Shia' Shrines

This past weekend I visited two Shia shrines. The first,
Sayyeda Roqayya was in the old city, and the other, for Sayyeda Zainab was about a 30 minute drive away. Both are granddaughters of Mohammad. After the traditional international breakfast at my house Friday morning, my friend took me to Friday prayers at a mosque that holds the shrine of Roqayya. At the entrance of the mosque we separated. I was handed a sort of army green colored abaya to wear and exchanged my Tevas for a token at the shoe check-in. I continued barefoot through a small hallway into an inner courtyard where I met back up with him. There were families sitting, children playing, girls reading verses from the Quran, and even some others sleeping. About 20 minutes earlier this space had been filled with hundreds of worshipers bowing down to pray. Now that the main Friday prayers were finished, there was enough room to roam around.




We continued inside to another large central room, which is the main area of the mosque. It was incredibly ornate, with kaleidoscope-like ceilings of cut mirror. In the middle of the room was the shrine and a wall that split one side of the shrine from the other. We separated again- me to the womens side of the wall, and he to the mens. I found a spot on the ground in front of the tomb and sat down to take in my surroundings. The shrine was beautifully decorated with ornate metal designs and covered in colourful cloths that the worshippers had tossed on the top. There were also shiny, tinsely decorations and flags and flowers.




Women gathered around the shrine, clinging to its cage like exterior, some of them wailing, others chanting and singing. Around me women were talking quietly to one another, some reading the Quran, and others praying. The Iraqi lady in front of me turns around to ask me if I am from Lebanon. When I say no, that I am actually American, a few other ears perk up and I have a small audience. The Iraqi women and her friend continue talking to me, telling me that Islam is peace at least four or five times. Then the little old lady beside me tells me I have noor (light) in my face, and the others around her agree. We have the usual conversation about how great it is that I am learning about Islam, and about how much they love Americans but not our foreign policy. They encourage me to continue my Arabic study and to come see them again next week.

On our way out of the mosque, the Afghani man who is guarding the door hands my friend a piece of paper that addresses (in English) a current debate in the Shia sect. The Islamic scholars of this mosque have issued a statement about the small flat stone that the Shia place their forehead on when they do the raqa which is when they bend over to pray. The story behind the use of this stone for prayer is essentially just to remind the one praying that they were formed from the earth and to humble themselves. It is not compulsory, but lately some groups have been trying to say that the stone is holy and that it must be used for prayer. So the scholars in Damascus got together to discuss the issue, and thus printed their findings that the stone was optional and not sacred. I love this tradition in Shia Islam of constantly checking and re-checking their beliefs and practices with true Islam. It feels very progressive and refreshing.




The next day we went to Sayyeda Zainab, the road to which wound us around some of the poorest places I have ever seen. There were piles and layers of trash on the street, the air was heavy with dust, and the alleys were crowded with people. At one point I looked out of the cab window to see a herd of sheep grazing in a trash-filled sandlot. I couldn’t believe that all this was leading up to what is supposed to be one of the most beautiful mosques in Damascus.
I still remember the smell as I clutched my Iranian style chador in one hand and my Target purse in the other. It was one of my favourite smells – the mixture of frankincense, myrrh, cardamom and other various spices usually found in the Persian Gulf. I waded into the women's half of the mosque amongst the sea of black chadors and was completely awestruck as I crossed the threshold. The huge square building was covered from the inside with elaborately arranged pieces of cut mirror. It was similar to the style of the Sayyeda Roqayya mosque, but on a much grander scale. The light reflecting off of the glass and mirrors magnified little spectrums of brilliant colors all over the walls.

Again I sat down on the floor, in a space just big enough for me to sit with my knees tucked under me. The room was completely packed with Iranians, Iraqis, Pakistanis and other Shias who had come to pay their respects to this great female leader and granddaughter of Mohammad. A lady trying to pass through the mass of people fell over me and onto someone praying, but neither one of them seemed to notice- the one continuing to pray and the other brushing herself off and continuing to the doorway. Yet amidst all the chaos, there was peace. It reminded me of how I always try to tell myself that to be considered a patient person, my patience has to be tested. Likewise, to be peaceful people we have to deal peacefully with chaos. And that is exactly what was happening. And it was beautiful.

* spelling and grammatical errors due to a strange Italian keyboard where I couldn't find some of the right keys.