Some real life stories...
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“I think my tarawih was not sah last night…”
“Huh?”
“Just as I gave the final salam in the eight rakaat, I realized that the guy next to me might not be a guy after all…”
“Why so?”
“He had breasts”
“You must be joking!”
“No, I’m serious. I believed I must had made some skin-to-skin contact with him earlier on – so my solat habis lah…”
“Oohhh…”
“I wish penkids could at least forgo their ‘male’ identity when they go for tarawih… Menyusahkan betul lah…”
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The lady who looked to be in her forties insisted on taking my space for her sunat rawatib.
“Sunat solat sunat kat tempat lain dari solat wajib,” she declared, a fact which I knew did not include shoving other people unnecessarily in a crowded place, but I smiled politely as I moved to fill a gap in the saf right behind us..
Later, she quickly fold her telekung during the zikir after solat witir, and put on a glitzy black selendang, not covering her aurat quite properly…
I guess sometimes we tend to put priorities in the wrong order…
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The groundwork for tarawih had been laid when I was around 5 years old as Tok made me followed her to the nearby surau .
Thus, I used to be one of the kids at the surau who tried to perform solat tarawih up to the 8th rakaat and then went out the mosque to join my friends playing with sparkler and firecracker. The keyword is “tried” - because often we did not pray properly; waited until the last moment possible before the Imam went down for ruku’ to join the solat, and sometimes playfully elbowing or pulling the neighbor’s telekung. One or the other girl, often the more senior one, would hissed rather fiercely, as a warning to stop the elbowing, which would always resulted in making others broke into giggles. With the end of every two rakaat, some nenek or makcik would look sternly at us, as a sign of their disapproval with the small commotion. But some would just smile at us as we put on innocent look as though we formed no part of the hullabaloo.
But what initially started as a gathering for “bunga api” session and good “moreh” for supper, later became a gathering to quietly challenge each other strength as we competed to perform more rakaat – and properly too, no more elbowing and giggling – reserving the right to bombard the “enemy” area with different kinds of fire crackers only after solat tarawih ended.
And as we grew older, there were no more bunga api session, leaving just the serious business of the solat itself. (As the moreh too became increasingly watered down and not as yummilicious as it used to be ages ago)
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It is kind of exhausting, to tidy everything up after the ruckus Huzaifah caused on the ladies floor while I prayed. Books and toys scattering everywhere, water splashes here and there, and once he even left his diaper in the middle of the mosque causing me to lose concentration in my solat, worried that he would pee somewhere without his diapers on.
But I am thankful that I get to perform solat tarawih at the mosque
Chances are slim for women with small children with no maid to be able to join the tarawih congregation at the mosque or surau in Malaysia. A calmly sleeping baby in a bouncer could probably be tolerated by the jemaah, but not an energetic toddler or a baby who howls his frustration from time to time as he vigorously learn how to crawl.
It is kind of frustrating not having the option to go to Pasar Ramadhan, but to think up of menu for iftar almost daily – not only for hubby and me – but to suit the taste bud of the temporary Pakistani Imam and his Indian companion who would be staying here until Eid.
But I am thankful that I get to be here for Ramadhan gatherings which had been scheduled at the mosque, as it means I could get a rest from cooking during the weekends.
While I do miss Pasar Ramadhan, I get to eat other people’s cooking minus the urge to splurge during public iftar sessions here. Not to mention tasting delicacies not found in Malaysia too, as we are often introduced to Indian/Pakistani sweets and curries. I mean, how many of us have heard of nihari and paya (not the swamp) in Malaysia?
It is kind of tiring having to cook –
but hey, it definitely beats having porridge almost everyday like we did last year because I was pregnant and could not cook properly.
It is kind of weird following an Imam performing solat witir in Hanafi style –
but it also means I get to learn something new.
When I was in UK, I learned that my girlfriends from Hanafi sect do not have to cover their feet the way we in Syafie have to, during solat. Then, last year I learned from a Turkish Kurd that strict Hanafi followers are not allowed to eat seafood apart from fish – no prawns, no crustaceans, etc – which limit their choice whenever they want to eat out in Japan. And this year – I learned that not only people in Hanafi recite doa qunut during witir right from the very beginning of Ramadhan, they adopt different style of reading the qunut too. Instead of reciting qunut after ruku’, the Imam would takbir right after finishing the surah in the last rakaat, read the qunut quietly (without raising their hands), and then takbir for ruku’. So far, I had missed the qunut twice, accidentally went down for ruku’ upon hearing the first takbir, and had to wait for quite some time before being able to join the jemaah standing up straight again. Oopss.
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There's a gathering scheduled this weekend by some Malaysian students - so all Muslimah are welcome to join.
(A note to Aida-kyushu -
feel free to get my number from Kak lela. Or you can email me at aezack105@softbank.ne.jp. Mari manfaatkan free Softbank-to-Softbank calls...)
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