By Aman Ali

Freeway puckered his lips and stroked his fleecy facial hair as I asked him about the purple “Billionaire Beards Club” shirt he was wearing. Breaking out in the hip-hop scene on Jay-Z’s Roc-A-Fella label in the early 2000s, his distinct look brands an image into your brain just as much as his rhymes.

“I’m a Muslim,” he said. “So this beard, it’s an attribute of a Muslim. It’s a part of me, so I’m just doin what I’m doin normally.’

“Where I’m from here in Philadelphia, this city has a huge Islamic community so its normal,” he added. “Especially when you walk out in the streets out here, people know who I am so they don’t look at me like I’m going to blow up a plane.”

The Philadelphia Muslim community has its own charm to it. They’ve got this in-your-face and unapologetic pride in being Muslim. What also stands out is the community’s heavy influence from street culture. It’s not uncommon to see someone with a long beard and traditional Muslim garb accessorized by gold teeth and an iced-out watch. It’s hard to explain with words though, what may seem odd anywhere else is the beautiful norm here in Philly.

I met Freeway in downtown Philadelphia alongside three of his friends at a local Indian restaurant. One of them was Freeway’s barber, who points to my face and asks me where I got my beard lined up. I told him I did it myself in the bathroom when I woke up today.

“Well, I might have to ask you to grab a chair in my shop then,” he said with a laugh.

Philadelphia wasn’t a scheduled stop on our tour, but when Freeway’s manager reached out to us asking if we wanted to meet him, it was a no brainer for me to hang out with one of my favorite rappers I listened to in high school.

Freeway has a vibrant and unshakeable demeanor when he’s onstage rapping but in real life he can be a reserved man of a few words. He stares across the room and rubs his hands together in the air as he repeatedly takes a few moments for deep thought.

Freeway embraced Islam in his teenage years while growing up in Philadelphia. He prowled the city’s hip-hop scene battle rapping anyone who wanted to step into the ring with him.

“I just loved the music,” he said while reaching for a piece of tandoori chicken. “It was just something I knew I was good at. I always felt like I had a shot so I kept working at it. Whenever someone else blew up, I never hated on it. I always felt like I’d get my time too.”

Soon, rapper/mogul Jay-Z got word of Freeway’s talents and signed him to Roc-A-Fella records. Freeway became an overnight success with producers like Kanye West maestroing his debut album. That’s when he decided to go on Hajj for the first time in 2004 with Jakk Frost, a Philly rapper sitting next to him whose bond with Freeway goes beyond music.

Jakk Frost is a beast of a man. Words come out of his mouth with a thundering boom and just looking at his hands I know he could probably crush someone like crumpling up a piece of paper. But he offsets that with an affable tone in his voice. Speaking to him you get a sense of an incredibly deep sense of loyalty and friendship to Freeway, which is why Freeway brought him on Hajj in 2004.

“I wanted to go on Hajj because it’s part of my religion,” Freeway said. “It’s one of the five pillars of Islam and I finally had the free time and the money to do it.”

“And he had somebody to get on his nerves about it, hahahaha,” Jakk Frost said with a bellowing laugh.

Being in Saudi Arabia to make the holy pilgrimage was an eye opening experience for Freeway, especially when visiting the Kabah, the Islamic holy house Muslims all around the globe pray towards every day .

“When I got to Mecca and saw the Kabah, I just broke down and busted into tears,” he said. “I mean, this is the house that Abraham built. I’ve prayed to this place for a large part of my life. It just touched me man – it was a beautiful experience.”

It also started making him think about the decisions he was making in his own life.

“I buckled down,” he said. “Someone told me over there, ‘If you go back home and you’re doing the same things you were doing before, then you didn’t get anything out of your Hajj. I became more aware of what I was doing as far as how I was dealing with people and I tried to cut out a lot of extracurricular activities I was doing. You know, I was just trying to make my life better.”

He was one of the hottest rappers on the scene at the time but that Hajj trip also made him think about walking away from music altogether.

“When I’m rapping, people listen to my music and could be doing other things like remembering Allah,” he said. “The time I take to create the music, I could be doing other things too regarding Islam.”

Roc-A-Fella records slowly started to crumble shortly after because of internal management problems much to the shock of Freeway and fans like myself all around the world.

“We didn’t expect it,” he said. “We thought Roc-A-Fella was going to live forever. Just being in the mix of it, we thought it was never going to stop. “

Freeway is now signed to Rhymesayers Entertainment, an independent label featuring fellow 30 Mosques friend Brother Ali. He said he enjoys what he’s doing now and there’s no animosity with his Roc-A-Fella friends of the past.

“I’m still cool with everybody,” he said with a nod. “I talk to Jay still, so we’re good. The whole label thing may have fallen apart but the strong will survive.”

“Right now, I’m just grateful that 10 years later, I’m still relevant,” he added. “I’m thankful I still get 3-4 shows a month. And that sense of thankfulness, it comes from Islam.”

Freeway has never been ashamed of being Muslim, but it wasn’t until recent years when he decided to talk more publicly about his faith.

“I think it has a lot to do with me getting older and more mature,” he said. “It just naturally leads to me embracing it more.”

If he’s embracing the title of Muslim more, I asked him then about his lyrics. Some of his older work focused heavily on references to drug dealing and violence.

“These days, I really think about what I’m going to say because I don’t want to give people the wrong impression of something. Right now, what I rap about is my life in general. Being from the hood, I still have everyday struggles. I lost a lot of friends (to gun violence). Matter of fact, I just had a cousin that was killed.”

Being in the limelight is always a struggle for any Muslim wanting to keep his or her ego in check. Freeway said he tries to do it by reminding himself of a point early in his career. There’s an infamous video from 2001 where Freeway and his Roc-A-Fella labelmates walked into a radio station for an unforgettable freestyle session. But soon after in his career, there’s a video just as unforgettable of Freeway arguably losing a freestyle battle to a rapper named Cassidy.

“When I sit back and look back at that, I realize that was from Allah,” he said. “He always balances things out for me. Before I get too big headed he always puts me back in my place.”

“Looks like you’ve got this guy to keep you in your place too,” I quipped while pointing to Jakk Frost.

Jakk kicks his head back and thunders another laugh.

“It’s a reminder that Allah can bring people up and just smash them down like they’re nothing,” Jakk said while hammering his fist onto the table. “Like they’re nothing.’”

To this day, Freeway said he still struggles with why he’s doing music. Part of him still feels like what he’s doing is un-Islamic.

“The main reason I do music right now is to feed my family and I’m good at it,” he said. “No I don’t want to do this forever. Eventually I want to get my life together and life my life according to how a Muslim is supposed to do. But while I’m doing it, I’m doing everything else to the best of my ability to be a good Muslim – pray five times a day, fast during Ramadan, make Hajj.”

By Freeway’s side throughout the entire struggle has been Jakk Frost. The two met around 1996. For a while, it was Jakk Frost that was the better known rapper and Freeway the lesser known one. Now that the roles have changed over the years, I asked Freeway what he does to curb potential tension between the two.

“He’s my brother and he means a lot to me,” he said. “We’ve done so much together that’s more than music. All my friends, we have a bond, that sense of brotherhood that extends from Islam. That’s our core. That’s what we have that a lot of people don’t have.”

Meet Adnan Sirajuddin. Toronto’s Muezzin.

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By Bassam Tariq

We find ourselves outside of a large house in Newark, Delaware that will soon be known as the Glasgow Community Masjid.

According to Murat Kose, a member of the community, there are about 15,000 to 20,000 Muslims in Delaware. About a thousand of them are Turkish. Many of them own businesses in the area.

“Every diner you go to in the city, it will be owned by a Turk.” Murat exclaims.

Murat came to Delaware for business as well. His background is in chemical engineer and he was working on his PhD when he decided to create his own telecom company. He now runs the local office of Zakat, an Islamic aid organization based in Chicago.

The congregation at the mosque is mostly Turkish as well. The imam, Mahmut is 25 years old. He came to Delaware through an Imam training program in Turkey. He recently married and now lives in the mosque.

“I really think you should have visited the other mosque.” Says Murat Kose. “It’s bigger and more people go there.”

But this is where I wanted to be. Being on the road for the past 24+ days, it feels nice to finally have our feet planted. Here, I didn’t hear Aman singing to bad 80′s songs. All I heard was the wind and the call to prayer. For once, I don’t feel like moving. I want to stay in place and get to know the people. These are the kind of mosques that I like to see, the ones with large, mismatched carpets and toys laying around. Where the kids are always running around and the tea is always brewing. I understand the need for larger mosque spaces but sometimes, the coziness and intimacy gets lost. It reminds me of the small communities we have visited this year and their unpretentious manners that bind them all together.

Inside the prayer space, the way the light falls from the windows is incredible. A man prays alone by the curtains. Outside the window, you see kids playing around the swings while a mother watches over. Many spaces we have visited this year are blanketed by industrial lights and commercial carpeting. This mosque, like Imam Jamil’s and many other house mosques, embraces its form and celebrates it.

Our time in Delaware gets cut short because of a prior commitment we made in another state. So we drive off in to the distance waving goodbye to Murat and Imam Mahmut.

Still I wonder, what it would’ve been like if we spent the night at the community. The tea drinking, the bad Turkish jokes, the short taraweeh prayer and, most of all, the nice comfortable home to rest in. Being on the road for so long takes a toll, but they say that prayer is better than sleep. So we continue on our way, there is more to see and claim as home.

By Aman Ali

Note: To ensure the safety and privacy of these women, they put on face veils and used different names in this interview to not reveal details about their identity.

Saima came to the U.S. from Pakistan for marriage. For lack of a better phrase, she went through four years of hell.

“I was in a different country and didn’t know the language,” she said in Urdu to me. “I had no family members here to help me. He forced me to stay in a basement, I was beaten, I was tortured and I was abused. I had no way communicating with my family for help.”

Just forming the words to talk about the abuse she went through is tough for her. She repeatedly pauses and looks the other way recollecting the details of the marriage she is seeking shelter from.

She’s one of many women here at Muslimat Al-Nisaa, a domestic violence shelter for Muslim women located in the heart of Baltimore. It might be the only shelter for battered Muslim women in this country. These women’s stories are a painful reminder of why the Muslim community can no longer sweep the issue of domestic violence under the rug.

“This isn’t about religion,” said Jamila Gardner, a longtime volunteer here. “It’s a matter of men and their disrespect. The sad thing is, it doesn’t matter what religion these kind of men have. They have this attitude of ‘You’re mine, I can do with you whatever I want.’ When in reality, Islam has freed women and given them the same rights as her husband.”

My hand trembles as I scribble in my notepad these women’s stories. I’m reminded of all the abuse I learned about growing up regarding several women in my family. As Saima tells me her story, I can’t help but think about the time as a kid I pulled bloody shards of glass out the back of one relative after her husband pushed her through a table. Or the time one woman begged me to make her laugh because it was the only thing stopping her from crying about all the fiery red belt marks that streaked across her soft skin.

Reading this is a downer, sure. But our sentiments pale in comparison to the women going through it like Sara, who fell in love and married a longtime friend before her tale of romance was torn to shreds by his abusive behavior.

“It feels like a train hitting you,” Sara said. “How do you keep all of this pain inside of you when you’ve just gone through a train wreck? When he makes you feel like ‘You’re responsible for it, it’s your fault. Why did you talk back? Keep your mouth shut.’”

Sara sits next to Saima and comforts her throughout the conversation. She grew up in England and speaks with a dash of British elegance when she articulates her story. She said when she first dealt with her husband’s abuse, she initially went to her local mosque for help, but to no avail. The men there either shrugged off her problems or said they didn’t know how to help.

“I’ll put it to you straight,” she said. “You Muslim men, not all of you, but the ones who pretend to be the best Muslims, you are ignorant. You look at your own daughters and sisters in a different way. You would treat them in a different way than other women in your community. You all have daughters and you all have sisters and mothers. It’s your job to protect the Muslim women in your community and stand up for them.”

Asma Hanif is the executive director of the center. She said when the shelter first opened in 2007, it was tough to get the Muslim community to support it because they were in denial the problem existed to begin with. Then came the case in 2009 when Aasiya Zubair was gruesomely beheaded by her husband

Asma Hanif, left, hangs on the gate of the Al-Nisa Women’s Shelter.
Asma Hanif stands at the door way of the shelter.

“It wasn’t until Aasiyah was beheaded, when the community said ‘Ok, we need to talk about domestic violence.’ This wasn’t something they could hide anymore.”

A few scholars in the Muslim community including Imam Zaid Shakir urged people to support An-Nisaa. But the shelter is still in dire need of support. Oftentimes, the shelter struggles to even cover its electric bill for the month.

“If somebody beheading their wife didn’t mobilize the community to do something about this, God, what would?” she said shaking her head before she paused. “…I can’t even answer that question.”

Asma is just as tenacious with her jokes as she is with her intolerance for apathy on this subject. After dealing with maddening case after case of abuse at the shelter, I asked her how she copes with the frustration.

“ I’m crazy, don’t you know that?” she quipped while rattling a backscratcher at me. “I’m like straight up Looney Tunes. I wear purple every day, come on. I’m straight up crazy, can’t you tell?”

“I tell people I cry every day,” she said while composing herself. “I meet these women and I hear all their sadness and sorrow playing in my head. Then I go into the community asking for help and all I hear is “No.”

Amy, left, sits with Tahira, left, in the small prayer space.
One of the many bedrooms in the shelter.

After dinner, I joined two women studying a few verses of Quran. One of them was Tahira, who was born Muslim but adopted by Christian parents. For years she dealt with verbal abuse from them and battled depression as a result. She even tried to commit suicide several times.

“My mother would yell at me all the time and tell me I was fat,” she said. “She would say my adopted parents gave me up because nobody wanted me. I knew that wasn’t the truth but it would still have an effect on me year after year.”

Sara told me in many cases, verbal abuse is just as bad as physical abuse, if not greater.

“Physical abuse is going to go away,” she said. “You’re going to heal and you’ll get better. But those emotional scars, those don’t go away. The verbal abuse, the anxiety you’re put through that leads to depression… that’s not something that’s easily swallowed.”

Tahira then discovered her Muslim roots and researched the religion before embracing Islam in April this year. Her family wanted no part of that and she’s now in the shelter as a safe haven.

“I’ve been a practicing Muslim for about four months,” she said. “I have a long way to go before I can open up my arms to them and say “Ok, I understand.” I still have a process to go through because emotionally I’m not ready.”

Considering her adopted parents abused her, I asked her if she ever wondered why they would even adopt her to begin with.

“Oh yeah, almost every day,” she said. “But there’s a reason for everything. This was Allah’s way of bringing me back to Islam and put me here in this town where there are a lot of good people here. It was Allah’s way of saying ‘I’m ready for you and have something in store for you.’”

The woman next to her, Amy, nodded in agreement. Amy dealt with several years of abuse from her husband as they raised children together. Both of them embraced Islam after getting married but things didn’t change.

“Embracing Islam together, I thought things would get better,” she said. “But he just didn’t want to practice.”

Amy’s son interrupts our conversation by walking up to me and rubbing my head.

“Mom, he’s bald!” he said with a giggle.

“I see you got jokes,” I retorted back. “I’ll tell you what, give me like 10 minutes more to talk to your mom and I’ll play a game with you where you can rub my head all you want. Deal?”

“Deal,” he said while shaking my hand.

Amy said she left her husband because he wanted her to stop practicing Islam. And that’s when enough was enough. Like Tahira, she too sees her struggle as divine plans for bigger and brighter things in her future.

“It was Allah’s plan” she said. “Everything happens for a reason. There’s a reason why I met my husband. If I would have never been with him, I would have never found Islam. It might have been a bad situation, but at the same time, it produced something beautiful.”

These stories are moving, but there’s a good chance in about five to ten minutes we’ll forget about them. Don’t. You probably know at least one person in your life dealing with abuse. Do everything you can to help them. If you think it’s a damn shame nobody is supporting this Muslim women’s shelter, put your money where your mouth is.

But whatever you do, don’t feel pity for these women. That’s not what they’re looking for. Pray for them. And pray that God gives you the same amount of strength and courage he gave them to deal with this.

Meet Muhammad Abbas Hijazi.

An abstract artist who was showing his work at the First Qur’an Festival.

 

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By Bassam Tariq

We met a gay Imam yesterday in Washington DC. Before we go any further I thought I’d take a moment and do a Frequently Asked Questions section so we can get passed the obvious questions and move to the story.

FAQS

WHAT’S THE STORY?

He goes by Imam Daiyee Abdullah and lives in Washington D.C. He is known as the gay Imam because many queer Muslims come to him for advice on how to live a balanced and spiritual life. He is a large man that towered over both Aman and I. He also has a mean handshake.

WHERE’S THE MOSQUE?

For now, it is a makeshift mosque. They meet at a public library in Washington DC for Friday prayers.

HOW DID HE KNOW HE WAS GAY?

Imam Daiyee grew up in a very loving family and always knew that he was gay. He finally came out to his parents when he left for college at the age of 15. At the time, his name was Sidney and he wasn’t Muslim. His family had always instilled in him the importance of believing in God. They themselves are Southern Baptists, but accepted their son when he came out.

HOW DID HE FIND ISLAM?

Oddly enough, in China. He was studying the Chinese language at Beijing University in the early 80’s when he befriend many Uyghur Muslims. He was very moved by the faith. The first Quran he ever read was in Chinese and Arabic. He had been exposed to Islam before with the small Wahhabi and Nation of Islam communities he ran into during college. At that time, the religion didn’t make much sense to him. Ironically, it was when he read the Quran in Chinese that it all came together.

WAIT, WAS HE STILL GAY WHEN HE EMBRACED ISLAM?

Yes. Imam Daiyee has always been a spiritual man and believed in the importance of having faith. What attracted him into Islam was prayer. “With Islam, it’s totally different. In sujood [prostration], I felt like I could release all my anxieties to Allah.” He also feels that the faith gives him a greater inner peace that no other religion has given him.

HOW DID HE RECONCILE ISLAM’S VIEW ON HOMOSEXUALITY AND HIS OWN PRACTICE?

This is where it gets interesting. Imam Daiyee Abdullah was introduced to Islam by the Uyghurs. Apparently, they have been Muslim for over 1300 years because of their tradings with the Arabs. In Imam Daiyee’s eyes they have a wider and more nuanced understanding of Islam and one that is closer to the Prophet’s time. They were very accepting of his homosexuality and embraced him wholeheartedly.

From the moment he was Muslim, Imam Daiyee never saw a conflict between with Islam and homosexuality.

OKAY GOT IT – WHY DOES 30 MOSQUES CARE?

Great question. We are looking to share compelling and relevant stories about Muslims in America. We have celebrated those in the mainstream Muslim community and have also highlighted communities that would be considered on “the fringe.” It was important for us to meet someone from the Queer Muslim community because they exist and their story is an important one. Do I necessarily have to agree with their beliefs and values? No, but I should respect it.

There are countless stories that we have covered this year on communities or people we wouldn’t see eye-to-eye with and that’s what this year’s challenge has been for us. It is for us to step into these difficult conversations and to try to empathize and understand where the other is coming from. That’s the only way we can celebrate the human experience and climb out of our own ignorance.

ARE THERE MANY QUEER MUSLIMS IN AMERICA?

There is no real way to know how many Muslims in the US are queer, but Imam Daiyee estimates about 6%. In his own informal observations, he says that they tend to be well-educated, in their mid to late twenties. They come from all over the world, there is no one real ethnic majority in the congregation.

WHY IS THIS RELEVANT?

We are afraid as a community to touch this subject because we feel the religion doesn’t accept it as a lifestyle. Many muslims right now see homosexuality as a phenomena that doesn’t effect Muslims. We take the Ahmedenejad “there are no homosexuals in Iran.” But what will we do if one of our siblings comes out? If our child tells us they are gay? Or a close friend? Will you still love them? Will you shun them? Beat them?

——

THE STORY

Imam Daiyee has had a few partners in his life. His first long-term committed relationship was when he moved to San Francisco. He is now on his third relationship and for the first time, the person he is seeing is Muslim.

“Every man I’ve dealt with has had children.” He says with a belly laugh.

Many of Imam Diayee’s relationships have been with men that used to be married and have children. His last partner and him were together for 11 years and after they broke up, his partner remarried.

“He remarried?” I ask, puzzled. “to a woman?”

“Yes.” Imam Daiyee replies. “A little while into our relationship he told me that he missed being with a women. I told him ‘that’s fine, but you cant be with the both of us.”

His ex-partner, we’ll call him Ted, wanted both. Imam Daiyee felt that wouldn’t be right. He believed in a committed relationship and believed that there needs to be a standard and a limit to how they have their relationship. Ted didn’t get it.

This entire conversation happens as Aman and I are dropping off Imam Daiyee at his home in DC. We are on our way from having dinner together. This conversation makes me uneasy. It is odd for me to see an Imam, or some kind of Muslim leader talk about his gay boyfriends. It’s hard to accept that Imam Daiyee and I see the world differently because of how our sexual orientation molds our perspective.

It has to be said, there are limits to my understanding of the queer experience because I have never been in a romantic relationship with another man nor have I yearned for that. I am part of the heterosexual norm. But now, Imam Daiyee and I have come together because of our belief in the same God and our upholding of a high moral and ethical standard.

“Is it hard to be in a relationship with someone that’s not Muslim?” I ask since Ted was a Christian.

“Yes, the value systems are different. I’m always explaining myself.”

After the relationship with Ted, Imam Daiyee was in a hiatus for about three years. He is now dating again and, for the first time, he’s a Muslim.

“He also has kids, he’s divorced.” Imam Daiyee says, “I guess I’m here to soften’em up.”

Imam Daiyee laughs again and we all join in. He is a man of great humor and ease. The questions I’ve asked him throughout the day have been very pointed and difficult, but he answers them with grace and respect. He is a patient man that is in no hurry. In answering questions, he takes his time and gives his answers with care.

“We are in a mutah [temporary marriage] relationship right now.” Imam Daiyee says.

He is excited about the future with his Muslim boyfriend. For the first time Imam Daiyee has someone he can fast with, someone he can pray with and someone that he sees eye-to-eye with in terms of morality and standards of what to expect in a relationship.

For his Indian Muslim partner, let’s call him Mubashir, this is his first relationship. Mubashir is also based in DC and had some difficulties in the beginning.

“He started acting really feminine and I told him that I don’t want that. If I want a woman, I could get one.”

Imam Daiyee dated a woman in high school and it didn’t seem to do anything for him. He calls it the time he was in “follow-everyone-else mode.”

Affected behavior is a concern that Imam Daiyee brings up. Essentially, when people come out they take on an exacerbated lisp or laugh.

“Most people don’t talk like that. It’s just all this pent up sexual frustration, that when they finally come out – they get a little wild.”

Every relationship has its ups and downs and Imam Daiyee understands that.

“It’s important to understand that each relationship builds on the other.” Imam Daiyee says.

The happiness in Imam Daiyee’s voice as he spoke about his boyfriend, reminds me of my wife. There is only so much anyone else will understand on what they mean to you.

Imam Daiyee pauses and then smiles.

“If things keep up. We’ll eventually get a nikkah [Islamic marriage].”

We may love differently, but we see it the same.

By Bassam Tariq

The following photos and writing were done while driving through the Appalachians in West Virginia

We leave at dusk and head East. The car is quiet. All you hear are the sounds of the wind, the trucks passing and wipers making way in the fog. Clouds gather and your eyes get heavy. Don’t fall asleep at the wheel. Don’t fall asleep. Sleep will derail us. It will kill us.

Cutting through a mountain is work. Clouds live here. They are happy hugging trees, steeples and windshields. From this close, they are puffs of second hand smoke but healthier.

The rocking of the road tries again to put us to sleep but a light rips the clouds. Our eyes widen. We squint and then pull the visors down. The day begins and we are reminded that this is what we live for.

By Bassam Tariq

Singing songs of praise in West Virginia.

South Charleston is West Virginia’s largest Muslim community. After prayer, the imam sang a few nasheeds, Islamic songs of praise, with us in Arabic.

Khaldun Basha is a hafiz, someone who has memorized the entire Quraan. The mosque here brought Imam Khaldun from his native Syria to the community to lead them in prayer during Ramadan. When there are larger crowds at the mosque, the Imam said he likes to do some mawlids, songs that sing the praise of God and Prophet Muhammad.

“Whenever you say the name of Allah and Prophet Muhammad in a chanting way, these words become close to your heart and you’re able to make a connection to them,” the imam said.

We don’t speak Arabic, so if any of you guys do speak Arabic and would like to provide a rough translation of what the Imam is singing in a comment below, it would be greatly appreciated by us and our readers!

 

Day 22 – VIDEO – Iftar – Sultan, Abdullah, Abdur Rahman – Abu Huraira Center

 

 

By Aman Ali

My sincere apologies to the kid I almost shot in the face with these fireworks, lol.

By Bassam Tariq

ISNA HQ – Plainfield, IN

By Bassam Tariq

Moments from the West End Mosque.
Visit 30mosques.com for more information.

By Bassam Tariq

Thanks for joining our second live chat, over 300 people attended! If you missed it, click the “More” button below to catch it. Look forward to our next one at the end of the trip!

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By Aman Ali

Welcome to Murfreesboro, Tennessee. You may have read about it or seen the CNN documentary about how a fringe group of local residents are trying to derail plans for building a mosque here. The construction site for the mosque has even been subject to arson and vandalism.

I was more interested though in finding out what was happening behind the scenes for the Muslims here. What’s it like to go from living in a small town in Tennessee to getting microphones and news cameras shoved in your face day in and day out?

I met the mosque’s imam, Sheikh Ossama Bahloul, in his office to chat about the whole ordeal. He speaks with a dense Egyptian accent pronouncing words like “the” as “ze” or any word with the letter “P” in it as “B.” But he cuts through the language barrier with his intellect. He said he’s well aware the opposition against the mosque isn’t necessarily an anti-Islam movement, but rather politicians stoking flames of fear to score some political points.

“They use the Muslim community in specific areas of the country as a tool in their hand to make specific achievements,” he said. “This is a strategy because of the White House election coming. 27 bercent of the American people believe the president is a Muslim, still! It’s craziness, yaani.”

When the controversy first erupted last year in Murfreesboro, Sheikh Ossama said nobody in the Muslim community anticipated how many news networks would come flooding in.

“The issue became too big,” he said. “The Jabanese TV, France TV, Australia TV came here. What is this, for what? In a way it’s ridiculous.”

I asked him if he did any interviews with Fox News.

“No,” he said before wagging his finger. “Audhu billahi minashaytan nirrajeem (Arabic for ‘Allah, I seek refuge and your protection from the devil’).”

The sheikh had me cracking up constantly with deadpan wisecracks like this throughout the entire interview. Hang out with him long enough and you’ll find out how much of an endearing goofball he is. A photographer was there that day asking us to pose seriously for the camera and I had to keep asking the sheikh to stop making Bassam and I laugh.

“Now this guy, he is looking scary,” Sheikh Ossama said while pointing to Bassam, who was sporting his Blue Steel pose for the camera. “Why you so scary? Don’t do that, I can get scared very easily.”

Sheikh Ossama said he mostly stuck doing interviews for CNN and the BBC. He chose not to do any interview with Al-Jazeera or similar Middle Eastern networks.

“We decided not to go to Al Jazeera or any of the Arabic channels because they would make it a big deal and make America look ugly,” he said. “It’s good to care about the country. American people are nice people. It’s not fair to say they are bad. I don’t want anyone to hate anyone. We must push for love and peaceful activity.”

This isn’t my first time meeting the sheikh. In September 2010, ABC News invited him and I along with a bunch of other people to participate in a Town Hall special on Islam. I chose not to say anything during the special because it turned into a theatrical shoutfest. If you saw the special, you saw the imam constantly trying to jump in and respond to all the ignorant things said during the taping. He told me early on, he often got heated in media tapings like these because it was tough to not respond to all the ignorance he was hearing.

“I couldn’t take it well in the beginning,” he said. “It was difficult for people to call me and give our Prophet Muhammad (peace be upon him) a bad name. It was tough to hear people say we can’t have a Muslim cemetery here in Murfreesboro because it will contaminate the water.”

But soon, he and other people in the community’s irritation to all the ignorance faded.

“People can be angry, but I intend to look at it from this perspective: I believe strongly that Allah chooses people for specific jobs. I believe that Allah chose us for this specific challenge. So in a way I felt Allah gave us an honor to deal with this challenge.”

“When people gave us fake allegations and lies, we were so comfortable because I don’t think it’s proper to make enemies because our life is too short and it’s not worth it. I might get mad here and there, but it’s not a big bercentage at the time because it’s not worth it.”

The Muslims here pray inside an office space inside a shopping center as they prepare to break ground on their mosque project in the coming weeks. I broke my fast in the evening alongside Salim Sbenaty. He’s 14 years old and I remember seeing him on CBS News last year about how he was actively standing up for the mosque and engaging the opposition.

“I’m huge on human rights,” he said. “That’s mainly what inspired me. It’s not more of my own religion that inspired me. If it was any religion, I’d act upon it because everyone deserves these rights.”

“Now how many times have you said that soundbyte in front of a camera?” I teased him.

Like me, Salim has done his own fair share of media interviews so we started riffing about all the silly questions reporters often ask us.

I get the question ‘How do you feeeeeel?????’ about a million times, he said. “Get it from the last guy, do you really have to ask me?”

But he doesn’t get annoyed by it, he added.

“I know that these questions may bring somebody towards better understanding what’s happening,” he said. “Even if I’ve said something over and over and over, it’s for another person that may have not heard it before.

He said he wasn’t prepared to handle all the media attention initially but there was a particular interview where he realized how big this whole Murfreesboro controversy really was.

“I think it was the one I did for Nickelodeon,” he said. “It was that interview when I realized, ‘Wow this is actually an international issue – Murfreesboro, Tennessee.’”

“Wow, Nickelodeon. You were interviewed by CBS News but the network that created Spongebob Squarepants, that’s what did it for you?” I riffed back.

When you’re doing so many interviews encouraging people to better understand Muslims, it’s easy initially to become infatuated with the aura of being on television. I asked him what he does to curb that.

“I try to remind myself that this is my civil duty,” he said. “It’s nothing special. I’m doing this for Allah and only Allah. This isn’t a priviledge or something that I chose to do. It’s my duty of sort.”

Now the “celebrity” in this community I wanted to meet was his older sister, Lema Sbenaty. She was on the CNN special and there’s footage of her grilling this lady running for office bashing the mosque project. Before coming here, I was in touch with her via Facebook where she kept calling me “Mr. Ali,” making me feel like I’m 26 going on 65. I was told she was outside, so I laced up my Puma sneakers and stepped out of the mosque to find her.

“Are you Mr. Ali?” she said pointing to me.

“Dude, I told you not to call me that!” I said. “Makin me feel like an old fart, jeez.”

“Well I dunno, I just saw the bald head and figured it was you,” she quipped.

After seeing her on CNN and learning about her courageous story, I had some burning questions for her.

“The most important question I have for you is, after the documentary aired… how many random people messaged you on Facebook with marriage proposals?” I asked.

She said she’s gotten more than 20! That’s almost twice what I’m getting.

“One guy from Tunisia said ‘I saw your interview and would like to meet your family,’” Lema replied while laughing incredulously. “I was on TV for 25 seconds. Who watches something that makes them want to go on the computer and send a proposal?”

She also gets several messages and emails from Muslim women thanking her what she’s doing. The challenge for Lema was learning to embrace the unwanted role of being a female Muslim role model.

“I don’t want to represent Islam in a bad way,” she said. “It was a big struggle, this whole idea of ‘Am I going to be good enough for these girls to look up to me?’ After the CNN interview, the sheikh came up to me and said ‘You have to pay attention to yourself now because people know who you are. So it’s good in some ways because you remain grounded and in check.”

A fringe but vocal group of people are pumping thousands of dollars into stopping this mosque from being built. As a result, the Muslims become victims of these people’s selfish attempts to exploit them for political gain. But I’m taken back by the relentless strength this community has. I asked the imam where their perseverance comes from.

“It’s good for the human being to recognize the limits in his or her ability,” he said. “I realize this situation is in Allah’s hands. I sometimes say ‘God, I don’t know much and I don’t know how to handle this, please help me’ and God will give you the help you need. If you are arrogant and say you can handle this on your own, you will not do as good.”

“Sometimes what people say can make me angry,” he added. “I’m not an angel. When I hear children in school being called terrorists and little girls coming to me saying they’re too scared to wear the headscarf, it hurts me and makes me angry. But it’s only for a few minutes. Allah chooses people to deal with specific challenges so we are grateful.”

By Bassam Tariq

The entrance to Islamville.

Passed the confederate flags and horse ranches, a little entry way down a broken road leads to a small mobile home community. I drive slowly down the road and see three to four mobile homes lined up next to one another. A large African American man comes out wearing a shalwar kameez, a traditional South Asian garb, and greets us. He is the elder in the community and goes by Uncle Ali.

“We here are completely transparent. You can ask us anything.” Says Uncle Ali. “I fought with the mujahideen’s not in 1980, but in 1981. So get what we say right.”

Welcome to Holy Islamville.

The majority of the congregation is African American. Instead of saying “yes” or “okay” many of them reply saying, “acha” or “jee” the Urdu way of saying it.

The entire community has been inspired by Sheikh Mubarak Ali Gilani, who they call “abu” (father in Urdu) or “Shah-sahib.”

Sheikh Gilani was in the US in the early 1970’s and lived in Brooklyn. There, he began to connect with many of the African Americans.

“We knew there was something different about him,” says Abu Khalil, “he had a way to connect with us. We were drawn to him.”

In the early 1980’s, Sheikh Gilani led a very public “jihad campaign.” He encouraged many to go fight in Afghanistan against the Russians. He made his campaign public and sent out letters to the embassies, the US government, etc. No one seemed to pay attention.

Sheikh Mubarak Ali Gilani. (Islamberg site)

After the campaign fell through Sheikh Gilani became concerned about the environment his students were living in. So him and his students began to buy property all across America and many of them began settling in rural parts of America. It was their Sheikh’s way to purify them.

“Out here, we are closer to Allah.” Uncle Musa tells me.

Uncle Musa is our de facto tour guide who shows us around the property. He brings us to the Holy Shrine where many students have seen the word “Allah” appear in light many times through. There is a fax machine on a pedestal because of a jammed paper miracle that occurred with it. The Sheikh directed his students to make the place a full-time shrine open for anyone to visit.

Uncle Musa stands outside of the Holy Shrine of Islamville.
Uncle Musa shows some of the Islamic artwork done by the community
Uncle Musa points to one of the miracles seen by one of the women in the community.
People do a silent dhikr, remembrance of God prayer, session inside the Holy Shrine.
Silence.

Islamville opened in 1983 in a small rural corner in South Carolina. At the time, only five families migrated there. Now, there are about 20 families that live in the surrounding areas. The community tries to be as self-sufficient as they can. Some of the men raise goats and chicken, others educate the kids in the makeshift school and some have gone to Pakistan to learn the religion and live out on the farm. Instead of going to high school, the kids get their GEDs . College is encouraged. Many of them go to technical school, others become nurses and doctors. The community may keep the kids close in the beginning, but they encourage them to step out for working opportunities.

The young guys that have grown up and live around Islamville.
The girls from the community.

For break fast, we were served samosas, a traditional south Asian potato patty and then we had meat and potatoes for dinner.

“Ah aalu gosht!” I say in urdu.

“oh brother, you know what this is?” One of the community members says.

“Yeah, I am from Pakistan. This is food from the motherland.”

Uncle Musa chows down on potato and meat (aalu gosht).
Uncle Musa’s son, right, sits with a friend as they hear a story from an elder in the community.

It’s hard not to notice the South Asian tendencies of the congregation. From the subtle hand gestures to the decorations in the mosque, I am reminded of the strong South Asian influence seething the entire township. The easiest way to notice the Pakistani influence is by watching the community sing on YouTube.

The first time I heard of Islamville was from a YouTube channel I saw of their sister community, Islamberg. The Islamberg community lives out in Bimnington, New York and they have a collection of Islamic songs and spiritual chants for people to watch. The mannerisms and singing style are shockingly similar to that from South Asia. Many of them have added their own take to it, but one can’t deny the heavy Pakistani overtones in all this.

Note: They are singing in Urdu.

Shaikh Gilani has gotten a lot of scrutiny in the media. The death of Daniel Pearl, a wall Street Journal reporter in Pakistan, has been linked to Sheikh Gilani since Pearl was on his way to meet the sheikh.

It was difficult for me to find anything objective of him online. The entire community that he represents is under attack in America. Whether the small townships he helped establish are called jihad training camps or extremist retreats, the community seems to have a lot of enemies.

(I tried to get some photos of Sheikh Gilani from the congregation but many refused to share their personal photos with him. They all forwarded me to the internet. Throughout the community and the shrine, not a single photo of him was to be found.)

“We are very open here.” Uncle Musa tells me. “if anyone wants to come and visit us, we welcome them with open arms.”

It’s easy to get suspicious at the idea of Muslims living in large communities out in rural America. The fear that these people are training for Jihad against America or building an army against the country is real – and there are many people working day and night trying to get these communities closed.

But they are alive and thriving. The people here are not concerned about that. They are not concerned about the fact that many other African Americans would say that they are losing their black identity by adopting another lifestyle.

To the people in Islamville, the only thing that matters is God and their relationship with Him. It all comes back to that. They have left their lives, their jobs so they can come out of this town not to retire, but to build something new. And for being established since 1983, construction hasn’t gone that far. They are living in mobile homes, the school is only two rooms big and the roads are not paved.

The school house.
The two room school where many of the kids who live in and around Islamville attend.
A dark walk back towards the car.

But there is love here. A love that must be acknowledge. They understand the transient nature of life and for them to be here – it is just a step to that which is greater than them. Your criticisms mean nothing to them. They are busy yearning for the Divine.