My children and the mosque

When my children were much younger, I decided to send them for religious studies at a mosque next to our apartment. My intentions were clear, apart from learning Quran, I wanted them to mingle with the neighbourhood Muslim children, under the care of a religious teacher stationed at the mosque, better known as ‘Ustaz’.

Both my children are of Indian blood. At home, we spoke more English than Malay and watched more Tamil shows than any other TV programmes. And at school, my children’s social circle, though diversified, were mostly non-Muslims.

As such, I hoped their enrolment into the religious class would be a learning curve on its own, where they would be able to interact with other Muslim children of the same age group.

On the first day of their class, I requested permission from the Ustaz to join in. I sat a couple of meters away inside the mosque, observing other children sitting in groups while my two sat together, looking lost.

After a while, my eldest made her way to join another group while her brother, my youngest, followed her.

Instantly, I heard one of the children say, “Apa budak Hindu ni buat kat sini?” (What is this Hindu kid doing here?).

As other children began to participate in the little group discussion, I turned to the Ustaz, concerned. I was very sure he heard the children’s comments as he was seated closer to them compared to me.

However, he decided to ignore it. After shushing the children, the Ustaz continued his lessons. I bit my tongue and sat quietly until the end of class. Before leaving, I spoke to the Ustaz and asked him for a favour, to keep an eye on my children as I was worried they would struggle to mingle with the rest.

One month and four classes later, my children were determined not to return to the mosque for their religious lessons. According to them, the other children had started calling them names including in some derogatory terms and the Ustaz never addressed it.

I was upset – not towards the children, because children are children, they merely reflect what they have seen and heard. I was upset at the Ustaz – as someone attached to the mosque, his failure to address the issue and advise the children accordingly was really disappointing.

I decided to meet the Ustaz during the following week’s class. I asked him if he was aware of the name-calling. He looked at me and calmly said, “Budak-budak… Biarlah…” (They are just being children. Let it be.)

I explained to him politely that I was not blaming the children, however I strongly felt that the matter should be addressed properly by him as their religious teacher. I highlighted to him that this would be a good opportunity to educate the children about kindness and acceptance in Islam.

He kept quiet.

In the awkward moment, I informed him that it would be so unfortunate if I had to remove my children from the class due to the name-calling and that I really hoped he would be able to advise the rest of the children in order to resolve the matter.

The Ustaz then said something that I shall never forget, he said, “Tak apalah. Insya Allah kalau mereka sudah bersedia di masa hadapan, boleh datang belajar lagi.” (It’s fine. God willing, if they are prepared to resume their studies in the future, they can come again.)

I was dumbfounded. Here’s a man who was chosen to nurture and educate young children of not only religious studies, but also the Islamic way of life – and he chose to do nothing to make things right. It almost felt like he was condoning the other children’s name-calling.

I then gave up on the idea of sending my children to the mosque for lessons, instead I hired a private teacher to come to our house twice a week. Although my children were not able to learn with their peers, I found them catching up with the religious lessons in a safe space inside our home pretty well.

More unfavourable events

Over the years, more unfavourable incidents involving the mosque took place. Like the time when my boy was scolded by an elderly man at the mosque during a Friday prayer for wearing a T-shirt carrying a teeny-weeny logo of an alcohol brand (which we never noticed before). The fact that the T-shirt was clean and covering ‘aurat’ became less of an importance.

My daughter had her own share of experience. Once, she had to pray at her school’s mosque while having her menses. In Islam, when it is the time of the month, Muslim females are forbidden from entering mosque and performing their prayers. However, since her religious teacher had a habit of checking every student claiming to have their menses (suspecting them of lying) by forcing her hand up their groin (to feel the menstrual sanitary pad), my daughter decided to lie and protect herself from the unwanted violation.

These incidents, and a lot more unmentioned here, had created an uncomfortable relationship between us and the mosque (and those who associate themselves with the mosque). And today, as both my children are young adults above the age of 20, the mosque has not been part of our life.

To be honest, choosing not to frequent the mosque has made no difference to our lives, for the mosque really did not contribute that much to our emotional and spiritual growth.

Not associating ourselves with the mosque and those who call themselves religious advocates, did not turn us into non-believers. My children and I, we are in fact people of faith. Our connection to the Al-Mighty is strong despite the absence of a mosque.

Please do not get me wrong though. I do have great respect for the people who have built a strong relationship with their mosques and people who have been lucky to find spiritual leadership at their respective mosques. Unfortunately, love, kindness and acceptance doesn’t happen in every mosque and every congregation around this world.

While many are welcomed into mosques and their congregations, there are many who are shunned. The reason? Plenty.

But that is fine. One can still be a believer and not go to a mosque. It is possible to have faith in Allah, without being part of a mosque. Why? Because the mosque is just four walls with a roof. Our faith is stronger than bricks and cement.

After all, did we not witness lockdowns and quarantines shutting down mosques around the world? For months, Muslims prayed at home - some alone and some with their loved ones. The absence of a mosque during the pandemic did not shake our faith, did it?

Furthermore, in some parts of the world where Muslim communities live, congregational prayers over livestreams have begun. Islamic scholars from prestigious international institutions who have better credentials compared to our Ustaz, Ustazah and Tuan Hajis, are already arguing in favour of making congregation prayers remotely accessible.

One day, instead of going to a mosque, all we have to do to join a congregational prayer, a sermon or even a religious talk would be to join the livestream in the comfort of our own space, anywhere around the globe. Having the option to do so would be wonderful.

After all, Prophet Muhammad once said, “All the Earth is a mosque.”

---

FA ABDUL is a passionate storyteller, a media trainer, an aspiring playwright, a director, a struggling producer, a photographer, an expert Facebooker, a lazy blogger, a part-time queen and a full-time vainpot.

The views expressed here are those of the author/contributor and do not necessarily represent the views of MMKtT,