At sunset we are passing an elaborate mosque. The French trio wants to see inside. I explain that it is forbidden for unbelievers to go into a mosque—especially for a woman! This vexes them and they march through the gate in the outer wall. I go along trying to convince them that what they want to do is very dangerous. We get as far as the ablution pool when I hear the familiar “call to prayer”. It’s time for the sunset prayers! A rifle-carrying soldier comes in and stops the French tourists before they can get into the main room, but I think it would be interesting and maybe even good for me to pray with these Moslem brothers in this strange old city, so I tell the soldier in halting Arabic that I would like to go in and join the congregation.
He is flabbergasted, but says it would be OK “if I am clean”. He means if I have done the ritual washing that is necessary before entering the mosque to pray. I tell him that I am not “clean”. He gestures toward the big pool. It will be a terrific health risk, but I immediately decide to chance it. Dysentery for wanting to pray would be a novelty anyway.
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