All he had to say was “whirling dervishes” and I was in.
The only thing stopping me was my work schedule (every night except Friday) but once we were able to plan a trip, we were on our way to a small Sufi mosque on the other side of Amman.
Abdul Latif, one of the guys in our neighborhood, said that he had heard of this tiny, obscure mosque before he left for Amman from his home in Florida. Apparently the sheikh at this mosque had 10 million followers and was pretty revered (not sure how true that is). I had never been exposed to any kind of Sufi Islam, so I had no idea what this meant.
When we got there, I noticed two things: first, it wasn’t that spectacular of a place, especially for someone with such a following; also, as the evening went on, we progressively made up a larger contingency in the mosque (meaning that eventually everyone left except for maybe four other people).
When we first got there, the mosque was full for the beginning of taraweeh prayers, which we had just missed the start of (for those of you who don’t know, during Ramadan there are special evening prayers that go by this name. Basically, you go to the mosque for the last prayer of the day and then can stay for a set of extended prayers. Throughout the course of these prayers, from the first night of Ramadan to the end, you’ll most likely experience the recitation of the entire Quran, unless you’re attending a mosque that prays eight parts each night, as opposed to 20, which can get quite long).
At this mosque, the sheikh led the 20 rakaat (or parts) of the taraweeh. Most times that I’ve been to taraweeh prayers for 20 rakaat, it’s taken maybe an hour and a half, just because it takes time to go through an entire part of the Quran every night (there are 30 parts in the Quran). This time, it took about 30 minutes.
Never had I heard a faster recitation in my life. It was like speed prayers. To be honest, I’m not quite sure how I felt about it because it was almost like we weren’t even appreciating the sanctity of the verses as much as this speedster sheikh was breezing through them. If Twista was a sheikh, he’d be this guy. We were praying behind Sheikh Twista.
The mosque was pretty small and had green carpet and white walls. There was a second level for women, which men can’t see into, of course, but it hangs over most of the men’s section like a balcony, making the ceiling lower in the back half of the mosque than it is in the front half. The front wall was the only non-white one. It was green and decorated with “Allah” tiles and triangular “Ramadan Kareem” flag streamer thingies (like the ones at carnivals or car dealerships, except green and with white Arabic script on them). So overall, not an overly impressive place by any means, just another simple mosque.
After half an hour, there we were, Faheem, Abdul Latif and me, sitting with about five other people (the sheikh included) listening to one man’s relaxed recitation.
Not quite what I had expected, but what can you do? Perhaps the rowdy crowd takes Friday nights off? Who knows. Anyway, I started to get nervous, thinking that we had made the trip all the way out here and all we got was Twista leading prayers. Then it happened. We all stood up and started arranging ourselves in a circle. We joined hands and the Sufi experience began.
Abdul Latif had tried to brace me for this, but I wasn’t sure that preparation was even possible. People started rocking back and forth, chanting “Allah, Allah, Allah” while a few others sang in Arabic (I’m pretty sure that it wasn’t Quran as much as it was just random prayers). Slowly more people showed up and joined the circle, which eventually got to as big as 12 or 13 people.
One man joined next to me and began chanting in varying deep tones. Others were deeply breathing, saying “Allah” on both the inhale and exhale, which began to sound similar to hyperventilation and I couldn’t help but think that there was some sort of high associated with the process. Some were rocking quite vigorously, bending in and out of the circle during the process. “Allah, Allah, Allah, Allah.” The sheikh, who, at 77, wasn’t the most nimble of folks, sat in a chair and joined the circle, swaying vigorously from side to side and occasionally prompting everyone to rock harder. “Allah, Allah, Allah, Allah.”
I participated, standing and joining hands with others in the circle, chanting and bending forward and backward. One of the people who was chanting on one of the microphones, was more just breathing rhythmically than chanting at all. It sounded more like beat-boxing and, since everyone was kind of rocking in their own way, I would close my eyes from time to time and just start moving to the beat, hip-hop style (yes, I’m aware that I’m incapable of hip hop and turn everything into bhangra). It did sound pretty neat, especially with some of the others singing and some of the others chanting at various tones. Maybe it could be compared to an “a capella” of sorts?
Occasionally, different people would go enter the middle of the circle and do their “dhikr,” or chanting, there. From what I could gather, the middle of the circle is the most powerful position to be in, so a lot of the spiritual energy/connection can be felt there, I think.
If it wasn’t the chants or the hyperventilation, then definitely the various men who would take to the middle of the circle, looking like they were having some sort of out-of-body experience, made me feel like I was in a dreamworld.
One man, who appeared to be captured by some kind of force, would tramp around the circle, pumping his arms and grunting with each breath/step. I don’t want my description to be read as a mockery of this man’s religious practice, so I will simply say that it was an unfamiliar sight.
Another man entered the center of the circle and would jump and twist while chanting. One man, with a very long and bushy black beard joined the circle late. He appeared to be a little aggressive and would interrupt his chanting and rough side-to-side twisting to yell in a really angry/loud tone at the guy next to him. I wasn’t sure if he was making a mockery of the others, or if he was just really into it, but I definitely got a different vibe from him. From time to time, he would face Abdul Latif and start yelling his chants really loud at him, prompting Abdul Latif to yell loudly back at him and they went on, chanting the energy out of each other.
Then he entered the center of the circle and, after some other random movements, began to turn in place. He started slowly, then picked up speed and I thought he was going to start going really fast until he stopped outright. I’m guessing the circle wasn’t large enough to safely accommodate his whirling, so that was pretty much all I was able to see. He made a couple other attempts throughout the evening, but nothing too insane.
After about 45 minutes of this chanting environment we all finally stopped and sat down. The almost-whirling-dervish sat down with a Quran and began to recite. It turned out that he wasn’t really that crazy or angry of a guy, just really emotional about his practice and it was apparent in his recitation.
His voice was more powerful than any that I had heard and more trained on the nuances of Quranic recitation technique, also known as tajweed. He put so much passion and energy into each verse that he had to take about five seconds to recover between them before he’d take a deep breath and begin again. I had never seen someone recite with so much energy and passion. I could see it on his face, as he strained to perfectly pronounce each letter, twisting his eyebrows and using an unnecessary amount of muscular force to release the appropriate sounds. It was so beautiful to listen to, but so draining to watch. In seeing him, I could tell that there was nothing else in this world that this man put this same amount of passion and energy and care into. No way. Not even his wife or his family. He was exerting his entire humanity over these verses and you could feel him almost killing himself in the process.
When he was done, the evening was pretty much over. The sheikh met us and told us we were good Sufis and that we should come back at 3 am for their pre-suhoor rituals. I told him the only thing that felt appropriate at the time: insha’Allah.
*
One day Faheem walked out of our apartment with a large, empty water bottle. When he came back it was full of sand.
"Where the heck did you get that?" I asked.
"Outside," he said.
*
We found a way to get European soccer games and NFL football games on our TV. This means that we now stay up until 3 am watching exciting matches between the likes of the Seattle Seahawks and the San Francisco 49ers (probably the worst possible game that could have been broadcast overseas). Whenever that happens, Faheem and Waseem both wonder why the hell we watch this "football" stuff.
Oh, we also learned that broadcasts and advertisements for Monday Night Football mean European Monday Night Football. So, yeah, no Ron Jaworski here, only crazy euro soccer commentators.
*
If anyone wants me to get them a niqaab, just let me know. I think they're readily available here.
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