Of Mosques and Temples

Masjid Wilayah Persekutuan, the Federal Territory Mosque

    

THE MOSQUE

The smooth marble floors were cool to the bottoms of my feet as Zaidah and I quietly moved through the enormous terrace surrounding the Masjid Wilayah Persekutuan, the Federal Territory Mosque. Although I have been hearing several Imams from several mosques throughout Elizabeth’s area singing the call to prayers, or adhan, several times a day, to hear the prayers being sung so close up was moving in a way that I find difficult to articulate. With such proximity, the nuances of the notes and tones of the Imam’s voice, which flowed smoothly like a length of fine silk in the breeze, rang and resonated throughout the portico with it's high arches and tall columns. With our heads covered Zaidah explained the different parts outside the mosque while I snapped pictures, repeatedly asking if it was okay.

We peaked into the interior. Cool air-conditioned air greeted us while worshippers began to slowly wander inside, answering the call to prayer. I love the idea of the amplified call five times a day. Although I am not Muslim it reminds me to stop, take a breath and be thankful for all that I have. That’s something that is enriching to anyone of any faith, especially in these days of lightening-speed information and the induced ADD it causes. In a mosque, the men and women have separate worship areas. When you see that the prayers, as most of us non-Muslims have at least seen on T.V., are done shoulder to shoulder and are very physical, it makes sense. We saw that we could sit in the back. There weren’t many people there. They were all men actually, until we spotted two women walking across the mosque, cloaked in a white tudung, or hijab and loose white flowing robes. They seemed to float across the vast carpeted mosque, the proportions of the architecture dwarfing them. When one woman turned to us and headed our way, I thought perhaps she was coming our way to reprimand me for taking a picture. I admit I tried to get the woman and her companion, who also veered in our direction, in the shot. I found them to be so beautiful. But I tried to be slick and now my Catholic girl guilt kicked in. I was sure I would get in trouble. I thought they were Muslim nuns. Why not? Catholics have them, Buddhists have them, Baptists have their “church ladies”, why not Muslims. They may in fact have them in Islam. But these lovely woman were volunteers. They were there to give tours to visitors like me. They sat with us and answered my questions. They had that beautiful glow and peaceful demeanor that some truly faithful women get. Afterwards, Azizah, the one who came over first, invited us to the office to chat. She gave me my own Qur’an, in English of course. I was so happy, because I’ve been meaning to read it. I was so proud that at first she thought I was Iranian, a fellow Muslim woman. But also, the Iranian women I know are absolutely beautiful. Even in religious matters my vanity comes shining through. Now I know that Christians don’t corner the market on trying to convert people. Azizah didn’t give me the hard-sell, but I sensed that she was selling nonetheless. And to give her the benefit of the doubt, she may have been as interested in me as I was in her. We had a lovely chat and took pictures outside where I also made friends with some adorable school children. I was riding high because I had gotten to visit the mosque during prayers (of course there are five opportunities), and now I got to get some “girl time”.  What more could I ask for?

From there Zaidah brought me to see her home. It is directly across the street from the Mont Kiara International School where Elizabeth teaches. It is a warm, lovely flat which is bright and inviting. Zaidah’s husband is Italian, so she not only has Malaysian treasures, but Italian ones as well. We had a lovely visit sipping Bellini’s and getting to know each other a little more. I met her younger son Omar, who is 13 and very polite with a sweet smile. Then she gave me a ride home.

The next day I was tired, but I pep-talked myself to get moving. I am determined to get my daily yoga practice to be more consistent and I have little else to be responsible for so that when I go home I will be more able to maintain it in the face of the busy reality of life in a household with 4 sons. The time slipped away, so rather than do yoga and then the Powerplate, I did yoga on the Powerplate. Then I took my book to the pool where I cooled off and read while I walked laps in the pool. Since it’s too hot for me to walk outside and balance is an issue I made good use of the beautiful pool. It was mult-tasking at it’s best–I walked for exercise (but without fear of falling), stayed cool (as one must do with M.S.) and read the story I was so engrossed in. I am taking full advantage of the freedom I have to focus on myself. Elizabeth hates that I call it “being selfish” or “self-centered”. Those carry negative connotations. I try to change the perspective and use the words “be kind to myself”. In the old days when people had chronic illnesses, they went to an asylum, where they could rest, eat well, exercise and recover the strength that daily living drained from them. With so many new chronic illnesses cropping up, it’s a wonder that the asylum hasn’t made a resurgence. One can go to a spa, but they tend to be more luxury oriented and super expensive. Those of us with chronic illnesses already have so many necessary treatments, medicines and supplements that aren’t covered by insurance and add up.

Later, after Elizabeth’s workout we went looking for a yoga studio that came recommended. After some searching we found it, but it’s only for the resident’s of the local condo developments. So the search for a good yoga studio near Bukit Utama (Elizabeth’s condo development) continues. To console ourselves we went to one of the more traditional Malay neighborhoods for a Thai massage. Any massage is a good thing and this one was nice. But coming from a culture where getting regular massages is a luxury, it was interesting to see where regular people go to get an inexpensive massage. I can get used to a culture where you can drop in and get an hour massage (Thai massage is dressed) for about $10.00. When I got home, before dropping off to sleep (which is something I do here that I haven’t done in years), I resolved to get out in the morning and get into the city on my own. I would take a cab to a spot that I could manage on my own and go for it. How hard could it be?

THE TEMPLE

Never being one to shrink away from new experiences (I tried vegemite in Australia after all), I was excited to break out on my own without relying on or burdening anyone else. This is real life for Elizabeth. She has work and her own routine. If I were here for a week it would be one thing, but basically I moved in for two months. (Does that mean I should offer to split the rent?) The first week is a visit, after that, not so much. I know she worries about me being the good friend, mother and teacher that she is. I was determined to show her there’s no need. I’m capable and if I have a problem, I still some common sense to figure out what I need to do. I found the hop-on hop-off bus (just like in other major cities) which is a great way to get an introduction to a new city. I planned on taking a cab to the National Museum, which was one of the first stops that I could pick up the sightseeing bus. I checked out some of the places that would be good for my first sojourn downtown, cross-referencing between the guidebook Frank gave me for Christmas and the internet. Plans are a great thing until they don’t go as planned. I had already called for a cab and got myself to Bangsar another neighborhood, to meet Zaidah a couple of days before. But this try at calling for a cab didn’t go as smoothly. I decided to go down to drop off a check at the Manager’s office for Elizabeth, and call for the cab on the cell I’m using. The cab came in five minutes time the last go around. This time however when I called I couldn’t understand the dispatcher’s English. She was getting annoyed with me–that I understood. I told her my address, I told her Bandar Utama, the neighborhood, where I was going – whew, almost there – then she asked me the question that was the deal killer, my telephone number. I am using a phone that Tomisku, Elizabeth’s son used when he visited. The numbers here are very long for a good memory, but one of my worst deficits is remembering any lists of more than 3 things, especially numbers. And, in my well-thought out plan, I forgot that knowing the number of the cell phone would be not only handy but necessary. I was put on hold and after several minutes, another woman, who spoke much better English, got on and told me, “no more cab”. In all of Selangor, KL, Malaysia there are no cabs? I was dumbfounded. All I could do was repeat incredulously one time too many, “no more cabs?” Finally fed up with me the dispatcher exited with a loud click! My legs were already shaky. There’s a small but rather steep incline that I had to go up, plus several sets of steps, then the elevator to go back up to the condo to retrieve the number that was on a post-it on the refrigerator. Without it I wouldn’t be able to get a cab. They need to be able to call to confirm. I plopped down on a bench and started working myself into a little hissy fit, which helped me to further meltdown physically. The heat, and the little hill were already taking a toll. So I stomped back to elevator, swiped my security card, punched in the floor number way harder than necessary and mumbled to myself. Since I gave up swearing (swearing excessively and gratuitously anyway) for my New Year’s resolution, I can’t imagine what I was grumbling. I would have been worthy competition for a three-year-old’s temper tantrum. Since there was no one to hear my frustration, I resorted to the next best thing – facebook. My status read: Having a meltdown. Hot. Desperate to get out and see the city. Can't even get a cab. Is it not meant to be? Going to try again. Just want to 'get lost' in KL for a while. But what it really said was: Waaahhhhh!!!!

Petronas Towers up close and personal.

Once I got that out, and before I could regret posting that for all the Facebook world to see, I sat myself down and had a talking-to with myself. Once I was onto ‘plan B’, my phone rang and it was Zaidah. She had just left the hospital where she visited a friend who is very ill. She asked if I wanted her to come and we could go into town together. I’m pretty sure she saw my post with her iPhone. Nonetheless, that’s just how sweet Zaidah is. She just met me and was taking me on again. She came and we went to the Petronas towers, or as I call them the 'twinkling towers' since they appear to twinkle in the view we have from Elizabeth's terrace. We ate at the food court there (don’t tsk at me, a least I had Malaysian food not Subway) and then had a coffee at an outdoor cafe on the park at the base of the towers. It’s really nice spending time with Zaidah. She’s comfortable to be with. I was happy to be with her and to finally be in the city itself. On the way out we stopped at the craft area and looked around a bit at the wares, but I’d rather buy the items directly from the artisan. Like any other touristic spot, local crafts cost more in the gift shop. I’d rather go to the kampungs (villages) where they make the crafts to buy them and if I pay more, pay it directly to the artist.

The piece d’ resistance was when Zaidah asked if I would like to pop into a Chinese temple that we were passing. Of course I did. Little did I know that my Chinese New Year wish would be answered. The temple was decked out in red lanterns and there in front of the temple was a group of drummers and not one but two lions doing the traditional lion dance. I was so excited. I was so worried that I wouldn’t get to see a proper lion dance. This was better than just the dance. It had the best backdrop ever of the colorful temple awash in red, the color of good luck. Children and elders alike, (as well as crazy Americans like myself), were thrilled by the lions. I was in my glory and couldn’t thank Zaidah enough. It was an unplanned thing, and one of the best so far since I’ve arrived. Gong xi fa cai! I love Chinese New year!