30 Masjids 🟩

By Bassam Tariq

Xavier is ten years old and attends KIP elementary. He devours a watermelon slice sitting next to me and talks about his school. “I’m in fifth grade.” he says, “the school I go to is called Knowledege is P…” He pauses and realizes he doesn’t know what the P stands for, but swears it’s not Power.

Xavier and I are sitting together breaking our fast at Masjid Mohammad, but Xavier isn’t fasting today. “I didn’t feel like it.” He said to me earlier when I first ran into him, “but I did fast yesterday.”

Xavier and I met outside of a corner store near the mosque. These two boys were posing for the camera in front of Masjid Muhammad and I followed them here to this store. Most of the kids that loiter around the mosque aren’t Muslim. Some of them were buying gatorade, others were just sitting by the curb. One kid with a water gun began spraying some of the older girls.

“You like taking pictures don’t you?” One of the girls who got squirted with water gun said to me. She was irritated by me snapping away as she drenched in water.

Xavier was probably the youngest of the crowd, he saw me with the camera and started barraging me with questions.

“Are you Muslim?” He first asked.

“Yep.” I reply.

“Then why aren’t you wearing a kufi?”

I began to laugh and knew that I had struck gold with this kid. The time had arrived for us to break our fast and made sure little Xzavier came along with me back towards the mosque. And that’s where we sit now.

“Give me a minute.” I tell him.

I get out of the seat and walk to the corner of the cafetorium. Al Jazeera is back today and the reporter is ready with a few pointed questions. I’m in a daze and a little tired by the interviews. Aman Ali is the interview guy. He looks better on camera and gives news guys succinct sound bites that are easy to chew. I, on the other hand, ramble, don’t stay on topic, and sometimes make off color comments – and Al-Jazeera today is no exception.

The reporter sees me looking back and wonders what I’m looking for. Before walking back to the mosque with Xavier to break our fast, I told all the neighborhood kids to come to the mosque. They all said they would be there. And, now, as I’m being interviewed, I constantly glance at the door hoping that the kids will show up. The reporter asks for my attention, smiles and continues with the questions. I joke with him saying that this would be a lot easier if we didn’t bring any cameras with him.

The interview finally ends and I lose sight of Xavier. I sit down to finally eat some food and meet with the Imam of the mosque, Tariq Najiullah. Tariq is twice my height and wears a nice suit. If he wasn’t as hospitable as he was, I’d be intimidated by him. But since he is a nice guy, I cut straight to the chase.

“Why aren’t any of the kids that loiter around the mosque here to break their fast?”

“Many of them just hang around the area,” he says, “they don’t come inside much.”

A lot of the kids in the neighborhood have accepted Islam on their own. According to Tariq, kids under the age of 15 seem to be coming through the mosque by the dozens to embrace Islam, for a myriad of reasons.

Masjid Muhammad has a fascinating history. The community was founded by the late Elijah Muhammad and carried on by his son the late Warith Deen Muhammad. Imam Warith Deen helped transition a large portion of the Nation of Islam towards mainstream Sunni Islam after his father passed away. A lot of the mosques around the Northeast used to be temples for the Nation of Islam, but as the congregants slowly began to transition to mainstream Islam so did the temples.

(UPDATE: Thanks to Z, one of our readers, for correcting our originally written info that the mosque was founded by Imam W.D. Muhammad)

A little while later, I see Xavier walking around the cafeteria.

“Where’d you go?” I ask him.

He shrugs.

“So where are your friends?”

“They are outside.”

“Are they not coming here?”

“I don’t think so.”

“But they said they would come.”

He shrugs again.

“Well, then lets get to them.”

Xavier and I leave the cafeteria together. As I walk out of Masjid Muhammad, two of my friends who live around the area join us on the quest to find the elusive neighborhood kids.

“Hey dude, didn’t your bike get robbed here?” My one friend asks the other.

“Yeah, it was in broad daylight. And these kids were trying to steal my bike.”

“Oh, did it happen over there?” Xavier asks pointing at one of the corners of the street.

“Uh, yeah.” My friend who had his bike robbed says.

“Oh yeah. I was there.” Xavier says laughing.

“Really?”

“But I wasn’t stealing the bike. I was just standing on the side and laughing. I didn’t want to get in trouble with the police.”

Thankfully, my friend ran out with a bat in his hand and scared the kids off. It was broad daylight after all.

Xavier takes us four blocks away from the mosque.

“So where are these guys?” I ask him.

“I don’t know, this is where they usually hang out.”

We wait a while in the silence, kicking the dirt and playing with our plastic cups. Out of nowhere, the kids finally appear on bikes.

“Hey guys!” I scream.

They ignore me and continue biking forward.

“Whats wrong? I thought I’d see you at the mosque for break fast?”

“Man, you just love taking snaps with your camera.” One of the kids says laughing as he bikes passed us.

I stand still watching them fade into the distance. A lot of the questions I had for these kids will be left unanswered.

“They are headed out to Q street. That’s the projects.” Xavier says.

I turn around and start walking back towards the mosque.

“Will you come back?” Xavier asks.

I nod. Next time it will probably be without a camera.

photos by Bassam Tariq

By Aman Ali

I looked at Feroz Mahal, a tall and burly Punjabi man with an “I Love Canada” lanyard around his neck, from across the room and slowly gravitated towards him.

He drove a tractor trailer thousands of miles from Vancouver, Canada and somehow wound up here in the mosque to be among the congregants of Masjid Ash-Shaheed, a predominantly African American mosque that is so inviting to anyone that comes inside that the hospitality is practically intoxicating.

Feroz, 35, is a jolly guy that spends his days driving trucks, oftentimes alone on the road for days, to provide a stable life for his wife and three children – two boys, 10 and 4, and a girl, 7.

“I miss them, but I do this because I’m able to provide for them a good education and a good house,” he says as he takes off his baseball cap to scratch his head. “Plus how else am I going to afford the Cadillac in my driveway?”

Masjid Ash-Shaheed is nestled on a huge parcel of land in a quiet part of Charlotte. The mosque follows the teachings of the late Imam Warith Deen Muhammad and everyone is eager to make you feel at home the moment you step inside. But as I was sitting at the table enjoying my dinner among the mosque’s congregants, I paused to look across the room again to see Mahal cracking jokes with people he was sitting next to.

Feroz has been in the trucking business for over 15 years. He was driving his truck from Canada all the way down to North Carolina, when the trailer he was hauling filled with electronics broke down right outside of Charlotte. There aren’t many Muslims in his line of work but he met one at a highway truck stop who told him about Masjid Ash-Shaheed a few highway exits over.

Speaking to Feroz made me constantly think about my father. My father for many years worked as a sales manager for a baking company, and would often be on the road 5-6 days a week traveling to meet with clients across the country. He never enjoyed a single minute being away from us, but my brothers and I always knew he was making that struggle so we didn’t have to.

I had to ask Feroz more about his lifestyle, because echoing in my mind was the daily grind my father put himself through to provide for me and my four brothers growing up. Mahal said what gets him through his job is his loving family. His wife and kids are incredibly supportive of what he does, and sometimes they tag along with him on his long ventures across Canada and the United States. I begin to think about the times I would spend my summer vacations as a kid sitting shotgun next to my dad as we explored the countryside and played dumb word games along the way.

Feroz said being away from his family is always tough, but the perks of his job validate the sacrifice. In a given month, he can rack up anywhere between $12,000-15,000. Plus, he typically will spend 7-10 days on the road, followed by a week or two where he’s at home doing nothing, but spending time with his family. In a given year, he probably spends 8 months on the road and 4 months at home.

After prayer, Bassam and I asked if we can check out his truck, which was parked outside of the hotel he was staying at near the mosque. He invites us inside the rig as he starts the truck’s engine that roars in the empty parking lot. I open the door and grab onto a rail to pull myself up inside to chat with Feroz some more.

Feroz gives me the “MTV Cribs presentation” of his truck as he pulls open a curtain behind his driver’s seat to showcase a bunk bed inside. Typical trucks he drives can come equipped with bathrooms, full size kitchens and televisions to pass the time on those long grueling hauls on the road.

I sit on the bottom portion of the bunkbed as Bassam sits shotgun snapping pics of Mahal as he talks about his truck. He’s a little camera shy, but quickly warmed up to the photos. His eyes quietly lit up when I asked him more and more about his truck.

Mahal seems like a man at peace with his own lifestyle. When you love your family, he told me, you are willing to do anything to give them a better life. I paused again to think about my dad, because the life that blessed me with this opportunity to chat with Feroz during this road trip, was in more ways than one facilitated by my dad.

photos by Bassam Tariq

By Bassam Tariq

We arrive in Coatesville, PA around 5:30 PM at the East Fallowfield farm. It is cold and cloudy. I get out of our Chevy Cobalt and walk towards something called the “Bawa Garden.” The stop here is supposed to be a short one. We are scheduled to be at United Muslim Mosque in Philadelphia for break fast. We are greeted by a man named Chuck who meets us with three hugs and a firm handshake. I look over at this beautiful white building and ask Chuck what is that building. “Oh, that’s the mazhar, the burial area of a saint.”

A Mazhar in Pennsylvania?

Chuck mentions it’s the first Mazhar in the Americas. It was built in 1986 to honor the Sufi Saint, Bawa Muhaiyaddeen. Aman and I get a small tour with Chuck around the Mazhar and the prayer area.

Thirty minutes pass and it’s time for us to hit the road towards Philadelphia. There is something special about this place and I feel it would be criminal to leave. I tell Aman to give my salams to the people in Philly and decide to stay back.

The following photos are taken at the East Fallowfield farm branch of the Bawa Muhaiyadeen Fellowship.

The entrance to the Bawa Garden, a small farming grounds where the congregants were encouraged by Bawa to farm.

Noah places flowers near his grandfather’s grave at the burial site by the Mazhar. Noah is a third generation member of the fellowship.

The headstone of a fellowship member. Bawa bought the East Fallowfield farm land because the difficulties they faced in burying through the government. This land gave them the autonomy to bury the dead with the dignity they deserved, Muslim or non-Muslim.

A picture of Bawa Muhuaiyadeen inside the center. Pictures of Bawa can be found throughout the center. Except for the prayer areas of course.

A picture of Bawa Muhuaiyadeen from the photo book, “The Mirror.” Bawa’s short time in Pennsylvania was well documented and photographed by the fellowship members.

Khalida supplicates at the tomb of Bawa. People from all over the world come to visit Bawa’s Mazhar.

Chuck, our guide at the East Fallowfield farm, takes a minute to meditate at the Mazhar. Unlike most Mazhars in South Asia, Bawa’s is a quiet and tranquil place. No singing, music or speaking is allowed.

Tayba, left, and her sister, Khalida, cook vegetarian dishes for iftaar. Both sisters are from Peshawar, Pakistan and have been a part of the fellowship for more than ten years.

A Pakistani family traveled two hours from Virginia to pay their respects to Bawa and break their fast with the congregation.

The women of the fellowship line up for the maghrib prayer.

A small group supplication takes place after the prayer in the outdoor mosque.

Mohammad Abdullah, the caretaker of the mazar, leads the congregation in supplication.

Nina and Sohaiba, two veteran members of the fellowship, clean up after the break fast dinner.

Two congregants embrace each other after the Ramadan night prayer in Philadelphia. The masjid behind the congregants was the first masjid to be built in Pennsylvania that resembled a mosque. Bawa designed the complex.

By Aman Ali

Apparently it’s not an uncommon sight in Philadelphia to see female parking meter attendants that cover up their faces in full niqab.

It’s that kind of “I’m Muslim, so you’re just going to have to deal with it” attitude that’s so refreshing to me.

Before coming to Philly, I asked many of my friends there which place I should check out when I come. Every single one of them pointed me to the United Muslim Masjid in central Philadelphia.

This place was founded by Kenny Gamble, who’s a major music legend in Philadelphia (I didn’t even know he was Muslim). He opened this mosque in 1994 when prostitutes, pimps and drug dealers ran the neighborhood. Now Gamble owns properties on most of the block and built a certified charter school and even a Muslim barbershop nearby.

I walked into the mosque and found this word etched in the driveway (“Salam,” which means “peace” in Arabic) that reflects the atmosphere that welcomed me into the building.

One of the cool things about Philadelphia is how strong the Muslim presence is here. Even some of the gangbangers and drug dealers unknowingly have adopted traditional Muslim styles of dress such as long beards and rolled up pant legs as some kind of fashion trend. This boy in the mosque was wearing an izaar, or as I like to call it “The Muslim Man Skirt.” He was telling me that it’s not uncommon to see several non-Muslim kids in school rock the same outfits. I woulda worn one too tonight, but I didn’t get a chance to shave my legs.

I spoke at length with Carlin, who heads the mosque, about some insight into the Muslim community here. What I find so fascinating is how strong the presence of Muslims is here. He explained many of the Muslims here, including himself, were deeply rooted in the Nation of Islam movement in the 1960s, before embracing a more mainstream and less militant Islam in the 1970s. I asked him and other former Nation of Islam members at the mosque what motivated them to embrace the mainstream. He and others said it was an easy transition because the more he studied Islam, the easier it was to reject the Nation of Islam’s aggressive black-centric views.

But I still didn’t understand why Philly Muslims have such a strong presence here, compared to Chicago, DC or New York where there are plenty of Muslims too. One of the guys there explained to me a lot of it has to do with the Nation of Islam. In the 1960s, the Nation of Islam in Philadelphia got respect from just about everyone on the block because they cleaned up the violence and drugs in the neighborhoods. So when the Nation of Islam transitioned into mainstream here in Philly, they held onto those views of demanding respect and having no tolerance to things like drugs and violence.

Plain and simple, I was sitting among some certified Muslim badasses. Maybe if I ever get to their level of toughness, I could pull off wearing a man skirt too.

photos by Aman Ali

By Bassam Tariq

The Islamic Society of Boston Cultural Center

I am sitting at a table poking the dessert on my plate. Not sure what it’s called, but it’s probably not good for my already troubled stomach.

“Dude,” Aman whispers to me, “I think that dude right there is Yusuf Qaradawi.” Aman points at a man wearing a white cloth over his head. I don’t know who he is talking about, but nod anyway. Aman goes back to staring and googles the man’s name on his Palm Pre.

We are at a fundraising dinner at the Islamic Society of Boston Cultural Center (ISBCC) in Boston and, just like many people who attend fundraisers without any money, I feel a little out of place and, quite frankly, am bored. My mind is focused on taking pictures of something riveting but alas speakers at a podium do not make for interesting photos.

“Look,” Bilal Kaleem, the Executive Director of ISBCC who was emceeing the dinner, says, “we’ve come a long way here. Just four years ago we had a lot of opposition just for building this mosque.”

Doesn’t seem like much has changed since then – case in point.

Bilal continued, “Did you all forget when the Boston Herald ran the two page spread in their paper? One side had a picture of Osama Bin Laden, the other had our planned mosque. The headline read, ‘Al Qaeda has landed in Boston.’ ”

I look around the other tables and there are close to two hundred people here and it’s hard to pinpoint one dominant ethnic group. Around my table are Somalis and Indians. On the adjacent table is an Asian man with a Caucasian wife. The walls are plastered with different youth programs available and the back of the mosque has a pretty slick coffee shop (which is closed during Ramadan). No doubt, the community has come a long way in the four years. Someone even said it’s the second biggest mosque in the states. All this is pretty cool, but none of it helps me figure out what I’m focusing on for our post tonight.

Aman googles on his phone as the fundraiser continues behind him.

“Maybe we could go back to Mohammad’s place [our host family] and write about him and his wife?” Aman suggests. Clearly, fundraisers do not make for a fascinating posts.

“Well, what if we stay here and talk about the mosque, the troubles the community has faced and parallel that with the fundraiser? So we have a little about their history and then a hopeful story about their future?” I counter.

Aman nods. He goes back to his quest on figuring out if Yusuf Qaradawi is really sitting across from us.

“So how much money do you think we should be raising tonight?” Bilal Kaleem poses to the attendees.

“250,000!” “No, no, we should raise 150,000″ “300,000″

The audience begins to laugh at all the numbers being thrown. I begin to count the number of Ramadans I’ve fasted through in my life – not more than 15. I recount all the fundraisers during Ramadan I’ve attended. Without pakoras and fundraisers, there is no Ramadan.

I look around and start taking pictures. At this point, the volunteers begin passing out tiny pledge forms. A man sitting next to me fills one out. I point my camera at him and snap away.

“Hey!” the man filling out the form says.

“Yes?” I reply

“Don’t take photos of me.”

“Oh, sorry.”

“No, no sorry. Do you not know you should ask before taking photos?”

“I was going to ask you, but it was rude to speak over the ..”

“..No! You delete the photos right in front of me.”

I turn the LCD of my camera towards him and slowly delete the photos one by one. These were actually pretty good photos.

Frustrated, I bark back, “What’s your problem anyway?”

“What do you mean my problem?”

“I was going to ask you later. They are just photos. What did you think I was going to do with them?”

“No! You don’t take photos without asking for permission.”

We stare each other down. I make sure not to blink. His eyes have to be the first to retreat.

Good.

He is a stunning looking Somali man and he filled out the form with such class. It was a decent shot of him folding and about to lick the envelope. But here again, our community flips so quick. It is easier to get snaps of the conservative Pathaans in Karachi than it is to get of the educated Muslims of America. It’s frustrating since there is very little diversity in my photo collection — in this trip especially. I feel like I’ll have to be okay with my ever increasing collection of bearded brown men.

After two speeches on the importance of fundraising, Aman finally finds a photo of Yusuf Qaradawi on his phone. “Dude, that’s him!” He points at the man sitting in front of us and then at the small unflattering photo of him on his phone.

Bilal, the Executive Director of the ISBCC, comes back to the podium. “I have great news…”

Turns out two people gave checks of $10,000 and then a third person pledged 250,000.

“Takbir!”

In unison, everyone happily screams, “Allahu Akbar! God is great.”

The chairs begin to fold and everyone begins to leave the eating quarters. Aman puts his Palm Pre back in his pocket and asks, “so did you get any decent pictures today?”

Chairs folded

I shrug and we head out towards our car.

As we walk towards our car, I see a chubby kid on a bicycle twice his size trying to pop a wheelie by the mosque. The kid is screaming and laughing. I bolt back towards the mosque in hopes of getting some nice shots in hopes of getting a powerful closing blog post shot.

I creep up the stairs of the mosque and start snapping away..

“Whoa whoa!” the kid interrupts me. He stops his bike and stares me down, “don’t you dare take a photo of me!”

Here we go again.

no chance

photos by Bassam Tariq

By Aman Ali

Before heading out to Boston today, Bassam and I wanted to stay in Maine a little bit longer and visit the community in Portland.

We learned there was a fairly large refugee population from Iraq, Somalia, Afghanistan and Sudan. Why Maine? The United Nations helps refugees relocate to the United States and often sends them to Maine because it’s a state with a slow growing population that’s known for having welcoming and friendly communities.

One of the men who immigrated to Maine recently was Faisal, an Iraqi who runs a halal meat butcher shop downtown. Faisal came to Maine about three years ago after his life was too dangerous in Iraq working as an interperter for an American contracting company. Now he and his colleague (pictured below cutting meat) make a living running Sindibad Market, aptly named after the Sinbad the Arabian folktale sailor.

The Sindbad Market in Portland, ME

Mishan, an Iraqi refugee, cleans the meat cutter before the start of the day. Mishan arrived in Portland less than a month ago.

I looked around the store and got a chuckle after finding a shelf of Fair and Lovely cream. It’s a skin bleaching cream that’s popular among the South Asians and other cultures. It’s sad but many foreign cultures view people with lighter skin tones to be more beautiful than people with darker skin, and some people will go to the ridiculous length to use this cream to bleach their skin.

Oi gori gori

Faisal left Iraq because he said criminal militias are runng the streets. He and his wife would take turns escorting their kids to school because it was just too dangerous for them to go alone. So in that sense, he’s relieved his kids can go to school in Maine in a safe and welcoming environment.

Faisal, the owner of Sindbad Market, leans on the counter while speaking with Aman.

On the other hand, Faisal faces the struggle that many immigrant parents face – trying to get their children to appreciate the culture they come from. His kids have been in the country for less than three years and already they’re forgetting how to speak Arabic. While he wants his kids to assimilate in American society and do well here, he worries they may forget about their homeland.

Faisal also talked about how there’s a pretty active mosque in Portland, which because of time we unfortunately didn’t have time to visit. The mosque is populated primarily by Iraqi and Somali refugees. So I said “Wow, I’m sure you guys have the best food at Ramadan dinners.” Sadly, no. Like many Muslim communities across the country, the groups are segmented. The Somalis have their own meat shop and get their groceries there, and the Iraqis come to Faisal’s.

We were getting ready to drive out to Boston when we passed by a playground. Turns out it was a community center catered to the needs of refugees living around the housing projects. Here, most of the refugees are from Sudan. The group the Catholic Charities of Maine works with the U.N. to bring families from war torn countries to the states. I spoke Alfred Jacob, a Southern Sudanese refugee who runs the center, while Bassam juggled between taking photos of the kids playing soccer and trying not to get kicked in the head with a ball.

Sudanese refugees play soccer in a playground of a housing project in Portland.

Many of the Sudanese children have households where both the parents are constantly working, primarily in Portland’s factories. Alfred said many of the children don’t have problems feeling welcomed at school, but they often have trouble learning to adapt to an American learning environment. So the community center comes in and helps them ease that frustration. Alfred said he dealt with the frustration of adjusting when he came here too, so he works with the kids from firsthand experience and tries to instill hope in them. “Because without hope,” he said, “what else can you have if you want to succeed?”

A friendly push-up competition in the playground.

Smile