The Adhan

Working upstairs, I can hear my host family -all the brothers, sisters, inlaws, aunties, and children-bustling about below.  They're laughing and playing and arguing and chatting just as you would expect any other family to do together on the weekend.

Then the Adhan starts.

Clear and resonant, the call to prayer overpowers the noises of my house, and those of the nearby souq, as everyone drops what they're doing to listen and to pray.

Five times a day, the Adhan calls out a reminder to practicing muslims.  Each one sounds different -not only do different sects of Islam have their own styles of recitation, but individual voices lend their own flavor as well.  The one near my house is recited by a man with a bright, bittersweet voice, whose singing style puts it in a minor key.  The one near the Learning Center is much more gruff, but still powerful, with no cracks or hesitation.

The Adhan is an art form.  Many famous classical Arab singers had their roots in the Adhan -they might have been trained as one, or grew up around family members whose role in the community was to broadcast from the minarets.  (Those self-same towers of spirituality and music that have been banned in Switzerland.)

I don't pray with my family, but I turn of my music, stop practicing the ukulele, or end a conversation whenever the call starts.  It's the respectful thing to do, and it gives me another chance to appreciate an art form that I will desperately miss.