Song of the Desert

The warmth of my day is penetrated by the call to the faithful.

It undulates, pitched perfectly to give sanctity to its message.

I stand transfixed each time I hear the call, it is mesmeric and melodious, and although I am not even remotely religious, it has a certain purity to it that always makes me pause and consider.

Its not taped, or a spoken set of instructions, but a song to you to come and be with god sung by the leader of the mosque, himself, personally.

The desert, in all its loneliness is punctuated by mosques. Thousands of them. Each of them has a loudspeaker system and it is used to call all who live around or are just passing to the mandatory prayer service.

Even Gas stations and MacDonald’s have mosques. Refineries have mosques (ours has about 7 within a short walk). The beach has a mosque. The shopping malls have mosques.

There is no excuse.

Everything closes at prayer time. Except of course the mosque. You will be asked to leave any sales establishment (except of course the mosque) until prayer is over then business resumes.

Prayer is an interesting ritual. Men come from everywhere, wash at specially designated areas, then attend a session of bowing led by a songster who most often preaches a message whilst the faithful face towards Mecca and fall forward on their faces at a specific intonement in his words. Its mesmeric almost messianic.

Six times per day.

Sometimes I think the mindlessness of it all sets a man free.

And the women stand or sit around and wait.

Clocks are sold in the market that have all the prayer times built in, they also have an inbuilt GPS which gives the direction of Mecca from wherever you are.

They are digital and made in China. But can they sing?