The Salah

On Monday the 21^{st of September, I celebrated the Salah, which is the local name for the celebration of the end of Ramadan. As a white woman, I tend to create quite the stir in general but as a white woman in a head scarf praying toward Mecca, I was the talk of the town.}

I attended the Salah with my friend Rukaya and her two sons, Ferica and Meroof (They are 9 and 5 and I claim both as my husbands, which helps me fight off the dirty old men.) Rukaya lent me a small simple white head scarf of her own, we got the boys washed and dressed in their matching orange outfits, and we were off to the celebration with Rukaya's neighbor and unhappy baby girl in a fluffy dress in tow. It was a very hot day and of course there was no shade. The concrete expanse of the Police Training Center was outfitted with rows of prayer mats. The rows closer to Mecca were for the men and behind them by a space of about 20 feet were the rows for the women.

As we waited for the celebration to begin, we sat in what shade we could find and the men and woman began to segregate. But before Ferica could go off with the men, an old woman made sure to question his love for her. He sat smiling and giggling beside me and said, "but can't I love you both?!" in reference to both me and the old lady. And in Ghana it is true, especially in the north, that he can love us both and have as many wives as he wants and can support. We laughed at the boy, who would later that day rewind "Total Recall" to show his friends the woman with three breasts, and sent him off to be with the men.

The segregation of men and women to me fells both degrading and empowering. There is nothing more powerful feeling than a group of women with common goals and interests yet we are a group of women who are 2nd rate citizens. We are further from Mecca, we are further from the Imam, we are behind, not beside, the men. I had the same sort of feeling while wearing my head scarf. I was hidden yet drew extra attention. I felt demeaned yet like I had a special power bestowed on me.

Led by the Imam, who stood in front shaded by a man holding an umbrella, we begain the celebration with prayer. Later when I wipe the dirt from Rukaya's forehead, she says, "It is because we pray with our foreheads." She is proud. Then a talk by the Imam and a collection taken. All the while the young boys run wild playing in the space between the men and women. The young girls are quite behind the women. There are young girls to the side selling homemade "ice creams" and cold pure water sachets.

Then the celebration was over. Photographers walked around snapping photos that they would bring around a week later to those in the photos and sell them 5 for 4 cedies. I am in countless photos undoubtedly hung up on the walls of homes all over my village. Then it was back to Rukaya's for feasting and a movie marathon. The boys prefer any action film. The less talking and more Kung Fu the better.

And so went my first venture into Muslim culture. I don't know much about it yet but learning will help me understand those around me just a little bit better.