The Mosque and the Cathedral - "Hey Mister!" pt 3

(Originally written 10/5/2009)

In the opinion of the Cassandras over at the British Embassy, swine ‘flu could cause havoc in Indonesia, so it has been determined that we need to have ‘flu shots. Yes, I’m aware of the glaring hole in that logic, thanks, but when Her Majesty’s Foreign and Commonwealth Office determines something it stays determined, alright?

Accordingly, Zeina and I present ourselves at the Embassy and fill out several forms that absolve the doctor, the FCO staff and the Queen of any responsibility for anything.

“That’ll protect you for twelve months”, says the doctor, as he stretches a plaster over the puncture. “You’re not allergic to anything, are you?”

“Yes, plaster.”

The next day, Zeina goes down with mild ‘flu and I have a slight case of the sniffles. With impeccable timing, the symptoms arrive late on Friday afternoon. We’ll have a lazy Saturday morning, shall we? Maybe get together about eleven-ish? After all, there’s no rule that insists that we have to pack every spare moment with sightseeing, is there?

My phone rings at 10:30 – “Babba? I have a bad stomach…” Right, omit all details unless you have irrefutable proof that you’re dying, do you still want to go out this afternoon? “I think yes… I’ll call you.” She does, and by 2 p.m. we’re considering the options. “Shall we have a look at the mosque over the road?” There’s a beautiful small mosque across the way, and we’ve often admired it. It has an impressive copper dome, intricate outer plasterwork and pretty grounds, and when we get there it’s closed. We’re in the mood for seeing a mosque, though, and that’s a mood that won’t be denied. From the small and pretty to the large and box-like, then, let’s get a cab to the biggest mosque in South-East Asia. Oh, yes, right here in Jakarta.

Attracting the attention of a cab is the easiest thing here. You simply stand at the side of the road and look hopeful. A taxi will stop within little more than a minute, often swerving across two lanes of traffic to do so. On the way, I beg Zeina not to let me make a fool of myself or do anything to accidentally upset the faithful. I mean, will they let me in, wearing this Wadworth’s 6X T-shirt? Do I have to wash anything? Apart from the T-shirt, I mean, and it’s only a small chilli sauce stain.

Zeina reassures me that I don’t have to do anything, because I’m a man. She, however, will have to cover up a bit, which is why she’s brought a jacket to hide her arms and a scarf to put over her hair.

The taxi drops us at the entrance to the Grand Istiqlal Mosque, and you know what? This is a very big mosque indeed. It’s also a very plain mosque, and if it were not for the occasional Arabian feature, it would look like one of those huge featureless Soviet office blocks that were so popular in Moscow in the 50’s. (And, indeed, so popular in 60’s London, but then they were called council estates.) The dome, surmounted by a crescent moon and star, gives the game away a bit, but if this is the Indonesian version of Canterbury Cathedral, it’s not been decorated with much ostentation. Zeina explains that Muslims are recommended not to spend money on grand architecture, but to give the money to the poor instead, which seems like a fine sentiment. I recall the words “Sell all you have, and follow Me”, it’s one more parallel on the paths we both follow.

The call to prayer is sounding, so maybe we won’t be able to see much, says Zeina. We go inside, follow signs to “Information” and are greeted by a smiling young man. Do we want the tour? Yes, but isn’t there a service going on? (“Prayers!” whispers Zeina. “Service is different thing!”) Yes, and we’re very welcome to look round, it’s quite OK, just leave your shoes here, and your bags if you want, no, not your camera, there are many good places to take photographs, now, we start upstairs, yes?

He leads us along a covered walkway that surrounds The Giant Terrace, while offering many facts. The mosque was started in 1961 and finished in 1978, and this Giant Terrace is for accommodating the overflow from the main building. The overflow? But it’s a huge mosque… oh yes, but also a popular mosque, especially in Ramadan, or in Thull Hijjah month. (Yes, I got him to write down that last bit.) 70,000 people can be accommodated on The Giant Terrace. Do we see these lines painted across the tiles? The Terrace is not exactly aligned with the main building, which, naturally, faces Mecca, so, place your feet against a line please… there, now you too are facing Mecca. Here, too, is a good place to take photographs, see the minaret? It’s 70 metres high, many people like to have their picture taken with the minaret in the background.

Zeina’s one of them, but the sun is nearly behind her and it proves impossible to take a photo of anything other than her silhouette. Never mind, eh, we’ll get a snap of her shaking hands with the Grand Imam later, I daresay. For some reason, this is a shocking suggestion.

“The Imam? Oh, no, never, I could not shake hands… I could not touch the Imam.”

“Why not?”

“He would have to go and wash again. It… look, you cannot touch the Imam. Especially me, I cannot touch ever, at all.”

“But why?”

“Because I am female!”

“It’s not catching, is it?”

If you ever go to a mosque, don’t touch the Imam. It seems to be Quite Important, and falls into the category of not letting me make a fool of myself, also upsetting the faithful.

Moving on, we come to a massive drum, suspended in a heavily-carved frame. The striking surface is two metres across, and the depth of the drum must be some five metres. It is three hundred years old, our guide explains, and the wood came from Borneo. He gives it a tiny thump, so that we can appreciate the sound it makes. Gosh, is it allowed? In an Anglican church, anything three hundred years old is usually behind glass, protected by an alarm system and English Heritage. Yes, of course it is allowed, it’s a drum, it’s there to be hit, would I like a go? Wow, yes!

(Honestly, how did I get here? I’m a simple lad from Portsmouth, what on earth am I doing banging a drum in a mosque in Jakarta on a Saturday afternoon? When I started my own company, I never dreamt it would lead to this place…)

Now we’ll go to the main building and see the prayer area. But isn’t there a service (“Prayers!”) taking place? Yes, indeed there is, perhaps we’ll find it interesting. Oh, OK… should I put my camera away? No, please, there are many good photographs that can be taken in the prayer area. I privately wonder what the reaction would be of the well-dressed ladies in big hats at Portsmouth Cathedral if a couple of tourists started taking pictures during 11 a.m. High Communion.

“Big” doesn’t encompass the size of the prayer area. One entire hectare, it rises six stories to the dome, which is supported by stainless steel pillars. Worshippers are bent to the floor in supplication, while the Imam reads from the Koran. On the walls on either side of the Imam are huge words in Arabic. “It is the words ‘Allah’, and ‘Mohammed’” explains Zeina. Surely not in case they forget? No, because unlike the Christian church, pictorial representations of God or the prophets are forbidden, so the names are written instead.

Our guide leads us upstairs – “Better photographs” – and explains that many eminent people have visited the Grand Mosque. Bill Clinton, the Prime Minister of Norway, our very own Prince Charles… it’s an impressive list. The Prime Minister of Norway, you say? Who’d have thought it?

From the first floor, the prayer area looks even more impressive, and the inside of the dome can be seen more easily. It’s covered, very simply, with a symmetrical pattern, and yes, better photographs are taken. Hello, the prayer meeting below has come to an end, people are leaving, and Zeina is amazed. Why? Because women have taken off their head coverings in the prayer area, for goodness sake! This would not be allowed in Jerusalem!

“What would happen if you did that in Jerusalem?”

“People would be angry with me, they would tell me to cover myself!” Ah, so they have the well-dressed ladies in big hats in Muslim places of worship, too.

The guide explains that the main prayer area has room for 76,000 people, but when there are more than those, they come to the first floor, the second floor and so on up to the top. The mosque can welcome nearly 200,000 worshippers in the main building, or if The Grand Terrace is used, a quarter of a million people can praise Allah in this place. Do they ever have that many? Oh, yes. It happens.

Our visit at an end, we retrieve our shoes, thank our guide and walk over the road to… the Roman Catholic Cathedral. Yes, the two buildings face each other, and they get on terribly well. When there’s no room in the Cathedral car park, latecomers are directed to park at the mosque, and a similar facility is offered to tardy Muslims, who take any free space over at the Cathedral.

The Cathedral is small by Cathedral standards, a fairly standard Gothic place, but with twin white spires. We enter, to find that a wedding is taking place. There’s no helpful guide, but we take some hopefully unobtrusive snaps. I stand at the back of the Cathedral, by a row of lit candles, and reflect for a few minutes on what I’ve seen and the significance of it, too. I’m enormously pleased to find these two places of devotion so close to each other, apparently enjoying good, peaceful relations. I think of what it must be like for the worshippers at the Cathedral, possibly arriving for Mass as a reading from the Koran booms out from the mosque, or how Muslims leaving after prayers may be able to hear the sound of hymns from the Cathedral, and it’s a thought that is oddly comforting. I’ve learned a lot about Islam from Zeina over many chats at dinner, enough to reinforce my belief that we’re on the same route, despite any differences in our vehicles.

Muslims have their fanatics, and Christians have theirs, too. Misguided people blow up buses in London, shoot abortionists in America, become suicide bombers, and stand on street corners with banners that proclaim “God hates fags”. Yet the overwhelming majority look to a religion that proclaims universal, uncompromising and never-ending love, a religion that shouts for tolerance, understanding, and above all, peace. That religion may go under several names, but it springs from the same heart and the same love. The differences are so small, compared to those beliefs we share.

It was supposed to be a lazy Saturday. It was, instead, a spiritual tour de force.