Cultural Exchange
Last Sunday, I witnessed an Islam worship at the Islamic center along Kingsway. I entered the prayer room with extreme caution. Being a Christian that I am, I have my stereotypes and pre-conceived ideas about Islamic religion. There at the basement of the Islamic centre, I was greeted by a tub where men washed their feet. To my left was a pigeon-hole for the shoes which was just across a few dozen of hooks for the coat. I tiptoed towards the prayer area, following my friend and his dad. I clumsily stepped on a long roll of paper runners not a meter wide which ran across the the room. There were two of them, and I wouldn’t have noticed it if it wasn’t for the crunching sound of a crisp, white-pulp paper serenely laid on the floor. I felt my cheeks burn when I realized it was the placemat for the food, where we would later be served a plate of fruits to be shared with those around. Everyone started with the dates, while I grabbed the green seedless grapes. I wasn’t conscious, despite the fact that I am a “guest”. While gobbling a piece of apple, I was looking around, hopefully spotting a Filipino, which would somehow ease the increasing discomfort due to disorientation, or simply because of an exaggerated sensitivity. I grabbed some books to read and was happy it had English translations.
The call to prayer was finally recited. Everyone has calmed down, even the children felt the pervading call to quiet one’s self. After a few minutes of prayer, food was served again. It was familiar, as I had it before and I’m starting to like the mediterranean food. Through the invitation of my friend, I joined them once again last Tuesday where I met a few more mediterranean people. They were friendly and was patient to explain everything that I ask. I hope to return the favour in the near future.
