With recent news about bombings and hate fueled terrorism filling our timelines, I think its about time I address my experiences living in a predominately Muslim country. In the shockingly Islamophobic time we’re living in, I think its important to make sure we’re seeing and hearing all sides of the story.
As a YAGM cohort, we’ve received numerous Islamo-Christian relation trainings since arriving in Senegal. In addition to the training courses, one way I chose to authentically accompany my community this year was to read the Quran in its entirety, which I finished last month. As someone who is deeply passionate about this topic, I feel as though the world needs more people who can understand both sides and act as a bridge between two worlds that are often too divided to find a way back together. My goal during this year (and my life Post YAGM) is to become one of those bridges.
One of the most interesting things during this year has been discovering how Senegal is different than other very religious countries. It’s uniqueness stems from the influence of Sufism, rather than the more widely known Sunni or Shia sects of Islam. The Sufi branch of Islam is more mystic and spiritual in nature. Many believe that it is the open-mindedness that is inherent in mysticism which allows the Senegalese to maintain such a unique multi-religious harmony. I would like to give a personal face to what this harmony looks like.
I spend most of my week working at the Center for the Promotion of Women which is run through the Femmes pour Christ (Women for Christ) organization. The center teaches trade skills to girls and women who have limited traditional schooling so they can become self-sufficient. Of the five professors that teach at the center, four are Muslim and one is a Lutheran pastor. Of the students that attend the school, it is safe to estimate that at least half of the students are Muslim. 14 of the 35 girls in my class wear a hijab, the traditional Muslim headscarf that covers a woman’s hair and neck.
The first stereotype I would like to combat is the image of the colorless, personality stripping headscarf that is so often imagined when the word hijab gets thrown around. The students at the center that choose to wear a hijab, do so in a manner that matches their personality. Some are much stricter in the ways that the hijab falls, while others effortless wrap it around their head and neck so it resembles more of a stylish scarf. These hijabs are colorful and always match their outfits. They are bedazzled and have creative broaches that pin the scarf in place. These hijabs represent another way for these women to express themselves. One of my favorite things to witness is when one of the Christian students reach over to fix a fellow student’s headscarf and help fasten the pins in place. It is such a natural act, one not rooted in mere tolerance, but true and genuine acceptance.
Another reality of living in a predominately Muslim country are my interactions with the Call to Prayer. I am fortunate to live in a village where the Muzzein (the man chanting the prayers through the speakers) has a beautiful voice, so the daily calls are melodic and peaceful. Sitting on my roof every night, looking up at the stars and listening to the call from the minaret has become a centering ritual. I’ve found that it’s in these moments that I feel closest to God. Yes, I realize the irony that as a Christian I feel closest to God when I listen to the Muslim call to prayer. But what I notice more than the irony is the beauty of that. Living here has taught me that God has many names and many manifestations. I am blessed to be able to experience God’s manifestation through the unity of Muslims and Christians in Senegal.
The late afternoon call to prayer falls during the evening couture class. The class is very independent, we’re often left to finish our sewing projects as our professor walks around and helps fix machines. Every evening during this class, he quietly dismisses himself to go wash his hands, face, and feet (as is outlined in the Quran to be done before every prayer) then he comes back in the class, lays down his prayer mat at the back of the class in the direction of Mecca, and quietly recites his prayers. Throughout this process, he never asks us to be quiet, he never interrupts the class to announce what he is doing. He allows us to continue our work, and we allow him to connect with God. The first time this took place, I would be lying if I said I wasn’t completely taken aback. Never before had I seen prayer take place in a school setting.
Growing up in the land of separation of Church and State, the concept was hard to wrap my head around. But as I sat and watched my professor complete his prayers I got to wondering about the debate in the U.S about prayers in school. I wonder if those who fight so passionately for God to be present in schools would fight just as strongly if God went by the name of Allah? If the prayers were to be done on a mat in the direction of Mecca? If these prayers looked different than the Western Christian ways that we so quickly label as “normal” would they still be so faithfully fought for? I really hope so.
I’ve had a lot of time to think think during my YAGM year. One of the things we’ve talked about repeatedly is how were going to take what we’ve learned from this year and apply it to our lives once we return home. That seems like a big task, I know! There are so many ways that this year has changed me. I am not the same person that I was when I first stepped off the plane in Dakar eight months ago. Thank the Lord for that! But I’m left asking myself what is the use of this amazing experience if I’m not able to articulate all of the things that I’ve learned to my friends and family back home?
I hope that through my experiences in Senegal, I can be a firsthand account of what it actually means to live and work alongside a deeply faithful Muslim community. I hope to be a primary source to the kindness and the generosity of Islam at a time when so much speculation and demonizing is being spread. I aspire to be a voice that raises up positive stories about the Muslim community that so often don’t get shared with the same enthusiasm by Western news outlets.
There is an Arabic word that I hear frequently here in Senegal. Inshallah. It translates to “God willing” and it is used at the end of most conversations. It is used so often that our running joke is that it translates more to “we’ll see” than “God willing”. But truthfully, inshallah is used to express what one desires to happen. A common conversation may go “Boo o feet (I’ll see you tomorrow)” and the response would be “inshallah”. When one discusses the health of their family or potential new job opportunities all conversations will end with “inshallah”. It is a way to address the influence of God in every aspect of their life. While I sit here writing this blog, I can’t help but wonder: what are my desires? For what would I say “inshallah”?
I desire that people could see Islam for what it truly is, a religion that preaches peace and forgiveness, just like Christianity. That there is unacceptable radicalism in every religion, yet it doesn’t make all followers of that religion dangerous and worthy of hatred. I hope for the humanity of Muslims to be seen first before the headlines of terrorism. I wish that the beauty of Islam could be seen by all. There are so many things that we can learn from each other, not regardless of religious identities, but because of them. I pray for the day that we can find our strength from each other no matter what God we pray to. Inshallah.