young woman Suze has stretched out the money six months now. Many
of the food stalls at the university were run by Madurese, who only charged
Suze half price for meals. For standard RM3 meals Suze paid 1.50; fifty cents.
Two meals daily usually; there was little hunger for the evening meal
after maghrib. On campus all the cleaners were likewise Madurese,
all illegals who had petitioned Suze for a hideout in the event of Immigration
raid. To date there had been none; word of course was out of the registration
drive. Unavoidably Suzie had granted the refuge, whether with the agreement of
her roommates was unknown.
Through the morning and afternoon Suzie pointed out many Madurese that we passed, their accents and rhythms naturally catching her ear and bringing a smile.
Monthly calls were made to grandparents, usually after messages from a cousin that contact had been requested. Currently, approaching the middle of March, the oldies in the kampung were harvesting the corn, an important food staple on Madura Island.
Two Southern Thai girls shared the room with one other, a local Malay. Late last year Suzie visited Thailand with her friends, where she found the people warm and friendly and the food intriguing; unusual, very different to Javanese, Madurese and Malay food too.
Numerous Africans were enrolled at the university: tall and thin Somalis, Chadian girls; girls from Benin, Suze added after further thought. A number of Bosnians, also tall, were represented in the student body, usually enrolled in Economics.
One Japanese exchange student from Kyoto was noteworthy. On introduction her new friends and classmates had asked whether she was...?? Suzie forgot the term. (Shintoistmisters properly, according to Yahoo.)
— Ya, Shinto.
But no, the girl was Buddhist. Ayu or Ayr by name. (Close but not close enough to Bahasa ayr or air—pronounced ayerr—water.)
In a fine gesture, for the semester Ayu had adopted the kerudong that all the other girls in the dorm wore. An acknowledgement of what the young woman had encountered among the girls at their Islamic studies, one hazards the guess.
Suze had not heard of the case of the middle school American geography teacher donning the same apparel in a class on Islam and encouraging her students to consider the parallels with their own Christianity. Subsequently sacked for the unorthodox venture.
Coming up to the hotel room briefly to take in the view from the twentieth floor before we left Chow Kit, Suzie side-stepped the prayer mat at the foot of the bed without comment. Though highly unlikely Suze had ever set foot in a hotel room before, the prayer mat was unmistakable. It was always odd bowing to that short rectangle for the push-ups here. (Prayer mats were usually provided in the wardrobes in Malaysian hotels.)
Reviewing one of Suzie’s printed sheets from class over breakfast one of the highlighted points concerned Islam’s voluntariness. Islam had never forced or pressed conversion, it was stated; such a thing was expressly forbidden in Islam, Suzie knew. Hearing of something other in the historical experience in the Balkans left the young woman nonplussed.
In the city we hunted around for a mosque for Suze to perform her prayers. Suzie knew of a mosque somewhere in Little India, by a market. Where was it?
We circled round and round following the contradictory directions given by various people. Suze avoided asking males, but women proved no better. Eventually an older lady at a bus-stop put us right. The India Mosque, beside the street market. Go there and there, then along the aisle.
Suzie knew the term and its spelling; how though to pronounce “al-sell” (like easel with an "a")? Devilish English. Suzie was making good, inevitably halting progress in that language study too.
Threading the narrow aisle of the usual colourful bags, scarves and accessories, we were forced to a stop by a long row of men on prayer mats that had been brought from home. (Later men carried mats over their shoulders and under arm.) It was the early portion of the prayer, the men upright and concentrated. Squeezing past behind would have been awkward and impertinent. Waiting them out was the only option.
A long straight row of perhaps twenty younger men for the most part in casual formation. A couple wore loose Arabic clothing and one or two kept caps on their heads throughout. It seemed an unsteady line with a little jerkiness running through. At some kind of signal that was not apparent the men stooped to bow, then again in imperfect unison went down on their knees and finally lowered their foreheads. From behind the last was an ungainly posture, rather embarrassing to confront.
Presumably the men had acted in concert for each step of the prayer with those within the walls of the mosque, though how that could have happened without any direction was unclear. There did not seem to have been any call. Possibly a few hundred men moving together made enough of a stir to be audible to these worshippers outdoors. The whole of the procedure was surprisingly brief, from the time of our arrival not more than ten minutes altogether. Suzie had bent to lean on a rolled carpet that had been stood on its end.
Ablutions preceded the prayer and men were supposed to have donned neat, presentable attire. In Little India, Kuala Lumpur, with many foreign workers in the congregation, a certain shabbiness was the impression. The common Sunday best at church services in the West presented a quite different spectacle. Sandals, slip-ons with heels broken and various flip-flops added to the general tawdriness.
Here within Masjid India, close by the famous, historical Masjid Jamek, the building could not contain the worshippers. Directly before the entrance where Suzie was awaited shortly after tenting had been raised against the sun and long lines of mats unrolled for the men. There too watching the last of the congregation exit the mosque the tide of the poor was striking. Of course in affluent quarters the scene would have been different.
Few of these men would have known their Qur'an. They would know the prayer by heart, the greetings and some fragments of the texts. Attending the Friday congregational prayer and praying five times daily was obligatory — not steeping oneself in the Qur'an.
Through the morning and afternoon Suzie pointed out many Madurese that we passed, their accents and rhythms naturally catching her ear and bringing a smile.
Monthly calls were made to grandparents, usually after messages from a cousin that contact had been requested. Currently, approaching the middle of March, the oldies in the kampung were harvesting the corn, an important food staple on Madura Island.
Two Southern Thai girls shared the room with one other, a local Malay. Late last year Suzie visited Thailand with her friends, where she found the people warm and friendly and the food intriguing; unusual, very different to Javanese, Madurese and Malay food too.
Numerous Africans were enrolled at the university: tall and thin Somalis, Chadian girls; girls from Benin, Suze added after further thought. A number of Bosnians, also tall, were represented in the student body, usually enrolled in Economics.
One Japanese exchange student from Kyoto was noteworthy. On introduction her new friends and classmates had asked whether she was...?? Suzie forgot the term. (Shintoistmisters properly, according to Yahoo.)
— Ya, Shinto.
But no, the girl was Buddhist. Ayu or Ayr by name. (Close but not close enough to Bahasa ayr or air—pronounced ayerr—water.)
In a fine gesture, for the semester Ayu had adopted the kerudong that all the other girls in the dorm wore. An acknowledgement of what the young woman had encountered among the girls at their Islamic studies, one hazards the guess.
Suze had not heard of the case of the middle school American geography teacher donning the same apparel in a class on Islam and encouraging her students to consider the parallels with their own Christianity. Subsequently sacked for the unorthodox venture.
Coming up to the hotel room briefly to take in the view from the twentieth floor before we left Chow Kit, Suzie side-stepped the prayer mat at the foot of the bed without comment. Though highly unlikely Suze had ever set foot in a hotel room before, the prayer mat was unmistakable. It was always odd bowing to that short rectangle for the push-ups here. (Prayer mats were usually provided in the wardrobes in Malaysian hotels.)
Reviewing one of Suzie’s printed sheets from class over breakfast one of the highlighted points concerned Islam’s voluntariness. Islam had never forced or pressed conversion, it was stated; such a thing was expressly forbidden in Islam, Suzie knew. Hearing of something other in the historical experience in the Balkans left the young woman nonplussed.
In the city we hunted around for a mosque for Suze to perform her prayers. Suzie knew of a mosque somewhere in Little India, by a market. Where was it?
We circled round and round following the contradictory directions given by various people. Suze avoided asking males, but women proved no better. Eventually an older lady at a bus-stop put us right. The India Mosque, beside the street market. Go there and there, then along the aisle.
Suzie knew the term and its spelling; how though to pronounce “al-sell” (like easel with an "a")? Devilish English. Suzie was making good, inevitably halting progress in that language study too.
Threading the narrow aisle of the usual colourful bags, scarves and accessories, we were forced to a stop by a long row of men on prayer mats that had been brought from home. (Later men carried mats over their shoulders and under arm.) It was the early portion of the prayer, the men upright and concentrated. Squeezing past behind would have been awkward and impertinent. Waiting them out was the only option.
A long straight row of perhaps twenty younger men for the most part in casual formation. A couple wore loose Arabic clothing and one or two kept caps on their heads throughout. It seemed an unsteady line with a little jerkiness running through. At some kind of signal that was not apparent the men stooped to bow, then again in imperfect unison went down on their knees and finally lowered their foreheads. From behind the last was an ungainly posture, rather embarrassing to confront.
Presumably the men had acted in concert for each step of the prayer with those within the walls of the mosque, though how that could have happened without any direction was unclear. There did not seem to have been any call. Possibly a few hundred men moving together made enough of a stir to be audible to these worshippers outdoors. The whole of the procedure was surprisingly brief, from the time of our arrival not more than ten minutes altogether. Suzie had bent to lean on a rolled carpet that had been stood on its end.
Ablutions preceded the prayer and men were supposed to have donned neat, presentable attire. In Little India, Kuala Lumpur, with many foreign workers in the congregation, a certain shabbiness was the impression. The common Sunday best at church services in the West presented a quite different spectacle. Sandals, slip-ons with heels broken and various flip-flops added to the general tawdriness.
Here within Masjid India, close by the famous, historical Masjid Jamek, the building could not contain the worshippers. Directly before the entrance where Suzie was awaited shortly after tenting had been raised against the sun and long lines of mats unrolled for the men. There too watching the last of the congregation exit the mosque the tide of the poor was striking. Of course in affluent quarters the scene would have been different.
Few of these men would have known their Qur'an. They would know the prayer by heart, the greetings and some fragments of the texts. Attending the Friday congregational prayer and praying five times daily was obligatory — not steeping oneself in the Qur'an.
Prior
to coming to Malaysia Suzie was about a fifth of the way through her
memorization of the Holy Book at her pesantren in Java. With
all her other studies here in KL further progress had slowed.
In the village in Boka it was commonly said one only needed to know the single dictum, Do unto others as you would have others do unto you. With that alone one could lead a faithful Christian life. Church attendance bolstered the position, along with various observances and festivals. In the hill villages of Boka Kotorska, certainly pre-war, the priest climbed up for Christmas and Easter; otherwise the faithful were left to their own devices. During the past quarter century in Serbia and Montenegro church attendance and all the allied markers had undergone a huge revival; steely old communists now donned the new suit of clothes throughout the whole of Former Yugoslavia.
Around at the impressive old Masjid Jamek in Little India there was no provision for women. The Friday congregational prayer was obligatory for men; not women. (In Singapore one heard unfortunate tales of Indonesian girls turned away from mosques on the free Sunday when they could attend.)
Suzie needed to perform her zuhr midday prayer — in fact it was after 2 30 by the time all the men had cleared out the third storey at Masjid India that was designated for women. It had been a good half hour wait for Suzie on some steps opposite the entry gates to the mosque where a woman stretched out colourful towels for sale. Another woman held up a plastic cup inside the gates.
The drabness of the great outflow at Masjid India presented an unusually captivating sight. It had been a life-time since one had witnessed at close quarters something of the Western form remotely comparable. The other crowds since had been sporting mainly and the occasional political rally. This reigning silence and quiet collectedness was altogether different; the social class markedly different.
The men at Masjid India, the congregation at the Friday prayer, could not begin to imagine the living in the First World in the absence of prayer. No matter the inklings in the movies and the television serials, no matter the display in the magazines and the tales of returned travellers. There was no means of comprehending such a gulf for this congregation.
In the village in Boka it was commonly said one only needed to know the single dictum, Do unto others as you would have others do unto you. With that alone one could lead a faithful Christian life. Church attendance bolstered the position, along with various observances and festivals. In the hill villages of Boka Kotorska, certainly pre-war, the priest climbed up for Christmas and Easter; otherwise the faithful were left to their own devices. During the past quarter century in Serbia and Montenegro church attendance and all the allied markers had undergone a huge revival; steely old communists now donned the new suit of clothes throughout the whole of Former Yugoslavia.
Around at the impressive old Masjid Jamek in Little India there was no provision for women. The Friday congregational prayer was obligatory for men; not women. (In Singapore one heard unfortunate tales of Indonesian girls turned away from mosques on the free Sunday when they could attend.)
Suzie needed to perform her zuhr midday prayer — in fact it was after 2 30 by the time all the men had cleared out the third storey at Masjid India that was designated for women. It had been a good half hour wait for Suzie on some steps opposite the entry gates to the mosque where a woman stretched out colourful towels for sale. Another woman held up a plastic cup inside the gates.
The drabness of the great outflow at Masjid India presented an unusually captivating sight. It had been a life-time since one had witnessed at close quarters something of the Western form remotely comparable. The other crowds since had been sporting mainly and the occasional political rally. This reigning silence and quiet collectedness was altogether different; the social class markedly different.
The men at Masjid India, the congregation at the Friday prayer, could not begin to imagine the living in the First World in the absence of prayer. No matter the inklings in the movies and the television serials, no matter the display in the magazines and the tales of returned travellers. There was no means of comprehending such a gulf for this congregation.
Possibly
the American scene might have been different in various pockets at least, in
the revival and charismatic centres.
Did the poor in the West actually attend church? Poor and indigent might seek refuge in church and receive aid and perhaps attend some services. But was there a mass of poor ever gathered together in a Western church in the half century and more post-war? The outer suburban poor, the poor in social housing and receiving government benefits, the working poor?
Did the poor in the West actually attend church? Poor and indigent might seek refuge in church and receive aid and perhaps attend some services. But was there a mass of poor ever gathered together in a Western church in the half century and more post-war? The outer suburban poor, the poor in social housing and receiving government benefits, the working poor?
One
wondered among the labourers, the factory workers, cleaners and street-sweeps
at Masjid India. Once the church had been a powerful draw.
How much here at Masjid India actually hinged on ultimate hope, on the rescue of salvation? The strength of unity in the gathering, the shared spirit and endeavour, the camaraderie infused—these were the marks. Larger added hopes seemed something quite distant; the prospect of some kind of life in the beyond stood outside the frame here.
Indian food adventure followed Suzie’s prayer, under the tutelage of a most unlikely escort. Chapatti Suze had heard about. She didn’t say, but the modesty of the fare might have surprised even an orphaned Madurese.
What was all that fuss? if Suzie’s guarded expression was read correctly.
Some shared masala thosai made a better impression; and then ginger tea with milk—teh halia.
How much here at Masjid India actually hinged on ultimate hope, on the rescue of salvation? The strength of unity in the gathering, the shared spirit and endeavour, the camaraderie infused—these were the marks. Larger added hopes seemed something quite distant; the prospect of some kind of life in the beyond stood outside the frame here.
Indian food adventure followed Suzie’s prayer, under the tutelage of a most unlikely escort. Chapatti Suze had heard about. She didn’t say, but the modesty of the fare might have surprised even an orphaned Madurese.
What was all that fuss? if Suzie’s guarded expression was read correctly.
Some shared masala thosai made a better impression; and then ginger tea with milk—teh halia.
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