Calling the Faithful

Welcome to my random musings about the world, on a weekly-to-occasional basis.

Where we are: We’re in Sidi Bou Said, a beautiful little historic suburb of Tunis. It’s one of those blue and white villages you find dotted around the Mediterranean, filled with lazy cats and orange trees. Lee’s mom is visiting us for about ten days.

Calling the Faithful

The call to prayer in our neighborhood is abbreviated. Sort of like this email.

We’ve had a range of interesting experiences with the call to prayer. In Turkey, we stayed in apartment that was equidistant from three mosques; they began the call in succession, one after the other, so it was almost like a round-robin. They really needed to synchronize their watches.

In Egypt, we stayed in a guest house owned by an energetic (and irascible) Irish woman who had gotten into a dispute with the local Imam, so he pointed a speaker directly at the house and turned up the volume. It was … an experience.

In Saudi Arabia, in a taxi, we heard the call to prayer on the radio. Our driver didn’t stop, but lots of other people did.

There is a speaker directly outside our apartment here—I’m looking directly at it as I sit on the couch typing this—but it only broadcasts the call three times a day, in the afternoon and evening. It’s loud, but tolerable. Entertaining, even. But only because it’s at 6 pm, rather than 6 am. Maybe Tunisian Imams like to sleep in?

I reckon we’ll find out—Ramadan begins on Saturday, or maybe Sunday. Apparently the Imams will decide on Friday.

Take care,

Lisa

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