Journal #3
May 5th.
What have I done now?! It seems I have bitten off quite a bit more than I can chew, but then that has been the theme of this whole experience. A harmless assignment in cross culture training, a simple report really, is now a major challenge. I chose the subject of Islam out of pure convenience, my host family is muslim. Well during my discussion with Abdolaye, an unavoidable breakdown in communication led me to unknowingly accept an invitation to join the faith. I tried successfuly to hide my dissatisfaction at the discovery of what actually happened during our conversation, but what the fuck? After quickly weighing my options, I decided that there is no good reason to upset anyone in the family, all of whom has shown me nothing but kindness and generosity. Therefore I didn't put up any resistance, and agreed to accompany him to the mosque for a few pictures. After I agreed I heard something about becoming muslim after I pray. In truth, I wasn't exactly sure what his expectations were at this point.
He insisted that I first get my hair cut and find a proper robe. I hate getting my hair cut here, but I complied. It's always the standard military bzz cut. He also gave me and instructional pamphlet on how to pray, which I found infromative, yet worrying. His gestures and enthusiams were kind actions, but I was touched when he showed up with a tradition muslim bonnet for me. He gave it to me with a huge grin and proudly pointed at the tag inside, indicating to me proof that I had come from Mecca. The tag read : MADE IN CHINA. After that daily dose of irony, we depared for the mosque for the 6pm prayers.
Dispite my concerns and denial about the situation, I was pretty excited to visit on of these african mosques. In general, they are the most impressive buildings in each vilage, and the brand mosque of Yako is no different. But as I later learned, the grand mosque is for friday prayers, so we went to the local one because it is thursday. Lets just say I wasn't blown away by what I saw when I arived. Actualy if anything was to be blown away, it would have been the mosque itself. It was a simple tin roof hangar with a cement floor and one wall made of straw, which of course, pointed towards mecca. After washing my hands, face, arms, and feet three times over, I was clean enough to approach Allah. I found it funny that we were 15 minutes late, yet we were the first to arrive. After the cal to prayer was blasted over a megaphone, people came and stared at me, as usual. But in a few moments, I began to imitate prayer. After about 10 minutes, and alot of bowing and kneeling, it was finished. Abdolaye thought it better to remain at the mosque and await the 8pm prayer, why not? But it was during this time that the imam took my hands and guided me through some solemn oath that I couldn't pronounce, muich less understand. But apparently I'm not a muslim. I suppose it's convenient, I've already added an "a" to my name because Adama is the Koranic equivilent to my Biblican name, and very common in these parts. But after the second prayer we returned back to the house where I was told that I will learn the prayers by heart.
I might make an effort to learn to recite a prayer if only to put a smile on the old man's face, but shit, I didn't mean to get in this deep. Who would have though anyone could convert to a major religion is 5 minutes, not me! I'm not sure yet what he expects from me but I don't plan on showing up to the mosque tomorrow. If worse comes to worse, training is going to come to a close, and in trouth I could be a good muslim for 3 weeks. I'd prefer that to the alternative: facing the dssapointment of a man of true faith.
May 8th.
I thought I could do it. 3 weeks is in reality, a short time, and in addition I had some desire to learn the nature of Islam. However when he woke me up at 5 am the next day for prayer I came to understand my limitations. Not knowing how to expres my displeasure of the situation, I complied and accompanied him in prayer, half asleeep and pissed off. I feel that I fully understand why women fake orgasms. While all this made for great conversation the following day, I was genuinely stressed out over the predicament. I understood that being friday, he was sure to demand my presance at the grand mosque for evening prayers. If I had met every good muslim in the city of yako, I would be especially famous for my miraculous conversion. I already felt I was somewhat past the oint of return, but I couldn't bring myself to continue. It feels bad to fake pray. Suddenly feeling a rush of cowardice, I faked a stomach ache instead, which is surprisingly easy. So I hid myself in bed and weighed which decision would be harder to fake for the rest of my stay here: sickness or absolution. As I had predicted, my fix was only temporary, and again I was awoken at the crack of dawn. The night before, I had committed myself to the lie, and decided to be muslim, but when I saw him waiting for me on the prayer mat, I decided to put an end to the farce. I found the conversation difficult because I had to combine indepth subject matter, with tact and my lack for vocabulary, but in the end I feel more good was done than bad. I tried to explain that I experience god in my own way and I cannot ask him to show me the path with words I don't understand, that dont come from the heart.
I don't know if I got my point across, but he did not seem offended by what I told him. After retelling the story in class, the facilitator offered to talk to him for me.. This is the custom here, to use a 3rd party, usually a person of mutual trust, to resolve problems. The goal of this practice is to save face. Tension in the community is not well tolderated, and its usually best to avoid confrontation. Anyways, J.P. is one hel of a tutor and he really helped me out of a tight spot by learling up the miscommunications. Tonight,old Abdolaye told me that I was never obliged to pray and he thought that I had tom to him with my chioce to join islam. I responded with the truth, that I wanted to learn about his beliefs, but I cannot practice with him.
P.S. Allah be praised.
May 31st
Ok, so I could only put 2 journal entries on this time even though there is a good bit more that was left unsaid. I'm about to swear in as an official Peace Corps Volunteer on Friday, then its off to village to become Robinson Carusoe (which by the way was the first book I read in French). Training was a bit grueling but as if my life hasn't changed drastically enough recently, I'm about to find myself in a very unstructured environment so we'll see what I can do with it. I hope to be able to do a better update soon, but my computer is hit or miss right now. My cell phone will no longer work in village, but I will try to be in range of a tower on a predictable basis. The frequency of the blog may diminish, but I hope the quality will not.
Wish me luck, Bani or Bust.
What have I done now?! It seems I have bitten off quite a bit more than I can chew, but then that has been the theme of this whole experience. A harmless assignment in cross culture training, a simple report really, is now a major challenge. I chose the subject of Islam out of pure convenience, my host family is muslim. Well during my discussion with Abdolaye, an unavoidable breakdown in communication led me to unknowingly accept an invitation to join the faith. I tried successfuly to hide my dissatisfaction at the discovery of what actually happened during our conversation, but what the fuck? After quickly weighing my options, I decided that there is no good reason to upset anyone in the family, all of whom has shown me nothing but kindness and generosity. Therefore I didn't put up any resistance, and agreed to accompany him to the mosque for a few pictures. After I agreed I heard something about becoming muslim after I pray. In truth, I wasn't exactly sure what his expectations were at this point.
He insisted that I first get my hair cut and find a proper robe. I hate getting my hair cut here, but I complied. It's always the standard military bzz cut. He also gave me and instructional pamphlet on how to pray, which I found infromative, yet worrying. His gestures and enthusiams were kind actions, but I was touched when he showed up with a tradition muslim bonnet for me. He gave it to me with a huge grin and proudly pointed at the tag inside, indicating to me proof that I had come from Mecca. The tag read : MADE IN CHINA. After that daily dose of irony, we depared for the mosque for the 6pm prayers.
Dispite my concerns and denial about the situation, I was pretty excited to visit on of these african mosques. In general, they are the most impressive buildings in each vilage, and the brand mosque of Yako is no different. But as I later learned, the grand mosque is for friday prayers, so we went to the local one because it is thursday. Lets just say I wasn't blown away by what I saw when I arived. Actualy if anything was to be blown away, it would have been the mosque itself. It was a simple tin roof hangar with a cement floor and one wall made of straw, which of course, pointed towards mecca. After washing my hands, face, arms, and feet three times over, I was clean enough to approach Allah. I found it funny that we were 15 minutes late, yet we were the first to arrive. After the cal to prayer was blasted over a megaphone, people came and stared at me, as usual. But in a few moments, I began to imitate prayer. After about 10 minutes, and alot of bowing and kneeling, it was finished. Abdolaye thought it better to remain at the mosque and await the 8pm prayer, why not? But it was during this time that the imam took my hands and guided me through some solemn oath that I couldn't pronounce, muich less understand. But apparently I'm not a muslim. I suppose it's convenient, I've already added an "a" to my name because Adama is the Koranic equivilent to my Biblican name, and very common in these parts. But after the second prayer we returned back to the house where I was told that I will learn the prayers by heart.
I might make an effort to learn to recite a prayer if only to put a smile on the old man's face, but shit, I didn't mean to get in this deep. Who would have though anyone could convert to a major religion is 5 minutes, not me! I'm not sure yet what he expects from me but I don't plan on showing up to the mosque tomorrow. If worse comes to worse, training is going to come to a close, and in trouth I could be a good muslim for 3 weeks. I'd prefer that to the alternative: facing the dssapointment of a man of true faith.
May 8th.
I thought I could do it. 3 weeks is in reality, a short time, and in addition I had some desire to learn the nature of Islam. However when he woke me up at 5 am the next day for prayer I came to understand my limitations. Not knowing how to expres my displeasure of the situation, I complied and accompanied him in prayer, half asleeep and pissed off. I feel that I fully understand why women fake orgasms. While all this made for great conversation the following day, I was genuinely stressed out over the predicament. I understood that being friday, he was sure to demand my presance at the grand mosque for evening prayers. If I had met every good muslim in the city of yako, I would be especially famous for my miraculous conversion. I already felt I was somewhat past the oint of return, but I couldn't bring myself to continue. It feels bad to fake pray. Suddenly feeling a rush of cowardice, I faked a stomach ache instead, which is surprisingly easy. So I hid myself in bed and weighed which decision would be harder to fake for the rest of my stay here: sickness or absolution. As I had predicted, my fix was only temporary, and again I was awoken at the crack of dawn. The night before, I had committed myself to the lie, and decided to be muslim, but when I saw him waiting for me on the prayer mat, I decided to put an end to the farce. I found the conversation difficult because I had to combine indepth subject matter, with tact and my lack for vocabulary, but in the end I feel more good was done than bad. I tried to explain that I experience god in my own way and I cannot ask him to show me the path with words I don't understand, that dont come from the heart.
I don't know if I got my point across, but he did not seem offended by what I told him. After retelling the story in class, the facilitator offered to talk to him for me.. This is the custom here, to use a 3rd party, usually a person of mutual trust, to resolve problems. The goal of this practice is to save face. Tension in the community is not well tolderated, and its usually best to avoid confrontation. Anyways, J.P. is one hel of a tutor and he really helped me out of a tight spot by learling up the miscommunications. Tonight,old Abdolaye told me that I was never obliged to pray and he thought that I had tom to him with my chioce to join islam. I responded with the truth, that I wanted to learn about his beliefs, but I cannot practice with him.
P.S. Allah be praised.
May 31st
Ok, so I could only put 2 journal entries on this time even though there is a good bit more that was left unsaid. I'm about to swear in as an official Peace Corps Volunteer on Friday, then its off to village to become Robinson Carusoe (which by the way was the first book I read in French). Training was a bit grueling but as if my life hasn't changed drastically enough recently, I'm about to find myself in a very unstructured environment so we'll see what I can do with it. I hope to be able to do a better update soon, but my computer is hit or miss right now. My cell phone will no longer work in village, but I will try to be in range of a tower on a predictable basis. The frequency of the blog may diminish, but I hope the quality will not.
Wish me luck, Bani or Bust.
posted by Adam Cohen at 5/31/2005
1 Comments:
1. BREAK A LEG!
2. Why no phone in the village? Even the chief does not talk there?
3. If the Islamic adventure really helped you understand why women fake orgasm--it was worth it.
4. Do the women of that Muslim chief go thru FGM?
5.Again YISHAR KOACH!!!!!
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