Friday Prayers – a Woman’s Perspective

It was a wet Friday morning as we set out from our hotel for Friday prayers, so we had some problems keeping our “chadors” in place – an extra layer of black cloth which we was draped around us, but required careful clutching to keep it in place and out of the puddles. We felt that this immediately marked us out as Westerners, as the local women seemed to wear their chadors with ease and dignity.

As a new mosque is being constructed which is large enough to hold the number of people who attend Friday prayers, they are at the moment being help in Tehran university. Once off the bus the women were ushered in a separate direction to the men. We were shown into a small booth warmed by a kerosene stove to await security clearance. The lady guarding the booth was in the middle of her tea break, but offered to share with us the cake and tea she had – and then engaged us in conversations, curious to know where we were from.

Once in the part of the stadium partitioned off for the women, we were given the choice as to whether we wished to kneel with the rest of the women, or to sit on chairs observing the service. We chose to do the latter, partly because we were told that prayers would be filmed for TV, but also because it felt disingenuous to join in such a deeply-felt ritual which we couldn’t truly share or understand. And so we sat in the drizzling rain, watching the rows of women taking part in prayers. This felt quite uncomfortable and voyeuristic, almost like intruding on something which is very precious but which we didn’t fully comprehend.

What did we observe? Rows of women kneeling in rows facing towards Mecca and draped in veils, ushered into place and watched over by women dressed in black. They shuttled back and forth, showing people to their places, like nervous crows. At first the predominant sound was the speech of the Imam, which we gathered was largely political in tone, including the “death to America” slogan, which was chorused by the men from behind the petition. During the speech, the women seemed to react in different, ways – some talking and smiling, others shuffling and adjusting their veils, others sitting quietly as the speech blared over their heads, proclaiming political messages, dividing the world into black and white.

Now the prayers begin. Many of the women adjust their veils, and one woman changes completely from black to white. The mood changes completely to a more reverential one. The women stand, kneel and are prostrate according to the meaning of the prayers. Many mutter verses from the Quran under their breath or count prayer beads. This is when the TV cameras appear. Plastic bags containing shoes and handbags are whisked aside and hidden from view. This is the image which will be relayed to the world. Rows of devout women, their bodies prostrate in the damp pavilion, demonstrating their allegiance to Allah.

We are ushered away once again, struggling with our robes in the rain, to the warmth of the kerosene stove and then the ‘normality’ of the bus.

How easy it was to feel isolated and alienated by this scene. We remind ourselves that the rows of women facing us also feel the rain, that their shoulders too are damp, their knees stiff and their hearts warmed by the same humanity. Fundamentally, too, we share the same God and the same desire for peace. As we prepared to rejoin the bus the lady in the booth wished us well, bowed and smiled. Despite the strangeness of the situation we had just witnessed, here was genuine human connection and concern. Outside the bus we sang a peace song.